#hiding my head in the sand now

[mother-of-houseplants-2]

pets i think the gallagher siblings would have post s11

this is such a ridiculous thing to fixate on but i literally can’t stop thinking about it and i need to write it all down lol

fiona:

i think it would take fiona a while to get to the point in her life where she could stomach caring for a pet, but when she did, it would be a dog. seeing her bond with rusty really makes me think she’d be such a good dog mom! especially since she’s such an anxious, high energy person; having a dog would force her into a healthier routine for herself, give her built-in ways to handle stress (running!), and just be so good for her mentally.

i definitely think fi would go to her local animal shelter and find the dog that’s been there the longest, the one no one else wants, and take it home. whether it’s the lil baby who’s sick/injured, ‘too old’ for people, the momma who’s depressed and doesn’t want to play because her babies all got adopted, the abused dog who’s reactive and nervous — fiona doesn’t care. she knows the feeling of being alone and scared and hurt all too well. she ends up adopting a giant, terrified baby of a dog (pittie maybe?) who needs special care because of a disability and they are thick as thieves immediately.

fiona would be such a good pet owner and so fiercely protective over her (she relates a little too much to being seen as “dangerous,” “chaos,” etc. when she’s just hurt and needs love) but so so so nervous she’s doing it all wrong. cue six months of frantic googling and stress smoking by the window so the dog doesn’t breathe in the smoke. but she does a great job, and the baby is so happy with her. maybe a little too happy; she demands to sit in fi’s lap at every given opportunity, and absolutely crushes her and liam under her weight when flopping down onto them for cuddles. they adore her. she adores them. they spoil her rotten, but she deserves it.

lip:

i see lip as a snake dude! he’d say he adopted a snake because it makes him look badass and cool, but really he just thinks they’re so interesting and pretty. plus, they’re bioengineering marvels! he was probably obsessed with them as a kid, and read those little creepy crawly books on them out loud to ian before bedtime (before fiona made him stop because it freaked ian out too much).

he gets a corn snake at first, and it’s the sweetest, cuddliest thing ever. most mornings when he’s getting freddie’s lunch packed and ready for elementary school and brewing coffee and combing his hair, the snake’s just chilling around his neck and hanging out. literally lol. it’s also so gentle and playful with freddie, who pets it like it’s a cat. a few years later, lip gets a ball python who is an absolute asshole. it is also, unfortunately, his favorite. tami says it’s because they’re so similar. lip insists it’s because he always falls for people who are mean to them, so tami takes to calling it the missus. it’s a whole thing.

i think tami would also push for getting a dog/a more “traditional” pet, which lip would be just fine with. the snakes live mainly in his office, anyway, so it’s not a problem. lip likes the dog, and loves watching freddie play with it, but it’ll never be as cool as his snakes.

ian:

i think ian and mickey would get a cat. maybe multiple! their first cat would be the scrungliest, meanest, bitchiest little one-eyed, flea-bitten asshole known to man who takes forever to warm up to them, but finally settles in after lots of bribery and cuddles and trust. he would bond more with mickey (maybe because of their kindred assholery?) and ian would be secretly so damn jealous. unfortunately, however, its the cutest thing he’s ever seen. so the cat gets a pass.

they’d get another cat after mickey starts insisting that their first little baby is getting lonely. ian thinks they should be thinking about adopting a human baby instead, but mickey isn’t quite ready yet. so they take in the tiniest cotton ball of a kitten ever, who grows immediately and inextricably attached to ian. he instantly lords it over mickey, who’s just happy to see his husband so enamored with the little floof (who ends up huge!).

when they adopt their first child, they think the first cat will have more trouble than the second, but they’re dead wrong. the tiny asshole is obsessed with the baby and won’t stop grooming them and purring at them and standing guard over the crib. the fluffy white cat is terrified and steers clear whenever the baby cries. mickey thinks it’s hilarious. ian has a picture of his husband, child, and two cats napping together on the couch as his screen saver.

debbie:

another one i feel strongly about: debbie and franny are spider girlies! franny decides one day that they’re her favorite animals, and debbie is thrilled because she and carl were the only gallagher siblings who weren’t afraid of them as kids and they feel special to her. (maybe fiona has arachnophobia and would stand stock still in terror and ask debbie to please please please take the spider out of the house asap; the first time it happened was the first time debbie felt strong and brave like her big siblings). debbie and franny do tons of research together and get a mexican redknee tarantula.

the tarantula is a darling. franny learns to be incredibly gentle and careful and bravely lets the little critter climb all over her arms and into her hair, and debs is beaming with pride every time. she takes a million pictures. she thinks it’s so charming that the orange of the spider’s legs blend in with the color of both of their hair. so fun! debbie’s favorite thing is taking care of the tank, and she’s always getting seasonal, spider-safe decor to put in there. franny loves feeding her live crickets. she likes watching the spider hunt and eat them. she thinks it’s the coolest thing ever.

debbie and franny have a couple dream spiders they wish they could have, but they simply don’t have the space/money yet to get them. debbie really wants a whole family of red rumps. franny wants a gooty sapphire — partially because they look so cool, partially because the name is hilarious. when franny is a little older, they move into a bigger house and are able to get an appropriate sized tank for their dream critters. they invite the family over for a housewarming (spider warming?) party. fiona is terrified and sweating and shaking the entire time but takes pictures of the others holding the spiders and gets franny a jellycat spider stuffy.

carl:

watching carl be so gentle and compassionate with those sick dogs in the basement makes me think he’d be so so so good with older/sick/disabled dogs. i think he’d be a really good dog dad and just have the dearest, purest bond with a little guy who maybe uses one of those tiny scooter things for his hind legs to get around (and join carl on runs!). i can also totally see him adopting an ex-police dog! i think it would be the push he needs to get out of law enforcement work (because let’s be real, after his season of disillusionment with cops and buying the alibi, i don’t think he’s staying in the field) and it would be so so good for him.

he and fiona would of course commiserate on the best ways to take care of a traumatized/injured dog. carl would learn to feel more capable and self confident in his abilities as he figures out innovative ways to care for him and provide the mental stimulation he needs without aggravating any injuries. it would just be so good for him. the lil guy would hang out at the alibi or wherever else carl works next and be everyone’s buddy and carl’s pride and joy.

i think he would also end up rescuing/rehabbing a lot of weird critters over the years. especially ones that people tend not to like, like skunks and opossums and rats and whatnot. he’d really relate to being feared/disliked for being “bad” because of his troubled-kid past, and advocate for them. also, his childhood experimentation on little creatures would definitely help him understand what makes them tick and how to help them get better lol.

liam:

so in this hc liam lives with fiona after the series because that’s what should have happened in the show and he simply adores their dog! they’re best friends and she sleeps at the foot of his bed and he loves her so so deeply. but when he grows up and moves out, he doesn’t get a pet for a very long time. after all, his siblings are all constantly coming over with their critters, he’s always pet sitting, always seeing pictures, etc etc etc, so he just doesn’t feel the need to get a pet himself. instead, he lives his best life and enjoys having a pet vicariously through all his siblings for a while.

i think liam would only get a pet after fiona passes away. with her poor self care habits and high stress life, fi goes young — not crazy young, but not old enough to die by any means — and it hits the kids hard, but hits liam the absolute hardest. he’s really lost for a very long time. one day, he finds the tiniest, angriest kitten in the world on the side of the road and decides to rescue it. it scratches the fuck out of him on the way to the vet and he is instantly and unfortunately attached to this little gremlin. he decides to adopt her, despite the fact that she’s very sickly and angry and nasty and doesn’t want anything to do with him. for like six months, they’re at each other’s throats constantly. liam considers giving her to ian and mickey or simply putting her up for adoption like every other week. he hates her guts but can’t stomach the thought of getting rid of her.

finally, eventually, they start to get along. or at least, the cat tolerates liam, and liam begrudgingly starts to like her back. they sit on the couch and watch tv together and judge people’s messy decisions on trashy soaps. the cat stops screaming at him to wake up in the middle of the night and instead walks all over him in his sleep and curls up on his neck to snooze. eventually, she stops trying to kill him. ultimately the cat definitely helps liam through his grief. she does not help the state of his wallet, though; she’s a classy lady and demands the finest of things in her home. liam still kinda hates her (affectionate). he doesn’t name her fiona but sometimes he imagines he’s raising a tiny, angry, traumatized baby fi. it helps.

[psilliguykai]

Happy [depending on your timezone belated-] 2nd birthday CCCC!!

I gotta eep now, but I might add some more thoughts tomorrow ^^

For now, thank you CCCC for being my intro to Chonny Jash, and thank you cj for all the awesome community and inspiration and joy you’ve brought me and so many other people. Your music and characters will always hold a special place in my Heart [haha] <33

[angeltism]

I'm still so embarrassed I need to apologize I need to say sorry I need to make up for doing such a fucking stupid thing . I just . somehow . managed to convince myself someone likes me romantically !!! ??? how fucking entitled am I to be so sure that someone likes me . without them directly saying it !!!! why am I so fucking stupid I hate this so much my lungs hurt why why why why

[aangelinakii]

BATBOYS + SITTING ON THEIR BACK DURING PUSH-UPS.

note : personally i would love someone to push up w me on their back ,,, and also no damian just becquse i couldn't rhink of a scenario soz aloz

BRUCE WAYNE.

the kids had forced offered bruce a night off, after performing his nightly duties too many months in a row. now, sitting in bed with a book, you found it difficult to concentrate on the printed words as your partner lingered on the floor by his side of the bed, his quick breaths huffing through your shared bedroom. what on earth could he be doing? flipping the corner of your page down to save your place, you folded the book shut and put it down, rolling over the bed to peer over the side... only to find your wonderous bruce wayne... doing push ups?

"what are you doing?" you'd chuckled with a soft shake of your head.

muscles rippling beneath the flesh of his back, bruce brought his body down, and then pushed himself back up again, his triceps straining against skin. with a grunt he glanced back at you, never ceasing movement. "i need to get energy out before i go to bed. mind you, i'm not usually relaxing by this time."

another laugh brushed past your lips. "then that's not tiring you out." but bruce only sent you another glance, more sheepish this time; you couldn't blame him, not being accustomed to how one normally retires for the evening.

before he could reply again, you were slinging a leg over the side of the mattress and landing on the plush carpeting. bruce's exercise ceased in curiosity, his head turning to run his gaze over your legs. "oh, no, don't stop on my behalf," you grinned, carefully tucking one of your shins along his back and lowing the rest of your weight onto him.

but bruce wayne didn't falter a bit.

instead, he took it in his stride, tucking his arms and moving down, and then pushing up even faster than he'd been doing before. but he couldn't hide the crescent of his eyes and lines at the corners of his mouth as they turned up — he could do this all night.

DICK GRAYSON.

bullets of sweat shot to the floor with each punch, his flesh grunting against the boxing bag hanging from the ceiling. it never had the chance to swing too far, for he was already hitting it from the other side. although you weren't going as hard at it as your boyfriend, your own limbs were straining from exercise.

with a loud exhale, dick stepped away from the swinging sand bag, holding out a shaking hand to steady it. before it could stop, he was already moving to one of the ready-laid mats.

without a second too long of a break, he was down on his palms, moving up and down, his triceps tensing and bulging in his flesh. the way he kept glancing at you every few moments was making it very difficult to focus on your own workout.

ceasing your movements, you looked over at him with crossed arms. "anything i can help you with?" it was half a joke, expecting him to just grunt a chuckle and shake his head, getting caught red-handed checking you out. instead, he allowed a few seconds' silence, and then hummed.

"yes, actually." his voice was strained against his action, but he'd be damned if he stopped now just to speak. "come here, will you?"

it's not like you're busy or anything. but who were you to deny one dashingly handsome dick grayson your time and energy; especially when that's what you were dating him for.

unable to bite back a smile, you made your way over. "okay... what now?"

"sit on my back."

despite the tension in his throat as he spoke, dick didn't pause his push-ups — and you were supposed to sit on him like this? right...

however strange it may have been to try sit down on a moving man's back, the sheer fact dick could push-up your body weight made it worth it (no matter how many times you fell off before finally sticking it).

JASON TODD.

relaxing days — no work, no appointments, nothing to do — had to be the best days. especially here, as you and jason lay belly-down on the floor, using your glorious free time to complete a puzzle book you'd found at the grocery store the other day.

well... jason was belly-down on the floor; you were belly-down on his back, peering over his shoulder and pointing at the page, giving your contributions.

it got to the point where you were both on the last page, pen marks etched into the paper from where you'd scribbled answers and numbers and words, but you were stumped. with a huff, jason flicked the pen from his fingers, landing with a thump a metre away. "how are they gonna make puzzles you can't even solve? stupid..."

"hey, hey," you chuckled, bringing your fingers to scratch lovingly at his jaw. "i can get us a new one. want to go now?" as the words left your mouth, you moved one leg from where it lay entwined with his, preparing to get ready for an outing.

but jason was too quick, and too stubborn. before you could react, he'd pulled one arm from beneath him and lightly pressed down on your back, keeping you in place. "no, i'm joking," he mumbled. "please, let's just stay."

anything for him.

and so you fell limp against him once more, arms folding beneath your chin so you could rest your head, eyes fluttering closed. silence ran through the apartment, aside from the soft workings of jason's breathing beneath your ear; outside the city buzzed, but, by now, it was more background noise. perhaps a little nap wouldn't hurt—

something was moving beneath you, and your eyes shot open in alarm, arms shooting out from beneath you and clinging to the nearest thing – which happened to be around jason's waist. although you weren't moving, the coffee table beside you was bobbing up and down, and you couldn't possiblt fathom what was happning, until you realised...

"don't want to miss a workout," jason grunted from below, as if reading your mind. no lazy day was truly lazy when you had a jason peter todd to mind.

TIM DRAKE.

"i bet i could do that," tim spoke from the other end of the couch, where his socked feet were prodding your legs, probably in a surreptitious attempt to get them massaged. "no sweat."

you glanced between the tv and him, your lovely boyfriend tim, who would come up in the dictionary if you searched for the word overzealous. on the screen, playing the scene of a bizarre film you'd flipped to, the main love interest was working out when the main character stumbled into the room; there was some fleeting dialogue, and then, before you could find an explanation for it, she was sitting on his back as he continued his workout.

"what, you—" now when you looked over at tim, he had that wide grin on his face, and you knew you were in for something. "you want to try it now?"

without much of an answer, tim was rising to his feet, adjusting the waistband of the linen pyjama pants he wore, and fell to his hands and knees. "i mean, if you insist," he scoffed playfully. "try not to fall in love with me even more."

something about this didn't feel right... tim was certainly muscular, certainly strong — you'd seen him in action — but you didn't have much trust in him this time. regardless of your worries, you shimmied from your seat on the couch and carefully arranged yourself, legs crossed, on tim's back.

he only shook a bit at first, his legs now outstretched behind him, arms firm as logs. but he wasn't moving, just frozen in the plank position.

peering over his shoulder at him, you asked, "what's with the hold-up?"

pink in the cheeks, jaw clenched, tim's voice barely came out through his teeth. "yeah, just... wait—"

carefully – and very slowly – tim lowered himself, and in addition you, down, until his toned chest was millimetres away from the floor, and then, just as slowly, he pushed back against the ground.

once he was back in his starting position, he shifted beneath you, almost toppling you overboard. "okay, okay, i'm done!" he gasped. "my abs are gonna kill me!"

DUKE THOMAS.

being sick for the past week, you'd found it difficult to encourage yourself out of the house to go visit the gym — so, instead, you'd resorted to working out at home.

duke returned home the moment the sun began to dip below darkening clouds, his warmth radiating through the house as he closed the door behind him. he called something into the living room, but it went unheard beneath the instructions playing on the telly.

"oh, you working out?" he hummed as he entered, raking his eyes over your form and the synchronised movements on the tv screen.

mid-movement, you grunted a yeah, and duke edged around you to sit on the couch.

finally, when your break came, you collapsed to your mat and turned to him, grabbing your water bottle on the coffee table. "how was patrol?" you breathed.

the corners of duke's mouth turned up in a grin, clearly bemused by the sheen of sweat along your brow. "yeah, great." his eyes glanced over to the screen — two more minutes of your break, and it looked like you'd be attempting a five-minute plank. "mind if i work in with you?"

you glanced back, sipping at your water, and gave a half-chuckle. "i would've thought you'd be too tired for more exercise."

duke's bottom lip jutted out with a casual shrug. "i've missed you, we can do it together."

unfortunately, you couldn't ignore that little smile, that charm he held like a secret. and so you put your water bottle back on the table and duke joined you, beside your mat.

when the timer was up, you braced yourself for your plank, but duke, also on his knees, caught your attention — some stupid smile lingered on his lips, like he had a cheeky plan. "i don't know if a plank will be difficult enough for me."

"well done," you scoffed playfully. "just because it's easy for you, doesn't mean it's easy for me."

he held out a hand to diffuse any wrong ideas. "no, i just meant i think i know a way to break a sweat."

at this, you eyed him suspiciously, albeit curiously. before you could question him any further, he was on his palms and tip of his toes, gesturing you to sit on his back.

after a few "are you crazy?"s, you found yourself sitting on his back, trying not to touch him too much with your overly-warm limbs, lowering and raising with ease, your youtube workout by now forgotten.

[maidenvault]

During my last rewatch of the prequels I was actually shocked by how much I've misremembered or decontextualized certain moments in my mind because of how they're often talked about in fandom as showing the Jedi as too arrogant, too bureaucratic, generally just burying their heads in the sand while everything goes bad etc. So I'm gonna try to address every individual scene that typically gets brought up to argue that this is an actual theme in Lucas's portrayal of the Order.

The Council doesn't take Qui-Gon's account of meeting a Sith seriously.

Mace and Ki Adi Mundi do both express doubt this guy could be a Sith. (Understandably! Historically they've never known Sith to be able to hide their existence, and for them to have survived totally in secret for a thousand years is a pretty wild thing for Qui-Gon to be so sure of.)

BUT Yoda admits that the dark side is hard to see, and Mace assures Qui-Gon they'll do everything to find out the identity of the attacker. Later he's ordered to go back to Naboo and try to draw out Maul to discover more. Qui-Gon accepts this and doesn't ask for backup. Why should he? He held his own against Maul before, and Maul's probably not gonna show himself again to face a ton of Jedi. They end up missing the chance to learn who trained Maul because of how things go down, but Qui-Gon's death isn't the result of the Council mishandling the situation.

At the funeral, Yoda says the presence of one Sith means there's another out there. They know they've got to be on guard now and will be, but they've got no more leads for now.

2. Qui-Gon's not here to free slaves.

There's this idea that slavery existing on Tatooine shows the Order is apparently too tied up doing shady things for self-interested politicians (footage not found) to help the people who really need it. But Padme's shocked to know the Skywalkers are slaves for a reason. The truth is there isn't a lot of slavery in the galaxy at this time because the Jedi have helped keep it that way for centuries only by working with the Republic. In TCW we see that Zygerrian slavers have a particular hatred of Jedi because they're literally The Anti Slavery People and did so much of the work to crack down on their trade. But Tatooine is controlled by the Hutts and they simply don't have the resources to start a war with them.

