#i thought i could live with it until maybe later in the winter but i was getting so frustrated with how lifeless and tangled my hair was 😭

[icrypop]

Oh my Love

---

Domestic shorts with the boys on Christmas Eve

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sylus

The Onychinus leader rarely indulged in domesticity, but tonight was different. His usually sharp demeanor softened as he stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, assisting you with a clumsy attempt at baking cookies.

“Sylus,” you teased, smirking as he managed to get flour on his face. “You’re supposed to mix it, not attack it.”

His amber eyes narrowed playfully. “If your instructions weren’t as vague as your bedtime stories, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

You chuckled, stepping closer to wipe the flour off his cheek. His hand caught yours, pulling you closer until your forehead rested against his. “I’m not much for holidays,” he murmured, his voice low. “But if they’re with you…” His lips ghosted over yours, making your heart flutter.

Later, you sat in front of a modest tree, wrapped in his arms as the fire crackled. His fingertips traced lazy patterns on your skin, and for once, the galaxy’s troubles felt light-years away.

---

Xavier

Xavier's refined taste transformed your living room into a winter wonderland. Twinkling lights, elegant garlands, and the perfect tree stood as his handiwork. “It’s beautiful,” you said, admiring his work.

“It pales in comparison to you,” Xavier replied, his silver hair catching the soft glow of the lights. He handed you a mug of hot cocoa and guided you to the couch.

You spent the evening wrapped in his arms, his soothing voice reading a classic Christmas story as snow fell outside. Every word felt like a melody, his love evident in every glance he gave you.

When the story ended, he tilted your chin up and kissed you, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment. “Merry Christmas, my love,” he whispered, his smile as soft as the snowfall.

---

Rafayel

Rafayel’s laugh echoed through the cabin as you threw another snowball his way. “You think you can take me down?” he teased, dodging with ease.

“Maybe!” you shot back, managing to land a hit on his chest. He feigned hurt, clutching his heart dramatically before rushing toward you.

Before you could escape, his strong arms wrapped around your waist, spinning you in a circle. You squealed, laughing as he fell back into the snow with you in tow.

Lying beside each other, gazing at the stars, Rafayel brushed a strand of hair from your face. “You make even the coldest nights warm,” he murmured. His lips found yours, the kiss both playful and tender.

Later, back inside, you sipped mulled wine by the fire, wrapped in a blanket with him. The mischievous glint in his eyes softened into something deeper as he held you close.

---

Zayne

Zayne was surprisingly skilled at decorating, meticulously placing ornaments on the tree. “You’re such a perfectionist,” you teased, watching as he adjusted a bow for the third time.

“Details matter,” he replied, smirking. “Besides, I want this to be perfect for you.”

Once the tree was finished, he dimmed the lights, letting the soft glow of the decorations take center stage. He pulled you to the couch, where a cozy blanket and a platter of your favorite snacks awaited.

You leaned against him, feeling his steady heartbeat as a holiday movie played in the background. “I never thought I’d enjoy something this... domestic,” he admitted, his voice soft.

You smiled, tilting your head to look at him. “Guess I’m rubbing off on you.”

He chuckled, brushing his lips against your temple. “Merry Christmas, my heart,” he said, pulling you closer. The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the warmth of his love.

---

[sillyuin]

Worth the wait

Genre: fluff, friends to lovers ??

Pairing: non idol Vernon x reader.

Yuin's note: Part (2/2). This is my carat secret santa gift for @hearts4hansol. Hope you like it, happy holidays sweetie! 🦭❤️

Vernon could hardly believe his ears when you agreed to go out with him. The image of your smiling face stayed in his mind throughout the night before the long-awaited date, with the hours feeling endless until the moment he arrived at the building where you lived to take you for a stroll.

The place was a café you'd wanted to visit for a long time; he'd thought about taking you there many times but preferred to wait for the right moment. And he waited patiently for this very specific moment.

“Are you sure?” you asked hesitantly just outside the entrance. “This place is… very expensive.”

“I already told you not to worry,” Vernon gave you a warm smile and stepped ahead to hold the door open for you. “Leave it to me.”

You walked in as he followed a step behind and you took sit at a table by a large window. Shortly after, a kind waiter approached with the menu, and the two of you looked through it together.

“Would it be okay if I pick this one?” you asked, pointing to an item on the menu which had a rather high price listed beside it.

Vernon noticed how you still seemed a bit nervous, so he placed his hand over yours and gave it a gentle pat. “Of course, don’t worry about it.”

You both placed the order with the waiter and a few minutes later he brought what you asked for.

The afternoon was filled with conversation and the delicious aroma of the desserts you both had chosen. You were very talkative, taking the lead in nearly every conversation and laughing non-stop at Vernon’s expressions in response to your stories.

He was quieter, simply keeping up with your rhythm. He seemed a little lost in thought, probably just way too stunned by you, your beauty and your precious voice he was pleased to hear; or maybe, just maybe, there was something going on in his mind…

“Are you even listening?” you suddenly asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re like… Vernoning too much.”

Vernon chuckled quietly, narrowing his eyes. “You were telling me about the time you went to buy that purple sweater you wanted so badly.”

You laughed and continued the story. “And that girl almost took it, but it was way too big for her.”

“If I remember correctly, it’s too big for you too,” Vernon teased while taking a sip of his coffee.

“What are you talking about? It fits me perfectly,” you raised an eyebrow and he did the same as a way to mock you, making both of you burst in laughter with the inside joke.

“Everything looks great on you,” he finished, looking at you until a shy smile crept onto your face.

“Well, as I was saying, I fought for that sweater to the very end…”

After a while, you glanced into the distance and noticed how night was almost there. Winter was approaching, and the sun was setting earlier. Vernon could see a hint of sadness in your eyes, so he quickly intervened.

“Would you like to order something to go?” he asked.

“I…” your gaze wandered a little, and you pointed very subtly towards a nearby table. “Can I order some gingerbread cookies, like the ones they ordered?”

Vernon nodded, and as he helped you gather the things on the table to make it easier for the waiter, the two of you headed to the counter to place your order. Finally, you left the café with a bag full of cookies and warm hearts.

On the way back to your apartment, you asked to take the longer route, and he happily agreed; the city during winter was too beautiful to just passing by, and you both wanted to walk and see the Christmas decoration while spending a little more quality time together.

As you strolled through the busy avenues of the city, you couldn’t stop commenting on how much you loved living there and how beautiful it was in every season. Vernon listened attentively to every word, though he barely said anything during the walk.

“What are you thinking about, Vernon?” you asked out of the blue, tilting your head slightly.

“Well, I…” he paused briefly, just to let out a soft sigh. “Okay, I’ll be honest. I’m just a little overwhelmed” His words were clumsy yet sincere. “I mean… I can't believe we're seriously dating. It's strange, but it feels nice.”

 “I feel a little weird too,” you replied, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with a hint of shyness. “But it’s okay, we can make this work...”

At that moment, Vernon felt your hand touching his, and he swallowed hard. It was as if you had read his mind. As he intertwined his fingers with yours, the two of you finished the rest of the walk in near silence, exchanging occasional glances.

After a while, you finally arrived at the apartment complex where you lived, and he walked you to the entrance of the building. However, neither of you wanted to say goodbye, standing there in front of each other, unable to look away.

“Today was a beautiful day,” you sighed, a touch of nostalgia in your voice. “Next time, you pick the place, okay?”

“As long as it’s with you, anywhere is fine,” Vernon stepped closer, just a few inches away from you. Taking your hand nervously, he added, “I don’t know much about these things, but I want to figure them out with you.”

At that moment, a small snowflake landed on your forehead, followed by a second and a third. Both of you looked up in awe, watching the first snow of winter fall gently. You shook Vernon’s hand excitedly.

“It’s finally here…” you murmured, caught up in the moment. “When I moved to this city in the spring, I felt a little sad because I didn’t get to see it… But the wait was worth it, don’t you think?”

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I once heard that… if you’re with someone special during the first snowfall, you have to give them a gift or you’ll be cursed.”

“Wait, who said that?” you asked, turning to look at him with a curious expression.

“Me, now,” Vernon replied almost instantly, making you laugh softly.

“So, do you have something for me?”

Vernon turned to look at you, your eyes and all your attention focused on him. He felt the heat rising to his face, and with great hesitation, he leaned in slightly, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek before pulling away nervously.

“Y/n,” he murmured, covering his eyes with one hand. “Please don’t tell our friends I said that.”

“It’ll be our little secret,” you said, and standing on your tiptoes, you gave him a small kiss on the temple. He slowly uncovered his face and gave you a shy smile. “Now, would you like to come inside and order something for dinner?”

“Sure, but only if you let me try one of your gingerbread cookies”

And stepping into the comfort and warmth of your apartment, the two of you spent the rest of the night enjoying junk food, pleasant music, and the promise of many more nights together.

