#i think it's safe to say translations are on a pause for now

[deaddriv]

Translated with permission! Artist on Twitter (@achu_0u0) and original posts.

[zhongrin]

festered wounds

— when you’ve never been the first choice your whole life, it’s hard to accept the possibility that you could be loved.

© zhongrin | 2023  ✼  no repost・translations・plagiarism of any kind・ai data mining. rebloggers get a free cup of tea ♡

✼ characters ┈ zhongli, al haitham, wriothesley

✼ tags ┈ gn!reader, this is more of a vent drabble, hurt with comfort, reader with massive insecurity issues, implied past trauma, slight blood & gore in the portrayal of ‘hurt’

✼ a/n ┈ this…. got really personal, haha. i wrote this in a bad headspace, so apologies if it got depressing or if it’s of a low quality. i didn't want to have this in my drafts and i certainly don't want to bring it to 2024 so i'm just posting this now.

ᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴍᴇɴᴜ (ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ)  ✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ)

“i’m sorry.”

zhongli’s heart dropped at the words escaping your lips. this was certainly the most unexpected response you could give to his confession, seeing the promising recent developments in your relationship — and so celestia forgive him, he had to pause to gather his thoughts. this made you fidget even more under his gaze, and so you succumbed to your frazzled nerves to continue in a more panicked voice.

“i’m sorry, mr. zhongli, i know you’re not the type to resort to deceit or find joy in toying with people’s feelings, but i’m just— i can’t—” you trailed off, feeling your chest tighten in pain.

“please, hold your tongue for a moment,” the refined man held out one of his hand to settle onto your shoulder comfortingly. his expression was a mixture of worry and confusion, eyebrows furrowing in a sign of distress. “are you saying that you… do not believe my words? you think i have malicious intentions?”

“….. i’m sorry, i’m just not used to- i’ve never-” you stumbled over your words and squeezed your eyes shut, “i’m sorry….”

zhongli watched you for a moment, observing the smallest ticks and the story behind your body language. you looked so vulnerable, like a scared animal instinctively cowering at some invisible threat. you looked as if someone had stripped away a bandage that had been haphazardly wrapped around a wound left unattended for so long, it had festered into an abomination, eating away at you slowly, even now.

belatedly, he realized that ‘someone’ was himself.

zhongli inhaled deeply, his palm leaving your shoulder. this time, he took his hands to tenderly grab your fingers, lifting them up to silently plead for your attention. your eyes were troubled and full of storms, the rain and lighting reflecting on your expression as a solemn flutter of your eyelashes and sorrowful downturn of your lips. the slight tremble of your body reflected the silent call for help from a blemished heart that never had the courage to forget.

“my dearest. i see the pain you have gone through. i have yet to know the tales that had marred your heart, but i want you to know that i am willing to be the pair of ears you tell your grievances to, and you can be rest assured that they will be safe with me. i know my words will not be enough to convince you otherwise at this moment… however, you must forgive my impatience, for it stems out of genuine love. i simply must humbly ask once again—”

“— please, give me a chance to heal you.”

“a-are you sure you want me?”

out of the 18 different responses he anticipated, al haitham did not expect this. however, his surprise merely manifested in the rising of both of his eyebrows and the subtle shift on his legs.

“unlike the consensus the public seemed to have one-sidedly agreed on, i am not foolish enough in the matter of romance as to confess to someone i do not hold deep affection and great care for,” he said in the same tone as the moment he asked if you would consider taking your relationship into the ‘officially dating’ phase, “is it not obvious? kaveh claimed i was ‘laying it on thick’ and cyno had noted of how i treat you better than how i treat the dendro archon.”

“oh….”

“….”

“….”

you thought you had gotten used to al haitham’s stare with how much you both had been hanging out, but right now you couldn’t seem to lift your head. the scholar crossed his arms, waiting patiently for your response. you were both gratuitous and dreading his resilience.

“i-i still think you could do better, though. i mean, look at you! you’re so fit, so wouldn’t you feel better if your partner is more of the sporty type? and you’re the top graduate of the haravatat darshan, so you would pair better with someone smarter…. a-and someone like me will just drag you down; aesthetically speaking, i… uh, leave much to be desired while you’re… you know…”

you spoke of such illogical assumptions and erroneous advices that he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. you spoke of belittling yourself as if you were used to riding on the rails of insurmountably low dip of the self-esteem cliff for years. you spoke of these things as if you were repeating words someone told you at least once in your life.

and it angered him.

but he wasn’t angry at you. he was angry for you.

funny how empathy wasn’t his strong suit, and yet he jumped on the bandwagon as easily as an otter taking off into the waters the moment it came to you and your emotions.

“i care not for such shallow qualifications when it comes to seeking a partner. your presence triggers the relevant hormones that make me feel relaxed and comfortable, and my mind spontaneously seek for your attention. it’s only logical that i seek for an arrangement that would ensure these pleasant things to happen and develop further.”

“you’re the best choice for a partner, simply because i wish to spend the rest of my life with you; and i think that's enough.”

“i don’t think i’m a good choice for you…”

wriothesley looked as if you had pinpointed his weak point in a boxing match and delivered a straight jab right onto it. his lips slacked open and his body froze as he tried to process your words, the meaning behind it, the—

he inhaled deeply and punched his own fist into his palm, stretching his jaw with a growl before a darker tone took over his voice.

“alright, who’s been talking shit? let me at them. it won’t be manslaughter if they don’t die, right?”

he watched as your nervously fiddling fingers stopped twisting around each other, your eyes widened in shock and alarm at his words. briefly, he praised himself inwardly for being able to switch your mood at the snap of his fingers. now if only he could do that, but instead of surprise-and-horror, it could turn into surprise-and-joy instead…

“what?! wait- no! no one said that, i ju—”

“then is your own head telling you that?”

“it’s—” you gulped, gaze slowly breaking away.

he sensed a secret kept safe under the heaviest chains and locks. pain that had nearly torn up that warm heart of yours, shoved into the furthest part of you in a desperate attempt to save yourself; to silence the damned screams and the river of curses that would have made you self-destruct. he saw the remains of the thousands of needles that had embedded itself deep inside your worn heart a long time ago, and yet still it beat and struggled to not bleed out and drown you in its venomous blood.

he saw a heart as scarred as his skin, and he understood.

“..… alright, sweetheart, listen up, and listen close.”

the man’s hands suddenly cradled your cheeks, his icy blue eyes penetrating your clouded gaze. his whole demeanor had shifted into gentle and loving, as if he was holding his entire world in the palms of his hands. he resisted the urge to kiss you when you couldn’t help but lean onto his touch, instinctively seeking comfort.

he would do you better. he would give you the kind of love you’ve yet to experience. there were so much he wanted to say, but he chose to speak of the reassurance he thought you needed most at this moment.

“i say you’re the perfect choice for me. let me prove it to you.”

✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ) ┈ @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sunnshineflxwer | @yuutasbabe | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @marina-and-the-memes | @mixed-kester | @lordbugs | @anonymousficreader | @shizunxie | @ansy-tea | @irethepotato | @sassy-cat-in-town | @syrenkitsune | @smokipoki | @cakeboxie | @crystalflygeo | @ciexuvia | @illaasya | @celestewritestoomuch | @pams-comfortzone | @spidermanluvr444 | @ourstrawberryclouds | @ryuryuryuyurboat

[radiance1]

"Old fuck!" Said Dan as he kicked down the wall to Vlad's office. Vlad only let out a sigh, apologizing for the noise and then ending the meeting right then and there. He glanced over at Dan and wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Do you truly have no concept of a door?"

"It's more fun this way," He mentioned offhandedly as he stomped his way over the Vlad's desk and slammed his hands down on it. "Do something for me!"

Vlad, silently, moured the loss of another table and those three glorious months of peace. He looked Dan in the eyes and raised an eyebrow. "And what, exactly, do you want me to do for you?"

"So you know Superman-"

"No."

Dan reared back like he'd been slapped. "The fuck!? You didn't even hear me out yet!"

"I don't need to." Vlad calmly sipped at his tea that wasn't there a second ago, and then let out another sigh. "And do stop screaming obscenities at me, it is horribly low-class and you're better than that."

"You're only saying that because I'm a fusion of you." Dan pointed out with a deadpan expression. Vlad snorted. "Obviously."

"Hear me out and I'll think about it."

Vlad sighed again, crunching away at a cookie -seriously where is he getting all of this??- before waving a hand in Dan's direction that basically said "Go on."

"Alright so Superman, you know the guy and you most certainly know his weakness." He swipped a cookie, then continued at Vlad's nod. "Kryptonite, nasty stuff yea. You know who uses Kryptonite the most out of basically everyone?"

"Lex Luthor."

"Lex fucking Luthor."

Vlad placed his teacup onto the desk, threading his fingers together and resting his chin on them as he stared the fusion down. "You know, if you wanted me to... complicate, his gathering of Kryptonite. You could have just led with that."

"Would it have worked?" Dan genuinely asked.

"I would have thought it over a bit more before my refusal." Vlad answered and Dan growled. "Just accept already you old-timer."

"Now, now. If I didn't know any better, I would think that you were perhaps, worried about the Man of Steel himself?" At that, Vlad's eyes turned red as a playful smirk graced his lips.

Dan's eyes narrowed as he lifted a finger towards Vlad acusingly. "Don't you dare try your mind control bullshit on me."

Vlad chuckled. "Oh I would not dream of it, I was merely..." Vlad's eyes shined with mirth as he deliberately paused. "Stating an assumption."

Dan hissed, translating his sheer annoyance through ghost speak while Vlad respond back with a purr. More than throuoghly pleased.

Usually, it was the other way around.

"You can go to hell with your assumptions." He leaned over the desk, destroying it even further as he his claws dug into it. "Either you deal with him or I'll do it myself."

Vlad stared him down for a good few moments, the room falling silent as they stared each other down. Vlad sighed. "Fine, I don't need your little temper tantrum leaving me with such a giant mess to clean up." He tapped a button under his desk -mercifully safe from the destruction- and waved Dan away. "Now if you will excuse yourself, I have a few calls to make, a desk to replace, you know the works."

Dan nodded and over to the giant hole in the wall before pausing. He reached out with ghost speak, sending out a violent threat through intent if he did not follow through.

Vlad simply responded with nonchalance, exasperation, and even a bit of annoyance.

A few weeks later

Lex Luthor is livid.

Someone has been buying up all of the Kryptonite before he could get to it, which should be impossible in itself. But no, then they proceeded to mess with the shipments he managed to get his hands on, interrupt deals to acquire them and even outright destroyed a few.

He has his own stockpile for emergencies, yes. But it's very noticeably dwindling.

Meanwhile with Vlad

"Now what exactly am I supposed to do with all of this?" Vlad asked himself, staring at the large pit of Kryptonite capable of filling multiple warehouses.

Honestly, it was utterly useless to him.

[inchidentally]

Oscar picking up the “training camp” and Lando’s proud “uh huh!”

Oscar saying “we’re back” way too much and Lando teasing him

Lando saying “you did” to Montenegro idk that’s adorable bc like we can safely assume they filled each other in either once they got back or during the trips

Oscarisms like “well, laid on the rocks… cuz there’s no sand” tickling Lando like they tickle us lasfgljsagfjla

Lando clearly not knowing what’s in the south west of France

the mirroring each other’s words !! Oscar predicting Lando’s words by default whenever Lando pauses bc Lando might have gotten stuck !! idk I think I’ve said before but it feels like their little coded way of doing these videos bc it feels so silly to be talking to each other like talk show hosts on camera so they do their little mirroring as an inside joke and just…they are so mutually disinterested in making their dynamic and relationship PR-ified or translating it for fans and media that they keep doing those shared looks and little in-joke moments bc it feels so weird to play ‘pretend talking’ for the cameras - and Lando always saying things like how he sees himself as “relaxed” and similar to Lando in being “just a normal guy” and then them both choosing to not share their downtime with fans at all. for all that we love how we get so much high quality content from Lando w Carlos and Daniel, it’s interesting how evident it is now that Lando really did lean on those two for how camera-friendly and easy with the public their dynamics and relationships were and are. Lando being easy to get along with is all down to him tbh it’s just a quality he has - but that now we’re seeing a much more naturally Lando-type teammate relationship with Oscar bc he’s actually as nervous/anxious around cameras and crowds as Oscar is.

so idk I say it allllll the time but it’s just rly cute how they squirrel away and have their little privacy door at the hub and then when they have to peep their heads out and be on camera or on stage they all but huddle together and hold hands and eyeball everyone warily. (probably also why they get the twins from the shining comparison salfgalfjgal bc the finishing sentences and mirroring can easily be creepy if you don’t think it’s cute ???)

and as always Oscar babe Lando didn't say anything that funny it's just a comment about neck training <3 <3

[marichild]

satosugu fics i entreat everyone to read

these are just some of the amazing fics I’ve read! I highly recommend every single one to my fellow satosugu lovers. you won’t regret it, I promise.

Carry Me Home by @valleykey [58.4k, completed, T]

The boy shifts on his feet. “The year is two thousand and eighteen? Common Era?” Slowly, smile still plastic on his face, Suguru faces Satoru. This fucking dumbass. “Satoru,” he says, dangerous edge to his voice, “what did you do?” Satoru makes some bastardization of a sound, half between a laugh and a cough.  “...Whoops?”  “I,” Suguru grits, pinching two fingers together, “am this close to mass murder.” He’s joking.  Probably.  ///OR: Shortly before Geto would have massacred a village, he and Gojo are thrust eleven years forward into a would-have-been future that Geto is conspicuously absent from.

愛のある場所; river of light (that brings me to you) by @yuzudetergent [66.8k, completed, T]

A lesson in love is a lesson in swimming. Except for Suguru, it's getting dropped into the deep end with the tide licking at his neck, no kickboard or life preserver keeping him afloat. (Or: This is how Satoru finds the ocean.)

achilles, only the dead stay seventeen forever by getou_suguru (dheiress) [7.9k, ongoing, T]

He looks like a little kid, insouciant and irreverent, smiling at you like that. This is how you want to remember him. “Winter snow melts into Spring, of course!” You open your mouth to laugh and laugh and laugh and— His breath tastes, inexplicably, like spun sugar and honey on your tongue.  (Gojou Satoru is not a God, not yet. But He will be and you think (you know) that you will be  the first to kneel in worship and offer Him your blood, your flesh. Build Him a temple inside the circle of your arms until He sinks inside your ribcage, there to dwell safe and sound and beating just for you.)  ((Pay attention, now. This is a story about how a boy—the Hallowed one, the enlightenment of all, the one who rose high above others, the one and only—fell.))

Always an Angel (Never a God) by 0atmlk [44.6k, ongoing, M]

"The first time I saw the sunset here, I wanted to send you a picture."  Suguru looked at him, surprised. "Why didn't you?"  "Because I knew you’d been here before on your own, it was probably something you'd seen plenty of times." Satoru paused. "But I almost did. Opened it and everything to send to you. Then I saw the date of the last message you sent. We were pushing year three. So I didn't." . . .  Suguru finds Satoru at fifteen. Satoru finds him at twenty-eight.

I’m Sorry: In Various Translations by @koifishscribbles [45.9k, ongoing, M]

The coffee in Satoru’s stomach curdles. He feels the weight of every one if those eight years roll through his entire body like an earthquake. All the missed sleep clings to his eyes, and the unsent texts threaten to erupt from his mouth. Getou Suguru. It is not that his stitches unravel. Those took years to craft, cinched with vitriol, and won’t be undone in a single moment. It’s his very being that unspools onto the dirty linoleum floor. He wants Suguru to pick him up and untangle the length of him. His fingers once again becoming familiar as they expertly craft him into something new, better.  —— Gojo Satoru has not seen his ex, Getou Suguru, since college. Until he shows up one day teaching in the classroom across the hall from him.

an anthology of bad ideas by ilovegetosuguru [9.5k, completed, gen]

Gojo panics and asks a very attractive stranger to be his fake boyfriend for a wedding.  Here’s the problem — there’s no wedding.  (Fake Dating AU)

april pink by @valleykey [3k, completed, gen]

“Dude,” Satoru says, first thing off the train, glasses sliding down, wide eyes peering over the rim, “you have, like, flowers. In your lungs.” “Oh really,” Suguru says, dry, “I hadn't noticed.”

Puppet On A String by @killjoyproductions [6.8k, completed, E]

“Huh,” he muses. “Are you… saving yourself for marriage?”  “Nope.”  “Are you asexual?”  Satoru shakes his head. “I’m not asexual, just a virgin.”

Autonomic Breath by finalproject [10.9k, completed, E]

She turns to Satoru and asks, "When did you know?"