(And honestly, it's crazy how people talk like Qui-Gon's a monster for honestly and apologetically telling Anakin no, that's not why he's here. This is a child he's already indebted to and who has a hero-worshipping idea of Jedi, it would be fucked up for him not to be clear about how he can't help him and his mom.)

3. They doubt Dooku could be behind the assassination attempt.

This I understand shows the Jedi to be a little naive. But they knew Dooku as a good man, and at this point he and his followers are still putting on a show of wanting to secede for idealistic reasons (and a few of them, manipulated by Dooku, actually do have good intentions). Only later do the Jedi learn they're illegally building an army before they've even officially left the Republic and clearly have no interest in the peaceful resolution Padme's been advocating for. And they only find this out because they have Obi-Wan investigate the assassin and this very quickly leads him to Dooku.

4. "Arrogance, yes. A trait more and more common among Jedi. Even the older, more experienced ones."

In context, this line from Yoda is clearly not meant to be taken so seriously. Obi-Wan says he fears Anakin is too arrogant, and this is Yoda's light-hearted way of telling him not to be so hard on him. Part of training a Padawan is learning to trust them so they can grow, and Obi-Wan perhaps needs the reminder that he isn't done learning himself.

Of course Yoda saying this could be partly motivated by them having been caught off guard before by the existence of Darth Maul and the dark side clouding their awareness, as we're told repeatedly throughout the PT they know is a problem. But it's kind of contradictory to take this as confirmation that this is a serious fatal flaw of theirs. If someone acknowledges their own arrogance then they're aware of their ability to be wrong, which means they can't actually be that arrogant. If truly meant in a general sense and not just as a gentle reproof of Obi-Wan, it's a pretty self-deprecating comment coming from Yoda.

5. "If an item does not appear in our records, it does not exist."

Chief Librarian Jocasta Nu gives this haughty response to Obi-Wan looking for Kamino, a system that's not in the Jedi Archives. So being so overly confident in the infallible knowledge of the Jedi, he takes her word for it and totally drops this lead.

Except no, he goes to someone older and wiser to figure out what this actually means. And he and Yoda are forced to conclude that the unthinkable - a trusted person among them somehow had reason to erase information from the archive - must nonetheless be what happened. This is honestly an exception that proves the rule: Kamino, and we can assume only Kamino, is missing from the archive only because it was removed, which is so suspicious it just shows he must be on the right track to discovering something. Jocasta is kind of snooty about it but theirs obviously is supposed to be one of the most accurate and complete databases in the galaxy.

6. Obi-Wan doesn't believe what Dooku tells him about the Senate.

For one thing, in this conversation Dooku's lying about basically everything but this. And I can't ever stress enough that Palpatine is a threat unlike anything the Jedi have ever dealt with before, who's already taken control of so much before they even know they're fighting anything, so the idea that a Sith is controlling the Senate would be really hard for anyone to believe.

Still, we know Obi-Wan reports this to the Council anyway. But it's a vague statement and they still don't have any information to act on. Palpatine soon has them very busy putting out fires in the war, and naturally fighting the Separatists who are led by Sith seems the best way for them to get to the bottom of what exactly is going on with the dark side. And they do finally turn their attention to how power-hungry Palpatine is getting once the war is nearly over and they've got the bandwidth for it, and think about what they might have to do if he's the threat to their democracy they fear, but of course he's too many steps ahead of them all the time.

---

So basically, what we see the Jedi being so guilty of in these examples are thought crimes. When confronted with the crazy explanation that happens to be true, their instinctive reaction is "No, I don't think that's possible." And then they do their due diligence to uncover as much of the truth as they can anyway. And Yoda, the Grand Master of them all, is often the first to admit that their first assumptions could be wrong. But Palpatine wouldn't be a good villain if his moves were predictable and he couldn't get an advantage over the good guys - that's just how storytelling works sometimes and it's not that deep.

It honestly felt stupid typing so much of this out because it's 90% just describing what actually happens in these scenes. But I guess it's a lot to ask that people actually carefully watch the films they discuss. 😒

[furioussheepluminary]

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭

Pairing: chan x afab!reader, established relationship

Synopsis: aftercare of aftercare of love time with your baby. And maybe a casual proposal??

Warnings: kisses, suggestive references, fluff, more kisses, strawberries, anything else?

A/n: in my defense the month of love isn't over. 1/3 complete.

“You awake?” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You hummed contentedly, nuzzling closer to him.

“You tired?”

“I’m okay, baby. More than perfect.”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Good. I was worried I’d tire you out.” “Now, now let’s not go on assuming you were that good.” You teased, grinning against his skin.

The sheets were a mess, so to say, twisted around your bare legs.

Chan gasped in mock offence, tilting his head to look down at you. “Excuse me? You were literally begging a few minutes ago.” A warm flush crept up your neck. “Shut up,” you mumbled, hiding your face against him. He laughed lightly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

He placed another soft press of lips on your shoulder, the corner of your jaw, the space just between your ear. Languid, unhurried touches to make the moment last a little longer.

“You hungry?” Chan asked, after placing a longer kiss on your cheek. “Yes, please.” He paused and let out a deep amused laugh. “Guess I wore you out for real.” You groaned dramatically. Before you could protest, he rolled out of bed, stretching with a satisfied groan. The dim lights caught on the sharp lines of his body- broad shoulders, toned arms, your hickeys, the way the sheets barely hung unto his hips as he stood. Oops-

Your cheeks heated up fast as your eyes roamed shamelessly. “You really gonna walk around like that?” he smirked over his shoulder. “Why? Distracted?” Smug idiot. You threw a pillow at him. “This isn’t your dorm, Bang.” Still laughing he disappeared into the kitchen.

The soft sounds of waves crashing against the shore outside, their rhythmic melody blending with the distant hum of the city. The scent of sea salt lingered in the cool evening air, crawling in through the slightly open balcony door. The beach stretched out beyond the horizon, the moon casting a silvery glow over the water, but inside, in the warmth of the dimly lit bedroom, the world felt much much smaller- just the two of you, surrounded in the afterglow.

When he had gotten back to Australia, Chan had truly outdone himself for Valentine’s. A private beachfront house (because why not?), candlelit dinner, beach walks along the shore that had sand clinging to your feet as the water lapped at your ankles. The company had given him a week off to spend some time with you for the holiday. He went all in for this mini getaway just to spend with you, that made you feel like time had ceased. You had told him that staying at your place was more than okay, but being the stubborn human, he is, he insisted that you went on this together. It was small, intimate and perfect.

Hours after love had been made that night and confessions had faded into soft moans and breathless laughter, you lay tangled in the sheets with him, wrapped in his warmth. His body was pressed against yours, his bare chest against your back, arm draped lazily over your waist as his finger skimmed absentminded patterns along your skin.

Chan arrived with a bowl of chocolate covered strawberries.

“You’re going all out with this Valentine’s thing, I swear.” He plopped back onto the bed, pulling you into his lap before holding up a strawberry. “Had to do something for my girl.” Your heart melted as you took a bite, the flavor bursting on your tongue. Chan watched with soft eyes before leaning in to kiss away the juice lingering on your lips. The kiss deepened, burning slow and indulgent, a contrast to the passion from earlier. He nibbled on your bottom lip before pulling back, his forehead resting on yours.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice full of sincerity.

You smiled brushing you thumb over his cheek. “I love you too, Chan.”

More cuddling. More kisses. More jokes. More strawberries. It was the perfect night and you didn’t need anything more. You hummed, stretching slightly against him before turning to face him. The bedside lamp cast dim shadows over his face- his tousled curls, his soft, now swollen lips, the faint smirk tugging at his mouth.

“I think I ate too much,” you groaned, shifting to glance at the mostly empty plate of chocolate covered strawberries on the nightstand. Chan chuckled, fingers grazing your stomach gently, yet teasingly. “Told you to pace yourself, baby.”

You shot him a playful glare. “Excuse me, Mr. Let’s Have a Second Round of Snacks after a Second Round of-”

His hands flew to your mouth before you could finish. His face heating “Okay, okay, no need to expose me like that. The other guests may hear you.” you licked his palm. And he pulled with a disgusted groan. “Why are you like this…?”

“Don’t ask. You love it anyway. You decided to date this version.” He rolled his eyes but pulled you closer, letting out a content sigh. “Yeah, I do.”

Comfortable silence brewed over you two, only rarely broken by the distant sound of waves. The sheets smelled faintly of the candles he lit earlier, some still flickering. Peach? Yeah, peach. You could stay like this forever. How could you ever repay him for making you feel so good? For spending so much on the both of you? Then Chan’s voice broke through, pushing away your train of thoughts casually yet teasing.

“So, like…marriage.”

You stopped mid- reach for another strawberry. “Huh?”

He grinned, nudging your cheek with his nose. “I mean, were already great at living together, sharing food, stealing the blankets-” “You steal the blankets,” you sharply corrected.

“-And,” he continued, ignoring you, “we’re obviously obsessed with each other.” He kissed your shoulder then your jaw, voice dipping into something softer. “Wouldn’t be so bad right?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. Are you saying all this cause its Valentines Day?” he smirked “Maybe. Maybe not.” You snorted. “Y’know I’d be very sweet about it,” his voice became softer now, “I’d just say, ‘Hey, wanna do this forever?’”

In the weirdest way, your chest ached. Of course, you wanna do this with him forever.

“That’s not bad.” His eyes softened. “Yeah?” you nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. He leaned in capturing your mouth in a slow lingering kiss, one that spoke of forever without needing anymore words. “Noted,” he murmured against your lips. “For the future.”

The waves rolled outside and the night stretched on. You were in for the long run. And boy, were you happy.

Oh my gawd it's so short. I apologize...heh..

1/3. Complete

Taglist: purple means I can't tag you

@pixie-felix @jitrulyslayyed @pessimisticloather @imagine-all-the-imagines @leeknow-minho2 @imeverycliche @jc27s @necrozica @sh0dor1 @yoongiismylove2018 @idiotmaterial @makeawitchoutofme

y'all blog names....

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~kc 💗

[hanniebaeee]

Jisung's Baby Fever

Jisung x fem!reader

Warnings: suggestive? MDNI

Genre: established relationship, fluff

Summary: You and Jisung are out at the beach, and witnessing a certain interaction has Jisung experiencing a wild case of baby fever.

It was a beautiful day. Sunny and warm - and Jisung had a free day in forever, so you two were at the beach. The sand was warm beneath your knees as you smoothed out the walls of the sandcastle.

A little moat encircled the castle, complete with a small bridge made from a piece of driftwood you found earlier.

"Masterpiece," you muttered to yourself as you leaned back to admire your work. 

Jisung sat on a beach towel, sunglasses perched low on his nose as he watched you, strumming his guitar. 

"Masterpiece? Sure," he teased, a smirk pulling at his lips.

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. "Don’t insult the castle you didn't lift a single finger to help build."

"I’m supervising, and providing the background score," he quipped, strumming the guitar harder. "You’re welcome."

He put his guitar aside with a grin and laid back, his arms folded under his head. 

Before you could fire back, a tiny voice interrupted, "Can I help?"

You looked down to see a little girl, no older than three, clutching a bright pink bucket and looking up at you with wide, hopeful eyes. Her mum waved from a beach towel nearby, giving you an apologetic look. 

"Of course you can!" you said warmly, giving her mum a thumbs up, and shifting over to make room. "Here, you can be in charge of the turrets."

The girl giggled happily and announced that her name is Mina, plopping down beside you and immediately getting to work. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and soon the two of you were modifying the castle. You helped her scoop wet sand into her bucket, and look for shells and other things for decoration. Mina squealed in joy as you showed her some sea glass and you both got back to your castle, giggling. 

Jisung propped himself on one elbow as he watched the scene unfold. Ok. Wow. What's going on?

His heart twisted in ways he hadn’t expected. The sight of you laughing with the little girl, doing something as simple as building a sandcastle, hit him hard. He watched in silence for a good fifteen minutes.

“Look at her, Sungie!” You said, with a little laugh, watching the little one put shells on the castle.

"She’s adorable," Jisung said, his voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. "But, uh... I think it’s time to go home."

"Already? We just got here." You frowned.

He ran a hand through his hair, visibly flustered.

"Yeah, well, I’m... feeling some things. And it’s kinda a lot." He said, grabbing his guitar because he needed to ground himself. 

“Feeling things? What things?” You asked, eyebrows raised. 

"It means I’m looking at you playing mom over here, and it’s doing things to me," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "Like, maybe-we-should-make-one-of-our-own kind of things."

Your eyes went wide as you said, "I’m sorry. What?!"

"I’m just saying. You’re over here building castles with babies, and now I’m thinking about babies. Specifically ours." Jisung shrugged, trying and failing to appear nonchalant.

"Han Jisung!" you hissed, glancing at the Mina, who was too engrossed in her work to notice. "You can’t just say stuff like that!"

"Why not? You’re the one who started this," he teased, leaning in closer. "This is all your fault."

You huffed, turning back to the castle to hide the blush creeping up your neck. "I’m not abandoning my new bestie just because you’re having an existential crisis."

"Existential crisis?" he repeated, feigning offense. "I’ll have you know this is a perfectly rational reaction to seeing my insanely hot wife being ridiculously good with kids."

"Goodbye, Jisung," you said flatly, refusing to look at him.

"Fine," he said, standing and brushing off the sand. "If you won’t come willingly..."

Jisung looked over at the girl's mum and said, “Your little girl is amazing, she's such a joy!”

And the lady smiled, thanking him. And he said, “We're kinda heading back, so -”

You glared at him as he made small talk with Mina's mum as she came over, and then she thanked you for playing with her daughter. 

You gave Mina a little high five before helping Jisung gather your things with a stony expression. He could see that you were miffed as you followed him really slow. When you two were a safe distance away from the family, Jisung struck.

You barely had time to process what he was doing before he scooped you up in his arms.

"Jisung!" you squealed, wriggling as he started walking toward the car. "Put me down!"

"Not a chance," he said, grinning. "You're slacking."

“Jisung, I swear to God!”

"You’re gonna thank me later, babe. Promise." Jisung chuckled, tightening his hold on you.

"I don't even know what to do with you," you grumbled, though you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips.

"You love it," he shot back, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "Now let’s go. We’ve got a baby to plan."

“Oh my God! You can't just-”

He interrupted you by popping open the back door loudly and set you down gently on the seat.

"Okay, thanks for the ride. You can go now," you said, crossing your arms in mock indignation.

But instead of shutting the door and heading to the driver’s seat, Jisung climbed in after you, closing the door behind him.

"What are you doing?" You gave him a suspicious look. 

"I think you need some convincing," he said matter-of-factly, settling in beside you.

"Convincing me of what?”

"That we need to fast-track this whole ‘baby’ thing. Like, today."

"Have you lost your mind, Ji?" You asked with a soft laugh. 

"Probably," he admitted, leaning in closer with a grin. "But can you blame me? You were out there looking all cute and mom-like, and now my brain won’t shut up about how amazing you’d look holding our baby. You’re doing this to me, babe. This is your fault."

"Oh really?" you asked, trying to keep a straight face as he edged even closer.

"Listen," he said, his voice dipping lower as his gaze locked onto yours. "I’m serious. I was sitting there, minding my own business, and then suddenly, bam - baby fever. And it’s bad, babe. Real bad."

You laughed, shaking your head. "You are ridiculous."

"You should see yourself through my eyes right now. You’re beautiful, you’re amazing with kids, and you’re mine. And I’m just sitting here wondering how I got this lucky and how fast I can get you to come home with me."

His words made your heart do a funny little flip, even as you tried to keep things light.

"Jisung, you can’t just throw around words like that and expect me to go with it."

"Ahh babe," he murmured, leaning in until his nose was almost brushing yours. "I just need you to kiss me and admit that I’m right."

"Right about what?" you asked, your voice a teasing whisper.

"Right about us," he said softly, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. "Right about how we’d be amazing parents. Right about how we’re meant to be going home and working on the baby making right now."

You didn’t have a clever comeback for that. Instead, your heart thudded loudly in your chest as he closed the small gap between you, his lips brushing against yours.

The kiss was soft at first, almost tentative, but it quickly deepened as his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His other hand rested on your waist, anchoring you to him.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, a triumphant smirk tugging at his lips.

"So," he said, his voice low and teasing. "Are you convinced yet? Or do I need to keep going?"

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t hide your smile. "You’re impossible."

"I think you mean irresistible," he countered, leaning in for another kiss. "Now, how about we head home and make some magic happen?"

You laughed, pushing him away playfully. "You’re lucky I love you, Han Jisung. But fine. Let’s go."

"That���s my girl," he said, pulling you close one last time before climbing out of the back seat to let you take the wheel.

And as you settled in for the ride, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, he was right.

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @lezleeferguson-120

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 3]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: Teaching a Siren to read is perhaps the best or worst idea that you've ever had. If only you were half as capable of reading between the lines.

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

‘U-G-L-Y’

“Wow,” you drawled. “What a wonderful use of your new talents.”

The fish you were cooking landed upside down on the hot stone with a crackling sizzle of skin that you could feel as a jumping prickle of heat all along your arm. You poked at your impromptu stovetop with your impromptu stick-spatula and prepared your impromptu leaf-plates. A true culinary connoisseur, you were. When you were rescued, you were going to argue to Riddle that you deserved a promotion to the kitchens. Though, apparently not everyone appreciated your talents.

‘UGLY’ the Siren poked again, jabbing his talon into the sand.

“Then bring me prettier fish,” you returned, pointed. “It’s not that hard.”

His sharp, black claws came up to point at you next alongside his wonderful, two-syllable insult. Then back to you again, with four fingers this time. Both hands going for it. There was a tight, irritated expression on his face that you refused to call a pout because firstly, surely this vicious king of the seas could never pull something so childish. And secondly, because in these past few days you’d developed a terrible habit of just chattering each and every one of your thoughts aloud. And if you called him bratty, or dared imply such pouting was coming from his regal visage, you were just setting yourself up to get drenched by his flailing tail all over again.

“You can’t hurt my feelings,” you said, bland. “Ugly is the nicest thing you’ve ever called me.”

He huffed and smacked his fins against the sand. The trailing, dark tips cracked against your leg and you kicked him right back. It didn’t actually hurt, no more than a pinch to the side, but you’d spent enough time with this asshole now that not fighting back like a toddler pitching a tantrum wasn’t an option anymore.

Just over two weeks, now. Fifteen days and counting.

Those first few days had been spent in a nervous, prey-like panic, of course. Watching him circle the bay with his shredded fins, crying at the top of his lungs until your goosebumps had goosebumps. And then you’d helped untangle him from the mess you’d made, delicately working salt-brined twine away from weeping wounds. Sure, there’d been that whole hoopla of him pinning you in the sand after your act of Great Chivalry and promptly threatening to rip your throat out with his teeth, but you’d moved past that. The offering of home-cooked meals had softened his scaly hide, and then the even greater move of handing him your species’ alphabet like some great, guarded secret of old had sealed the deal. Cheers all around. It’d only taken you nearly being eaten, disemboweled, and drowned, but you’d made peace with your roommate. What a success story.

And now instead of trying to murder you, he just called you U-G-L-Y.

So, you know, baby steps.