[theflyingfeeling]

...💇‍♀️

[yeyinde]

(sighs dreamily) i loooove the way you write fucked up and gross simon. the size kink and somno drabbles have been living rent free in my mind for almost two weeks now. the recent stalker piece was also so deliciously terrifying, i actually had a dream/nightmare today that was a mixture of stalker!ghost and not-dog!soap 😭

are you planning on writing any more for either of those?

ahhh thank you!!!! this had me wondering how i could maybe blend the two and this happened.

stalking. HEAVILY implied noncon somno. size difference.

Simon decides your dog, your baby, needs a man in the house. and since you like to call yourself his 'mama,’ then it’s only right that he becomes the daddy both of you need.

Your dog does not like strangers.

He's a rescue and the sort of life he lived until now, until you, is mostly a mystery. You found him on a rainy day, panting under your awning - a gnarled mess of matted fur glued to bone. Too skinny to survive another winter. You took him in right away and gained his trust. His love. But whatever he had left to spare (lots, it seems) is strictly reserved for you. Everyone else is a threat, a worry. Even the vets he's known since you found him all those years ago still get the same wary glances, the same growls then they lean in too close to whisper something in your ear.

He's just—special. The sweetest thing ever when it's just you. Your baby. People joke—slightly nervous—that he treats you like his mother. Following you closely with his big, glossy eyes tilted up to stare at you. Loving. Cuddly. Rests his big head on your lap at night with a great, big sigh. Tired from a long, hard day of protecting his house from squirrels and the stray delivery driver.

But when it comes to others—anyone, really—he’s aggressive. Territorial. All the vets and trainers say that it's his breed. That he just needs to be trained. Exposure therapy. Behavioural. And it works for all of two weeks before he's back to his stubborn self. Snapping at anyone who gets too close to you.

You post warnings on your fence. Your front door. Take precautions when you walk him. Warn anyone who gets close that he doesn't like anyone. Full stop. No exceptions. And it works. Helps ease the stress. He still goes to therapy. To training lessons. But he's smart enough to trick them into thinking he's learning.

And it's fine. People can't get too close to you. To his house. His territory.

Or so you thought.

But he's been acting strange lately.

You caught him barking at something through the fence a few months ago; spittle flying from his muzzle as his lips peeled back, snarling and vicious. If the fence wasn't reinforced, you think he would have broken it down to get at whatever was behind it.

It continued like this for a few days. Each time you went to check and see what was there, all you find is littered cigarettes. The teenage son of your neighbour, you think. He likes to hide in the dense woods so his parents can't find him. You'll talk to him about it later. Ask if he can do it a little further away from the fence so he isn’t disturbing Baby. 

As the days grow, his growls and snarls diminish before stopping outright. In the interim, your unease grows.

It's small—at first. 

He wants to be outside more. Always whining at the back door, scratching at it with his paw. When you let him out, he runs right to that spot by the fence. Sits down, and just stares. When you go out to look, there's nothing there. Just a dark, sprawling coppice. Cigarettes on the ground. But something catches his attention. Keeps it. Holds it.

He leads you to that spot sometimes, too. Nudges you with his big, furry head to your thighs. Shepherding you to the fence, and then sits back, clearly preening. Proud.

"You're mama’s silly boy, aren't you?" you coo, scratching his ears. It must be the neighbour. Maybe a stray deer wandered by. You catch a flash through the tree line. Twin puddles of black peering through the tangled weeds. Your dog perks up, looking towards it. A deer, you think. A stray buck. You huff, patting his head. "Made a new friend, huh?"

But you can't shake the feeling that something else is out there. That something is staring at you.

Nothing, you tell yourself, fighting off a shiver. It's fine. Fine. He sneaks off at night sometimes. You hear him playing in the hallway. Wandering around the house. The tack-tack-tack of his nails against the hardwood as he walks back to your bedroom lulls you back to sleep. You feel the bed dip. Something warm against your back. You sigh, melting into the sheets—

There's nothing to worry about.

He'll protect you.

But the next morning, you find him locked outside. The patio door shut. The deck is dried from the sun, but his fur is wet. It rained last night. You drifted in and out to the patter of it on your window. The soothing weight of his body curling around you—

He must have gotten out in the morning. Rolled around in the grass. But when you put him in the tub later to scrub the rainwater off of his cost, his belly is dry.

It's nothing. He was in bed with you last night. It's fine. Fine. Everything is easy to explain away as coincidence. Nothing usual. The feeling of being watched. The missing food from your fridge. The creaks of the old house at night. Things shifting around—keys missing only to turn up somewhere else. Rodents chewing through your landline. 

The panties you shed, tossing into a corner before getting into the shower going missing—

They’re just—lost in the wash. You must have thrown the leftover food away when you cleaned earlier and forgot. The lingering scent of cigarettes. Smoke in your bed. The cloying scent of loam, humus. Fresh dirt. The stains on your bed. The strange smear in the gusset of your panties when you peel them apart.

Something thick, firm between your thighs—

Fine. You tell yourself. Everything is fine. At best, it's a gas leak. At worst—well.

Baby will protect you. 

Always. 

But the next day, he brings his favourite toy to the back door, asking to be let out, and this isn't—

It's not normal.

He's possessive over his toys. Keeps them on his daybed and refuses to let anyone touch them. Only you. He doesn't bring the. Outside, either.

But when you peer outside a few minutes later, the toy is lying by that spot near the fence. He's sitting down, tail wagging. Happy. Excited. It continues like this for the next few days. He brings his toys to the fence, coming in later, licking his lips. When you brush his teeth at night, you smell something gamey on his breath. Meaty. 

Getting out of bed a few hours later and playing in the hallway. Going to sleep with you at night, but somehow getting out in the early hours of the morning, waiting for you on the patio when you remember the huff of his breath over your neck less than an hour ago—

No. You're just—

Getting the time wrong. It's fine. He'll protect you. He doesn't like anyone but you.

You hear footsteps in the hallway at night next to the click-clack of his nails. When you jump out of bed to check, it's just him. Sitting by the back door, head craned over his shoulder when he heard you coming. His favourite toy is sitting on the ground in front of him. You fight a shiver. The feeling of eyes burning into you churns your stomach.

"I'm going crazy, sweetheart," you coo, but feel the threads of your sanity begin to snap one by one. "But you'll keep me safe, right?"

His tail wags. You pretend not to notice the gap in the patio door. Opened just a crack. You shut it, forcibly telling yourself to remember to close it next time and fight the memories of locking it before settling on the couch to watch old re-runs. You drag him back to bed, burrowing your head into his fur, listening to the thud-thud-thud of his heart in your ear. 

When you dream that night, it's of a big, scarred hand making its way between your thighs. A rasping, masculine voice in your ear commanding you to be good—

You wake up with your thighs sticky, wet. Your cunt pulsing. There's an ache there; a sting. It twinges when you move, tapering into a sore throb as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, woken up by the strange dream—fingers between your thighs, a head resting on your belly, calling you a good girl—and a noise.

A low murmur comes from the living room. You wince with the first several steps, forcing yourself to ignore the uncomfortable feeling between your thighs. The wetness that drips down your leg, some of it already dried, sticking to your skin. It’s fine. You just had a—

A wet dream.

—everything is fine. Fine. Your heart lurches. Lodges in your throat. Each beat feels like a fist against your tissue trying to break down the prison of your flesh to flee. 

You slowly inch toward the hallway, the sound, making excuses for the fear that curdles in your belly. The itch in the back of your head that calls you stupid. Demands you go back to bed. To sleep. You’ll wake up in the morning to Baby slobbering over your chest, drooling as the time ticks away in a slow crawl towards his usual breakfast. 

It’s tempting. The sleep congealing in the corners of your eyes, weighing heavy—molasses-thick—over your sense of awareness: cobwebbed in that strange, uncanny realm of sleep and wakefulness; hypnagogia turning shadows on the walls into human shapes. The whisper of wind into the brassy drawl of a voice. 

Through it all, the prickle rears. Says something isn't right. Hasn't been right for a while now. It's fine. Everything is—

It doesn't make sense at first. Your brain tries to wrap around the images your eyes feed it. Untangling the dizzying sense of confusion that runs along your hindbrain like a jagged knife; grazing tissue, scraping over nerves. The picture comes together quickly. There's no misinterpreting the shapes.

A man is lounging on your couch. Legs kicked up on the coffee table, ankles crossed. The remote is held in one hand as he lazily flicks through the channels on your television screen. The picture of ease. So relaxed, so comfortable in your space, that you begin to feel a little bit like an intruder. A voyeur peering between the curtains.