Lies That Bind by Anonymous [48.1k, ongoing, E]

“Really now,” Gakuganji snorted, doubtful. “How convenient. Who is this alpha, then?” And of course, Satoru had seen that question coming as soon as his claim of having a mate was halfway out of his mouth, but by that point he was already talking and it was too late to stop. “So nosy.” He wagged his finger in a tut-tut motion in the geezer’s face, watching him turn a horrible shade of angry red. “It’s Geto Suguru, of course.” Satoru's sick and tired of all the higher-ups insisting he needs to find an alpha and settle down just because he's an omega, and the simple lie that Suguru is his mate seems like the easiest way to get some peace and quiet. What could go wrong?

like the tides, never standing still. by antepuer [1.1k, completed, T]

“I fucking hate it sometimes.” Suguru taps the ash off and looks at him. Puppy-dog eyes, has no idea what Satoru refers to, but it would be far from the first time. “What do you mean?” “Being queer.” He finally admits. “It fucking sucks.”

once we have sufficiently tortured one another by irrevenance [4.6k, completed, E]

Suguru’s throat goes dry. “You’re no longer a sorcerer,” he realizes, a hysterical laugh bubbling in his throat in response to the sick joke that has laid itself before him. “And you came to me?” “Yes,” Satoru says pleasantly. “What will you do about it,” and here he lowers both his eyelashes and his tone, a mockery of seduction, “Getou-sama?”

the dream house by irrevenance [6.1k, completed, E]

Suguru adopts two little girls, marries Satoru, and becomes a teacher. It’s not enough.

where shall we go tomorrow? by elivellichor [15k, ongoing, T]

“Who the hell are you, and what the fuck do you want from me?” a raspy voice hisses, breath on the shell of his ear, knocking Suguru out of his daze. Suguru tilts his chin up to better meet his pursuit face to face and goes breathless. Enraged and fiery cerulean eyes stare down at him with a twisted expression. This child is undeniably Gojo Satoru. He can’t imagine any other with a disposition so fiery and confrontational.  Or: an indulgent age-regression fic featuring One (1) Baby Gojo Satoru and One (1) Very Tired Geto Suguru feat. healing <3

Caesura by @cielelyse [85.5k, completed, M]

The first time they meet, Suguru and Satoru do not like each other. Arrogant, cocky, insufferable, they think. Despite the smirks Shoko gives Suguru, or the sighs Yaga gives Satoru, they do not like each other. Until a mission changes that.

it's not gay unless the domains touch by @hollow-lime-green [40.2k, completed, E]

Funny thing is, when you put up walls made of infinity, you don’t expect people to start slipping in. And you certainly don’t expect to start wanting them to. Gojo Satoru never had a chance to get used to people touching him. Suguru gets that, and he’s happy to help. That’s what good friends do, right? Alternatively: Geto Suguru is the most oblivious man alive.

two sorcerers chillin' in a hot tub (five feet apart cause they’re not gay) by @hollow-lime-green

Geto Suguru has almost two decades of practice pretending not to see things that are clearly there, and Gojo Satoru has a well-documented history of being the most socially-stunted motherfucker alive. That’s how they got here. That’s also why neither of them know where the hell they’re going with this.

BONUS! Baby Mine by @seaemberthesecond

There was something just slightly off in every interaction between Gojo-sensei and Fushiguro and once Yuji’d begun to notice it, he couldn’t unsee it. It wasn’t a bad kind of off – at least he didn’t think so – but it was just different from the way either of them acted around everyone else. * Or, Yuji's journey to discovering that Megumi is Gojo's baby boy, featuring: an insane amount of simping, the mundane indignities of being a parent, and a lot of Yuji snooping in places he really shouldn't be.

(aka, that fic I go back to all the time. gojo being megumi’s dad will never not be one of my favorite things ever.) (clearly)

[starry-bi-sky]

more clone^2

snippet 21: Danny is Bruce Wayne's Clone and--

Star, with the rest of the A-List girls: alright ladies! it's time for our quarterly 'cutest boys' list! Now I'll get straight to the point, in our number one spot is--

All girls, in unison: Danny Fenton

Star, writing it down on a whiteboard: and for our number two spot--

---------- Snippet 22: clone meet clone

Ellie, dramatically: Danny!

Danny, equally dramatic: Ellie!

Ellie, pushing past him and looking around: where is he! i wanna see the little guy!

Damian, with a sword, brandishing it dangerously: *in arabic* don't come any closer, stay back!

Danny, wrapping an arm around Ellie's waist and pulling her back: woah, woah - he's still adjusting to everything

Danny, turning towards Damian with his google translate open: [please don't stab her. this is Ellie my clone.]

Damian, lowering his sword in disbelief: 'there's MORE of you?

-------------- Snippet 23: Ellie has the same epiphany as Danny

Ellie:...hey Danny

Danny, pouring over his arabic book: hm

Ellie: since I'm your clone, and you're a clone of Bruce Wayne, and Damian is a clone of Damian Wayne, does that technically mean I'm his mom - uh. dad-mom?

Danny:

Ellie:...its a fair question

Danny: .....*deep sigh* you're his cousin until further notice.

------------ Snippet 24: wait for me ii (hadestown, live vers.)

(i'm not sure of the context, but i've been thinking of Danny saying this to Damian during a serious moment for days. the snippet title is the song that the dialogue below is from)

Danny, fixing up Damian's wraith suit: the meanest dog you'll ever meet

Danny, zipping up damian's jacket: it ain't the hound dog in the street. he bares some teeth and tears some skin, but brother,

Danny, adjusting Damian's gloves, pausing to look him in the eye: that's the worst of him.

Danny, he holds a finger up to Damian's eyes and points it at him: the dog you really got to dread, is the one that howls inside your head

Danny, grabbing damian's mask and smoothing it over his eyes: it's him whose howling drives men mad, and a mind to its undoing

------------ Snippet 25: Danny is Bruce Wayne's clone-- (Battinson Vers*)

Ember, in the middle of a fight with Phantom + Wraith:

Ember, knocks off Phantom's mask for the first time: lets see what ugly mug you're really hiding under there, Phantom--

Phantom: *the wettest, most pathetic looking pretty boy on the planet*

Ember:

Phantom, dryly: what, did your mic die out or something? all that caterwauling finally make you lose your voice

Wraith, unsheathing his sword: *vibrating with baby brother rage bc he knows EXACTLy why Ember is silent*

----------- Snippet 26: Damian is finally starting to play nice :)

Dany: hey... guys.... whatcha doing

Damian, hanging out with Sam: Me and Manson are plotting ways to crush the Mayor's plan to cut budget funding for the city parks and cut down the native trees

Danny: oh, i see.... is this safe?

Sam: probably

Danny: hm.

------------- Snippet 27: digging up cold case

Danny: ....if Damian is out with Sam tonight with their plot against the mayor....

Danny, turning towards his desk: then that means I can work some more on Mrs. Witherbury's murder case that she asked me to solve without Dames guilt-tripping me into bed :)

Danny, settling down at his desk with a thermos full of coffee: i'm glad sam and damian are finally getting along

--------- Snippet 28: sparring

Damian, frowning: your reflexes are incredible but your combat is downright awful, brother. it's truly a miracle i didn't skewer you upon our first meeting

Danny, got his ass kicked by his 7yo brother: *groaning in pain* not everyone has super secret assassin training, Damian. And I don't really have time to actually practice anything.

Damian: Mrs. Fenton knows martial arts and her form is proficient enough, I'm sure she would be delighted to teach you if you asked. I will join since I need to keep my skills sharp and my training was unfinished when I arrived here.

-------- Snippet 29: daytime surprise

Phantom, fighting Skulker in broad daylight: *under his breath* at least Lancer's english test will get canceled for this...

Phantom, dodging a blast from Skulker: *in ASL, furious* don't you have anything better to do, you fuck!?

Skulker: foolish ghost child, speak! I know you're capable of it - speak before you lose the ability to

Phantom: *flips him off instead*

Wraith, sending back a ecto-blast with his sword: please pay attention, phantom

Phantom, doubletaking: *in a hissed whisper* what are you doing here!? it's a school day, you should be at school!

Wraith: Tt. If the boot fits.

------------ Snippet 30: guilt

Danny with his head on his desk, his elbows propped up as he massages his hands: hn

Damian, lurking to the side with a guilty look on his face:

Damian: can i....

Danny, silently holding his hand out to Damian: hrm

Damian, immediately taking it and doing the massages + finger exercises: ...im sorry

Danny: hm... I forgive you

[wwilsonbarness]

sweetie

pairings: dbf!bucky x y/n reader

summary: after yet another failed date your dad’s best friend Bucky cheers you up.. 

warnings: smut 18+ only (unprotected sex, oraL (M & F receiving), fingering, creampie, cockwarming, praise kink, safe word(mentioned not used), innocence kink), age gap (reader is early twenties, bucky is mid 40’s), use of pet names, swearing, body shaming (not from reader or bucky), insecure thoughts (reader) - let me know if I missed any :)

word count: 4092

a/n: I’m a slut for dbf!bucky so I had to use him for my first time writing smut🤭 go easy on me please i tried😭

Feedback, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) 

I do not give permission for my work to be copied, reposted or translated on any other platform.

masterlist 

“Y/n?” 

“Yeah! Hey, Ryan right?” He just nodded and sat opposite you, clearly not caring he had shown up 20 minutes late. .

“You’re not what I expected” he tried to play it off with a chuckle but you just looked at him in shock, completely confused.

“What were you expecting?” 

“Someone a little.. you know” he pauses for a moment and looks you up and down before continuing, “it doesn’t matter” Before you could question what he meant you hear a familiar voice come from behind you. 

“Y/n, how are you sweetheart?” As you go to turn your head you feel a cold hand on your shoulder, instantly telling you who was there. 

“Buck! What are you doing here?” 

“I’m picking up some dinner on the way home from work, just spotted you two over here and thought I’d say hi” He looks over at your date with a slight smile. Bucky had always been protective over you, ever since he started working with your dad, he’d always be over at your house for some reason or another, but you’d never complain. You’ve secretly been crushing on him for a while now, there was just something about him that you loved, not to mention he was the hottest guy you’ve ever seen. 

“Oh right, sorry! This is Ryan, my date” You point your hand towards him, “Ryan, this is Bucky, one of my dad’s friends” Ryan stands up and holds his hand out waiting for Bucky to shake it. 

“Nice to meet you Bucky” So he doesn’t lack all respect it seems.

“Call me James” He tightly squeezes Ryan’s hand, maybe too hard as Ryan tries to pull away slightly. You couldn’t help the blush creeping up onto your face. Bucky only introduced himself as James to people he didn’t like, come to think of it you had only heard him introduce himself as James a few times. Once when you brought a boy home in your first year of college, to the creepy neighbours who moved into your street whilst Bucky was over for dinner and one of his colleague’s. He must have a good judge of character because all of those people turned out to be total dicks. 

“Well, I won’t take up any more of your time, have a good night you two” He leans down to give you a hug, and whispers into your ear, just loud enough so Ryan can hear. “See you later sweetheart” He turns to Ryan and nods before leaving. You feel your mood drop as he walks away, you were sad that he was leaving, especially with it meaning you were stuck with your sad excuse for a date. You pick up the menu and go to ask what he’s thinking of getting before the waitress interrupts.

“Ready to order?” Before you can respond asking for an extra few minutes Ryan answers for you. 

“I’ll have the pasta special  and she’ll have the chicken salad.'' You shoot him a confused look, similar to the look the waitress is giving you both. You couldn’t believe he was ordering for you, and ordering you a salad at that. God, you could not wait for this night to be over already. 

Surprisingly the conversation from there wasn’t that bad, he asked you about your job to which you explained the recent job you’d gotten as an elementary school teacher. Things were looking up until your food arrived. “I hope you didn’t mind me ordering for you, salad is always a safe choice, you know?”

“Do you have a problem with how I look or something?” He didn’t even seem shocked or embarrassed when you asked. 

“I’ve just never dated someone as big as you”

“what?” Was he serious right now? You’d gained a little weight recently due to stress eating but you didn’t think other people would notice, or point it out.

“Do you not think you could lose a few pounds? You’d look so much better, especially with a dress like that on.” You could feel the tears forming in your eyes as he spoke, little droplets gathering on your eyelashes. You tried to stop your voice from shaking before answering him. 

“I don’t think this is gonna work out” 

He rolls his eyes and scoffs. “God. Women are so sensitive these days” You didn’t want to show him how he was affecting you so you grab your jacket and walk out without looking back. You’re only outside for a couple minutes before you hear that voice again, along with a car horn. You lift your head up and see Bucky parked just ahead of you.

“You okay sweets?” 

“Buck, you’re still here?” you begin to walk towards him.

“Mhm, food took a while to come out. What’s wrong, are you okay?” 

You quickly wiped away the tears that were rolling down your cheeks “I’m fine, just wanna get home��� 

“Hop in, I’ll give you a ride home” 

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna-“

“Don’t be silly, you know I don’t mind” you force a small smile out before making your way to the passenger side. 

“How was your date?” You turn to him with a look that makes it clear it was not a good time. 

“He was an ass” His gaze softens on you and he puts his hand onto your thigh and rubs circles over it with his thumb. 

“I knew it” He notices you trying to smile and softens his tone, “I’m sorry sweetie, come on I’ll take you home” 

“Thank you” He softly squeezes your thigh before moving his hand to focus on driving you home. You missed his touch already, it made you feel safe like you had someone who cared but it also excited you, making your body heat up. You quickly threw that idea out, he was your dads best friend, he would never think of you that way. 

Your apartment isn’t far away, the car journey only lasts around 10 minutes. It was a mostly quiet car ride, Bucky didn’t try and make you open up about your date but he was worried, you seemed really upset with whatever had happened. “Are you sure you're okay?” 

You tried to answer without letting your shaky voice show but you failed, “I just wanna get in and get changed out of this dress” You rub your hands over your dress to try and make yourself look better, you couldn’t help but think you looked bad after Ryan spoke about you like that. When Bucky parks outside your apartment you sit  in silence for a moment, you didn’t want to get out because it meant Bucky would be leaving you. “Do you want to bring your food in? It’ll be cold by the time you get back to yours” 

“That would be great, if you don’t mind” 

“Course not Buck” You both get out and walk up to your door. Bucky noticed you playing with your dress on the way, “you look real pretty in that dress” You turned to him as he spoke to you, surprised with what he said.

“Really? I thought I liked it too but, I, I don’t know” you trailed off slowly. 

“Whatever that asshole said to you, don’t listen to him. You look great” 

“Thank you Buck but you really don’t have to say that” 

“I mean it sweetheart, you look gorgeous” You smile up at him, a little less forced this time. It takes you a minute to compose yourself and find your keys but you finally manage to unlock the door.

“Sit down, I’ll get you a plate” 

“Bring two” he shouts through from the couch to your kitchen. 

“Okayy” you're slightly confused but take two plates out the cupboard along with two beers from the fridge, “but why do you need two?” 

“So you can have some” you weren’t in the restaurant too long, did you eat anything?” 

You were tempted to pretend you weren’t hungry but you really were starving. “Is there enough to share? I left before I could eat my salad” 

“Salad? you went to an italian restaurant and ordered salad?" Bucky laughed. 

“He ordered for me” Bucky stopped laughing as soon as the words left your mouth, and he started shaking his head. 

“What a dick, here” he unpacks his bag of food and lays them on the table in front of you both. “help yourself to as much as you like, lucky for you my eyes are too big for my belly” 

“So where'd you find this guy anyway?” 

You sat on the sofa for an hour or so and explained the whole story, including everything that happened on the date. By the end of it Bucky was angry, angrier than you’d ever seen him. He pulls his hand up to your face and cups your cheek, “Don’t let some boy make you feel insecure, you don’t need to change for anyone, and anyone would be lucky to have you” 

No one had ever spoken to you with such kind words and you could feel the tears forming again, you tried to play it off. You were embarrassed for being so emotional. “I’m sorry, just no one ever speaks about me like that” 

“You deserve to hear it everyday, and I really mean that” 

“Thank you buck, and thank you for sharing your food.” 

“Anytime sweetie” 

“I’m gonna go get changed and then I’ll clean this up okay?” 

“Sure, take your time” 

Only a couple minutes pass before Bucky hears you calling his name from your bedroom. 

“Y/n? are you alright” worry had set in fast, faster than it probably should’ve but he cared about you alot. he practically ran through, only stopping when he walked into you. 

“Where's the fire jesus” he puts his hands on your shoulders to try and steady you both. 

“I heard you calling my name, are you alright?” you couldn’t help but smile at his concern for you, it was nice to have someone who cared for you. 

“I’m okay, my hair’s just stuck in my zip, can you help me with it?” you reply as you walk back into your room, Bucky following you close behind. 

“Yeah, come here” you turn your back to him and lift your hair that isn’t stuck out of the way” 

“We might just have to cut it off” you playfully slapped his arm. 

“You wouldn’t dare” he places his hands to your hair and begins to work its way out, the touch of his fingers sends shivers all over you, you try to stifle the moan you make but you can tell you failed. 

