#i still have no idea what his last name is

[scorpioriesling]

Heyyy how are you???? Crazy idea what about if xaden had a sister who stayed in aretia, never went to Basgiath, but she still bounded with a dragon (how to train your dragon style) only brennan knows ( brennan X reader) the dragon is son of Tairn and Sgaeyl

A Family Reunion

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Brennan x reader

Warning(s): none

Summary: You'd stayed in Aretia when your brother left for Basgiath -- but, that had been years ago. After falling in love with the capital's general, the impending family reunion was... well, not what you expected. Especially when your brother learns of what you'd been doing the entire time he'd been away.

SR’s Note: This was actually so fun to write, and I'm grateful for the request! It was a nice break from all the smut I've been writing lately, LOL. Between requests and Kinktober prep... well, you get the idea. I hope you enjoy!

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

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"Good morning, my love."

You smiled sleepily as your boyfriend pressed a tander kiss to your lips, your eyelids opening slowly as the early-morning sunlight welcomed you back into consciousness. His brown eyes gazed down at you as he hovered just above you, and your smile faltered a bit when you realized his attire.

"B-Bren... why are you..." You made to sit up in bed, arching your spine and releasing a big yawn. His hands helped guide you into a sitting position, and he knelt beside the bed.

"They're arriving today." He said simply, and your eyes widened.

"They... it's the 12th?" You ask, your mind beginning to race. Sure, you were briefed on the arrival a few weeks ago -- but you must have miscounted the days. Your eyes flickered toward his flight jacket, the "Aseraigh" patch sewn on the right side.

His fingers gently caressed your cheek as he nodded, and you kicked the blankets off in a rush.

"W-Well why didn't you wake me up sooner?" You exclaimed, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. Before you could stand, your boyfriend wedged his way between your knees, placing his palms on the bare skin of your thighs. You sighed, looking down at him impatiently.

"You appear so peaceful when you rest," he offered lightly. His admission had a small smile pulling your lips upward, and he reached in to kiss you again. Slower this time, his mouth molding to yours as though the two were made to be connected.

You slid your fingers over his, giving them a small squeeze before he pulled back from you.

"You know I'd give anything to just stay here with you, all day." The raw emotion in his voice had your heart swelling, and you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Me too Bren, me too."

But unfortunately, you had to prepare for your brother's arrival instead.

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The sun sank lower and lower on the horizon, and with each passing minute, your heart raced faster.

There's no use in being nervous -- it's a waste of time.

Azar's voice rang clearly inside of your head, and you instinctively looked toward the cave opening. You half expected to see his blue-black scales glinting in the sun, but he had already retreated further into the covering.

Surely, in preparation.

I'm allowed to be nervous, you replied. I haven't seen my brother in years, let alone been able to explain our... situation.

When Xaden had left for Basgiath, he left more than just his memory behind -- he left you. In a brotherly attempt to protect you, of course. Little had he known, you'd shared more than a last name; you posessed the same courage, grit, and intelligence as your older counterpart.

He also had no knowledge of your ability to bond with a dragon, especially outside of the war college. But, here we are.

You could practically feel Azar's eye roll in your mind.

Give me a break -- you and I, are most certainly not in the same situation.

Very true.

Azar had it hard; his parents surely didn't believe he was alive. Taken as a mere hatchling, Tairn and Sgael lost their only true offspring years ago; they'd adopted Andarna, sure. But if you could guess, they'd believed Azar to be deceased.

Before you could fire back a reply, you turned at the sound of Brennan's voice.

"Right, and the rooms are prepped? All the medical supplies stationed around the campus?"

He spoke with Iseul, the head of the Aretian Guard as they stalked closer to you. His eyes met yours and he smiled, severing his conversation with the general.

"All ready, sir. We have soldiers stationed around the city to assist in the arrival," he explained, and Brennan clapped him on the shoulder.

"Excellent," he responded, nodding as Iseul made his departure. He turned to you, a long breath exhaling from him as he glanced toward the sky.

"Now, we just prepare for their arrival." He muttered. You nodded, stepping into his embrace. He held you close as the two of you watched, simply waiting for the incoming fleet to make themselves seen.

"I'm sure it'll go... great," you attempted to sound hopeful. Brennan chewed on the inside of his cheek, still gazing at the clouds.

"Yeah... like one, big, happy family reunion."

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The reunion was not happy. Nor was it big.

It was nearly eight in the afternoon when the largest of the dragons made an appearance through the coulds; large, dark, and intimidating. It had to be Tairn, surely. Your heart sunk when you glanced to Azar -- he'd temporarily lied outside the cave's opening in an attempt to sun his midnight scales, but upon hearing the chaos of the fleet's arrival, he quickly retreated into the cave mouth once more.

You focused more on clearing the groundspace as many Aretian soldiers and dwellers gathered near the entrance to Riorson House. The large, winged creatures flew lower and lower overhead -- riders appearing on many of their backs.

That was, except the black dragon's.

"Clear the way!" Brennan shouted, waving his hands as his army obeyed. Instantaneously, the ground shook below your feet as dragon after dragon landed in the land's capital.

You instinctively lifted your arms, the wind generated from the massive wingbeats before you pulling a few strands free from your high bun. Chaos ensued around you -- soldier pulled rider after rider from their creatures, many of them injured and in need of medical attention.

Heat blazed beneath your skin, the darkening sky calling to you in a way that you could not suffice right now.

Now is not the time for a lightning storm, Azar.

Again, the eye roll could be felt from a mile away.

Maybe not, but it would make for a dramatic entrance.

You shook your head, wondering if Azar's parents were as insufferable as he was.

Making your way through soldiers and riders rushing by, you halted when a humongous blue dragon landed just before your boyfriend. You watched as he reached toward the rider dismounting, exchanged panic shared between the two.

The taller, darker rider quickly transferred the limp girl he'd been holding in his arms to rest in Brennan's, explaining in a rushed, loud tone that she needed his immediate medical attention.

You stepped closer, bile rising in your throat as you clocked her silver hair. That, along with the dripping, veiny gash to her right side.

His sister.

The bile threatened to make an appearance. The girl looked nearly dead, but the silver hair was enough indication that she was in fact, Violet Sorrengail.

Brennan rushed toward the house, a few soldies and Iseul flanking his sides in an attempt to assist. You debated following him inside, that was before your lungs seized of air as you were pulled into a bone-crushing hug.

You breathed deeply in an attempt to regain oxygen, the smell of smoke and mint infultrating your senses. In your panic, you registered the familiar scent; and instantly relaxed.

Xaden.

"Oh my Gods, Y/N -- I can't tell you how many times I'll thank Malek for not taking you from me, not yet anyway."

He released you, pulling back to stare down at you. You couldn't help the stinging behind your eyes, the immediate rush of emotion almost too much to contain.

"Xaden I..." You pulled him in again, hugging him with intent this time. His hands wrapped around your waist and held the back of your head, as though you were sacred and precious all at the same time. You hated the tears that spilled over, running down your cheeks and dampening his flight jacket.

He loosened his grip, releasing you once more as you wiped at your nose with your own jacket. His brow raised as he took in your appearance, his gaze running quizzically over you.

"Your own jacket, huh?" He questions, and your breath catches in your throat. Shit. You were going to take it off before he arrived.

You chuckled, trying to find an explaination.

"Yeah! I uh... I liked the one that um," you coughed. "General Aseraigh wears, so I asked for one of my own."

His assessing gaze hardened.

"Is that so."

You nodded, your eyes catching on the chaos still ensuing around you.

"And, you seem... well, like you've been busy, here." His gaze flickers to your legs, the noticeable amount of muscle you'd packed onto them while training. You had to -- Brennan ensured you were ready and fit to handle Azar.

You scowled. "What, you expected me to do nothing around here while you've been gone?"

His jaw ticked.

"No, I'm simply noticing the... changes, in you. Since I saw you last."

Your fury burned hotter at his usual, calm tone.

"I've been training, so what?" You threw your hands up. "It's not like I have a dragon-school with dragon-school-teachers to go to."

The punch hit exactly where it should of.

"Oh, so Brennan's been doing it instead?"

Well, maybe not exactly where it should have.

Before you could fire another retort, your brother's attention is snagged on the front entrance to your childhood home. Someone is shouting for him to come, and he lets out a long sigh before departing.

"This conversation is not over."

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

Your foot tapped impatiently outside the door.

Brennan had gone in hours ago, and you hadn't seen him since. Not to mention, your brother joining him soon after. With Azar still hidden away, you only had yourself and your thoughts to occupy your time.

Another half an hour longer, and the door creaked open. Your face lit up as Brennan squeezed through, closing it softly behind him. You took his face in your hands, and he immediately melted into you.

"How is she?" You couldn't help but ask. He drew his head up from off your shoulder to look at you, and your brows knit as you take in his exhausted expression.

"She's... well, she'll recover." He offerred, laying his head back down on your shoulder. "She hasn't woken up yet."

Your hands run comfortingly over his back, one tangling in his hair and scratching lightly. He lets out a sound of contentment, his voice muffled against your jacket.

Continuing to whisper your encouraging words, you let your eyes fall shut as well. It'd been a long day, a tiring one at that -- especially for someone like Brennan, who spent a lot of it preparing and mending and doing so much you couldn't even begin to imagine.

The door behind him opened slightly, but you were too lost in the moment to notice. It shut a few minutes after, and you began guiding Brennan to the living room to lie down.

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Your eyes blinked open a few hours later, the early morning dawn peeking through the living room curtains. You stretched out, yawning and looking across the couch.

Brennan wasn't there.

You look around the room quickly, not finding him anywhere. You made to stand, when a soft voice spoke from the shadows across the room.

"I sent him off to bed a few hours ago."

You paused, squinting through the darkness. Shadows lazily floated toward you, tickling below your chin and threading through the ruined mess of a bun on your head.

The quiet stretched on for a few moments, before you opened your mouth to explain.

"I think he may have just fallen asleep out here-"

"You really love him, don't you."

The chilling calm with which he spoke halted your hasty explaination. You leaned back against the couch, wiping a hand down your face. You sighed -- no point in lying now.

"I... yes."

Your brother looked at you in silence, his face a mask of unreadable calm. He breathed deeply, looking down at the floor before speaking again.

"Violet and I... we're..." he struggles to find the words. "I can't lose her."

Your face falls, and you stand to cross the room and sit by your brother. You wrap a comforting arm around his shoulders, the action feeling a lot like the way your mom once did it. He looks sidelong at you, the fear making itself known in his eyes.

"Xaden, I think Violet will be just fine," you say softly. "Brennan... he's good at what he does, and for his sister?" You shrug. "I feel like he'd do anything."

Xaden chuckles, leaning his head on your shoulder.

"You can remind her of that when she wakes up," he says, his tone suggesting that the reunion of the siblings might not go so well. "But, I'd do anything for my sister, too. So, I get it."

You share the quiet calm that follows, sitting beside eachother as a million unspoken words hang in the air between the two of you. It isn't too long before Brennan rushes in, his hair a sleepy mess on his head.

"She's waking up," he says, and Xaden stiffens. He rises with grace, crossing the room in a few small strides. He approaches Brennan and pauses before heading down the hallway, looking first at Brennan and then to you once more.

"You better never, ever do anything stupid to her, Aseraigh."

Brennan puts his hands up in surrender, and watches as his friend continues down the hallway. He looks to you with a raised eyebrow, and you shrug.

"I had to tell him-"

He sighs, taking the seat next to you on the couch and resting his head in your lap. He rubs at his eyes sleepily, another yawn escaping from him before he gazes up at you.

"It's way too early for this shit."

･ﾟ: *✧

Just as your brother predicted, the sibling reunion was... well, less than ideal.

"You really thought that hiding out here, letting your whole family believe you were dead-" her words are sharp as she follows Brennan out the front entrance, walking quickly toward where you and Xaden stood on the front pasture.

"...was the best idea? What the Hell, Brennan!"

Brennan huffed, stopping before the two of you and spinning on his heel to face his sister.

"Yes, Vi, I did. And, you know what? I'm glad I did." He admits, glancing toward you. His sister scoffs, folding her arms over her chest.

"Right, because changing your last name and forging a secret army in a secret, fucking, place, Brennan, is a terrific idea," she punctuates each word. "So glad you did it! Yep. So glad I had to watch our parents mourn you, Mira mourn you," she continues. He only shakes his head.

"This was all coming to a head," he interjects. "Had I not been here, where would you have gone last night? Had I not been here, where would your fellow cadets find refuge? Huh?" He continues. Xaden steps forward, hoping to ease some of the tension.

"It's not all his fault, Vi. I could have-"

"You could have told me the truth, instead of lying your way out of things. As you always do." She glared at him. "I'm not talking to you right now anyway."

Thunder rumbled in the distance, but it was not your doing this time -- though the sensation, the action was so similar to your own. Violet's hard gaze turned to you, and her face softened only an inch.

"You're Y/N, right?"

You nod silently, and she purses her lips.

"Great. I'm glad you at least kept my brother in line -- as much as you could, while he was lying to his family." She threw a withering glare to her brother. "It seems like we're in the same position, of sorts. A brother that lies, and..." she trails off, looking at Xaden. "Whatever, this is. Bottom line is, you lied too."

Your brother's face falls, and your heart hurts only a little. You could understand her frustration, and recognized your brothers usual avoidance of the hard situation by always taking the easy way out.

"Well... if I'm being honest-"

"Oh, some honesty is more than appreciated right now."

You winced as you looked at her, then looking to Brennan who only nodded. Xaden's gaze flickered between the two of you, his anger rising.

"Don't tell me you're..." he trails off. You give him a confused look, immediately after widening your eyes in shock.

"Oh! Oh Gods, no, Xaden. Nothing like that." You reassure. Even with that assurance, your brother glares hard at Brennan.

"No, seriously -- it's not like that. I mean, it's like that, but not like... that." He chuckles nervously, and Violet finally makes the connection.

"Wait -- the two of you are, together?" She whispers. Your gaze drops, and Brennan nods before Violet lets out a sarcastic laugh.

"Oh, my, Gods! This literally just keeps getting better and better." She throws her hands up incredulously, resting her palms atop her head. "Tairn is gonna get a load of this, and Sgael... Gods, I wonder how truthful you are with her." She glares sidelong at Xaden again, who only sighs and rubs a hand over his face.

"Violet, please-"

"Well, speaking of um, Tairn, and Sgael," you announce, and both Xaden and Violet refocus on you at the mention of their dragon's names.

"What about them?" Xaden asks, his tone questioning.

"Well... there's, one more thing I needed to tell you about." You say nervously, backing away slowly toward the opening of the cave. As if on cue, both Tairn and Sgael emerge from the treeline, stalking closer as the group follows you toward the enclosure. You take a deep breath, preparing to tell them -- when suddenly, all of their eyes widen, focusing on something just over your shoulder.

You turn, your face apologetic as you take in the prideful expression before you.

Azar emerges from the cave mouth, chin high, as his scales gleam in the early morning sun.

You only turn at the sound of your brother's voice once more.

"You, Riorson, have some explaining to do."

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

[reverieblondie]

Bad Dream

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Nightmares, Mysterious passes, Breaking and entering, Panic attack, Breaking washers, Bucky touches your underwear (whoops...)

Summary: You and Bucky are not only neighbors but friends for months now. You two are close... but are still finding out new things about each other...

Word Count: 2,613

A/N: This was inspired by an amazing request got from an anon. I loved the idea so much that I can see this being turned into a full series if enough people like it! Just let me know! I look forward to feedback like always! and request are always open!

"So... What am I eating?"  

Bucky says almost suspiciously as he looks at the macaroni noodle on his fork.

"I can not believe you are so picky," you say, rolling your eyes before taking a delightful bite of the casserole dish you made. Once swallowed, you point your fork accusingly toward Bucky. "It's called tuna mac. It's cheap to make but delicious. Now you can either eat it, or I will stop being such a friendly neighbor and stop sharing my dinners with you."

Bucky chuckles before giving you his signature smirk, "If that's the case, don't come knocking on my door when something of yours breaks again." 

You huff, he doesn't play fair. 

He watches as you pout and sigh before he takes the macaroni and tuna mix into his mouth. When he eats it, his eyes bulge slightly. "That's actually really good?"

"See, you just need to trust me, neighbor. It's something my mom used to make. Boil noodles, mix up the sauce, and top with cheese. It tastes better than it sounds." 