This feeling is reinforced when you peel your eyes away from the horrifying mask on the man's face—a black balaclava—and find your dog lounging beside him. Resting with his head over this stranger's thick thighs. His head perks up when you approach, tail wagging, but he doesn't get up from his spot. Content to bask in the half-hearted attention the man doles, a hand buried in his fur. Dragging over his ears. Down his back. Monotonous flicks of his thick wrist, nearly the same width as the barrel of a baseball bat.

And that just trembles down your spine in the worst way.

He's the same height as you are sitting down. Takes up two cushions on the couch with his absurd bulk. Massive, you think. And then it all rushes through you. The knife slips into your cognisance.

There's a man in your house. Petting your dog,

your dog who tries to bite the same vet he's had for years. Who trusts, who likes, no one but you—

You make a noise. Something strangled in the back of your throat. Muffed, unable to escape through the clot of your heart getting there first. It tangles around your pericardium and is too late to take back. To swallow down. 

It doesn’t matter, though. 

The man has been watching from the beginning. 

Dark eyes (a dark, black flash between the leaves—) drill into you. Staring. That familiar, unease feeling is back again, creeping up your spine. It's been him the whole time, you know. The thing behind the fence. Must be. The same brand of cigarettes you found on the opposite side is sitting on your coffee table, right beside his feet.

His chest expands with his inhale. You smell stale smoke. Something wild. The scent of the forest after a summer's rain shower.

"Finally up, are you? Thought you were gonna sleep all day." His voice is deep. Brassy. The growling roll of an approaching thundercloud. You shiver. Jerk back, but—

Baby growls.

He's never done that before. Never barked. Never snarled. Never nipped.

But right now, his teeth peel back, muzzle wrinkling as he lifts his lips. And you know it's playful. Seen this look on his face when you throw the ball across the yard. It's just him being his silly self. He won't attack you. Won't maul you. 

The man lifts his hand and your dog limbers up. Shakes. He jumps off the couch and trots toward you. Nothing is threatening in the way he moves. It's the same lumbering gait, the same happy wag to his tail, but he moves himself around you. Stands between you and the only escape.

"Baby—?"

"Taught 'im a few tricks," the man drawls conversationally—like he wasn't a stranger in your house. "Got a good boy on your 'ands. Jus' needed a bit o'trainin'—”

He snaps his fingers and Baby moves. Bumps his head into the back of your thighs. Pushing you. Nudging you toward the man. It’s so horrifying familiar that you find yourself moving without a thought. Following along. 

"He jus' needed a man in the house, didn't he? A father figure—" 

You're going to be sick. Think you would have been already if your heart wasn't lodged tight in your throat, keeping everything down. 

The man lifts his hand. Curls his fingers. 

"C'mon, mommy," he taunts, voice a derisive roll. "Come sit on Daddy's lap. It's movie night tonight."

Baby pushes you forward happily, tail wagging, wagging—

Happier than you’ve ever seen him as this stranger reaches out, grabbing your waist and hauling you onto his lap. You think about fighting immediately, struggling to get out of his hold, but he moves back and the unmistakable, blunt press of a gun sends shivers rolling down your spine. You still instantly. Back drawing tight. Fear is a wet, hot pulse behind your ribs. 

“Don’t fight it, birdie—” You feel the warm, damp press of his mask against the shell of your ear. The ridges of his lips move beneath the fabric as he speaks. 

You hear him inhale, drawing in the scent of your shampoo—your fear: an oily thick miasma pooling behind your ears, against your nape—and feel tears pool against your lashline when a surge of familiarity wells up at the solid, firm weight of his chest against your spine. His thigh slips between yours, spreading them wide over the arch of his muscle. Limp, dizzy, you fall back into his chest when he pulls you in, slotting a burly arm over your ribcage. Locked in tight. A shackle. 

“Ain’t go’ nothin’ t’worry about,” he continues, hips shifting. Moving. And—

It’s a not gun. You know it isn’t. When you whimper, it throbs—

There’s the echo of a groan in his voice when he huffs, lips pursing into a kiss. “Nothin’ at all. C’mon, Baby—” 

And Baby obeys eagerly, jumping up on the couch beside him. His snout is warm, wet, when he presses it to your arm, sniffing. Please, you think, staring into his eyes as tears swell, pooling down your cheeks. Please—

But the man lifts his arm, and Baby circles the cushion before falling against his side with a deep, content sigh. Hope is snuffed out of your chest in an instant. The man’s hand falls to his head, rubbing his skull affectionately. 

“Good boy.” Baby perks. His happiness is a palpable thing that swells around you as he melts, eyes slipping closed. “Gonna be a good boy while mum an’ dad spend some time together, ain't you, boy?”

His arm tightens around your waist. Chin notches over your shoulder as he shifts back, legs kicking out to spread your thighs further apart.

"Now," he drawls, hand sliding down to the mess between your thighs. You shiver against him, toying with the idea of running, fleeing—but he must know. Senses it, maybe. He lifts his hips, pressing the gun into your spine. A threat. A warning. But with the way he swallows you up—broad chest closing in on you, trapping you on all sides—you know it's futile.

He has you.

Your submission makes him purr.

"Baby's sleepin', so now let daddy take care'o mommy—"

[flokali]

♢ I own you, I love you | Tartaglia

warnings: yandere, dub/con, male m.asturbation, violence, threats, corruption, unrealistic sound-isolation, delusional thoughts, possessive behavior (from childe), childe/tartaglia lore-spoilers, canon divergence (maybe?), misunderstanding/miscommunication, manipulative behavior (from ajax) , unreliable narrator (ajax), ask to tag more.

pairing: afab! fem! reader x childe

word count: 10.7k

a/n: after months... here it is;; i'm so sorry for taking so long (tt),, i'll make it up to you !! istg (huhuh)

— 18+

You had trouble falling asleep ever since the day Ajax went missing.

It was meant to be yet another normal day, one that would blend in with all the others – muddled with other memories of childhood. Instead, it became the day your life began to change in ways you hadn’t even fathomed possible. 

It had heavily snowed the previous night, which left a brand new layer of pure white to cover the humble roads of Morepesok. Normally, after such a heavy storm, you and Ajax would go over to his house and play inside – making use of the fireplace his father had built and hot chocolate his mother would make to keep warm. You both would steal his father’s diary and read about his adventures across Teyvat, recreating the scenes in your minds with yourselves as the main characters, before sharing your dreams with one another.

You never had the courage back then to tell him your ideal adventure was a rather simple one, while you always dreamt of moving to a less snowy nation, one like Mondstatd or even Sumeru, you were content with peacefully traveling across Teyvat before settling down. You didn’t want to spend your life fighting monsters and exploring the world, you only really longed for a simple life, where you could work a safe job and create a new home for yourself and those you loved. It was fun to imagine yourself on a long, rewarding journey across the nation to complete a request, but you’d rather keep it as just that – a figment of your imagination.

Ajax, on the other hand, longed for the chance to become a warrior. While never too skilled with the blade, always too nervous to even kill an animal, his determination was enough to convince you he’d one day make a great adventurer like his father. He’d longed for the thrill of exploring every corner of Teyvat, roaming the land until there was nowhere in this world where he hadn’t been to. Meeting new people, learning about new cultures, fighting monsters and gaining the freedom that came with being an adventurer; Ajax’s dreams had been clear from a young age.

A part of you, albeit really, insignificantly small, always wished he’d never succeed, secretly hoping he’d leave those ambitions behind with age and become a fisherman or craftsman instead. You’d heard tales of men and women who’d joined the Adventurer’s Guild only to never come back, and even more about those who’d joined the Fatui’s ranks, and you didn’t like the idea of waking up one day to find out he’d passed in a foreign land. It was selfish, you knew that, but you hoped that maybe he’d choose a safer option, one where you two could live together, away from the cold winters of Snezhnaya and safe from the dangers of the world. Maybe you’d both move away from Morepesok, find a quaint town in Fontaine where you’d both settle down and continue being friends, or maybe more, with no worries for each other’s safety - only busy being happy and healthy.

While you were putting on your boots and coat, making sure to layer as many clothes as you could to avoid the freezing cold temperatures that came with such heavy snowfall, you remember feeling an odd sense of uneasiness, a queasy feeling settling down in your stomach making you feel sick and nauseous. At the time you had thought nothing of it, too focused on meeting up with your friend and the taste of his mother’s hot coco, but now, years later, you think it was the Tsaritsa’s way to warn you for what was to come.

You remember nearing his house, confused as to why he hadn’t met you halfway down the road like he always did. It was quiet, eerily so, only the sound of your boots and your labored breath as you battled your way through the snow. There were no kids out on the street, all the adults that would normally be on their way were missing, even the birds seemed hesitant to chirp.

Instead, you find his mother worriedly looking around the perimeters of their humble cabin, her normally neat appearance now disheveled. Her long, ginger hair was half-hazardly put up, her clothes were wrinkled, her coat wasn’t even buttoned up all the way, but she stood there, frantically looking around.Whenever you’d come over, you and Ajax would always bump into one another before racing home to see who’d get there first, but today there was his mother’s choked sobs where normally his laughter would ring.