“I'm just kidding don’t worry, there you go that should be it out” he says but he doesn’t move his hands. instead he turns you around and looks into your eyes. “You really are beautiful, especially in this dress” he loves to lean into your neck and whispers quietly, “even if I would prefer to see it on the floor” Yet again you couldn’t stop the blush appearing onto your cheeks, did he really say that?

You pull your head back a bit, Bucky starts to think he made you uncomfortable but it was quite the opposite, you pull his face towards you and push your lips together, it was a deep kiss, slow with an intensity you hadn’t felt before. You begin to pull away slowly, scared of overstepping but he pulls you back up against him, his hand cupping your hair, not too tight so you could pull away if you wanted to. His lips were soft, different to what you expected but it felt good. He pulls away slightly, but you can feel his grin against you. 

“You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that”  he says whilst catching his breath. 

“Really?” he hums in agreement. “What else did you want to do?” you feel his grin grow even more. He pushes you back a bit towards your bed and you follow him. 

“You sure you want to do this?” 

“I’m sure Bucky, please” 

“Just say red if you want to stop, okay?” you nod your answer. “I need words sweetie” 

“Yes buck” 

“Good girl” you can feel your panties getting wetter the more he talks to you, you desperately need him to touch you. 

“Bucky please” he could hear the desperation in your voice and it made him laugh, he loved having this effect on you. 

“What do you want, sweetheart? tell me what you want me to do to you” You got shy all of a sudden and it took a minute to find your words. 

“I want you to touch me” Bucky trails his hand down your body and stops between your legs. 

“Here?” he rubs circles over your clit through your dress making you moan and grab into his shoulder. 

“Fuck.. please Bucky” he takes his hand away, you pout up at him. 

“Take off your dress. and lie down” you do as he says, as he watches you with a grin on his face. It doesn’t take you long before you're laying down and Bucky crawls on top of you. He starts to kiss your neck, slowly making his way down to your breasts. “Can I leave this on?” he asks pointing to your bra, you just nod. Thank god you chose this lingerie set today. “You look so sexy in it, making me so hard baby” You let out a little laugh at him,”You’ve gone all shy on me sweets” 

“I'm sorry” Bucky shakes his head.

“Don’t apologise, it’s cute” He continues kissing you slowly, stopping when gets to the band of your panties. He begins to slowly take them off, “still okay?” 

“Yes, please buck. I need you” you whisper to him. 

He throws your panties onto the floor and opens your legs, biting his lips as he sees your pussy glistening in front of him. “Such a pretty pussy”

He lowers his head down and licks his lips before rubbing his fingers over your pussy, collecting the slick already gathered there. He brings his fingers up to his mouth and slowly licks them. “You taste so sweet baby” you feel your cheeks flush at his compliments, “Sweetest thing I ever tasted” he speaks before lowering his head back down. 

He presses his finger to your clit and pushes down a little, making you whimper. “Bucky please” you try to roll your hips up to get him closer to you. “Please buck i need you”

He doesn’t say anything but in the next second you feel his tongue against you. “Fuck Bucky” it was so much better than you were expecting. 

“Aw sweets, you're so wet. Is this all for me?” you nod again, biting your lip. He had hardly touched you and you already felt better than you ever have with anyone else. 

You tried to close your legs to escape the overwhelming feeling but Bucky pushed them open again and looked up to you. this was something you’d dreamt of seeing, having him looking up to you from between your legs. you couldn’t believe this was really happening.

“Gotta keep them open baby, so I can make you feel good” you nod down at him, as you nod he teases his finger around your pussy making you throw your head back. 

He lowers his head again and brings his tongue to your clit and begins to roll his tongue over it. You start to move around, the feeling is too much, he lifts his arm up to your stomach and presses down slightly to stop you from squirming. He uses his other hand to tease your pussy, “Fuck, your so tight sweetie”, he lifts himself up a little and brings his hand to your mouth and holds out two fingers. “Spit on them” you hesitate at first before dropping your spit onto them. 

When he gets back done to your legs he lightly blows on your clit, making you moan out. He begins to tease your hole and starts putting one finger in, slowly, “Fuck, i can’t wait to get my cock in you baby, your so tight” he pushes his finger in and out slowly a few times before adding in another. You can’t help the moan that leaves your lips. you don’t care how loud you’re being, it feels too good.You could feel the ache in your pussy getting stronger, your orgasm fast approaching, you’d never come this fast before. 

“Bucky, please don’t stop” he doesn’t stop, he speeds his fingers up feeling you tightening around them. “Oh.. Fuck. Bucky please I'm gonna- I’m gonna come. Don’t stop” you throw your hands around you, grabbing onto the covers and squeezing them as hard as you can.

“Come for me baby” a few more thrusts of his fingers and you come, your eyes roll back, your orgasm leaving you whimpering, Bucky drops his head down and licks your come. “How do you feel sweetie?”

“Good” is all you can manage, still trying to catch your breath. 

“You did so good baby” he crawls back up to you and plants a kiss on your lips, you can taste yourself on him. You feel his cock through his jeans touching your stomach and reach down for it. 

“Bucky?” you ask shyly. 

“Yeah baby?” he pushes your hair out of your face and cups your cheek.

“Can I touch you?” you slightly squeeze his bulge as you ask, batting your eyelashes up at him. 

He chuckles a little at how shy you are. “Of course you can sweets” he lays down beside you and guides you to sit up beside him. you start to unzip his jeans pull them down before he lifts his hips up making it easier for you to remove his clothes. When his jeans are off you see his cock jump up, it was a lot bigger than you had ever seen before. nerves started to slowly set in, what if you couldn’t make him feel as good as he made you? 

It was as if Bucky could read your mind, he saw the concern in your eyes and started to reassure you. “Sweetie, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to” 

“I want to” you reply quickly before quieting down and slowly continuing “I just don’t know if it will be as good as you made me feel, I don’t wanna disappoint you” 

“You could never disappoint me baby, I'll help you if you need it okay?” you nod your head, and trail your fingers up his thighs before reaching for him. You grab the base of his cock, your hand doesn’t reach around it fully so you bring your other hand beside it. “Fuck baby, that already feels so good” his praise gave you a bit more confidence. Quickly gathering some spit in your mouth, you drop it down onto the tip of his cock, and use your thumb to rub circles over it. He was feeling so sensitive he couldn’t stop his groans leaving him, “fuck Y/N, keep doing that” you did just that, whilst your other hand slowly rubs up and down his cock. 

“Can I put it in my mouth?” Bucky's a bit taken aback by your sudden confidence but he doesn’t hesitate to answer. 

“Please do” you move closer to him and settle between his legs, you lower your head down and lick his tip gently before bringing your tongue down to the base and working your way back up slowly. “Fuck, baby you keep doing that and your gonna make me come.” His praise was making your cheeks flush and he noticed, so he kept going. “Baby you're doing so good, it feels so. fuck. so good” You begin to put his cock in your mouth, going as far down as you could before bobbing your head up and down. Bucky places his hand on your head and slightly pushes your head down further, “fuck sweetheart, your gonna make me come.” 

You speed up, wrapping your hands around his shaft where your mouth can’t reach, Bucky was moaning and whining loudly beside you, his breathing was speeding up. You could tell he was about to come, you wanted him to come in your mouth, you needed to taste him.

“Baby, I’m gonna come, oh god I’m gonna come” he expected you to pull away from him but you keep going until his come shoots down your throat. “Fuck baby, fuck that was good” you look up to him, come dripping out your mouth and smile. “You look so pretty covered in my come sweetheart” He smirks at you, making you blush yet again. You use your finger to collect the come dripping out your mouth and suck on it, which makes Bucky’s cock twitch. 

You look down and see that he’s still hard, so you crawl up to him and whisper into his ear “could you fuck me?” so quietly he hardly hears you. 

“Sweetie you gotta speak up” you pout at him, but repeat yourself. You could feel your pussy throbbing, you needed him inside you. 

“I want you to fuck me Bucky, please” He turns to you

“Lie down” you immediately do as he says. “I’m gonna fuck you like the good, dirty girl you are” he grabs his cock and stroked himself a couple times to get it ready for you. “Remember to use the safe word if you need me to stop okay?” 

“I remember, but please just fuck me. I need you” he brings his cock to your pussy, pushing just the tip in. “Go slow please, you're bigger than I’ve ever had” Bucky felt a hint of jealousy over the thought of anyone else being inside you but he pushed it aside and focused on you. 

“I’ll be gentle don’t worry sweetheart” He brings his tip out and pushes slowly back in a couple times, letting you adjust to him. When it becomes easier he goes in deeper, nearly halfway in. You moan in the mix of pain and pleasure, he was stretching

you but it felt good. 

“Fuck Bucky, you feel so good, keep going please” He pushes in further, rubbing circles over your clit as he does, making it easier for him to fit inside you. 

“Shit baby, you're so tight. squeezing my cock so good” He hadn’t even fucked you properly yet and you could already feel your orgasm coming close. 

“Bucky fuck me please, just fuck me” he bottoms out inside of you, hitting a spot you didn’t even realise existed within you. “OH my god Bucky, keep going. please. It feels so good” 

“Such a good girl for me, taking my whole cock” your moans make him fuck you harder, chasing the release he so desperately needed “So good sweets, you feel so good” 

“Fuck, Bucky. duck me harder please Bucky” 

“You want more?” he thrusts into you harder as he says each word. “Fuck, you’re gonna milk my cock” you can feel your orgasm coming at you with full force.

“Buck I’m gonna -fuck I’m gonna come, don’t stop please” 

“Aw baby you gonna come all over my cock?”  you nod your head, unable to form words at this point “oh fuck. you're squeezing me so tight I’m gonna come. You want me to come inside you? Want me to fill you up?” 

You nod quickly, trying to bring yourself to speak. “Please, please Bucky come inside me please” 

“Always using your manners, sweets, even when you're so drunk on my cock hmm?” You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him towards you.

“Bucky please” you were desperate for your release at this point. He lifts your hands and puts them either side of you, each of his hands pinning yours down and towering himself over you. 

“Oh fuck. Come with me baby. Come with me” He’s thrusting into you so hard, hitting that spot again and again. Your legs begin to shake as your orgasm crashes through you. “Fuckk.. Oh my god Bucky” 

“So. Fucking. Good.” he replies, just as his cock crashes into your pussy. “You milked me so good, such a good girl baby” 

Bucky goes to pull out of you but you stop him, “stay like this please? Just for a little bit”

He cuddles into you as close as he can without moving out of you, and places a kiss on your forehead.

“Anything for you sweetheart”

[sinofwriting]

Causing Problems - Max Verstappen

Words: 2,365 Summary: After learning about his girlfriends first time, it’s safe to say that Max is not happy. Note(s)/Warnings: Leclerc!Reader, Talks of Sex/Losing Virginity. Mentions/Talks of Underage Sex. Past Pierre/Reader. Also there is french here, didn’t use google translate, but still used a translator, so sorry if any of it’s wrong.

Masterlist | Support Me!

“Don’t judge me.” His brows raise and he can’t help but smile. “What could I ever judge?” She shoots him a disbelieving look, but sighs. “I was fourteen.” His eyes widened. “See judge!” He shakes his head, “no, no. No judgment, just,” he pauses unsure how to phrase it. “Lorenzo and Charles let you have a boyfriend at fourteen?” She snorts, ten years had passed and the two and now Arthur wrinkled their nose at the idea of her with a boy. They were somewhat fond of her and Max together. “No, I,” she pauses, feeling herself get a little flustered as she thinks about who and how she lost her virginity.

“It was a friend.” Her voice is a little fond, but she squeezes Max’s hand letting him know it’s not the person she’s fond of but rather just the memory. Her eyes flicker upwards to meet the Dutch’s eyes. Seeing how warm they are and his earnest nod to continue, she does.

“We were in France for a race.” She squeezes his hand again, “you won that one.” She tells him, smiling at his eyes crinkling at her pause. “We decided to stay with his family for the night instead of at the racetrack or just driving home. I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to go down to the basement, hoping to wear myself out by uh,” she pauses trying to think of the word in English. “Pacing?” He offers, having seen her do it a few times. She nods, smiling wide. “Yes, pacing. But when I got there, he was also there unable to sleep. We talked for a bit and then things got a bit tense and we ended up having sex.” She shrugs, with a little laugh. “It was a little odd since we both hadn’t done it before. But it was good.” “Did you orgasm?” He can’t help but ask. “Surprisingly, yes.” A flare of jealousy hits him at the knowledge that some fourteen year old kid got a girl off his first time having sex, while he didn’t when he was eighteen. But it leaves just as quickly as it came, shock replacing it with her next words. “But after all the French are known for being generous lovers and Pierre is quite French, no?” She laughs. “Pierre?” He asks, brain struggling to comprehend what she said. “Yes, Pierre.”

The confirmation makes him a blink and god he can’t believe the balls on the French driver. Charles was insanely overprotective. Then again, if Charles had any idea what his best friend and little sister had done he wouldn’t be alive but at the bottom of the river.

Then a thought strikes him, Pierre and her weren’t not the same age. A fourteen year old virgin didn’t make her cum but rather a seventeen year old one and suddenly anger is boiling in his stomach.

“He was seventeen.” His voice is surprisingly blank. “Yes, Pierre is three years older than me.” She looks at him, worryingly. “Max, are you okay?”

—

“Gasly!” The frenchman’s head jerks to the left at the sound of his last name in such anger. He stares wide eyed at the dutch driver. His jaw was twitching, face red, and fists clenched. He had only seen Max this angry a couple of times before but never was it directed at him. “Max.” He ends up saying, eyes flickering around the room. Hoping that Charles, Daniel, Lando, Alex, or George know what’s going on, but they all look just as confused. His eyes catch on Y/N, who's looking at Max with wide eyes of her own. “Fourteen.” The word is gritted out and Pierre’s eyes are back on him, more confusion filling him. “What?”

He couldn’t think of anything that would make Max this mad involving the number fourteen. Lap fourteen had been fine this race. They hadn’t yet gotten to race fourteen of the season. It couldn’t be the year 2014, they didn’t have any contact that year.

“Fourteen.” Max repeats, putting a weird emphasis on the word as it comes out quieter than before. Pierre’s eyes flicker to the only girl in the room, hoping she’ll know what it’s about and when his eyes move to look at her it hits him and his eyes are moving back to Max. Understanding him. “Oh, fourteen.” “Yes,” the Dutch driver’s jaw twitches again. “Fourteen.”

He can’t help but glance around the room taking in how the other guys are still looking at Max and now him in confusion. He notes that Charles has gotten up, clearly ready to interfere. Get in between them if it comes down to it. And Pierre winces. There would be no getting out of this. He’d have to come clean and perhaps lose Charles’ friendship forever.

“Would you like to hit me and then talk? Or talk and then hit me?” He offers Max, figuring that no matter what he’d end the night with some bruises. Suddenly she’s standing in between them, gently resting a hand on Max’s chest. “There won’t be any hitting. Words only.” She tells Max, her eyes flickering to her brother as she says it. His expression of confusion only deepened at the words also directed towards him as he sat back down.

She pushes Max to sit down on the floor next to Daniel and a space between him and Charles where she would sit in a moment. She turns to face Pierre.

“Je suis désolé, pierre.” I’m so sorry, Pierre. She apologizes, twisting her fingers together in a way that makes him wince. He shakes his head, standing and maybe he shouldn’t but he pulls her into a hug. Keeping his hands clearly in Max’s sight. There was no need to make him any madder. “Non, bébé calmar. Tu ne t'excuses pas. C'est bien.” No, baby squid. You don't apologize. It's fine. He pulls away from her, giving her hand a squeeze before taking a step back. “C'est à vous de partager.” It is for you to share. “Ce n'est pas seulement le mien.” It is not just mine. He shakes his head, had he hoped that Charles would never know, yes. But he had always known that one day he’d find out. He could only be happy that he got a decade more of his friendship. “C'était toujours le tien.” It was always yours. She looks like she is going to argue more and he expects her to. It was such a Leclerc thing to do, argue until you got your way. But she doesn’t. She gives him another sorry look before sitting in between Max and Charles. Ignoring the soft nudge that her brother gives her.

“Max,” Pierre starts to say, but stops not sure what to say, what to do. Did the younger driver want an apology? He wasn’t sure. It wasn’t something he could apologize to Max for. The only person he really could offer an apology to was Charles and that was only for not telling him sooner.

Pierre and Y/N had spoken about it after it happened. It wasn’t something they could really ignore or pretend didn’t happen. They had even spoken about it a little over a year ago when Kika had found out. Kika made a joke about it as they all went for dinner, a little wine drunk, but hoping to see Pierre get a little flustered. He nearly smiles at the thought of Kika. She really was amazing, far better than he deserved, and her easy acceptance of what happened between them when they were so young.