Bucky smiles as you ramble on. When you look over at him, he looks back to his plate, mixing it around as he makes a face before eating more. "That's true. This is way better than that chicken we had last Thursday."  

"Hey! We agreed to forget that monstrosity!"

Of course, Bucky laughs at your dramatics, and you can't help but echo it back. Thursday night dinners have become your favorite tradition since moving in; no matter how shitty your week could have been, this always lifts up your spirits, even just a little bit. Most people in your building seem to avoid Bucky; they won't join him in the elevator or even greet him in the mailboxes. They judge his past... but who are you to judge? Though getting to know him didn't happen instantly, it happened because of an accident you might have caused…

You have been fighting with these washers and dryers since you moved in. And now here you are fighting again with the washer. The stupid thing won't spin, and it's starting to flood with water. You paused the cycle and knew that you should just ask the maintenance guy for help, but that has the risk of being blamed for it being broken.

Distracted, you don't notice someone walking in to use the other machines. Honestly, it's surprising someone else is up this late just to do their laundry. So much for not running into anyone while you're dressed in your lazy day pajamas—no bra just to add to the pending embarrassment… Trying your best to keep your head down and fix the machine as silently as possible, you didn't realize that your rattling around has definitely drawn attention. 

Until a shadow is cast over you. Turning slightly, you look up at the imposing figure and see your next-door neighbor. James Barnes... Ex Winter soldier and a current Avenger... 

His head tilts as he stares down at you, "Problem?" 

This is the first time you have really seen him up close… he's much taller than you thought, and his eyes are the clearest shade of blue… While you're silently coking, Bucky shifts on his feet, his scowl deepening as he continues to stare. Mentally, you chastise yourself for being rude and pull your hand from the filled drum to offer him a handshake, stumbling out your name in the process. This was a mistake, however, because you ended up splashing the super soldier with washer water… -Shit… 

"I'm sorry, and yeah, I'm just trying to get this washer to work… they never want to act right… old machines acting wonky, what's new?" You huff a laugh, but Bucky keeps looking at you unamused… ah yes… he's an old machine, you idiot… 

You quickly take another step closer in panic mode, "Oh! But not all old machines! My grandma had a vacuum for like 20 years, and it never crapped out on her!" -what are you even saying? 

Buck just further scoles you, keeping his eyes locked on yours. Honestly, it's a bit intimidating—his intense stare locked onto you. Then there's the fact that his glare doesn't roam—it's just set on your eyes. Plus, you're just rambling on, and he's just watching you like you have lost your mind! You can't afford to move again… 

"Why don't you just call for maintenance?" he says in a confused tone, his brows knitting together.  

You give him a gentle smile, "I don't want to be blamed for breaking it…" 

He doesn't seem too impressed with your excuse as he rolls his eyes, but to your surprise, instead of walking away, leaving you to struggle, he places his laundry down and begins to investigate the machine. 

You step closer to him, "So you're going to help me?" you chirp.

"I'm going to try, but if it breaks further, that's on you…" -Okay can't really blame him for that..

"Fair enough, neighbor." he only seems to hum at that before continuing his investigation. 

He does his diligence checking everything out; while he does that, you're doing your own checking out. It's not like you're trying to be a perv.... but curiosity always gets the cat in the end, so you allow yourself to check him out a little. His back faces you, and it's incredible how sturdy it appears; you can even see how the muscles ripple with every move despite it being hidden underneath his t-shirt. Then his narrow waist that draws your attention down the length of him, and his arms bulging with every move as it roots around on the inside of the drum. The dark metal arm is so eye-catching you can't help but stare even though you know you shouldn't... If you were caught, you would be modified by how rude it would be. But you can't help yourself from admiring how pretty it truly is… and the craftsmanship is impeccable… 

"I think something is just caught if I can unwrap it…" With another pull and a slight groan, he rips out what was caught. Surprisingly, it's Small... red and- 

Bucky holds up the dripping wet material, and now that he has it unscrambled, you are mortified... Of course, out of everything to get tangled up and caught, it had to be your thong. Turning it about, Bucky looks at the material confused, unsure, until he meets your mortified eyes and flushed face. It must suddenly click for the man that he's holding a stranger's underwear because, with the inhuman speed, he's met with realization and he's practically throwing your underwear at you like it would bite him. 

The flush of his neck and the way he suddenly does not meet your eyes tells you he's thoroughly embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, ma'am…" Ma'am? Wow, now he's talking to you properly; he really is embarrassed...

It's quiet for a moment as Bucky awkwardly shifts on his feet. Then you can't help yourself any longer, and you laugh. You laugh so hard you all but fall over yourself, and to your shock, Bucky breaks from his mortification and joins in on your laughter.

The moment lasted for a while until you were both on the verge of tears. As you wipe away your tears, you catch him smiling, and it's like looking at a completely different guy. If people saw this, they wouldn't be avoiding him, that's for sure. 

With the washer fixed, you could finish your laundry cycle as Bucky moved to start his. As you're turning to thank your helpful neighbor, he is gone? Scanning the room, you see him leaving, shit! 

"James!" You shout without thinking. He pauses before turning back with a small smirk. 

"Don't tell me you broke something else." 

He's… teasing you? A grin spreads to your face, "I wanted to thank you for helping me out." 

He shrugged, "It's no problem. But call me Bucky; when you say James, it makes me feel old." With that, he walked off. 

Days later, you were still troubled by the feeling you didn't get to properly thank your neighbor for saving your panties from doom. So you did the only thing you could think of. Making him food. Make sure debts and gratitude are always paid... it's something you picked up from both your parents, but where your dad made sure to do it with favors and money, your mom would always pay by making desserts and meals. So, in your situation, you decided on a platter of brownies.

The look on his face when you knocked on his door was priceless. Of course, he accepted, and thus, the cycle between you two started. You would have a favor, Bucky would help, and then you would make him a meal or dessert. Over time, Bucky's grumpiness was replaced with friendliness, and your friendship got stronger. Even though you had fewer favors, you two continued the tradition of eating a home-cooked meal together once a week until suddenly, it was odd if you were not seeing him.

Like now...

It's been three weeks since you last saw him. It's honestly so lonely in the building without him around. Sure, he's not talkative all the time, and there are still things you know you two have not shared, but it's undeniable this closeness you feel to him.

You just hope you get to see him soon, or you will be forced to break something and force him to come back…

It's another quiet night. It should be a night that you rest easy, drifting far off into dreamland. But you just can't seem to fall asleep. Perhaps it's the fault of a certain super soldier's absence. As you lay pondering whether you should just force yourself to rest or get up and do something until you're tired…

Then, loud bangs from the neighboring wall interrupted the stillness. On instinct, you freeze and try to listen to where the crashing is coming from. 

Bucky's place... but that's odd; he's not home. Or did you just miss him? Another crash makes you second guess that it could be a break in… 

But who would be dumb enough to break into a super soldier's apartment?

Apparently, you are...

It is technically breaking and entering, but is it bad if you do it for a good reason? What if someone is wreaking his place? What if he's in danger? What will you do if you actually run into someone? You will deal with that once you encounter it…

You ignore that for now as you concentrate on picking the lock... You hated it then, but you're now thankful for the skill at times like this. It clicks with a few more twists, and you're now sneaking through the threshold.

It's the same place you have been in multiple times, but tonight, you see the crumble of blankets on the living room floor, the flipped furniture, the mess of wreckage. Then you see the more heart-aching sight in the room's darkness. 

Bucky usually stands tall and has that sly smirk for you with some greeting. Now, he is crouched so small, disheveled, and trembling. Those ocean-blue eyes clenched tightly...

A step towards him immediately has him on the defense, ready to pounce.

But he pauses at the sight of you, confused, rightly so. But you're more distracted by how the outside lights reflect on the streams down his cheeks.

You're about to say something, but his hoarse voice cuts you off before you can, "Get out!".

You should really listen, but as he sinks back to the floor, your feet feel like lead. With a swallow and a steadying breath, you step closer. He should understand by now that you're not one for listening. 

Closer now, you can take in his sweat-drenched body and matted hair and how he tries to stop shaking... Thousands of questions flock to you; you just swallow them down. Slowly, you sit close enough to be noticed but not enough to touch him…

Settled beside him, you hold your hand towards him on the floor, making a silent offer. "I'll stay for as long as it takes..." 

It could take minutes or hours. There is also the chance of him lashing out, but you will just be silent and patient and let him feel your presence and hear your calm breaths.

You're there for a couple of minutes until a clammy warmth touches your hand. Looking down, you can tell the shaking has stopped a little. You spread your fingers and let him lace them with his own. 

"I... don't know what to say..." he mumbles, but you shake your head before meeting his eyes.

"You don't have to explain... We all have scars... Bad dreams. "

"Every night I have bad dreams... Sometimes, I just randomly shake awake."

"Other times, you just lay there waiting for the sun to rise."

The look he gives you tells you he's shared the experience. You shrug and look out the window, "Like I said... bad dreams."

As you two sit there, his shaking slowly stills, but your hand's grip only tightens. 

"I'm sorry..." It was such a silent whisper that you almost didn't hear it. Bucky, tired, and a wreck, brought back memories you thought were packed away. 

"Don't be sorry. Let's just work on getting you cleaned up. Are you good enough to rinse off?"

Bucky nods before standing up... He walks towards his bathroom but pauses just short... He has his own set of questions he wants to ask... One of them is clear to you... are you going to stay... 

"I'll clean for a bit and will brew some tea for, when you get out. Okay?" 

He gives a short nod before disappearing. You start placing what you can remember being placed before. It takes you a minute to get everything back in its place. Sure, this place was a mess, but you have had to fix the fallout of worse. Once done, you move on to the kitchen to brew the tea. As the water heats, you just listen to the muffled sound of the shower. Does this happen often? And if so, how have you never noticed before?

Bucky takes longer to wash off than you expected, but ultimately, it's a good thing he took the time for himself. When he finally comes out of the bathroom, he's only in pajama bottoms, a towel resting on his shoulder, and fixing his metal arm back into place. His hair is still dripping wet when he finally plops down on the couch. For a long moment, he's still thinking of what to say, but you just slide the peppermint tea over to him.

Bucky gives a small thank you before he lifts the cup, letting the smell waft to his nose and the cup warm his hand. When he finally takes a sip, you feel like you can breathe again. While he works on his tea, you notice the drops falling from his hair and landing on his skin, causing him to shiver. He didn't even bother to dry his hair, huh? Carefully, you take the towel from his shoulder and softly start to dry his wet hair away. Bucky looks at you curiously as you focus on the task before you. 

"Why are you so good at this?" 

"Like I said, everyone gets bad dreams. Some worse than others." 

He hums before slightly chuckling, "Is that also why you know how to break into apartments?"

The playful tone in his voice makes your heart squeeze, and you can't help but grin, "You're not the only one with secrets, soldier boy." 

[adiadagaki]

heianera!sukuna observed you as you chair, reading a book, engrossed in a world of your own. You spent most of your time nestled in the arm chair by the fire, waiting patiently for whenever Sukuna would call you over in need of service.

Oddly, you didn’t miss the kitchen, most of the time Sukuna was no issue, his commands simple, and he was never violent. All in all, he was a pretty good employer and you were happy.

“Pet.” Your head lifted without hesitation, your book softly falling closed. “Yes, my lord.”

“Come rub my back.”

You froze, perplexed by his ask. Surely one of his concubines would be better suited for such a task, but who were you to question a King? After all, Sukuna always knew what he wanted.

“Rub your back, my lord?”

“Yes. I have new oils I wish to try.”

Setting your book aside, you stood, the ruffles of your work skirt swishing around your thighs. Sukuna licked his lips at the sight. He loved your uniform more than anything in his palace, forever making you look like a sweet treat.

Settling by his bed, you stood awaiting further instruction.

“Undress me, little one.” If you had seen Sukuna around the other servants you’d know he didn’t have pet names for them, not even his concubines, it marked you as special, and you didn’t even know it.

With slightly shaky hands, you removed his kimono, neatly folding it and placing it off to the side. Even with all of his muscles bare, you were polite and didn’t stare, as, after all, that wasn’t part of your job.

Sukuna frowned at the sight.

Maybe you’d be harder to tease than he thought.

Adjusting himself so he was led on his stomach, he nodded his head, indicating to his back. “Sit, pet. The oils are on the bedside stand.”

“Do you have a preference, my lord?”

“Whichever you choose is fine, little one.”

Deciding on a random bottle, you crawled onto the bed, sitting by his side, preparing to unscrew the cap. Sukuna tutted playfully, drawing your attention.

“My lord?”

“How do you suppose you can give me a massage properly from the side?” He quirked a brow and your lips parted, but words didn’t find you.

“Sit, pet.” And this time you understood perfectly what he meant.

Slow in your movements, you kicked your leg over him and straddled his lower back, saddled on the natural dip of his spine, your sex right over Sukuna’s muscles. Your mind didn’t go to such a place, but the Kings did.

Oiling up your hands, you set out on your task, finding it a little odd but not speaking up, knowing your place. Plus, a slightly compromised position or not this was a professional craft for many and it didn’t always entail such lewd endings.

Sukuna had other ideas.

Every time you worked a certain muscle he let out low, drawn out moans, praising you for a job well done. It brought the lightest flush to your cheeks because anyone could walk in and get the wrong idea about all of this.

Seeing the pink on your cheeks, Sukuna decided it was time for step 2. Flexing his back muscles, he watched from the corner of two eyes as you stilled, confused and utterly adorable in it.

You were questioning yourself. Had you made it up? Had the King done something? Had you done something?

Sukuna didn’t comment.

And then he did it again.

This time you were certain he had moved, you’d been still as a statue since your mind had decided to play tricks on you. What was his angle?

Deciding it was better to end this massage sooner rather than later, you put the last of the oil on your hands and made haste.

Knowing what you were up to, Sukuna upped his game, shifting his hips up off the mattress and grinding back against you, earning him the smallest hitch of your breath.

You were definitely getting worked up by his antics. Brilliant, a few more shifts of his hips and you should be-

“There you are my lord. Hopefully the oil is to your liking. Call me if you need anything else.”

Sukuna growled. You had climbed off him, having finished the massage far quicker than he would have liked. But the King was not to easy to give up, he was already plotting how he could have you soaking those white panties again soon.

You were destined to be his, for better or for worse.

Part 1 Part 2

[lemotmo]

Okay 911 fandom...

I feel like I've been very nice about this before and I always figured it would all just disappear after a while, but this insane Ryan Guzman hatred is getting out of hand. And frankly? It is pissing me off!

So, let's get something very clear here:

This whole concept some people have in their head that Ryan is the reason why Buddie won't ever go canon? IT IS WRONG!

The man has screamed Buddie from the beginning. He came up with the name for Christ's sake. Just because some of you only joined the fandom after 7x04, doesn't mean you get to shit on this guy. You don't know the lore or the history. So shut up!

This idea that Ryan is a bad actor and he is botching up his scenes with Oliver, because Oliver clearly plays Buck as in love with Eddie?

Again... WROOOONG!

Buck is sooo much further on the Buddie path than Eddie is. All he has time for right now is his son! Ryan is NOT going to play Eddie smitten with Buck, because he isn't there yet in the narrative. He obviously cares deeply for Buck though and we see it in everything Ryan puts into his acting. He is obviously a talented actor and artist. So again... SHUT UP!

If I see any of you threaten the man over a fucking fictional ship on a TV-show? I will report you on whichever platform you are on and I'll make sure that everyone knows who you are so they can block you accordingly. Are you insane?! You cannot threaten people for doing their job.

And NO! Nobody is going to recast Eddie because you have it in your stupid little ignorant dumb minds that the man is a misogynist, a sexist, a racist, a terrible father (ARE YOU CRAZY! YOU CANNOT CALL A MAN YOU DO NOT KNOW A BAD FATHER! WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN SMOKING!?) and a whole other slew of things that are simply made up in your own head!

He made one single mistake a loooong time ago. He admitted that he was in a very dark place around that time. He even talked about trying to take his own life at a certain point. How much more honesty do you need?

After that mistake he apologised and he has obviously worked really hard to become a better guy. We can hear that in every interview he does. Stop spreading the narrative that people can't be forgiven after they apologise. What age are you? Four??? Of course people can be forgiven. It's called growth. This insane cancel-culture that has been growing rampant for the last couple of years has gone to all of your heads. Wake up and SHUT UP!