“Auntie?” You asked, running the rest of the way as you saw her expression, the closer you got the clearer the worry in her face became and you felt yourself grow anxious.

“Sweetie,” she looks at you in surprise, not having seen you approaching - too preoccupied to hear your unsteady footsteps as you struggled to run towards her, you see her blue eyes frantically look behind you and you follow suit, “A-Ajax, he wouldn’t have been with you, right?”

“No…” You shake your head, the previous feeling in your stomach expanding across your body, your head felt fuzzy as you asked, “Isn’t he home?”

“I… I’m afraid not,” She looks distressed at your words, her eyes water as she ushers you inside while still trying to look around to see if she caught sight of her son’s bright ginger hair against the cold white that coated the roads, her hands are shaking as she holds yours and brings you into her home, “Come inside, come inside – it’s too cold out t-there, you’ll get sick.”

Behind you, you hear more people arrive, you’re almost certain you hear your parents as well, but you have no time to ask before the worried mother shakes her head at the curious adults that looked up at her – the atmosphere worsens at the realization he hadn’t snuck out to be with you, she tries to occupy herself by taking you inside so as to not give into hopelessness.

You’re confused, not too sure of what’s going on even as you see adults from around the village inside of the house, maps in their hands as they whisper about the boy’s possible whereabouts.

“Is Ajax… o-okay?” You ask, you start to feel afraid as you process their concerned faces, seeing all of these adults who’d always been smiling and assured look so worried and uncertain sent a chill down your spine.

Where was Ajax? Normally he’d be here, assuring you your imagination was running wild and that nothing was wrong, the empty space next you where he’d normally be felt awfully cold.

Nobody answers you, instead you’re taken to your friend’s room where his siblings were gathered. Their mom, who you've always called your auntie, kneels down in front of you, taking your smaller hands into hers and giving you a weak smile.

“Ajax will be fine, okay?” Her words are meant to comfort you but you feel like they’re more for herself in that moment, “He’s just… gone out for a while, but he’ll be back before you know it.”

You nod, not truly understanding what she meant but feeling as if that was the response she needed to hear.

She gives your forehead a small kiss, you feel a tear fall travel down her cheeks and into your hair but you say nothing as she leaves, noting how she desperately tried to conceal the tears in her eyes; You’d never seen her cry before and it’s only then, as you look at his siblings and the pained look in their faces, that you finally begin to grasp the severity of the situation.

He was missing. Your best friend was gone and no one had any idea where he had run off to.

That evening your parents came over and stayed the whole day with Ajax’s family, alongside the other townspeople who went and came as they searched for the young boy in the woods around the area. Normally, you had to fight tooth and nail to let them grant you permission to stay over but that night they’d been the ones to offer it first.

That night was the first and only time you had a sleepover without Ajax. You and his siblings huddled together in the living room, next to the fireplace as his mother looked over you all. You would wake up every so often to the sound of people coming and going as the search efforts seeped into the night and early morning.

The suffocating cycle repeated itself for three days. Three days, two nights, and one afternoon later, after countless hours crying to your parents in fear of losing your best friend; Ajax emerges from the woods in one piece, but he who returns is not the same boy.

The first thing that stood out was his disheveled hair, he was wearing the same clothes – which were in too good a condition for a kid who’d gotten lost in the woods by himself for three days –, and the hunting knife he’d stolen from his dad now dull as if it’d been used continuously for a long period of time. What shocked the men and women who’d found him was the blood on him – specks decorated his face and hands as he looked up at them from his position near the corpse of a bear, one easily three times his size, he’d somehow taken out. 

They’d found him in a clearing close to his house, the smell of blood had been what had alerted the rescue party – they’d prepared for the worst case scenario where the blood came from Ajax’s body, instead they found him to be in good shape even after three days by himself in the wild – perhaps a little too good, for it seemed he’d somehow taken down a beast by himself with his hands and his father’s old hunting knife. 

The news of his return quickly spreads, everyone gathered near his home as they awaited with bated breaths to see the young boy; you’re there as he’s reunited with his family, hugging your mother’s leg as tightly as you could.

Rumors spread about him having killed an animal, some claimed it had been a rabbit while others alleged it had been a beast the size of a horse, and you wondered if they had mistaken another kid for Ajax �� he’d never had the guts to harm even a fly, you doubted he’d changed so much in the span of three days. But it seemed as if you’d been wrong.  

He doesn’t shed a tear, he doesn’t say a word. Not even a squeak as his parents coddle him; nothing at all. The only sounds are hushed whispers as people discuss the absurd situation and gleeful congratulations from onlookers as they celebrate his arrival and well being while giving his family well wishes. Instead, his blue eyes find yours and you’re unnerved at the empty look in them. Where there’s once been a warm light, you found an empty void that seemingly sucked you in and refused to let you go. You felt goosebumps arise all over your body the longer he looked at you.  Even as he’s embraced within his father’s arms, his family surrounding him as they cry from relief, it’s only when he makes eye contact with you that, the first time since arriving, he smiles.

You feel a chill travel down your spine as you realize Ajax hadn’t been the one to return that day. You unconsciously nestled closer into your mother’s coat, as if trying to hide from his unnerving gaze.

You did your best to ignore that unsettling feeling, opting to attribute it to the rumors you had heard instead of something your friend had done, you pushed it and as well as any doubts aside as you attempted to focus on the good news; he was here, home with his family and back next door to your own house, and that was all that really mattered.

Ever since then, he’d become more confident. His once timid personality completely disappeared and the days where you had been the stronger one, defending him from his older siblings’ teasing and the mocking from other kids, were now but hazy memories. The roles had switched quite suddenly, not that you minded it too much – there were times where it felt nice to be the one being protected rather than the protector, but it had been quite the surprise at first.

He’d become bolder and more protective, never afraid to throw a punch (and sometimes even more) if he felt like you had been disrespected. It came to a point where you’d sometimes grow suffocated by his mere presence; eventually it escalated to where he’d never let you hang out with anybody he didn’t approve of, afraid they’d hurt you and he wouldn’t be there to defend you, and he’d make sure to let it be known you were his friend first and foremost. Unknowingly, a set of rules had been implemented between the two of you. Rules that stated you were his responsibility to protect and care for, even if it meant it drove others away and left you two isolated from other kids your age.

There were times you missed the Ajax that’d gone into the woods, the freckled boy who was timid and polite – who’d rather be teased by his siblings than hurt even a bug the size of your pinky, you doubt that boy would have picked fights with kids twice his size because they’d made a joke or two that didn’t land too well. But you hesitated to dislike the new Ajax, after all, when it was only the two of you - it was as if that damned day had never occurred at all.

He was back to the sweet, delicate boy who’d blush at your jokes and avoid prolonged eye contact. Whose hand would grow warm from holding yours, who’d confess his feelings to you every night when he thought you’d fallen asleep. 

A few years later, once you were both older – now settled into your teen years, he ended up joining the Fatui and leaving your humble seaside village to go to the capital to train as a soldier. 

You cried the day he’d given you the news. As overbearing as he could be, the ginger had been your only friend that your parents consistently let you hang out with, you’d spent your whole lives together and the thought of being without him terrified you greatly.

You remember the look on his face, the way he desperately tried to look strong and not let a single tear get away, his hands that had once been soft were now calloused as he grabbed your own.

“I’ll come back for you, I promise.” He’d whispered, his lips near your ear as he enveloped you in a hug.

You don’t trust your voice not to break and so you nod, letting your nose burn from trying to contain your sobs and not worry him more than he already was.

“A-and I’ll write you letters, so you better not forget me,” he continues, and even if by now he’d long since grown taller than yourself – you’re amazed at how small and vulnerable he felt against your frame, “so please… wait for me.”

“Only if you always write to me first… ‘Cause I swear I’ll leave if you forget.” You try to lighten the mood, halfheartedly warning him as if you both didn’t know it’d take death itself for Ajax not to fulfill a promise from him to you. He tightens his arms around you and you feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you as you wonder how long it’ll be before you can both hug like this again.

“I promise.” He laughs softly, the sound warms your heart.

“Then I promise as well.”

Ever since the day Ajax went missing, you have had trouble falling asleep. 

When you did manage to fall asleep, a task which took longer than you’d like to admit without external factors such as medicine, your dreams would be strange and cryptic, often times you’d wake up in the middle of the night with a racing heartbeat and a sense of urgency, as if you’d been in danger; you’d learned to hate the images your brain would concoct during your rest. Some nights, you’d dream about that day and what would have happened if Ajax had never been found, other times you’d open the door to soldiers grieving his death; whatever tragic scenario your mind decided to present you, it would always be so realistic you’d wake up with tears streaming down your cheeks and a devastated heart.

