#i need to take a break from this i got fic to write

[lsunstreakerl]

Kink Prompt! Tentacles please!

you are not the only person that asked for this, so here I present to you all: lowbrow tastes, shallow writing, recycled characters, zero depth, and a ficlet that is intended to solely feed my own lazy ego. because tentacle smut is the way to do that, clearly.

anyways- only 2.3k of this is actually smut, just a heads up. the other 2.6k is just because I realized how absolutely comical the potential here was, and kept writing. the back half of this is a complete crackfic.

I was actually intending to write this with daniel until I did some digging and realized every other tentacle max fic I could find has maxiel, so I'm switching it up here.

HELLLOOOOO: this is pretty explicit, obviously written for a kink prompt fill. here ye be warned, smut ahead.

pairings: charles leclerc/max verstappen

relevant heads up: here we go. monsterfucking, tentacles, extremely dubious consent (due to:) aphrodisiacs, biological bondage, kind of a breeding kink? one sided breeding kink, overstimulation, implied mind break

crack tags: they're in the fic technically but I'm absolutely not taking them seriously- mpreg (kind of), eggs (actually just the one), extremely short lived parenthood. because nature.

The cove is beautiful. Max likes to come out here on evenings, watch the sun set. He'd gotten a few weird looks when he said he was taking a vacation in Italy alone, but he's needed his own space- his first season of F1 had been insane, and he's finally old enough to travel on his own, away from Jos.

So now he's got a private rented villa, and he gets to spend his evenings on the beach. He settles on his back, uncaring as sand gets into his hair. The sand is still warm, and the temperature is perfect, the slightest breeze.

He feels himself getting sleepy, eyes drifting shut despite his best attempts, the tide lapping at his feet. He drifts for a little bit, half awake-half not, semi-aware of the tide rising to his knees, but he's not worried yet- that's about as high as it goes.

Something brushes against his foot- stray seaweed, maybe. He doesn't pay much attention to it, relaxed and warm.

It ghosts over his shin, half wrapping around his ankle, and Max frowns, starting to sit up so he can pull it off-

It tightens, and then Max screams as he's yanked, dragged into the sea faster than he can react.

He snaps his mouth shut- he didn't get enough air before he went down, he's going to die to a vengeful jellyfish, the ocean has decided it hates him.

He's still being moved, but now there's the seaweed texture around his arms, and then something is settling over his eyes, muscular and thick.

It completely blocks out his vision, and Max is panicking, trying to fight back- kicking his feet, squirming away- but nothing works, the things don't even budge.

His chest is starting to burn for air, and Max goes limp, trying to conserve energy, even though he's probably going to die down here to some fucked up kind of squid.

And then the water breaks over his head, and Max takes a desperate, gasping breath. He tries to kick his legs out, but there's something firm wrapped around them, winding up his thighs- he's being lifted into the air before he's suddenly on his back, smooth stone underneath him.

He can breathe but he can't see, renewing his struggle to get away from whatever it is. It's definitely not seaweed- too muscular and smooth.

A thick band is wrapping its way around his waist, and the sensation of it sliding across his skin makes Max shiver.

There's a hot breath by his cheek, and Max freezes- feels teeth lightly scrape against his neck.

"You weren't supposed to be out there."

The voice is mostly smooth, tinged with a slight amount of roughness, the hint of a French accent, and Max could swear it sounds familiar, but he can't pinpoint where.

He's afraid to move.

There's another soft scrape of teeth, this time over Max's cheek, and he can feel another band sliding across his chest, resting near his neck.

"Do you know how many others were watching you? You are lucky I was there, or this would be going much differently."

Max doesn't understand- he can't see, he doesn't know what's going on, and he's starting to freak out about how many things are moving on him, slimy and strong.

"But you smell so pretty, and you were all alone."

Max's breathing picks up, ragged and desperate as he starts struggling again, yanking at his arms and legs.

There's a deep rumble around him, and he realizes a second later it must be the thing. Another thick band wraps around his thighs, yanking them apart and holding them there as the one around his neck fully wraps around, and Max realizes he's in danger.

"They would have loved to have you, yes. You fight so pretty,"

The voice moves away from him, speaks up again somewhere near Max's stomach.

"And you'll be such a good carrier, give such a pretty brood, yes? They all wanted you, but I'm the only one who gets you- I know what you need."

Max doesn't respond, feels like he's trapped in one of those cautionary tales they tell children- 'don't go to the cove alone or the sea monster will get you' kind of thing.

There's a smaller tendril making its way up Max's chest, curling near his cheekbone.

"If you had just stayed inside, this would not have been a problem, Max."

It knows his name. Max feels ice in his veins, suddenly much more afraid than he'd been a moment ago. This isn't random, it's personal.

His heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest. He finally opens his mouth to talk-

"Please, I do not have what you want-"

He's cut off by the thing on his cheek shoving its way into his mouth, and he panics, thrashing again as it swells, keeps his jaw locked open. He gags when it brushes the back of his throat, and he thinks his eyes might be wet, but he can't tell with the band covering them.

Max makes a strangled whimper around it, and then there's a hand- a human hand- running its fingers along his cheek, tracing around his lips.

"Easy, Max. Give it a bit of time, it will be alright."

Max is shaking like a leaf, and there's saliva building up in his throat- but when he swallows, it's immediately building up again, and he realizes with horror it's not from him, it's from the thing- and if Max doesn't want to choke he has to keep swallowing.

There's another deep rumble next to him, and Max feels humiliated, mouth stretched wide as he practically sucks at it. It's doing something to his head, getting his wires crossed.

The rumble gets louder, and Max realizes he's relaxing, even in the grip of the thing.

"See, this is not so bad. You like this."

Max tries to find the strength to struggle again, but he can't find it- the best he can do is helplessly squirm against the tendrils holding him down, and all that achieves is a heightened feeling of sensitivity across his body.

There's a sensation sliding across his waist, down between his legs, and Max knows what's going to happen next, head dropping back as he tries to twitch his hips away. It's futile- the tendril slips easily across his skin, slick and hot when it wraps around his cock, and Max moans around the obstruction in his mouth- it feels better than it should, shoots electric sensations through his skin.

The thing rumbles again, and the tendril in his mouth swells before there's a larger rush of liquid, and Max really does choke on it, thick as it coats his throat before pulling out of his mouth.

Max is panting, and the one around his cock is wet and hot as it smoothly glides up to wrap around his tip.

The tentacles pull his thighs further apart, and Max has a feeling he can guess what's next, caught between fear-want-scared-need-it, shivering in the things grip.

It rumbles again- Max thinks it sounds like a he, wishes he could pinpoint where he recognizes the voice from.

Teeth graze over his shoulder, sharp pinpricks against his skin.

"Feeling better now, yes? You were just nervous, it's okay. I will take good care of you- better than the others would."

The teeth dig a bit harder, a slight pressure against Max's skin.

"I'll bring you the best food, give you the best den, you'll brood so pretty for me and be done in time for the racing season, I promise."

Max isn't really paying attention, too caught up in the sensation of everything, the way he's pulled bare and exposed on the rock, the way he can't even see and he still wants it-

He's an embarrassment to the bloodline. He pushes his hips up anyways, needy and wanting.

There's tentacles wrapping up his waist and arms, a smaller one brushing across his chest, and it has suckers on it, latches tight to his nipples, and Max bucks up, overwhelmed at the feeling, the way they rhythmically contract and squeeze.

Everything feels like a live wire- he's never had sex that comes anything close to this. He's flushed, and he's starting to feel overheated, like things are too much and not enough all at once.

He wishes he could see.

Then again- a smaller tendril pushes past his cock, teases at his hole, and he thinks maybe he's better off not knowing.

He's still panting into the open air, and the tentacle is just toying with him, smearing something wet and sticky around his thighs, teasing at pushing into him before it goes back to circling around him.

Max can't help the whine, embarrassing as it is, and the thing rumbles again.

"You are always so impatient- give it a moment, yes? Do you need a distraction, are you that desperate to brood for me? Want your first clutch that bad?"

Max doesn't even know what he's saying, just knows that it's too much, that he needs something to change- the tentacles on his skin making him tremble, the one around his cock not moving fast enough, the smaller one teasing him- something has to give.

"Please,"

His voice comes out raspy, fucked out from the tentacle that had been down his throat. He doesn't even know what he's asking for, doesn't know what the thing was talking about, just knows that he wants.

He shouldn't. He's been kidnapped off a beach by a terrifying creature he didn't know existed, and it's about to fuck him, he should be scared, should be furious, but instead-

Max just wants the damn thing to get a move on. He wants, he can feel the need burning through his bones, mounting by the second.

He can start to feel a strange sensation where the smaller tentacle had been, an aching need that he's never felt before- like when he needs to stretch a muscle.

The suckers on his chest tighten unexpectedly, and Max feels his eyes roll back into his head at the sensation, the way he can feel them swelling up- he doesn't want to think about what they might look like right now.

There's a softer rumble near his ear.

"You're almost ready, I promise. Doing so well for me, pretty little brooder, going to be perfect, aren't you?"

The teeth are scraping across his neck, digging in deeper than before, and Max feels a slight sting as they break skin, and then there's a tongue lapping at the wound.

He moans, starting to really feel the need between his legs, and ache to be stretched, be filled.

"Just for me, you're so perfect- no one else could handle you, they wouldn't know how-"

Max's weird tentacle captor has a possessive streak. That's fine- as long as he gets something in him.

"I am- I want, I'm ready, please-"

There's another ghost of hot breath against his skin, and then he can feel something press between his legs.

It's huge.

Max flinches, tries to push back away, but his limbs won't respond, held down tightly by tentacles.

"It's okay, you're okay- it feels much scarier right now, but you are ready for it, I promise."

Max trembles, fear trying to override the rest of his brain. He's never had anything in his ass before, maybe a single exploratory finger, but certainly not- certainly not something like this, it won't possibly fit.

The creature sighs.

"You are lucky I like you so much- it takes a very specialized diet to make this, and I don't like eating it."

The tendril from before pushes past Max's lips, pressing halfway down his throat in a smooth slide as he gags around it, desperately trying to breathe through his nose.

He can feel it pulsing, pushing something down his throat, and the suckers on his chest work harder for a moment, and Max is lost to the feeling, eyes rolling back into his head.

He barely feels the thing between his legs prod at his hole again, just acknowledges a deep pressure, finally starting to relive the ache.

He's drooling around the tendril in his mouth, and it makes a wet squelching noise when it pushes a bit further.

The ache between his legs is settling, and when Max tries to weakly move a leg he finds he can't- there's a huge tentacle working its way inside of him, and he's never felt this full in his life- completely stretched open at both ends, completely at the whim of the thing that's taken him.

He makes a wet noise around the one in his mouth when the larger tentacle starts moving, and then he feels it- bulbs and ridges, pressing up against his prostate- Max screams as his cock kicks, orgasm pushing through him.

There's a satisfied sounding rumble, but nothing lets up- if anything it gets worse- the biggest tentacle is moving in and out of him, feels too big to possibly be real, remolding Max to be whatever the creature wants, dangling between its tentacles.

There's another burst of fluid down his throat, and then Max loses track of everything.

He's faintly aware at some point later- could be minutes, could be hours- that the thing is letting out soft sighs, clearly building up to its own climax, but it feels like it goes on forever-

More time passes. Max is fully suspended in the air now, completely at the mercy of the tentacles as they core him out, irreversibly change him. Nothing else could ever hit him this deep, could ever fill him so thoroughly.

He's half submerged in the water when the thing finally finishes, and then there's so much pressure-

------

Max has never felt this exhausted in his life. He's lying limp on something soft, and something is in his mouth, holding his teeth apart as careful fingers set a wet cube on his tongue. The tentacle leaves his mouth, and Max instinctively starts chewing- it's fish, raw and springy as he swallows. His eyes are half lidded, and he's not sure he could move if he tried.

There's a soft rumble next to him.

"Hi, Max."

Max tries to pull himself together- everything feels fragmented and hazy, and he doesn't even know where he is.

Charles Leclerc is sitting next to him, carefully deboning a fish with his nails.

Max is so confused.

"'rles?"

Charles reaches over and runs a hand gently through Max's hair. They're sitting in a cave, water lapping at stone nearby, and there's a few lanterns set up. Max is half in a pool of water, submerged from the waist down.

His chest and arms are resting on some soft blankets, and his head is supported by a solid pillow. His chest hurts- sore and swollen.

"Yes."

Charles easily slices down one of the fish, and there's no way that's just his nails- he must have a tiny blade in there.

Max tries to shift, but he's sore, his entire body twinging when he moves his leg. Charles looks over at him, eyes flicking rapidly across his body.

"You should not be moving- I will bring you everything you need, don't worry."

Max is not any less confused, trying to piece together what exactly had happened to him.

He'd been on vacation, been on the beach-

He freezes. He thinks his fingers might be shaking, the soreness starting to make sense. Tentacle thing. Creature. Person. Whatever.

In him.

Charles and his too sharp nails, Charles and his French accent, Charles here-

Max is trembling. Charles tilts his head before understanding dawns in his eyes, and then he's setting the fish down, carefully dicing another cube off.

"I will explain, in a minute."

His hand comes to Max's jaw, and it's practically autopilot when Max opens his mouth, lets Charles place the fish back on his tongue.

Charles is providing for him. Some part of Max feels good about that, deep in his chest- he's never had a feeling like this before.

Chew, swallow.

He looks back up at Charles, who winces, fiddling with a fishbone between his fingers.

"I would like to start by saying I am sorry- but also that I was doing you a favor."

Max's jaw drops, and he immediately snaps it back shut at the way it aches, which-

"I'm sorry?"

Charles cringes.

"If it was not me someone else would have grabbed you."

Max glares.

"Off of the private beach I was on?"

Charles blinks at him, and his pupils are weird- vertical slits, and it almost looks like a second eyelid sliding horizontally across his eyes.

"There is no such thing as a 'private beach', Max, those waters belong to us more than they do to you."

"and who, exactly, is us?"

Something lifts from the water next to Max, deep blue, smooth and thick, and he instinctively tries to jolt away- it moves faster than he does, pins him back in place.

"Seriously, you should not be moving."

"Would you quit doing that-"

Charles frowns.