Stop these ridiculous claims and please do everyone a favour! Move on to another fandom where miserable people like you are welcome.

For years now this fandom has been a great place to be in. I love it here! But I've had it with the insane hate-campaigns against a guy just doing his job.

I won't even go into the insane Eddie hate I have seen lately.

This has got to stop!

I am still not a Ryan stan, but I am a decent human being and admirer of his work. So whatever has been going on lately? It is NOT right and we should all shout that from the top of our lungs.

If anyone is reading this and recognises themselves in what I have written here? Please step outside, touch grass, look at the sky and if you are following me? Kindly unfollow me. Thank you.

If anyone is reading this and feels the same way? Feel free to follow. I promise that I don't often make posts like this. I try to spread the fandom positivity as much as I can. So expect lots of that here.

Can we now just go back to enjoying what is really important here? Buddie is about to go canon. Let's celebrate and have fun! We've been waiting years for this. This is our time.

[steddieas-shegoes]

if you love me right, then who knows?

for @steddiesongfics inspired by the song Juno by Sabrina Carpenter

also on ao3

rated e, 18+, minors dni | 1,782 words | cw: unprotected sex | tags: friends with benefits, dom/sub implications, dom eddie, sub steve, top eddie, bottom steve, breeding kink, rimming, anal fingering, anal sex, love confessions, idiots in love

🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻

Steve knows better than to be seen with Eddie in public. Word will get back to his parents and he’ll be shipped off to a cousin’s house or some university states away that he wouldn’t have gotten into without bribery involved.

He only sees him late at night, at his trailer or in the woods, and he makes sure his car is hidden or parked a good distance away.

He gets fucked good.

Eddie knows every button to push, every word to say, every name that gets under his skin.

Well, except for one thing. One thing Steve would never tell him about.

***

He is desperate to get fucked in his own bed. Like, if he could be wet for it, he would be. Actually, he is a little wet for it. His dick is leaking, rubbing against his boxers uncomfortably.

Eddie is busy tonight or so he says, had to cancel their not-date at the last minute after Steve was already a little worked up from thinking about Eddie holding him down in his backseat and fucking him, not letting him come until he’d already gotten off. He could get himself off, but Eddie didn’t say he could.

And he always listens to what Eddie says.

There’s a tap on his window and he jumps. A shadow passes and he hopes it’s the tree branch that he keeps meaning to get trimmed.

Another tap. Steve gets out of bed and rushes over to the window.

If he’s gonna die, he’s gonna face the killer head on.

“Jesus, Stevie, it’s freezing. Can you unlock the window faster before I lose the dick you love so much?”

Steve does as Eddie asks because he always does. Cold immediately seeps into the room, following Eddie like a shadow.

He kicks off his boots and throws off his jacket as Steve closes and locks the window.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He whisper-yells.

“My appointment canceled! I figured you could still use a goodnight fuck,” Eddie’s charming smile usually wins him over, but his heart’s still racing and he feels a shiver wrack through his body. Eddie’s smile falls. “Or not?”

“I’m not gonna be your second choice, Jesus fucking Christ, Eddie!” Steve takes a deep breath. His mom is asleep in her room, probably passed out from too much wine. “You can’t just show up to fuck me because you’re bored!”

Eddie crowds him against the bay window.

“You think I came here because I’m bored?” Eddie grits out between his teeth. He’s mad.

Steve likes getting under his skin a little.

“You think I’d ever choose to meet other people in the woods for anything other than selling drugs to buy you nice things? You think I wouldn’t spend every waking second buried in you if I could?” Eddie’s breath is hot against Steve’s parted lips, his eyes nearly black. “You think I’m not always thinking about being with you?”

Steve gulps. He shakes his head.

“You have no idea how much you mean to me, do you?”

He doesn’t. Or he doesn’t let himself think that far. He convinces himself he’s just the best fuck Eddie has, not that he’s actually special to him.

“You have no idea how bad I wanna take you away from here, find us a cozy little house, find a real job. I’d give you everything,” Eddie’s hand wraps around his neck, fingertips resting against his pulse. “A ring, an RV, a white picket fence, 2.5 kids. Anything.”

Steve whimpers.

“Don’t tease me,” Steve says. He doesn’t like this kind of teasing.

Eddie’s lips are bruising against his, and his hand tightens around his throat. Steve knows what to do if he doesn’t want this.

He moans into the kiss.

“Not teasing. You’ve got me so wrapped around your finger and you don’t even fuckin’ realize it,” Eddie growls against his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip. “Wanna give you everything. Anything. Name it, it’s yours.”

Steve feels lightheaded as he answers, “Want a baby, gimme a baby.”

“Yeah? You want me to knock you up?” Eddie plays along because he’s a good sport, even if he doesn’t mean all this, even if he’s just playing a game with Steve. “Bet your parents would hate that. Their precious angel unwed and pregnant with the local drug dealer’s baby.”

Steve can’t think, can only nod as Eddie pushes him down so he’s sitting on the bench of the window. He’s leaning over him, towering in the darkness of the room.

“You’d be the perfect little housewife, wouldn’t you? Probably drop to your knees the second I get home from work, supper on the stove, belly so round you’d need help getting back up,” Eddie grins against his neck, he feels his teeth against his pulse. “Maybe I’d fuck you so full, you’d have twins. How many you want me to give you, baby?”

Steve moans again, and Eddie covers his mouth with his hand. Steve’s dick jumps in his boxers.

“Hush. We can’t wake your mom up. Not until I’m done filling you up.”

“But-“ Steve’s gonna play into this. It may be the only time he gets to experiment with this thing that’s been nagging at him for weeks, months. “Will you still wanna fuck me once you’ve knocked me up?”

He knows he sounds ridiculous, knows he probably looks ridiculous with his round eyes and pouty lips. Eddie likes when he gets like this, though.

“Baby, I’m never gonna wanna stop.”

He’s naked seconds later, legs thrown over Eddie’s shoulder as he eats him out on his knees. For all the talk of Steve kneeling, Eddie’s always the first to worship. Steve’s head falls back against the cold glass of the window, sharp enough to remind him he needs to be quiet.

Eddie’s licking into him, pushing fingers in until Steve’s squirming so much he’s nearly bent in half.

“Need you,” he pants. “Fill me up. C’mon, please.”

His back and neck will be sore tomorrow, but he’s used to compromising positions. At least there’s a cushion under his ass.

“I’m gonna give you what you need,” Eddie slides his cock into Steve as he talks. No condom; it would ruin the illusion. They go without every time now. They didn’t really talk about it, but Steve knows Eddie takes safety seriously. He wouldn’t do this if he was worried about anything. “Gonna fuck you ‘til it takes.”

Steve whines as Eddie drills into him, not giving him any time to adjust. He likes it like this; hard and fast. There’s less time to think about how much he loves him.

He gets lost in it, like he always does, letting his mind wander to the possibilities that aren’t really there. He wonders what would happen if he could get pregnant. Would Eddie still play into this so much? Would he let him?

Eddie’s hand on his cock takes him from his thoughts.

“Look at me.” Steve does. He loves him, he hates what’s coming. “You’re gonna come first. Heard it helps.”

Steve keeps playing along because this is what he wanted. Isn’t it?

He wanted to explore this strange part of him, and Eddie didn’t even know before tonight, but he’s playing his part like he’s coming for an Oscar. Maybe he’s into it, too.

“C’mon, precious boy,” Eddie hums against his lips before he kisses him. “Come for me.”

It’s the way he says it, precious boy. Like Steve is precious. Like he loves him, too.

Steve’s legs are shaking as Eddie’s hips stutter and stop, his cock pulsing inside him. He feels some of his cum dripping, somehow escaping despite how tight he is. His neck is bent at a weird angle and it aches, but he’s not gonna be the first to stop this.

Eddie always is.

Eddie kisses his chest, right above where his heart is trying to beat through his skin. It’s softer than Steve’s expecting.

He pulls out and helps Steve up, walks him to the bed. Steve doesn’t want him to leave, but knows he won’t stay.

Eddie watches him, Steve can feel his attention through his closed eyes. It’ll be gone soon, so he basks in it, rests one hand on his stomach and one above his head.

Eddie breathes out shakily.

His hand comes down to cover Steve’s over his stomach.

“Think it worked?”

Steve’s eyes shoot open. His heart stops.

“Don’t tease me, seriously,” Steve sounds breathless, a little scared.

Eddie leans down to kiss his forehead. “I’m not teasing you. Didn’t know you were into this.”

“Me either,” Steve admits, still shocked this is how his night’s going.

“I meant it, ya know.”

“What?”

“All of it. I’d give you anything. If you wanted a dozen kids, I’d find a way to start tonight,” Eddie swallows around the words, sounding and looking more nervous by the second. “I’d steal you away and we’d live in some rundown apartment until we saved up enough to buy a house a few towns over. I’d build a swingset in the yard and plant flowers for you to look at.”

Steve giggles, rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to keep-“

“Steve.” Eddie’s tone makes him shut up. “I need you to listen to me.”

“Okay,” he’s so quiet, he isn’t even sure he spoke it aloud.

“I meant it. I want you tonight, and tomorrow, and the rest of the tomorrows I’ve got, which will never be enough. I wanna figure out how to make a life for both of us.”

Steve has to be dreaming. Eddie’s fingers tighten around his.

“You climbed on my roof,” Steve says dumbly. He just realized Eddie’s never come to his house, never taken that step before. It felt like crossing a line. “You came to me.”

“And in you.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but a weight is lifting from his chest, a smile growing on his face.

“You meant it.”

“I wanna have more than backseats of cars and behind a tree. I want you always, everywhere, any way I can have you,” Eddie lifts his hand and kisses his fingertips. “All the ways I can have you.”

Steve’s already given himself in more ways than Eddie even realizes. He belongs to Eddie, has belonged to him for a while.

“Then have me. I’m right here. Been right here.”

Eddie stays. It’s probably not smart because his mom’s been known to walk into his room much too early to ask stupid questions about his plans for the day.

It’s hard to think about that when Eddie’s wrapped around him, keeping him from falling anywhere but deeper in love.

[makeitworse]

picture you

⟢ dae-ho × f reader | nsfw, mdni!

dae-ho’s having a little trouble focusing on his studies, so you offer him a hand.

c/w: university au, very subby dae-ho, male masturbation, he’s pervy & ashamed abt it, praise kink, dry-humping, he cums in his pants a/n: quick lil idea i wanted to get out

dae-ho’s sorry, he really was. he was close to banging his head on these books. you’re on your third explanation of this topic, and his brain wasn’t retaining any of it.

he (once) prided himself in being a better man than this— but he couldn’t focus today. not when you showed up to his lesson looking so.. enticing.

you were being so patient with him, and here he was repaying the favour by defiling you in his thoughts. it’s disgusting. and he can’t stop.

were you always this alluring to him? how did you manage to one-up your already perfect looks, and have him shifting in his chair to slyly adjust the front of his pants like some hormonal teen?

he was watching your mouth move, but the words weren’t reaching his ears, not when last night’s visions were flooding back.

your cheek hollowed out, glossy eyes looking up at him as you kneeled in front of his chair.

he gulped, grounding himself back in reality and swallowing the daydream down. his throat burned with guilt.

it killed him to objectify you in such a way, every night when he’s alone in the dark with his hand and imagination. he doesn’t mean to, really. he didn’t start out wanting to, it’s just... he can’t stop. he can’t do it without you.

he used to tell himself it was just a coincidence that he’d scroll through your pictures beforehand. he swears to no one in particular that it’s an accident when your name falls from his lips as he cums.

it doesn’t mean anything when he has to restrain himself from checking you out as you stretch in your chair. it’s only a ‘random, for no-reason’ boner after you tell him how well he did.

dae-ho was eager to please. he craved your praise, and he needed to ace this upcoming exam so he gets to hear you tell him how proud you are.

but in some poetic karma, having you as a tutor had him falling further behind.

he’s watching you softly bite your lip as you reread the textbook, maybe wondering how to explain it in a way he can understand. you uncross and recross your legs, and his gaze flickers to the space between them.

when he looks back up, he’s met with your eyes staring back at his.

shit.

“dae, what’s going on?”

your still voice rips the sheets off of his dirty thoughts. he stammers like an idiot, caught with his hand down his pants.

“has something been bothering you?”

“ah,” he groans. he doesn’t want to disappoint you. but, he really can’t concentrate today.

earnestly, he nods.

“is it anything i can help with?”

the look on his face says it all. the way his expression drops at your offer to help with his ‘bother’— which was actually straining against his pants. he’s not even certain if what you just said was real, or if he’s lost in another daydream.

“okay,” you shut the textbook with a thud. “let’s take a break.”

dae-ho’s jaw was slack as he studied you. telling you what he really needed seemed out of the question. but you’re serious as you survey him, eyes darting up and down his body.

he gulps at the weight of your gaze. did you see his..?

dae-ho freezes up at the touch of your hand on his knee.

“what can we do to get you back to focus, dae?”

his erection is raging at him to just say it with his words. you’re offering, after all. your hand is literally on his knee. and, oh god, you’re creeping your fingers up his thigh. his eyes damn nearly roll back into his head.

“would this help?”

he blinks. he blinks again. he needs to know the way you’re pulling him in through a half-lidded gaze is real. really real. you look like you could eat him up, and he’d let you gladly.

dae-ho’s nod in reply is so tiny, he’s not even sure he actually got it out. but he knows he did when your other hand comes to cradle his cheek.

all air leaves his lungs as you swiped a thumb to his bottom lip, pressing down on the soft skin.

“ah,” you direct, and he parts his mouth open for you. your thumb slides onto his tongue, which elicits a noise from his throat he quickly stifles.

you hum in praise as dae-ho closes his lips around your thumb and sucks lightly. the twitch of his dick is a spotlight on the very evident tent in his pants.

it’s not like dae-ho’s never been touched before— but he’s questioning the standard of his previous encounters, when you had him this hard in a harmless tutoring session.

you pop your thumb from his mouth as your other hand rides further up his leg, stopping dangerously close to his crotch. your palm’s like a magnet the way he’s resisting the urge to buck into it.

“this okay?”

dae-ho nearly chokes with how quick he stammers out a ‘yes’. inside his head he’s screaming it. you could do whatever you wanted to him, and he’d be grateful.

his cock is pulsing the instant your fingers glide over the outline through his pants. you dare to close your hand over him, and he catches your lips curl into a smile as his eyes flutter shut.

he opens them at the sound of your chair scraping closer to him. you’re close enough that your knee bumps his.

“you’re so big, dae.” you coo, leaning to level your face with his. his breath hitches.

you rub your hand steadily over his length. he can’t help the moan that escapes. you giggle at that, pleased.

you set an excruciatingly slow pace as your hand glided up and down. against his will, his hips jolt once or twice, desperate for friction. dae-ho whines an apology, but you just soothe him by caressing his cheek.

his eyes were trained on your mouth: how your lips were parted slightly as you palmed him, how you were close enough that your breaths mixed— he could so easily catch you in a kiss. but he didn’t want take advantage of you or anything. you’ve already been so generous to him.

like he’s thinking out loud, you softly ask: “do you want to kiss me?”

it’s probably no surprise since his gaze hadn’t shifted from your mouth. he nods meekly, slightly in disbelief as you lean forward to meet his lips with yours.

dae-ho’d pinch his leg to check that this is actually happening, if he wasn’t already practically melting in your touch.

he jumps at the warmth of your tongue sliding into his mouth. he’s almost too shocked to remember to kiss you back, but he does so fervently. he’s been aching for you.

he still feels embarrassment nipping at his neck that he even viewed his tutor in such a way, despite how you were now literally giving him a handjob through his pants.

you break the kiss, but not without a sweet peck as you pull away.

“you promise you’ll work hard for me after this?”

“i will.” his voice nearly cracks. after this, he’d worship the ground you walk on if you asked.