This time, however, your sleep had come easier than expected and there were no dreams or nightmares to haunt you. No earthly worries were present and, after such an unexpected day filled with reunions and world-shattering news, you wished to succumb to a never ending night; however, the fates had other plans for you.

As you’re forcibly awakened from your slumber you feel a familiar, pleasant hand gently caressing your head. It felt gentle, their touch delicate and sweet, as if they were afraid any more force would hurt you. If the owner of said limb wished to lure you into consciousness, their touch had the opposite effect as it almost seemed to beg you to go back to sleep and forget the world of the living.

You felt truly content as you laid there, the blanket that laid atop of you was heavy and cozy,  a foreign feeling - nothing like the blankets you were used to, and the pillow smelt like an old friend, welcoming and nostalgic. It all felt like a perfect trap set out to catch you, if that were that case then you’d have to admit it was a little too good at its job as you resign yourself to cuddling closer to the fabrics that enveloped you.

If it hadn’t been for the gentle kiss pressed against your cheek, you probably would have never gotten up. You want to complain, already formulating a sentence of indignation and annoyance to throw at the perpetrator, but the warmth left behind by the gesture is cozy and fills you with a taste full of happiness and fulfillment you don’t want to sour. At the feeling of a pair of unknown, soft lips against your skin you become more alert, slowly your consciousness begins to enter the realm of the living once more while you grow aware of your surroundings. Your eyes open timidly, the leftover fatigue from such a deep rest keeping them heavy, it takes you a second or two to adjust to the light and another few to register the man that lovingly gazed down on you.

“Ajax…?” You call out, rubbing your eyes as you wonder if it really was him. You’re almost sure you’re dreaming, as embarrassing as it was to admit, it had been so long since you’d seen him in person you may have simply gone crazy and imagined the man to be here; You’re about to ask him what he was doing here, if he were real at all, but he beats you to the punch with a smile before answering you with a gleeful tone that reminds you of summers long gone.

“The one and only,” he laughs gently as the hand that laid atop your head began to ruffle your hair in a familiar gesture – reassuring you that he was, in fact, a real person and not a figment of your imagination you had come up with to deal with the loneliness, “… don’t tell me you forgot about earlier.”

He teases you, but there’s a hint of worry in his eyes as he awaits your answer; surely, you couldn’t have forgotten. It’d only been a couple of hours and he had been sure to be as thorough as possible so that he left a print on both your mind and body, there was no way you’d forget making love with your soulmate. Just the thought of it sent jolts of anger and frustration down his spine, not at you - never at you, but at himself as he wonders if maybe he’d underperformed and disappointed you to the point you’d try and act like nothing had happened. If that was the case, he was more than willing to go again just this instant to right any previous wrongs.

“Earlier?” You mumble, you wreck your brain trying to think of what he meant but it isn’t a full minute before you realize what he meant. If it hadn’t been for his words, maybe his coat laying on you and your sore body would have been enough to eventually jog your memory. You feel your cheeks grow hot as you remember what you two had done earlier, you’d been so tired by the end you’d fallen into a deep, dreamless slumber that momentarily left you empty-headed when you woke up, but now the memories are rushing in and you doubt you’ll be able to forget the feeling of Childe on top of you for a long time.

Your embarrassed gaze was enough for him to know you’d remembered the dance you’d both partaken in earlier that day, the way your eyes avoided his had his heart swooning and a warm, fuzzy feeling settling deep within his very soul. 

He feels himself calm down the more he looks at your flustered face, his whole body light and intoxicated on your sweet expressions; his pants felt so tight as he watched you fiddle with his coat, he wonders if he’d be able to warm you up on the ride back to his place the same way he’d done so previously.

You were absolutely adorable to him, so very weak and fragile in comparison to him – if he wasn’t such a gentleman, he would have loved to destroy you until you were too scared to leave his side. Alas, he decided that you shouldn’t be the one to face the sharp end of his blade, instead, he’ll scar your psyche and those around you so violently you’ll have no want nor need for anything else other than him.

“So, ‘slept well, my love?” He asks, his tone sweet as to never betray his darker thoughts — you didn’t have to know about how deeply he wished to break you until you couldn’t function without him by your side. You nod while suppressing a yawn, blissfully unaware of the chaos that was unfolding due to the man in front of you, and he laughs, content with your naïveté; he missed you oh so very much, “That’s good.”

There’s a warm, almost euphoric feeling that invaded your senses as you both took the time to enjoy each other’s presence; it felt different from earlier, something had changed now that you both had finally indulged in each other’s bodies. It felt akin to drinking a warm cup of tea, comforting and pleasurable, a reminder of home and the feeling of familiarity after a long period of impersonal and foreign coldness.

“Let’s get going then,” he breaks the silence, finally standing up from his crouching position, he gives you one last pat in the head before he starts making his way through your room and inspecting your belongings – or what remained of your belongings, “the carriage will be here soon, it’s only an hour long ride away but I think it’s best we take as much as we can today and send someone to pick up what remains.”

That’s when you notice he’s fully dressed, other than for his cape that was laid on you, as if he was anxiously awaiting the time to leave. You’re confused; why was he so keen on leaving and so fastly – he’d barely been here a handful of hours. Did you misunderstand his intentions? 

“What do you…?” You ask, you rub your eyes while you sit up, using the large coat as a cover once you feel chilly Snezhnayan air hit your sensitive skin. It’s then that you can finally look at the many bags and boxes that litter the floor, and the almost empty room you laid in. All of your belongings seemed to have been packed away, almost nothing remained other than old family portraits and gifts from your parents from across the years. 

“Huh?” The sight of your room packed into boxes was enough to wake you up, you instinctively try to stand up but a firm hand keeps you in place; you look up and see Ajax looking down at you. Your eyes meet and a chill goes up your spine at the look in his, they look eerily empty. You barely feel the coat slip from your shoulders, too focused on the feeling of his fingers against your forearm and the fact he, as a soldier, could easily overpower you if he wished.

“You’re still sleepy, aren’t you?” He asks, the muscles on his arm flex slightly as he speaks to you - he sounds disappointed as he continues interrogating you, “Do you really not remember?”

You shake your head, trying to wrack your brain for any indications of what he could be referring to; you remember the news about your parents and what happened after, but moving out? You have no memory of such a thing being even discussed, lest he meant —

“You agreed to marry me,” he says, as if reading your mind, your arm is finally set free as he adjusts the gloves on his hands, “and as my wife, you’ll be living with me from now on; I assumed you wouldn’t want to stay… here for much longer, considering everything.”

“Marry you…?” You echo as you watch him parade around your room, sharp eyes taking in what was left of your belongings on display. You vaguely remember his proposal during the first half of your conversation, something about how it’d serve as an obstacle for the arranged marriage – after all, it’s not as if the wife of a Fatui Harbinger’s marriage could be easily questioned or objected to. You had agreed almost immediately, even if you had your doubts about the reasoning behind the arrangement, you’d rather marry someone you knew than a stranger.

You wished you’d thought things through better, waited a bit longer before giving your answer. Clearly Ajax had made up his mind but now, after the shock of the news began to wear off, you felt like you owed your parents and yourself a discussion. Even if you felt betrayed, like their decision degraded you to an object instead of their daughter, you wanted to head their side; if only to get closure for your own aching heart.

Instead of answering you, Ajax turns around to meet your eyes. His eyes had always had the ability to suck you in like a void, they’re never clear - always muddy, like there was a side of himself he hid from you; you could never find your reflection on them. It took you a while to get used to them, to their empty, numb look that sent chills down your spine all those years ago.

The room feels small as you both look at each other, you sit on the bed naked and he stands in front of the door as if he were trapping you in, it’s silent and intimate and it makes your skin crawl. His expression is one you can’t read, maybe all those years in the Fatui had taught him how to make his enemies cower thanks to his presence alone, because the harder you tried to understand what his gaze meant, the less you felt you knew about him.

“Yes, you said you’d marry me.” He states and, even if it wasn't phrased as such, it felt more like an order than a recalling of events. 

“I know,” you mumble, “and I… I like you, Ajax, I really do, and I’d love to be with you, but… but  I can’t run away from this without hearing them out, you know?”

“You said you loved me.” His expression changes into a frown; Had you lied to him? 

He probably sounds childish, his sentences short and repetitive like that of a toddler throwing a tantrum, but the truth was he simply couldn’t believe that you’d even hesitate to marry him; his brain completely short-circuited as he tries to understand why on Earth you’d ever think of giving anybody a chance when you had him.

“I mean, I-I do,” your cheeks feel hot as you’re quick to answer, at least you think you love him, “but… mom and dad wouldn’t just do this without a reason and you know that. I can’t just leave and never see them again without their explanation, even if it’s bad… I need some sort of closure; I can’t accept they’d just do this to me for no reason.”