"Will you stop trying to move?"

"No!"

Charles throws his hands up, exasperated.

"Well, obviously I am going to keep doing that then."

He huffs at Max, exactly as bitchy as he's been their entire lives. It's weirdly normal in the face of everything that's happened.

"I am a part of a distinguished Monacan bloodline, thank you very much. We hunt in the ocean."

Max makes a strangled noise.

"So you're going to eat me?"

He feels one of the tentacles around his ankle squeeze as Charles looks alarmed.

"No! No, I'm not going to eat you, god. That's archaic. We don't eat people anymore, have not for hundreds of years."

Max side eyes him.

"Right. You just kidnap them to creepy caves and fuck them. Makes sense."

Charles' shoulders slump slightly, and he almost looks guilty.

"Sorry, again. I had a rut. I was not expecting it, and I go to Italy because there is no chance of grabbing someone I know, but you were there-"

Max's eyes widen.

"You've done this to other people?"

There's a small tentacle that angrily slaps the water, sends small droplets flying everywhere.

"Ugh, you make it sound worse than it is. They don't remember anything. Also- it is a local legend, so there's usually monsterfuckers on the beaches at night anyways."

Charles slices off another piece of fish, and Max opens his mouth, dutifully chews and swallows. The whole-

This dynamic is fucking him up. He's confused.

"So why me, and not a monsterfucker?"

Charles is messing with the fishbone again.

"Well- you are you, Max. I could not let any of the others take you off that beach- I would have had to kill them. And then you would smell like them, and I'd have to fix that, so really the whole thing would've happened twice."

"It didn't have to happen at all!"

Charles glares.

"You went to a cove, on a monsterfucking coast, and now you are upset?"

"Obviously I did not know it was a monsterfucking beach!"

There's a heavy sigh, and then Charles is sliding into the water with him, and Max can feel the tentacles sliding across his skin, wrapping around his thighs and waist and chest. Charles settles... somewhere in the middle of the small pool. Max can't see through the water, it's too dark, but he knows there's more tentacles down there.

Max actually doesn't mind being suspended in the water- he doesn't have to do anything, just gets to rest. It's easy on his aching muscles and joints, even if he's realizing he's hungry again.

Somehow, Charles knows, and there's a whip-thin tentacle that wraps around the sliced fish, bringing it back to land in Charles' human hands as he cuts another cube.

"Mate, just let me have the rest of it."

Charles looks pleased, and then Max can hear him rumble, the same sound he'd heard as he was having the most insane fuck of his life.

"What the fuck are you happy for? Give me that."

Charles hands him the rest of the fish, and Max tears into it, lets it slide down his throat. It's weirdly soft- his teeth slice through it like butter, meeting no resistance.

Charles is still rumbling.

"I'm happy because you are hungry, Max, it is a good thing. It means the babies are growing."

What.

"What."

Max cannot possibly have heard that right.

Charles looks mildly confused. One of the tentacles around Max's thigh tightens for a moment before it's winding around his leg, thick and distracting.

"The clutch, Max. They are small, so you were providing fine for them before, but they're almost ready now, so you are needing more of their diet- fish, mostly. I've been giving you some sea stars as well."

Max is broken, he's pretty sure. There's no other explanation.

"Sorry- I think maybe I am misunderstanding? You said babies? In me?"

His voice goes high at the end, because- he may have dropped out of school, but he's pretty fucking confident he can't have kids.

Charles has that stupid rumble going again- he sounds like a tiny little engine.

"Yes Max, the clutch. Your clutch, really, you are doing all the hard work. Most of them have probably eaten each other by now though, so it is the strong ones left that are wanting more food."

Max opens his mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a strangled squawking noise.

Babies. In him. His babies.

"They're eating each other?"

Charles looks fond, which is fucking ridiculous- Max must be having the weirdest dream of his life, it's the only possible explanation.

"Don't look so sad, that is just the way it is. You cannot possibly want to have all of them- that would be so many."

Max swallows. This is a dream. He's dreaming.

"How do I- Charles, I was not ready to be a father?"

"Brooder, technically."

"A parent."

Charles seems confused again before he snaps his fingers.

"Oh! No, they are not hybrids like me. I did not give you near enough material for that. They are just little things- maybe smarter than average. Stronger, because of you."

Max is confident his horror is showing on his face.

"Max, relax. It's alright."

The tentacles are moving against him, soothing motions down his sides and legs.

"You will probably only end up with one egg, and they are very independent- we'll find a good spot on the cove for it and then leave."

"Egg?"

"Max. I have tentacles- I'm not sure what else you thought it was going to be."

Dream, it's a dream, Max is dreaming. It's fine because it's not real, he's not going to lay an egg. An egg.

The rest of Charles' sentence catches up to him.

"Wait, we abandon it?"

Max is not ready to be a parent, but he's certainly not going to be a deadbeat.

Charles' tentacle snatches another fish as he starts deboning it for Max again.

"Well, yes. It is just nature, don't look so scandalized. I mean- I know I am too young to really be raising any kids, which means you are also, yes? It would be irresponsible."

"...but you fucked me anyways."

Charles shrugs, tossing the bones into a small pile.

"Like I said, I was in rut. Needed a brooder. It is fine as long as they aren't fully fertilized, obviously."

He pulls Max closer to him, tears a chunk of fish meat and pushes it between Max's lips.

"And you did a very good job. This is the most awake you have been in days, which is how I know it is almost time."

Max stops chewing. It's been curveball after curveball.

He swallows.

"Charles, how long have I been here?"

Charles rips off another chunk.

"About a week."

Max closed his eyes for a moment. He's not sure how exactly he can strangle Charles, but he's going to figure it out.

"A week? My family probably thinks I am dead-"

Charles waves off his concerns, presses the rest of the fish into his mouth. Max would be pissed at the blatant attempt to shut him up if he wasn't so hungry.

"It will be fine, Max. You can just say you had a journey of self discovery or whatever. We'll have a better plan next year."

Max is going to hyperventilate.

"What the fuck do you mean, next year?"

Charles tilts his head, blinking his eyes.

"I picked you, Max. You're my brooder- you smell like me, you've gone through some of the changes- it will get easier each year of course. You might get gills later down the line."

Max is feeling slightly faint.

"Also, your body remembers this, yes? This time next year it will remember it again. That's how it works."

"Changes?"

His voice is weak and thready. It's too much to process at once- can't possibly be real.

"Surely you noticed your teeth are a bit stronger- you have been ripping into the fish. This cycle was hard because it was your first, but- your body knows now, so it will start packing on the extra things you need over the year until it is this time again. You might have to work out harder, sorry."

A tentacle brushes across Max's chest and he jolts, sensitive.

"It will probably go to your chest. Not really anything noticeable- some extra muscle and fat. You will look like you just have impressive pecs."

Right. Eggs, teeth, gills, why not. Max has always wanted to be a fish person, it's a lifelong dream of his. Obviously.

His voice is still high when he speaks.

"Every year?"

Charles lets out another pleased rumble.

"Yes."

Max passes out.

------

He wakes up to a soft splashing noise, and it takes him a second to reorient himself, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. He's in Charles' cave, still half underwater, resting on a little shelf. He's curled around something protectively- he knows what it is even if he doesn't want to admit it.

Max swallows before looking down. There's an egg in his lap.

Where the fuck is Charles.

He looks around. He's not hungry anymore, just exhausted, aching and tired. Charles is missing, and Max remembers what he'd said about others- curls a bit tighter around the egg. He's not sure what kind of shit he's gotten involved in- has no idea if some other thing like Charles might try to come into the cave.

Apparently they can smell him. He pets two of his fingers soothingly over the top of the egg, presses further back into the corner of his little pool.

There's something flashing underwater, little rectangular squares of light getting closer, and Max curls tighter around the egg, top lip curling. There's not a whole lot he could do against one of- whatever Charles is- but he won't make it easy.

A head pops out of the water and Max immediately chucks a fishbone at it, perfect athlete precision- nails the intruder directly in the forehead.

"Ow- Merde, what the fuck-"

"Where the hell were you?"

Max feels his heart rate start to slow now that he knows it's Charles. Still-

Charles holds up his hands apologetically.

"Sorry- sorry, really. I was looking for a good spot for the egg, I didn't think you were going to wake up yet."

Max looks down at the egg. It doesn't look special, but- it's technically his.

"Did you find one?"

Charles nods, drifts closer to Max.

"I did, yes. It's ready, and so are you- I went ahead and extended your stay at the villa, so all of your things are still waiting for you."

"So, what- I just go back to normal, pretend this didn't happen?"

Charles winces.

"You'll forget about it. Until next year, anyways."

"What."

Charles makes a face, all scrunched up and annoyed.

"Yes, and I'm realizing now I am going to have to put up with you getting offended all over again for a few years until you start naturally remembering it. Eventually you'll have enough chemical changes to your brain that the reaction to make you forget won't work anymore. That is what Lolo said, when I asked."

Max is going to kill him. He can't do it in the water, but- the next time they are on a track, he's going to run Charles off the road.

------

"Deep breath."

Max breathes in as deep as he can, fills his lungs before Charles plunges them both back underwater, swimming to a peaceful spot on the ocean floor. There's a small nook inside some coral, and that's where Max carefully sets the egg, adjusting it gently.

He stares at it for a moment. He's never going to be able to eat eggs again.

His lungs are starting to hurt, and Charles gently taps him on the chest before he's swimming them back to the surface, laying Max out on the beach.

Max takes a few heaving breaths, tries to get his thoughts in order. Charles watches him from the ocean, head poking out of the water.

"Bye Max!"

Max flips him off as he staggers to his feet, making his way back into the villa.

------

Max wakes up sore as fuck, stretched out in the villa bed. His head hurts, and he's thirsty. He twists his head to the side to get up, and there's a sticky note directly in front of him, his own scratchy handwriting-

NO MORE EGGS

YOU HATE CHARLES

[voidcat]

— keep it under wraps

characters: dazai osamu/reader, (mentioned: yosano akiko)

wc & synopsis: 2.2k – Practiced crafts under years of experience comes like second nature, an extension of one's body, almost like breathing. Yet you find yourself like a newborn deer with its shaky legs, afraid of the world it is born into as you are tending to man whose body you've treated and familiarised with after countless times before. (minor wound dressing, nothing explicit)

notes: hello! long time no dazai writing. this one's special for me. originally, i thought i'd break my dazai-silence with something different instead we got this. if you're familiar with my series A Case Of Bad Luck, you can take it as an extension of it (-cannot blame me for wanting to start with a fic for my favorite ongoing series ahaha.) It can be read independently but it's implied reader and Dazai have met in the past, long enough to have left an impact on each other. Leaving Yokohama and returning years later, this is their first proper confrontation/acknowledging one another.

The day’s peace is interrupted by sudden commotion by the front door.

5 minutes prior Dr. Yosano receives a call which results in her now forgotten cup of tea. From the sounds you can hear in the next room, you can make out the telltale signs of preparations for a possible operation. If you’re lucky it’s simple suture work at best, if it’s a bad day, she’ll have to use her ability.

And you hope, and pray if there’s anyone there, that it won’t have to come to this. Anything that further upsets and hurts her makes your stomach turn, leaving a sour taste and colder memories in their wake.

When the detectives rush in, she immediately looks over to divide their situations one by one. The information Kunikida provided beforehand helps with the makeshift triage, and within a blink of an eye, you find yourself alone in her office. Standing there under the bright light.

Before disappearing behind the door, she waved a hand off saying it was no hassle, that she can handle it herself, “You should attend to anyone else who might need assistance.” It is a simple request, a basic statement. But the look flashing before her eyes told you otherwise.

Worry pooling in her eyes, regret and an apology.

For what? You wanted to ask for a second but the faltered coughs coming from the room made you feel selfish for even holding her up for this long.

Dr. Yosano’s normally chatty room now contains you cold and empty. What is usually your escape and solace now feels to be swallowing you.

You’re aware of him, his faint breaths but you make no move just yet.

Just a few more seconds of courage, just enough to push down your thoughts and memories from reaching the surface.

During the call, Kunikida had said it was one grave injury and one minor. And the first thing Dr. Yosano had asked was if they needed to go through with the plan.

You hadn’t even bothered asking then, maybe you should have.

Your silence only must have suspected more, her gut feeling proving closer to truth each day.

So to the grave injury she went, and to the minor one you- due to the priorities of the cases and because her ability wouldn’t have worked on him any way, so it was better to be doing a basic wound dressing.

You swallow once, thickly, your throat hurts. Behind you you can her footsteps towards the examination chair.

You allow yourself one more moment, close your eyes, take a deep breath in and out. Open them.

It’s been years since you’ve last been alone in a room with Dazai Osamu.

Ignoring his gaze on you, you walk up to the cabinet to get the materials you need.

It should be a basic injury, so the basics will do.

Legs swinging in the air, Dazai watches you with keen interest.

After months of dancing around the topic and ignoring one another altogether, there is a lingering curiosity in how things will progress from here on.

How much longer can you keep this up, is the real question. 

It’s been taking its toll on you lately, he can tell. Skeletons in your closet, you never let the past drop fully, always have to go back and tamper, seek out a pile of bones when in dire need of talking. Isn’t it tiring? Aren’t you exhausted?

You look nothing like what he last saw, maybe that’s an improvement, a small victory in your book.

You seem to have come a long way, moved on, moved away, started fresh.

Clearly not enough from how you came back all the way here.

To push away the standard practice and instead sign up to work under her, under the Armed Detective Agency.

Almost as if a part of you still seeks it.

“Good evening, sir.” You say the word wincing, force of habit. “Could you take off your coat for me?” you say, rest of voice unfaltering, practiced decency and greetings to the notch. Your eyes watching his every movement, you wait for any sign of pain to locate the wound.

Maybe it’s not as much of a standard treatment. You do call everyone here with titles rather than names after all. You keep a distance, closest you are with is the doctor and even then you don’t drop titles of respect and the walls separating you from everyone else.

Dazai is uncharacteristically silent- for his persona he has crafted and wore here at least. It is unnerving to a degree but not the first time you’ve had to endure this thick silence in the air, lingering, waiting for any sign of weakness to suffocate its victims.