“Fourteen, Pierre. She was fourteen.” Max’s voice draws him out of his thoughts. “Yes, and I was seventeen.” His acknowledgement makes Max wince and he catches Alex’s wide eyes and knows that he’s realized what this about or at least has a good idea of it. “And you just,” Max starts, before shaking his head. “That was fine with you?” “I wouldn’t do it again, if that’s what you are asking.” Pierre sighs when Max’s expression doesn’t change. “Max, your issue with this is the age difference. And I imagine it’s worse because of Kika, yes?” Max nods. He presses his lips together, murmuring to himself in french under his breath. “I never intended for it to happen, Max. We were kids. Me less so, but still young, foolish.”

“What happened?” Charles speaks for the first time, looking between Pierre and Max. “What happened when you were seventeen?” Pierre sighs, but before he can speak, she does. “Charles, do you remember when you were fifteen, we went to that race in France and we stayed with Pierre’s family for the night?” He nods after a second. “Yes, Papa didn’t want to stay at the track or drive home that night.” “I couldn’t sleep that night, so I went down to the basement so I could pace.” “You still do that.” Charles interrupts her, the words fond. “Yes. But Pierre was also there, he couldn’t sleep either. We ended up talking.” Charles nods, because yes that made sense. She didn’t like pacing if someone else was in the room and awake. Would rather talk until she fell asleep. “Pierre and I,” she pauses before slipping into french. “nous avons fait l'amour.” we had sex. “Non.” No. His mouth is open, disbelief in his eyes. “Non. Vous deux ne l'avez pas fait.” No. You two did not. “Charles,” she lays a hand on his arm. “We did. It was in the moment and never happened again.” “But you were so young. Just a baby.” His face is horrified and everyone in the room knows now what Max bursting in was about. Her brows furrow. “I was not a baby. I was fourteen.” Charles makes a pained noise and then his attention turns to Pierre, a fire in his eyes.

“You!” He points at Pierre. “How could you! She’s my sister. My baby sister!” He puts his hands up. “We didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I went down to the basement to watch tv because I couldn’t sleep. Not to have sex for the first time with your sister.” His fists clench, wanting to say something more, but unable to say anything but, “Je suis désolé, Charles. J'aurais dû,” I'm sorry, Charles. I should have, “Non.” Charles shakes his head, stopping him. “I don’t want to hear it. You should have told me sooner. Not wait so long. I need time. She was a baby, Pierre.” He says the last sentence quietly and Pierre knows that his insistence makes no sense to her or the rest of the people in the room, but he understands.

He had been the one to hold Charles after his father made him promise to always take care of her, to watch over her, to protect her. Had cemented that she was his baby sister, she needed protection, to Charles. Had promised to help Charles with that promise.

“I need time, Calamar.” His voice is gentle, but there's a raw element to it. “Of course, Charles.” As he stands to look around the room, he has to look away at the different looks some of the drivers give him. Moving out of the weird sort of circle the driver’s had formed when they first entered Charles’ room hours ago, he stops just before the entryway.

“Y/N if,” “I know, Pierre.” She stops him before he can continue, already knowing what he’s going to say. “Give Kika my love.” He huffs out a laugh. “Of course.” And with that he slips out of the room.

—

“Are you better, Max?” She asks, when nearly an hour later they are back in his hotel room, a glass of wine in her hand. He winces, “I’m sorry. My anger got the better of me.” She nods, lips pressing together. A little embarrassment still lingering inside of her. It wasn’t Lando, Daniel, Alex, or George knowing. It was Charles. It was her older brother, her closest brother. She had never wanted Charles to know that much about her and Pierre. She knew just like Pierre even if they had hoped it wouldn’t come out, that it would. She had just figured it would come out that yes, they had sex together. It was one time, maybe that they were each other's firsts but that was it.

She didn’t want him to know that it was in France. After a race, in Pierre’s home. She especially didn’t want him to know that she had been fourteen. It made her shrink a little, knowing that he knew that. And yet she didn’t hate Max for letting that loose. She was a little angry with him, but it was her own fault. She should have never been so careless to let it slip that it was Pierre when he was close by. Should have waited for summer break, when they were in completely different countries.

“I’m angry with you.” She was not going to hide that. “I didn’t want Charles to know that. All of that. Pierre and I figured that at some point it would come out, but he was not supposed to know all of that.” “I’m sorry.” He apologizes again. “I,” he pauses. “My temper, it needs to be worked on.” She nods again, “You are better than before. You’ve grown much since.” She sighs, placing the glass down and turning to look at him. “I should have waited until summer break.” He shakes his head, “no, this was all me. And I’ll apologize to Pierre as well.” He looks a little pained at the thought. “Good. He deserves one.” “Yes, he does.”

She looks at him, taking in the regretful expression on his face. The way his body is slightly curled in. Grabbing her glass of wine, she tosses the rest of the glass back, before setting it back down and taking her shirt off.

“I’m going to take a shower.” She tells him, thumbs pressing between her skin and her pants as she starts to take them off. “You’re going to join me.” “I am?” She raises an eyebrow. “I am.” Max nods, eyes wide as he watches her completely strip. “Good. Hurry. It’ll be cold without you.” She tells him, before walking to the bathroom, the door slightly closed behind her as the sound of the shower fills the room.

---

Tagging: @lpab @gemofthenight @peachiicherries

[rivendell-poet]

heyy, i love your work and i was wondering if you could do a scenario of a teen!reader that looks like they could be a child of arwen and aragon.

Thanks so much anon, and yes - I can do that! Hope you enjoy it (focused more on Aragorn/Arwen's side - but if you want me to do one that also showcases other people's reactions please hop back into my inbox and let me know. I'm always a sucker for platonic lotr.)

*･༓˚✧ ❝𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧 & 𝐀𝐫𝐰𝐞𝐧’𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « scenarios »

Gender-neutral reader | Wordcount : 0.6k | TWs : None

✧ When Aragorn first sees you, there is a second when he pauses. It’s almost imperceptible as he looks you up and down, mainly seeing Arwen in you. A little bit of himself.

✧ As he greets you it’s like he would any other, respectfully and asking your name.

✧ But as the two of you travel together he tries to keep you close to him.

✧ He claims that it’s because you’re young and he wants to make sure you’re safe - which is true - but there’s an extra instinct for protection in this case. Because he can’t see you get hurt.

✧ Definitely helps you with blade skills (think the training session between Boromir and the hobbits except it’s you and Aragorn).

✧ Always gives you first or last watch because you need your sleep. Strongly denies Pippin’s accusations of favouritism.

✧ Tries to pass on some of his skills to you, so in the downtime you have you might be identifying plants together or lighting a fire.

✧ Wishes he had more wisdom that his father could have passed down to him. In fact, generally feels unprepared for how he should treat you. Aragorn knows you’re not his child, but there’s still something that makes him want to look out for you and he would appreciate the extra guidance.

✧ Tells you quite a lot about Arwen - he looks forward to you finally meeting her.

✧ You’re always the first person he looks to find after battles, checking you over for injuries and patching them up the second he sees them.

✧ Is privately very proud of you - he wasn’t told his heritage until he was twenty-one, and yet you are here with him now.

✧ Oftens sings when everyone is trying to get to sleep, he doesn’t do it specifically to sooth you but it is very calming, especially after a long day.

✧ After the battle where you’re both injured, he stays with you until you fall asleep.

✧ You’re just slipping unconscious when he pulls the blanket slightly higher, whispering to you, “Good night, senya.”

✧ At the time you don’t think too much of it, at least until you ask him what it means the next day.

✧ He freezes for a second, before he admits it translates to ‘my child’. There’s a second more of pause as he waits for you to say something, before you smile. And he realises that you don’t mind.

✧ When he finally introduces you to Arwen he spends slightly too long making sure you look good (smoothing your outfit, tucking in a stray bit of hair).

✧ Arwen can see the resemblance when she first sees you, although she thinks you look more like Aragorn.

✧ There’s a knowing smile on her face as she greets you before looking to her betrothed.

✧ Seeing the two of them together for the first time, you finally see the resemblance as well.

✧ Making eye-contact with Aragorn he realises you know, and gives you a sheepish smile.

✧ Afterwards he apologises for being overbearing, and perhaps over-stepping boundaries, but you reassure the man that it’s ok - and he doesn’t have anything to apologise for.

✧ Arwen enjoys spending time with you as well, asking if you’ll meet her and enjoys getting to know you. She’s a lot more open about your looks, but it’s never suffocating. She says it rather affectionately, as though it is something she wants you to be proud of.

✧ No-one particularly acknowledges it when the three of you are together, but to the unknowing eye you truly do look like a family.

Bonus : When Elladan and Elrohir first meet you they have to do a double-take. Elrohir checks you, semi-secretly, for elf ears. Also a few pointed looks from Aragorn, to Arwen, to you.

A/N : Hope you like it :) It's always lovely to write for platonic lord of the rings. Also we're back to green, feels weird using it after all the trick-or-treats being orange.

« masterlist » thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @celestialhole / @starwars2222 / @xiaoseminence / @withasideofmeg / @nilintakan / cont. in comments ✧ wish to be tagged?

[chuulyssa]

Ooh can I request Poe with scenario 1 7 and 10? Mwahhh x

↷ A/N ─ finally some poe content on my page <3

★ PROMPT ─ 1, 7, 10

!! FT. ─ poe

─ wearing his clothes

You stood up to you full-length in front of the mirror, observing yourself. Poe's white shirt and black vest hugged your body, the sleeves a bit too long for you as you struggled to keep your hands from drowning in the fabric. Over the outfit, you put on his black cape fastened together by a chain clasp. His white ribbon was tied carefully around your neck, and you had ruffled your hair to match his style. You smiled softly at your reflection.

You skipped over to Poe's study room and knocked twice on the door. Hearing an exhausted "Come in", you opened the door, only to be met with the sight of your boyfriend's head on the table, facing the door, papers sprawled across in front of him.

On seeing you, however, his face brightened up - literally. He turned a dull shade of red when he saw the clothes you were wearing and stood up.

"You're... wearing... You look..." he started, but you interrupted him.

"Amazing, of course!"

"Something is missing though," he said quietly, and you frowned, wondering if you should've worn his tailcoat as well.

Poe smiled a little before placing Karl on your head. Then, he backed away to have a good look at you.

"Perfect," he murmured.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

─ reading to him

Poe was kneeling on the ground with his head on your lap as you sat on his chair in the study room. His face was flushed, and as you read out more lines from his latest book, he buried his face into your thighs.

"Don't..." he mumbled. "It's embarrassing."

"No, I think it's wonderful," you said. "Your writing is lovely."

"It's okay when I'm writing it, but hearing you read it out, I feel like it could've been better."

You paused and looked at his squirming figure. Behind him, Karl gave him an annoyed look and scooted away. You sighed and tugged at his hair to make him look at you.

"It couldn't be any better than this," you said. "You're the best writer I've ever heard of. And I'm not saying this just for the sake of saying it, if that's what you're thinking."

"Really?"

"Yup," you said. "Now, where was I?"

From then on, Poe enthusiastically listened to you and explained words and phrases you didn't quite get. He was a great listener and would curl up against you as you read his writings to him, always seeking your approval.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

─ waking up before you

Poe opened his eyes grudgingly as the morning rays hit his face. He huffed and turned on the bed to see your figure tangled into the blankets. He let out a silent laugh before internally slapping himself for almost waking you up, even when you didn't show any signs of having heard him.

Poe sat upright, his usually messy hair even messier. He stretched around silently in order to not wake you up. He then pushed a few strands of your hair away from your sleeping face. You mumbled against the touch and he panicked. He stayed that way for a few seconds, unsure of whether it was safe to move again.

He then brought his hands towards your body and shifted you slightly on the bed so you could occupy the entire bed. Poe smiled when you got into a starfish position, and draped the blanket around you. He kissed the top of your head before tiptoeing out of the room, the image of your peaceful face still on his mind as he got to work.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

© chuulyssa 2024 - do not copy, plagiarize or repost my works on any platforms. do not translate.

[ninii-winchester]

Unveiled Sorrows (Part 5)

Pairings : Dean Winchester X Reader, Sam Winchester X Reader (platonic), Dean Winchester x Lisa Braden (mentioned)

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: heavy angst, spoilers s1-s6, mentions of violence, foul language, brief mentions of pregnancy and childbirth.(no details).

A/n : This series follows canon plot line but some scenes might happen differently or be completely changed. Check the warnings for each part before continuing

A/n: For the purpose of this series, Sam came back with his soul. Gemma and Will Campbell are OCs.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Bobby watched Dean drive away. He never imagined he'd do something like that. He turned to see y/n on the ground.

"No...no Sammy. Come back." She dug her fingers into the ground. "Please." She sobbed as she continued digging as if the cage would still be under the ground. She hoped by some miracle it would open up and give her best friend back.

"Y/n let go." Bobby tried prying her hands off the ground. "Let go God dammit your fingers are bleeding." He jerked her body upwards and dragged her off to his truck. He made her sit inside and grabbed her stuff from her car. He got into the driver's seat, and took off. After an hour of driving she calmed down.

"Hey! How come you're walking again? I mean not that it's bad but I'm curious." Y/n asked Bobby.

"I sold my soul to Crowley to find Death. He said he could give me anything so he gave me my legs back too."

"Crowley the demon? Gave you your legs back?"

"Strange world we live in." Bobby shrugged. Y/n give him a look. "What?"

"Are you stupid?"

"Excuse me?"

"You sold your soul to a demon? You're gonna have your ass dragged to hell you know that?"

"He said he's borrowing it."

"Wow Bobby, he said and you believed. Thats a demon. You can't trust demons." Bobby didn't say anything after that. Halfway through the drive Y/n called out Bobby's name. He glanced at her urging her to go on.

"I'm pregnant." She said making Bobby hit the brakes abruptly.

"Come again?"

"I'm pregnant."

"What?" He was shocked to the core at the revelation. She only stared ahead not looking him in the eye. "What the hell were you thinking confronting Lucifer? Are you mad? Did you have no regard for your life or that child's?" Bobby yelled as he started to drive again.

"I'm sorry I just couldn't sit back and watch." She whispered.

"Did you three plan this scheme 'kill Bobby of a heart attack'." He sighed and then he paused. "Who's the father?" He asked.

"Dean." She looked out of the window as the scenery passed.

"Figures. Did you tell him?" She shook her head 'no'. "Will you tell him?"

"Do you really think he wants anything to do with me after the way he left?" She snapped. Bobby stayed silent.

"I'm taking you to a hospital, we need to get you checked." Y/n nodded.

The two of them made their way back home after a long drive and a pit stop at the doctors. She was fine and the baby was healthy too. They gave her some prescription and told her to rest. Bobby had told her she'd be staying with him from now on and he won't take no for an answer. He cared for the three of them like their own. Now with Sam being dead and Dean being God knows where he'd like to keep her here safe. Ever more now that she's pregnant.

"I'm telling you, you should tell Dean. He deserves to know."

"Dean didn't give two shits before walking away from us Bobby, we've known him for years. Do you think he'd care for a bastard child like that?" Y/n retorted.

"Watch your language, young lady. That's my grandchild you're talking about." Bobby scolded her. Ofcourse he thinks of Y/n as the daughter her never had.

"Well news flash Bobby this ain't no love child." Bobby rolled his eyes at her comment.

"I'm sure he'd-"

"You know what actually? I'm sure he would want to know but I don't want to tell him. Walking out was his decision and not telling him about this is my decision." Y/n said walking away.

It had been two months since Sam died and Dean left. Y/n still mourned Sam's death and she missed him dearly. She wondered how he'd react to the news of her being pregnant. She's at five months now. She was in the main room cleaning and refilling her guns. Just because she's not allowed to hunt for the time being doesn't mean she won't be cautious.

She heard a knock on the door and she knew Bobby wasn't supposed to be back until later. She grabbed her gun and stuffed it in the back of her jeans. She grabbed her shotgun and went to the door. When she opened the door, her jaw hit floor. She couldn't believe her eyes. There stood Sam Winchester in the flesh.

"Y/n." He breathed out and she pointed the shot gun at his chest. "It's me, Sam."

"Not you're not. Sam's dead."

"I know I died Y/n but I'm back."

"That's not possible. Who brought you back? Was it Dean?" It pained her to say his name but now's not the time to think about that.

"I don't know what or who brought me back but I'm willing to go to every test." He raised his hands in surrender.

"Alright." And with that she shot him.

"Ow son of a bitch. That hurt Y/n." He complained.

"It was just rock salt, don't be a bitch."

"Jerk." Sam replied and for second her guard dropped. Still pointing the gun at him she grabbed a silver knife from her back pocket and threw it at him. He caught it and sliced his arm, he showed her as the blood trickled down his arm. She then grabbed the holy water and threw it at his face.

"A little warning would've been appreciated." Sam sassed  as he wiped the water from his eyes. "Can I hug you now?"