“As if that changed anything, they gave your hand away for Mora, my love” He retorts, completely bewildered at your words; they’d tried to give you away to some lowlife, they hadn’t consulted you, they were going to spring it up on you one day and expect you to get over it the next, “Does a reason even matter?” 

“It does, at least I… I think it does,” you look down at yourself and notice droplets falling down against the coat, staining the heavy leather with your sorrow, you were crying and hadn’t even realized it, “I don’t want to hate them… I don’t want them to hate me.”

He goes quiet when he catches sight of your tears. He freezes, his chest tightens and he feels himself grow dizzy – it’s the same foreign feeling he got when he first heard of the engagement, he feels his knees buckle under his weight and himself sway with every step he takes in your direction. They were beautiful, your tears, so delicate and clear, they shone like crystals when the soft afternoon light came through the window just right; he wishes he could collect them in his palm and weave a necklace to keep with himself, a reminder of your fragile heart he desperately needed to protect. 

You looked so vulnerable, naked and crying, covered only by his coat. It was an intoxicating sight, he wished he could take a photograph and engrave it on his eyelids so every time he blinked he’d see this scene play out. You broke so beautifully, it was haunting to hear your voice break into sobs and wails as you mourned the life you thought you had, but it sounded beautiful to his ears nonetheless. It makes him feel insane, it was taking too much self-control from his part not to jump on you.

He sits down once more next to you, shaking limbs trapping you in his arms as he rubbed your back softly. As you cried uncontrollably, he found his cheeks hurting from the large grin on his face; it couldn’t be helped, no matter how much he tried to will it away, the joy he felt as he saw you cry was too much for him to hide.

“It’s okay,” he makes no effort to quell your fears, instead he chooses vague words of comfort to let it fester in your heart, “you won’t need to see them ever again, you’ll have me instead.”

He feels you hiccup, too deep in your own despair to formulate words. Your shaking body clings to his, you felt so scared and alone; How were you supposed to accept such a cruel, unforgiving truth? What could you possibly do to ease the pain in your heart as you thought about your parents and siblings, who had so easily given you away to a stranger. They felt so far away from you, it felt as if your whole life had been a long dream, nothing but a fantasy you were unaware could break any second, leaving you afraid and confused as you awakened to a reality you could have never seen coming.

“Come, I’ll help you get dressed,” Ajax helps you up as he speaks, essentially forcing you to face reality and displace the fogginess in your mind, he’s gentle as he makes his way with you to your closet - you vaguely note that it was still full, unlike the rest of your room it seemed he hadn’t touched it save for a few drawers here and there -, “the sooner you get ready,” he keeps an arm around you while he goes through the rack of your clothes, making sure you stay close to him, “the sooner we can get out of here.”

You nod, your head hurts but you can’t seem to stop the tears. 

Maybe he was right, maybe it was a bad idea for you to talk to them; there was truly no excuse, was there? You doubted anything they’d say would take the feeling of betrayal away, they had treated you like an object, completely forfeiting your own personhood and giving you away to a stranger for Mora. No matter how desperately you wanted to understand what they’d done and why they’d done it, the more your head and heart hurt – it was such a cruel, heartless thing to do, to throw away your own blood to whoever bid the highest for them.

You can’t even muster the strength to facilitate the Harbinger’s task of dressing you, your whole body felt heavy as he made sure to layer on your clothes, it was near impossible for you to even stand up by yourself without your legs swaying and your knees buckling under your weight. It’s only due to the ginger’s persistence and strength that you don’t collapse.

By the time you’re ready and boarding the carriage, you’re tired and too drunk in your own misery, to question why, even as it neared nighttime, your parents nor your siblings hadn’t come home yet. Not that you cared, at least not right now, seeing them was the last thing you wanted to do.

The ride home is peaceful, you’d fallen asleep early on and laid beside Childe as he caressed your sleeping cheek and gazed out the window. Your head laid on his lap, broad thighs becoming a make-shift pillow for the ride, a blanket covering your body to keep you warm while you both made your way to his residence in the capital through the cold night.

Bored, deep blue eyes mindlessly gaze at the scenery passing by, his thoughts too jumbled together for him to admire the scenery. His thoughts stray back to your mother’s horrified face as she walked in on you together in bed earlier, he chuckles to himself as he recalls the screech she let out; it felt nice to see her so uncomfortable, but it wasn’t nice enough he’d forgive her for what she’d tried to do to you; Separate you from him.

“Ajax?” She finally gasps out, her hand points at him in an accusatory manner, “What… what is going on?” 

When did that boy come back? He’d been gone for years, the last she remembered him was as a young teenager going off to join the Fatui; what was he doing in bed with you? You hadn’t mentioned him once during all these years, she had thought you’d long since forgotten about him. So why on Earth was he laying in bed with you - naked? Had he pressured you to do so? You two had such a close relationship, there was no way you wouldn’t have mentioned him to her if you two were dating - her mind was racing with a million thoughts and all of them left her worried and confused. It’s clear she’s not doing well, her breaths are visibly unsteady, her chest rising and falling unevenly while she audibly gasped for air, she’s shaking so hard you can see her knees wobble as she tries to steady herself against the doorframe; this wasn’t something she could have ever seen in coming. 

Ajax couldn’t care less, the whole spectacle was boring and wholly unnecessary; she wouldn’t get to see you ever again, she should be grateful he hadn’t simply taken you home with him the minute he saw you. 

“I came back for my beloved,” he answers carelessly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, he makes a vague gesture towards your sleeping form as if to make the point clearer, “can’t have a wedding without a bride, after all.”

“Wedding? You and her… are getting married?” 

“Yes, is it that hard to understand? Come on, ma’am, everyone could see that she and I were going to get married,” he scoffs, “you said so yourself multiple times.”

“But,” she looks visibly confused, “that was back when you two were together everyday, Ajax… you haven’t seen each other in years. You can’t seriously think that you’re getting married because you both said so when you were children.”

The audacity this woman had was near parody, clearly she knew nothing about you nor your life and it made him feel sick. She had the privilege to be a constant part of your life during all those years he was away and yet she clearly spent them doing Archons’ knows what, he was growing visibly angry the more she spoke.

“We’ve known each other long enough,” he shoots her a glare, “and I’ve known my whole life I’d marry her, whether we’ve been seeing each other everyday or not - we’re getting married and that’s final.”

“Did she agree to this?” Your mother asks, her voice rising until it was near a squeak.

“Of course she agreed to marry me!” He snaps, his tone venomous; Could she just shut the hell up already?

“Then why didn’t she mention it to her father nor myself?”

“Because we agreed to get married today,” he puts your sleeping body aside, slowly standing up and tying a loose blanket around his hips, “and neither of you were here.”

“Today?” She echos, “You came back today and asked her to marry you?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I did,” he shoots her a glance as he picks up his clothes, slowly putting them on as he goes on, “and she said yes, I think you get the point by now.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” she mumbled to herself, she made her way inside the room, careful as to not wake you up, “there’s no way she was serious about marrying you. You… you’re practically a stranger to all of us at this point, Ajax.”

His pants were on at this point, his blouse now balled into his fist as he tried to control his annoyance. This was starting to get pathetic on her end.

“I will have you know,” he interrupts her, turning around to make eye contact with the woman once more to make his point clear, “that not only have we been in constant communication since I left, she agreed quite happily to the proposal - I don’t understand what exactly is not clicking, ma’am.”

“Of course she’d agree,” she exclaims, her hands flying up in desperation as she continues, “she has liked you all her life; but were you two dating until this point? What even was the relationship between you two; how am I supposed to support her getting engaged with a man we haven’t seen or heard from in years. Never once did she mention you, Ajax, she never spoke of a partner much less a marriage, all her life she’s made it clear that’s one of the least of her concerns and you want me to believe her mind changed in one day because you came and had sex with her? You’re insane if you think I’ll allow it.”

He feels himself freeze, most of what she’s said up until now feels like background noise the moment he finishes processing her words. You never mentioned him to your parents? He knew you hadn’t mentioned the letters, not all of them at least - he’s asked you not to, but never once in the almost eight years since he left had you mentioned him - not even as a potential suitor nor as a lover. That hag is lying, right? There’s no way you’d do this to him, right? You loved him, you said you did when he was fucking you just minutes ago, you wouldn’t lie to him, no.

“Listen to me, I don’t care if you want to get married to her - but there’s an order to how things are done,” your mother shoots your sleeping form a glance, “you could have at least let us know beforehand you’d be coming, you… you should have spoken to us; you know we would have given you our blessing if you’d waited a bit longer. This is the first time you’ve seen each other in years, emotions are running high - at least give her some more time to think this through, you already bedded her… don’t make this harder on her - she was beginning to move on, she’d been planning to move and now you’re telling me she’s throwing it all away? For a man she’s barely seen in years no less.”