Or it could be just that. Lost in thoughts. If you recall the details, he wasn’t in charge of this case originally, but as it grew and the roots spread, more focus was shifted its way.

Something appearing innocent in the mirage of a ball of cotton and sinking anyone foolish enough to approach it with no caution.

There are many examples of this in nature- angler fish, rafflessia, a peculiar man wrapped in too many bandages for his own good hiding secrets and burdens too much for his body to contain.

Dangerous beings, predators lying in wait.

You take Dazai’s hands and inspect each digit, forearms and up to his shoulder.

On his left arm the gauze has gotten crimson red, smelling of iron.

Slowly your hand trails down and finds the start of the gauze tucked under the wraps as your eyes roam his torso for any signs of multiple injuries.

This isn’t proper examination, not really.

You should’ve checked his breathing too, looked for his intercostals, listened to his lungs, asked him what had happened and where else he got shot.

Yet you’re aware the attempt would’ve been futile, from the moment his coat was off and your hands were on him, you knew there wasn’t anything else. 

Sometimes you think, and fear, that you know his body better than your own.

Unwrapping the gauze with sharp and precise movements, you reveal his forearm. 

Still littered in cuts and patches of dry skin here and there. He must be wrapping it too tight at some areas because the body hair has grown at uneven lengths there. 

After all these years he still cannot do his bandages himself, but tucks the end just the way you do.

Something about the notion makes your heart ache.

It stings, to think how much yet how little has changed.

Your fingers still dance on his skin with the same precision, and his body responds with the same touch starved state, hairs on end for a moment until he adjusts to the heat coming from your body and care coming from your hands.

It intrigues Dazai how despite everything, even from the very start you still hold him like something delicate, fragile, handle him with care one would only have for something they value greatly- even if not that grand, there’s still care to an extent.

You hold the materials with a confidence now, Dazai notes. Boldness of someone who knows what they’re doing, you’re swift as you lay down what you’ll be needing, you open few packs of gauze sponge and pour iodine tincture without taking them off yet. Place them side by side, cut strips of gauze and nonwoven plaster, already calculating how wide you’ll need each piece- an extra cut in the middle of each, he notices.

His wound is nothing big, even left with his preexisting bandages, he would’ve been fine- or so he said until Kunikida started going on a lecture about infections and what-not. Big deal! If the universe wishes for your paths to be clashing so soon, well he will have no complaints. 

Satisfied with the set up, you wash and disinfect your hands again.

This is the same routine you’ve always done, know by heart, hands moving on their own. It’s fascinating how muscle memory resurfaces even after so long, the bodies and the nerves are truly amazing. It comes to you as second nature by now, to undo his bandages, look over for any signs of concerning signs, even in the dim lights you can tell apart what is his body’s usual and not. 

Grabbing the first gauze sponge, you wipe the wound off with one swift motion, toss it to the side and grab another one. Starting from the center of the wound, to the outside you wipe it in one circular motion, toss this one when you’re done with it and wait a few seconds.

Placing a smaller one on top of his wound, your hand then mindlessly goes for the pieces of plaster and you apply them carefully over the gauze. Not too tight nor loose- enough to let the wound breathe, your fingers linger a moment too long on his skin when you’re done.

With a slight shake of your head, you retract your hand immediately and reach for the gauze strip.

Despite all the discordance and circumstances out of your control, it’s the small routines that have helped you keep you somewhat grounded, to keep going. And despite being one of your greatest sources of said disturbances, Dazai had become a part of the said routines as well.

As familiar as the night time, his presence had become something comforting, as all kinds of feelings swirled like an impending storm from within, ready to burst out of your chest at any given time. 

There was nothing normal and everything odd with your run-ins with Dazai, were you to think about it. Each one weirder than the last, and growing into something much twisted, roots of the ivy digging deeper, maybe it’s the unfamiliarity that brought comfort, the change that comes with the unknown. At nights, you had some resemblance of a control. At nights, it was just your room and the bright, faraway lights of nearby signs illuminating your room, he fitted right in instead of standing out. Eyes trained on your body, silent and waiting for your signs. An illusion maybe but a taste of control nonetheless. 

You’d like to think he enjoyed it somewhat too, the opportunity to observe you in a shade tad different, inspect a side to you you’re yet to experiment with. 

And each night, you chose to hold out to him that beacon of compromise, an olive branch, restocked on gauze in the house- not that anyone noticed it lessening in amount.

It’s the same hands moving then, with the same routine like a ritual on themselves.

Yet you’ve grown, and changed. Your eyes no longer carry the same light of empathy as they once did. You’re more distant now, tried your best to keep him at a arm’s length so far, and it worked to an extent.

If that’s how you want to play, then fine, he’ll play along. It’s only so long until you lose control again.

And when it does, it’ll be Dazai who’ll be there in wait, the only one to know how to handle and cradle you, how to assess the situation to the best of opportunities.

You wrap the area of his wound and the rest of his arm separately. Firm in your touch, you tuck the end of the gauze despite fixating it with an extra piece of plaster.

“Your wound will need redressing and inspecting to see how it has healed.” You give notice.

With a nod of his head, he flashes one of his smiles, not reaching his eyes. “Thanks, there!-” 

“Doctor.” you correct him, the word leaving your lips like cold metal.

“Well, thanks doc.” Dazai says, his smile morphing somewhat wicked. Now the edges of his mouth crooked, lids dropped slightly and a hint of poison to his voice, the man you’ve known comes oozing out of the cracks he so carefully filled.

You can never fix something to where it was, nor cover up the cracks with polish. There is no as “good” as “new”, it’s either, and even then the judgement depends entirely on the experience and the person.

“We’ll be seeing you later, then.” you say, to bid him away. And for once, Dazai complies without resistance, his smile never faltering and eyes never leaving yours, ‘I see you, and I see this gimmick you’re trying to pull.’

Hopping off the stretcher, he reaches for his coat with his uninjured arm, not bothering to button up his shirt; he stops by the door, hand stroking your bandage work for a moment. 

Neither of you make a comment on the lack of time you’ve given him to come visit Dr. Yosano’s office again. After all old habits die hard, and both of you still remember the specifics as clear as day.

A part of you wishes to yell then, or push him by the chest, say there’s no pretending, that this is who you are, truly, at heart, that you’re a good person with nothing left to hide now. 

Regardless, if it’s a show he wants, you’ll give either way- you always do. And with sharp eyes he'll wait for you to squirm and fall, and once more you’ll stand tall with your head held high, chest heaving with the weight of his gaze. Sooner or better, you’ll accept his fingers are intervening within the strings of your fate.

[doorlesscub00]

The Last Goodbye

Spencer x reader drabble authors note: Hey guys!! This is the first time posting a fic I've written, so please let me know what you think!! all feedback it appreciated and welcomed!! Short write- Less then 500 words, but potential for a second part!! Not proofread either!! The reader isn't mentioned of gender- It's written in second person point of view. Theirs mention of yelling, a bit of toxicity and Spencer out of prison. It is angsty.

He's been more distant lately. You were growing more and more concerned about him. Ever since he got back from prison, he changed. He grew cold. Pushing you away. The constant fights, unable to even hear you. You tried, tried to your last bone in your body... but everyone has their breaking points. 4 years withering away like it was merely a facade.

Here he is. Dismissive and angry. Why is he shouting so loudly and incoherently? You asked him how his day was, and if he was alright, and then the split happened. Spencer is turning into this unrecognizable person, yelling at you for being too invasive, too pushy and nosey. You just wanted to help. And now he is screaming in your face...

Ring... Ring...

He answered the call in two rings, it takes him two calls to answer you. It was like his entire personality shifted... He was kinder, sweeter, understanding... reminds you of the Spencer you once knew... the one you lost.

He looks at you and answers the line... "Yeah I can make it in right now. I don't have anything special going on. Yeah, I know. I'll see you in 20 Emily."

He hung up the phone and spoke coldly, telling you he needed to go back to work, went into the bedroom and grabbed his to-go back, and went straight to the front door and left.

This time would be different, you knew it. You didn't weakly tell him goodbye and to be safe. No. No more of that. You've done it every time he left, but not today. Did he even notice that.? Probably not. He left, and it gives you at least one day to get everything out, at best 12 days. But you wouldn't risk taking your time. Straight to your room and grabbing all of your belongings, throwing them into your car. Questions swarm through your head. Where would you go. What will happen to the thing you can't fit in your car to bring. Would he care you left.? Would he notice your absence when he gets back.. Would he be happy. Maybe try to find you and try to change. Could he change back to the man he once was.. You hope he could go back to Spencer you fell...

Wait! No. Stop thinking about him. You're leaving him to be happier. Free. So then why does it feel like you have a 50 pound weight on your chest. It doesn't matter. You had to do this. You had to leave.. Staying would only make you loose your mind. Be driven to insanity. it's time to hurry. Not another night here. Booking a hotel for the night and going from there would be the safest option. It's already 11:27pm. You threw the rest of the belongings you could carry in your car, leaving quite a bit behind but you needed to prioritize what you took, went back and left your key on his counter and walked out the door..

Looking back one last time, leaving behind all the forgotten laughs, all the petty fights... Your new start begun now. As you started the engine of your car, you started your new chapter in life. A chapter of which you can only go up. Find joy once more. Backing out of his driveway, you knew you could never go back on what you're choosing. And so there you were, dead of night with the street lights to show you the way as you drove away from the empty shell, the once you once considered to be a warm and loving home..

A/n: Okay so I am debating on making a second part to this- or maybe like 2 different endings to the story.? A sad one and a happy one. But let me know what you guys want!! If I should leave it as is, or continue onto it. Anywho, thank you so much for reading my Drabble!! Means the world to me, but for now, goodbye my lovely cubs!! Till next time, have a wonderful day or night!! Better yet, both!!

[just-a-little-unionoid]

In which Stone sort of has a daughter and Ivo and her are not getting along

so I've talked about this fic I started writing back when the first movie came out and since a few people seem interested I decided to post what I wrote back then to test the water

on the base concept this fic is supposed to be stobotnik but this first part doesn't even has Stone in it, as it is only the first encounter between Robotnik and the kid

it's also not supposed to be the first chapter and it's short but that's all I got the motivation to write back then and it's been 4 years so I'm just, I'm gonna post it now cuz that's long enough okay, we will see how it goes later 😭

for context this takes place after the first movie and will only be canon-compliant up to that point

also uh cw r slur??? idk I don't condone the characters' language but it's there

tagging @thebadevil @alexcole1326 and @nosebleedy99 'cause you commented on the other post

- Meanwhile a few months latter on the mushroom planet -

The Doctor was looking for a way on a tricky path, a collapsing old mushroom cap he needed to step on in order to reach a better point of view, when his appliances went insane: there was some dimensional shit going on. He heard a big crack, like thunderbolt, then the dimentional fluctuation faded away.

Maybe two hours latter he heard something again, but something small, something he hadn't heard in a long time. It was not the wind, not the mushrooms growing, not his own breath, not Agent Stone rolling away. It was something that moved by itself, something alive, something animal. It was footsteps.

He was prepared for anything, really, he was prepared for humans, talking blue hedgehogs, other feaking rainbow animals, dinosaurs that would try to eat him... He was ready, and ready to fight for his life if necessary! What he wasn't really expecting though was a child in some kind of safety suit shaped like a dress? With a lot of shiny technological device attached here and there. He didn't get to see their face a lot but based on its proportions and the way it was standing it was obviously a human child, or a weirdly humanoid shaped alien, because as far as Robotnik knew the probability of an alien species to evolve in the exact same way as human, if statistically possible, was very low, and the probability to encounter it even lower.

The child glanced at him for a second and didn't even look up from the touchscreen tablet in their hands when they addressed him:

"I am looking for a human man who was known on his home planet, Earth, as Dr. Ivo Robotnik. Would you appear to 1) know English and 2) have seen a human looking quite like you, in that the human male standard shape and size are similar to yours. He should have a pale skin and dark hairs, and apparently a 'glorious mustache'?"

For once he didn't really know what to say, it only took half a second for him to remember how to register English words but the kid was faster and after a jaded sigh they resumed: "Nǐ huì shuō pǔtōnghuà ma? Kya aap hindee bolate hain? ¿Hablas español? Hal tatahadath alearabiatu? Tumi ki bān-"

"YES I do speak English, and other language stoo, thank you very much. Who are you and what are you doing here anyway?"

"I am here to find the Dr. Ivo Robotnik, I have already said that. Are you retarded or something? If you are don't worry I can explain things again, more slowly, I am trained for that."

"I AM, Dr. Ivo Robotnik," he said, trying very hard not to break the child's neck. "I know you're looking for me, what I'm asking is why? Who are you and who sent you here? No. You know what in fact I don't care who you are. I just want to know who sent you. Which government or secret agency, that sort of thing."

The mildly disgusted and doubtful facial expression they made as they were double-checking his appearance was speaking volumes about their internal thoughts.

"I have no more time to dedicate to you. I'm a very busy person and searching for you already wasted far more of my precious time than you deserve. All you need to know is that a very important person want you and you will follow me now if you don't want me to make use of force."

And on that, the child turned their back to him and disappeared behind a mushroom.

Great. One of those child genius who thought they were above everyone else just because they worked for a random government. He should know, he was one of them. But that kid would learn soon enough what their real place was: down below.

He still followed them though, because they looked like they knew a way back and, well, even if he was smart enough to find a way by himself, thank you very much, the sooner he could beat that hedgehog the better it was. Also, he could just kill them after learning whatever device brought them here and no one would know.

–––

Soon they arrived to a more open area. The child seemingly took measurements, they walked around taking notes on their pad for a few minutes then stopped.

"Come here," they said while pointing the ground. "Don't move."

They took a device from their bag, some kind of tripod filled with wires and LEDs, and placed it on the ground. They stepped back and typed on their screen some more.

The tripod beeped and light beams came out of it, scaning the mushroom cap they where standing on. A dozen of flat devices escaped from the bag and and went to place themselves on strategic points marked by the beams.

The child then placed what looked like a power cell in the tripod. That blue glow emanating from it, could it be... But he had no time to think about it, lights amplificated by stimulated emission of radiation came out of the tripode and to the discs, reflecting into the others, and soon the whole place was illuminated. Reality torn open for the second time this day in a deafening din.