“that’s my good boy.” you smile. he could’ve came just from that.

dae-ho swears his mouth waters as he (shamelessly) watches you hike up your skirt, catching a flash of your panties as you stand.

you swing your legs over either side of his chair. pinching his chin, you guide dae-ho to look you in the eye.

but his barely stay open— his face contorting with a moan as you sink down onto his lap.

his dick’s digging right into your heat. he’s left shivering while you trail kisses down his neck. it’s an effort to not thrust up into you when you’re pressed against him like this: he doesn’t want to embarrass himself.

dae-ho steadies his shaking hands by meekly placing them on your hips. was it okay to touch you here?—

—and that thought was gone in an instant as you pulled dae-ho’s hands down to your ass.

his head was spinning. this was all so surreal. just last night, he was cursing himself for picturing you in all the ways that were happening now.

this time when you dive in to kiss him, he doesn’t hold back on parting your lips with his tongue. you encourage him with a rock of your hips, and he muffles a moan into your mouth.

dae-ho gained the confidence to snake his hands under your shirt. another grind against him was like permission granted to go further.

dae-ho was messy as he rutted with you. his hips stammered with their thrusts— he couldn’t keep up with your pace if he wanted to last.

he was sloppy with his mouth on yours, desperate to taste all of you. his hands had found themselves buried under your bra and fumbling with your tits.

it was all too much for him to handle at once. you ground down on his cock so perfectly, your rhythm unfaltering. pre-cum pooled at the front of his pants, and through the fabric he felt how damp you were as your cunt rubbed against him.

he couldn’t help the whines spilling into your mouth as you kissed him. you balled his loose hair into a fist and craned his head back. the tug on his scalp made his dick pulse, and the way you were looking at him with your mouth open and brows pinched— god, you were panting too— and fuck—

“w-wait! wait, i’m—”

knowing he was close, something flickered across your eyes. you latched onto his neck, and he cried out as you sucked a sensitive spot of skin.

dae-ho was foul-mouthed as he came: blabbering cusses between shameless moans, twitching up into you while you rode him through his orgasm.

his pants stained with warm ropes of cum. the sensation almost made him recoil, but you hummed into his ear pleased, gently rubbing his back.

dae-ho lolled his head onto your shoulder. you wiped the sweat from his forehead and placed a chaste kiss on his brow.

“let’s tidy ourselves up, then back to your study. okay?”

there was a laundry list of things he’d rather do with you than uni work. but if he doesn’t work well for you, he’s not sure he’ll get another chance.

dae-ho nods a bit too seriously, as if he’s following orders. it makes you chuckle.

“work well for me, and i’ll put it in my mouth next time.”

and he felt himself getting hard all over again.

[loucifersbitch]

This is a short story.

It starts with Buck entering a nondescript building. He walks up to the guy at the front desk and gives his information. He's greeted with an insincere smile, a name tag with only a number on it, and a sheet of paper with a list of other numbers.

476 - female

627 - nonbinary

172 - female

291 - male

703 - nonbinary

811 - male

712 - male

266 - female

315 - no gender given

Buck can work with this.

He follows the arrows down a long hallway, noticing the ancient sprinkler system and immediately wondering if it's up to code.

Not the time, Buckley.

The arrows lead him to an archway on his right, the large room - maybe it used to be a ballroom - coming into view. It's nicely decorated, but the wallpaper dates the place, and he notices some of the vinyl flooring peeling up in multiple spots.

It's fine, whatever. Could always be worse. Right?

A bell in the corner dings. He sits down in his designated seat. There are a lot of people milling around, some chatting together, others attempting to blend in with the wallpaper. Buck looks at the seat across the small table and wonders if any of the people who are about to sit there will be The One.

The thing is, he doesn't have high hopes for this event. He's been trying to get back out there, but no one has piqued his interest. His KitchenAid mixer is his longest lasting relationship now.

Speed dating hadn't been on his mind in the slightest, but he kept getting ads for this place anytime he watched a video or played a game on his phone. So, what the hell. Worth a try, right?

It's been almost eight months since he - since Tommy - left. Buck shouldn't still be pining after the man, but fuck, he saw a future there. He had plans and ideas and an extensive internet search history of men's wedding bands. But eight months? He should have moved on by now.

"Hi."

The cheerful voice pulls him from his thoughts. It belongs to a woman, and she's beautiful. She has brown eyes that look almost golden in the light from the massive windows, and her hair has obviously been colored to get that level of blonde, but it suits her. The name tag on her lapel says 476.

"Hi," Buck says, trying for a smile, but even to himself, it doesn't feel genuine.

Already going great.

Date 476 is interesting. She's studying to be a lawyer and has a cat named Hugh. She seems nice, but that's all Buck remembers about her.

The bell dings, 476 gets up, and that's that.

Date 627 sits down and immediately compliments Buck's sweater. He refrains from making the boyfriend material joke. He asks a few questions, but 627 doesn't seem to want to give much away in terms of personal information.

Fine.

The bell dings.

Date 172 has Buck immediately on edge. She has that overly-familiar look in her eye as soon as she sits down.

"Have we met before?" she asks.

Buck tries to think of something - anything - but he doesn't remember ever meeting her.

"Then maybe I've seen you somewhere. Are you an actor?"

"Uh," Buck laughs, "no, nope. Never been an actor."

"But you've been on TV?"

"Well, the news, I guess."

Her eyes light up at that.

"Oh my god, you're that firefighter! The one that died!"

Buck suddenly wishes for another bolt of lightning.

"Uh, yeah. Yep, that's me."

"Wow."

She starts to settle further into her seat, and Buck can feel the questions coming, so he cuts her off before she can start, asking her as many questions as he can think of in quick succession.

The bell dings. Buck exhales.

Date 291 has Buck nervous in a different way. He's tall, and walks with a confidence that's very similar to T-

No.

Don't think about him right now.

But 291 has blue eyes and dark wavy hair and a strong jaw. He obviously works out often and keeps in shape.

Buck is immediately taken with him.

Until he opens his mouth and asks, "So are you a gold star gay, or should I just move on?"

"A gold star gay?" Buck asks.

"Have you fucked a woman before?"

Ah, this guy is classy.

"I think you can move on," Buck says by way of answer.

The guy's mouth drops open as if he's shocked, but Buck is already getting up from the table. He could use a restroom break anyway.

When he comes back, 291 is gone, thankfully.

Date 703 is cute. A barista studying physics at USC after traveling across the country from South Carolina. They talk about their travels and misadventures, and Buck is actually disappointed when the bell dings this time. If nothing else, Buck wants to be their friend. He should've gotten their number.

Date 811 is - well, the only word Buck can think to use is 'cute.' He's a teacher at one of the private high schools in the city, and he volunteers at the food shelf on the weekends. There's no spark for Buck, but 811 seems like a really sweet guy.

Date 712 is —

"Tommy?"

Tommy stops short when he gets to Buck's table.

"Evan."

He sounds surprised. Almost breathless.

"I didn't realize you'd be here."

"Uh, yeah. I didn't think I'd see you here either," Buck says.

Tommy just stands there awkwardly. Buck can see other people starting to look their way, so he gestures for Tommy to sit down.

"I should leave," Tommy says. "I don't want to ruin this for you. I'm sorry, Evan." Then Tommy inhales sharply. "I should say 'Buck,' shouldn't I."

"No!" Buck says, a little too quickly. He lowers his voice. "No, Tommy. You - you should call me Evan. You can always call me Evan."

A smile flickers at the corner of Tommy's mouth.

God, Buck has missed Tommy's smile. And his eyes. And his hands. And his voice. And his broad shoulders. And his —

Buck has missed Tommy.

"I miss you," he says.

He doesn't mean to say it, but it slips out.

Tommy looks surprised.

"I do," Buck presses on. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Nothing has been right since you left." A pained look crosses Tommy's face, but he doesn't say anything. "It's just been one thing after another. There's a long list, but the most recent things are my sister recovering from having her neck sliced open and Eddie moving back to Texas. I'm living in Eddie's house, and everything is different than it used to be, and yet -" he takes a steadying breath, "- every night, the only thing on my mind is 'I miss Tommy. I really fucking miss Tommy.' It's been eight months," he huffs a self-deprecating laugh, "and I can't stop thinking about you. Pretty sad, huh?"

"Evan -," Tommy starts, but then he looks around. "This isn't the place to talk about it. Can we go somewhere when this is over?"

Buck is already getting up and removing his name tag.

"It's already over. Let's go."

"Evan, I still have people to meet. Shouldn't we wai-"

"I still have people on my list, too, but this is more important."

Buck holds a hand out for Tommy, wiggling his fingers in invitation.

Tommy finally smiles, full and bright. He takes Buck's hand and stands, leaving his own name tag on the table.

[lsunstreakerl]

o!darkbull! this slides pretty firmly over to dead dove territory, so. there's your warning. (additional tags below the cut) mature but not quite explicit.

Max POV, 2.7k words. This is that initial mating bite, when they're still karting, because in typical darkbull fashion Charles is insane.

DDDNE: implied/referenced underage sex between two minors, forced bite/mating, dubcon/noncon, omegas with very little rights

"Max!"

Charles snags him by the crook of his elbow, half spinning him around as Max blinks, startled.

He remembers his father's words a split second later, yanking his arm away. He's not supposed to let anyone touch him, especially not other younger drivers, smelling of sweat and karts and alpha- everyone's starting to present.

Max has been feeling flushed and hot the last few days.

He's been ignoring it. He'll start getting aggressive and irritable soon, the telltale signs of a rut, and it'll be fine.

"What."

He keeps his voice flat and uninterested, because their race is soon, and if Charles is trying to butter him up for a pass, he's got another thing coming.

Charles shoves his hands in his pockets, grinning.

"We should meet here, after the race. I want to debrief it with you, and your dad never lets you talk to anyone anymore."

Jos is trying to protect him. Neither of them have talked about it or even hinted at it, the way Max has been feeling off recently, his heightened scent of smell, the way he's been arranging his things in the van.

Max can't afford to be an omega. Namely because omegas can't race.

Max needs to race.

At the same time... it's just Charles. Whiny not-French Charles, who likes to talk about the track and the race just as much as Max does, and he misses that.

"Fine. But it will be later, when it is dark."

Max is going to have to sneak out. Difficult, but not impossible.

Charles brightens, although something in his eyes is sharp, glittering and aware. It's a stark contrast to his softer features, and it makes Max briefly uneasy.

He ignores it.

"Great! I will see you then, yes?"

Max nods.

------

The race had been okay. Max won, but not by a whole lot, so Jos had been yelling at him about it for a while. He's finally fallen asleep on the couch, and Max sneaks carefully out the door.

He's still hot, even in the chilled night air, skin flushed as he makes his way towards where he's meeting with Charles. His thoughts snag on how Charles has been looking lately- he's starting to get a bit taller, grow into some of his features.

It smells slightly off the closer Max gets to the meeting spot, a deeper rich scent that's sticking to Max's brain, slowing his thoughts down. He's following his nose at this point, because when he reaches their place and finds Charles, the scent is strong.

It's practically a haze around him, leaves Max feeling like he's lagging just a few seconds behind, thoughts moving syrupy slow.

"You smell weird."

Charles makes a slightly apologetic face, shrugging.

"My rut is soon, I think."

Logically, Max knows at those words that he needs to leave right now. Denial about his own upcoming presentation or not, being around an adolescent alpha in rut is a bad idea.

It just doesn't feel urgent. It's only Charles, and while Max thinks it's bullshit that he's younger than Max and has presented first anyways, he's not really a threat.

"Shouldn't you be at home then?"

Max will still do his due diligence, make sure Charles is okay.

"No, I'm not worried. Why, does it smell strong?"

Max blinks, thoughts getting harder to catch as Charles takes a step closer.

"Maybe? I have not smelled many ruts, I don't..."

Max loses track of his thoughts as Charles grabs his wrist gently, head tilted with concern.

"I think you should sit down Max, you don't look too good."

Sitting sounds like a good idea. Or being on the ground at least, and Max lets Charles ease him down onto the grass, back supported against a large rock, head spinning. It's doing something weird to him, looking up at Charles like this. He wants to tilt his head back, wants to spread his-

No, no, Max needs to get out of here.

"I need- Charles, I need to go-"

He gets a hand underneath him, trying to stand, but Charles pushes his shoulders back down, kneeling down over Max's legs with a knee on either side of him.

"I really don't think that's a good idea, Max. You shouldn't be moving at all."

Well, if Charles thinks so...

Max relaxes back down before his thoughts catch up, jumpy and laggy as they are.

Charles is an alpha going headfirst into a rut, and Max is-

Max needs to leave.

Charles settles his weight more firmly on Max's thighs, eyes wide. He looks concerned, but Max catches that glint of sharpness again, feeding the ball of unease in his chest.

He digs his fingers into the grass.

"Charles..."

Charles brings a hand to Max's face, eyes narrowing.

"You smell good."

Max's heart beats faster.

"You are of course imagining things."

The unease is back, and it's like a switch has flipped in Charles, eyes flicking back up to Max's. His body language has changed, shifting to lean over Max, and Max is tilting his head back slightly before he realizes, trying to drop his chin back down.

Charles' fingers grip harder on his jaw, holding his head in place.

"I don't think I am."

He leans into Max's neck, dragging his nose against his scent gland, so intimate and sensitive that Max's legs kick out, jerking away.

"Charles! You are not supposed to-"

Charles shushes him, breath ghosting across Max's neck.

"Have you had a heat before? Or is this your first?"

Max is frozen. He's not having a heat, he's not, especially not with an alpha above him. It's the worst possible scenario. It's exactly the kind of thing his father had said happens to omegas.

Charles noses at his neck again, pressing closer to Max, crowding him with his body, his spicy heady scent all Max can smell.

"First then, seems like. I never would have guessed you'd be an omega, Verstappen."

The use of his last name makes Max jolt, slicing through his thoughts to give a moment of clarity.

"Charles, I need to leave, I need-"

Charles doesn't move, face pressed in near Max's scent gland, taking a deep inhale.

"And go where? You cannot race as an omega, we both know this. You have very limited options. I would hate for your father to drop you off at some omega academy- I would never see you again."

Max flinches, because Charles is closer to being right than Max is willing to admit. Jos doesn't want an omega son. He'd just as soon leave Max on the side of the road for good, and there's a very real chance of Max being sent to an omega academy, being groomed for submissive behavior, being "presented" at graduation in a glorified mate auction- it's the last thing he wants.

He'd never see a race again, never be in a kart or a car.

Charles makes a soothing noise, nudging their heads together.

"Oh, you smell sad. Don't be sad, we'll figure something out."

There's a weird feeling in Max's chest, building in his throat. He's so hot, and he's stressed, and Charles smells so good above him, telling him they'll fix it.

Max has always had to fix his own problems, surely it can't be that bad to let someone else try and handle things for once.

He opens his mouth, meaning to say something, only for the feeling in his throat to break free, a needy whine escaping him.

He goes completely still again, fingers ripping up grass as he digs his hands down, eyes wide. Charles is still nosing at his neck, but there's a low rumble in response, vibrating against Max where they're pressed chest to chest.

It's making him relax.

He doesn't mean to, but the vibrations are nice, rattling through his ribs, soothing him as he tilts his head, exposes more of his neck.

There's a low burning in his gut, making him shift in the grass. His shoulders scrape against the stone behind him.

Charles makes a soft noise when Max moves, keeping him in place with his legs.

"Your father won't take care of you as a pack alpha, if you go back."

Max is well aware. He's desperately trying not to think of it, which is easy, because everything is dark and slow and heavy, and it's much easier to focus on the way he's surrounded by Charles.

"He will send me to an etiquette school."

Charles' rumble goes lower, an irritable sound as he snarls softly, teeth brushing against Max's skin.

"No, you need a different alpha, one that will take care of you."

Max doesn't want an alpha at all- he wants to be one, wants to keep driving and racing and living his life.

"I'm not an omega, Charles."

His voice comes out steadier than he feels, but Charles just makes a soft noise near his throat, self assured and confident.

"Yes you are."

He leans in closer, breath warm against Max's skin, and licks a hot stripe across his scent gland-

Max's brain explodes. His hands come up to clutch at Charles, whimpering as he bares his throat, thighs spreading. It's deep and intense, and Charles does it again, sucking gently.

The moan that comes out of Max's mouth is humiliating, his eyes rolling back, and he wants it again, he's so hot, and it feels so good, leaves his skin buzzing.

His fingers curl in Charles' shirt as he lets up, gives Max a second to breathe, even though he feels like he's still seeing stars.