“You’re… you’re wrong.” He mumbles under his breath, “You’re wrong, we both love each other.”

“Listen to me,” had your mother’s voice always been so grating to the ear, “she might have said yes to you now but how do you know she won’t regret it? When did you ask her? Today, the same day you come for the first time to see her? You think that under all the emotions that’ll come up seeing you again she’ll be thinking rationally? Was this even a conversation you both had previously, Ajax? How are you so sure she loves you like a wife and not just as a friend?”

His movements slow down, his hands feel heavy as he buttons up his shirt; can she just shut up? What did she think she was doing, lying to get him out of the way? Insinuating you’d ever regret him, what a joke - you needed him to survive.

“I’m saying this not just as a parent but as a wife, you can’t rush into these things, you can’t spring the question up suddenly and not take the time to consider it properly! You… you immediately had sex with her and you want me to believe this is out of love and not physical attraction? You couldn’t even wait for her father and I to get home. You’re telling me that both of you are completely sure of what you’re doing, you want me to believe that? I’m not letting my daughter make such a rash decision in a day -”

“So what if it was in only a day, huh? You’re just looking for any excuse to oppose us getting together,” he’s quick to interrupt her, “because you are trying to get her to marry some old fuck for some quick mora.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“You think I don’t know, huh? You don’t care about her at all, do you? Lying to me that she’d never mention me, as if you didn’t know we were together all this time… acting like you care about her when there’s some fucking bitch downstairs you sold her off to.”

“What… What's this about selling my daughter?” “Don’t act stupid on me,” he doesn’t even bother buttoning the rest of his shirt before he’s pushing your mother out of the room and following her out the door, “I tried to be civil, but I’m getting really damn tired of you criticizing us and you keep on lying.”

She hits her back against the wall, she yelps in surprise but the Harbinger makes no acknowledgement of any discomfort he may be causing. Instead, gloved hands shoot up and take hold of her shoulders as he continues going at her; there’s a crazed look in his eyes as he keeps on speaking, getting progressively annoyed the longer the conversation went on.

“We – I, we never sold her off,” your mother pants, she looks up at him in confusion and fear, “who do you take us for?”

“I have the records,” he pushes her down, “there’s no use in lying to me, ma’am – I know everything I need to know.”

“You’re crazy,” she spits out, “you’re fucking crazy… I don’t what the fuck happened to you, but I’m sure as hell now that you are absolutely not getting anywhere near my daughter!”

“Shut up!” He picks her up and throws her against the wall, there’s a loud thud as her body slowly sinks into the ground, he corners her with his body, “Shut the fuck up, you hag.”

“Let go!” Tears are streaming down her eyes as she pleads,“Help, someone help! Please, upstairs… come upstairs now!”

“Listen here,” his eyes are wide open, his posture threatening as he leans over her shaking body, he’s rough in his handling of her and he knows it but chooses not to care, “she said she’d marry me, she said she loves me, she said so and so it is. There’s no debate, got it? If I want to fuck her two minutes after seeing her, I do so, and if I want to marry her after not seeing her for years, I do so. We don’t need a lying bitch getting in our way, you understand that, right? I don’t need you taking her away from me to give her to someone else. She was mine before I left, she was mine when I left, she’s mine right now, and she’ll be mine as long as I’m alive, so you either shut up and accept it or I’ll get rid of you and your fucking mistake of a family.”

“Listen here,” his eyes are wide open, his posture threatening as he leans over her shaking body, he’s rough in his handling of her and he knows it but chooses not to care, “she said she’d marry me, she said she loves me, she said so and so it is. There’s no debate, got it? If I want to fuck her two minutes after seeing her, I do so, and if I want to marry her after not seeing her for years, I do so. We don’t need a lying bitch getting in our way, you understand that, right? I don’t need you taking her away from me to give her to someone else. She was mine before I left, she was mine when I left, she’s mine right now, and she’ll be mine as long as I’m alive, so you either shut up and accept it or I’ll get rid of you and your fucking mistake of a family.”

“Get off of her!” 

Oh, your father was here.

It’s strange to think that at some point, Ajax would have considered him something akin to a second father - especially now as his stomach filled itself with venomous rage at the mere sight of the older man.

“I said get off,” he runs towards the younger soldier, at an impressive speed for a man his age, his hands lunge forward as if to tackle him but it takes one hydro blade’s slash for him to stop dead in his tracks, “I… what do you want?”

Your father looks visibly worried as the ginger brands his weapon, the sight of an unfamiliar vision user threatening your spouse is one that would make anyone think twice before taking their next step. 

“Do you seriously not recognize me?” Tartaglia laughs incredulously, “Come on, sir… I was only gone for a couple of years.”

“Ajax?” Your mother nods her head frantically as your father finally puts a name to the face of the strange man in his house, “What the hell are you doing, boy?”

“He’s going on about,” your mother gasps for air, “marrying her and - and, us selling her or something!” The awkward position she found herself in made it hard for her to comfortably speak, even so, she made sure to spit it out as quickly as possible. Her chest is heaving while she desperately tries to make your father understand the absurdity of the situation, the hydro blade in his hand was simply too close to her skin for her comfort - the power of Harbinger was nothing to scoff at and she wanted nothing more than to never find herself in this position ever again.

“We can talk this out,” your father’s hands shake as he tries to slowly approach the ginger, “there’s clearly been a misunderstanding…”

“There has been no misunderstanding, sir,” he laughs, “I know damn well what I saw and what I heard.”

“We would never -” “Yes, you would!” He nearly shouts, but he restrains himself - if only because you’re still sleeping nearby, his whole body shakes as he tries to control the volume of his voice, “And I’m getting really fucking tired of you acting like you wouldn’t, you know? Just admit it and maybe, just maybe, we can work things out.”

“We would never hurt our daughter like that, Ajax,” the older man tries to explain, “please, understand that… let my wife go and we can talk this out properly, please.”

“Talk it out?” Ajax looks at him incredulously, “There’s nothing to talk about if you won’t admit to your mistakes, sir.” “B-but we didn’t -”

“Shut up!” His blue eyes are wide open, the crazed look in them was enough to send a chill down a grown man’s body. Why couldn’t they just admit to trying to separate the both of you? Why were they so desperate to lie? He knows what he heard, he knows they were trying to ruin his chances to be with you. They were clearly trying to get in his way, they had to be conspiring against the two of you - there was no other reason as to why you’d been so hesitant to agree to his proposal, why you’d been scared to see the truth; they were brainwashing you into forgetting him, doubting him. They had to have known he’d come back, there was no way he wouldn’t have, it’d take death itself for him to give up on you.

He couldn’t take it anymore, he couldn’t stand to listen to your parents’ pathetic attempts at covering up their lies.

Your mother’s words die in her throat as he knocks her out with a single blow, it’s by sheer luck the impact against her skull hadn’t straight up killed her. Your father doesn’t even get to react, not even a pip can be mumbled, before Tartaglia is making his way towards him at rapid speeds, the young man’s strength was enough to tackle him down. The Fatui soldier makes sure to use as much strength as possible, all in an attempt to get his opponent to knock his head against something and pass out with as little fuss as possible. 

It’s almost pathetic how quickly he’d taken both of them down, in just a few minutes the couple was knocked out cold - not yet dead nor mortally injured but not awake, no longer able to annoy Ajax or disturb you.

It’s almost pathetic how quickly he’d taken both of them down, in just a few minutes the couple was knocked out cold, both lying motionless on the ground, their limbs sprawled awkwardly; not yet dead but no longer able to annoy Ajax or disturb you, much to the former’s delight.

Footsteps could be heard from the first floor as the guests downstairs started getting worried, standing up and roaming around calling your parents’ names - too polite to dare wander into the house but too anxious about their absence to stay completely still, the thick wooden floors muffled the sounds but not enough that the commotion upstairs couldn’t be heard. One of the many benefits of Snezhnayan architecture was the isolation you could achieve in a big enough house, he’ll keep it in mind when he picks a house to start a family with you in.

Due to your house’s size, Ajax wouldn’t have to worry too much about Andrei or his parents hearing too much, meaning he’d be able to keep the element of surprise.

The Vision user knew he’d have to avoid the dining room, the place where the guests currently found themselves, lest he lose control and kill his former subordinate the minute he laid eyes on him, however his reasoning was anything but noble; Tartaglia simply wasn’t too keen on the idea of letting him get away with his crimes just yet. 

To him, death would be too soft a punishment, it would have to be a fate worse than, not just for Andrei but every single person who was involved in the scheme.

His gloved hands make their way to check their pulses, both weak but still there - good. 

With a satisfied huff he makes his way down the hall and staircase, quick to dismiss his signature hydro blades as he purposely makes his presence known with loud, rhythmic footsteps any soldier who’d served under him would recognize.