When he oppened his eyes again a ring, looking almost exactly like the one that brought him here, was now open on the ground before him. Almost, because it looked like it opened on a room specifically equipped for that purpose, and with the whole procedure to activate it, it could only mean it was a more primitive technology.

The Doctor looked up at the child, who was scrutinizing him for his reaction.

"I bet you didn't do that yourself, it looks just like this creature's gold rings portals," he said with a smirk.

"Yeah of course," responded the child with spite, "it's reverse engineering."

"Lame."

"Well at least I'm not stupidly stuck on a damn mushroom planet like an idiot. I favour efficiency upon ego, that's why I am here saving your ass and you are pathetically crawling over there covered in mushroom goo. Now, you will have to excuse me..."

They pressed some hiden button in their gloves and Robotnik felt something stinging his neck.

"...but I don't trust you."

The last thing he thought while falling to the ground and through the ring was: "But... That's my tech..."

[total-drama-brainrot]

This Alenoaheather AU is bringing me an unholy amount of serotonin and I love it- I’m still just now discovering it and I wish I knew about it sooner😭😭 But question if I may!

So, by the time Noah gets eliminated, where would you say his relationship lies with Alejandro and Heather? Like, does he leave the competition like, “You both tried to play each other, but I ended up playing the both of you, L” Like does he just think that Alejandro and Heather only romantically like each other, and he was just their attempt at emotionally manipulating one another, or does he at least have an idea that they potentially may feel romantically towards him? Honestly I’m just curious about how his elimination would play out between the three of them-

I'm glad other people are enjoying this AU as much as I am. Me and Perp are slowly spreading our Alenoaheather propaganda and it's working.

It's been established that Noah's elimination in this AU will take place at some point in the early post-merge game, probably either China or the Serengeti (though Niagara Falls might work too. We haven't exactly touched on how each challenge can/will play out since this whole concept has been put on the backburner), which gives his dynamic with Heather and Alejandro time to blossom from the initial double fake dating ploy into something more genuine.

Well before his elimination, Noah's been caught in his double-crossing ways; or to be more accurate triple-crossing, since Noah initially decided to play along with both Heather and Alejandro's schemes with the intention of throwing them both under the bus (or at least reaping all of the benefits for himself). But, by the time his ploy is figured out, the three of them have developed genuine feelings for each other.

As such, Heather and Alejandro are hesitant to have him eliminated; sure Noah somehow managing to pull the wool over their eyes for as long as he did was infuriating, but it was also impressive. Like recognises like, and the two biggest schemers in the game can appreciate when they've been outplayed, aggravating as it is, especially when the person who bested them essentially used their own trickery against them. Also, though the two of them would never admit it, both Heather and Alejandro know that they'd honestly miss Noah's caustic company.

Of course, at this point in the competition Heather and Alejandro are still deep in their "rivalry" phase, so it takes the two of them a very convoluted and overcomplicated conversation to figure out that they both share the same sentiment concerning a certain cynic- since every encounter they have with each other is practically a game of backhanded compliments and dancing around the true meaning of their words. It takes even longer for them to come to an agreement, given how stubborn the both of them can be, but eventually they manage to co-operate.

Which is what leads to The Confrontation, the point in the story where the two fake dating plots merge into Heather and Alejandro putting aside their differences to rule the game together, utilizing Noah as their shared right hand man since he's shown a knack for strategy and subterfuge. After all, why would they want to get rid of the one person on the jet who's able to go toe-to-toe with them in terms of scheming, when they can instead keep him around as an accomplice?

At least, that's the excuse they both use. But the two of them internally can't deny that, even if it was all pretend, Noah wasn't a bad "boyfriend" by any means, and they genuinely enjoy his company. In turn, Noah's accepted that neither Heather nor Alejandro are as insufferable as he initially assumed, and that playing along with their grand plots is actually really fun. (And maybe he also likes the two of them, but Noah would never admit that.)

But there's a a whole cast's worth of people on the jet who the trio also have to consider in their plans; it would be super suspicious of all three of them if the flirting and Aleheather's animosity suddenly ceased. No matter how oblivious the rest of the competitors are, a sudden public change in their dynamic would be the equivalent of waving a huge red flag and screaming "hey, we're in an alliance, vote us out!" Very counterintuitive to their goal of winning the competition.

So the three of them resolve to act as they have been during challenges, and sneak off to the confessional when it's most convenient/feasible to do so, where they can plot and scheme away from the rest of the cast.

This means that, at least to everyone else in the game, Noah's still in this weird grey area where he's actively flirting with both Heather and Alejandro. Or, well, "flirting", since I imagine most of the advances would be initiated by the other party and Noah would play the part of the blushing damsel- or more accurately the begrudging but highly amused recipient, since I just can't conceptualise snarky, stoic Noah being the type to get flustered easily.

I imagine The Confrontation would happen somewhere around London timeline wise (it just feels like the most appropriate place to have a major shift in the plot happen, for obvious reasons), which would give the initial fake dating aspect of the AU time to run it's course without getting stale, and allow the three of them to establish their dynamic as a trio before the merge hits. It'd give Alenoaheather around five or six episodes worth of time to grow closer as a trio (from Greece's Pieces to Niagara Brawls, at least) and have their feelings grow and develop at a natural pace, to the point where they acknowledge that, perhaps, not all of the romantic tension between them is fake.

And then, of course, the Fake Cheating Arc happens. Noah's elimination is the catalyst for this section of the plot, which Perp and myself touched on pretty heavily in one of our reblog chains, and at this point in the story Alenoaheather are in a sort of vague kind-of-dating situation; the three of them know there's feelings there, but they're all more invested in the competition (and their manipulation of such) than trying to figure out what exactly is going on between them. Plus, World Tour takes place in 2010- concepts like polyamory weren't exactly common knowledge back then, so the three of them wouldn't have any basis of comparison for what their dynamic is/would be.

That, and the three of them are all fairly emotionally closed off, so getting them to admit genuine feelings for each other and show vulnerableness to anyone would be like pulling teeth. As it stands, they're fairly content to continue acting as a Trickster Trio, contented to leave whatever's going on between them unlabelled for the time being in favour of focusing their time and energy on winning the million. There's an unspoken understanding between the three of them; what they have is special, inconceptual and indescribable by mere words... which is mostly just an excuse for the three of them not to breach the subject, since they have the collective emotional intelligence of a spork.

That doesn't mean they don't love each other. Because they do, even if some of them (Heather and Alejandro) aren't exactly familiar with concepts like "unconditional love" and "loyalty/compassion for someone besides yourself" and "lowering your emotional walls and being the most genuine version of yourself in front of the people who care about you". It's a steep learning curve, but they're doing their best.

But that's besides the point; at this point in the plot, the trio are essentially a throuple in all but name at the point of Noah's elimination.

That's why his suggestion of playing off of his "cheating" is initially met with hesitance on Aleheather's part- they don't want the one person on the jet (besides each other) they actually care about to risk his reputation, but they also know that it's a strategically sound idea. There's a conflict of interest between their desire to win the competition by any means necessary, and the budding sense of empathy they've both began to develop as a result of their situationship.

Of course, they eventually agree to his plan, and then the whole Cheating Arc plays out as it's been explored previously.

Which means Noah's actual elimination ceremony is a very tense affair.

He's intentionally playing himself up as kind of a scumbag during it, since he wants both Heather and Alejandro to appear as sympathetic as possible to the remaining competitors, so the three of them stage an altercation during that day's challenge where Noah's caught out in his "cheating", and consequently "admits" that he's been playing the two of them and it's all ingenuine on his part, to direct the majority vote against him. It'd kill two birds with one stone that way; Noah gets himself eliminated without having to do much out of the ordinary, since he's already kind of an asshole so all he really has to do is play up that aspect of himself a little and lie about manipulating his partners, meanwhile Heather and Alejandro can reap the benefits of whatever brownie points they gain from being his "victims" by using their own manipulative prowess to adopt the role of the ex-villains, redeemed by their shared heartbreak. Or something equally melodramatic.

Noah doesn't really care about the specifics of it, he'll be long gone before his partners can start playing up their "betrayal and heartbreak", and then soon enough one of them will win the competition. And spoil him rotten with their money.

So, during the actual ceremony, Noah becomes persona non grata. No one wants to sit anywhere near him on the benches, and the remaining cast members form a protective wall between him and a distraught Heather, who sniffles back quiet tears every time her eyes wander too close to the cynic's slouching, impassive frame, and Alejandro who's sat eerily still and taut with disgraced fury, who's fiery green eyes haven't strayed from the burning glare he's shooting towards the bookworm.

Not that Noah's a stranger to receiving glares; the rest of the cast are also shooting him some downright murderous looks. Though he is impressed by his partners' acting abilities. He's also physically biting back pearls of laughter- the gritting of his teeth only serves to make him look unapologetically indignant, and thus more irredeemable in the eyes of their company- because every time Alejandro knows that no one's focus is on him, he sends his cerebral partner a cheeky wink and a smirk. The smug bastard.

Unsurprisingly, the vote is fairly unanimous. Chris doesn't even bother trying to raise suspense or tension by counting the votes, since the result is inevitable. That, and the atmosphere is already so tense and dramatic, the host is revelling in it. Chris even goes so far as complimenting Noah for outshining Duncan's cheating fiasco, showing the audience "what real relationship drama looks like", and maybe even congratulating Noah on almost being as heartless as he is.

He's escorted to the Drop of Shame, parachute backpack in tow, but before he can take the plunge he glances back at his audience. A raging sea of hostility greets him, but within the depths of animosity two shining beacons of light greet him. Alejandro and Heather shoot him a fleeting wave, the ghosts of smiles flickering across their features before they continue their flawless acts, but it's enough to reassure Noah that everything will be fine.

(Spoiler alert, things don't end up being fine for Noah.)

Of course this is all just an idea I'm spewing out. Nothing in this AU is set in concrete and it's always open to peer review or change. That's the beauty of public AUs; you can do whatever you want with them!

[greentrickster]

Divine madness may be a rush, but it is still a madness. And, in the end, all madnesses must be collared or cured.

[wikiangela]

wip wednesday

tagged by @jesuisici33 @callaplums @daffi-990 @loserdiaz @thewolvesof1998 @disasterbuckdiaz @fortheloveofbuddie 💖💖

made a bit of progress on the sick fic so here it is🤷

prev snippet

___

“Maybe we should get you to a doctor.” Buck muses, wrapping the blanket over Eddie’s shoulders.

“I don’t need- I just closed my eyes for a second. I’m fine.” he grumbles, fumbling with the blanket too long to want to actually throw it off, but he does in the end – he’s cold and refuses to admit it, and he’d rather sit here and pretend he’s fine. He’s impossible.

“Eddie, that cough did not sound fine.” he points out. 

“Buck-” he sneezes, and then wraps the sleeves of his hoodie over his palms. Buck raises his eyebrow, and Eddie pointedly avoids his eyes, as he not-so-discreetly wipes his nose with a sleeve. 

“I bought tissues.” Buck reaches for the bag and digs out a box, then tries to give it to Eddie, who, instead of taking it, just levels him with a stare, as he sniffles loudly, and swipes a sleeve under his nose again. “Seriously? You’re gonna be gross and disgusting just to prove you’re not sick?” That’s a new level of stubborn Buck hasn’t seen from Eddie yet. He can’t believe this is the man his heart decided it wants. And that even while sick and gross and stubborn and ridiculous, a part of Buck is still endeared by him.

“I’m not.” Eddie insists, sounding so congested Buck swears he can feel it in his own sinuses. “Let me just finish my coffee, and then I-” another sneeze. “Have so much to do today.” he finishes, but at least this time he reaches for the tissues, looking anywhere but at Buck, cheeks red.

“Yeah, no, all you’re gonna do today is rest and take some medicine.” Buck says decisively, then takes the bag in his hand, and slowly starts walking to the kitchen. “Get comfortable, and I’ll just put this all away and be right back. I bought meds, tissues, and something to cook you some soup-” he starts listing off, getting louder the further he gets. “Oh, and stopped by the farmer’s market to get honey. Did you know that honey has antioxidant and antibacterial properties?” he asks excitedly, ready to tell Eddie every single thing he found in his quick research. Buck learned a long time ago that with Eddie he doesn’t need to hold back and can rant and ramble all he wants, and Eddie is happy to listen to him.

“Yeah?” Eddie yells back, voice hoarse and strained. Buck can hear the couch shift as Eddie gets comfortable, maybe even finally lays down. He knows Eddie won’t just give in and admit he’s sick, but this is a start. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?” he sounds genuinely interested, though also really tired. 

“I will, just a sec! I’ll make you some tea with lemon and honey, how’s that sound?” he asks, and gets a grunt in response, though he’s not sure if that’s an answer, or if Eddie’s just trying to suppress a cough in an attempt to hide that he’s sick, as if Buck didn’t already know. He chuckles to himself. He really has his work cut out for him today.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gayarthur @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @diazblunt @911onabc @eddiediaztho @housewifebuck @lover-of-mine @gayhoediaz @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @hoodie-buck @monsterrae1 @hippolotamus @ladydorian05 @forthewolves @honestlydarkprincess @wildlife4life @spotsandsocks @eowon @theotherbuckley @weewootruck @thewolvesof1998 @giddyupbuck @disasterbuckdiaz @hoodie-buck @spotsandsocks

[sluckythewizard]

BUT IM NOT A WRITER. something strange possessed me to write my first proper fanfic in maybe a decade. be niceys to me but also grill me so i can get stronger. this one is a stupidly self indulgent bit between Soda and Emizel, a day or so after emizel was sired. CW for gore descriptions, but thats about it i think. image below is a snippet of the start. the rest of the whole dang thing will be under the cut. ive never posted fanfic ever in my life. read my tags for secret behind da scenes commentary

"Oh shit… I think hes dead…" It was another night, another patrol, another fight, and another win, for Emizel and Soda.

Under moonlight, under street light, under interwoven wires above, the two stood here in a quiet and damp alleyway. The air was drenched with the smell of a previous rain, and the puddles of said storm remain huddled in corners and pot holes.