"Charles,"

He's panting, head leaned back against the stone behind him, burning heat in his gut, head spinning. He's not sure what he needs.

Charles leans back, pupils blown wide as he looks at Max.

"You are so pretty- I will take care of you, I promise."

He rumbles again, legs squeezing against Max's hips.

"You will come to the competitions and the races, and when I get to F1 you will of course also come, because every good driver has an omega waiting for them after a race, yes?"

Max's breath catches in his throat, because he doesn't-

He doesn't want to be some paddock omega for a driver, trophy mates there just for their alpha, their whole lives revolving around them.

He wants to drive. He's good, he's great- they call him a prodigy in car, it isn't fair that he's going to lose all of that just because of his designation.

Charles brings his head down again, lips resting lightly against Max's scent gland. His scent has gotten stronger, it's all Max can think of, swamped around him, filling his nose.

He shivers at the pressure on his neck again, hips shifting, pressing up into Charles' weight slightly.

Charles hums against his neck, licking over him again as Max gasps, pressing his hips down.

Max's fingers dig into him as Charles' scent swells again, heady and possessive. Teeth scrape gently over his neck, fitting in a neat circle directly over his scent gland.

"Charles- Charles no-"

Charles' teeth sink down, biting into his skin.

Max shouts, hips bucking up as his eyes roll back, consumed by need and alpha, nails digging into Charles skin as his alpha bites deeper, breaking skin.

It feels good, it hurts, he wants more, he wants him to stop- Max writhes under Charles as tears bead at his eyes, overheated and uncomfortable.

The burn in his gut has gotten worse, leaving him feeling open and empty, legs falling apart wider as Charles pulls back, licking across the new bite mark, blood and fluid swelling up.

Charles grinds his hips down, rumbling as his scent takes on a satisfied note, twisting his head to kiss Max, smearing his own blood across his lips, licking into his mouth.

He's demanding, taking complete control- Max feels two steps behind, confused and disoriented.

Charles pulls back to sit further down on Max's thighs, eyes dark as he watches Max. There's blood across his lips and chin, pupils blown.

He rests his hand against the side of Max's face, sliding down across his neck before curling at the nape, and Max goes boneless as he squeezes, the natural omega response to being scruffed by their alpha.

"I am taking you somewhere else, for your heat. I will not knot you on the grass where anyone could see."

Max-

Max is not going into a heat, he's not about to be knotted, he's not an omega, there's no bite mark, he's going to wake up in the van in the morning from a really horrid fever dream.

He tries to pull his head away, a monumental effort, but Charles tightens his grip.

"Max."

The Command in the word has Max slumping forward, head going hazy. His alpha wants him to listen.

Charles hauls him up off the grass, and Max whines as his thighs press together, realizing absentmindedly that they're wet, leaning into Charles.

Charles has one arm wrapped around him, pulling his phone out with the other, lifting it to his ear.

"Yes, I did. We're out where I planned, by the big rock. You got a place for the heat, yes? Nearby? Merci, Lolo."

Max is listening through fog, nosing into Charles neck where his scent is the strongest. There's a steady rumble against his chest, and Charles still has him firmly scruffed, keeping him upright.

"I have a place for your heat, so you can nest without worries, yes? You will feel better when you have a knot in you."

Max doesn't-

He...

------

Max's mouth is dry when he wakes up, disoriented and sore. He squints, bright light slanting through the windows.

He doesn't recognize the room he's in, and he groans when he tries to move, muscles aching. There's blankets around him, he's naked, and it smells weird, a heady scent that Max's instincts tell him is sex, but that doesn't make sense- he doesn't remember anything.

He sits up slowly, wincing. His ass hurts, and his thighs, and his calves, and holy shit-

He's covered in small bruises, mouth prints and fingerprints stained purple into his skin, around his hips and his legs, and when he straightens up it's to an uncomfortable sensation between his legs, something dripping out of him.

Gingerly, he reaches down to massage his calves, sooth some of the tightness in the muscle. He tucks his chin down to get a look, freezing when he doesn't quite have full range of motion, pressure around his throat.

His hand is shaking when he brings it up, brushing against the collar with a deep sense of dread.

It's leather, smooth and firm, and the clasp is in the back, a rectangular metallic setup that Max can't quite figure out.

Only mated omegas have collars.

His stomach churns, and he tries to regulate his breathing- maybe it's a prank, or a social experiment, or a really fucked up ploy from Jos to make him steer clear of alphas for life.

Max can barely get a finger tucked between his neck and the collar, and it's a tight squeeze, cutting off his air briefly before he pulls his hand away.

Theres footsteps in the hallway, and Max shifts backwards, frantically pulling at one of the blankets to cover himself, pressing back into the corner of what he's now realizing is a makeshift nest.

Somehow, he knows it's Charles.

A moment later, Charles steps through the doorway. He's in shorts and a shirt, and there's a bandage wrapped around his left forearm.

Max shrinks back, lip curling. He doesn't remember anything, but he can put the pieces together- Charles stole him.

Charles makes a face at him, sticking his head in the closet.

"I see you are back to being bitchy now. You were nicer before, when you were crying the whole time."

Max wants to run him into a wall, with his smug accent and stupid hair, and he's bitten Max, might as well have chained Max to his side for the rest of their lives.

Unless he breaks the bond, but-

Being a mated omega is better than being one with a broken bond. Not that Max wanted any of this at all, but if it has to happen, he isn't going to be tossed away that easily.

He eyes Charles' wrist.

Charles glances down, snorting.

"You took a bite out of me at the beginning of your heat."

There's a small part of Max that preens at the statement. He wasn't easy, didn't roll over at the first alpha to come along without a fight.

He hopes it scars.

[n0tamused]

Hello!! I’ve been following you for a little bit, and I just haven’t reached out much because. I’m scared🧍‍♀️(not of you, just reaching out in general because for some reason I think people will bite me if I try to interact)

alsoyourworkislovelyandsoisyourocandsoareyou. <3

But!!! If you’re stilling doing your 1.5k follower event (congrats btw!!) would it be alright if I made a request for Dr. Ratio, action prompt 14 (romantic) pretty please? :3 Love my wife fr. He needs to come home 💔

Thank you, and have a lovely day/night! Congratulations again on your milestone!! ❀

˖ ࣪⊹Morning fuss

Prompt: action 14. First kiss

A/n: Hello! And dw I totally understand you lol, but I'm so happy you decided to reach out now and make a request! <3 I can totally whip up some Dr Ratio, anytime hehe. I had different ideas as to how to do this, but I settled on this one primarily because it is set in a private space and where Ratio is arguably at his most vulnerable and it's just lots of fluff. I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for your kind words! Wishing you luck on getting Ratio!

Contents: Dr. Ratio x Reader, gn reader, fluff, morning cuddles, reader has a wack dream

Words: 895

Ko-Fi |  1.5K followers event(closed)

He had never sounded so carefree. The moment nearly felt like a distant dream as bed sheets still clung onto both of your forms with sunshine streaming through in pale yellow lances. Perhaps carefree was not the most correct term, but the way he laughed and the fact his face was devoid of any hard line or angry wrinkle failed to remind you of anything but liberty.

It started off with you waking up from a sleep you could only explain as a fever dream, you woke up believing you were still held within the confines of those halls, looking for the walking, upside down rabbit and all you could think of is to warn Veritas of the deceiving shampoo and the seal walking on flippers. 

Veritas, also freshly woken up, didn’t have the brains yet to comprehend your confusing talk, and for several moments he made an effort to ask questions and to understand you better, to calm you down from your groggy rambling. 

His hand found your shoulder, rubbing with tender care, his eyes taking a bit too long to open after every blink. “What are you talking about?” he asked, at long last starting to grasp the strands of reality.

“The seal..Veritas, I..” you bumble and mumble, but slowly come back to your senses, and when your eyes meet his you could almost see your own realization reflected back at you as his own eyes flushed off the sleep they carried. Reality set in and silence followed.

Then you began to chuckle, flushing in embarrassment as you had drawn almost flush against him under the blankets in your previous stupor. 

Giggling, you bury yourself in his chest, apologizing over and over again until you feel him move and his chest shake with his own laughter. 

“In the name of.. Have you seriously fallen so deep into slumber that you thought a seal was a threat to you, me?”

“A seal can be a threat! Don’t act so clever with me now, you damn well know what seals are capable off”

“Clearly. One more thing you forgot to add is that they’re capable of flight and I would’ve believed you” he bit back at you with humor dripping off every word. You have wormed your way on top of his chest, and he patted you on your back as if to console you for your embarrassment. “Although, I can’t deny your care is endearing”

“Is this the closest I’ll get to you giving me a direct compliment?” you quip, a cheeky smile on your face as your head shot up, looking down at him and the way his messy hair made him look nearly ethereal in the morning sun. 

Ratio scoffed, “Like I don’t give you enough praise already, do you want to be spoiled now as well?” he groaned as he shifted, just enough to grab the runaway blanket and pull it over your back again. It was too early even for him to get up, a few more minutes of warmth wouldn’t hurt.

“Spoiling your partner isn’t all that bad” you argued, propping yourself up more comfortably on his chest. “For caring for you no less, you’re such a handful at times” you added with a yawn, noticing how his brow twitched in amusement.

The distance between the two of you was disregardable. Your noses were nearly touching and Veritas couldn’t help his hand when it rose to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Me being a handful is only a natural reaction to you being an arms full” he told you, a smug looking expression nestling into the lines of his face.

You only tilted your head and felt your expression grow into the silent question of ‘really?’. “You’re being such a handful right now. I worry for you even when I am not awake, and this is your thanks?” 

“Hm, you may be right, in some way” he nonchalantly mused, relaxing into the mattress with a sigh. His hand had fallen down, caressing the side of your neck. “I thank you for your valiant service, for being so willing to defend me against the feverish animals your mind conjured, the ones that wished to harm me, although I highly doubt they wanted anything at all” he chuckled again, his thumb brushing against your jawline.

“..now was that so hard?” you ask in a whisper as sleep tempts to take you again, his warmth wishes to lull you back to sleep. Your head is feeling heavy and without much thought you let it fall closer, and your lips fall onto his own.

Veritas’ eyes fall closed and his hand tightens its grip at your nape ever so lightly, displaying his disbelief and mild shock, but accepting it regardless. He holds you close, his breath stopping in his throat.

A beeping sound echoes in the air, separating the two of you. It wasn't a hard guess to figure out what it was - Veritas’ alarm had brought a sour expression over his face. For a few moments he let it ring on, hoping to ignore it as he rested against the pillows and returned his eyes to your own, a silent apology woven in his colored eyes. He then leaned forward and kissed you sweetly on the cheek before reaching for his phone to turn the offending sound off.

Ⓒ n0tamused/jarttavia_. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[disorientasyon]

Beneath the Surface

D-16 is desperate. Due to his inability to transform and his easily-exhausted condition, he can't quite hold down easy security mech jobs. When he receives a strange idea to apply to the Iaconian Archives through a dream, he finds himself meeting the eccentric head archivist, Orion Pax. Pax though… He knows more about Dee than the mech could possibly ever imagine.

Me: You can't keep writing fics that only a few people will understand Also me: well watch me do exactly that

So uh yeah, this came about because we talked about the Primes being eldritch beings over at the OPMeg server and I just went ham with it lmao. Plus, I should write about OPMeg considering that was the whole point of me writing fanfics in the first place lmao.

Also, because I cannot be stopped, D-16 is still a Primatronus child here. Optimus, on the other hand, is Alpha Trion's child with another Prime who I shall not name cause to be fair he was not mentioned here at all lmao.

So yeah, enjoy me going crazy in this fanfic because I needed to write this (even though I should be resting because it's the weekend lmao.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63873463

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Megatron.”

D-16 jumped, helm snapping upwards to meet blue optics glowing from within the darkness of the head archivist’s office. The chill - which seemed to emanate from the archive’s very walls - sunk deep into his frame, but he refused to shudder as he took a single step forward. His yellow optics stared straight ahead, forcing down the popups in his HUD that screamed ‘danger.’

“Thank you, head archivist, but my designation isn’t Megatron.” He stopped in front of the barren metal desk, a part of his processor wondering why the head archivist would not have any datapads on it. He let out a small vent. “Were you… expecting anyone else?” A momentary spark of fear jumped within his spark, which was ridiculous since Dee knew that he would have to compete with other mechs for the job position.

But it had been astroweeks since his last freelance security work, and he needed a stable full-time position. It was all he could do not to break down and beg.

And he would rather offline than suffer that indignation.

“Huh? What are you—” The head archivist cut himself off, and an awkward silence engulfed the room. 

Dee tried not to fidget as he turned his helm slightly to the side, wishing that the room had any light source. Unfortunately, as the secretary had mentioned, the office was nearly covered in shadow - the only source of light filtering through the door panels that led to the hall, and the head archivist’s blue optics that seemed to scour his entire face.

“Oh, right… Sorry, so much information, you know?”

Dee didn’t know what the head archivist meant, but he laughed along with him when the other mech chuckled. 

“So! D-16… Hm, I still think… Well, you’ll get used to it later. So, D-16… No… Okay, I’m going to call you Dee.” Before he could protest, the other mech continued on. “Congratulations, you’re hired!”

Dee felt his fans kick up, his processor trying to catch up with the other mech’s words. He didn’t understand what just happened, but he wasn’t going to ruin this. “R-really? Thank you, sir. I promise I’ll work twice as hard as any other security mech—”

“Oh, you don’t have to push yourself, Dee! I want you to be comfortable with me— I mean, comfortable in the job.” He heard a noise from within the darkness, those blue optics disappearing momentarily as the head archivist shifted. “It’s a full-time job since you’ll be my personal security, but I promise that you don’t have to do anything, just stand there and look— Uh, I mean, stand guard beside me.”

“...Personal security?” He felt his spark sink inside his chassis.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not a hard job. I rarely leave the archives so we’ll mostly stay here—”

Dee supposed he should have expected the catch. 

While he was desperate for full-time work, he couldn’t handle full-time personal security. After looking through many job applications, Dee has come to understand that such work usually meant that he had to stay near his employer. To any other mech, a full-time job that had live-in benefits would be a dream, but that was not what Dee wanted. 

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t think I’m fit for this position.”

“And I’ll be a great conju— boss. Wait what?”

Dee let out another vent, turning his face away so that the head archivist wouldn’t see his embarrassment.

It was his own fault.

Who decides to send their resume because of a dream they had?

It was just an incredible coincidence that Dee had sent his resume at the same time that the head archivist was searching for security personnel, but Dee should have looked through the job requirements instead of impulsively sending a message.

This is why he planned because he didn’t want to embarrass himself like this.

“I can’t, sir. I’m sorry, I… I sent my resume on a whim without checking the job requirements. I really can’t do this. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Without another glance behind him, Dee tried to quickly rush towards the door panels.

It was times like these that he felt so uncomfortable in his own frame.

It didn’t help that his pedes were beginning to hurt after running through the archive to file forms for the job. Pair that with the long walk from the Kaon district to the main center of Iacon, and Dee’s frame was beginning to suffer from exhaustion.

Before the door panels could slide open, a blue servo slammed itself against the wall beside his helm. Dee jumped back, weapon systems nearly activating before he realized that it was only the head archivist. With his back turned to the door panels, he felt trapped though he could tell that the head archivist was at the same height as him. Those blue optics stared straight at him.

Maybe he felt fear because despite being close to the door, Dee still couldn’t see the head archivist’s frame, as if the shadows were cloaking him—

“You’re perfect for the job though.” 

Dee would have laughed at how the other mech whined, but his spark was thrumming too much in his chassis.

He choked out, “I’m flattered, sir, but you don’t have to lie. My resume warned you about my… condition. It’s a good offer but I can’t do this work for the entire solar and lunar cycle. And… I can’t move to the archives to accommodate you. My carer—”

The head archivist must have known about his condition. Dee had no choice but to put it in his profile.

This was why he could never hold down a full-time position for too long.

Who wanted a security mech who couldn’t transform and easily exhausted?

But the head archivist should have already known that.

The closest excuse he had, and it wasn’t an excuse because Dee would never have agreed to any full-time job with a live-in position even without his condition, was that he didn’t want to leave the home that his carer had raised him in.

Terminus may not have been Dee’s real sire or carrier, but he could not abandon the old mech and the memories they’d had. The old mech may have offlined cycles ago, but Dee refused to leave their home.