The thin, pointed end of his tail whipped up from where you’d kicked him to twine around your ankle and give a sharp tug that had you sprawling face first into the sand with an oomph. Your great tumble sent all those pretty letters of his scattering in the breeze, and you spat out a mouthful of grit.

“Here’s a new one for you,” you chirped, digging your fingers into the muck. F-U-C-K—Y-O-U.

The Siren yowled, which you’d come to recognize far too well as a prickle along your nape and that forever echoing tug, tug, tug somewhere in your head that could never return the call with its corresponding answer. His tail flailed out again to smack at your hands. It was thick, and scaly, and all smooth, powerful muscle. The fact that he hadn’t crushed your poor fingers into a sad, bony paste by now beneath its wrath was a miracle. If you were a more optimistic person, you’d say he was being extra gentle with you on purpose. But even you weren’t delusional enough to think he liked you that much.

“Okay, okay,” you grouched, spitting out another mouthful of pebbles. “Fine. Just not around the food. Unless you want to have to go hunting for dinner all over again.”

The Siren huffed, rolling his eyes like it was a professional sport, and settled himself prettily back against the butt of his tail like he’d never even tried to beat you to death with his fins at all.

You sighed and pulled yourself back out of the sand, scrubbing it from your salt-sticky skin as best as you were able. You returned to poking at your fish. They weren’t too terribly singed, despite your distraction. And the Siren seemed to like the edges extra crispy either way, so it wasn’t any kind of loss. You were in the middle of balancing your impromptu stick-spatula against another impromptu stick-spoon to try and flip the fish without destroying it entirely when you felt a gentle poke, poke, poke against your arm.

You looked back and the Siren stared down at you, lips canted in a sharp smirk that was all pride.

U-G-L-Y—A-N-D—S-T-U-P-I-D, the sand said.

He’d been struggling with applying the whole -pid noise to the proper lettering, because of how similar it was to -ped. And the spelling had been tripping him up (with much obvious frustration) for the last day or so.

“Well done,” you sighed, not even too terribly upset that it had taken you months in Riddle’s impromptu classrooms to learn what he was picking up over the course of a few, harried sessions delivered with broken bits of sharp sticks and an ever changing canvas. “Try this.”

You scribbled another message in the sand. An insult, naturally, because he seemed to like those. You sounded out the letters as you hopped the tip of your finger over them one-by-one, and the Siren stared down at the inscription with the sort of intense focus meant for ancient tomes or sacred texts. You watched his lips move silently as he sounded it out alongside your mini-lesson, and then he was reaching forward to trace over the letters with the curved tip of a claw—knuckles bumping yours for a moment before shooing your hand away.

You returned to your dinner—finishing up the poor, murdered fish as best as you could and doling it out as usual. You reached out to hand pretty boy his leaf-plate, which he took like a lord accepting a meal from a lowly servant. All upturned noses and pointed disinterest. He set it beside him and nibbled on the offering as he continued to study the new task you’d given him—grand, purple fins splayed out at his sides to brush against your hip like a habit. And this was your life now, apparently. Sitting and frying lazy, shallow water fish over a heated stone while your Siren student studied curse words in the sand. If you managed to survive this, no one would ever believe you.

.

.

The wrecked ship called to you like, well, did you even have to say it.

(It felt like a low hanging pun at this point. You’d never be able to use the expression again for as long as you lived without thinking of narrowed, purple eyes nearly rolling up into the back of a too pretty head because you were apparently that annoying.)

Every day when you ventured towards the western side of the islet to feed your teeny, round octopus friend, you couldn’t help but sit and stare at the shattered hull. It’s not like it was in any sort of shape to actually get you off your little, sandy prison, but it was… There was something about it that was familiar enough to scratch an itch in your brain, but just alien enough that figuring out what was itching was outright impossible.

Silver songbirds.

‘Not safe,’ the Siren had demanded, with an almost frantic look to him. Not safe.

Every time you tried to venture closer to get a better look, it was like he could feel it. And he’d be pacing the shoreline like a blood-frenzied shark—rattling off muted, angry complaints the whole time that popped against your skin like soda fizz. So, lesson learned. Keep away.  

It was a particularly sweltering afternoon today. Not a cloud in the bright, blue sky and nary a breeze to be seen. Sweat was beading unpleasantly along your brow and all down your back, and you hated it. At least on the Rose Queen there had been shade. And the lower decks of the ship submerged in the waves had always felt at least a little chilled. You could practically feel the damp, cool wood against your cheek. The smell of salt and pine oils in your nose. But here, on this stupid not-island with its barren trees and nothings, you just had to suffer in silence. The memories of your ship had you thinking of the washed up Songbird all over again, and you were in the middle of a heated, internal debate over making a swim for it again when something cold rained down over your face in small, scattered droplets.

You blinked back into focus to see Mister Merman at your ankles. You’d been sitting with your heels in the water, but no deeper. Because the shallows were still his territory, and while he hadn’t tried to hold you under in a while now, it was hard to forget something like that so easily. You didn’t really want to chance it if a foul mood struck him, no matter what sort of fragile truce seemed to exist between the pair of you lately.

Last you’d looked he’d been sunning himself on one of the wide, flat rocks—as he was wont to do. Lavender-tipped hair splayed out along his cheeks in a pool of soft gold and fins spread at his hips like the finest, plum silks. How he never seemed to burn with that delicate, ivory skin of his you had no idea. Maybe it was a Magical, Mystical, Merman perk yet undocumented. Or maybe he was just Like That. But he’d been snoozing away on his favorite boulder, and now he had rolled in with the tide to lounge by your toes. His fingers were spread, still dripping with sea water from where he’d flicked you in the face. You frowned at him—partly curious, but also pissilly blinking salt out of your eyes that stung, because come on dude.

He flicked more water your way and said something that you couldn’t manage to catch the shape of. When you didn’t respond with anything other than a pointed scrub of the water dripping down your cheeks, he reached out to wrap a clawed hand around your ankle and give a gentle tug.

“What?” you frowned, confused, and he tugged again.

He canted his head towards you, and then out to the cove behind him. He slipped back with the soft, frothy roll of the waves—just a foot or two—and clearly meant to pull you with him. You slid against the sandbar with a yelp and dug your heels into the muck to keep from getting yanked all the way in.

“No way,” you snipped, kicking a mess of water into his face. He didn’t even blink, just frowned down at you with a twisty sort of petulance. “I thought we were over this. If you drown me you won’t get any more cooked food, y’know. And I, in turn, would very much like to not be drowned. Win, win.”

That frown of his went stiff, and his lips twitched down at the corners. His amethyst eyes darted away and for a moment you swore that those gemstone irises flashed with something almost like guilt. He rolled forward with the next curl of surf and pressed a claw into the damp, dark sand at your hip. He scratched out a careful message, stubbornly refusing to meet your gaze all the while.

Won’t, it said.

“Forgive me for not believing that,” you returned, dry. “You’re oh-for-two now, I think. And, you know, fool me twice, and all that.” Though maybe the first one didn’t really count, seeing how you were both tangled together and sinking to the bottom in a mutual sort of destruction. But whatever. You were keeping it.

The Siren’s brow pinched in the middle and he reached forward to dig his claws in again.

Accident.

Your own brows jumped nearly to your hairline. You were just about to politely point out that dragging someone to the bottom of the ocean until they were bubbling from the nose and flailing wasn’t really an accident,but then you remembered the startled look on his face. The way he hadn’t stopped you from clawing your way back to the surface and how he’d carefully helped tow you back towards the shore after. And… maybe he hadn’t really meant it. It had to be strange, probably. Being able to thrive so easily below the waves and then be faced with someone who would die if they were left facedown in a puddle.  

“…Fine,” you huffed, and his eyes jumped back up to yours with all cat-in-the-cream smugness. “But just because I’m about to drop from heatstroke. Not because you asked.”

The Siren rolled his eyes at you and returned to dragging you by your ankles into the shallows.

The bay really was very lovely. It was crystalline clear and the sort of brilliant blue that you’d never even known existed until you’d left the land for a life on the open ocean. The sand below your feet was soft and white, with barely any pebbles or broken bits of shell to dig into your toes. You watched a few crabs scurry out of the way as you were led deeper and deeper, but most of the cove’s occupants were spoiled and slow. Unbothered by this weird, fleshy, bipedal creature stepping past because they’d never known anything else. Once you hit waist-deep, the Siren let go of you to sink more fully into the water. He swam around you in a languid, looping circle—plum fins cresting the surface to flick water against your arms and scales shining like polished glass in the sunlight. It was still far too shallow for him to move around in earnest with how massive that tail of his was, and how wide and trailing his great, beta-like fins were, but he was still elegant. Still fast and flexible as he swam rings around you like an orbit.

“Show off,” you scoffed, but couldn’t quite bite back the grin twitching at your lips.

Because creature from the deep trying to devour your crew or not, Sirens really were so impressive, weren’t they? Straight out of a storybook, and deserving of every song and tale attributed to them.

You reached out before you could help yourself to run your fingers along his tail. The scales were smooth, and sleek, and cool against your palm. The wispy ends of his fins caught along your fingers, but other than a bit of a tangle, you almost managed to run your hand along the whole of it. And what was it? Eight feet? Ten? Bigger than you at least, that was for sure. It wasn’t like anything you’d ever felt. No fish, or whale hide, or shark. Something entirely of its own.

You realized on the next loop when your fingers danced over a patch of still healing scales that you’d felt already that he had most definitely realized your err in personal space, and was letting you poke about on purpose. You glanced up, embarrassed and warm faced, to see the tail end of a smirk quirking out from the water’s surface. Preening bastard.

You turned up your nose and waded deeper. There was a ripple in the water around you, like a chuckle, and he returned to his looping circles. Occasionally his tail would brush up against you to get you to jump, but otherwise he kept his hands to himself and—as promised—did not attempt to wrestle you down to the sandy floor and your subsequent watery grave.

Once you’d made it up to your chest, the Siren was able to start his dance in earnest. He darted away to make a wide arc around the edge of the cove—sunshine catching on his scales like a glare on the water. He shot from one end to the other, so fast it was nearly dizzying to try and keep up with. And then he was back to circling your ankles all over again—tangling your legs in his fins and curling his talons against your calves to try and drag you deeper.

“Okay, okay,” you laughed, paddling after him until you were well and truly above your head. The bay wasn’t very deep, but there were a few areas that dipped down to at least fifteen feet. So soon enough you were bobbing like a top in the gentle surf as he looped around your idly kicking feet—brushing up along your ankles and tugging at the frayed edge of your shirt with his claws when he passed by.

When he next rose above the surface, you’d already taken in a big mouthful of water in preparation, and shot it right into his face. The Siren’s whole expression shriveled up like a hundred-year-old prune and you laughed so hard he had to curl his tail around your waist to keep you from dipping under the waves and choking yourself. You let him drag you around and only grabbed at his fins a little. He would dive below your feet and you’d sink after him. Not nearly as agile or adept, but competent enough to follow his little game of tag without losing completely within the first few seconds. It was—it was nice. Genuinely. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d swam for the fun of it. Way back when you’d first joined up with Riddle’s crew, maybe. It’d been a hot day, just like this one, and you’d been anchored in a safe, shallow inlet off the coast of an archipelago. Deuce and Ace had jumped in first, already brawling, and you’d dove in soon after. It’d been a mess, and Riddle had nearly hung the three of you up by your toes for it. But it’d been fun. Familial. Warm. Something you’d never forget. And while this moment didn’t feel entirely like that one had, there was something similar about it. Sure, you weren’t trying to give the Siren a bloody nose and there were no rock wars, but it was… well, it was nice.

By the end of it, he was swimming lazy, looping shapes around the cove, and you were being dragged alongside him like a raft—kept afloat by the curling press of his tail and relaxing in the afternoon sunshine with the cool ripples of the ocean water to keep you both comfortable in the heat.

“Do you do this a lot?” you asked, as you relaxed in the gentle lull of the surf. “With your pod, I mean.”

The Siren stiffened beneath you, but after a moment he nodded. Slow and rigid. Which—

Oh. Right.

“…sorry,” you mumbled, gaze darting away.

Because he was missing his family just as much as you were missing yours, wasn’t he?

All that frantic pacing at the start of your mutual stranding had just seemed to… fade away as the days passed. He would still circle the entrance of the cove some mornings, singing towards the skies and tilting his head—fins pricked as he searched for an answer. You’d feel it in your nerves, see the gulls overhead dipping in a trance and watch the crabs crawl up onto the sand like they were being dragged out by their little claws. But most of the time now he just… didn’t. He spent his days mumbling over the letters you showed him, or carefully preening over his healing fins and resting in the sun. Catching fish for you to prepare and roast, and taking his meals at your side as you both snipped at each other with sandy curse words. It was pleasant, this routine you’d fallen into together. But all the same, he never really stopped checking the ocean waters. And you could see a spark in his eyes, an itch. The same one that lit yours, no doubt, every time you caught yourself squinting for the outline of ships on the horizon.

The difference between the two of you, of course, was that in a few more days his scales would be healed enough to face the dangers of the open water alone. Life as a rogue mer was notoriously perilous. The lone Sirens were those that poachers were willing to risk battle with for a trophy. They were the ones caught in fishing nets, and found mauled by rival pods. But your Siren was smart. He was big, and strong, and impressive. He’d find a way to survive it, no doubt. One morning you’d wake up and he’d have darted off into the deep to search for his family. To go home. And you…

You would still be trapped here.

Alone.

Forever.

Rotting under the sun with no one to take you swimming in the afternoons. Or bring you clawed up fish to cook for dinner. Or to use your writing lessons just to insult you with scribbled words in the muck.

Which—that was what you’d wanted, wasn’t it? At the start of all of this.

And it was only fair, in the end. He was the better of the two of you, after all. Born and bred to thrive in the depths of the sea that would swallow you whole without a thought. And if either of you was going to survive, to find your home again, it was always going to be him. Maybe you’d be a story, like he would have been for you. The strange human with no ears, just like the rest of the pirates whispered about. Who taught him that fire could make fish extra tasty and that leaves could make perfectly serviceable plates if you tried hard enough.

You sighed, and bubbles of salt water frothed along your mouth.

The Siren raised his head from his own lazy sprawl to arch a brow at you in question, and you did the very mature thing of spitting water in his face all over again.

You ended up being dragged through the cove in a flurry of spitting, Siren rage. Laughing and laughing until he huffed and hauled you back to shore to keep you from swallowing any more seawater like the idiot that you were. And it was fine, really it was. He wasn’t so bad, not really. And if he was able to reunite with his pod once more after all those days of hollow wailing and pacing, pacing, pacing that had made something deep in your soul itch like a freshly scabbed wound that you just couldn’t stop picking, well, that wouldn’t be such a bad ending after all.

.

.

The next afternoon while you were out on your daily Octopus Wellness Check, you came across a piece of pale, purple sea glass mixed into the rocky shore. It was smooth to the touch and frosted over by the endless tumble of the tide. You held it up to the light and it sparkled just like the Siren’s scales.

“What do you think?” you asked the octopus as it grabbed shredded bits of fish with its chubby, little tentacles. “Do you want it? Or should I give it to—”

You blinked, startled, and realized all at once that you’d never learned the Siren’s name. Or given him yours. You’d just sort of been calling each other a variety of derogatory pseudonyms and hoping for the best. Which, huh. You hadn’t even realized you’d wanted to know his name. It wasn’t yours to take, of course. Let alone from someone who would no doubt be leaving so soon. But it was a thought.

“You always give the best advice, you know,” you told the teeny creature, and it hid from you like you were a great, looming monster of old. “Whether you meant to or not. Thanks for that.”

So on the way back to your cove, you picked through some tufts of beachgrass to find the longest, driest spikes. You began winding them together as you walked, and settled down in your favorite little corner of the inlet to continue your weaving. The Siren, naturally��being as nosy as he was—was immediately hovering over you like a child watching someone hold a bag of sweets just out of reach. You clutched your little project to your chest like a secret, and it had him puffing up in irritation and smacking his fins against your sides like your refusal to share whatever had caught your attention was a crime beyond comparison. He arched up as tall as he could to try and peer over your shoulder, and, in failing at that, just outright tried to snatch the thing from your hands.

“I won’t give it to you if you keep being a pest,” you warned, and immediately he was slipping back to rest on his stomach in the damp sand with a starbright curiosity in his eyes, chin pillowed atop his interlaced fingers and gaze following the movements of your hands like a cat tracking a mouse in its hole. Clearly the promise of it being a treat for him was mollification enough to keep him from hovering.

Once you’d braided a sturdy enough chain, you carefully twined it around the sea glass in a little, crisscrossing cage of fibers. Just knotted enough to keep the ocean-worn trinket safe and in place without hiding the shine of it. With that, you held up your trophy with a dramatic wave, and the Siren was popping up all over again. His amethyst glare tracked the swinging pendant with startling focus and a surprisingly wide-eyed spark of confusion.

“Here,” you said, reaching out to drop the makeshift necklace into his lap. He caught it in his claws, eyes still far too round with shock. “It made me think of your scales. I thought you might like it.”

He was staring down at the gift in utter silence. And not the normal sort of quiet either—where your broken eardrums simply refused to pick up on all his petulant grousing against your person. This was actual silence. His lips were parted like they were caught on a breath, but he wasn’t saying anything. Not even a complaint about how plain and ugly it was. He curled his claws daintily around the woven chain, as if he was afraid of tearing right through it with an accidental prick, and then held the sparkling bauble aloft like he was utterly entranced by the soft gleam of it.

After a long, long moment of that near eerie silence and a pool of dread filling your belly that screamed you’d clearly fucked up in some way (overstepped some weird, Siren tradition. Accidentally insulted his father. Handed him a bad luck omen on a string. Something), the Siren was twisting around to show you the back of his neck. He held up the woven chain so it draped along his shoulder blades, and he pointedly shook the ends at you.

When you just gaped back in shock, he turned to sneer over his shoulder at you and jabbed a claw at his throat, then the necklace, then you, then his throat again. Which, oh. Oh! That—that you could do.

So you reached out to pluck the ends of the grass-woven thread from his talons and he immediately shifted around again to make himself comfortable. Curling his tail firmly against the sand with his plum-lined fins spread out in all their glory like a spill of purple ink along the shoreline. He set his shoulders square and firm, and looked straight ahead with that same, queer sort of focus to him as before.

You tied the ends of the necklace in a bow against his nape, making sure it was securely fastened in place and not snagging any of the softer, shorter hairs at the back of his neck. Once it’d been fussed with to his liking, he turned back around and stared you down until you could feel goosebumps prickling up all along your spine. You wanted to meekly tell him that it was just sea glass. Just a little trinket you’d found in the sand that you’d thought was pretty enough that he might like to have it. But the words died on your tongue. They felt wrong somehow. And you’d put your foot in your mouth plenty of times throughout your life, but this definitely felt like it would have been the biggest boot of all.

“…You like it?” you tried instead, because that sentiment at least seemed less like something that was ready to clog up your throat.

The Siren nodded, firm, his eyes still drilling into yours with that unnerving level of focus.