She kept staring at his face. She grabbed his arm and dragged him to main room and made him stand under the devils trap. Sam looked up and then moved away from the trap. Before either of them could say anything Y/n jumped up and wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her back and he felt something different about Y/n as he hugged her.

"How did this happen, Sammy?" She asked as they pulled away.

"Uh i don't know." He replied looking at her oddly. Y/n was thankful that she was wearing one of Sam's shirts, it was huge on her so her body was completely covered. Not that she had huge bump but still whatever she had, it was covered.

"How long have you been back?"

"Two months?"

"TWO MONTHS? SAM WINCHESTER YOUVE BEEN BACK FOR TWO MONTHS???" She exclaimed loudly. "Where have you been for the past two months?"

"Yeah I've been researching, I needed to know how I came back and uh I went to see Dean." He explained.

"You met Dean? Why's he not here?" She shouldn't care but she did.

"I didn't meet him. I just saw him." Sam replied.

"What do you mean? Why didn't you meet him? Where is he?"

"He is living with Lisa and Ben. He uh... he looked normal, he's living the apple pie life he always wanted and I couldn't go up there and take it all away from him." Sam told her with a sad smile. They both knew Dean would drop anything for his brother.

Y/n knew Lisa, she's met her once when they helped her get her son, Ben, back. Lisa was in Dean's life way before Y/n was. That was his only serious long term relationship she's ever known of. Lisa is a wonderful woman and it made sense why he left Y/n for someone like her.

"Was he...did he seem happy?" She had to ask.

"The happiest I've ever seen him. I didn't have it in me to go ahead and ruin everything. He looked so happy but I knew if I went in there he'd leave all of it to be back in hunting. I couldn't do that to him." Sam told her honestly.

"I agree."

"Where's Bobby?" Sam asked and the man in question entered the house and gasped at the sight in front of him. He grabbed the shot gun by the stairs and aimed at Sam. "Aw dammit not again."

"It's alright Bobby i checked. I did all the tests." Y/n intervened. The older man lowered his gun.

"Tell me something only Sam Winchester would know!" He demanded.

"A month before I fell, you lost your years to a witch in poker and then Dean lost to get your years back which made him old. But then I won back Dean's years and he turned back to normal." Sam narrated.

"What? When did that happen?" Y/n giggled as Bobby pulled Sam in a hug.

"When Bobby came to help us with the witch. You stayed back when we last hit the road." Sam replied.

"Oh I remember that, but you didn't tell me Dean got old." She laughed.

"Dean told me not to." Sam replied.

"Did you tell him?" Bobby asked Y/n and her eyes widened.

"Tell me what?" Sam asked warily.

"Uh look at that would ya? It's time for lunch. Why don't you wash up Bobby I'll set the table. You must be hungry too Sam." She said walking into the kitchen as Bobby went to freshen up. Sam followed her into the kitchen and she brush past him.

"Tell me what Y/n?"

"Would you like a beer, Sammy?" She pulled out a bottle and passed it to him. He banged his hand against the table gaining her attention.

"Tell me what?"

"I'm pregnant. It's Dean's." Y/n said calmly. The beer bottle slipped from his hands onto floor and shattering into a million pieces.

"What?" He asked completely in shock. Y/n pulled her shirt up a bit and it showed her bump. Sam stared at in utter disbelief. "I had no idea you and him? You and Dean you...?" He stuttered.

"It happened one night. It was a mistake." She lied. Ofcourse it wasn't one night and it wasn't a mistake either. But what can she even tell him.

"Does he know? Did you tell him?"

"No." She replied as she continued to set the food on the table.

"Why? Why wouldn't you tell him? he wanted a family for as long as i can remember."

"And he has a family. With Lisa. And Ben. I'm a hunter Sam, he can't have that white picket fence life with me which has with them. Don't you think he should live with the woman he loves and not with some good lay and a bastard child?" She snapped.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to say that word?" Bobby glared at Y/n as he entered the kitchen.

"What? That's your summoning? I say bastard child and you appear out of thin air?" Y/n replied sarcastically.

"You watch how you speak to me." Bobby's glare deepened.

"You can't kick me out. I'm carrying your grandchild." She stuck her tongue out the man she's come to love, as her father, over the years.

"I can when it's born."

"You wouldn't." She rolled her eyes.

"Are you two done? Because i would like to rewind to the part where you called yourself 'some good lay'." Sam sighed.

"What? You want me to say I was bad?" She joked.

"How are you not affected by all this? Stop acting like it doesn't bother you." Sam bellowed. He knew it must've been killing her inside.

"It doesn't bother me Sam."

"You have to tell Dean." He pressed on.

"I will not and if you did, I will shoot you. Not with a shot gun filled with rock salt but I'll put an actual bullet through you. And this is not an empty threat."

"I know things weren't good the last time we were here, he said things, he was stressed -"

"No Sam. It has nothing to do with what happened the last time."

"What is it then?"

"He left." Bobby said. "After you fell, he drove off leaving me and her behind. He didn't look back and we haven't heard from him since." He said solemnly looking at Y/n.

"I won't tell him. I promise." Sam said to y/n and She nodded. Sam felt a pang of guilt hit him. He remembered the talk he had with hin on their drive to Detroit. If only he hadn't made Dean promise to not find Y/n and go back to Lisa, things would've been different. Dean would've been here with his child and Y/n wouldn't have to go through this all alone. If only he had known. But how could've he known.

"Sam? You zoned out.!" Y/n called out.

"Yeah uhm I'm fine just too much to take in." Y/n nodded in agreement and Sam filled the two of them about the past two months. How his grandfather Samuel is also back from the dead. And he's been staying with him distant maternal cousins for the past two months.

Sam introduced Y/n to Samuel and his family. They've been getting along fine and Sam's back to hunting with the Campbells.

Three months later Y/n gave birth to Adeline Mary Winchester. No-one other than Bobby and Sam knew who the was the father of Adeline. Adeline was the cutest baby Sam had ever seen and much to Y/n's dismay, she looked exactly like her father. She had bright green eyes and dirty blonde hair. She had freckles all over her cheeks and nose just like Dean's. She reminded her too much of Dean.

"She looks exactly like Dean, no offence y/n." Sam said as he cradled his niece.

"None taken, Sammy. I know she looks like him." He placed her in her arms gently. "Hi there sweetheart." Y/n cooed at her daughter. "Isn't she adorable?"

"She's lovely." Sam commented. "I wish Dean was here." She wished too.

"But he's not."

"Because he doesn't know." Sam replied.

"I'd like to keep it that way. And we're not having this conversation again."

Y/n missed hunting. She'd been staying put and helping with research at Bobby's but she missed hunting. Neither of the men allowed her to go on hunts even if it was a basic salt and burn. Adeline had turned four months old three days ago. She was currently in Bobby's arms as she slept and Sam's on a hunt with Samuel.

The phone rang and Y/n answered it before it rang too much and woke up Addy.

"It's Gemma." She's one of Sam's distant cousins. Barely eighteen but a good hunter. "Me and Will are on a hunt and seems like we might need backup." Y/n relayed the information to Bobby hoping he'd let her go since there's no one else. The old man rolled his eyes and nodded. Y/n squealed with happiness and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you. Addy darling mommy's gonna be back before you know it." She kissed her daughter's cheek. "Don't bother the old man okay? I love you."

Y/n packed her stuff and drove her car to the town Gemma told her they would be in. It was dark when she left Sioux Falls and she arrived at the town at 4:20am. She met up with Gemma and Will. They decided they'd get those ambush the nest first thing in the morning. The three stayed in a motel room where Gemma took one bed and Y/n slept on the other. William was kind enough to give up on a bed and opt for the pullout couch instead. It had been a while since Y/n had been in a motel room.

It reminded her of Dean, how he would pull her in for a kiss every time Sam went out. Or how he would make her feel good when they shared a room. How he would make sweet passionate love to her and how the two of them created Adeline in a motel room. Then she felt bitter. He didn't make love to her, he had sex with her. If only he loved her like her told her, he would've never hurt her this bad. Or leave her alone by herself.

The morning came earlier than she expected and the three of them drove to the warehouse which was the supposed Vampire nest. There were nine vampires in total. Y/n hadn't felt this thrill in the past few months and she was thriving on it. Pumped up with adrenaline, she went in for the kill and ended up killing five on her own. All her frustration washing away with vampires' blood . Gemma and Will finished off the other four. The two rookies were impressed by her skills. The sun had set when they were with cleaning and disposing off the bodies. The three skipped town as soon as they cleaned up because a few of Gemma and Will's guns were at the motel, out in the open, the cleaning maid saw them and called the police.

They stopped two towns over to grab a few drinks. It was around nine pm. It had been a long time since y/n had alcohol. They went inside the bar and grabbed a table. Gemma and Will ordered beers but Y/n went for whiskey. She downed it one go and asked for another.

"Hey don't look at me like that, it's been a while i hunted or even drank." The two smirked and cheers to her. She decided to give Bobby a call and let him know that she'd be home in a few hours and asked if Addy was doing okay. To which he told that Sam's back and Addy has been with him since. She sighed in relief when she heard that.

"How's Addy?" Gemma asked.

"She's good. Sammy is back and she's with him right now." Y/n smiled thinking about her little girl. Her Dean jr.

The bar door opened and two men walked inside, one of the them was chattering too loudly which made Y/n look up and she wished she hadn't. She saw Dean walking in with a man she didn't recognise. She watched as Dean heard his friend's chatter with a smile on his face. He looked...normal. Just some guy you'd find at a bar on the weekend. He didn't look like Dean Winchester. The one she knew. She hoped he doesn't see her but has luck ever been on her side? He looked at her and their eyes met.

Dean stopped dead in his tracks as soon as his eyes landed on her. His heart felt like it would burst out of his chest. It's almost been an year since he last saw her but the mere sight of her was enough to make him fold. She looked just a beautiful as the day he left her. The day he broke her heart but ripped his own into pieces. She looked like he had gained some weight, but it suited her. And then his gaze dropped to her lips, those same lips that he used to kiss sore, the same lips let out those sinful noises when he made her feel good. Those lips, he'd give anything to feel against his own.

"Dean, are you okay?" Sid asked as he noticed Dean stop.

"Yeah man, I'm good." He said still looking at her. He knows he shouldn't, but he couldn't help himself before he spoke, "i think I saw someone from my high school, let's go say hi." He said walking towards her table.

"Sure." Sid followed behind him.

Y/n's heart rate picked up as he got closer, why is he walking towards us. Is going to act like he knows me? The sheer audacity of this man. Hasn't he broken me enough why..

"Hey.! Gracie Henderson, right?" Dean spoke as he reached their table. Gemma and Will turned to look up at him.

Damn you Dean. Fuck you. He had to strike a nerve there. That was their alias when they had to go undercover as a couple. It was always Y/n and Dean since Sam couldn't like a couple with Y/n. He just had to make everything awkward, so it was always Dean and Y/n. Gracie Henderson and her husband Troy Henderson.

Ofcourse he couldn't miss the chance to hurt me again. Y/n thought to herself.

"Huh?" Y/n feigned ignorance.

"You're Gracie right? We went to high school together." Dean said looking right at her.

"Sorry? I think you have the wrong person." Y/n spoke the alcohol in her system giving her the courage to speak to him. "I never went to high school and its Adeline."

"Alright my bad." Dean said, his friend mumbling a sorry before they went to sit at the table beside theirs. His friend went to order for them and he sat there eavesdropping the conversation happening at the table beside him.

"He definitely knows you. That was one of your aliases." Gemma said as soon as Dean left. Y/n shrugged in response ordering another drink. "Cmon y/n tell us why did you act like you didn't know him?"

"Because he's Dean Winchester." She practically sneered his name. Dean flinched at the way she said name.

"What really ? He's Dean?" Will spoke for the first time in awhile. Y/n nodded.

"Why didn't you tell him to join us?" Gemma asked and Will added a "yeah why not?"

"Are you two dumb? What part of his appearance says he's a hunter? He's not in the business anymore. And the guy that came with him? He screams 9 to 5. So what did you two expect me to invite him to our table and reminisce the time we went to a fucking high school to burn the body of his brother's friend and his friend's bully?" Y/n spoke agitatedly and the two nodded in understanding. She downed her drink.

"I can't believe i came here out for this. You two needed backup for nine vampires? You know Bobby doesn't let me go on hunts. I came out to hunt after almost a year and its some stupid fucking vampires." She sighed dramatically.

Dean perked up when he heard her say she hadn't hunted in almost an year. Is she out of the business too? What does she mean Bobby doesn't let her hunt.

"You haven't hunted in almost a year and still you took down five vampires on your own." Will sat there in total awe. "You're my new role model."

Sid had already came back but Dean's attention was still on y/n. He smiled when he heard she took down five vampires on her own, that's my girl. He thought to himself.

"You two kiddos did good too. I'm sorry I snapped, I'm a bit stressed." Y/n said.

"It's alright." Gemma smiled.

"I'll head out." Y/n said grabbing her jacket and threw a few bills to for her bills.

"You're driving back to Sioux Falls?" Will asked and she nodded. "Aren't you drunk?"

"I've only had three drinks."

"Yeah of whiskey." Gemma added.

"Trust me kiddo. It takes a lot more than that to get me drunk." She replied and Dean noticed a lingering sadness in her voice.

The love of his life has been through hell and back and she's still kicking it. He wishes he could just grab her and disappear from the surface of the earth. To keep her from harms way and keep her protected from all the sadness and hurt. He wish he could love her the way she deserves to be loved. He watched as she left the bar before yelling a "get home safe kiddos."

The first thing y/n did as she reached home was to see Adeline. It was around five in the morning when she reached home. She saw Sam in the kitchen eating cereal and looking at his computer while he held Adeline on his lap.

"Good morning." She said as she entered the kitchen.

"Look Addy, mommy's back." Sam said holding her up. The baby giggled as she saw her mother approaching her.

"There's my baby." She picked up Adeline in her arms. "Did you miss mommy?" She asked in baby voice and the little girl flailed her arms, excitedly tapping her mother's cheeks.

"How was your 'first' hunt?" Sam joked earning an eye roll.

"It was good, vamps nest." She said sitting beside him, pulling her hair away from Adeline who was gripping it too tightly.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked noticing the stress lines on his best friend's face.

"I'm fine, why'd you ask?"

"You have that look on your face." Sam replied gesturing to her face.

"What look?"

"That look when something is bothering you but you're too prideful to say."

"I don't have such look on my face." Y/n said bouncing Addy on her lap.

"Y/n." Sam stared at her. He knows it's only a matter of seconds before she's spilling the truth.

"I met Dean okay? No big deal." She sighed.

"What? You met Dean? How?" Y/n filled in him with everything that happened after the hunt.

"He looked like a common man, it was weird seeing him. And the audacity to walk up to me and say hi? He was lucky he was with someone or I would've bashed his face in the table." Y/n growled her hold tightening on Adeline.

"Maybe he missed you and he thought after seeing you again he could talk to you." Sam said hoping he could get her hate him a little less.

"Well he thought wrong." She said angrily making her way out of the kitchen.

"Do you want me to watch Addy while you rest?" Sam called out from behind her.

"I am very much capable of taking care of my daughter on my own." She snapped, she didn't mean she didn't need Sam's help, she always appreciated his existence. But at the moment her words had a different meaning. She wanted Sam to know that just because she met Dean doesn't mean she will let him be in Adeline's life.

Sam sighed as he watched her walk away. He most definitely understood the meaning behind her words. Y/n went to her room and laid Adeline on the bed. She kneeled beside the bed and looked at her daughter. Adeline wiggled amd giggled staring at her mother. Y/n couldn't help but let a few tears run down her cheek. She never wanted this to be her daughter's life, she didn't need her innocent baby to grow up around monsters, without her father being there to protect her.

"How I wish I could hate your father, Addy. I resent him for what he did to us but I still love him. How could I not when he has given me you." She whispered, her daughter stared up the her with her bright green eyes that reminded her so much of her lost love. She placed soft kisses on her chubby cheeks before putting her in her crib. Y/n sighed as she got into bed. Little did she know this was the last time she had a good night's sleep in a long time.

Tags:

@spnfamily-j2 @queensilber @deangirl96 @galway-girlatwork @hobby27

[ronearoundblindly]

For your Valentine's ask game: #7 Jake Jensen x reader, idk why but it seems fitting 😂

Shut Up, Jensen, one of my Valentine's Fics for 2024!

Oh, this poor, poor, awkward perv. He's pervy until there's a naked lady around and then 😳 "...when I was four, I shoved pennies up my nose..." Seriously, boi, shut up!

Warnings for spice, i.e. a setup to smutty times, but mostly suggestive. MINORS DNI, just to be safe. There's plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this one is not for you! WC 1042

You’ve always had a soft spot for nerds, and now, that’s translating to a damp spot on your fanciest panties you wore for this date.