The reason he was so desperate for work was because the rent was due, and he needed the shanix.

He was sure the head archivist could pay him well, and the live-in benefits were great, but that wasn’t what Dee needed.

Slowly, as though forming from the shadows themselves, a face neared his.

Dee could feel his cheekplates rush with energon.

The head archivist was… pretty.

His voice box let out a small burst of static as he glanced away. “I’m sorry, but I need the job to keep my carer’s house, and if you need a security mech that’s with you constantly then I can’t—”

“But your house is so faaaar.” The head archivist whined, and Dee’s optics widened as the other mech used his other servo to cage him in. “I want you to be comfortable but I can’t have you making that trip every solar cycle. How am I going to impress your creators if I let you suffer that way?” “What?” The fear had given way to confusion now. He reached a servo to grasp at the other mech’s arm, wanting to push the head archivist away from him. “Listen, I don’t know what this is, but if you think you can intimidate me.”

As soon as his servo wrapped around the other mech’s arm, a jolt of electricity surged through his frame, and he let out a scream. He felt his frame shudder as another presence made itself known inside his processor. Servos grasped at him, and no matter how hard he tried to summon his cannon, he couldn’t get his weapons system to activate.

“No, no, I already ruined our first meeting… It’s okay, Optimus, you can still turn this whole thing around.” He felt himself be lowered gently onto the ground, the head archivist’s frame settling right on top of him. “If you remember this later, please don’t tell your sire what I did. I haven’t quite mastered scrambling processors, but I promise this won’t hurt… I hope… Primus, I hope it doesn’t.”

He felt cables latch against the sides of his helm, and Dee let out a scream.

The last he heard before his systems shutdown was the head archivist crooning down at him.

“It’s okay, Megatron. I’ll take care of you.”

—

Dee scrolled through the datapad, though the words didn’t register in his processor as his yellow optics kept flicking towards Pax.

Sunlight poured in from the windows, brightening the head archivist’s office, though if asked Dee might say that the sunlight was nothing compared to Pax’s bright smile.

He turned his gaze away as soon as those blue optics looked up at him, embarrassed to have been caught staring. It was difficult not to though, not when Pax was only a table away from him. 

He let out a vent, which he really shouldn’t have because that made Pax jolt from his seat, his own datapad nearly flying from his servos.

“What’s wrong? Do your pedes hurt? You could go back to your quarters if you want—”

“Pax, I’m your bodyguard.” He rolled his optics, placing his own datapad on Pax’s desk. He leaned his back against the soft back of his chair. “And we haven’t moved from your office since we got here. I’m fine.”

It endeared him, really, that Pax despite being his employer - though Pax insisted they were friends - cared so much for his comfort. In his previous work experiences, he had to stand by his former employers for joors on end. At the end of most solar cycles, he could hardly feel his pedes by the time he went home. Pax had refused to let him stand when there wasn’t a reason for it.

Dee had protested the plush chair that Pax had ordered specifically for him, but that was short-lived.

All it really took for him to agree was Pax suddenly carrying him and gently placing him down on said chair.

Now, he didn’t doubt that Pax couldn’t handle himself. But Dee was a bulky mech, and he really didn’t expect Pax was capable of actually carrying him.

He did not want a repeat of that incident again.

“If you say so, Dee.” With great hesitation, Pax sat back down, blue optics still focused on him. “If you want a break though—”

“I’m fine.” He could feel an ache starting in his processor. Dee can only hope that Pax dropped this. Once Pax got started on something, it was difficult to stop him.

If he wanted Dee to rest more, he would insist until Dee finally went into recharge.

If he wanted Dee to have a meal with him, he’d insist until Dee was eating energon with him at the roof of the archives.

If he wanted Dee to sell his carer’s house and move in with him then—

“You know, I’ve been thinking about you…” He glanced up, and Pax’s cheekplates lit up with energon as he realized how that sounded. “I mean, I’ve been thinking about your condition and—”

“Pax, you’re one of the most brilliant mechs in Iacon, but you’re not a medic.” Dee laughed, shaking his helm as he lowered his optics. “I appreciate it but you should stick to being an archivist.”

A part of him did not want Pax anywhere near the medical bay.

For the sake of Cybertronians everywhere, Orion Pax should never become a medic.

Sweet as the gesture was, and Dee could feel his spark thrum at the thought of it, Pax could spend his time researching on much easier subjects.

There was nothing he could do for Dee.

Dee had never felt comfortable in his own frame.

Since he’d first gained sentience, a part of him always felt wrong.

Terminus had loved him despite it but Dee could never erase the unbearable itch deep within his frame and buried underneath the wires. It was within his code.

There had always been something terribly wrong.

The countless medics that Terminus had managed to scrap enough shanix to send him to couldn’t find the source for his condition.

There had been nothing like it in the medical databases.

Bots who couldn’t transform did exist, but that usually happened due to missing or malfunctioning t-cogs. Dee’s was completely fine, but no matter what he did, he was just unable to turn into any other alt mode.

As for his unexplained exhaustion and aching pedes if he stood or walked for far too long, they couldn’t find a reason since most of his systems were in perfect working order.

They didn’t know how to fix him.

Dee had spent a long part of his life accepting that.

It didn’t make his life easy, but it made it hurt less.

He was created differently, and he learned to live with that.

“Okay, but Dee… Just hear me out.” He shook his helm, breaking away from the thoughts in his processor just as Pax slid his datapad towards him. 

Dee caught it, optics scanning quickly at the screen before he gave Pax a disbelieving look.

The head archivist gave him a cheeky grin, as though what he just showed Dee wasn’t the craziest theory he’s ever heard in his life, and Dee has had to talk to many medics in his life.

“Merformers.” He could feel his processor begin to ache. Maybe he did need that break. “Pax… merformers are… myths. I know I told you I’m a fan of the Prime mythologies but this is—”

“Oh come on! Just think about it, Dee!” Pax suddenly lunged forward.

Dee couldn’t help but jump, though he didn’t leave his seat.

Sometimes, he couldn’t help but think that Pax moved… weirdly.

As though the metal of his frame was… shifting in ways that no mech’s frame should move. He was quick in ways that sometimes made Dee need to process that Pax had moved at all.

“Just read it, okay?” 

He let out a vent, trying to ignore Pax’s pout, but it was too late.

He glanced down at the datapad in his servo, shaking his helm. Why did he feel so compelled to do what Pax wanted? They had only known each other for a few astroweeks and yet…

Dee’s yellow optics followed the sharp sketches of merformers on the datapad.

He did know a few facts about them, mostly because he was interested in the Prime mythologies and his favorite among them was Megatronus - who had been described to be a leviathan.

“Okay, Pax, but I am not a merformer. There are no such beings like that in Cybertron.” He laughed, the sound seemingly captivating Pax who had moved past his table and had settled right next to Dee. The chair he had ordered was big enough to fit two mechs, a fact that Pax exploited since if he could help himself, he would insist on sitting right next to Dee all the time.

The head archivist grinned, blue optics seemingly brighter than the sunshine as he settled his chin against Dee’s shoulder pads.

“I don’t know, Dee. I think you’ll find that some myths are based on history.” He tried to keep his optics on the datapad, but it was hard when Pax was leaning against him.

His processor felt fuzzy.

“Just trust me, okay?” He could feel Pax’s grin against the side of his neck cables. “I know.”

He didn’t know why, but he felt his optics shut down as he slowly began to fall into recharge.

“...Dee? OH, NOT AGAIN!”

—

“Ughhh, it’s so unfair!” Optimus let out a vent, his frame collapsing against the metal table as he closed his optics.

The lunar cycle had begun, and the entirety of the archives had settled back into darkness. Aside from a few of the security mechs that roamed the premises and Megatron who had gone to recharge far too earlier than intended, Optimus was completely alone. Carefully, he felt his frame begin to shift, releasing the cables and wires that he was forced to tuck inside too-tight metal during the solar cycle.

The cables quickly latched onto the ground and onto the walls, his processor whirring happily as he felt himself be connected once again to the archives - and to his carrier, Alpha Trion.

‘Patience, Primeling. I adore your energy, but I warned you not to get so attached so easily, not when Megatron is still unaware of who he is.’

“But how could I not? I know him!” ‘In the dreams, my Primeling. Dreams he does not remember yet.’

Optimus let out a groan, feeling the top of his helm unlatch as the wires in his processor latched onto the metal table.

It wasn’t great to be his Cybertronian alt form, but he doubted that Megatron - or Dee as he apparently went by - would react calmly if he saw Optimus’ real form.

No, he could save that for when they were closer… like maybe when they were conjunxes…

‘Primeling, you will have to wait a few more cycles for that. Then there is the matter of Prima—’

“Megatron adores me, I’m sure his creators will feel the same.” 

Especially since Optimus would be bringing him back to them soon.

He enjoyed the few astroweeks he had spent with Megatron, but he knew it couldn’t last long.

It was a coincidence really.

Optimus hadn’t even meant to stumble into Megatron’s dreams, but as his carrier had been tutoring him on entering Cybertronian’s processors, he had been drawn to Megatron’s immediately.

Alpha Trion’s presence had been with him, and it was his carrier who had realized who Megatron really was.

While his carrier couldn’t do anything for Megatron, Optimus could.

It had taken a long time, but Optimus had finally managed to get Megatron to remember one dream, to convince him to come to the archives so that Optimus could watch over him until he could bring him back to his creators.

But since it had taken so long, Optimus had come to… know Megatron through his dreams.

How could he not love him after a lifetime spent within those dreams?

Which is why it would be so difficult to let Megatron go, now that everything was prepared. Optimus had found a good route to get Megatron into the energon lake. It had taken a few processor scramblings but he got the path cleared. By the time the senate realized that there had been a breach, it would be too late. 

Optimus can only hope that this time the senate didn’t decide to take Megatron out of the lake because they got lucky the first time, as his carrier said.

The senate was lucky they hadn’t woken Prima or Megatronus (or even both!) when they had removed Megatron from the smaller lake inside the mountain Prima was currently in.

“You don’t think Megatronus would wake up once I…”

“He will, but he will not harm you. He will return to stasis once he understands there is no immediate threat.”

“So can I introduce myself—”

“Let them have their reunion, my Primeling. You have spent your time with Megatron, and you will have more time.”

Optimus rolled his optics, a frown settling on the dermas of the face he wore during the solar cycle. His real face was hidden underneath the wires and cables, and it didn’t quite have dermas.

“After so many cycles of waiting. I can’t even visit him in dreams after this because his creators will be there.” He let out another vent.

“Cycles will pass by quickly. Until then, there is much information to be archived and processed.”

At least Optimus had that to look forward to. It was his life’s passion, his very being.

That’s why he enjoyed playing the role of head archivist even if he didn’t really need to. 

His carrier had chosen to become Iacon’s archive, and Optimus could have remained within the walls himself, but he wanted to understand the Cybertronians closely. It was why he’d created and used his Cybertronian alt even if it felt wrong.

He wondered how Megatron could live like that, living underneath a frame that wasn’t right.

But, he’d never had the chance to know his real form.

At the thought of it, Optimus felt his wires rattle against the floor and the walls.

“What’s wrong, my Primeling?”

“I’m just thinking of Megatron.” He could feel himself shudder, and if he didn’t contain himself, it could cause a major disturbance among the databases. Optimus tried to force himself to calm down. “It must hurt, right?”

“Yes, and so it is necessary he be returned to where he belongs.”

Optimus could understand why his carrier was insistent about it. 

Aside from the Primes being close, even after millions of years under stasis, his carrier had a secret that Optimus knew - though Alpha Trion probably never wanted him to know.

When Optimus had first emerged, a Cybertronian had found him hiding deep within the archives, a sparkling seemingly abandoned.

He had nearly been taken out of the archives before his carrier had realized what was happening and had… intervened.

He wondered what his life would have been like if his carrier hadn’t saved him in time.

Would he be like Dee?

Optimus shook the thought away, immersing himself instead on the limitless information within the archives.

This was why he needed to bring Megatron back.

Even though he hated that he’d have to be away from his future conjunx - a fact that Optimus had decided would happen a long time ago in one of their many dream adventures - it was the right thing to do.

Besides, when the solar cycle comes that the Thirteen Primes are awakened once more from their stasis, they’ll have eternity to spend together.

And maybe by that time, Megatron can finally love him back.

—

The stars greeted him as he opened his optics.

A haziness had sunk into his processor.

He could hardly feel his frame.

The floor beneath him shifted, as though the ground itself was moving. 

A familiar face blocked out the night sky.

“Pax…?”

“You’re supposed to be in recharge, Megatron.” The other mech let out a soft vent, reaching down with a servo. He felt the chill of it against his cheekplate, and Dee couldn’t help but lean his helm into it. “I wanted this to be a surprise but… it’s my fault, you got used to the processor scramblings.”

“What…?”

Pax leaned closer, servos reaching for his arms as he felt himself be hauled up and leaned against the side of… his optics reset, and it took him a while to realize where they were. Even underneath the darkness of the lunar cycle, Dee could see the moving waves as the large body of energon they were on shifted.

“Don’t freak out! I mean, you should be happy, you’re finally going home!” Pax went on as a fear began to settle in Dee’s spark. “Well not yet, but once I get you into the lake then you’ll be okay!”

“Pax, no— What are you doing?!” He could feel the strain in his voice box as the other mech began to push him backwards. Stray splashes from the energon lake hit the back of his frame, and… Dee can’t lie, it did feel familiar but—

“It’s okay! It’ll be okay!” Pax’s voice wavered, his blue optics - bright, always so bright in the darkness - widening as he continued to push Dee off the boat.

Panic and rage began to settle in, but like before (Before? He didn’t know why but he’d done this before, right?), he couldn’t access his weapon system.

“I’ll miss you, Alpha Trion said it might take cycles before we meet again but I’ll wait for you. Maybe then you’ll remember all those dream adventures we went on.” Pax grinned, and this time Dee could feel the lake fully against the top of his helm.

Pax’s servos were latched onto his waist plates.

All he needed to do now was let go.

Dee choked out more static, his voice box whirring wildly as he struggled to grasp onto the side of the boat. “PAX! P-PUT ME DOWN! This isn’t funny! I don’t.. I don’t know how to swim!”

Because this had to be a joke, a sick joke.

Pax wanted to test his ridiculous merformer theory and Dee just had to go along with his stupid antics.

But this wasn’t stupid anymore.

Instead of being apologetic, of feeling ashamed for pushing Dee into one of his crazy schemes again, Pax only smiled down at him.

“You do. You always did.”

Then, as if to apologize, Pax leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss against the side of his helm.

Then he let go.

And all Dee felt was the cold energon engulf his entire frame.

It was…

Comforting.

.

.

.

.

.

.

As he sunk deeper into the lake, large blue optics emerged from the deep gloom.

[tgmsunmontue]

You look like a bad idea... 4/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - based on this idea here. Bradley is not a naval aviator. Canon deaths (it starts at Ice's funeral). Addiction and alcoholism (and recovery) mentions.

PART ONE TWO THREE

PART FOUR

                Jake definitely feels the same sentiment as Bradley. Fuck. He really needed that too, more than he thought he did. He’s used to going prolonged periods without sex. He isn’t a huge fan, but he’s able to deal with it, especially as he’s gotten older. Sometimes he might find something mutually beneficial for the duration of a deployment, but that hadn’t happened on the one he was just pulled from to join the Dagger Squadron for this particular attachment. Hell. If that’s the last time he has sex then at least it was good. He’d leave a five-star review if that was a thing, and the thought has him laughing a little.

                He hadn’t stopped and gotten Bradley’s number. But he knows he can get it a variety of ways, not least simply asking Trace for it. Hmm. If she’d actually give it to him, considering her warning. Ah well, he’s also happy to simply ring and ask Sarah Kazansky, even Maverick might have it for all he knows. Which also means Bradley can find him just as easily if he so desires.

                Hmm. On that notes he spies Maverick and sidles up to him, notes the small plate of food and wonders whether he should have some.

                “So pops, any advice on asking the son of an Admiral out?”

                Maverick looks at him, eyes a bit glassy and Jake wonders if it’s tears or whether Maverick has been drinking. Maverick is frowning, looking a little confused which definitely lends itself as evidence toward the drinking theory.