You coughed into your fist and awkwardly attempted to shift away to give yourself a bit of room, and—Huh. When had his tail come up to wrap around your leg? That made running away a bit inconvenient. You’d just have to try and wriggle your way out and hope he would take mercy on your far inferior musculature, and—

There was a poke at your hip. Tap, tap, tap. One, two, three. And you glanced back up at him with a pinched frown, confused.

The Siren pointed to a scrawl in the sand. Tap, tap, tap.

Acceptable.

You gawked, and then swallowed a laugh so fast it nearly choked you. Because he was still himself, wasn’t he? No matter what. Sassy, asshole fish. Gods, you were going to miss him.

You wiped at the bubbling, giggling tears prickling at the corner of your eyes and reached out to pat at his tail in good humor.

“I hope you find your happy ending,” you beamed, and meant it.

The Siren just looked at you with one of his familiar, lemon-sour puckers. He pointedly reached up to flick at the necklace around his throat, like that had anything to do with him finding his family again at all. Like it wasn’t just some silly trinket you’d gifted him in hopes that maybe one day he could look back fondly on the little human that he’d found himself stranded with. To not just forget you outright. To make your fleeting presence in his life something tangible, rather than just a mess of already fading scars and memories that would too easily be swept away in the depths of the sea.

“At least it’s acceptable,” you said finally around your giggling, and he huffed at you in a way that almost looked fond. You stood from the sand and brushed the mess of grit and salt off your pant legs. “Come on. Let’s go have dinner and I’ll teach you some nicer words tonight. So you can give me a real compliment next time.”

There was spray of water all along your back from where he’d no doubt dove back into the shallows behind you and walloped you with his fins to the best of his ability. And honestly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be bothered by it at all.

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess

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[robolvrr]

behind closed doors. ੈ♡˳

optimus prime x afab human reader warnings: nsfw.

he is fascinated.

it took a great deal of convincing. not him, but you - over mass displacement. you argued that with all the warnings from ratchet the purpose of such mechanisms should only be applied for tasks of importance.

optimus, as stoic as he can be now, could only hide his smile behind the battle-worn mask. "you are of importance", he said, such a simple reply. yet, he watched as you gaped like a goldfish, flustered beyond belief.

the prime had seen many a spectacle. overgrown forests bursting with life. deserts as dry as the sands of beachy hills and glacier cooled mountains under canopies of wind and snow. none could ever compare to humanity. so delicate and resilient, resourceful.

this adoration grips his spark in stride, especially when you finally get over nerves and slowly slip the velvet of your robe off a shoulder.

it's an intimate affair. skin and curve and softness, much closer than before. he's taller still, at least several feet. but now, he can gently grab your arms. squeeze his digits like scooping gold and watch entranced when the love indents form.

"optimus..."

a whine. he gingerly lets you go, still crowding your space. you show no actual discomfort and it's obvious by the time the puddle of fabric slips to your ankles, creating a halo around your feet. his optics, electric, take in the swell of your ass. your thighs, calves, biceps.

"the shower will get cold, my love."

now you are the one in a trance. so, you slide open the glass door, fingerprints leaving a kiss in the fog. your lover follows behind slowly, as if you might bound off like startled deer.

optimus wrangles his pondering by working the knots from your back instead.

the noises leaving your wet lips stir at his core. he feels perverted, watching your head tip back until the crown hits his chassis, spine arching beautiful as those modes of destruction and heroism glide down the front of your body.

droplets cling to your chest and drip down your chin. his fans, internal, click to a blast which is dampened by cascading shades from the shower-head.

"you look so small.. like this."

surprise takes your features by storm and his helm feels hot, not meaning to have said the thought aloud. however, when you part your legs to allow him to sponge lavender and honey suds with care, he can tell you find his sentiment charming.

he was so awkward with you at first.

now, the leader is wrapped tight around your fingers and you are wrapped tight around his. he can't help himself, thick silver of his middle digit pumping in and out. greedy where milky white coats and while his servos are still navigating, pleasing, you're practically drowning for him already.

you're cute. cute when you lift to the balls of your feet when he just can't take it anymore, array unlocking and spike rocking a steady pace that has you panting against porcelain.

when you aren't sounding dumb anymore, dribbling and babbling like you've lost your mind, you might laugh at the idea of the optimus prime being an ass-man.

it's a shameful vice when he switches positions. you're much bendier underneath warm drizzles, so you let him lift your leg just enough to hitch close to your hip so he can find that special angle that gets you singing. those "ah, ah, ah!"s when your flesh ripples, crushed ribbon beneath his grip.

and then you're crying, tangle of limbs while he sits. still full to the brim, strawberry pink coating your clit as he keeps close to you in a way you can't speak of beyond closed walls.

robolvrr 2024.

a/n: it has been so busy with holidays coming up! i am one tired gal. but i wanted to write a lil something (and i love this old tired man.)

[n0cturn4]

Character: Adult!Damian Wayne x Reader Summary: “I offer you my heart,” he murmured, his voice now an intimate whisper. “And the freedom to do with it as you will.” Word Count: 1185 Music: Habibi

It was a night of scorching heat in the infinite desert, where the sky, dotted with stars, reflected the glow of a fate written long before the birth of kingdoms. In the palace of Al-Nadir, grand and carved in marble and gold, Prince Damian Wayne, now a grown man, wandered silently through its vast corridors. His firm steps echoed like a whisper of responsibility and power. Damian, the prince who carried the weight of two legacies within him, had always been an enigma, a man made of shadows and steel. But that night, something beyond the throne unsettled him. He felt an emptiness, an absence that neither gold nor glory could fill.

The festival of Al-Nadir pulsed like a living heart in the city below, where the people celebrated, and the arts flourished under the desert heat. On that special night, dancers from all corners came to showcase their talents, but there was one in particular, a presence that stood out among all, like a rare flower in the sands of destiny.

And then he saw her.

You, a dancer whose movements seemed to defy the very stars. Your feet glided across the stage like a gentle breeze over the dunes, and your eyes, burning and mysterious, revealed stories that words could never contain. Your body, adorned with veils and jewels that shimmered in the torchlight, moved with a grace that did not belong to this world. Every gesture, every curve of your body was silent poetry, a promise of freedom and power.

Damian, a man accustomed to hiding his emotions, felt his heart waver. The serenity he always carried like armor shattered before your dance. He, a prince of steel, was captivated by a flame he did not understand but could not ignore.

When the music ceased and the applause echoed, Damian knew he had to meet you. He ordered to be taken to you, not with the arrogance of a prince, but with the curiosity of a man before a mystery he longed to unravel. In the palace’s private gardens, beneath the shadows of exotic trees, he waited. The sound of water running through the fountains was the only noise besides his own heartbeat.

You arrived, your eyes raised, firm and fearless, as enigmatic as your dance. There was no fear in your posture, only calm curiosity, as if you knew this encounter was inevitable.

“You called for me, Your Highness?” your voice was a thread of silk, as soft as the night breeze.

Damian tilted his head, his green eyes analyzing you as if he could read your soul through every subtle movement.

“There is something in your dance,” he said, his voice deep and controlled, “something that goes beyond art. There’s a story behind every one of your movements. A battle... a freedom.”

Your lips curved into a slight smile, something enigmatic, like a moon partially veiled by clouds. You observed him with the same care, surprised by his insight.

“Every gesture I make carries the weight of my own story,” you replied. “Dancing is the only freedom I truly have.”

Damian stepped closer, his words like veiled promises in the warm night air. “What if I could offer you more than just that fleeting freedom? What if I could give you something greater?”

You raised an eyebrow, your eyes sparkling with curiosity. “What exactly would you offer me, Your Highness?”

He did not hesitate, his words were precise, like the arrows he so skillfully wielded. “A choice. Stay by my side. Not as a prisoner of my will, but as an equal. Someone who challenges my spirit and shares the burden of power with me. I see in you what few would—strength that deserves to be honored, not tamed.”

The night seemed suspended between you, the wind carrying only the echoes of something forming, something neither of you had anticipated.

“And if I accept this offer,” you asked, your tone low but filled with meaning, “what do I get in return, besides power and your wealth?”

Damian took another step closer, until his eyes, intense as the desert itself, penetrated yours.

“I offer you my heart,” he murmured, his voice now an intimate whisper. “And the freedom to do with it as you will.”

You stepped forward, reducing the distance that still remained between you. Your eyes, deep and mysterious, met his with firmness. It was like looking into a distorted mirror—you, the free dancer, and he, the chained prince. Two worlds so different, yet drawn to each other as if the universe had conspired for this moment.

“And what would you do, Prince,” you began, your voice flowing like a soft melody, “if I took your heart and turned it into my own dance? If I made it part of who I am?”

Damian smiled, a rare smile, almost imperceptible, carrying both melancholy and hope. There was something vulnerable in his stance, a man who had always been a fortress now lowering his defenses before a stranger, yet still, a soul he seemed to have known forever.

“Then,” he replied, with a soft gleam in his eyes, “I would become part of your freedom. Because in the end, there is no greater power than being in the hands of someone you trust.”

For a moment, the world around you seemed to stop. The sounds of the festival in the distance, the murmuring fountains, even the soft breeze among the leaves, all silenced in the intensity of that moment. The moon poured its silver light over the garden, as if the heavens were watching and approving of what was unfolding.

You stepped even closer, until you were so near that you could feel the heat emanating from his body, his presence strong and solid. Your fingers, delicate and skilled like in your dance, gently touched Damian's chest, right over where his heart beat. The touch was light, almost like a breeze, but the connection that formed was deep, instantaneous.

“Your freedom and mine are like two stars dancing in the sky, Prince,” you said softly. “I accept what you offer, but know that I will not be a silent companion. My soul is not meant to be contained.”

Damian breathed deeply, as if your words had the power to ignite something deep within him. His eyes never left yours for a moment.

“That is exactly why I chose you,” he murmured, his voice dense, full of promise. “I don’t want someone who bows, but someone who walks beside me. I want someone who challenges me, who makes me question the world as it is.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him, as if deciphering the final secret hidden in his soul.

“Then, Prince Damian,” you said, a light smile on your lips, “we will dance together.”

And so, under the stars that silently watched, the bond between you was formed. The Prince of Al-Nadir, with his heart in the hands of a dancer, and you, with the promise of a love that could not be contained by borders or duties. The night, a silent witness, became the stage for the first act of a story that would defy fate and time.

And in that dance of souls and hearts entwined, Damian Wayne's world began to change, one step at a time.

[loveesiren]

Help Me (Pt. 1)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!reader

Synopsis: When Rafe finds out Y/n's in trouble, he's determined to keep her safe.

Warnings: Language, drug use, fentanyl, mentions of sex trafficking, abuse, 18+

Word Count: 4.1k+

"I can stop whenever I want, Y/N, I'm just fucking stressed out, alright?"

You watch as Rafe leans down and takes another line before leaning back against his car seat and pressing his hands to his head.

Rafe was really the only friend you had made on the island so far. Besides JJ's friends of course. After your mom died you were forced to move back with your dad and JJ. You were ecstatic to see your little brother, but Luke was a different story. Nothing had changed. He was still an abusive, alcoholic, piece of shit, always taking his anger out on JJ.

That was not something you had shared with Rafe. In fact, he didn't even know you were a Pogue, much less related to JJ.

You had a job at the club. One night after your shift you wandered down to the beach to sit by the water. Thats where you found Rafe Cameron passed out drunk in the sand. You helped him home and gave him your number. Ever since then, the two of you met up practically every night. He'd pick you up after work and the two of you would go to the beach and talk. You loved spending time with him. He made you laugh and smile and forget the hell that awaited you at home. But you knew he was king of the Kooks and hated the Pogues. You knew you couldn't hide that fact forever but you really didn't want to lose him over something so stupid.

"I don't like seeing you kill yourself, Rafe." You told him softly, choking back tears. Your mother had just died from a drug overdose not even 2 months ago.

"Then don't watch." He told you dryly as he set up another line on the center console.

You scoffed. He's never talked to you like that before. "You know my mom died because of this shit?" You yelled at him. "And cuz of that I have to move to this shit island and deal with my dad beating on my brother and I all day?"

He looked up at you, concern in his eyes now. "I-I didn't know you had a brother. You've never even told me about your family."

You sighed, clenching your jaw. "Yeah," You said before pulling back your hoodie to reveal the bruises forming around your neck.

"Y/N..." He said as he reached out, placing his fingers gently on your collar bone. You flinched at his touch.

"And JJ gets it a lot worse." You stated as you grabbed your things. Rafe was silent, taking in the new information. You were JJ's sister?

You hopped out of his truck, leaving him with the secrets you'd just revealed to him, knowing good and well this was probably the end of you and Rafe Cameron.

"I'm a Pogue," You said calmly, shrugging your shoulders with a half smile before slamming the door and walking off towards the Cut.

——————–

Rafe noticed you immediately as he entered Midsummers. You were working the bar tonight but because of the event, you were a lot more dressed up than usual. A tight black dress hugged your curves. Your wavy hair pulled back in a half pony. He noticed the diamonds draped around your neck. You looked nothing like a Pogue. He could also see the slight discoloration of the bruises you had tried to cover with make up. He wouldn't have noticed them if he hadn't seen them for himself the other night.

His eyes lingered on you for a moment as he watched how elegantly you moved and interacted with others. How the hell was she a Maybank? He thought to himself.

You met Rafe's eyes for a moment. He didn't seem fucked up. He seemed concerned. You bit your lip for a moment before turning away, not offering him a smile or anything. You had avoided talking to him for a few days. As much as you missed him, you couldn't risk getting close to someone who used drugs to cope. Weed never bothered you. You'd even have a beer once in a while. But after everything you and JJ witnessed growing up, you knew how badly the outcome could be.

Rafe was standing around with Kelce and Topper, sipping on a cocktail when he noticed JJ making his way through the crowd. "Shit," He whispered under his breath as he noticed the bruise surrounding JJ's left eye.

"Well, well, well," Kelce said, stepping out in front of JJ, catching him by surprise. "I'd love if you could get me a mai tai, my friend."

"Yeah, see I'm kind of on the clock right now but if you guys just wanna wait by the bar-" JJ said before taking off in the crowd.

You darted your eyes towards the locker rooms as you saw your brother running through the sea of people, Rafe, Kelce, and the rest of their posse chasing him. "What the fuck," You said to yourself. JJ was not supposed to be here.

"Hey, Jesse!" You leaned over to your coworker. "Can you run the bar for a minute? I gotta use the bathroom."

"Sure thing," He responds and you made your way towards the locker rooms.

You had just reached the door when JJ was being dragged out by security. "What the hell is going on here?!" You ask.

"Tell your sister she's pretty hot for a Pogue!" You hear Rafe's voice call out after JJ.

JJ quickly slips away from the security guard and rushes towards him. "JJ!" You said as you and the security guard pull him back.

Rafe's eyes go wide as they meet yours. He wasn't expecting to see you, immediately regretting what he just said.

"What the fuck, Rafe?!" You said, storming towards him. You slapped him across the face as hard as you could. But before you knew it, Kelce had pushed you to the ground.

As a second security guard began to pull you away from the scene you saw Rafe slam Kelce up against a wall and scream at him, although you couldn't make out what he was saying as you were dragged away.

You and JJ were thrown out in front of the entire party. JJ helping you to your feet as you fell in the grass.

"Don't you EVER FUCKING TOUCH HER AGAIN!" Rafe screamed in Kelce's face, pinning him against the wall by his neck.

"What the fuck dude?! She's just some fucking Pogue!" Kelce responded.

"Never fucking again. Do you understand me?" Rafe said, eyes locked on Kelce. Kelce nodded in agreement.

Rafe took a deep breath before pushing off of Kelce and heading outside.

He watched as you stumbled away with your brother.

"Fuck, JJ!" You said as you walked along the beach. John B, Kiara, and Pope trailing behind you. "What the fuck was that?! I just lost my goddamn job!"

"I did nothing!" He yelled back at you. "It's those fucking Kooks!"

"Why the hell were you even there in the first place?!"

JJ was silent.

"Is this about your little treasure hunt again?" You asked, aiming your question at the group. They all stayed silent. "Great. That's just great. Leave me the hell out of it!" You said as you stormed off, making your way home.

You were almost to your house when your phone buzzed. A text from Rafe.

Y/N, I'm sorry. Can we please talk?

You rolled your eyes and shut off your phone.

You took a deep breath before you headed inside. Your dad was still up. Fuck. He was wasted as usual.

"Hey Princess," He mumbled. Your stomach turned at his words. You always hated when he called you that.

"I'm going to bed," You said dryly as you headed toward your room. Luke grabbed your arm and spun you back towards him.

"Now that's no way to greet your daddy, is it?"

His breath smelled like whiskey and cigarettes. The scent made you gag. "Get off me!" You yell, shoving him backwards.

He grabbed you by your neck and threw you against the wall. "You don't fuckin' talk to me like that you little bitch." He said through gritted teeth. "You're a slut just like your momma!"

You spat in his face and he punched you in the side of the head. He continued to hit you several more times until you were a bloody heap on the floor, barely conscious.

You could feel yourself being dragged across the floor and placed roughly on the couch.

"Ya know," Luke started. You were barely able to register his words. "I bet I could make a real pretty penny off of you."

Your eyes fluttered slightly as you tried to catch your breath. You saw him stick his hunting knife into a small plastic bag. He came over and grabbed your chin, forcing you to open your mouth.

"Here ya go, Princess." He said as he forced your mouth open and pressed the tip of his knife to you tongue. "I gotta go make some calls. You just wait riiiight here." He said as you quickly felt your head start to get heavy.

"Dad, please..." You begged before the familiar feeling of fentanyl took over your body.

______________

"What the fuck did you do?!" JJ yelled at his dad as he saw your motionless body on the couch.

"Ya know yer sister has a real mouth on her," Luke spat.

JJ had his fingers pressed to your neck, barely able to find your pulse.

"Did you fucking drug her?!"

"It's none of your concern boy! Now get the hell out of here I have someone pickin' 'er up in 20 minutes." Luke said as he walked to the kitchen to make another drink.

JJ's eyes widened. "What do you mean picking her up?"

Luke was silent.

"Dad...did-did you fucking sell her?" JJ muttered.

JJ couldn't contain his rage anymore as he picked a beer bottle up off the table and threw it at the back of his dads head.

"Fuck!" Luke said as glass shattered against his skin. He didn't even have time to turn around before JJ had already pushed him to the floor, landing punches to the side of his head over and over again. Blood coated JJ's face and the walls as he took out all his pent up rage on his father.

The way he'd abused you guys your whole lives. Beating you, drugging you, and now going as far as to sell his own daughter to make a quick buck. He couldn't take it anymore.

Luke was barely clinging to consciousness when JJ finally let go of him.

He stood over his father as he tried to slow his breathing and think of his next move. "Fuck," He whispered to himself as he ran his shaking hand through his blonde locks. "Fuck, okay.."

He quickly pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

JB: Hello?

JJ: John B! I-I need your help man!

JB: What's going on?

JJ: I'll explain later just please come pick us up.

JB: Us?

JJ: Me and Y/N, man, PLEASE!

JB: I'm on my way!

JJ tried his best not to hyperventilate as he made his way over to you. "Come on, Y/N, please wake up!" He begged, shaking you lightly. He could see all the bruising and blood that coated your body and he didn't want to risk hurting you further.