Jake Jensen goofy-grinned his way through the entire evening, making you almost snort a tequila sunrise through your nose, and he never let up. The humor made you comfortable. It’s endearing to see his nervousness right on his graphic-T sleeve as opposed to being ‘manly’ and aloof.

It’s so, so refreshing to hear someone say, “I’m having a great time,” “I don’t want the night to end,” and know deep down in your bones that they mean “spending this time with you has made me happy” instead of “I’ve done enough to get laid now, right?”

Unsurprisingly, it does mean Jake’s done enough to get laid.

You give him your address so he could park his Jeep outside your building. There are parking meters, but tomorrow is Sunday when they’re free. No big deal. You left the bar (which was after the restaurant, which was after the coffee shop) a minute or two before in order to meet him at one of the open spots and walk him in. He can’t meet you at your door because there is a locked gate to your courtyard, and then a keypad for your building, and then about three corridors to navigate. It’s just easier to show him the way.

You can hear that fucking car coming a mile away.

Jake smiles and waves as he parallel parks—with extreme precision, you note—then hops out, gesturing to the meter questioningly.

“Don’t worry about it,” you shrug, jumping to the edge of the curb before he steps up so you can use the height for a kiss on his cheek.

It’s adorable how flustered he gets at just that tiny bit of affection. Though it’s dark, it’s obvious he blushes ferociously, rubbing at the back of his cropped, short hair, racing to gather his thoughts.

“Did you know there are almost three hundred ways to make change for a dollar? Two hundred ninety-three to be ex—woah—“

You grab his hand to lead him inside.

At the gate, you have to pause for the magnetic lock.

“I’m surprised those things even take change anymore,” Jake muses quietly, courteous for the neighbors’ sake, “because physical money only makes up 8% today’s currency…in the whole world.” He slides past the thick steel grating. “Thank you, digital banking.”

He follows behind you in the maze of concrete paths to the next entry.

“People leave like half a million dollars worth of loose change at airport security. That’s a little shocking,” he whispers when you motion for him to take a left, “think you’d splurge for some decent toilet paper with that kind of dough, or maybe some more cup holders in those row-seats? They could, I don’t know, offset the cost of making pennies. Shit cost two cents. Is worth one. Wild…

“Meanwhile, a dime has 118 ridges on the rim of the smallest circumference.”

Doesn’t even matter what he’s saying, the more his plump pink lips move, the more insanely turned on you get. You have to crowd him through your own doorway before you start stripping in the middle of the hall.

You peel your blouse off the instant your keys clatter onto the dinette table. You spin around to grab him by the screen-printed emblem of his t-shirt.

“There are 1.4 billion $2 bills in circulation.”

He gives a little oof sound when his back hits one of your bedroom walls, and there’s a barely audible whimper as your hands snake up under soft, well-worn fabric.

Holy shit, is this boy cut!

Your thumbs actually catch on the deep ridge of his Adonis belt. Dimes got nothing on you, Jake Jensen…

His breathing has changed significantly. “Did you know they—“ he gasps and swallows “—still make those?”

Ok, why is it hotter when he’s not even trying?

“Fun fact: if you went to Zimbabwe, guess which currency you’d…use?” The neckline of his shirt has to pop over his glasses before he fixes them. “The U.S. Dollar. Seriously! Same damn mon—EH.”

His belt buckle is tricky to navigate from this angle and in the very low light of your bedside lamp. You give up on his pants to unzip your skirt at the hip and let it fall.

Jake stands perfectly still with his hands half-raised.

“You’re…really fucking pretty—sorry—really pret—sexy, not that I—but beautiful. You’re really—”

He sucks in a breath as you step within inches of him again, reaching up to carefully pull his glasses over his ears and place them by the lamp.

“Fuck…”

Your index finger tucks into the elastic of his boxers where they peek out above the belt.

“Yeah, so I’ve been—I’m—I don’t have a—what I’m trying to say is—“ he squeezes his eyes shut and wiggles his fingers higher in the air, searching for the right thought “—the most commonly printed bill is actually the one-hundr—“

“Jake,” you interrupt, gently smoothing your hands over his thick shoulders. He is so ripped, what the hell? You guess there are nerds and then there are nerds, wow…

“Do you want to continue?”

He nods super fast, eyes growing wide in panic.

“Good.”

You smash your lips to his, hauling him down and you up by the sturdy tower of muscle he is.

“Condoms are in the drawer,” you mutter between breaths.

He lets out a high, choked whine before clamping his huge, warm hands to your waist, melting into you and your touch.

You coax the both of you toward the bed, swatting at his belt as a signal for him to help, and he does, though he’s not the greatest multitasker. He huffs and smirks, breaking the kiss so he can unlatch, unbutton, and unzip.

Then he looks up at you. 

“So you like movies…?”

You cup his jaw in your hand and pinch, a gentle peck on his lips as encouragement to focus. “Less talking, more fucking, Jensen.”

He opens his mouth, clearly running through a series of replies, but thinks better of it and  pushes down his pants and boxers all at once.

Lloyd Hansen and a kiss on a place of insecurity ⬅️ ➡️ Steve Rogers and a kiss on a scar

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @spectre-posts @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @peyton--warren Y'all getting sick of me yet???

[heartofbusan]

Finally.

As we hit the halfway point of AYS, I've been wondering about the overall story arc. What part of the story is the one that floats over the entire narrative? To me, it is also the story that is the most sensory one, the one thing about AYS that touches me and sets my mind off of these tangents.

I'll give you a clue:

It's them. Their interactions.

The way jikook as a pair kicked off this journey was a contentious one. We all remember the first episode and the talk they had. There are many reasons, from the editing to the self censoring jikook do in front of the camera that have led to #TheCarScene making the audience feel either uncomfortable or made them sit at the edge of their seat. Hanging off of every word (and translation). There is both a lot happening and not enough. But not many can say that scene left them unmoved. I like that! That means that the audience is engaged! It pulls us in. Especially those of us who love to observe human communication. Yet, now we long to move on from the discomfort that interaction sparked. We long for catharsis. To feel that the conversation they had isn't just hanging there balancing them on a precipice, but that it will be OK for them in the end.

Jungkook’s "Finally" went a long way to guide us to such a resolution, but to me, his relieved exclaim is just the beginning. This, to me, is what the entire show portends to be about.

How does that 'Finally' look like throughout the 8 episodes? How will we look back on that 'Finally' once we've seen them all?

Like I said, we're at the halfway point (already 😭), episode 4, and where is that on-screen relationship building towards? What kind of 'beats' does the story NEED to hit in order to come to a satisfying conclusion within the shows narrative? How does the show earn that 'Finally'?

Sure, Are You Sure is a 'travel-vlog-mukbang-buddy-cop-show', but it's also the story of two seemingly estranged best friends/lovers who've been incredibly busy and who've taken it upon themselves to carve out time to be at ease together. If we look at their busy schedules as being in the way of them being THEM, then the most important goal of AYS is to get them back to that state.

Are You Sure is jikook's safe heaven.

If we were to look at all episodes as a way to work towards that hypothetical goal (Jikook back on the same wavelength) then the story beats per episode look a little like this.

Ep. 1: Two friends embark on road-trip, they've missed eo and want to do fun things together. Lot's of eating.

Ep. 2: Even short term illness can't keep them from sightseeing and eating, more warming up together: spanking in bed edition

Ep. 3: Surprise guest! Cut the camera's: the duo take a pause on domesticity and play games as a trio.

Ep. 4: The duo is the core of the story, pick up where they left off: re-kindling. They make beautiful moments together.

Ep. 5: I expect another conversation about their desire to spend meaningful time together 'Deep talk phase 01'. New location?

Ep. 6: New location but treasured memories pop-up from their first Tokyo trip. What does the future for this duo look like (the military service talk?) aka 'Deep talk phase 02'.

Ep. 7: Level-up: fun snow time activities?!

Ep. 8: More deep talk, 'Phase 03' that cements this duo as utterly and completely besotted with eo. They either talk about their joint enlistment or about traveling after MS...maybe both.

How do you think the next episodes will play out if we think of each episode as building towards a satisfying conclusion?

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

FLOWERS FOR THE SICK AND GONE (II)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER III

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 6.3k

WARNINGS: Angst, mentions of stalking, talks of death, weapons, explosives, violence, gore, strained mother-daughter relationship, suggestive thoughts, mentions of sex, toxic modeling standards, etc. (Series 18+)

A/N: I started this before Nikto was confirmed for MWII multi., but I'll be using the 'Powercell' skin as his main attire now because it's literally so attractive.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You look at your hands as they rest in your lap, right foot jumping up and down in a display of internal anxiety under the table in your Mom’s office. It was cold, and the AC was turned all the way up; the floors barely helped—tile covered by thin rugs and windows open to the chilly morning. Like the opposite of Hellfire. 

Two days had passed since the explosion and you’d only just gotten the ability to leave the hospital. The doctors had wanted to keep you longer, but you had turned in a favor from your matriarch to have them ease off with their prodding and poking. 

The fact that they had been more interested in your permanent colorblindness had tipped you off that all the help you were going to be given had already been passed out. As a whole, that had been in the form of pain medication and surgical glue to the minuscule cut on your temple. 

The head bleeds a lot, you know, even if the injury is minor. You weren’t overly surprised the gash had been tiny; you know what a violent wound to that part of the skull looks like. 

Feels like.

Your lips thin at the thought of the nurses and their curious and narrowed eyes—the doctor wanting to do more in-depth tests as if you hadn’t gone through a slew of them before.

There was a reason you hated hospitals.

Shivering, you take a deep breath to calm down right as the door behind you opens with the sound of heeled feet and a hurried sigh. The door automatically shuts with a slam and a click of metal hinges.

“Thank God nothing happened to your face!” A hand sets itself on your shoulder and you restrain a flinch, looking to the side to the familiar face of your mom as her head tilts to look you up and down in your seat. “Stand up, let me see you.”

You open your mouth to speak but you’re quickly cut off by her serious expression. 

Standing, you steady yourself by placing a hand on the side of the seat, knuckles tight as your casual sneakers take your weight. “It’s just a scratch Mom, promise. I got lucky.” When you can stand without the fear of falling over, you release it and study your mother’s fancy attire.

Dress pants, blouse, and pounds of extravagant jewelry around her neck and wrists like shackles. She looks just the same as you’d always seen her. Cold. 

In some ways, she was more suited to this city than you were. 

“I’ll say—you could have damaged your skin.” She motions to your body, shaking her head and sighing before moving behind her desk to sit down. A large window is behind her—shining in chilled light. “We’ll have to hope and pray that the cut heals before the next photoshoot you have scheduled. Have they told you when you’ll be back in the Agency?”

“...three people are dead, and you’re worried about me?” you say quietly, gut-twisting. “What about them?”

She pauses, her hand half holding a piece of paper from her pile. She glances up at you and thinks for a moment. Your eyes dig into hers, dejected. But she doesn’t think much of this, judging by the confused emotion that swirls behind her gray pigment. 

“I’m sorry, Beauty,” no, she’s not. Your face pulls at the nickname, but you say nothing until she’s done talking. “But their job was to keep you safe. They succeeded, it’s unfortunate, I know, but if they had to…pass,” she strains through the word, not wanting to say the other. For your benefit or hers, you know not. “To keep you alive, then I say it was an even trade.” 

It’s nearly like a slap to your face as your body goes tight, sitting back down into the seat with a puff of air. Like you’d just been slipped poison, your throat starts to fizzle with bile. 

Yefim’s dead body slashes in the back of your mind; the lower half gone and the rest spilling out. Confused eyes and burned skin that smells like something out of a kitchen no matter how morbid the thought was. 

She wasn’t there, you tell yourself. She doesn’t know how bad it was.

Screaming mixed in with crying and Alyona’s insistent barks of orders. Her hands pulled you up and shielded you from the disintegrated ash of Petya and Aleksandr. One splayed out the broken window and the other lay in an unrecognizable heap a foot from the bakery. 

The only people to survive were the Baker’s boy and the two of you, but then again that was half. 

“I don’t think that’s right—”

“If you were a mother, then you’d be agreeing with me,” the Consul explains, shaking her head. “But that’s not why I wanted to bring you here.” With your mom, sometimes it was better just to let things go and have them disappear into the past; you’d gotten good at brushing past comments just to satisfy her. It was just easier.

“Okay,” you whisper, looking down at your lap before closing your eyes. Looking back up, the woman is signing papers and doesn’t glance at you before speaking. 

“There was a break-in at the bakery an hour before you went there,” your body stills, a strange feeling in your gut as it tightens. “Nothing was stolen but Mr. Morozov,” the owner, “says the locks were broken off; he never told authorities until now because it was minor. I think that leaves us with the answer about how that explosive got under the floorboards.” The scribble of a pen before it’s placed down and your mom’s eyes settle back on you with a frown on her lips. Her makeup makes her look like a stone statue you’d see in a museum; blank with an undertone of something else. 

You stutter in broken intervals, repeatedly tapping your finger on your wrist, “How do you know about this?” 

“I’m paid to know,” your mother mutters but offers more. “One of the employees is American. He’s here and planning to extend his visa for four years to care for his dying father.” Her voice drops. “Thank God that he wasn’t working.” 

Being one of the two American Consulate Generals in Russia, your mother’s job was to, officially, “...Preserve and protect the relationship, and be a point of contact, between the United States of America and Russia.” 

It also meant that any American citizens in Yekaterinburg were under her watchful eyes. This Consulate building provides a multitude of services—issuing visas, and renewing passports were the big ones, while registering births and deaths was also added to that chart. You’d never looked much into it, but knew it was intensive work. Everything ‘American’ going on in this city, your mom knows about. 

“I’ve got a landfill of paperwork, so I’ll have to cut this off at the base,” she continues and you rub at the base of your cut with a flinching hand. You carefully tense as if a bombshell is going to be dropped on you, thighs shifting on the seat and feet unconsciously putting themselves farther under the chair. 

The woman blinks at you and folds her hands on the table, knuckles tight. 

“The Russian government is eager to keep lines of communication open with the USA, which means me.” You don’t like where this is going—certainly not with that folder that your mother was grabbing from out of her top drawer; having to unlock it with the name tag around her neck. A small beep echoes over the large room. “I don’t think I need to explain how much this puts me in a hole now that a stalker is after a Consul’s daughter and everyone knows about it.” You feel guilty but you don’t know why. This wasn’t your fault….right? 

“I have meetings planned into next week from the second the sun rises until it peaks its stupid ass back up on the other end.” She speaks low, running a hand over her head but still keeping you in her sight. She slaps a bulging manila folder onto the desk and leans back with a sigh. 

Your eyes meet in a locking of wills and you restrain yourself from apologizing. In your lap your hands clench.

“Any weapon,” she speaks slowly so you take in every word—as if you were a toddler. You hate when she gets like this. “Any goes through so many hoops to be owned it’s practically not worth it, and the same goes for possible parts used to make them. Whoever did this either has connections or a pile of money to use for bribes; I don’t know which I’d prefer, but based on his presents I have a good guess.” 

“But why would someone do that?” You have to speak—to ask. How could someone be so cruel and malicious? Kill someone—multiple someones? To you, it was just unthinkable. Even just being a part of it had wreaked your sleep schedule, left you writhing in bed from an inability to sleep out of fear of seeing Yefim’s face again—gray blood; colorless gore. It was a chore to get up in the morning and eat what little you could.

Being unable to see color had never left you more terrified than when that pretty boy’s eyes had stared into yours until everything was snuffed out like a matchstick. 

“Because this person,” the Consul states, answering you firmly. “He doesn’t care about you as an individual. To him, Beauty…you’re just an object that he wants to own. Your picture is all he thinks about and everyone else needs to be out of the background, do you understand?”

You go lightheaded, face quickly tilting down and contorting into itself. 

Your mother sits straighter and reaches a hand across the table, lightly saying your name with the voice she would use to read stories in your youth. Skin burning, you look at it, but after a moment you weakly place your own into hers, heart hammering and brain laced with a primal fear. Though the woman’s grip tightens and squeezes lightly, you get no warmth from the gesture. Yet still, it’s better than nothing. 

Alyona was away with her relatives and fiance since she’d been released from the hospital earlier; you’d spoken there briefly, but it wasn’t the same as it would have been if you’d had her here.

“We’re going to get this figured out, okay?” You nod, trying to smile as she studies your face—lingering on your temple before she frowns deeply and pulls back. Loudly, she states, “I’ll order some scar cream to your penthouse when we’re done.” 

“Alright,” your lips mumble, ribs like iron cages for too-large lungs.

“But now into the important part. I need you to pick one.” She pushes the folder closer to you, and your hand snaps out to grab it. It instead punches the desk and you hiss, bringing it back to your chest. Your mother minutely blinks in shock, eyes confused. “Still with that Spatial Awareness? I thought you said it was getting better?”

“I’m…still working through it,” you grumble. You wanted to tell her there wasn’t any ‘getting better’ from this. It was just another problem you’d have to deal with your entire life. But, again, it’s easier.