One splashed as soda found himself stepping forwards into one. The residual adrenaline of the fight had left his body shaking, his heart still pounding, his wounds still throbbing. They had still won; or more-so, Emizel had won. A particularly nasty blow to the side had Soda reduced to the side lines for most of the fight, left to watch as his newly vampiric comrade had absolutely eviscerated the competition.

Emizel had only been turned a day ago, but it was impossible not to notice how it had changed him. He already acted so goddamn confident, so on top of the world, and this newfound power, newfound speed and strength, only built upon his insane ego.

The Fangs that they encountered here on this night stood no fucking chance. Emizel was too quick, too strong, and he easily chased off the rivals. It was only now, as the final unfortunate opponent had turned to flee, a clean clock in the jaw sent the human tumbling to the ground with a dull thump, and it did not move afterward.

Soda shifts his shoe out of the puddle, the cold seeping into his sock being one of the few things keeping his mind in his body in the moment. Is the guy breathing?

A low laugh bleeds from Emizel as he stretches his arms, licking his sharpened teeth as he stares off in the direction the remaining Fangs went. Soda knew that look on his face, the look of a tiger pondering on its next kill, he knew well that Emizel wanted to chase them.

But the guy on the ground.. It was one punch to the face, and the wicked crack sound that came from it had planted a seeding dread within Sodas chest.

As he steps forward, around the puddle, the resulting sound made Emizels attention click back over to Soda, the snap of his gaze making Soda flinch.

The two lock eyes, and Soda weakly gestures to the limp body on the floor. "The uh.. I think.. Is that guy dead?" He finally asks, having a hard time keeping contact with Emizels intensely red eyes.

Emizel turns his attention to said body, tilting his head as he goes to kick at the thing, turning it over. "Man no way hes dead, I punched him once." He mutters.

"Well, yeah, but his head almost twisted all the way around when you did.." Soda steps up to stand beside Emizel, the two boys standing with their hands in their pockets, down at this unfortunate, limp body.

"Should we hide it?" Soda asks, glancing back over at Emizel, who had.. An odd look on his face. He was clearly pondering something, but Soda could only guess whatever was going on in that brilliant head of his. He knew and trusted that Emizel was smart. If anyone could figure out what to do about this, it would be him.

But the lack of an answer had anxiety chewing at the back of Sodas rib cage, and after a second, he speaks up again, compelled to fill what he perceived as a tense silence. "Like.. I dunno, I've never uh... killed a guy..." He shrugs, prompting Emizel to let out a big sigh.

"He's not dead man, just out fuckin cold." Emizel kneels down next to the body, putting an ear up to its chest, and pondering on that for a moment. An uncertainty twists his expression, as he decides to instead place a hand on the victims throat, checking for a pulse. A moment passes, and seemingly finding nothing, he pulls back.

"Uh... Okay, so he might be dead."

Something about the confirmation from Emizel made a shiver run up Sodas spine. That, or maybe it was just the breeze agitating the cold water in his shoe.

"Huh… Damn.." Was all that Soda could really get to leave his mouth. Which was hardly a splash compared to the torrent that was slowly churning in his head. They just killed a guy. Or, Emizel just killed a guy. And it was so easy. They had to hide the body now, right? That was the usual progression here? Getting caught for murder was way more extreme than getting caught for breaking mailboxes with soda cans. It was so, so disturbingly easy. It really was just one punch. It's not like the Fangs are weak by any means, so just one punch? And this guy is dead? Forever?

Or, perhaps by human means, their rivals were fairly tough. But Emizel was on a whole other level. No mortal could stand up to him now...

"Hey, are you okay?"

The question had pulled Soda back from his head, his gaze flicking back over to Emizel, who was looking up at him with those eerie, piercing red eyes. Soda felt another shiver.

"Uh, ieah man, I'm all good." Soda nods, swallowing down whatever anxiety was bubbling up in his throat.

But Emizel didn't seem satisfied by his answer, standing back up and staring down his human comrade. Soda couldn't meet his eyes, his gaze instead traveling downward, and pausing on Emizels red, cut-up shirt. There was something off about the color, the way it seemed darker in some spots, brighter in others.. Wait, wasn't Emizel wearing a white shirt before all this?

The vampire boy seems to pick up on Sodas expression, following his eyes down to his shirt. "Oh, yeah! While you were on the floor, the knife guy got me a little" He says, a stupidly simple smile on his face. Soda was about to let out a laugh at how unbothered his friend seemed by it, but it gets caught in his throat when Emizel goes to pull his shirt up.

The sound of the bloodied fabric peeling away from skin made Sodas own skin crawl, but that wasn't nearly as bad as the sight of the intense gash running from his collar bone, down to his stomach.

"Oh, fuck dude!" Soda gasps, but Emizel laughs it off. Even despite knowing Emizel well, Soda was still surprised by just how much Emizel could shrug off. "Shit, doesn't that hurt, dude?"

"Oh yeah this fucking hurts!" he says with a laugh, his smile big and toothy and proud as he presents this egregious wound. Swollen and angry, pulsing with a slow heartbeat, and still oozing with thick, dark blood.

The sight of the split flesh, and the glints of bone beneath the dark, dark red all tugged at Sodas gag reflex, and yet he couldn't pull his eyes away. So Emizel's just been walking and talking so normally this whole time with his chest just cleaved wide open? Soda felt just as impressed as he felt horrified.

It wasn't until Emizel reaches down to poke at the abhorrent wound that Soda snaps out of it. Watching his friend press his fingers into the bloodied flesh, and slowly pulling it apart, allowing more ichor to seep from the gash, it was too much to watch at this point.

Soda reaches up to put a hand on Emizels wrist, the vampire boy stopping, and looking up at his friend.

Soda found himself freezing again when he locks eyes with Emizel. He was going to say something now, right? "U-uhm.." Is all he really chokes out, giving Emizels wrist a gentle tug. "D-do you. Uh. I suppose a hospital Isn't a place you can go anymore..?"

Emizel just smirks at that, letting Soda pull his hand away from the wound. "Oh, yeah no, but it's fine. I mean, I don't think it's gonna kill me" He shrugs. It was so, so impressive just how unphased Emizel was by all this. Fuck he's actually so cool.

"Well yeah man but it's like, still a bleeding hole. Like you're soaked in blood dude, I'm pretty sure that even a vampire needs that stuff on like, the inside." Soda rubs the back of his head, still unnerved by the sight of it all. "Vampires have like, super healing, don't they?"

"Oh yeah like, regeneration powers. I know I heal faster sometimes but I dunno how to just, activate it on command.." Emizel hums, his eyes narrowing down at his own injury, as if trying to will it into mending. Soda looks away, unable to watch that vile gash ooze any longer.

"I dunno man, how do they do it in like, video games?" Soda tosses the question out, trying to click together some sort of solution in his own head.

"Uhhh.. Huh, video games.." Emizel repeats to himself, chewing on the thought while idly poking at the laceration; until an idea audibly flickers to life in his head. "Oh, I just gotta refill my blood meter. Or whatever."

"Oooh yeah, blood meter!" Soda perks up, "Of course, see this is why you're the brains, man" Soda smiles, glancing back over to his cool friend, but immediately needing to look away again when the sight of that egregious gash tugs bile back into his throat.

While Soda averts his eyes, Emizels eyes wander back over to the body, and that classic 'Emizel has a bad idea' smile creeps across his face.

"Well, if this guys dead, I'm sure he's not gonna need all that blood.." He grins, kneeling down next to the body again.

The word 'wait' had hardly gotten the chance to crawl from Sodas mouth, before Emizel lifts up the arm of the unfortunate body, pulling the sleeve back, and immediately sinking his teeth into the exposed wrist.

The sound and the sight of blood gushing around Emizels teeth made Soda cringe, his hand impulsively coming up to aide his own wrist. An empathetic phantom pain made his wrist ache, his imagination simulating the feeling of shark teeth cutting into skin, sinking deep into the flesh, and clacking against bone. That was a lot of blood, that was streaming down the arm of this fodder.

A low growl bleeds from Emizel as he adjusts his teeth, cutting into more flesh, opening the wound further, and allowing a pulsing torrent of red to stream down his chin, onto his coat. It was an annoying thing, to clean blood out of clothing. Most of the Demons deemed it easier to just let the stains remain. But the night that Emizels throat was torn open, and liters upon liters were granted freedom from his human form, the unbelievable mess had practically changed half the color of Emizels iconic coat.

That was the first time Soda had ever seen that much blood from one person. And well. This would probably be the second.

The sight was unnerving, but it was impossible to look away. The alley was quiet, save for the distant bustle of a distant city, which made the noisy squish and squelch of teeth gnawing on flesh all the more apparent and nauseating.

Emizel had become a monster for sure, and watching it feed on something was… thrilling, in a way. It reminded Soda of feeding a pet spider, or lizard. A mouse for a snake.

It's a heavy thing to witness, the end of a human life. The fear of death is a primal thing, and Soda was no different from any other living thing. He figured everyone else feared death just as much as he does. Well, maybe except for Emizel, of course.

It made sense. Emizel was such a cocky and noisy kind of guy, but hes always had the power to back it up. Even when he lost, or seemed at his lowest, Soda still saw this sort of fire in him, one that Soda admired.

Of course Emizel would be the one to become something like a vampire. Something that Soda had always figured was just a fantasy creature thing. He wondered; if vampires were real, what else was real? Werewolves? Zombies? Unicorns? Are there real demons? Like from hell? Is hell real? Is he going to hell?

The sudden ttteeeeaaaaarrrr of flesh rips soda from his wandering thoughts. Emizel was tugging his head away from the arm of his kill, his teeth clamped down into the chewed meat, and pulling it apart. Soda had seldom seen so much of the inside of a human arm, and the sight of spilling threads and squirming veins was hardly something he ever wanted to stomach again.

"Oh fuck, dude, hey-" Soda steps forward, raising a hand, but the way Emizel snaps his head back over to him, twisting to an unnatural degree, Soda cant help jolting back.

Reddened teeth glint menacingly in the low light, a threatening growl thundering from its clenched, dripping jaws. Emizels eyes were focused, yet wild, glowing with whatever light they could reflect.

Sodas eyes were wide, and his body was frozen in the thick, electric tension within the air. It was like staring down an angry dog.. Suddenly a light bulb in his head flickers to life. It was kind of like an angry dog, right? One hunched over a meal it didn't want to give up. Memories of old encounters and unfortunate dog bites resurface in Sodas head, and with that experience, and with those lessons learned, he gathers the courage to react.

He shuts his eyes, keeping them closed for a few seconds, as he slowly pulls back his arm, and slowly steps back. It was an eye contact thing, wasn't it? Eye contact makes dogs angry, right? That was how you dealt with an angry dog? As he pulls back, and takes in a breath for composure, he finally dares to peek at the angry vampire before him again.

Its snarling had died down, but its eyes were still trained intently on Soda. After a tense, and agonizingly, slow pause... It blinks back, lowering its head back down to its meal, but keeping its anxious stare on this potential threat.

A relieved sigh falls from soda as the tension finally melts. He didnt realize he was holding in so much of his breath. "O-okay, man.. It's yours, you uh.. Earned it.." Soda mutters, stepping back further, until he was standing in a sufficiently dry enough space to sit down in. Now that he wasn't standing, he was finally taking into mind just how much his hands were shaking.

It's odd. Soda couldn't really describe this feeling thrumming in his chest as something like fear.. Nausea? For sure. Disturbed and rattled? Oh absolutely. This was certainly a sight he would have a hard time scrubbing from his eyelids when he sleeps tonight. But he wasn't scared. The memory of the night that Emizel was sired still coated the inside of his mind like an unwashable film. Even in that moment, when the unnatural teeth from the unnatural maw of an unnatural thing hovered over his throat, he couldn't say with confidence that he was scared.

Emizel really is his best friend in the world. And he knows with his whole heart that Emizel feels the same. He knew and trusted that his best friend would never hurt him. Not too badly at least. He loves Emizel, and would give anything to support him.

Like a mouse to a snake.

This really is an incredible power that his comrade had come across, and Soda especially felt a sort of pride in his friend. He felt it was worth it to help him feed it.

The bile in his throat had made its point, and Soda agreed, that watching someone die, and get torn apart and drained might be too much for him. Despite how much he hated the Fangs, the end of any human life seemed like such a jarring thing. To have such an intense fear finally get confronted. Would he go to hell?

Maybe he couldn't just feed people to his friend. So an alternative could be donated blood, right? Soda wouldn't mind giving up something like blood. His body makes it for free, after all. Maybe some other Demons would agree to give up some blood too. But they shouldn't have to take on such a burden. Soda wouldn't mind being the only one. The only one. The only one.

His hand comes up to rub at his neck, as his imagination conjures up what it might feel like to have teeth sink into his flesh. He's been stabbed before, is that sort of what it would feel like? Would he have to get stitches? He didn't really want to get stitches, so maybe there could be a more effective way to get the blood out of him. And there was so much vital stuff in his neck too. There's' a vein that's safe to cut into somewhere, right? He would have to look that up later.

A STARTLING RINGING;

Splits the moment,

Prompting both Soda and Emizel to jolt in shock,

As the phone in Emizels pocket rings away.

Acting as if nothing abnormal had taken place, Emizel pulls out his phone, and answers it.

"Heyy, Johnny! Yeah we chased em off, I don't think those bastards will be infesting this street again anytime soon. Yeah, ieah we'll be heading back soon. Oh fuck yeah dude, save us some!"

Emizel covers the speaker of his Nokia, turning back to Soda with a big smile on his violently bloodied face. "They got some pizza waiting for us back home, dude!" he whispers out to him.

Soda does his best to crack a smile, and to suppress the look of unease that probably stained his face, as he stares at the literal murder scene that's been splattered about in front of him.

"Oh, yeah, hell yeah man.." He swallows down the bile again. "What kind of uh.. Soda did they get?"

Emizel ponders that, before turning back to the phone to ask Sodas question.

"Sprite and a big pack of that one strawberry mountain dew" Emizel tosses the answer back over to Soda, who gives a nod, and thumbs up.

Mountain dew is so neat, Soda really liked all the wacky flavors those guys come up with. The thought of going home and opening a can of soda was certainly a comfort. After witnessing all this blood and gore and viscera, Soda absolutely needed to get back home and get a nice cold glass of something bright red .