He got up and paced around the room as he waited for John B. He spotted the clear baggie on the table and picked it up. He flicked it as he examined the small amount of white powder. He knew it wasn't coke. "Fuck!" He yelled, unsure of how much you had consumed. This wasn't the first time your dad had drugged you. He'd done it when you were kids to get you to sleep. JJ prayed he didn't overdo it as tears fell from his eyes.

His head snapped up as he heard a car pulling up out front. He inched the curtain of the doors window to the side, expecting to see John B. It wasn't.

A black Lincoln parked in front of the house and shut off the lights. "Shiiiit!" JJ whispered in a panic. He ran over to your and gently scooped your small frame into his arms, cradling your head against his chest. "I got you, sis." He said as he quietly made his way towards the back door.

He made his way through the trees as he heard two men talking as they approached the house. He moved quietly toward the road when he spotted the Twinkie. He ran out in front of it, John B swerving to avoid hitting them before coming to a quick stop.

Kiara slid the door open to let him in. "Holy shit, what happened?!" She asked, terror in her voice as she looked over the wounds coating your unconscious body.

"My dad," JJ choked out. "He-he was gonna sell her." He was sobbing now as he laid your body down gently, resting your head on a pillow.

"What?" Kiara and John B said in unison.

"He drugged her and beat her and these two guys showed up and I grabbed her and ran. I-I don't even know what to do. The things they were going to do to her..." He trailed off, unable to bare the thought. He pulled his knees to his chest and sobbed more.

"We need to get her to a hospital," Kiara said softly as she rubbed JJ's back.

"No! No hospitals. I'll call my cousin." JJ said as he took out his phone. "Just go back to the Chateau."

______________

JJ chewed on his finger as he paced around the room.

Ricky checked over you one more time. "She's alive." He finally said. "And she'll be okay."

JJ sighed in relief, as did John B, Kiara, and Pope.

"She has a concussion. I was able to stitch up these two cuts," He said as motioned to the one on the side of your head and on your collar bone. "She's going to be out for a while but he didn't give her a lethal dose."

"Thank you, Ricky." JJ said. "Seriously."

Ricky offered him a smile. "I always liked her more than you," He chuckled as he stood up and patted JJ on the shoulder. "If you need anything else, just give me a call."

JJ nodded. "Thanks, man."

______________

You were still out cold when the Pogues woke up.

"What time is it?" Pope asked groggily as he rubbed his eyes.

"11:30," Kiara responded with a sigh.

JJ stood up and pulled on his boots.

"Where are you going?" John B asked.

"Gotta get some stuff from my place," He said before leaning down and placing a kiss on your forehead. "Keep an eye on her, I'll be back in an hour."

"Okay," John B responded.

"Call me if she wakes up!" JJ yelled as he ran out the door.

JJ sighed as he adjusted the gun in his waist band. Making sure he would be able to grab it if needed. He stood in front of his house, the front door was wide open.

He walked in slowly. Scanning over his home in search of his dad. "Dad?" He asked softly. There was no response. He wasn't sprawled out in a bloody heap on the floor where JJ had left him the night before.

The house was quiet and when JJ was sure there was no one inside he headed toward your room. He grabbed a duffle bag out of your closet and started shoving as many clothes in it as possible. He grabbed a book that lay on your bedside table. He also grabbed your purse knowing all your important items would be in there. When he was done, he threw the bag over his shoulder. He was about to head out when something caught his eye.

He picked up the gold chain that lay on your dresser. A small locket attached to it. He popped it open to find a picture of your mother. He smiled. You looked so much like the woman she used to be before drugs took over her life. He noticed the picture in the other side of the locket. It was a picture of the two of you when you were kids. He brushed his thumb over the small picture as he remembered that day. You taught him to build sand castles and make jewelry out of shells you found on the beach. He remembers how well you were able to distract him from the sound of your parents fighting.

"Y/N!"

JJ snapped out of the memory as someone knocked on the front door, yelling your name. He shoved the necklace in his pocket and grabbed his gun.

He rounded the corner, pointing the gun at the intruder.

"Fuck!" Rafe said as he turned around and noticed JJ pointing the gun directly at him. "Chill dude," Rafe said as he put his arms up in defense. "I'm not here to start anything."

"Why are you here, Rafe?" JJ asked, still pointing the gun in his direction.

"I'm looking for Y/N,"

"Why?"

"I just wanted to talk to her about last night. Apologize." He lowered his hands as JJ lowered the gun. "And I think I can get her her job back."

JJ looked down at his feet. "She's not here," He said as he pushed past Rafe and out the front door.

"Well, do you know where she is?" Rafe asked as he followed him. "Look, JJ, I'm sorry about last night. I really am. But I care about Y/N."

"Rafe!" JJ yelled as he turned to face him. "Look, man, just-just go home, okay? We've got shit to deal with." JJ snapped.

Rafe looked him in the eyes, his brows furrowed. "I-is she okay?" His voice was soft.

JJ could feel tears forming in his eyes, but he wouldn't dare cry in front of Rafe. "Go home, Rafe." His words were quiet but firm as he turned around and stormed off.

Rafe ran his fingers through his hair. Nausea creeped through his body as he began to worry. What happened to you? He was beating himself up over the way he had treated you. You were the only person to actually care about him. That scared him and he pushed you away. Now he was scared he would never get the chance to tell you how he really felt.

_______________

Rafe chewed on his thumb nail as he made his way up to his room. He paused when he heard Sarah on the phone. He leaned closer to her door trying to make out what she was saying.

"He was going to sell her?! Like to traffickers?!"

Rafe's breath hitched. Was she talking about Y/N?

"Is she awake yet?"

There was silence. Rafe still held his breath.

"Well, we can bring her to Tanneyhill. She'll be safe here."

Rafe waited a few more moments.

"Alright, I'll be there soon." Sarah said before hanging up the phone.

"Fuck," Rafe whispered as he leaned his back to the wall and pressed his palms to his eyes.

Sarah opened the door and jumped at the unexpected sight of her brother. "What are you doing?" She asked him.

"Sarah, was that about Y/N?" He asked as he pointed down to her phone.

"Are you listening to my conversations?!" She asked, irritation in her voice.

"Sarah. Sarah!" Rafe yelled, squeezing his eyes shut and lowering his hand slowly to try and calm down. "Is Y/N hurt?"

"Why do you care, Rafe? I thought you hated Pogues."

His eyes began to water. "Is she hurt?" His voice cracked.

Sarah's expression softened. She nodded softly. "Yeah, Rafe. She is. And she's not safe, we need to bring her here."

"Where is she?" He asked, already fishing his keys out of his pocket and headed down the stairs.

"She's at John B's." She replied, following him quickly.

Rafe and Sarah both climbed into his truck. He turned it on and quickly threw it into drive as he sped off towards the Cut.

"Tell me what happened, Sarah." Rafe demanded.

Sarah had never seen her brother like this and it frightened her.

"Uhm, I don't know everything just that her dad beat her and drugged her when she got home. When JJ found her she was unconscious and her dad was getting ready to sell her off to some men. JJ got her out of there right when they showed up." She explained.

Rafe clenched his fists around the steering wheel as he sped faster towards John B's. Sarah gripped her seat tighter, nervous at the speed they were accelerating to.

Rafe pulled up in front of John B's house and quickly threw the truck into park before hopping out.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," John B said as he watched Rafe quickly approach his house. Pope stood behind him, ready to fight if need be. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"He just wants to help," Sarah said, standing between Rafe and John B.

"Where is she?" Rafe's voice was shaky.

John B stared at him for a moment before nodding towards the door. "On the couch," He said.

Rafe pushed past him and went inside, immediately seeing your bruised unconscious figure laying flat on the couch. Kiara had just put you into sweats and a t-shirt before using a warm rag to wipe away the rest of the blood from your wounds.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked as she turned to Rafe.

"Fuck," Rafe cried softly as he fell to his knees beside you and Kiara, taking your hand gently in his and putting it to his cheek.

"What the fuck?" Kiara mouthed to John B as him and Sarah came inside. John B just shrugged with wide eyes, equally confused as the rest of them.

"John B do you have like any clean-" JJ began as he entered the room. "What the fuck are you doing here, Rafe?" JJ spat when he saw Rafe kneeling by your body. "Get the fuck away from my sister!" He said, lunging towards him.

Rafe fell back and held his hands up. "I just wanna help!" He yelled. JJ paused as he saw Rafe crying. "Please," He whispered. "Let me help her." He begged.

"We can take her to Tanneyhill." Sarah chimed in. "Our parents will be gone for the rest of the week. She can recover there. And whoever is looking for her won't find her."

JJ thought for a moment, biting his lip. "Okay." He agreed, realizing that would be the safest place for you while he sorted all of this out. "Let's take her there now." He said as he went to lift your off the couch.

"Grab her shit," JJ said to Rafe as he nodded at the bag beside him. Rafe did as he was told.

Rafe ran out of the house and opened the door to the back seat. JJ climbed inside with you, resting your head on his lap. When Rafe was sure you were safely in the truck he jumped in the drivers seat. Sarah climbed in the passenger seat and the rest of the Pogues got in the bed of the truck.

You could make out voices around you but you couldn't get your eyes to open. The voices were familiar. "JJ?" Your voice was barely a whisper.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm here," He said as he ran his fingers through your hair.

"Is she up?" Rafe asked, constantly glancing back at you in the rearview mirror.

"Barely," JJ replied.

Rafe chewed on his bottom lip the whole drive back to his house. Once he pulled into the driveway, everyone was quick to help you out. Sarah guided them to the large spare bedroom and JJ laid you gently on the bed.

_____________

That night, Sarah started a fire in the fire pit out back. The Pogues sat around drinking beer and laughing. Rafe, however, never left your side. He sat in the chair next to your bed, focusing on the rise and fall of your chest as you slept peacefully.

"How do you know her?"

Rafe looked up to see JJ leaning against the doorway, beer in hand as he examined your state.

"She, uh..." Rafe began. "We met a couple months ago. Never met anyone like her before."

JJ nods his head. "She's a good person. Smart as shit too. Which makes me surprised she hung out with you."

Rafe chuckles and runs his tongue across his bottom lip. "Yeah, she's, uhm, special. The only person that's ever really given a fuck about me."

JJ was silent as he came to the other side of your bed, running a light finger over the stitches on your face.

"I was a dick," Rafe spoke up. "I fucked things up and I need to make them right. I mean, I-I just can't believe this happened."

"Well, I can't make her forgive you. And quite frankly, she's too good for you. But," JJ began. "I need to go find dear old dad and make sure she's going to be safe. Can I trust that you'll keep her safe here?"

Rafe nodded eagerly. "Yeah, of course. Anything I can do to help."

JJ studied Rafe's expression for a moment. He was being genuine. As much as JJ hated Rafe, he could tell the feelings he had for his sister were real and trusted that she'd be safe in his care.

[yandere-wishes]

༻⋆Little Red Riding Hood You Know More Than You Should⋆༺

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Capitano recognizes your ancient name before he recognizes you. Ororon thinks it's about time to confess his feelings to his childhood friend. You just wanted to protect your homeland.

⁀➷ Warnings: Yandere Behavior, Stalking, Possessiveness, Reader has a pyro vision.

⁺₊𝄞₊⁺ Tejano Blue By CAS

⋆ ˚｡⋆ Bless your heart, make you part of my life forever ~ CAS

.✦── °❀⋆ .🔥.⋆❀°── .✦

It had started with Ororon.

With the Chrysanthemum he delicately weaved into your hair.

Red red red like the vision that burns at your hip.

Red like the boy-heart you wished to carve out.

It had ended with the Capitano.

With verglas weaving across your arms from his most intimate touch.

Blue, blue, blue like the creature that claimed to know you.

Blue like the veins that harbor such a melancholy legacy.

The chipped wood of the basket pierces your palm, tiny splinters pricking at soft flesh. You don't fully register the twinge; the pain is too silken, too delicate. Instead, you tighten your fist around the wooden handle daring the splinters to puncture, to draw blood. At least then you'd have a reason to visit Ororon, a reason to pry open his door and interrupt his precious isolation.

You'd like to forget about him.

The ignorant boy with the mismatched eyes.

Leave him to rot in his secluded cabin.  

But it's all so hard to shake the saccharine memories of the all too lanky boy who used to hold your hand as you played hide and seek with Iktomisaurs in the forest.

Granny Itztli had requested ingredients for a ritual sermon taking place two moons from now. Nightshades and Quenepa Berrys and sand from the cost. "Have you talked to Ororon recently?" Granny asks, her brows furrowed in annoyance or worry or some other emotion too masked to fully read.  You shake your head, gingerly plucking the ingredients from your basket and sprawling them across the table. "He hasn't been returning any of my letters, or even answering the tribesman's requests for his vegetables. I swear if that boy-"

You can feel her anger slipping out, the tendrils of her powers lashing at the air, slithering across the walls. You gulp, grasp tightening once more against your basket's handle. The wood scraps at your skin grounding you as you let out a shaky breath. "I'll check on him for you granny," you blurt out trying to plaster a desperate smile across your face. Citlali's eyes soften as she looks at you taking in your taut stance. "I'd always wished for him to pick you as his bride." She mused hand waving the air as if to dispel her anger like smoke. "you'd have been the perfect wife for my foolish grandson, someone to keep an eye on him and his whimsy wills of inanity." She sighs ushering you to the door. "Still I suppose it's not too late."

You turn on your heels defiance ripe on your tongue. Ororon had once been a dear friend, a brother. And while the memories are wrapped in golden velvet and honey. You'd much rather pluck the nails from your fingers than marry that weirdo. But before the protest could be launched the door is solemnly slammed in your face.

You fasten the cloak along your neck, pull the hood over your head

before making your way to the lone cabin in the woods. Skipping along the broken road swinging your empty basket.

The cabin itself is petit and serene, a pretty little heap of wood and spray paint with its renowned vegetable garden stretching the whole diameter. "Ororon," you call out, surprised at how bitter his name tastes. Rotton, almost forgotten. "Ororon," you knock at the door.

Four knocks.

Four pounds.

All accompanied by the bitter name spilling from behind your teeth.

But there is no answer, nothing outside the peaceful lull of the breeze and the distant shrikes of Yumkasaurs.

Nothing.

Well, maybe it's for the best.

You'd have shown him your blistered palm should he have answered. Shown him the blood and silently prayed he'd hold your hand and bandage your wound with all the tenderness of an eight-year-old boy bandaging his best friend's bleeding knee.

It's only when you've started back on the road, heading towards the grand stadium, that you hear something—an icy omen whispering along the horizon. You look around, greeted by nothing but Natlan's nature. Slowly, you start to leave the path, trudging through grass and marching up the little hills, following the distant chill in the air.

What was it Granny always said about straying off the path?

Something about tragedy and trouble waiting beyond the trees.

Only this time, trouble -or rather tragedy- lays behind a set of rocks, half a mile from the cabin. That's when you finally see them. The chill in the air has grown harsher here, biting at your bare arms. You pull your hood further over your head, wrapping the rest of the cape around yourself in a bid for warmth. From the rock you've concealed yourself behind, you can hear two men speak.

Ororon stands before a man, no not a man. Such a human word could not describe the terrifying thing that loomed outside the sun's reach.

Your ears perk at the low timbre of his growl. The monster spews blasphemy, sacrilege, against your dear archon. Calling her a coward for not using the gnosis, calling her inept.

You feel his words cutting through you, lacrations running deep. Your body is on fire your vision boling by your side. What's worst is that Ororon listens, humming along in acknowledgment. You can taste the molten anger stinging the roof of your mouth, feel the embers burning your tongue. Your hand covers your mouth, nails sinking into your cheek to avoid permitting the frustration to break free and blowing your cover.

You turn swiftly, using the cover of rocks and trees to shadow your escape.

Desperately dashing for the path that'll lead you back to your village. Granny Itztli and the tribe leader must hear of this. They must know that Ororon has joined the Fatui and is planning to steal the Archon's gnosis.

The problem, however, may have been the red cape you'd draped yourself in, its bright color catching the wrong sun rays at the wrong time. Luminous enough to catch the captain's attention.

You feel the world slipping, sunlight giving way to a ghoulish purple glow. Your feet hit the battered pavement of the path, right before the world turns to black.

You scream just as something pulls you away...

You've been here before, several times in fact. This is the night kingdom or at least an astral realm within the night kingdom. Your body -your real body- is probably laying limp in the grass being licked by some saurian.

"(y/n), what are you doing here?" Ororon's voice is muffled, distant. A cloud scraping across the rougher edges of the sky. His ghastly apprehension hovers behind you, you can feel his chilled breath on your neck.

You try to speak, to answer. But the words never leave your mouth. You must remember that the shadow world has rules. That you can not move with your legs or speak with your tongue. You form the words like bubbles floating in the air. Waiting for them to pop, to unleash your voice amongst the gloom.

"I was looking for you, granny's worried. Apparently, you've disappeared."

His nails scrape at your neck. Fitting the delicate bones between the cusp of his palm. "But I'm right here" he whispers in your ear, resting his chin on your shoulder. "Sorry, I wasn't there to greet you. I've been...busy".

"Ororon" The voice echoes across the cavern, loud and disturbing. You feel frost leak from every syllable. Your eyes widen as the black-clad monster marches forward body rigid embodying authority and discipline in every move.

Is this how everyone from Snezhnaya looks?

Taut and stiff and malicious?

Draped in furs and armor.

Ominous and cruel.

"This is my friend (y/n) we grew up together. Isn't she cute Capitano?" Ororon ends the statement with a mock peck to your neck. Despite its fleeting nature you still wince at the invasion.

You don't recall Ororon being so bold, so satirizing. Has the folly of the fatui bled into him? Rotted his essence and painted it anew?

"Get rid of her, we haven't the time to waste on such..." The man, no the nightmare. Stops in front of you. His bulky clothes remind you of the Tatankasaurs that roam the sandy southwest.

The captain's mask is sheer black. Murkey candance that hides his mysterious visage. But you notice the jerky way his head tilts down the way you can't escape the strange pierce of his unseable eyes.

"Do I know you" it's phrased as an order, a demnad.

Tell me what you are, what you're supposed to mean to me.

But there is no answer to greet it. Nothing apart from an unsteady silence. You can not know this ice-cold man. From behind you Ororon stiffens, "Do you know the captain." he asks, a silver of betrayal lacing his words. You only shake your head, narrowing your eyes to try and pry beyond the abyss of his mask.

Capitano's hand grips at your fingers pulling them up to his mask. Your heart stops as you see him bow his head, the cold of his helmet biting into your flesh. You hear the kiss like an arrow piercing the ever-looming eeriness of the night kingdom.

Capitano utters your name.

Rolls it around his mouth trying to savor the nostalgia.

Trying to crack open every syllabus and taste its familiarity.

"(y/n)..."

Your body lays limb amongst the grass, from atop the green hill Capitano observes your sleeping form. His eyes trace every curve and crevasse of your body jotting each detail to memory.

You look like so ethereal like this. Blood red amid the green and gold of the prairie. The humor of it all isn't lost on him after all he's partaken in more than his fair share of carnage. And that's exactly what you look like, a beautiful corpse laying in her puddle of blood. A macabre laceration layed upon Natlan's corse.