She huffs as you correctly locate the folder and pick it up, placing it gently into your lap and flipping it open. Inside you find file after file, taking the first one into your fingers and propping it up before blinking in confusion at the black ink and tiny picture of a man. 

You briefly look at the name, processing, before gazing back up at the woman with a furrow in your brows. 

“Mom?” 

She smiles.

“I have three men of Russian descent who are candidates to be your next around-the-clock guard.” Your matriarch is oblivious to your apparent hesitation to take on another person into your life, your shoulders hunching in. “All part of a PMC group called KorTac. I’d ask for a broader scale, but being born here and previously serving in the military would give them far more privileges than any others.” 

You’re already shaking your head, “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. I still have to send my apologies to all the others’ families. I–I,” your voice cuts before you can let the tears weigh your sentence down with emotion. 

Your mother didn’t do that kind of thing. 

“Sweetheart,” the woman draws out, shaking her head, “they don’t want to hear from you, you know that.” Her voice hardens. “You’re my responsibility. Now, look at the options.” 

Gritting your teeth, you want to stand and stalk out, say to hell with her PMCs and her bland eyes. The way she talks with care but hides it behind a wall of knives like some protective barrier; like she needs to do that. 

But you stay your voice and look back down, brushing past pages to have all of the pictures lined up right next to each other.

Blinking, you ask, numbly, “What kind of privileges?”

Your mother smiles though a thankful breath. “Weapons, body armor; they’ll be allowed to enter and go about business as they see fit without normal blockades. People here trust their own.”  

Fire races through your mind, all-consuming black smoke and the bland ash of a burning building. Trust their own? One of their own had just killed three people and injured three more just to get your attention. How was that trust?

Your eyes gloss over words, or what little of them you could read beyond inked-out sections. Names smudge and achievements blurr; medals with no hold on you and a list of missions accomplished with what you assumed to be perfect records. 

“These men have killed people,” you say, shifting to the last file as you don’t look at it right away, instead leveling the Consul with a pleading twist to your lips. “A lot of people.”

As an individual, you wouldn’t say you were very confrontational or quick to jump to violence—you did damage control and appeased more than antagonized. There was less stress when everyone could get a portion of what they wanted.

You just didn’t like senseless brutality.

“Then there’s no one better for the job.” Sometimes you wonder if your mother even raised you at all. 

Forehead creased, you shift back to the papers, staring at the last man of the three in a moment of flickering orbs. His intimidating appearance makes your eyes go slightly wider with shock as you focus in. 

Nikto is all that was given for the man’s name—Russian: Никто—and the individual was shrouded in so much black you wondered if he might create a void of energy around him; some kind of gruff and grueling cloud. Even from the picture, the pale, contrasted, eyes dug into you, even brighter than Petya’s had once been. Though, these eyes were inlaid into some strange mask, the top of the covering a type of Kevlar and the bottom covered in rough canvas that pulls back and completely covers the rest of the head. There are straps that extend to hold his chin and on the sides of his nose… 

Your face pulls with mild disgust. Are those two screws? What the hell…?

This Russian was, plainly put, the face of death. Perhaps even something worse.

The theme of black continued, as it was the only color besides white you could identify. Strapped vest of armor plates, arms and hands that rest behind his back covered by long sleeves. Ammo was clipped at the sides of his upper chest and a large collar of armor stamped with the letters and number of ‘MP-0’. Your eyes slide to what you can read about him, morbidly intrigued as you frown at his belt full of grenades and knives. An assault rifle hangs from his chest by a long strap, limp as a dead limb.

But as you look, there was even less information available about this beast than there was visible skin behind the face-paint smeared into his sockets. Not even an age.

“Nikto,” you murmur. You wondered why you liked how it slipped off the tongue. 

But you’ll also wonder in the future why you choose him at all. 

Maybe it was the way for the first time in two days you’d felt something other than fear and regret; something that spread like water into the lines of your face to make them smooth. Maybe it was because out of the others, he would be the type to do his job and then leave entirely without a trace.

A blink and then…gone. 

You can't have anyone else die on you—and Nikto seems the only one able to take death by the throat and throttle him with the handle of his own scythe. 

Maybe.

Maybe.

Your head tilted, and you blinked. 

“This one,” you toss the file to your mother’s desk and watch it hit off-center. the woman’s face twitches at the monster-esc profile. It’s like she ages ten years.

“...Lovely.”

—

One day later you meet Nikto, but before you do, you make a quick visit to the hospital with a bundle of fresh flowers. You’d brokenly asked for blue and white, but you can’t verify if that was really what you were holding. 

At the front desk, you ask for room three and are simply pointed down the hallway without a word. A small smile is handed over, but no one answers as you slink away, guiding your legs along the lines of the tile on the ground. Standing outside you knock softly and grasp the handle, pushing it open after a deep breath. 

The Baker’s Boy lays in a bed and his dark eyes snap to yours immediately, widening. His curls are crisped and shorter now, singed at the ends. Arms taped with bandages and gauze, his wounds are not wide-spread but severe enough to keep him for longer than you and Alyona. 

“Sergei?” You ask, standing in the doorway and plastering a soft smile on your face. You’d gotten his name through a text with Aly, where she asked you to give him a kind word as you dropped off your gift.

Sergi blinks quickly at you, and something like fear slashes his face. You raise your hands rapidly, flowers in the crook of your elbow. 

“N-no, I’m sorry. I know you’ve probably heard a lot about me, the news has been…uh…” Your words trail to a fake chuff of laughter, looking to the side wall for a moment. “Well, it’s not right of me to take no blame.” The man only stares and stays silent, sitting up straighter in bed and thinning his lips. His body is tense. 

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to drop these off. I-I’ll leave.” Walking quickly to the side table, you place down the flowers and clear your throat, sending him a very guilty glance. “The woman I was with gives her well-wishes for your recovery. I’m sorry,” you say again, nodding your head and locking your hands in front of your abdomen. 

Turning on your feet like an elite track star, you dart quickly back to the door. 

“Girl.” You halt in the doorway, one arm quivering just as it had before the explosion. Your head swivels, surprised. 

Sergi gazes at you, his dark eyes large and serious, tinged with unease. His English is barely understandable, and he struggles through the words with an accent so deep it’s a series of throaty grunts. 

“Do not come back.” 

Your lungs tighten as if someone squeezes them in a ruthless fist. Nodding shakily, you dash out and don’t stop until you’re back outside, breathing in gasps and putting a hand to your mouth to stifle your ragged breaths. People who come and go look at you as you lean heavily into the wall, some concernedly furrowing their brows but ultimately walking past. 

You suppose they didn’t recognize you in all of the normal clothes—a thick turtleneck under a jacket and sweatpants. No makeup with a ball cap atop your head. Clearing your dry throat, you get a hold of yourself and keep your face down-cast, slithering off with a zig-zag pattern of feet. 

It’s okay. It’s okay. He has a right to feel like that. It’s going to be okay.

But it doesn’t stop the pit in your heart from growing until it threatens to swallow you whole.

It’s only when you’re five minutes late to the Consulate building that your mother levels you with an unimpressed look, standing at the entrance with her arms crossed. You walk quickly to hide the rings around your eyes from her, not wanting to start an argument about what went wrong.

“He’s been here for half an hour, Seraph,” you cringe, waving to the woman at the front desk who nods and gives a pitying tilt of her head. 

Half an hour? Talk about a time freak.

“I know, I’m sorry, I just lost track of time.” Hands take you by the side of your arms and swivel you back around as you hang up your jacket, making you flinch but go along with the action. 

Your mother levels you with a stare that the long it goes on, eases. It mingles on the border of comfort and concern before she awkwardly squeezes and lets go of you, eyelids blinking to study the trash can near the door. 

“Stop…apologizing, Beauty.” The curtain re-falls and your mom stands straighter, brushing down her fitted blouse and clearing her throat. “It’s unbecoming. Now, remember to smile—everyone loves your smile.” 

You hide your yearning and plaster on a fake grin, feeling nervousness infecting your blood. 

In your career, meeting new people was a requirement. Photographers, other models, business associates who reach out for brand deals; the list was long. Beyond a desirable body and the mask of provocative expressions, physical image was only a part of it—being good at playing sales broker added to appeal. At the parties AMA shipped you off to, especially. 

Alyona often called the two of you exceptionally well-paid and up-standing sex workers, but withholding the intimacy of sheets and panting breath. You sold the idea of sex just by being there, which, oftentimes, is far better than the sin of flesh itself. Your agency knows it well.

Your face was an asset; just like your body and expressions—a tool.

But somehow you knew that whatever face you put on, model or the woman who’d just seen immense horror, it wouldn’t matter in the slightest. Just on a picture alone, Nikto had ingrained himself in your mind as an idol of seriousness and blunt orders. Not like Yefim, but somehow that made you feel better about this situation. It was even the reason you had chosen him in the first place.

No getting close to this one, you reason as your mother guides you down a hallway, hand firm on your back. 

“Is there anything I can know besides his name?” Watching room after room passes you, you’re brought to the far back of the Consulate building. You study the large wooden door. 

It’s a moment before your mom responds, rubbing lightly along your spine. “I’ve heard he’s a former FSB Agent. Spetsnaz as well. He has an extensive record, but no...concerns to worry about. You’re in exceptionally good hands.”  

“Concerns?” A huff. “Like if he’ll kill me before the creep has the chance,” you’re leveled with a stiff look.

“No one is going to die, Seraph.” People already have. 

With a frown, you grasp the handle and shrug off your mother’s touch, entering the room and letting the door shut behind you with a thump as you pad through. It’s only a millisecond, but you plaster back on a content expression and loosen your muscles; the internal warfare of constant tension makes everything ache. 

You lock eyes with a standing absence of light. 

In person, he was even more dark…and you didn’t just mean the outfit. Staring, bright eyes dig into your soul with no emotions—so departed from normal expression it’s like looking into a corpse. 

Nikto’s standing with his hands behind his back, his shoulders loose but pulled with soldier-like authority. He’s tall, and the large bulk of his chest and thighs make you swallow down saliva as you stand still and blink quickly. His stomach bulges with muscle from under his armor—the same you’d seen in his profile. 

The Russian was all the same except for the lack of weapons, though, the duffel bag at his side certainly held them in its inky depths.

He’s built like a damn brick wall, your mind blanks, not lying with the feelings of slight unease. Nikto was just…still. Not blinking. Watching you with a gleam of something strange. The Russian man’s eyes narrow with…disgust? Maybe you were reading too much into that, but one thing was certain.  

He was studying you... aggressively. Prodding.

A second passes like this.

Oh, your face remains a plastered calm but your heart skips a beat, he’s waiting for me to introduce myself. You quickly clear your throat and walk forward, not seeing the way he tenses and sets his feet harder into the ground. 

“Umh,” scolding yourself for your hesitation, you shakily put out a hand for him to shake, keeping a respectable distance away. 

Finally, a slight movement; a dart of his eyes down to your limb.

“I’m Seraph, nice to meet you. You go by Nikto, right? Just Nikto…? I’m sorry, that was all I was able to read on your file.” You’re blinked at slowly, left gazing up into this beast's covered face and his terrifying mask of fabric and rigid material. 

How tall can a man be before it becomes insulting to be standing next to him?

As the silence continues, your hand stutters before you let it fall, awkwardly stuffing it into your pocket. 

Alright.

“There was…” You lick your lips, glancing off to a gray picture on the far wall. “A lot of black ink, to be honest. Quite the record, huh?” 

A strained chuckle bounces off the small space. 

Nikto doesn’t respond and you blink quickly through confusion and growing embarrassment. Your face burns like a heat gun was set on it. A highly uncomfortable silence falls, but you very much doubt that the man in front of you even feels it like you do—a slow deterioration of your confidence.

And why in the hell was he still looking at you like that?! All you’d done is walk through the damn door and lock eyes with him!

But then he speaks as you’re just about to turn away and walk out of the room with your tail between your legs, mentally exhausted and needing to put ice on your forehead. 

“Seraph, like angel?” Broken English, but better than Sergi’s. What caught you was the depth of it—the rough scrape of vocal cords and raspy grit. Sandpaper, nearly. You restrain yourself from cringing. Nikto scoffs and he looks away from you, stance immobile. “You do not look like angel.”

Your mind takes a moment to latch onto the words, jaw slackening in shock and lashes fluttering for a second. “E…excuse me?”

Nikto grunts and glares at the door. 

It’s your turn to stare, mouth opening and closing with small smacks of lips with a sudden blankness to your brain. Your ability to speak seems to leave you in a small instant between the stab of insult and brief anger. While you felt yourself above the base instinct of vexation, Nikto’s words had soaked you in their substance of prodding bluntness. 

Your beauty was all you had, certainly, he hadn’t meant that. Surely it was just a translation error. Your lips darken with a frown, eyes flashing. 

But something else pierces you in the chest, too.

Without another exchange, you turn around and begin walking to the exit, hands in your pockets clenched into your palms. There’s a silent padding of feet right behind you and the shuffle of a duffel bag. Your body freezes and you slowly look over your shoulder. 

The Void follows, bag in hand and dead eyes peeling back your psyche as if this was normal; you find him a few steps forward from where he was, like your own personal shadow.

He freezes as you do, but this is more… purposeful. Both of you lock gazes, nothingness and veiled discourse flaring. 

But you were better than that. 

You had to be better. 

So you soften your expression and, under your breath, sigh heavily. “I’ll write you up my schedule,” Nikto blinks, brows barely pulling in. “Get you a copy from AMA or something.” 

“Already acquired.” His hulking figure seems to always be tense and ready to strike. For a second you’re reminded of Petya with a sharp slap to your face. But Nikto’s bark is far sterner if that was even possible. Almost like a single sound.

You bring a hand to itch at your temple, stopping before you can peel at the soft skin covered in scar cream.  

“...Right,” at a slight loss of what to do, you shuffle your feet and open the door—leaving the room and holding the thing partially open behind you for the Russian. “Of course.” Your grumble only meets your ears, put off. 

Nikto moves out of the doorway, having to slightly tilt his shoulders to fit through the opening without slamming into the frame. He does so fluidly and almost robotically. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you walk like a scary dog?” You let go of the door and pull ahead, smiling somewhat more real as the light eyes snap down at you. There’s a brief grunt of breath from behind his mask.

Nikto is silent for a long while, growling out, “Hет.” Formal. Brisk. 

No. 

You get the feeling that you’re annoying him, but you can’t help but slightly enjoy it. Finally, some semblance of normality you could cling to. “Well, they should,” you admit, studying the loping walk—a slightly tilted pace that would suit a wolf or a bear, even. Making sure your own hand slides against the wall to keep you in a straight line, you continue, cheekily. “Because you do.” 

Nikto stares straight ahead and stays silent, something akin to irritation in his visible portions; free hand twitching. You tilt your head.

“Y’know, this would be better if you could hold a conversation.” 

“Да.” You smile wider.

“So you’ll have a conversation with me?” 

 “Hет.” Nikto glares from a side-eye, the words hissed through clenched teeth. If he was this easy to rile up, this would be more fun than you thought.

Your eyes linger on his form, the biceps, and the forearms that strain behind padded pieces of thick material. Combat boots and loose black cargo pants shoved into them.

This might be a good distraction, at the very least. Let the authorities work in the background and keep this cut of the crop. No feelings, of course. Not like Yefim, you remind yourself again. Never again like Yefim. 

The dead man’s face slips behind your eyelids and you blink your face forward. 

“Are you only going to say ‘yes’ or ‘no?’” Nikto’s bulk enshrouds you heavily as you take a right back to the lobby where your mother waits. He hums in his throat, before muttering something under his breath in harsh Russian. You have no idea what that means or if you even want to decipher it, you shrug and shut up. 

It was probably a curse anyway. Or a plea for reassignment. 

Your mother’s face pulls tight as Nikto shows himself beside you, his sights locking onto the Consul as you grab your jacket, missing the hook once before you grasp it firmly and slip it on. 

“If everything is in order…?” She trails, before frowning at the man and coming over to you. 

“We can always find a way to bring you back to the States,” you blink, her face serious as it slashes through you. “Get your passport up to date and find a different modeling agency.” 

What’s with the change in attitude? You ask yourself, brows pulling in and studying your mom’s expression. She’s older, but maybe you’re only realizing it now that you care to look. Wrinkles and a certain film to her gaze that parents seem to grow when they’re trying to convince you of something.

Nikto watches and listens closely a few feet from the door, duffel bag still in hand. 

“You know that’s not an option. Allurement is exclusive—I won’t get a better deal than the one I have.” Your words come out confused. “Weren’t you the one that told me this was the best option, that they would be the only ones to take me?” You pause. “Especially with the way I am?”

Her face twists, shaking her head instantly with a scrunched nose and flashing orbs. Even mentioning what happened made her act like water near the brim of a glass; one shake and the liquid would seep over and pool to the counter. “I don’t remember saying that.” 