As Sodas mind wanders off to soda, Emizel wraps up the conversation on the phone, before hanging up, and standing up.

The movement had pulled Sodas mind back into the moment, enough for him to timidly voice a concern he's had since the start of this debacle.

"Uh, hey, so.. The body, should we… Uh.." He gestures vaguely to it, and Emizel grants it a nonchalant glance.

"Eh, I can toss it into a dumpster or something, I dunno. I'm sure its fine. I'll handle it."

The vampire boy goes to pick up the corpse, the wound in its mangled arm no longer even dripping with blood, the flesh pale from the absolute absence of red in its veins.

"Go ahead and meet me by that one mailbox, the one with the bullet hole in it." Emizel casually instructs, tossing the drained body over his shoulder. "I'll catch up."

"Uh, yeah, okay.." Soda musters up a nod, and the strength to rise back up to his feet, wincing as that bruise on his side makes itself loudly known again. He still felt anxious, but even despite it all, he knew he could trust Emizel to take care of things. He always does. "Just stay safe man, I'll see you there." Soda assures with a smile, and Emizel matches it, tossing him a wink. And then suddenly- -He's gone! If Soda had blinked he would've missed it, but he was fortunate enough to just barely catch the glimpse of Emizel darting off at an inhuman speed, probably looking for a place to dump the body. Right, he would take care of it. Emizel always makes sure his crew is taken care of. Well... Guess all that's left for Soda is for him to walk back to that meeting spot. He looks around the alley for a moment, taking in the sight of that enormous pool of blood in the middle of the concrete. Or whatever the floor of this alley is made from. He ponders on the present moment a little longer than he meant to, the shock of it all leaving him aimless for just a few, soothing moments of just, decompression. The night is quiet, vast, and cold, but the stresses of just the past 5 hours had left his body radiating with fiery aches and pains, so the chill of the occasional clawing breeze was welcomed. Except for when said breeze agitated the cold water still soaked into his sock. He should step in another puddle on his way back to even it out. The smell of rain still rested heavy in the air, heralding another storm on the horizon. There was that, and then, well, there was also the blood. The stench of it felt far too intense to just ignore it, the metallic miasma making itself maliciously unmistakable. Maybe the impending storm will wash this mess away... He looked forward to putting this unfortunate night behind him. With one last rattled, but deep breath, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, and turns away, strolling back over to the mailbox that Emizel had described.

He couldn't wait to get home and drink some soda with his friends.

[sarcasticgaypotato]

In honor of the latest Panthera chapter.

Spoilers but also come on she's been a cat for like. 13 chapters, I can only contain myself for so long.

As always, Panthera by @idrewacow

[sisterdivinium]

At long last, the unholy trinity is together.

I don't care about statistics but I care about aesthetics and it is VERY satisfying to me to see that these three are now together in the stats page, lol, I've been waiting a while for it and now it happened.

[styxpenz]

fulfilling 10 year old mes dream (writing proper self insert fic)

[squeakheart]

we added a doc q fic to our slate of planned x reader fics!! epic win for disabled top nation 🧡

[woundedheartwithin]

Haaaaaaaaaa….

[81sainz]

DIET PEPSI ★ L. NORRIS

★ PAIRING: boyfriend!lando x female!reader

★ GENRE: NSFW

★ SUMMARY: in which lando pulls over to watch the sunset with you in his porsche; things take a turn from there.

inspired by “diet pepsi” by addison rae

★ WORD COUNT: 1.2k

★ WARNINGS: car sex, semi public sex, nasty kissing, making out, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, teeny bit of praise cause I can’t help myself, cumshot. lando is soooo sweet. I think that is all! please be noted this is only semi proofread.

★ AUTHORS NOTE: finally! making my formula 1 fic debut! I hope you all enjoy this. I started writing this somewhere before summer break and unfortunately just got to finishing it. life…am I right? I guess the lyrics hold true because my boy has won 2 times since then! I know this one’s a bit short, but feedback is appreciated!

“Are you sure no one is up here?” you asked your boyfriend as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

Lando reached over slightly and gave your thigh an affirmative squeeze. “It’s fine, I was looking around.”

The two of you were on a drive in his 911 carrera and pulled off to a small spot up on a hill that overlooked the city. It was later in the evening and the sun was setting; casting an orange glow over Lando when he turned to you.

“You look so pretty in the light. Come here.”

Lando adjusted his seat before helping you over the center console and gearshift of his vehicle.

“I don’t want to break anything.” You spoke out loud with a laugh as Lando had his hand on your leg to help you.

Lando shushed you. “You’re fine, I’ve got you.”

You were in his lap within seconds; adjusting the skirt that you were wearing slightly to get more comfortable.

“Comfortable?” Lando brushed your hair off of your shoulder before planting a few kisses softly onto your skin near your collarbone.

You hummed in response, nodding before combing your fingers through his soft curly hair as his mouth made its way up to your neck.

You let a small whimper escape your lips when Lando’s teeth scraped your skin slightly.

Your hand tightened in his hair as you rocked your hips into his lap; feeling his bulge through his jeans.

“Fuck.” Lando swore under his breath as his hands roamed your thighs and to the curve of your ass underneath your skirt.

“I want this off of you.” Lando glanced up at you quickly for any sign for him to stop before unbuttoning and unzipping your skirt, removing the item of clothing from your body and throwing it into the passenger seat.

You mentally thanked yourself for the outfit choice of yours.

“Wow.” Lando let out a sigh, leaning to kiss you again as his hands returned to their place on your thighs, and moved up to your waist.

You were eager for him, grabbing a hold of his white button down shirt for any way to get him closer to you.

Lando shifted in the driver seat, his hands holding your hips as his jeans brushed against your cunt.

You let out a moan into his mouth, and Lando took that as an opportunity to tongue kiss you; reaching up to grab the nape of your neck with one of his hands.

Pulling away slightly with a hum, you noticed Lando’s breathing to be slightly more erratic than before.

“Baby, I need you..” Your voice faded when Lando kissed you again. You knew you didn’t really have to say anything; Lando knew you like the back of his hand.

“I’ve got you.” Lando mumbled, guiding you to rest your knee up onto the door panel of his porsche. “Stay like this for me, ok?”

You nodded, biting down onto your bottom lip as he locked eye contact with you.

Lando quickly glanced in his rearview mirror to check if anyone was around; still nobody.

He pulled the fabric of your underwear to the side, audibly groaning at how easily his middle and ring finger slipped inside of you.

You let out a whimper, squeezing onto his bicep for some stability.

“Oh my fuck, why didn’t I take you home?” Lando was talking to himself, because there was no way you were going to answer him.

There was absolutely no space between the two of you, as this car was not ideal.

You could hear the squelching noise coming from underneath you, making you look down; covering your mouth to stifle your moans. There was nothing that Lando hated more than when you hid from him.

“Get that hand off of your mouth, sweetheart.” Lando spoke, slipping a third finger into your cunt; knowing you’d react.

“Good girl, gonna cum for me?” Lando asked, kissing your jaw and down towards your collarbone. “Hmm?”

You were breathless, but still managed to use your words. “No.” You paused, your voice sounding like a whimper, grabbing onto Lando’s shirt as you tried not to fall apart. “I need you to fuck me, please.”

“Fuck, are you sure?” He asked, his face centimeters from yours. Lando was taken aback at your forwardness, but willing to do anything you wanted.

You hummed, nodding before kissing him. You moved your hand down between your legs; feeling the now very prominent bulge in Lando’s jeans.

He let out a deep throaty groan at the contact. “Fuck.”

You tried to unbutton his jeans really fast, but with your position on his lap it wasn’t working.

“I got it, I got it.” Lando’s larger and more steady hand replaced yours as he worked his pants down to leave enough room for his cock.

You let out a sigh when you felt him teasing the head of his leaking cock against your folds. “I can’t believe we’re doing this here.”

“What?” Your voice was breathy as Lando gripped your hips to lower you down onto him. Your question was instantly replaced by a moan of his name.

“Nothing.” Lando grunted before throwing his head back. “God, how do you feel so fucking good?”

He still had a grip on your hips; hitting all of the right spots that drove you insane.

“Hmm- Fuck!” You cried out. “Right there, right there.”

“Shit.” Lando swore, letting go of you with one hand to have you look at him. “You’re cumming already?”

You eagerly nodded before Lando suddenly crashed his lips with yours. The kiss is sloppy; messy.

You could feel your thighs starting to ache, and a tinge of overstimulation when Lando applied pressure to your clit with the pads of his fingers.

Gasping, you pulled away from the kiss, swearing under your breath as Lando was pulling another orgasm from you so quickly as you still fucked yourself on his cock.

“You can give me one more, yeah?” His voice was low as his hot breath ghosted your face. “Make a fucking mess out of my car.”

In your attempts to slam down onto him harder, your rhythm faltered as you came again. Your legs were now shaking as you clenched around Lando’s cock.

The sun was almost down, making it somewhat difficult to see his reaction; but you had an inkling that he had to be close.

“Lando…” Your voice was a slight whimper again, making Lando wince. “Cum in me, please.”

“God im close, im really fucking close.” Lando spoke, sucking in a shallow breath through gritted teeth.

It wasn’t too long after that he finally reached his peak, nearly holding you down on his lap as he grunted expletives as he tried to be as quiet as possible.

“Lando…” you winced as you already felt the mess between your legs. “Stay inside of me like this.” You leaned into him, resting your head on his heaving chest.

“We can’t stay here.” You could tell Lando was smirking by the way his voice sounded. One of his hands smoothed out your hair before he kissed the top of your head. “I know you’re tired, but we can’t.”

“I know.” You huffed, exaggerating a pouty attitude. “You’re so warm.” You kissed Lando near his mouth a few times, making him scrunch his nose.

Finally you sat up, letting Lando help you off of his lap and into the passenger seat. The two of you fixed your clothing before Lando leaned over the center console to kiss you.

“Okay, take me home.”

[omgeto]

☆ WHEN YOU HAVE MAKE UP SEX — GOJO, TOJI, NANAMI

summary: you annoy your boyfriends, they annoy you, you fuck and all is well. that's the fic.

cw: afab!reader, dry humping with toji, gojo eats you out in the shower, nanami spanks you and fucks you against a wall so slay mdni. come for the smut, stay for the dialogue.

an: this was fun to write actually, I had a whole geto part written but I deleted it all so rip to that, I hope you enjoy. this is barely make up sex tbf its more, your boyfriends being bothersome and fucking you afterwards. not proofread so ignore mistakes pls

☆ GOJO

gojo satoru was an attention whore. you’ve always known that about your boyfriend – loved him for it even. the way he’d bask in the attention from you, his friends, even strangers on the street, his eyes lighting up at the mention of his name. which is you knew when you gave him the silent treatment, it annoyed him like crazy.

“baby please,” he whines, as another hour passes of you being completely silent, “i didn’t mean it.” 

you walk straight past him, trying to keep yourself busy. it was hard to ignore your boyfriend, he was just so lovable — but you had a point to prove. he was tailing behind you, not letting you out of his sight. he was like a small child, a puppy even, his lips pouty, eyes wide, begging for your attention. 

you head to the shower, since surely that's the one place you could continue your charade uninterrupted right? wrong. gojo is right there with you, simultaneously stripping down with a devious glint in his eyes. 

as soon as the shower water turns on, his hands are all over you, you’re just how he likes you — naked and wet. you try to suppress your moan, to stand your ground just a little longer, but it was getting hard with the way his fingers were separating your pussy lips. he lowers down to his knees, his hair brushing against your stomach as he tongue drags across your wet slit.

“you gonna talk to me now?” he mutters, the sound muffled as you push his head deeper into your sobbing cunt. he smirks, knowing that what he’s doing is working.

gojo’s tongue swirls across your clit, nipping at it. his hands work their way up your ass, gripping against it as he nuzzles his face further into your pussy. “f-fuck,” you sigh out, already cursing yourself from breaking your silence, but you just couldn’t help it. the feeling of him lapping at you was just too much for you to take.

“what was that baby?” he teases, looking up at you, his face drenched in both shower water and your pussy juices. your lips part slightly, the feeling of you about to cum getting overwhelmingly stronger. 

you head rests against the shower wall the water trailing down your tits, landing in gojos hair — making it easier for you to slide and tangle your hands in. he hikes one of your legs onto his shoulder, angling his tongue further into your pussy using the way you scratch and tug at his scalp to go even deeper.

you’re just about to cum, grinding yourself into his face, but just before you can — he pulls away. he stands up on his feet, giving you a peck on the lips, before exiting the shower — feeling satisfied.

“toru, i forgive you,” you call out of the shower, needing him right back in there to finish you off. you couldn’t even really remember what he did to annoy you in the first place, but you both proved your points. “you can come back now bae.”

he damn near twists his ankle running back into the shower, an eager smile on his lips as all he wanted was to hear you speak to him again — to hear you need him.

☆ TOJI

“you forgive me yet princess?” he says with a grin, pressing kisses to your neck. 

“move toji” you snip, half heartedly shrugging him off you. technically toji hadn’t necessarily done anything wrong, it was just one of those days where you were not in the mood — and toji just knew all the wrong buttons to push.

“is your period due or something?” he teases, laughing as you roll your eyes, “i could’ve got the paracetamol, all you had to do was ask?” 

“fuck off,” you retort but it had no real bite to it — you both knew that. 

“aww princess are you upset?” he continues to mock you, a prime example of toji getting on your nerves and enjoying the hell out of it.

“shut up,” you mumble, letting yourself be taken in by your boyfriend as he pulls you up onto his lap. he’s quick to rid you of your shirt, exposing your boobs, to which he grins at — amazed at the sight.

he pulls one of your tits in his mouth, sucking on it hard as his hand works on the other boob pinching at your nipples. “t-toji shit,” you gasp at the feeling of his tongue swirling against your hard nipple, his head resting on your shoulder as his mouth envelopes your tit.

you grind against his thigh, as he continues to suckle on you. his body moves with yours as your clothed cunt drives against his leg. his lips move from your tits to your mouth, pulling you into a deep kiss as his hands start to fondle your breast. 

“you really fucking yourself on my thigh, huh?” he smirks in between kisses, tugging on your tits harder, “i don’t even have to do much to get you off.”