                “Hmm. Who?” Maverick asks then, popping a piece of food into his mouth and Jake scans his eyes over the remaining guests. Not that Bradley needs to be here for Jake to say his name, but just thinking about him seems to conjure him up because he’s there, standing on the top step of the porch wearing completely different clothes from the black suit and charcoal shirt he’d had on earlier. Now he’s wearing light-faded denim jeans, tears in the knees, a long-sleeved white shirt with a deep scooped neckline and holy fucking shit Jake can see red marks that he knows he left not that long ago. Over the top is a garishly patterned button-down with coloring that makes him wonder if Bradley is maybe color-blind.

                It’s an odd combination but he still looks confident and at home, is moving toward Sarah with intense focus and Jake notes that Maverick’s eyes follow him, before looking to see Jake also watching Bradley. Then Maverick is coughing, and Jake’s focus switches to him, the coughing loud but also Maverick has gone red faced. He’s coughing though, breathing, so he holds back the immediate reaction to pound him on the back.

                “You okay Mav? Can’t have you dying because a piece of food…” He doesn’t add that Maverick is the best chance they have at succeeding at this fucking suicide mission. It gets him a weak laugh, a hand wave and Maverick is breathing again, but Jake notes his eyes haven’t left Bradley.

                “You talking about Bradley?” Maverick asks, his face returning to a little more normal color while he sucks in breaths and Bob has come over with a glass of water, because of course he has. The look he gives Jake clearly implies he thinks Jake is to blame for Maverick’s coughing fit and he may have a point.

                “I just… think he looks interesting,” Jake says, deciding in the minute to err on the side of discretion. He is at a funeral.

                “Bradley and I… have a complicated history.”

                Oh fuck.

                “Okay…” Jake says, quiet and consideringly, because oh fuck…

                “I need to talk to him. Explain.”

                Explain what? Jake wants to ask, but doesn’t get to say anything before Maverick is rambling about bad feelings, apologies and time passing and that he made a lot of mistakes. Jake suspects that Maverick might be a little drunk. Or… upset. Or both.

                “I should go and talk to him…” Maverick states, and Jake and Bob exchange a look, Jake blowing out a breath and just shrugging his shoulders as Maverick strides away towards the house where Bradley has disappeared into. Definitely at home here then.

                “That sounds like a really messy break up…” Bob says and Jake pulls a face. So it’s not just him imagining that it sounded exactly like Maverick was having regrets about his failed relationship with Bradley.

                Well.

                Fuck.

                How in the hell can he ever compete with someone like Maverick?

                In the air? Sure. Jake knows he’ll get there one day, he doesn’t have the decades of experience that Maverick does. Looks wise? Maverick is a damned good-looking man, and clearly Bradley doesn’t mind the age thing if they were together previously.

                Maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t get his number after all.

[brklynbxby]

His breath caught in his throat, his grip on her tightening for just a moment—just long enough to feel her warmth, to let himself believe, even for a second, that this was possible right now. That he could hold onto her like this and never have to let go again. But then reality crashed in.

Lily.

Her name flickered through his mind like a warning, like a tether yanking him back to the present. She was here, somewhere on set, completely unaware that he was holding someone else—wanting someone else. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t move, didn’t pull away. Because no matter how much he tried to convince himself he had moved on, that Lily was the right choice, that he should really move on from Harmony… nothing had ever felt like this. Like home. His hands trembled as he slowly loosened his grip, just enough to put distance between them. “Harmony…” His voice was barely above a whisper, thick with everything he couldn’t say. God did he want to kiss her.“You have no idea how much I want to hold onto you. How much I'm still so in love with you. How much I wish things were different right now.”

But they weren’t.

For Nate, the world had shrunk down to this single moment. Just him. Just Harmony. Just the past clawing its way back to the surface, demanding to be felt. But beyond this stolen second, reality waited. Lily waited. Watching. Nate exhaled slowly, his breath uneven as his fingertips brushed against Harmony’s cheek—a touch so light, so fleeting, it felt like it might disappear the moment either of them acknowledged it. His eyes searched hers, brimming with a longing he had no right to feel, no right to act on. He forced himself to step back, even when every part of him screamed against it. “I can’t,” he whispered, but the way he looked at her betrayed him. Every ounce of restraint he had was unraveling at the seams. He swallowed hard, dragging a hand down his face. “Harmony, I have a girl—”

A sharp voice cut through the space between them. “Okay, Harmony, I need to touch you up before you head back on.” Lily. She had appeared out of nowhere, standing a few feet away with her arms crossed, her expression perfectly composed—except for the sharpness in her eyes, the slight tilt of her head as she looked between them. She wasn’t stupid. She saw it. Felt it. She stepped closer, deliberate, her gaze locked on him as though daring him to flinch. Then, with the ease of someone who knew exactly what she was doing, she rose onto her toes, slid her arms around his neck, and pulled him down into a kiss. His body went rigid. He didn’t kiss her back. His mind was already miles away, tangled in a mess of what-ifs and maybes, in the echoes of Harmony’s voice whispering his name like it was a lifeline. But reality didn’t wait for him to catch up. Lily was here. Harmony was here. And somewhere in the back of his mind, a cruel voice whispered that he deserved this. His jaw tightened as he gently pulled away, putting space between himself and both women. A beat of silence passed. Then another. His gaze flickered to Harmony one last time. “It was nice seeing you again,” he said, his voice carefully neutral, betraying nothing. “I’ll get you that strand of hair script change before you leave.” And then he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the two women behind in the glow of the set lights, the weight of his choices pressing heavy on his chest.

“Do you two know each other?” Lily snapped quickly, the irritation evident on her face, “because whatever it was or is, he’s with me now.”

She watched him closely, noting the hesitation in his movements as if something was holding him back. She couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind. Was he still struggling to trust her? Did he still harbor anger for everything she had done? She knew, deep down, that she wasn’t the same person anymore. She had changed, and now it was time to show him that. She didn’t want to fall back into her old habits, the naive girl she used to be. She didn’t fear the way he loved her anymore—if anything, she craved it. She needed it. She needed him, and so did the baby.

Then, without warning, he pulled her closer, his arms tightening around her, and she melted into the warmth of him. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him even closer, as if she could somehow fuse them together. "Then don’t let go," she whispered softly, her voice laced with desperation, "Don’t let me go again, Nate." Her words were a plea, a promise. She could feel the weight of it in her chest, in her heart. She couldn’t walk away from him again, not when everything inside her was telling her this was where she was meant to be.

This felt right—it felt like home. His arms, holding her, were where she belonged, even if it had taken her too long to realize it. She buried her face in his chest, her breath shaky, knowing that this moment was everything. "Please... don’t let go. I love you, Nate," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, raw and vulnerable. This was the truth—the kind of truth that had been buried too long. She wasn’t afraid anymore. She was ready to hold on. To never let go again.

[12amintoronto]

𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐢 ... omar marmoush x reader

"every time you try to forget who i am, i'll be right there to remind you again... you know me." - abel makkonen tesfaye

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wc: 2.7k

synopsis: as clear as omar had made himself the previous time about hating seeing another player's name on your back... you weren't finished. two could play this sort of game.

contents: hottt but still sfw, reader's plan is hit with a plot twist!!!!, possessive omar, female reader, engaged, love bites, passionate, makeout, fluff at the end.

notes: request fulfilled for @mariejuli (I HOPE ITS UP TO UR LIKING) bc once you really get to that part of the fic... it gets different for i got an idea that i hope u think is as great as i think it is (that being; the twist in the story)🩵🩵 this piece is the second installment to reminder, which got so much love which im so very grateful for

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you understood very well the implications of you wearing another footballer's kit hence your fiancé having made himself clear as ever not long ago after he caught you repping your friend who is a forward for girona.

omar... had you any idea this is a game that two can play?

another lovely city win - the smallest bit of discouragement from the last minute of the match did sting, that being striker erling haaland's disallowed goal - damn you, var!

though you had no reason for the most part to be unhappy about anything. a vibrant match, no goals conceded by your beloved club... and of course, some hot action from your prospective husband omar marmoush on the pitch... looking very good clad in the colour burgundy.

how don't you even have a kit that colour in your collection yet?

it did not take much digging through your recollection of prior happenings to remember a time you wore a burgundy knit sweater around the house.

...

"this colour is so beautiful on you, habibti." omar's words replayed verbatim in your mind, extracted from that very moment which was not a long while ago. you could remember how obsessed that man was. the way he snaked his arms around your waist from behind you, in front of the mirror, admiring the way that number adorned you.

the way he was being so soft with you made the corners of your lips turn up into a smile. "thank you, my love~" you replied.

...

you found yourself at pitchside hugging omar tightly as you usually do post-match when you're present at the stadium, regardless of the fact that he is all sweaty from playing for what is usually at least a good 70 minutes.

his smile was radiant after such a win. he pressed a kind kiss to your forehead before finally getting to look at you for good.

"nice game, habibti?"

"very nice, you performed amazing as per." you assured him. you always enjoyed yourself when you got to see your man play, and the victory only made it better.

"...and i love this third kit on you." you added.

he shook his head, chuckling. "yeah, you like?"

"yes, very much." you placed a palm on his chest and that really made his heart warm. omar pulled you in again by your waist and continued to kiss your forehead.

"going to go shower, now. i will be so quick, love... before you know it we can have a nap together on the ride home to manchester. love you, okay?"

"love you, habibi~" you smirked, giving him gentle pats on the back before you watched him be on his way. omar looked over his shoulder with a smug grin, at you, before going back to get himself right

it was not long until you saw one of omar's buddies approaching you - erling haaland - city's striker, of whom omar always made amazing gameplay with. it was expected that you'd befriend erling since omar had gotten close to him the day he began training at city - gushing about you to him and the other teammates in the dressing room and all.

"y/n!" the tall norweigan called out to you.

you knew right away who it was calling to you. "erling! what's up!" you beamed. he held out his hand to give you a proper dap up like he does with his teammates, and it was spot on, you two's hands clasping, before he let go and dropped his hand to his side. "nice goal," you continued, "can't believe var didn't allow that second one.."

"eh. what can we do. we won though!" erling shrugged, knowing he did his job as the club's main goalscorer.

"...and say, you have got to match with the team after the win."

you tilted your head at that. "i do match! look - i've got my gear on, no?" you inquired, your grasping at the city badge over your heart with your thumb and index.

"you're basically part of the team thought since you're the other half of omar, here~" erling insisted, already pulling at his kit to come off of him. his form was still clad in the identically coloured longsleeve he kept on underneath the jersey. he held the matchworn kit out to you,

you took it and gave that "bro nod" to erling, a gesture of approval which made him chuckle, in which he did it back to you.

"you can be burgundy like the rest of us, you are now that you have this."

"thanks erl, never actually had a kit in this colour anyway."

"no problem, see you then, y/n," erling concluded, holding his hand out again to dap you up once more before heading off to city's dressing room.

once he was on his way, you looked at the iconic striker's kit in hand...

and an idea really came over you.

you knew exactly how to make use - to give omar payback for last time.

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the following day after the spurs match, you and omar were chilled out together in you two's home in the evening. your fiancé was having a small nap in the living room after an exhausting session of training with his team, which allowed you to take on the bit of housework that omar certainly wouldn't let you lift a finger for if him being awake were the case.

you laundered a good bit of your clothes while he was out of the house training, and now you were finally taking the time to neatly fold and hang your clothes that are now clean. erling's kit from the day before included.

you had a masterplan.

and it took no time to get on it once you it was about time you act on it.

you slipped off the cami that you were already wearing, folding that neatly, before you reached for the burgundy city kit that was face-up, and replaced what you were just wearing as a top, with it.

looking to yourself in your vanity mirror, you smoothed the burgundy athletic fabric over your body.

and the fact that you could already hear stirring from the living room only solidified how certain you were about this being the perfect time to execute your plan - to push omar's buttons.

you were sure this was gonna work on him.

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your omar, looking fine as ever even with a little bit of sleepiness still written in his movements - which were slow and careful, was standing in the dim kitchen getting himself a glass of water.

you slyly watched him, as if he even had a clue you were there, and you could not tear your gaze away from the way his lips wrapped around the rim of the glass, as he delicately sipped, savouring the replenishing feeling a simple glass of water gave him that many would take for granted, for it was the second last sundown until the commencement of ramadan.

he looked so good doing it. the way his adam's apple had shown through as he swallowed, and the way he'd bring the back of his hand to his upper lip as he set down the glass.

you sauntered closer to him with footsteps that made the littlest sound, and smirked at yourself with your plan in mind. you wrapped omar up in a surprise hug from behind, your arms embracing around his waist.

omar grinned at the feeling of your touch, and turned around 180, so that he could made the hug heart to heart. he closed his eyes in bliss, feeling the familiarity of his soon to be wife. "good evening, my love~"

"hey baby~" you replied, trying to play it cool best as possible, not allowing your sneaky plan involving erling's kit to alter your tone into a questionable one. "sleep well?"

"mmh," omar groaned against you, still a bit adorably sleepy. you felt him nod. you giggled and brought your hand to his nape, the weakest amongst all of his spots... feeling his fade.

his senses caught onto the colour that adorned that top half of your body. he hugged you tighter, his hands splayed across your back, rubbing up and down gently.

"mmmhh... love this colour on you, habibti... pretty~"

your lips turned up into a smile and you pulled back to look at omar almost dreamily when he confessed such. the "thank you" you said to him was of the softest voice... you tried to suppress any sneakiness the sound of your voice could convey.

omar returned that sweet look. he was so eager for this sight of you wearing the third kit for the first time. "yes, pretty...

...do a spin quickly for me?"

you were already prepared for what you expected to come your way. so you were feeling yourself, as you gave omar a cute twirl, like you do at his command when it comes down to any sort of outfit that he's just seeing you in.

and lord. the sight of the surname and number on the back of the kit? his eyes narrowed.

"oh, habibti..." omar whispered, his hands caressing your sides up and down.

and suddenly, not a single second was wasted as omar tightened his arms around your waist, lifting you up abruptly, causing you to instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, elbows rested on his shoulders. you were now sat on the kitchen counter.

your arsenal of comebacks was readied. to hold your own amidst omar getting jealous like the last time all over again.

but, wait a second.

why was he smiling?

not with any visible sort of malice laced within his smile either. it was just, pure... his eyes reflecting the minimal warm lighting that illuminated the kitchen from light strips underneath the cupboards.

oh, he had to be putting up a front, though. smiling to conceal some other feeling that kit you had on was giving him.

"beautiful." omar murmured close to your ear.

it wasn't long before he closed the gap of tension and crashed his lips into yours.

"beautiful? when it's not even his kit i'm wearing? weird..." you thought to yourself... it's not his name and number on the kit...

...is it?

you rolled with it anyway, though. "beautiful?" really? he had to have said that sarcastically.

you could never turn down some steamy kissing with your fiancé. and for some reason, strangely enough, omar was particularly happy about getting to do so in this very moment.

the egyptian having his hands all over you, his lips grazing and locking with yours had you near melting.

you were surprised again once you had felt his large hands grasp underneath your thighs that he was standing in between just a second ago, you again taking hold on him by the shoulders as he carried you where he wanted you.

certainly your plan couldn't have him excited?

you were expecting that jealous omar that you encountered the day that your girona friend's name and number were on your back.

but you went along with it anyways, had you not a clue there was something that your man knows, in which you yourself, don't.

omar's kisses lingered about away from your lips as he carried you, as you felt the soft smacks of his lips on the corner of your mouth, your cheek, and your temple. you kept your eyes closed along the way to relish in the sensation the absolute best you could.

you felt yourself being lowered, and in a matter of seconds you were laid by the egyptian footballer on a soft surface - you and omar's bed.

from there on, you opened your eyes just slightly wanting to look at him, but they shut again as soon as omar's mouth found way to your neck to kiss... and lick... and suck.

you tried to catch his drift in the midst of it all - instead of an emotional reaction to another man's name on your back, was he just holding his tongue (in the sense that he'd not speak) ... and just deal with you the way he knew he should in such a situation?

it felt good, nonetheless...

this didn't feel like punishment as you had prospected, though.

"o-omar..."

"shhhh, habibti."

"you know marks show up so easily there, babe... i have places to be tomorrow, please~" you whined, concerned about the hickies omar's passion would inflict unto you, your hand caressing his nape.