The sun beats down. Its rays too warm and treasonous.

It's only then that Capitano realizes where he's seen you before.

This exact scene, the blood pooling from beneath, the body lying amidst the grass, the sun blessing the slayed warrior in its light.

He knows you...

You don't remember waking up. Don't recall commanding your stiff muscles to move. Nor do you recall the first sight your wry eyes landed upon.

All you remember is running.

Blurred greens and reds of the scenery rushing by.

Granny must know of this.

The tribe must know of this.

Ororon is a traitor. A conspirator in a plot against Mavurika.

You're not quite sure why your heart stings when you think of this.

Your mouth is dry, ash coating your lips as Citlali glares down at you. Ororon's face flashes behind your eyes. You see him everywhere. Hear his gentle voice shushing you. Your ears are ringing, his voice whispering how much he's missed you, how much he wants you by his side once more.

Citlali says something, you think she's scolding you for traversing the pathway. She's gone in the next blink, essence lingering in a spinning room. Ororon kneels in front of you. No, not Ororon just some spectre wearing his face.

Or maybe it's his astral projection. Maybe he can't let you utter a word of what you saw.

"Just keep quiet darling. I promise this will all make sense soon." His fingers spark when they grace your cheek. Solid and spirit all at once. You try to touch his hand, to sink the sparks inside you, to feel Ororon once more. Instead, your finger collides with your own soft flesh.

The colors are chipping away.

Someone is calling your name.

Ororon or Citlali?

Maybe they've always been the same.

Why is the room spinning?

Why is it so dark...

You shouldn't be out. The sun is too harsh, merciless. You ring your palm across your basket's handle letting the friction rub the flesh raw.

Granny had warned you to stay inside. To avoid Ororon and whatever else you'd seen. But you can't let this go, the words may die upon your tongue but there must be evidence hidden somewhere. Evidence that you can present to the pyro archon, evidence that could save everything.

"Did you really miss me that much?" His voice is sharper than any arrow from his bow. Ororon stands blocking your path the captain hovering beside him.

Weren't you always told the path would be safe?

Capitano reaches out, metal fingers wrapping around your fragile wrist he pulls you to him, dark mask peering beyond you. Trying to piece you together. From behind you feel Ororon's lips sneaking up your neck. You scream, a shriveled sound. "Didn't you come all this way just to see us?" Ororon asks between open-mouthed kisses, you writher between their bodies desperate to escape. Tears flowed from your shiny eyes.

You're so pretty when you cry Ororon feels bad for admitting that. But he can't help but admire how innocent and helpless you look, trapped between two monsters.

It's only now that he notices your red hood is adorned with embroidered Chrysanthemum, for a moment Ororon thinks it has something to do with flowers he used to braid into your hair. Back when he'd been too young to fully understand destiny and you'd been too young to understand legacy.

"I came to find evidence of your betrayal." You spit, free hand reaching into your basket to try to find your ancient name. Tears trickle from your eyes as the captain leans closer. Your fingers finally graze the forged feather and you pry it out, holding it to your chest, feeling its power coursing through you.

Your elbow collides harshly with Ororon's rib, as he tumbles backward you gain enough space to sidekick the captain. Only for it to be blocked by his iron-clad hand. The metal makes your bones ring a sharp pain that leaves your leg numb.

"You bear an ancient name?" Capitano asks, skeptical. You roll your eyes despite your better judgment. Capitano releases your wrist, instead reaching out to try and grab your ancient name. In the millisecond of freedom, you stalk backward before sprinting back to the tribe. Your basket forgotten at the captain's feet.

"she bears the ancient name Ayizu," Ororon says, still clutching his side.

Capitano swallows the information. Letting the sharp edges nick at his throat. He'd had been uncertain before despite all the parallels.

But now the shock was rolling through him like lightning bolts. That's why you looked so familiar. Not only did you bare Ayizu's name but there was no doubt in Capitano's mind that you were one of his descendants.

The captain chuckles a mirthless noise. The irony feels like a blistering burn blooming upon his rotting flesh. "She's quite loyal." he begins, blacked gaze traveling to Ororon. "She'd make a valuable asset in our quest to save Natlan. Fetch her for me will you Ororon?" It's nothing less than an order one that Ororon may be a bit too keen on fulfilling.

"Oh and Ororon, we need to start you on a training agenda. I fear you are the most pathetic warrior Natlan has ever seen."

Ororon's eyes sunken before traversing up the captain's imposing form.

"Yes sir" he mumbles, biting his lips to avoid moaning at the deliciously sharp pain you've gifted him.

It's dark again,

You let the sharp wood of your basket cut into your palm. Relishing in the familiar feeling as blood mars the wooden handle. When did your basket return? You could have sworn you'd abandoned it with your attackers,

The path beneath your feet is cracked and broken. Smeared in ice and ectoplasm. Still, you walk forward into the abyss. There's nowhere else to go.

You expected them to be there. To see their towering forms amidst the darkness. Instead, you see them lounging between the blacked boulders.

Soldiers fresh from the fight. You don't enquire about their endeavors about the horrors you're sure they've inflected upon your land. But before you can fully walk past Capitano grabs your wrist and pulls you into his lap. "Stop" You struggle to break free, only for him to grab your chin and force your eyes onto his faceless visage. "So you're the descendent of my old friend? The inheritor of his noble name." You feel bile creeping up your throat. "Don't insult my ancestor, he'd never associate with the likes of you." you spite.

Capitano chuckles and signs, pulling his mask up a smidge to reveal decayed flesh. You gasp, an opportunity he ceases to pull you into a deep kiss, teeth biting and tearing at your soft lips, his holed tongue running over your teeth. You try to scream to cry, suffocating from the floral-scented rot. When the captain finally pulls back you run your fingers over pained lips smearing the blood across your cheek and chin.

"You should smile more" Ororon teases nipping at your ear until you wince, his hands move up and down your hips squeezing every so often. He's never been this bold before. You blame the Fatuis staring down at you. Blame the Outlander and his weird ways, somehow the irony is utterly lost on you.

"Please just let me go" you beg, your body is on fire your vision pulsing once more. "You're a captain surely you must understand why I'm so eager to protect my people from you?" Ororon laughs, littering your cheek with tiny kisses. "I understand," Capitano responds, his fingers dabbing your blood-covered lips. "I'm desperate to save Natlan too." He brings the red-coated digit to his mouth, sucking softly.

"We all want to protect Natlan" Ororon chips in. "That's why you should join us, honor your ancient name." You shake your head, almost as if you're shaking the nightmare away. "There is no honor in what you're doing."

You feel something around your neck. Metalic fingers wrapping tightly around your throat. Clutching tighter and tighter. With his other hand, the Captain removes his mask.

You scream...

The room is cold, freezing.

Your calloused palm squeezes trying to feel the handle of your wooden basket. When your nails only dig into your own skin, you awaken, head darting trying to find your precious basket.

It's on the table...

You don't have a table by your bed.

Beside you, someone tightens their hold on your waist pulling you into an icy stiff chest. Captiano's breath is cold, his voice gruff with sleep as he whispers little adorations into your ear. You're only now realizing Ororon lying in front of you, his lithe fingers playing with your neck.

No not your neck. There's something wrapped around your throat, no one the cold was unbearable, this "necklace" must be made of pure cyro. "You look so pretty like this." Ororon mumbles, daring to connect his lips to yours in a sheepish, sloppy attempt at a kiss. You wrangle your head to the side breaking the pathetic kiss. Behind you, you feel Capitano's chest rumble in laughter.

"Really Ororon must I teach you everything?" Capitano pushes Ororon's head roughly until his lips are on yours, "Open your mouth" he commands. To which both of you obey not knowing who he's referring to. Slowly Ororon permits his tongue to wander past your lips and into your mouth. Satisfied Capitano begins to suckle and kiss your neck, his sharp teeth effortlessly breaching skin.

"I know you don't believe me when I say, I'm here to save Natlan." Capitano whispers. "But I helped your Ancestor defend this land once, and I shall do it again." Capitano sits up stiffly, his hand on your shoulder using ice to keep you in place. "The war with the Abyss is starting soon. You'll be safe here while Ororon and I make the final preparations." He sighs fully turning to you.

For the first time, you see the rot and decay that has marred his once gorgeous face. You gulp, swallowing your screams, letting his words sink in like the ice chaining you. Capitano pulls himself from the bed, making his way to the door. Ororon gives you a final kiss before also retreating from the bed and going to stand by the captain.

"If we survive this, I don't intend to take you to Snezhnaya. Frankly, I don't think either of you could survive the cold." He jokes, and you notice it's the first time his serious icy facade has cracked. "You will be safe here with Ororon and I'll visit you as much as my duties permit." strange how his words almost, almost sounded like 'I love you' muttered in a foreign tongue enclosed in ice. Something impossible to thaw out.

"I'm sorry about this darling," Ororon mutters as he follows the captain out. "But we'll be back soon." He offers you a soft smile before closing the door. One that makes your heart melt. Instead of a kidnapper, you see the little boy who used to own your heart.

The door closes leaving you to bask in all the glory of your doom.

.✦── °❀⋆ .🔥.⋆❀°── .✦

Apologies this is definitely not my best work but I just wanted to get something out for these two. May end up writing something better later on.

💜Tags: @definitely-asexual-volcano @fujisworld @kudoaii @savsxz @fantasyhopperhea @misscoolisback123 @army-of-inspirited-onces @lorkai @lavandulawrites @kazudare @s1mppp @onceapirateprincess @lovelive-animequeen1029 @trashpandaperson @rhain-things @milktea-coffeelady

[marysfics]

Alone Isn't So Alone When It's With You

You’ve always been alone. But will she be the one to change that?

Word count: 7.2k

Angst, Fluff

This fic has a happy ending.

The dim buzz of fluorescent lights hummed overhead as the school library settled into its usual after-school quiet. You sat at one of the long oak tables, nervously tapping your pen against your notebook. College had been lonely so far. Seventeen was supposed to be exciting, filled with memories and friends. Instead, you had spent most of your time wandering the halls, watching everyone else settle into their cliques.

That was until Alexia.

She had appeared like a lightning bolt in a storm—unexpected but electrifying. You had met only two weeks ago, partnered up for a last-minute group project in history class. While others had rolled their eyes at the assignment, Alexia had offered you an easygoing grin, her golden-brown hair tied back in a messy bun. Something about her presence—calm but undeniably confident—made you feel at ease in a way no one else had.

And now, there she was, walking into the library like she owned the place. Her backpack slung over one shoulder, wearing a hoodie that looked a size too big, Alexia spotted you immediately and strode over with the kind of effortless swagger that made heads turn.

“Hola,” she greeted, sliding into the seat across from you. “Finished your part of the project?”

You nodded, holding up your notes as evidence. “Barely,” you admitted. “You?”

Alexia smirked, pulling out her own stack of neatly written notes. “Always,” she teased. Her accent was warm and melodic, making even her jokes feel like honey dripping off her tongue.

But today, there was something different about her. The light in her hazel eyes flickered with a strange mix of excitement and something you couldn’t quite place—maybe sadness?

“You okay?” you asked cautiously.

Alexia hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.” She glanced around the quiet library, as though checking to make sure no one else was listening. Then, leaning closer, she said, “It’s my last week here.”

Your heart sank. “What? Why?”

“I got accepted into La Masia,” she explained softly. “The football academy.”

You blinked at her, stunned. Of course you knew she played football—she was always kicking a ball around during breaks, her movements precise and graceful. But you hadn’t realized it was serious enough to whisk her away.

“That’s amazing,” you said, forcing a smile. “Really, Alexia. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” she said, her grin small but genuine. “It’s a dream come true. But…” She trailed off, looking down at her hands. “I didn’t expect it to be so hard to leave. Especially now.”

The weight of her words settled heavily between you. Especially now. Was she talking about…you?

You swallowed hard, unsure what to say. You had spent so long wishing for a friend, and now that you’d finally found one, she was leaving.

“I’m glad I met you,” Alexia said suddenly, her voice softer now. “Even if it was only for a little while. You’re…special, you know? You make people feel like they belong.”

Your cheeks warmed at her words, and you ducked your head to hide your blush. “I—I don’t know about that.”

“I do,” Alexia insisted. Her eyes met yours, steady and sure. “I mean it.”

For a moment, the world shrank down to just the two of you, sitting in that quiet library. You didn’t know what to say, but maybe words weren’t necessary. Maybe this connection—brief and bittersweet—was enough.

“Can we still keep in touch?” you asked finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Alexia’s grin returned, brighter now. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed her.

The weeks after Alexia’s announcement were a blur of conflicting emotions. You tried your best to focus on school, to savor the limited time you had left with her. But as her departure loomed closer, every moment felt like sand slipping through your fingers. You wanted more time, more memories, more of her.

So, you started inviting her over whenever you could, hoping for a few extra hours to solidify the fragile bond you had built. But Alexia was busier than ever—training, packing, preparing for the move. Most of your invitations were met with apologetic texts that always ended in Lo siento, next time, okay?

Until one afternoon, when she finally said yes.

It was a rare quiet day at your house. Your parents were out of town for a business trip, leaving you with the freedom to have Alexia over without prying eyes or the usual awkward explanations. You had cleaned the living room three times and made sure to hide any embarrassing childhood photos before she arrived.

When the doorbell rang, your heart jumped into your throat. You practically sprinted to the door, flinging it open to see Alexia standing there with her trademark smile, her backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.

“Hey,” she said, stepping inside. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Thanks for actually coming,” you teased, closing the door behind her.

She laughed, and it was the kind of sound that made your chest feel warm. “I told you I’d make time eventually.”

You led her to the living room, where you’d set up a couple of snacks and some board games you weren’t sure she’d even like. Alexia looked around, her eyes taking in the space with a casual curiosity.

“This is nice,” she said, sitting down on the couch. “Way better than my house. My sister is always so messy with her stuff across the house.”

You smiled, feeling a bit more relaxed. “Well, make yourself at home. Want something to drink? Water? Juice?”

“Water’s good,” she said, leaning back against the cushions.

You nodded and made your way to the kitchen, determined to keep things simple and normal. But as you opened the fridge to grab a bottle of water, your stomach sank. The shelves were stocked with your parents’ collection of wine bottles, beer cans, and liquor. They always kept the fridge stocked when they traveled, as if daring you to throw a party in their absence. You weren’t about to take the bait, but now you had a new problem: Alexia.

You tried to quickly grab the water and close the door, but her voice stopped you.

“Wow,” she said, peering over your shoulder. “Your parents stock up, huh?”

You froze, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Uh, yeah. They like to…keep options. For guests.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced but amused. “Uh-huh. Guests.”

She leaned casually against the counter, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “So…is this where the wild parties happen?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool. “Hardly. I think the wildest thing I’ve done is drink two sodas in one night.”

Alexia chuckled, her laughter filling the room. “I believe that.”

You handed her the water bottle, avoiding her gaze. “Sorry. It’s not like I asked them to stock the bar before leaving.”

She unscrewed the cap and took a sip, her smirk softening into a grin. “Relax, it’s not a big deal. Honestly, it’s kind of funny. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

Her tone was so casual and warm that you couldn’t help but feel your shoulders relax. “Okay,” you said, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

The days blurred together after that afternoon with Alexia. You told yourself it was fine—she was busy, after all. Training at La Masia was no small thing, and you knew it meant everything to her. Still, the days felt quieter without her texts or her easy laughter filling the gaps in your life.

At first, you tried to keep the connection alive. You’d send messages when you had something funny or interesting to share, or just to check in. Sometimes, she’d reply quickly, her responses filled with exclamation points and emojis that reminded you of how easy things had been. Other times, hours—or even days—would pass before you got a short, almost obligatory reply.

The excuses started piling up: Sorry, training was crazy today. Exams are killing me. Coach has us on a new schedule—barely have time to sleep. You believed her, but with every message, the space between you seemed to stretch farther and farther.

Eventually, you stopped trying so hard.

It wasn’t a conscious decision, really. One day, you realized you couldn’t remember the last time Alexia had reached out first. The texts you hadn’t sent piled up in your drafts—half-written messages that felt too heavy or too trivial to send.

And then there was home. Your parents’ constant bickering, the weight of their expectations, and the unspoken tension that seemed to fill every corner of the house. You had enough on your plate without worrying about someone who clearly didn’t have the same space for you in their life anymore.

But letting go wasn’t as clean or easy as you hoped. You couldn’t help but wonder if you had done something wrong, if you had misread the connection you thought you shared. There was an ache deep in your chest every time you saw her Instagram stories—photos of her on the field, laughing with her new teammates, the world moving forward without you in it.

She didn’t seem to notice the growing silence. Or maybe she noticed and didn’t care. That thought hurt most of all.

You wanted to be happy for her. You really did. But a small, selfish part of you wished she’d reached out, asked if you were okay, told you she missed you. Instead, she seemed to have slipped effortlessly into her new life, while you were left behind, stuck in the same old routines, carrying the weight of something you couldn’t even name.

One night, as you stared at the ceiling in your room, the realization hit you like a tidal wave: you were holding on to something you couldn’t hold on to anymore. Alexia had moved on, and you needed to do the same.

So, you let the messages go unsent. You stopped refreshing her social media, stopped waiting for replies that never came. You poured yourself into school, into surviving the chaos at home, into anything that didn’t remind you of her.

It hurt, but slowly, the pain dulled. The memories of her became like faded photographs—still there, still cherished, but no longer sharp enough to cut.

Alexia never reached out again. And maybe that was the clearest answer of all.

The years that followed college were unremarkable, a quiet blur of routines and responsibilities. You graduated on your own, without the fanfare of parties or friends to share the moment with. The job you landed afterward was decent—enough to keep you afloat, enough to keep you busy.

Your days became a predictable rhythm: work, home, occasional trips to the grocery store, repeat. You rented a small but comfortable place, carefully decorating it to reflect the calm you craved. You made one rule for yourself: no alcohol in the house. The memories of your parents’ fridge, always brimming with booze, still lingered too vividly. The smell, the clink of bottles—it was enough to pull you back to a time and place you’d rather leave behind.

You didn’t mind the solitude most days. Loneliness had become a familiar companion, one you’d learned to coexist with. But sometimes, in the quiet of the evening, as you sat alone on your couch with the TV playing softly in the background, you’d wonder if this was all life had to offer.

It was on one of those evenings—a random Tuesday, nothing special—when your phone buzzed. You almost ignored it, assuming it was just another notification from work or a spam message. But something about the name on the screen made your heart stop.

Alexia.

Your chest tightened as you stared at the screen, the message previewing beneath her name.

Hey... It's been a while, huh?

You sat frozen for a moment, the past rushing back in a flood of memories. Her laugh, her smile, the afternoons you spent together, and the slow unraveling of your connection. You hadn’t heard from her in years—not since she had left for La Masia and, eventually, the world of professional football. You had done your best to forget, to move on, but here she was again, as if no time had passed at all.

With trembling fingers, you opened the message.

Hey... It's been a while, huh? I know this is out of the blue, but I was thinking about you. I don’t know if this is still your number, but if it is… I’d really love to catch up.

Your heart pounded as you read the words over and over, trying to make sense of them. Why now? What did she want? And did you even want to respond?