“f-fuck,” you moan out, overwhelmed at the feeling of his hands playing your boobs and your pussy gaping trying to clench around nothing as you vigorously rub yourself against his thigh.

“y’gonna cum for me princess,” he teases, raising his leg up slightly causing more friction between your pussy and his thigh, “gonna make a mess in your panties for me?” you nod, your forehead resting against his as you moan against his lips, buckling against him as you cum. 

he gives you a final peck against your lips, satisfied in pleasing you. “you still mad?” he jokes, already knowing the answer. he lays his head on your chest, using your tits as a cushion, smiling in content as you stroke his head.

“shush,” you hum out with a smile.

“see i knew all you needed was to get your titties sucked.”

☆ NANAMI

“why are you such a slut sometimes?” nanami asks, roughly pushing you forward, your hands pressing flat against the wall. 

you had barely made it inside your house, before your husband had your dress hiked and panties off. you went out on your weekly date night, and tonight you decided just to rile your husband up a little bit more than usual. 

he spreads your legs, easily slotting in between them, freeing his dick out of his pants rubbing it against your wet folds. you liked it when he was like this. any time you had sex with him, it was great, but there were rare occasions when you just wanted him to be a bit more mean — and tonight was one of those nights.

“i’m sorry kento, i didn’t mean to,” you lie, if he could see your face he’d be able to see the pleased smile beaming off it.

“oh cut the shit,” he comments, as his dick slams into your pussy. you were soaked, watching the way he was jealous of the waiter you were ‘flirting’ with earlier, already had you feeling things, “i know what you’re up to.”

“and what is that?” you ask coyly, playing dumb — oblivious to the obvious.

“you’re trying to get me all riled up, so i can fuck your slutty little brains out, isn’t that right?” he asks, his dick hammering into you at an unforgiving pace. he was sliding in and out of easily, driving against your spot with every hit. his hands roughly grip against your hips to keep you in place. “and it’s working.”

nanami continues to drill into you, spanking your ass with hard, repetitive slaps as his hips meet yours. your mouth widens with every slap, the feeling of his large hand hitting against your ass cheeks causes you to moan loudly in pleasure.

“f-fuck kento, fuck me h-harder,” you gasp out, his hand moves from your ass coming under to flick your clit as he continues to pound into you. you were close, he could tell, but he wasn’t letting up with his relentless strokes. 

“are you sorry, baby?” he asks, his thumb still pressing on your clit, rubbing on it just as hard as he was fucking you, “tell me you’re sorry.”

“i’m sorry, i really am,” you mewl, feeling your hands slip against the wall as he drives into you hard, you body crumbling at the force.

“do you want me to cum inside this pretty pussy?” he asks already knowing the answer, his smirk growing as you nod, clearly drunk on his dick as it thrusts into you further.

“p-please, i need to cum,” you whine, practically begging as you throw your ass back on his dick, eager to cum. “let, me cum.”

“c’mon babe, cum all over my dick,” he growls in your ear, spraying your walls with his cum, grinning as you release all over him but he forces his dick back into you, plugging your pussy with both of your cum. “shit, that was great.’ 

he eventually pulls out of you, giving your ass a final slap, “y’know if you want me to fuck you like that again, you don’t have to flirt with a waiter for me to do that.”

an: so what do you think....??? dont use the dividers property of big emp

[queers-gambit]

Curiosity Killed The Cat

prompt: after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 5.1k+

note: author wants things out of her drafts! also don't take this fic too seriously, it's not much at all - just me writing for the fuck of it until i'm ready to focus on my bigger projects.

warnings: modern AU, Mafia AU, obvious cursing, small hurt and comfort, brief depiction of physical violence and self-destruction in the form of: loss of appetite, lack of sleep, other symptoms of depression. NOT edited! author is ashamed because she knows she can give you something better but oh well.

Your feet planted, jarring you to a halt the moment you heard your name in a conversation you were not apart of.

You heard the hammering of your heart, echoing beats of your blood pumping with harrowing desperation. Hands turned cold and clammy, sweat breaking out on your brow and then freezing, feeling as if your throat had swollen to a new restriction and you were anchored in you in place.

Rooted.

But for now, all you could identify was the paralyzing anxiety that anchored you to your spot and made your heartbeat thunder in your ears. You stood outside the lounge, unable to comprehend relevant thought; still listening to low, docile tones continue their conversation, but you couldn't hear real words.

You were stunned. Panicked, confused, hurt - so very hurt. That seemed to register, too; you were really, really hurt.

This was perhaps why curiosity killed the cat.

You reprimanded yourself for listening in - transporting back to childhood during all the times your parents would scold you for eavesdropping. You knew it was wrong, you knew this was a private conversation meant to be shared between trusting confidants, but you couldn't help it - you heard your name and stopped. It was natural, right? To feel curious regarding a conversation seemingly about you that you, yourself, was not apart of?

Curiosity, indeed.

Blinking rapidly, you remembered the only other time you felt such mounting, pressurized fear, and while it might be dramatic, the only other time you could remember this level of anxiety was from about two months ago...

"Yes, baby, I got the bacon."

"And the jalapeños?"

"Uh-huh, the biggest they had."

"Cream cheese?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" You laughed into the phone. "I'm a professional housewife by now, you can relax. I got all you needed for your fancy little dinner experiment."

Bucky laughed down the phone, "Oh, please, like I didn't see you salivating when we watched the segment on Top Chef."

"Hush," you laughed, too. "I'm leaving the store now," you told him, pushing out of the heavy glass doors, "and should be home in, like, 10 minutes?"

"Lemme pick you up."

"I have legs to walk with, so, no thank you."

He sighed, "Well, I'll open the wine to let it breathe. Red's still good?"

"Let's do a white tonight, please."

"Good deal," he mused softly. "Hey, I was thinking earlier - "

"Hang on," you pleaded.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing. There's just a van slowing down, I don't want to get hit," you chuckled some, looking up and down the street before crossing. "Sorry, so, what were you thinking?"

"We haven't been to Paris in months."

You smirked, "I'm sure our plants in the apartment are dead by now."

Bucky laughed, "Oh, I am, too. But, look, how 'bout it, Peach? You, me, all the croissants we can consume this weekend. I'll take Monday and Tuesday off, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Oh, that sounds nice," you moaned. "Paris in the spring? Baby, that's so dreamy!"

"So, is that a yes?"

"It's a hell yes," you grinned. "Do you know the weather?"

"Supposed to be nice and sunny, not too warm or cold. Figured this would be ideal," he chuckled. "But does the weather matter if we're in bed the whole time?"

"No, we're not wasting our time!" You laughed. "We're gonna go do shit, okay? Stereotypical tourist-couple shit."

"I'll bring the camera."

"And I was hoping we could have dinner at that little place we love?"

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else," he mused.

"I think it's - FUCK!" Bucky froze when he heard the screeching of tires; a van coming up to a skidding halt, flurry of voices all yelling but he heard yours clearly. "No, no, no, hey, hey, what the hell's happening? Hey! What's this - hey, hey! Don't touch me! Ow, shit! No! Hey! Fuck's sake - oh, my God! Ow! Hey!"

"Baby!? Peach! Hey! The fuck's going on!?"

There was a thudding over the phone, and Bucky listened to more struggling - more fidgeting and fighting - and then the slamming of a car door. Still calling your name, Bucky heard a scrape over the line before a different voice answered your phone, "James Barnes. On behalf of HYDRA, you're overdue on your payment and we warned you there would be consequences. Deliver the full amount of 17 million - "

"It's 15," he growled.

"Two million more for the inconvenience of stalking your woman."

"If you even so much as touch her, I swear to God - "

"17 million at midnight, at the pier, or every minute you're late, she'll receive the brunt end of our frustration."

"Don't hurt her - "

"Midnight, Mr. Barnes, at the pier - you know where. Don't be late, she looks like she won't last long."

The line went dead after he heard your screech of pain, confusion, and fear. The moment the line cut, he dropped his phone and slowly lowered himself to sit on the kitchen floor, shock coloring his system. It wasn't that he didn't have the money, quite the opposite - but he and his men had a plan in motion to take out HYDRA, their org's competition, and this was totally against all they anticipated. After a minute to sit in his own worry, Bucky jumped to his feet, grabbed his phone, keys, wallet, and two handguns; holstering them both before shrugging his suit jacket on.

He made every phone call he could, gathering the men he trusted most to (one of) his warehouse(s).

For hours, you were strung up by your wrists in a joint-pulling position while the Brooklyn Mafia formulated a plan of attack. It was the most pain you've ever known, but then the abuse started and you were blinded by this new pain. You had bruises most places, cuts that wept blood; scars that would never heal, wounds that wouldn't ever close. You were delirious, miserable, confused, just dazed and confused; praying to a God who didn't listen.

"Oh, look at that," your captor mocked, holding a thick-bladed hunting knife in hand, "it's one minute til midnight, and I don't see your loverboy anywhere."

You sniffled, unable to respond.

He stared out the lone window, tisking and narrating, "Nope, I see not a soul - and with how protective he is over you, you'd think he'd want to ensure your safety. Not leave it to chance, huh?"

You whimpered as the clock struck midnight, your heart hammering in heavy-hung worry. You had tears in your eyes, heart nearly beating out of your chest, feeling incredibly nauseous. The desire to scream never lessened, just fearing what was to come; the men in the room making you fear for the state of your life, their knuckles cracking. You only begged, "Please. Don't."

The main captor laughed, "You can do better than that! C'mon, give me the satisfaction of tellin' ol' James you begged for mercy - but it wasn't enough to sway me. I'll lie, for sure, and say it happened but it will be so much sweeter if you actually do it."

"Please," you shook your head, avoiding eye contact. "Just don't do this, please."

"Oh, honey," he mocked, "it's not our fault he's late. Lads! Have at her, but leave her face for now - she's still real pretty."

You listened as he gave commands in Russian, understanding after the years at Bucky's side; whimpering when the first blow landed to your gut and knocked the wind out of you. The minutes drug by and you felt your resolve crumbling, heart still hammering to a never-before-felt speed that made it feel as if it were jumping out of your very body at every single pulse point. You struggled in your restraints, but it was futile by how tight you were bound; unable to protect yourself.

At 12:03 am, the doors blew open in a resounding blast; concrete crumbling and sprinkling the floor. You cried out as the smoke choked you, coughing through the haze; only barely able to make out certain figures to know Bucky had brought his best men. However, despite the sting to your eyes from the swirling dust and smoke, you saw a lone man stalk through the blasted wall, through the fray, and straight up to you.

"Bu-Bucky!" You choked in relief as he reached to untie your feet first. You dangled for only a moment as his metal prosthetic ripped off whatever held your wrists to the torture contraption. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Bucky, holy shit, baby, please, please, please," you rambled as he freed you and instantly caught you on his broad shoulders.

"I got you, Peach, I'm here, I've got you," he promised in your ear, hoisting your legs around his waist so they latched and then wrapping his arms around you securely. "Don't let go and don't look up, okay? Hear me, Peach?"

You nodded into his neck, only able to cry.

Bucky jolted and jerked slightly as he moved through the fight again, but not a minute later, you were stepping outside into the sobering, brisk spring air. This was the moment you understood how dangerous and fleeting life with Bucky could be, making a promise to yourself that if he says take the car, you'll take the fucking car.

And now, here you were, outside the high-rise apartment's lounge (which was just a converted bedroom), listening to your boyfriend complain about you some 2 months after the whole fiasco. HYDRA had been all but wiped out, and in the weeks since, Bucky's men had gone on smaller missions to eradicate the HYDRA members they heard rumor of being local. Yet you didn't feel safe, yet.

You didn't feel safe if you weren't around Bucky.

Everything made you jump: the beep of the done-dryer, that spritz of the automatic fragrance mister in the bathroom, the "duh-dunnn" of a loaded-up Netflix. Keys jingling, car horns, the barking of the dog in the apartment a floor below you... Everything.

Being around Bucky was just like holding a safety blanket. He would always protect you, and for about a week after your rescue, he laid in bed and around the home with you; being lazy; time off work to simply hold you and assure you were safe. Safe in his arms. Safe in his embrace, his presence.

So now... To hear this... You were devastated.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, it just sort of happened. It was still earlier in the morning, but Bucky hadn't been in bed beside you and based on the feel of the sheets, his body hadn't been there in a while. So, you made some coffee and then ventured around the home in search of your lover; coming upon the lounge and hearing voices from within.

You knew it was common for Steve Rogers and / or Sam Wilson to stay late or visit early, so, you weren't shocked by that, but did falter in announcing yourself when you heard Sam ask how you were doing since the kidnapping. He used your name specifically, making Bucky sigh, and for your curiosity to peak.

"She's different, man."

"How so?" Sam wondered.

"She doesn't like being without me now," he chuckled without humor. "I'm serious, she won't go to the gym until I do, waits to have meals together, won't leave the house if I'm out, and," he scoffed to himself, "you can forget going to the grocery store or anything - she's even stopped going to work - "

"You told her to stop working, like, two years ago when y'all first moved-in together," Sam deadpanned.

"I know," Bucky shrugged, "but it feels tenfold now that she's so reclusive."

"It's normal," Steve sighed gently.

"Yeah? Is it normal that I can't even go take a shit without promising her I'll be right back?" Bucky snapped in exasperation. "It's that bad, she's that fucking clingy, man. I go in the kitchen to make dinner, she's in there 30 seconds later to 'help' me. I take a shower, she finds a reason to linger in the bedroom, but that was better than before, when she wouldn't even shower by herself. It's just a lot, she's everywhere I look. I'm starting to find new reasons not to come home, man, she's always fucking here - and when I walk in the door, she's on me. I need to fucking breathe, but I can't tell her to stop, she'll get her feelings hurt and then I'm the bad guy."

"Man," Steve laughed, "you can't be the bad guy if you go to her in a calm and collected manner, but it's only been two months. She's still recovering."

"Exactly why if I say anything, no matter how calm and collected, I'm the bad guy. I get she's hurting and tryna recover, but Goddamn, does she have to be in every room I'm in? Do everything with me? How do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off? Let me breathe?"