"just allow me... you're not getting away from me. not now." he countered.

omar sucked on your neck some more - you could already feel the red marks coming on. that was until he pulled away for air, and stood back up, gesturing to the remaining pieces of clothing from your unfinished chore of folding laundry, which were all piled atop one side of the bed.

"i'm just going to move these, habibti... just on the floor. i'll finish the chores when i've taken care of you."

"if you insist, love."

as omar was about to move your laundered clothes from the bed, he first reached out to a number that had seemed to catch his eye. your eyes followed...

...a burgundy man city kit...

...with "haaland" and the number nine scribed across the back?

omar chuckled. "since when did you have this?"

"omar i- i'm so confused right now..."

"i'm just as confused!"

you stammered, heart racing. omar's expression didn't even convey any sort of agitation, though. he was just smiling with his eyebrow raised, having a bit of a laugh.

"how the heck do i have two third kits, omar?!"

"habibti, the one you're wearing right now was my surprise for you!"

you stopped and stood up, just looking around as any person who'd have no clue what's happening would do. then you caught onto your reflection in the vanity mirror, and turned your back.

there it read;

marmoush. 7.

"see, my surprise! i tossed my kit from yesterday's match with the clothes you wanted to put washing...

...where'd this come from, though!" omar asked, holding up erling's kit.

"i wanted you get onto your nerves on purpose with a kit that wasn't yours!"

omar's laughter grew. "no wonder haaland came back into the dressing room after the rest of us guys with just his long sleeves!"

you began to laugh with him. "yeah! because we got caught up in a chat... he gave me his match kit... and i just took it because, i mean, he's iconic."

still laughing softly at this whole situation, omar shook his head, his vision flickering between you in his kit, and erling's kit that was in his hands.

"oh, sweetie." he dropped erling's kit, and outstretched his arms to you, as he sat back onto the edge of the bed. "come. come here."

and you folded instantly, hurrying to practically pounce into your man's lap, straddling him and stealing a deep kiss from him - which took him by surprise... but he eased into it sooner than anyone could think. omar leant back until he was laying down, you on top of him, the laundry underneath your bodies, forgotten.

that went on for a satisfying bit, and in time you both pulled away simultaneously to look each other in the eyes. omar took your chin between his thumb and index gently.

"silly girl." he smirked.

"omar, stopppp~"

"and you had no idea you were actually wearing my kit, habibti... looking so mine."

"i learned from last time that provoking you could be very fun. that was my intention~"

"so sneaky... you know how to be a little devil, you do."

he kissed you deep again, and you two got the remnants of joyous laughter out together, just thinking about how hysterical it was how events never unfolded according to your plan. the laughter faded slowly, until omar and you were left in a tender moment, one another's foreheads resting against each other's gently.

"but hey..." omar started. "if you are being serious about seeing that side of me...

...i dare you to put on erling's kit one of these days."

[petals2fish]

Happy birthday to my angel princess gorgeous bestie @victoria8719 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕 your birthday fic is coming, but I love it so much it’s turned into a multi chapter.

Here’s a sneak peek:

In Sickness and In Health:

"You marry me," James said with a mischievous grin, "and I'll hand over the money for that potion right now."

Lily raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I'm pretty sure that might be illegal, James."

He waved a hand dismissively, the twinkle in his eyes never fading. "It’s not illegal.”

“Besides, you don’t want to marry me. I come with plenty of baggage." Lily chuckled, but the tension in her shoulders didn’t quite disappear.

"Lily," he said with a snort, "I think I’ve got my own fair share of baggage."

"Touché," she replied, reluctantly amused. "But seriously, what do you even get out of this?"

James leaned back in his chair, the grin never leaving his face. "I get a wife who doesn’t care if all I want to do is play Quidditch all day, and I get to avoid marrying Amalie Greengrass."

Lily blinked, momentarily thrown off. "Amalie Greengrass? You mean the Amalie Greengrass? The Head Girl last year?"

"Yeah, she just graduated from Hogwarts," James replied, trying to mask his growing irritation, though the edge in his voice was unmistakable. "My parents think she'd be a good match for me."

"But—James!" Lily's eyes went wide in disbelief. "She was one of our students?"

James shrugged casually, taking another gulp from his firewhisky bottle. "Pureblood families don’t care much about age gaps. My dad’s ten years older than my mum."

Lily grimaced. "That’s insane."

"They’re perfect for each other, though," James said, his tone softening slightly. "It’s rare, sure, but they met later in life, and it worked for them."

Lily shook her head, nose wrinkled in distaste. "Still crazy."

James chuckled, unfazed. "Okay, hear me out. You marry me, and you get access to my vault in Gringotts. You wouldn’t have to act like my wife unless we’re with my parents. We’d just be friends, and I’d help you with whatever you need."

Lily stared at him, her mind racing. This was absurd. But, weirdly, there was something tempting about the simplicity of his offer. James wasn’t looking for a fairy tale. He was offering something practical—an arrangement where they both got what they wanted, without the usual complications.

She sighed, rubbing her temples. "I don’t think you’ve thought this through, James."

His grin only grew wider, as if he was already ten steps ahead. "Come on, Lily. Think about it. You need a potion, I need a way out, and we both need a bit of chaos. What’s the harm?"

Lily narrowed her eyes, still skeptical but undeniably entertained. "You’re either brilliant or completely mad."

James raised his glass in a mock toast. "Oh, definitely brilliant."

She snorted, fighting the urge to admit just how much she was considering the whole absurd idea. "What about work?"

James shrugged nonchalantly. "What about it?"

"Uh, remember our onboarding meeting last year?" Lily asked. "Minnie made it clear that she’s strict about Professors not being in relationships with each other."

"That’s fine," he said, "it’s not like we’ll be anything different than we are now. You keep your last name, keep whatever you want. I’m just giving you access to my vault so you can afford the potion you need to stay healthy."

[dragon-susceptible]

Different Path Taken Ch17 P3

Another section! This might be the last one and I might need to make another chapter for any more antics in the village, at this point the three sections are 4.5k words long altogether, so. They should be done unless I wanna add the leechleaf scene though, since a lot of what the boys go through isn't any different than the show. After this, it's off to report to the other assassins.

Ram found Rayla stalking after the man in an alley near the edge of town.  She had been careful to remain out of sight, and the two of them quickly made their way to a rooftop to follow him when Ram’s presence made him bolt.  It was almost too easy, running light-footed across the rooftops, leaping from one to the next, herding him into an isolated part of town.  Ram’s blood lit excitedly with the chase.

They cornered him almost too soon.  He whipped the dagger out and turned to face the alley, and Ram smirked down at him and glanced at Rayla.

“I’ll go down behind him,” She signed, silent, and grinned back at him. 

“When he turns, I’ll drop in on his other side,” He agreed, also signing, and gestured for her to go.  She bounced over to the wall behind the man and dropped down behind him.

He whirled around to face her, brandishing the dagger. “I won that money fair and square,” He said defensively.

Ram dropped down behind him. “Oh, we’re not looking for money.” He drawled, and the stranger stumbled, turning so he could see both of them with his dark eyes wild with sudden fear.

“Then what do you want?” He demanded.

“We want your help.” Rayla said firmly.

With a glance between them, the human slowly straightened up, his fear morphing to skeptical curiosity. “With what?” He asked warily.

“That dagger.” Ram said.

The human started to back up again, and Rayla held out her hands to stop him. “Wait!  We don’t want tae take it from you, we just want to borrow your blade to cut these.” She held out her hand and showed him the binding on her wrist, tugging it away from her glove. 

“Oh, you just wanna borrow it, huh?” The human said skeptically. “Do you know how valuable this thing is?”

“Oh, yes,” Ram growled, still rankling at seeing his fucking knife being bandied about, used in bets and swindling, by some human.  He bit back his urge to claim it, not wanting to be identified as an elf.  It had his name inscribed on the hilt in elvish script.

Rayla held up her hands again. “Fine, you hold it, just cut these things off us,” She begged him.  Ram wondered if she was intentionally playing up her youth to gain sympathy from the stranger.

The human straightened up again, giving her a critical look. “But it’ll burn you.”

“I don’t care.  Just do it, please!” She pleaded, holding out her wrist.  The human finally relaxed a little bit more, and nodded carefully.

Ram saw what was happening just in time and stepped around between them. “Absolutely not.  We’re trying mine first.” He said firmly to Rayla. 

Rayla scowled at him. “This whole thing was my idea,” She argued. “An’ your gloves are important, you have tools in them.   Mine are just gloves.”

“If this doesn’t work, Runaan will be furious if I bring you back to camp with a burned arm and nothing to show for it,” Ram said. “I’m not willing to take a chance with you.”

Rayla scowled deeper. “Either he’s mad at you or I am.” She said flatly. “Who’d you rather take your chances with?”

She looked like an angry shadowcub when she pouted like that, but she had laid Ram out often enough in training that he winced at the idea of being on her bad side.  That said, she could be a jerk to him, but she didn’t actually have any authority over him, and Runaan could do both. “You.” He said just as flatly. “I’m not arguing with your father, Rayla.”

She looked ready to spit, but she folded her arms and stepped back. “Fine.”

Ram turned towards the human, who fortunately had not run away while they argued, and who was looking warily between them.  He held out his wrist. “We’re not taking questions.”

“Right.” The human said, and took hold of Ram’s hand to steady it.  Ram balled it into a fist to disguise how his fifth finger wasn’t really there, and braced himself as the heat drew closer to his wrist.

Predictably, as the human tried to set the blade to his wrist like he was slicing something, his glove caught on fire first and he had to jerk free to put it out.  He hissed with pain but doubted his skin was actually burned beneath the thick leather. “Don’t slice, idiot, it’s a sunforge blade, all you have to do is set the heat to what you actually want to cut.”

“You know a lot about these blades, do you?” The human asked warily. 

Ram scowled at him. “Never mind.  Try this.” He tugged the binding away from his glove, wincing at how it bit into the back of his wrist, and held his arm out again.

The human carefully threaded the knife into the gap and tried to cut the binding free.  Ram’s glove once again caught fire, and Ram snarled through the pain until the human flinched away from it and lost hold of the blade.  When Ram flinched too his binding snapped tight again, pinning the searing blade to his wrist, and he felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him as he stumbled backwards.

Rayla caught him and yanked the dagger free of his binding, his wounds instantly cauterized in its heat, and Ram felt like his voice was just burning on the inside as he quickly fell to his knees to pin his hand to the snow.  He put out the fire and just left his burning wrist down there, shuddering as he breathed through his teeth. “It’s no use.  We can’t cut them.” He said, eyes burning with a combination of pain and helplessness in the face of having this slim hope snatched away.

“Are you okay?” Rayla asked worriedly from above him.

Ram shook his head. “Burned, but I’ll be fine.  Good gloves go a long way.” He winced as he looked at the condition his left glove had been left in, halfway to tatters on the inner side, but stood up and dusted himself off nonetheless.

Rayla looked from the dagger to him to the human and back to him.  She carefully handed it to him. “Ram . . . the dagger.  It is yours, it’s got your name inscribed in it.”

“I knew it!” The human gasped. “You’re elves!”

Ram sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, and at least Rayla looked appropriately ashamed of herself.

“Rayla, go meet me where we agreed earlier.” Ram said firmly. “I’ll handle this.”

Rayla hesitated, giving him a hard look. “No killin’, Ram,” She reminded just as firmly. “No maiming either.”

“We’re just going to talk.” Ram promised her. “Just go.”

With one last searching look at him and a frown, Rayla obeyed. 

Once she was out of earshot, Ram turned to face the human, who was half–crouched and looking once again wild-eyed and terrified. “Please don’t hurt me.  Just take the dagger, just let me go.” The man begged.

“I’m not going to take it from you.” Ram said though it felt like pulling teeth, and backed the man up until he fell down into the snow and cowered there.  Ram crouched in front of him and showed him the blade. “I’m going to give this back to you.”

The human glanced from him to the dagger. “What’s the catch?”

“You’re going to keep your mouth shut about us.” Ram said, patiently, voice deadly soft, holding the human’s gaze with his own. “You’re the only one in this town who’s managed to see through the illusions hiding us, so believe me, if the torches and pitchforks start coming out, I will know who told everyone.  We’ve already gotten what we need from this little village, and we’re leaving.  You’re going to keep quiet and let us leave without any trouble.  If you don’t . . .” Ram slowly sank the knife into the stone on the ground between them. “I will come back for you.  And it doesn’t matter how far you run, how well you hide, or how fast you get there.  I will find you.  And when I do, you will wish I had just killed you now.  Do you understand?”

The human nodded jerkily, breath coming in harsh pants.  Ram flared his nostrils and could swear he smelled piss, and his lip curled with disgust.

“I want you to say the words, human.”

“I - I understand.” The human said shakily. 

“So what are you going to do once I leave?”

The human trembled. “N-nothing.”

“Try again.”

Sweat was dripping from his brow now. “I’m - I’m not going to tell anyone about you or - or your girl.”

“Oh, she’s not mine.  But close enough.” Ram snapped his right hand out and grasped the man by the jaw to enforce their eye contact, digging his finger into the hinge of his jaw. “Any questions?”

The man opened and shut his mouth once before daring to ask, “Is the knife actually yours?”

“It was.” Ram admitted, and tightened his grip on his jaw until the man whimpered. “So appreciate that I’m leaving it with you, and keep your mouth shut.”

The human nodded weakly, as best he could with Ram’s grip on his jaw.

“Good.” Ram let go of him roughly and strode out of the alleyway without a glance back until he reached its mouth.  When he did look, the human was still trembling in the snow.

Good.  They would be long gone by the time he regained his senses enough to tell anyone about them or come after them, and he’d be a laughingstock in the town if they couldn’t be found.  Ram smirked to himself and went to rejoin Rayla and the humans at the statue, though his smirk faded quickly as he remembered their respective missions.  With only dried leechleaf in the village for Andromeda, he hoped the humans had found better news for the egg.

[foryoupeko]

I wanted to base Peko’s adoptive mom / sword teacher off her beta concept

This is what I got so far

- Her name is Kanata Pekoyama (get it, katana, kanata)

- Her family was a famous sword family in feudal Japan, their strict training regiment made the most powerful samurais

- Because the needs for swordsman dwindled in the modern age, and due to how strict they were, the Pekoyama dojo went on a rapid decline

- The Kuzuryus saved their dojo by becoming their benefactor, thus started the relationship between the Kuzuryus and Pekoyamas

- Kanata was the next heir to the dojo. Because of her training, she suppressed all her emotions and kept her cards close to her chest. Her guilty pleasure are gaudy ribbons and bad anime

- The Pekoyama dojo taught their disciples that you must devote yourself to the sword. Feelings only dull the sword.

- Kanata was also raised that she was just a tool for the Kuzuryu clan. She didn’t question it as long her family dojo was still being supported.

- Kiyotaka’s Grandfather, made a deal with the Kuzuryus to get rid of his illegitimate child, Peko

- Instead of killing her, Fuyuhiko’s father gave her to Kanata to train

- Kanata, which means distant in Japanese, was an emotionally distant mother. Being forced with this responsibility, she didn’t see herself as Peko’s mom.

- No matter what, Kanata would prioritize their sword training. She would turn everything into training.

- Kanata has resting bitch face and never complimented Peko

- Kanata eventually warmed up to Peko, and they did fun things like go to an old carousel. Still, Kanata acted more like an older sister than a mother

- Kanata died protecting Fuyuhiko’s father when Peko was still young. With everything in clarity during her final moments, her last request to Fuyuhiko’s father was to let Peko leave the Kuzuryu clan.

- Fuyuhiko’s dad kept this a secret from Peko and told her that Kanata was happy to die for the Kuzuryus

- Peko went to the carousel her mother used to take her and cried.

- Fuyuhiko followed her but felt weird trying to comfort her so he just awkardly watched her from a far. Now he hates carousel

Thats all I got for now. Not very important for my SDR2 ch2 redraw but yall gonna see her more in the future. I have comic ideas

Kanata: Remember, you have to strike down anything that might threaten the young master

Peko: Even a cute puppy?

Kanata: Would you rather have a puppy or the young master?

Peko: … well I guess the puppy couldn’t be that good if they’re attacking people

Kanata: that’s right -(๑☆‿ ☆#)ᕗ

Peko: how do you make that sound with your mouth

Kanata: anime