You close your mouth before changing the subject, offering an easy, yet strained, smile. 

“I’m going to be okay, Mom. Besides, the guy’ll get caught before we know it. All of them do. Petya, Aleksandr, and Yefim,” your voice tightens, “will get to rest easy.” 

Your matriarch gives a small twitch of her lips back, kisses your forehead, and says, “Alright, Beauty,” you hide your cringe, “I’m one call away.” 

She walks off with a click of her heels. 

“Girl,” you look up from zipping your jacket. Nikto glares at you. “быстро. Hurry up.” 

“Hurry up?” Your voice bounces as you make your way to the exit, sending a thinly hidden face of amusement. “I’m just going home, there’s no rush to things.”

“We need to secure the premises.”

We? You nearly ask, wondering what he meant. Obviously, he didn’t mean you and him, based on general attitude right now. Maybe that was just a strange quirk of his. 

“Around my penthouse?” Nikto’s shoulder presses on the barrier and he’s outside before you can finish your sentence. You narrowly catch the door and slip past like a horrible snake, elbow slapping the frame—you hold back a hiss and enter the street. “I…I don’t think it’s overly necessary, the police move through that area a lot—”

“Not the penthouse, Whelp,” you struggle along, feet rapid to stay at his side and multitask by staying in a line. He walks in long strides, parting people away from him with only a sharp glance and a scoff. “Inside.” 

Your body halts before you blink back to your senses and make a noise in the back of your throat.

“I-inside, Nikto? I’m sorry, I’m not following.” You huff under your breath and stick beside him, using his presence as a sort of barrier. He walks near the road. “I never agreed to that. And Whelp? What the hell, man?”

“I do not care.” 

“You’re just a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” You grumble, sighing. 

I guess I’m having guests. 

Has your mother given permission for that? A stranger with weapons thumping inside of your penthouse like he was your live-in boy toy? Eating in your kitchen and putting his feet up on the coffee table? God, the public would have a field day with it when they saw him walking down with you in the morning to go to work.

He couldn’t have been put in the building across the street? But you suppose there are worse things that can happen—you have the space for it. With a dejected expression, you sigh; you seem to be doing that a lot recently.

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Nikto stares down at you as your feet stutter along, seeming to raise a brow in annoyed question as to why you were struggling to keep up. 

You wondered how much he had been told beyond some rich Consul's daughter needed a new bodyguard. Did he know any of it? 

“What?” Your lips twist, smile flicking out. “See something you like?”

“No. You’re slow.” You hide your groan and face forward, brows falling into a line.

But you’re not oblivious to the way his piercing eyes survey the crowd, and while the mask is drawing attention, random people peeping break off like sticks as he’s clocked by you, darting to make room. How his large shoulders span and block the road from you, pace pulling back to fit right behind you with a low grunt as your arms brush. 

A grunter too—he really is a scary dog.

“Why do you walk like this,” Nikto growls. “Are you unable to feel your feet? It is pathetic.”

“Are you going to stop insulting me?” You glare ahead and cross your arms. “Or are you going to keep playing the jerk until this is over?” 

His eyes burn into yours for a moment, before he places such a heavy hand on your shoulder that you almost squeak at the pressure. It nearly slants you forward before your back tightens. 

“Keep quiet. Walk.” 

“Well, now I don’t think I’m going to,” his eyes flash, those colorless films going into themselves with tiny flecks of surprise. You suppose no one’s ever had banter like this with him before, being in a PMC…or really just being him as a whole. He doesn’t seem the joking type over a back-handed sarcastic comment.

“So, how has your day been, Nikto?” Your voice is smug and your smile large, perfect and bright, and ravishing. “Today I woke up at five AM and ate an apple with yogurt. Then I—”

Nikto growls deeply and forces you on through a gawking crowd. 

The rest of the walk is filled with a one-sided conversation coming from a grinning face, pale, boiling eyes, and the shadow across the street who watches through the thin glass of a bookstore. The perfect view.

A hat on his head. 

A slight distance to his addled expression.

A medium slip-joint knife in his pocket.

TAGS:

@anna-banana27, @random-thot-generator, @midwesternwitchery, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @halfmoth-halfman, @alpineswinter, @blingblong55, @cryingnotcrying, @lxne20, @not-eclipse, @theecoffeebean, @phoenixhalliwell, @h3ll-guttz, @tiinkerbell, @genjilvr, @azush4rp, @escapefromrealitysm, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @finnigansxz, @cowboybaby2, @delaynew, @doggydale, @zapphir, @littlemisstrouble, @xxtmoe, @grizzersmamma, @andreas-river, @blogdddxx, @jade-jax, @emthegrace, @lovebugmsyd, @makariaspresence, @noisyprofessorhoundsalad-blog, @scythebot, @blueoorchid, @kra-rino4ka, @caramlizedtomatos, @strawberymilk,@frazie99, @homicidal-slvt, @develised, @crispyhusband, @cathnoneofyourbusiness, @ghostslittlegf, @generalcloudtraveler-blog,  @azsteris, @rvjaa, @creminemisinthehizzyforshizzboy, @comsyki

[glitterquadricorn]

letter to me - Niall Horan

+summary: On the day of her wedding, reflects on her life via a letter to herself. +pairing: Niall Horan x f1!driver +warnings: mentions having a breakdown, mentions sexism, mentions misogyny, curse words, mentions bullying, mentions the FIA, poorly edited, etc. I do not give my permission to have my work reposted. I do not give my permission to have my work translated. If I'm notified that you've stolen my work or claim it as your own, you'll be asked to take it down before I'll report you. End of discussion.

She glanced around the room, observing the guests before standing up and tapping on the microphone to get everyone's attention. Niall, who was sitting next to her, raised his eyebrows in curiosity.

"Hello everyone! I hope everybody is having a lovely evening so far. Dinner will be served momentarily, but until then, I decided to do a little speech of my own," she paused. "One night sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by wedding stuff, I found myself getting overwhelmed to the point where I had a breakdown. But while I was having my breakdown, I had my country playlist from Spotify playing in the background. The song Letter to Me by Brad Paisley came on and I thought, 'writing a letter to my past self sounds like a pretty good idea.' I'm happy to read that letter for all of you right now."

Their wedding planner handed her a white envelope containing the letter. Opening it, she cleared her throat and began to read.

"If I could write a letter to me, and send it back to myself at sixteen first, I'd prove it's me by saying go over to your closet, and on the top shelf all the way in the back is an orange shoe box. In this shoe box is a dedicated shrine of your first crush, your one true love, Jenson Button," she grinned as said man's laughter loudly echoed throughout the room, which in turn made everyone else laugh. "And I really hate to break it to you, but he's happily married to a beautiful woman who is out of his league."

"And then I'd say I know it's tough to see all the other guys on the grid get opportunities to further their careers while you stand still, stuck in the same place not really going anywhere. At one point you even ask yourself if racing is really worth it because of the limited opportunities and all the sexism and misogyny. But future me is here to tell you don't give up and don't quit because there's a man who would've loved to have been here today and who sadly isn't with us anymore. He clearly saw potential in you that others didn't and without that man, you wouldn't have met Toto Wolff and if it wasn't for Toto, you wouldn't have been a part of the Mercedes drivers' program. Sadly, you don't get a seat at Mercedes, but you will get a seat at Porsche, who are making a serious name for themselves and pose a real threat to the championship standings."

Y/n sniffled, thinking about Niki and all the good things he's done for her. Feeling Niall's hand on her arm, she continued.

"The stop sign that's two blocks down from your childhood home? Don't run it. There's a huge pothole in the middle of the intersection and since you were speeding, you hit just right to not only flatten the tire but bend the rim of said tire. You manage to drive it back home safely, park it in the garage, sneak into the house and up to your room with no one noticing you were gone because you weren't supposed to be out at eleven o'clock at night. Unfortunately for y/b/n, he ended up taking the fall cause to our parents' knowledge, he was the last one to drive the car."

At the table next to hers, her brother yelled, "I told you it wasn't me!"

"I apologize for that, and I will pay you the money it took to get it fixed now that you know it was me," she laughed.

"You'll be bullied for your love of cars and all things racing. You'll be told by teachers, peers, and some of your own family members those sorts of things are only for boys and as a girl, you should aim for something more realistic like a nurse, or a teacher. Which there is nothing wrong with that, but as Grandma Agnes once said, "Aim for the fucking moon and If that makes people mad, then so be it."

"Speaking of people who feel you shouldn't be racing, there's this association called the FIA. While they do not openly admit to it, the FIA will hate you and it's only because any chance you get, rather it be on social media or in person, you'll call them out for their bullshit. But you'll prefer to do it in person because nothing will make you happier than seeing a bunch of crusty, crunchy, salty, bitter old men get red in the race with anger."

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, bracing herself for the end of the letter to herself. "The journey to formula one will be one of the hardest things you'll ever do in your life, but you'll be rewarded with new friendships and experiences that'll last a lifetime. So, I'll end by saying you may never ever win a formula one championship, and that's okay. You will however inspire the next generation of girls to pursue their dreams in motor sports and that will always be more gratifying than winning a title."

"Oh! And PS, make sure you remind your husband, who is a pasty white Irish man who burns brighter than Ferrari, to put on sunscreen with a spf of 75 or higher because you don't repeat of Mykonos 2021."

Niall, being the only one who knew what happened in Mykonos 2021, laughed while getting up from his chair, bringing her into his arms and kissing the top of her head. After she read the letter, dinner was served and not too long after that, the bride and groom had their first dance. And as they twirled around on the wooden dance floor, they looked into each other's eyes, seeing their entire future ahead of them and they couldn't wait for what was in store.

---

I've had this in my drafts for a hot minute.

Happy Birthday to me! :) 🎉🎂🥳🎁

tagging:

@patzammit @mrspeacem1nusone @alexxavicry @catswag22 @eugene-emt-roe @bibissparkles @cherry-piee @khaylin27 @evie-119 @green-thots @2pagenumb @myescapefromthislife @ironmaiden1313 @lottalove4evelyn @mynameisangeloflife @newlifeforus @jxnellat @loloekie @c-losur3 @czennieszn @d3kstar @reiofsuns2001 @sweate-r-weathe-r @itsjustkhaos @hiireadstuff @wcnorris

[wh0refornikolailantsov]

Compass Of Pirates - Nikolai Lantsov

Summary: Nikolai is given a compass that he was told would solve all his problems, and yet he cannot figure out why it doesn't seem to work. Yes, I am merging with Pirates Of The Caribbean because I fucking can.

Content Warnings: No Beta/Proof Reading.

Nikolai Taglist: @hauntedenthusiasttragedy

The brass points across the centre of the compass are centred by a sundial, which as far as Sturmhond can tell is the most functional part of the compass. He holds the compass in the clutch of his palm, staring at the red arrow as it gently swings between two points, neither of which are north. He had picked it up from someone in one of the markets in the last port they docked in. It was this rocky, mountainous island, just off the northern coast of the mainland. The name of the port escapes the captains mind, but it was some fishing port with a name not unlike a weapon of some kind. But that isn't really important, what is important is the illusion of help this compass had been acquired under. "It will bring you to what you most desire," they had said, "the compass never leads you wrong." He had been dubious but nevertheless he has hope he isn't sure he has a right to, and yet he was finding the outcome very disappointing.

"This thing doesn't even point north," Sturmhond says, staring again at the compass in his hand. Mal shrugs, offering out his open hand.

"May I?" he asks. He hands it over, without pause and the dial spins to quickly into a new direction the moment it touches Mal's palm. Mal watches the dial and follows it's direction. He knows exactly what the privateer has observed, that this compass does not point north, but instead it is now pointing at Alina, who is leaning over the edge of the ship, staring at the way the waves are breaking onto the boats side, creating the white foam of sea spray and she is smiling like she has never seen the ocean before. "Oh, Sturmhond," Mal says, "it points north alright," he chuckles, "true north."

The Captain frowns. "True north?" he questions, staring the tracker down. "What kind of navigational system are you working on Oretsev?"

"The only one that hasn't ever lead me wrong," he hands the compass back to Sturmhond and the moment it enters his hand it changes direction back to where it had been previously pointing. Mal taps the fabric of his shirt, directly over his heart. "I told Alina about true north once, she asked me what scared me most, and I told her I get the most scared when I am lost, but I don't really get lost. Yet, getting lost happens even if you know where you are sometimes. So I told her about cardinal north and true north."

"Cardinal north is a direction on a map," Sturmhond says. Mal nods, not letting his eyes leave the Sun Summoner. "So, as for true north?"

"True north is home," Mal says, sounding more like a poet than a tracker, "it is where you feel safe and loved."

"Miss Starkov is your truth north," Sturmhond says with a nod. Mal doesn't even need to respond to that. "So you think this compass points to what exactly?"

"Whatever you most desire, that's what the translation says on the side isn't it?" Mal says, finally looking at him. "You did see that, didn't you? Since you're always six steps ahead of everything, and ever so flawless Captain?"

He is too eager to test the theory to even care about Mal's teasing of him. He just thanks him absentmindedly and follows the compass forward. "Don't walk off the edge of the ship," Mal calls after him, "or do..."

He spends a good while walking the length of the decking, trying to figure out why the dial spins into a change of direction, seemingly without link. "Maybe you don't know what you want," Mal teases, observing him.

"Doesn't this interest you?" Sturmhond asks, running a hand through his tousled hair.

Mal shrugs. "What use is a compass what would be pointing right beside me all of the time?" he asks. "Besides my heart always brings me back to her."

"You're good with your words when it suits you, aren't you?" Tamar asks, coming to stand beside Mal, bored of her card game and far more interested in whatever it is that has gotten the Captain all pacing and flustered. "Still staring at the broken compass?"

"It's not broken," Mal says, "it's just not helpful."

"A compass's only purpose is to point north, and it doesn't, so it's broken," Tamar argues.

"It's a heart compass, not a compass," Mal says. The Heartrender laughs.

"Those are legend," she says, taking some walnuts from her pocket to snack on. She offers him one and he shakes his head to dismiss the offer.

"Wasn't the Stag legend too?" Mal retorts. Tamar gives him a shrug.

"That means nothing of all legend," is her response, but she keeps watching Sturmhond.

"It doesn't even make sense," he says finally holding the compass up and above his head to see how the dial moves. "It's not pointing to anything, I thought it might've been pointing to Ravka but I was wrong."

"You're suggesting your truest love is a country?" Mal asks, "what kind of excessive patriotism is that?"

"You're not patriotic?" Tamar asks, her tone littered with laughter.

"No," he admits, not feeling pulled down by the admission, "I came here for Alina. She's my flag, my nation, she is the one thing I remain loyal to."

Tamar's question was to sway Mal from paying too much attention to the captains words, but he doesn't throw her a look of gratitude, instead he returns to his fixation on the compass, as it spins to point towards the ships bow. Some of the crew start to appear on deck, changing placement as the time passes, and Tolya walks beside you, as you tell him something out of their earshot.

He takes his eyes off the compass, staring directly at you, forgetting what his original intentions had been, he offers you a smile and you grin back, all teeth and cheer. Even after the days at sea nothing seemed to sway your mood.

Tamar elbows Mal in the side and before her can take issue with it, she nods his attention to Sturmhond, who has lost interest in the compass altogether in your presence.

"Got it working yet?" you ask, coming closer to the three of them Tolya by your side.

"Think it might be a lost cause," the privateer admits, holding the compass down and to his side, as if to hide it's direction from those around you.

"Come on, Captain, plenty have said that about broken things, but often you just need time or the right pair of hands," you say, "show me?"

He hesitates and Mal and Tamar share a look, a look that spreads into matching grins. "Oh, he is not as smart as he gives himself credit for," Mal says in hushed words.

"Most of the time he is, but any heart can get blind sighted, and when the heart is blind, the mind can fog," Tamar says, voice equally low.

You look at him and he is smiling at you like you're a sunrise, like he is seeing you for the first time, and you wonder how he always manages to look at you like this. Look at you in a way that makes your head spin and your stomach twist. You know Sturmhond, and you know the man can flirt like second nature, that no one you've yet to meet have been susceptible to his charms, so you try not to let go to your head. But that's not easy when he looks at you like he has just discovered what love is for the very first time.

He holds out the compass out and you look at it, not reaching to take it from his hands, you move around to his perspective for the dial to swing back in your direction. You lean around him, to get a better look and then stare out at the ocean. But he just watches you, not as much are daring to confirm what he suspects by glancing to the compass.

You move back in front of him, and the dial points to you, and you turn your head to look at the big blue expanse behind. "Compass doesn't know north that's for sure," you say, giving him a wild smile and a shrug. "But I guess it's no better than most of us in that."

"It doesn't know north," he agrees, shoving the compass back in his pocket, "but it seems to know things I should have before now."

"Hmm?" you ask, turning back to him from the waves.

"Nothing, now, tell me, what was so funny?"