Sam laughed, "You don't! You just said it - she's traumatized! Cut the girl some slack, she's got a lot to fuckin' deal with!"

"I'm not negating from that fact," Bucky argued, "I'm just trying to say, the way she's clinging onto me like she can't function without me is just grating at my nerves. I just need to breathe and recharge, but I can't tell her that - fuck's sake."

"Buck," Steve smirked, "you're worried Peach isn't gonna listen, but that's her literal superpower. Just communicate, she can't read your mind, but you need to remember how traumatic all of that was for her to experience - she's scarred from that kidnapping, man. So, sure, you need to recharge, but she needs the support."

"Is it wrong to ask for a day here and there to do that? To recharge?" Bucky asked quietly.

"If you communicate, it's perfectly reasonable to ask for," Sam assured softly. "And whatever you do, don't tell her you think she's clingy. Chicks hate that, that word is, just, like, taboo or something. Real heavy, negative connotations."

"But she is," Bucky growled quietly, "'s like she's afraid to let go 'cause I'll disappear or something."

"Oh, noooo," Sam mocked, "I'm Bucky and my girlfriend loves me too much and trusts me too much and actually feels safe and dependent on me too much - ohhh noooo!"

There was a thump, Sam's cried, "Ow!", and Bucky telling him to shut up. You slowly backed away from the door, trying to settle your breathing as you made your escape down the hall. When back in the kitchen, you whimpered and let the first tears fall... The first of many you shed in the hour it took you to prepare breakfast for everyone; doing your best to eat as you cooked so you didn't have to linger around the men. You took Bucky's words to heart, and maybe you were too sensitive, maybe you should venture outside again.

So, when the lads came out, you set the table without making eye contact with any of them. "Here," you directed, setting the pancakes down, "I made breakfast, come eat, it's still hot."

"Wow," Sam smiled brightly, "thanks, Peach!"

You hummed, still avoiding their eyes as you just set the abundance of food to the table. "You... Cooked without me?" Bucky asked you with skepticism.

"Mhm," you hummed, setting the coffee pot down to a hot pad, "and I'm going out shopping with Nat, so, eat up, lads, I'll do the dishes when I get home. Love you, boys, bye," you waved them off, snatching your keys and then moving to the door to stuff your feet into your sneakers.

"Woah, woah, woah," Bucky left the table, approaching you urgently, "hey, what do you mean? You're goin' out?"

"Yep, figured I've stayed in too long, might as well get out and remember life doesn't stop just 'cause I'm sad."

"Peach - "

"I'll see you when I get home, Buck, okay?" You mumbled, slinging your purse on your shoulder.

"Well, here, here, hey, wait, hang on," he pulled his wallet out, handing you over a wad of big bills. "Spend it all, okay? Have fun, call or text if you need me, yeah?"

"Sure."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you but you just opened the door, ready to leave. He frowned, watching you, barely managing to call a quick, "Love you!"

You didn't return the sentiment, feeling hallow and all too silly to return the affection. In your purse was your laptop, headphones, chargers, and whatever else, so, instead of meeting your friend, Natasha - being just a ruse to avoid Bucky - you started small and just went to the local café. You used to frequent it back in the day, but times were changed, and yet, they were all the happier to serve you the same as before. Getting cozy in the corner, you set up camp and ordered your favorite coffee basically every other hour - letting the day waste away as you caught up on work emails.

Might've wasted time on Instagram and Facebook and Pinterest. Got shopping done on Amazon. Browsed through Target's online selection. Checked out the sale items at Kate Spade. Perused Fenty Lingerie because you could.

Before you knew it, a message was coming in over your MacBook from Bucky, asking where you were - why had you turned your location off?

You packed up and with a to-go cup, made the short trek back home. When you got back, Bucky was pacing in the living room; staring at his phone and typing, then deleting, retyping, groaning, glancing up, typing again, then doing a double take. "Where've you been, Peach? Huh!?" Bucky demanded. "You're late!"

"Out with Nat," you eased.

He huffed through his nose, nodding slowly, "You have a nice time?"

"It was okay," you answered. "I'm gonna go to bed after I shower."

His brows furrowed, "I have a meeting tonight."

"I know."

"O...kay?" He let you go, wanting to ask why you didn't ask him to join like you had so often in the past few weeks.

And it didn't stop there, in fact, it got worse. When Bucky got home from his meeting, he was actually shocked to see you nestled in the bed; teetering on the edge of the shared space while snuggling a weighted body pillow.

When he tried to give you a snuggle, you stirred to life and pushed him back, muttering, "Too hot."

The following morning, he was relatively surprised to see you up and about before him; barely getting a word in before you were slipping out the door to go on a morning jog. He was confused by how all of a sudden, where you were once everywhere he looked, now, you were disappeared and distant and gone. You worked out alone, cooked alone - but always left him a plate, but long gone were the cute little sticky notes you left for him. You once haunted the apartment by never wanting to leave, and now, ghosted in and out of it on a daily basis.

You never bothered to go far from home. You liked hanging at the coffee shop and luckily, your job let you work from home most days, and the rare time you were due back in the office, it was only about a 20 minute walk. You got better at lying, couldn't even remember the last time you and Bucky had sex, and even now, the last time you had a meal together. You didn't text him about your day; where you once might've told him about an adorable dog you saw on the street, now, you only ever texted him if he asked a direct question.

Food lost appeal, your appetite vanished.

Sleep evaded you, plaguing you with nightmares when you did rest.

Interest dulled, passions were snuffed, and only fearful, confused anger remained. It showed in the way weight seemed to shift around your body, thinning; the lack of sleep creating dark rings and bags under your bloodshot eyes.

After two weeks of this, Bucky grew irritated and short with everyone around him. It reflected in his work, the way he spoke to everyone; even Steve and Sam getting the brunt end of his anger. Without you to assure him, Bucky was off his rocker; losing his cool; his patience stretched far too thin. So much so, the two mates approached an outside associate, Natasha Romanoff, after a particularly snappy meeting to plead for her to talk to Bucky.

"James," Nat greeted as she strode into his office without knocking.

"I know you're my oldest friend, but you don't have that privilege yet," he mused, never looking up.

"What?"

"Not knocking. What is it, Nat?"

"Just came to check on you, you know, like friends do."

"Hm," he chuckled without humor, "and what did Peach say to you?"

"About...?"

"Me."

"Nothing, I haven't gotten ahold of her for weeks."

Bucky paused, slowly lifting his head in confusion; brows furrowed and mouth set in a firm, straight line. "What?" He grit.

"Huh?" Nat wondered.

"She's been telling me that she's hanging out with you for the past two weeks," he revealed.

"Nope, not since the incident with HYDRA."

Bucky's (right) flesh hand crushed the pen in his grip, taking a long breath. "All right," he sighed, "so, why come today?"

"What's really going on, Buck?" She worried softly. "Is it really whatever's going on with Peach? You're this pissed off? What'd she even do?"

"She just..." He cut himself off with a long sigh. "It's nothing."

"Bucky," Nat gave a pointed look.

"She's just avoiding me," he muttered. "It's like she's barely home, almost like a ghost."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, and no," Bucky snipped, rolling his neck out. "I'm just worried about her now, she's never not communicated before."

"Something's bothering her," Nat shrugged. "She probably needs you right now, Buck."

"I can't do it all," he whispered. "I can't be who she wants and run this organization at the same time."

"She doesn't need that, she just needs you to be her partner," Natasha spoke softly. "She needs to feel loved and supported, and surely, she maybe felt weird about whatever you were projecting. Instead of taking it out on your men," she smirked, "why don't you just talk to her? 'Cause I hear you're bein' a more-than-usual asshole lately. You need to ease up or get laid, 'cause you're taking it out on good, loyal men, and that's entirely unfair."

"They can take it."

"Sure, but they shouldn't have to," Nat rolled her eyes. "Look, since you won't answer me, I'm assuming the sour mood is in regard to whatever relationship issues you have right now?"

"Sure," he tossed the pen away, opened a skinny drawer to his right and select an identical one.

"Bucky," she growled.

He sighed, "She's lying to me, Nat. Saying she's with you when she's not... Is this an affair? She's gone all the time now."

"No way," Nat laughed. "Baby girl doesn't have the energy to entertain anyone - let alone two men. You're just the exception."

"Why lie, then?"

"Maybe she didn't want you questioning her..."

"No shit."

"Well, did you get into a fight?"

"No."

"Any reason she doesn't want to be home?"

He shook his head with a sigh, "Not that I know of."

"You had to do something."

"Honest, I haven't. She was being all clingy, but then one day, a switch flipped."

Nat frowned, "You think... Your girlfriend is being clingy... Because she was kidnapped and beaten up... Because of your fucking job... And is probably scared...out of...her mind...? I get that correct?"

Bucky paused for a long moment, muttering, "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, you asshole. Think of it that way! She's afraid!" Natasha snapped. "And probably picked up on your energy, so, she made herself scarce."

"I didn't mean - "

"I don't care, go home, apologize to that sweet angel - she doesn't deserve this."

Bucky paused, "What is 'this' exactly?"

"James. Focus on the present - your woman. Go make this right. We all know you're this big, bad dude - but it's okay to be a little sensitive towards the woman who loves you without condition!"

Bucky relented, figuring the redheaded Russian mobster was right.

The entire drive home, Bucky considered the ways you had changed in the few, short weeks since he vented to Sam and Steve about your clinginess. You didn't take meals with him, didn't cook, work-out, or do anything you used to do together. Sex? Forget it. Dates? Nope. Cuddling? No, you're always 'too hot'. And when he thought about it, he remembers seeing the wads of cash he'd leave for you stuffed in his sock drawer - surely trying to make him think it was just another emergency fund he had hidden. You never spent his money, feeling humiliated by his choice of words.

Clingy...

You didn't text or call him when he was gone, you hadn't even so much as kissed him in what felt like ages... Well, more like you hadn't initiated any kisses...

His heart weighed in his chest as he realized he hadn't even so much as hugged you in days. You were rarely in the apartment together, and when you were, you were just silent and busy with chores. It was as if you operated on the exact opposite schedule as he did, went to new extents to avoid him, and his heart clenched in his chest.

When he got home, you were caught cooking in the kitchen - being obvious that you weren't expecting him. The door slammed and his baritone voice snapped, "Peach!"

You gulped, holding the sauce-covered wooden spoon to your chest. When he rounded around the corner, he found you and slowed down, sighing in relief. "What's wrong?" You worried in a timid tone.

He panted lightly, relaying, "Needed to find you."

"I'm here."

"I know," he relented, charging up to you and engulfing you in a tight, heavy hug. "I needed to talk to you, Peach," he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"You. You're what's wrong."

"What the fuck does that - "

"No, no," he pulled back to stare down at you fondly, "I don't mean it like that, just that... You're struggling. I can see that. But you're not alone, I'm here with you, and I got a little caught up in my head when I realized someone was so very dependent on me - it fucking scared me. But then... Then you just shut yourself off and hid away from me, and oh, my God, it's so much worse, baby. Don't do that," he breathed, "okay? Don't ever shut me out - don't stop loving me, don't stop talking to me, don't give up on us. I can't read your mind, you can't read mine, it's not an excuse - but we understand better when we trust each other enough to communicate what's required. I'm so sorry I got caught up in myself, I didn't know what you needed - but I'm here now, I'm here - I'm not leaving you."

You collapsed into his chest, taking a shuddering breath.

"Don't ever stop talking to me, Peach," Bucky whispered, kissing the top of your head; keeping you close. "I'm so sorry, baby, if I - "

"If?" You snapped, pulling back to glare at him through your tears. "I heard you, Bucky. I heard you talking to Sam and Steve, and about how clingy I am."

"I was wrong," he insisted. "I was overwhelmed and tired and just stretched thin, the easiest thing to do is attack those closest to me, and that's you. It's not right, it's the worst I could do to you after all you've been through, and I'm so sorry. I was wrong, you're not the person to take this out on - and I'm so sorry, Peach."

You sighed, "I don't mean to be... I don't mean to cling - "

"Nah," he chuckled, caressing your cheek, "you cling as much as you want. Cling as tight as you want, baby, don't let me go. I'm sorry for what I said and the way it made you feel, it was wrong - so fucking wrong of me, and I see that. When you pulled away from me, I just... I couldn't think. It felt so wrong, and I knew it was my fault." He took your face in both palms, promising, "I'm so sorry, Peach."

You shrugged meekly, "It's okay."

"It's not."

"No, but apologizing is a step in the right direction."

He nodded, "What else can I do?"

"Nothing - "

"Peach."

You paused to think, smiling shyly, "Movie night?"

"Whatever my pretty girl wants," he nodded.

"Hmm... Get a bath with me?"

"All right... Sure, okay..."

"And face masks."

He sighed, "Okay."

"And mani-pedis."

"Baby."

"You said you were making it up to me, right?"

He smirked, "That's right... All right, yeah, sure, fine, we can..." He sighed again, "We can do all that, Peach, whatever you want."

"I just want you," you told him softly. "I didn't mean to be so clingy. I was just afraid... I felt afraid everyday, just so very unsure in this life. You're the only thing that makes sense to me, Buck, and when I heard you, I just... I guess I realized how dependent I'd been and wanted to give you space. Last thing I want is to smother you, to drive you away from me."

"Not ever gonna happen," he promised softly. "I just didn't handle it like I should've. I'm sorry, Peach, but I'm here now - for whatever you need. Want me to take a few days off, just be together? I'll arrange it. Want to get away for a bit? We can go."

"I just need you," you whispered. "Only you and I should be okay - I can be okay if I have you, but feeling like I lost you? Even a fraction? Buck... James, it was such a harrowing feeling, I wasn't sure what to do to move forward. So, I think I just panicked, shut down; thought if I could just get back to normal, you'd love me again..."

"I never stopped loving you," he swore, "I just had a bad lapse in my own judgement. Nothing against you, baby. Nothing."

You nodded again, letting him tuck you into his chest; perfectly snug under his chin as he coiled his arms around you. He let out a long sigh, his guilt swelling to new heights, but for that present moment, everything seemed okay.

Felt okay.

Appeared okay.

And you'd both do whatever it took to remain as okay as you possibly could.

requesting rules and masterlist

Marvel masterlist

Clingy Baby collection masterlist