You glanced around your apartment, your safe, solitary space. The idea of opening that door—of letting Alexia back in after so long—was both thrilling and terrifying. But as you stared at her message, a small part of you, the part that had never truly let her go, whispered: What if?

You took a deep breath and started typing.

It is still my number. I didn’t think I’d hear from you again. What’s up?

You hit send before you could overthink it, your heart hammering in your chest as you waited for her reply. It came almost instantly.

Wow, I’m so glad you responded. I’m back in town for a while, and I’d love to see you if you’re up for it.

The years of distance, of silence, felt impossibly heavy. You didn’t know what seeing her would bring—closure, pain, or something else entirely. But as you stared at her message, you realized you wanted to find out.

Okay, you replied, the word small but full of meaning. When and where?

The day you were supposed to meet Alexia, your nerves were shot. She had picked a neutral spot—a quiet café in the city center, somewhere close enough to be familiar but far enough to avoid the ghosts of old memories. You didn’t know what to expect. Would she be the same Alexia you once knew, or someone entirely different? Would she even recognize the person you’d become?

You arrived ten minutes early, partly out of habit and partly because you didn’t want her to be the one waiting. The café was cozy, with soft lighting and the faint hum of chatter filling the air. You chose a table near the window, giving you a clear view of the street outside.

Your coffee sat untouched in front of you as you fidgeted with the edges of your sleeve. You wondered if you were making a mistake, if meeting her after all these years would only stir up feelings you’d worked so hard to bury. But before you could talk yourself out of it, the door swung open.

And there she was.

Alexia stepped inside, her presence as magnetic as ever. She looked different—older, more polished, her hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. But the warmth in her eyes, the way her gaze lit up when she spotted you—that was the same.

You stood awkwardly as she made her way over, her grin widening with every step. “Hola,” she said, her voice carrying that same familiar lilt that once felt like home.

“Hi,” you managed, your voice smaller than you intended.

She hugged you without hesitation, and for a moment, you froze, unsure how to react. But then you relaxed into it, the scent of her perfume and the strength of her embrace pulling you back to a time when things felt simpler.

When she pulled away, she smiled again, softer this time. “You look good.”

“You too,” you said, your cheeks warming under her gaze.

She gestured to the table. “Can I sit?”

“Of course,” you said, sitting back down as she took the chair across from you.

The first few moments were tentative, filled with polite small talk—how was work, how was the city treating you, the usual questions people ask when trying to bridge years of silence. But soon, the barriers began to crumble, and the conversation turned deeper.

She told you about her life, about the whirlwind of her career—the highs, the pressures, the moments of doubt. “It’s amazing,” she said, stirring her coffee absently. “But sometimes it feels…lonely, you know?”

You nodded, surprised by her candor. “I get that,” you said. “Life’s…quiet for me. Different kind of lonely, I guess.”

She looked at you then, her eyes searching. “I always wondered about you,” she said softly. “How you were doing. If you were okay.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. “I managed,” you said, avoiding her gaze. “It wasn’t easy, but…yeah. I’m okay.”

She hesitated, then reached across the table, her fingers brushing yours. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice thick with regret. “For losing touch. For not being there.”

You stared at her hand, your emotions a tangled mess of anger, sadness, and something else you couldn’t quite name. “I don’t blame you,” you said after a moment. “You were chasing your dream. I didn’t want to hold you back.”

Alexia shook her head. “But I could’ve tried harder. I should’ve.” Her grip on your hand tightened, as if afraid you might slip away again. “I missed you. More than I realized until recently.”

Your heart ached at her words, the sincerity in her voice pulling at old wounds you thought had healed. “Why now?” you asked quietly. “Why reach out after all this time?”

She looked down, her thumb tracing circles on the table. “Because I’ve been thinking about what really matters. And you…you were always someone who mattered to me. I didn’t want to let more time slip away.”

For a long moment, you didn’t say anything, the weight of her words settling between you. You had spent so long convincing yourself that she didn’t care, that you were just a forgotten chapter in her story. But now, sitting across from her, feeling the warmth of her hand in yours, you weren’t so sure anymore.

“I don’t know if we can just pick up where we left off,” you said finally, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside you.

Alexia nodded, her gaze steady. “I’m not asking for that. I just…want a chance to try. To be in your life again, however you’ll let me.”

You looked at her then, really looked at her. The determination in her eyes, the vulnerability in her posture—it was enough to make you believe she meant it.

“Okay,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “We can try.”

Her smile lit up the room, and for the first time in years, you felt something stir in your chest.

Hope.

It wasn’t easy, letting Alexia back into your life. She had built something beautiful—a world filled with friends, teammates who felt like family, and stories about ex-girlfriends that she shared with casual ease. It wasn’t that she flaunted it; it was just her life, a life that felt so much bigger than yours.

Meanwhile, you still lived alone in your small apartment, your days consumed by work and routines. The contrast between her vibrant world and your quiet existence made your insecurities bubble to the surface. But you didn’t want her to know. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that you were content with what you had.

But sometimes, like tonight, it was hard to keep that mask in place.

Alexia was coming over for dinner—a small step in rekindling whatever it was you two had once shared. You had spent the entire day cleaning your apartment, making sure everything looked just right. The table was set simply but neatly, the air filled with the aroma of the pasta dish you’d spent way too long perfecting for her.

When she arrived, she greeted you with a smile that made your chest ache, a bottle of olive oil tucked under one arm and a small loaf of bread in the other. “For the chef,” she said with a grin, handing them to you as she stepped inside.

Dinner started out light and easy. You talked about work, about her training schedule, about funny little things that had happened in your day. But as the evening wore on, the gap between your lives felt harder to ignore. She shared stories about her teammates, their wild nights out, and a recent trip to Ibiza with friends. You laughed in all the right places, but a small voice in the back of your mind whispered, What do I have to share?

After dinner, you cleared the table and asked, “What do you want to drink? I have water, juice, maybe some soda?”

Alexia leaned back in her chair, her expression playful. “It’s my cheat day,” she said. “Got any wine?”

Your stomach dropped. Of course she’d want wine. It was normal. Expected. But you didn’t have any—not even a stray beer tucked away in the back of the fridge.

You shook your head, trying to keep your tone light. “I don’t keep alcohol at home.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow, her teasing grin still in place. “What, afraid you’ll get too wild? One glass of wine and start dancing on the table?”

Her joke was harmless, but something in your face must have changed, because her smile faded. “Hey,” she said softly. “I was just kidding. What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, gripping the edge of the counter. The words felt heavy, but there was no use hiding now. “I just…I don’t want to end up like my parents,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “The fridge was always full of booze when I was a kid. It was like…it was more important than anything else. I promised myself I wouldn’t let that happen to me.”

Alexia’s eyes softened, and for a moment, she said nothing. Then she stood and crossed the small kitchen, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “I didn’t know,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, brushing it off. “I mean, I can go grab some wine from the store if you want. It’s not like I have a problem being around it or anything. I just don’t keep it here.”

She shook her head. “No, no way. I’m not going to make you uncomfortable in your own home.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you insisted, but Alexia gave you a look that stopped you in your tracks.

“It is a big deal,” she said firmly. “You’re setting boundaries for yourself, and that’s something I respect. I don’t need wine to have a good time. I came here to spend time with you, not to drink.”

Her words caught you off guard, and for a moment, all you could do was nod.

She smiled then, a small, reassuring curve of her lips. “You’re doing great,” she said, her voice warm. “And I’m glad you told me. Really.”

The tension in your chest eased slightly, replaced by a tentative sense of relief. “Thanks,” you said softly.

For the rest of the evening, Alexia didn’t mention wine—or anything else that might stir up the ghosts of your past. Instead, she made you laugh with stories about her teammates and praised your cooking so earnestly it almost felt like she was trying to make up for the awkward moment earlier.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you didn’t have to be alone forever.

The weeks that followed were a slow but steady unraveling of the walls you had built around yourself. Alexia kept showing up—texting you almost every day, inviting you to lunch, even dropping by your place with fresh bread from a bakery she claimed was the best in the city. It felt strange at first, letting someone occupy so much space in your life again, but with Alexia, it also felt natural.

She started pushing you gently out of your comfort zone, introducing you to parts of her world. One weekend, she invited you to a casual gathering with some of her teammates and friends at a local tapas bar. You were hesitant, your stomach twisting with nerves, but Alexia’s smile and her soft “It’ll be fun, I promise” were enough to convince you.

Walking into the bar, you felt like a fish out of water. The group was lively and close-knit, their energy so different from the quiet, solitary existence you were used to. But Alexia stayed by your side, introducing you to everyone with a warmth that made you feel, if not comfortable, then at least welcome.

Her friends were kind, but they asked questions—harmless ones, like what you did for work, what hobbies you enjoyed. You answered politely, though part of you felt exposed under their curious gazes. And then there were the jokes about Alexia, the teasing about her bringing “a mystery guest” as if this were some kind of date. She laughed it off, but you couldn’t help the blush that crept up your neck.

Later that night, as you both walked back to your place, she glanced at you, her eyes twinkling. “So? What did you think?”

“They’re nice,” you said, trying to sound casual. “A little overwhelming, but nice.”

She grinned. “That’s just how they are. Loud, chaotic, but good people.”

You nodded, not entirely sure how to put into words the swirl of emotions you felt—gratitude for being included, insecurity about whether you belonged, and something else you didn’t quite understand.

A few days later, over coffee at a cozy café, Alexia surprised you with a question that nearly made you choke on your latte.

“So,” she said, her tone light but her gaze sharp. “What’s your love life like these days?”

You sputtered, your cheeks heating instantly. “What?”

She shrugged, grinning. “Come on, you’ve got to tell me. Anyone special? Someone I should be jealous of?”

Your heart thudded painfully at the teasing edge in her voice. “There’s…no one,” you admitted, staring at the rim of your cup. “There hasn’t been for a while.”

Alexia tilted her head, studying you with a curious expression. “Why not? You’re amazing—anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Her words made your stomach flip, but they also brought an uncomfortable knot of self-consciousness to your chest. “I don’t know,” you said quietly. “I guess I’m just not great at…putting myself out there. It’s easier to be alone.”

Alexia frowned, her brows knitting together. “Easier, maybe. But is it what you want?”

You didn’t have an answer for that, at least not one you were ready to share. Instead, you shrugged, hoping she’d let the subject drop. She didn’t press further, but the look in her eyes lingered—thoughtful, almost sad.

Over the next few weeks, Alexia continued to nudge you out of your shell. She’d drag you along to brunches with her teammates, send you photos of stray dogs she thought you might like, and even insisted on going to a karaoke night where she convinced you—much to your horror—to sing a duet with her.

But despite the awkwardness, despite the moments when you felt like an outsider in her bright, bustling world, you couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed being part of it. And more than that, you couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed being with her.

The vulnerability was terrifying, but with Alexia, it also felt like a chance to start something new. Something real.

The more time you spent with Alexia, the more you found yourself wanting to do things for her—not out of obligation, but out of a quiet, growing need to make her happy. It started with small gestures. When she came over after a long day of training, you’d make her favorite pasta, carefully remembering how she liked extra Parmesan. When she mentioned offhand that her coffee machine was acting up, you bought her a sleek French press and left it on her doorstep with a note: Every footballer deserves good coffee.

Her reaction made the effort worth it every time. She’d text you immediately, her messages brimming with emojis and gratitude that made your heart ache in the best way. Sometimes, she’d call, her voice warm with something that sounded like fondness.

“You’re spoiling me,” she’d say, half-teasing, half-serious.

And maybe you were, but you didn’t mind. You wanted to. For the first time in years, it felt like you had something to give, and giving to Alexia felt…right.

One evening, she invited you over to her place for a movie night. Her apartment was cozy, filled with personal touches that made you smile—photos of her family, trophies tucked casually on shelves, and a pile of throw blankets that she insisted were for “cold nights, not decoration.” You brought along her favorite snacks, remembering a passing comment she’d made weeks ago about a certain brand of chips she loved as a kid.

When she saw the bag in your hand, her eyes lit up like you’d handed her the World Cup trophy. “No way,” she said, laughing as she took the bag. “You remembered this?”

“Of course,” you said, trying to sound casual, even as her excitement made your chest tighten with something unfamiliar. “Figured you deserved a treat.”

Later, as the two of you sat side by side on her couch, your shoulders brushing, you couldn’t focus on the movie. You were too aware of her—how her laugh filled the room, how she leaned closer during particularly intense scenes, how her arm rested lightly against yours.

You glanced at her, taking in the way the screen’s glow softened her features, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. And that feeling stirred again in your chest—warm, insistent, impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t until a few days later that it finally hit you.

You were sitting alone in your apartment, absentmindedly scrolling through your phone when her name popped up—a simple message asking if you wanted to grab lunch. The sight of her name, the thought of seeing her, sent a wave of warmth through you that left you breathless.

You set your phone down, staring at it as if it held the answer to a question you hadn’t realized you were asking. And then, like a puzzle piece clicking into place, the realization settled over you.

You were in love with her.

The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying. It explained the flutter in your chest every time she smiled, the way you’d replay her laughter in your mind long after she was gone. It explained why you wanted to give her everything, why her happiness felt more important than your own.

But it also scared you. Because loving Alexia—someone so bright, so extraordinary—felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, unsure if you were about to fly or fall.

It wasn’t long before the unspoken connection between you and Alexia became impossible to ignore. You spent more and more time together—long conversations into the night, quiet afternoons with coffee in hand, sharing small moments that made you feel like you were slowly falling deeper and deeper into her world. You both knew something had changed, but neither of you spoke of it.

And then, one evening, while sitting on her couch after a long day of running errands, she turned to you with a look in her eyes that made your heart skip a beat.

You had just finished sharing a laugh about something silly, but when the laughter faded, the quiet stretched on longer than usual. Alexia’s gaze softened, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket she had draped across her lap.

“Hey,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. “I’ve been wanting to tell you something.”

You felt a sudden knot form in your stomach, a mix of excitement and nervousness. What if she felt it too? What if this was the moment?

“Yeah?” you managed, though your voice came out a little shakier than you intended.

She hesitated, biting her lip, as though carefully choosing her words. Then, she looked at you, her eyes steady, her expression vulnerable. “I think…I think I’m in love with you.”

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, the room felt suspended in time. Your heart pounded in your chest as you processed her confession. It wasn’t what you had expected to hear, but it was exactly what you had hoped for—more than you had even dared to admit to yourself.

You stared at her, your breath caught in your throat. You had never known love like this, this certainty that swirled in your chest. This feeling, something raw and pure, that had been quietly building between the two of you since the day you met. You had known for weeks, maybe longer, that something was different about the way she made you feel. But hearing her say it, hearing those words come from her, made everything click into place.

“I…” you began, your voice trembling, unsure of what to say, but the words wouldn’t come out right. Everything felt too big. Too real. Your mind raced, and for a brief moment, you felt overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

Alexia reached over and gently placed her hand on top of yours, her touch grounding you, her warmth spreading through you like fire. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same yet,” she said softly, as if reading your thoughts. “I just wanted you to know. Because I care about you, and I want you to know how much you mean to me.”

You met her gaze then, the vulnerability in her eyes mirroring your own. She’s not afraid, you realized. She had said it, openly, honestly. And maybe it was time for you to do the same.

“I’m…” You swallowed, your heart racing. You had never felt this way before. You had never known what it meant to feel so fully connected to someone, so certain of them, even in the quiet moments, even in the unspoken parts of your life. “I’m in love with you, too,” you whispered, and the weight of those words, the truth in them, made your chest feel lighter than it ever had before.

A soft, relieved smile curved her lips, and before you knew it, she was leaning in, her forehead resting against yours. The contact, simple but intimate, sent a wave of warmth through your body.

“I’m so glad,” she murmured, closing her eyes for a moment as if to savor the feeling. “I didn’t want to say it first. But I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

You laughed softly, the sound shaky and nervous but genuine. “I didn’t know how to say it either.”

Alexia pulled back slightly, her fingers tracing the back of your hand. “It’s okay. I’m just happy it’s out there now.”

Everything inside of you felt like it was shifting. The world, once so full of uncertainty, now felt more certain. Every glance, every touch, every small gesture between you and Alexia was now wrapped in a tenderness you hadn’t known you craved so deeply.

For you, it was all new—the feeling of love, of letting someone in, of trusting that you could be vulnerable and still be accepted. Every moment with Alexia felt like a first: the first time someone saw all of you and still chose to stay, the first time you felt so completely seen and understood.

And it was terrifying, yes. But it was also beautiful, and thrilling, and everything you had ever needed.

Alexia’s lips brushed lightly against your forehead, a kiss that felt like a promise. “I want to be with you,” she whispered, her breath warm against your skin. “I’m so glad we found each other, even if it took a while.”

You smiled, the corners of your lips curving in a way that felt more natural than anything you had felt before. “I want that too,” you whispered back, your heart swelling with something you couldn’t quite put into words.

And as she pulled you closer, your hands intertwined and hearts aligned, you realized that love, for the first time in your life, didn’t feel like a risk anymore. It felt like home.

The years that followed were nothing short of transformative. Every moment with Alexia felt like an adventure, an unfolding journey where each “first” felt monumental, but also incredibly intimate, as if the two of you were exploring a world that was just beginning to make sense.

It started with the first time you spent the night together, a night that felt surreal, as if you were stepping into a new chapter of your relationship. It wasn’t just about the physical closeness, though that was part of it—it was the way Alexia held you, the way she let you into her world with an openness that you had never experienced before. That night, you felt safe, loved, and utterly accepted, a feeling that had once seemed so far away.

You woke up the next morning, tangled in the soft sheets, your heart still racing from the night before. Alexia was still asleep beside you, her chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm. You couldn’t help but smile, tracing the outline of her features as she slept, marveling at how everything about her made you feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

And then, there was the first time you saw her play live. You had watched her practice before, but there was something entirely different about seeing her in front of a crowd, in her element, doing what she loved. The energy in the stadium was electric, the fans chanting her name, and when she scored her first goal that day, your heart soared along with the roar of the crowd. But it wasn’t just the goal, it was the way she looked afterward—confident, powerful, yet still soft in the moments when she’d glance up at you in the stands, her eyes locking with yours, and you’d both share a smile that spoke louder than any words.

Later that night, when the two of you celebrated her win, she couldn’t stop talking about how happy she was to see you there, supporting her. You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop talking about how proud you were of her—not just for the goal, but for everything she had accomplished, and for the person she was.

The months went by, and the first anniversary of your relationship came around. It was a quiet celebration, the two of you sharing a candlelit dinner at home, reminiscing about all the moments that had brought you together. You remembered the uncertainty you had felt in the beginning, wondering if you were ready for something this big, but as you looked at Alexia across the table, it was clear that you had made the right choice. You were here, together, and everything was exactly how it was meant to be.

The next step came when the two of you decided to move in together. It felt like a natural progression, like everything in your relationship had led to this moment. Packing up your things and merging your lives into a shared space felt like the beginning of a new chapter. Your apartment became a reflection of both of you—yours and hers—blending seamlessly together. The little touches, like the way Alexia’s football jerseys hung proudly on the walls and the way you had curated a collection of books and art, made the space feel like home.

You settled into the rhythm of daily life—morning coffees together, late-night talks, lazy weekends with nothing to do but enjoy each other’s company. And then came the moment when you hosted your first gathering, an open house to welcome Alexia’s friends and teammates into your home. It was the first time you’d truly felt like you were part of her world, and her friends—who had become your friends, too—were warm and welcoming, just like she had been.

As the evening unfolded, the conversation flowed easily, laughter filling the rooms, and the energy was infectious. People came and went, talking, eating, and enjoying the night. You felt at ease with Alexia by your side, her hand often finding yours as you moved through the crowd.

At one point, a couple of her teammates turned to Alexia with playful glints in their eyes. “So, where’s the wine?” one of them asked, already scanning the kitchen. “I’m sure you have something tucked away.”

Alexia’s eyes twinkled, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Nope,” she replied, her tone firm but light. “We don’t have any. Never have, never will.”

You looked at her, surprised by her confidence. She shrugged, looking around at her teammates. “We don’t drink here. My girl doesn’t keep alcohol in the house. It’s a thing, and I’m proud of it.”

The teammates shared surprised looks, but no one pressed further. Instead, they found something else to drink—sparkling water, lemonade, iced tea—and the night carried on without missing a beat. But as the evening wore on, Alexia found you in the kitchen, her smile wide.

“See?” she said, wrapping her arms around your waist. “I told you they’d understand.”

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride swell in your chest. Alexia had never been ashamed of your choices, never backed down from the things you held dear—even when it was something as small as not having alcohol in the house. She supported you, in every way possible, and that made everything you had with her feel more solid, more real.

As the months and then years passed, you continued to share these firsts—each one more meaningful than the last. You learned to navigate life together, building a partnership founded on love, respect, and the quiet understanding that you were each other’s safe space.

Through every milestone—every celebration, every challenge—you stood by one another, stronger for it. And with Alexia, there was a calm certainty that filled your heart, a knowing that no matter where life took you both, this was exactly where you were supposed to be.

The journey wasn’t always easy, but with Alexia by your side, you knew that you would always have a home to return to, a place where you were cherished, loved, and understood. It was a love that didn’t need grand gestures or bold declarations. It was in the quiet moments, in the shared smiles, in the simple acts of care and kindness.

And as you stood there, in your home—together, with Alexia’s teammates, now your friends—life felt perfect. Perfect in a way you’d never thought possible, and yet here you were, living it. And as Alexia leaned in to kiss you softly, whispering how much she loved you, you knew that you had everything you could ever need.

[nosyrobin]

Need more pretty boy wonderboy!reader 🙏

“Pretty boy.”

Pair: Supersons x Wonderboy!reader

Summary: It’s hard being the pretty one of the trio. The five times Wonderboy!reader has been called pretty.

Genre: fluff

The first time, was the supersons were just ten. The Amazon male had accidentally made Damian angry, so angry that he didn’t know any insult of that moment.

Jon watched Y/N run fast from the angry tanned boy. He was screaming in Arabic and then Chinese. It was scary as Jon just hide behind a couch as Y/N then forced himself to fly for safety.

Damian threw anything he could at the damned Amazon boy. Practically trying to corner him. “GET DOWN PRETTY BOY!” Damian yells, now in English as he throws a mug at the boy.

That’s when it went silent and time felt slow before the Amazon male spoke up.

“I’m pretty?” Y/N smirks with crossed arms, now the tip of Damian’s ears were red. Jon had to hold the boy back, cause somehow this shorty jumped up and caught the warrior.

The second time, was at a beach. But the beach experience was a little sandy and terrible.

Sand was too hot, Jon had to carry the Amazon male and Wayne. Then Damian stayed under an umbrella as the two strong boys were playing in the water or playing volleyball.

After all that playing, the Amazon male had bought a sandwich, but the sandwich was stolen by a damn seagull which angered Y/N. He was hungry, and no one fucks with his lunch.

The Amazon boy was flying and rushing after that damn seagull. But the seagull then pooped on the Amazon male, made the boy more enraged as he grips the throat of the seagull and made it spit it out. “Ugh…what a waste of time.” The poop was cleaned off but Jon could only smile at the Amazon male.

“You’re so pretty…” Jon says, a love sick expression on his face as the Amazon male had an annoyed expression by the heat beaming on him.

“Jon…now’s not the time.”

The third time, it was random. Y/N was lifting up a car to throw at a robot. With one swift move of lifting the car up, holding it over his head and hurling at the robot. Completely destroying it, the Amazon failed to see some admirers watching him.

Y/N quickly flew around with Jon close to him, Jon user his heat vision to melt anything that dare to get close to the duo.

As the area was cleared, Wonderboy stood there looking around, he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to see someone his age.

“Hey! Pretty boy, thanks for saving me.” The teen says to the amazon male. “Oh! Um no problem man…” the Amazon teen says awkwardly. The teen his age only smiled. “So like are you—”

“He’s taken.” Robin says quickly, wonderboy nervously chuckled and flew off with superboy close behind as Robin took a piggy back ride on the Amazon’s back.

The fourth time, was when a model agency asked him with agency he was in.

Y/N and the boys were at the mall, relaxing and not paying attention to anything as it was their free day from work and school.

Y/N walked off, wanting to use the bathroom as Jon and Damian were arguing which color would be great for bracelets.

As the Amazon male finished his business and was walking back to the food court, he got stopped by a lady with a clearly blonde wig. “Darling! Do you model? Which agency if you do. I couldn’t help but see your beauty, your pretty structure is what my agency needs.” The lady says with a smile.

“I don’t model…” y/n says softly. The woman cups the teen’s hands. “Oh darling but you would look amazing modeling for me!” She then pulls a card out from her coat. “If you ever want to model for me, find me.” She says, she then walks off.

The older teen looked confused but shrugged as he walked back to his best friends.

The fifth time, was special. The Amazon boy was in the snowy weather. A red scarf wrapped around his neck, the cold hair had tinted some part of the teenager. He blows out cold air with a soft smile. Turning his head, he caught sight of Jon and Damian standing there, looking at him.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongues?” The boy says with a soft smile. Jon immediately speeds over to the Amazon male with a red face, as Damian walked over with a small smile. “Hello Prince.”

“Hey guys..” Jon let go of the Amazon male, cupping the boy’s face. “I’m glad you’re here with us! We got so many presents for you.” Jon says, he then kisses the forehead of the Amazon male. Jon moved back so Damian could get a hug in. “I missed you too..Y/N.” Y/N softly chuckles and kissed Damian’s head. “Yeah yeah, I missed ya guys as well.”

“Yeah we missed our pretty boyfriend.”

[sluts4matt]

BEACH VLOG

pairing: soft!matt x latina!reader

summary: vlogging a day at the beach with your boyfriend and his brothers is always fun. until matt starts getting handsy and you guys have to go away from the two.

warnings: SMUT, fingering, pet names, tons of praising, public, no actual p in v, fluff tbh

word count: 1079

author's note: i really hope i did your request justice @kscutzzzz, might be the softest thing i've written so far tbh

"look at this shell," you say to nick who points the vlog camera at you. your body was clad in a black two-piece bathing suit, the fabric hugging your honey-colored skin nicely. matt and chris come up behind the two of you, giggling like morons.

a small grin tugs at your lips feeling matt's arms snake around your waist. your finger traced the tattoos on his left arm. "a shell?" the brunette questions, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. "yes, yes," you babble like a child, "a pretty shell."

you turn in the boy's grasp, the camera still recording the two of you. his arms hugged your waist as he looked down at you. you brought the shell in between the two of you, showing it to him with innocent eyes. "see?"

matt nods, "it's beautiful." you grin, leaning up to peck his lips before wiggling out of his grasp and running back to where you got it from. "awe, so cute," chris mocked while nick cooed, the two brothers looking at matt.

"still don't understand how you bagged that at the ripe age of fifteen," chris chuckles, watching you run towards the shore. you had always been a bit weird, never in a bad way though.

the way you giggled at the smallest of things, and the way your voice would change to sounding like a child when you were excited had always made matt's heart flutter. and it still did even after five years.

"she's amazing," matt simply states, watching you bend over, the black bikini bottoms accentuating your ass. his mouth practically watered. "gonna marry her someday," matt mumbles before walking towards you.

"what are you doing baby?" he asks, watching as you scrape your feet around the wet sand and examine the ground. "looking for more shells, wanna help?" you ask, giving him the cutest puppy dog look.

matt grins, nodding his head. the two of you began to search around the sandy floor, and matt would be lying if he said he wasn't looking up every so often to sneak a glance at you.

you bent over a lot, giving him the perfect view of your cleavage. god, he wanted nothing more than to rip that thing off of you and fuck you right here in the ocean. "oh look, i found a starfish," you exclaim, pointing at the sea creature that occupied an underwater rock and making a 'yay' noise.

"good job babe," matt compliments, and you give him a proud grin. you were the sweetest girl in the world, and the fact that you were his made his ego rise.

"how about we swim now, hm?" matt suggests, and you nod eagerly. he grins, picking you up by your hips with ease, and carrying you deeper into the water.

your legs wrap around his waist as the cold water touches your toes. "cold," you squeal, burying your face in his neck. "don't worry baby, you'll get used to it," matt reassures.

matt was right, after a few seconds, the water didn't feel as cold as it first did. you let him carry you behind a few rocks, hiding your two bodies from the eyes of the public. "so pretty angel," he whispers, setting you down, placing his hands on your cheeks as he peppers your lips with kisses.

you let him, giggling softly. your fingers played with the hairs on his neck. "you look so pretty in this," he whispers, kissing down to your neck and biting the spot between your neck and shoulder.

your hand came up to his head, gripping the hair on his head. he sucks a hickey onto your neck before moving down to your collarbones.

"so pretty for me, my pretty baby," he whispers against your skin, one of his hands dropping down to the bottom half of your bathing suit. "gonna make you feel good," matt mumbles, rubbing his middle and ring finger against the crotch of your bathing suit.

"mhm," you squeak, an arm wrapped around his neck for support. "you want that, pretty girl?" he asks, continuing to rub his fingers against you. "yes, please," you whimper, pushing your hips against his hand.

"my girl is so pretty and polite, such a good girl for me," he praises, slipping his fingers past the hem of your bottoms. he rubs his fingers up and down your folds, his fingers easily collecting the wetness.

"all this just from me?" he teases, and you nod, a small whimper leaving your lips. "so perfect, angel. gonna finger you now, okay?" he tells you, and you nod.

matt was the sweetest boy, always making sure you were comfortable before doing anything.

he slips a finger inside of you, his mouth going to suck marks into your neck that would definitely get questioned later by the boys. "more," you breathe, your nails digging into his shoulders.

his hand goes to cover your mouth and his nose nudges your ear before he's whispering. "quiet baby, can't let anyone know what we're doing," he shushes, adding another finger.

you moan against his hand, and he presses kisses against your jaw. his fingers pump in and out of you slowly, trying not to be rough.

his fingers curl and he presses against a spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. your grip on his shoulder tightens and you press your hips down against his fingers, silently asking him to keep touching you there.

"you like that baby? like it when i touch that spot?" he asks, continuing to rub his fingers against it. you nod quickly, and his thumb circles your clit. your eyes slip closed and your head lolls forward, resting on his shoulder.

your orgasm creeps up on you, and you can't find yourself to warn matt. the pleasure becomes too much and you're letting out a strangled cry against his hand, and your thighs shaking.

he helps you ride out your high, slowing his movements and pressing kisses along your neck and jaw. "my good girl, you did so well," he coos, pulling his fingers from your heat and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"thank you," you mumble, your head still buried in the crook of his neck. "i love you," he mutters against your hair, and you can't help but grin. "i love you too, but if we don't leave this place soon, they'll come looking for us," you giggle.

tag list:

@hysteria-things @tillies33ssss @soimightlikeoldmen69 @sturniolossss @freshsturns @lily-strnlo @etvar12 @iloveurgf @sstvrnioloo @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloa @chrryclouds @sturniolho

[just-aake]

All’s Fair in Love and War

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha has some summer fun with you and the Barton children at the beach.

Warnings: fluff, hints of suggestive themes

Words: 1479

The sun hangs high in the sky, its beaming rays shining directly on you. A bead of sweat trickles down your face as you move toward your target, trying to be quick but also as quiet as possible.

However, your advance is slowed as your feet sink further into the hot sandy ground with each step forward.

Approaching your target, you pause behind a large boulder, using it for cover. Silently, you adjust your grip on the weapon in your hand, preparing for the impending attack.

Releasing a tiny breath, you swiftly maneuver from your hiding spot, vaulting over the boulder and landing with your weapon raised and ready.

Your arm lowers slightly when you find yourself facing an empty beach towel, its owner nowhere in sight.

That’s strange. You could have sworn she hadn’t left this area.

Just as you begin to turn around, a distinct pressure against your lower back makes you freeze. The plastic muzzle of a water gun presses into you, and a moment later, an arm snakes around your midriff, pulling you close.

You feel her bikini-clad body press against you as Natasha whispers in a low, teasing tone into your ear.

“You didn’t think I wouldn’t know you were sneaking up on me, did you, detka?”

A light chuckle escapes your lips as you raise both hands in surrender.

“You’ve caught me. What happens now?”

Natasha presses a light kiss against your shoulder before releasing her hold on you and backing away.

“It’s only fair that I do the same thing you were about to do to me.”

Turning around with your hands still raised in surrender, you raise a brow at her in amusement when you see the water gun in her hand pointed at you.

“How did you even get yourself one? Clint literally just came back with them while you were lying here.”

Natasha smirks and shrugs lightly. “I have my ways. Now…”

She gestures pointedly with her head to the water gun still in your hand and then towards the ground.

You huff lightly before letting it fall from your grip to the sand.

“Are you really going to shoot an unarmed person?”

Natasha’s playful smirk widens, giving you a teasing wink.

“All’s fair in love and war, detka.”

She presses the trigger on her gun, shooting a series of water shots that hit you squarely in the chest, immediately soaking your body. When she doesn’t stop, you laugh and rush at her, your hands raised in an attempt to block all her shots.

“Hey! I was only going to shoot you once!”

Natasha’s laughter rings out, clear and joyous, as you wrap your arms around her waist and pull her to the ground. The two of you tumble together in a flurry of limbs and laughter.

Rolling to a stop, Natasha ends up on top of you with a playful smirk. She leans in close, her breath warm against your lips, and whispers suggestively, “You know how I love to get you wet.”

“Nat!” you exclaim in reprimand, glancing around quickly. “Clint’s kids could be nearby.”

Realization dawns in Natasha’s eyes, followed by a thoughtful hum.

“Oh, now I understand, so you were the distraction.”

She begins to move to look around and locate the Barton children, but you swiftly trap one of her legs in yours and wrap your arms around her body, locking her in place with a smug look.

Natasha squirms slightly, but you know she’s not using all her strength to escape. And even though she lets out a small huff of disbelief, there’s still a gleam of amusement in her eyes.

“This is cheating,” she mutters, a tiny smile playing on her lips.

You grin up at her, tightening your hold just a bit.

“All’s fair in love and war, detka,” you playfully mock before shouting, “I got her!”

Immediately, Cooper and Lila emerge from their hiding spots with excited shouts, rushing towards you two with water guns aimed at Natasha.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Natasha says, twisting her body from your grasp and rolling you above her just as the two children begin their onslaught.

Cold water hits you on all sides, soaking you once again.

“Wait, wait! Friendly fire! Friendly fire!” you shout, holding out your hands to block the streams of water as Natasha rolls away from under you.

The shots stop at your exclamation, and the kids give you a confused look, realizing they are not shooting the red-haired spy.

Wiping your face, you turn to where Natasha escaped, only to find her holding two new water guns, both aimed at the three of you.

“Wha–how do you have more guns hidden around here?” you exclaim in disbelief.

“I told you. I have my ways,” Natasha remarks with a triumphant grin. Her stance is firm as she steps closer, her fingers moving to the triggers.

The three of you exchange quick glances, realizing your predicament, and slowly back away from the highly trained agent.

“What do we do now, Auntie Y/n?” Cooper whispers, his eyes wide with anticipation.

“Umm,” you glance at their water gun tanks. “Do either of you have enough to take any more shots?”

Lila presses on her trigger, and a tiny drizzle of water flows out of the nozzle. She looks back at you and shakes her head.

“I see,” you say, nodding slightly with a grim look. “Then there’s only one thing we can do.”

With hands on your waist, you take a deep and determined breath before looking back at Natasha, who is patiently waiting for you to make a decision. Then suddenly…

You begin sprinting away in one direction, shouting, “Run!”

The two children scramble to follow your command, darting in separate directions. They laugh as Natasha begins to chase and shoot water at them.

Her shots are precise, and within moments, you’re all soaked.

After a lively chase, you all gather together again, breathless and laughing. The three of you are drenched with water while Natasha stands dry with a victorious smirk.

“Well, that should teach you all not to try and ambush me,” Natasha says, lowering her guns.

Cooper and Lila giggle, shaking off the water.

“You got us good,” Cooper admits, smiling.

“Yeah, Auntie Nat, you should join our team,” Lila exclaims excitedly. “We’re going after Dad next.”

“You could teach us where to hide the extra water guns for when we run out,” Cooper adds.

“Sure, that sounds fun,” Natasha nods in agreement.

Before she can move to follow them, you wrap your arm around her waist, stopping her, and call out to the other two.

“How about you two do some scouting first and gather information about the area for the plan? We’ll join you soon after.”

Patting her arm, you give Natasha a playful glare as you declare pointedly.

“Auntie Nat here needs to help reapply sunscreen on me after using me as her shield, isn’t that right?”

Natasha’s smirk falters slightly, a sheepish look crossing her face as she chuckles lightly.

“Oooh, you’re in trouble,” Lila teases her, giggling.

Rolling her eyes playfully, she waves the kids toward where Clint probably is.

“Alright, alright, off you go.”

Once the kids disappear from view, Natasha pulls you close by your waist and leans in, resting her forehead against yours.

“Was the sunscreen just a fake excuse to get us a moment alone?” she asks suggestively, her thumb drawing small circles against your bare skin, teasing the lining of your swimwear.

You give her an amused smile, leaning in slightly and almost capturing her lips in yours before pulling away and pressing a bottle of sunscreen against her chest.

“No, nothing like that,” you answer as you lay down on her previously abandoned beach towel. Leaning on your elbows, you raise a brow at her with a knowing smile.

“Though, let’s see whether you can control yourself as you reapply the sunscreen on me without sneaking in any of your not-so-innocent touches.”

Natasha’s eyes gleam with playful defiance as she kneels down on the beach towel, one of her legs settling between yours. She presses her hand against your stomach, spreading the sunscreen there before sliding her hand up across your skin to your chest while also guiding you to lie down so that she can hover above you.

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks as her touch becomes more insistent, her fingers brushing just a bit more intimately than necessary.

“Nat…” you murmur, trying to sound disapproving but failing as a smile tugs at your lips.

A smirk plays on Natasha’s lips as she leans close to yours, her body shifting so that her leg between yours presses lightly against your swim bottoms.

Her breath is warm against your skin as she whispers in a low tone, “All’s fair in love and war, detka.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

A/n: This was just a little short fun piece that came to mind. Thank you for reading!