Years of hanging out under this very roof meant Ajax knew exactly where your back entrance was, which meant that he could enjoy instilling a sense of dread into the people downstairs without risking being found.

With a lazy smirk, Ajax purposely lets a couple of framed pictures and paintings fall from the wall, his hand tracing the walls and making sure to create as much sound as possible. As he approaches the dining room, he can hear the confused, hushed whispers as someone tries to peek into the hallway but, by the time the young man finally reaches the door to look around, Ajax has long since exited the house as he makes his way to recall the soldiers he’d stationed around the neighborhood.

With a wave of his hand soldiers seemingly appeared from thin air, emerging from bushes and rounding dark corners, soon the Harbinger is surrounded by men awaiting his orders.

“Is the Galkin residency ready?” He asks, making direct eye contact with a shorter soldier.

“Yes, sir.” The man nods.

“Good,” he combs a hand through his hair as he looks at your childhood home, “there’s a knocked out couple on the second floor, the rest are in the dining room.”

“Yes, sir.” A chorus of voices respond, mechanically a group of the soldiers turn around and march into the house.

“Keep it down, will you? If they scream, knock them out,” he adds half-heartedly, “she’s sleeping, so don’t wake her up.”

The leader of the group nods enthusiastically, making sure to echo the sentiment to his men before making their way inside the house.

As their operation takes place, Tartaglia turns back around to address his remaining companions; “Make sure to make it look as realistic as possible, we need the charges to stick.”

“Yes, sir.”

He asks to see the boxes full of fabricated evidence one last time. There are at least six large boxes filled to the brim, but he focuses on one. The one that holds the most damning evidence for the most serious crime anyone could commit in the land of Cryo; Treason against the Tsaritsa. Cold, blue eyes look with a gleeful glint at the falsified letters, penned to look exactly like your family members’ handwriting, there’s more; photographs, bank records, falsified shipment records, and more.

He gives one final nod, officially sealing everyone’s fates. From this moment onwards, your family and the Galkin’s would be charged with treason against the Tsaritsa and conspiracy to overthrow the Fatui. Sure, many others, perhaps even innocent people, will unjustly be implicated but he’ll make sure to pin this on the worst people he can. He’ll get rid of two birds with one stone while he’s at it.

It takes only a couple of minutes before everyone is being pulled outside of the house and led into carriages. It’s a humiliating sight, the ones who were awake were panicked, some even crying, the ones who had to be subdued needed to be carried by two or more people as they were unceremoniously dragged away.

Ajax purposely hides away, making sure to make a mental note of who was being taken and their condition. Andrei and his father are the only Galkin family members out of the four present who hadn’t been knocked out. Your parents, your eldest sister, and younger brother are knocked out - your elder brother, and your other sister are the only ones awake. There are a couple of other people, their partners, and a few he didn’t recognize immediately. In total, there were 16 people taken from your home.

Tartaglia made a point to only reveal himself as they finally dragged Andrei out, the final person out the house. His hands were bound behind him, a confused look clear in his eyes as he desperately tried to understand what was going on. His green eyes finally make contact with Ajax’s, they widen.

“Sir? What is going on -” He’s cut off by a harsh shove from the soldier walking him, he stumbles.

Ajax almost feels bad at the sight, Andrei was a good man - if only he didn’t try to get with you. He was young, unlike the idea he’d planted into your head, Galkin had only recently turned 27 last month, and he’d been a promising soldier until he was honorably discharged after a failed mission took the lives of most of his troupe. However, if you found out about his closeness in age to yourself, you’d probably not have reacted as poorly - maybe you’d even think about giving the fucker a chance. After all, people like Andrei - honorable young men who sacrificed a part of himself for his nation - were always appealing to the masses. But never as appealing as Ajax was to you, he couldn’t be.

The Harbinger turns around on his heels, not even sparing another glance to the arrested individuals, before making his way inside your house.

It’s filled with strangers, their serious faces evident as they set up the scene - their movements calculated as they did their best to create the image of guilt. Even though there were easily five or more people in every room, the whole place felt eerily empty. In a way, he almost feels as if you two were the only people in the world - you, the sleeping beauty waiting for him to arrive.

There’s a spring in his step as he pushes the door to your room open, his eyes immediately find you buried within his coat. He’s not surprised you had managed to sleep through it all, you’d always been a heavy sleeper even during your youth. 

He ushers a soldier in with a bunch of empty boxes, signaling for her to start packing your things up.

“Wake her up and you’re dead.” He adds while he makes his way towards you, a cheeky smile on his face as he makes himself comfortable next to you.

The soldier nods, making sure to be as quiet as humanly possible as to not anger the man in front of her - at this point, everyone in the house knew that he was not exaggerating when he said such things. When it came to you, the eleventh Fatui Harbinger knew no bounds. She turns around, making sure not to look too much at either of you in fear of upsetting him.

He patiently waits for the woman to finish packing all she could fit in the boxes. By now, he’s cuddling you in his arms, never allowing you the chance to so much as squirm away from him. It’s a suffocating, possessive hold he has on you, like he was scared if he let you go even for a second you’d leave him.

“Good, thank you.” He doesn’t even look at her - too focused gazing lovingly at your sleeping form. She says nothing but bows before leaving, desperate to leave the room as soon as possible.

The minute she closes the door he pulls himself away from you, making sure to not wake you up with any sudden movements - a concern he seemingly hadn’t had before when he’d been tormenting your parents.

He’d done his best to conceal himself but the truth was that the minute he saw you again, he felt himself growing hard again. Your naked body was hidden enough he didn’t feel the need to kick the soldier from before out, but he knew - he knew that beneath it you were still dirty with him, you were bruised from his handling of you, your neck filled with his kisses and bites. Just knowing that was enough for him to get dizzy, as if all the blood that was meant to flow to his brain had been redirected to his dick. His white pants were tented up, it almost hurts from how erect it was - just the memory of you taking him inside had a wet patch forming in his underwear.

“Look at what you do, baby,” he moans, his voice breathy as he pulls his zipper down, slowly freeing his hard-on, “ah… hah, I want to be inside you again.”

Just the cold air hitting his bare cock is enough to send a jolt of electricity down his spine, he just wants to feel you again, it’s all he wants - to be inside you again and to fuck you until all you can think of his your future husband’s cock. He takes your hand, so much smoother than his battle-worn one, and cautiously shoves two of your fingers into his mouth as a make-shift gag. 

He keeps one hand there while the other one slowly caresses his slit, his touch almost a ghost on his skin as he makes sure to tease it until a glob of pre starts to form from how sensitive he already was. He takes a small amount of pre-cum and uses it as lube, making sure to spread it slowly across his tip and down his shaft with long strokes.

He’s trying his best not to bite down on your fingers but it was so hard not to, instead he occupies himself by sucking on them in sync with his hand. 

“Mhm!” He accidentally touches his vein, the thick bump was extra sensitive against the cold air and your scent, his whole body twitches.

He can’t stop his hand from gaining speed and force, the longer he’s here with you the more his hand moves. It just not enough, his hips thrust upwards as he gives into himself, fucking into his balled up hand. His tongue laps at your fingers, his lips wrap tightly around them as he tries not to bite into your flesh; he can’t stop his hand from tightening against his cock.

He continues like this for a while, humping into the air like a bitch in heat, making sure to not cum - he didn’t want this to end too soon, he wanted to continue feeling like this next to you. In your room, a place that smelt so much like you it was overstimulating him, the taste of your lips against his tongue was intoxicating - he didn’t want today to end.

“Hah, mhm…” He chokes against his moan; it’s starting to get too much for him.

It’s then that he makes the mistake of looking over to you. Just the sight is enough for him to cum, it takes just a few strokes for him to finally spill.

“F-Fuck!” He can’t stop the moan that leaves his lips, he takes your fingers out of mouth in fear of hurting you but he refuses to let it go, gripping tightly while he lets himself ride the wave of pleasure he feels.

It takes him a second or two until he finally calms down, his dick growing sensitive as he slows down his strokes until he finally stops. His chest feels heavy as he pants, his heart beating painfully loud - he wonders if maybe you could hear it even in your sleep, a part of him hopes so. His whole body is on fire but he thinks this is the best he’s ever felt, just being near you was enough to make him feel like a God.

“I… I love you,” he pants, his fingers almost leave a dent in your hands from how tightly he’s gripping it, “hah… I love you so, so much…”

Almost a little too much.

[goatunderthebridge]

Everyone knew that Tendou ran cold. He'd stick his hands up the other boys' shirts when they weren't being careful, chilling them to the core as he laughed. He'd even managed to convince Goshiki for a couple months that he was cold because he was a lizard person, needing to warm in the sun lest he freeze completely and die. When Shirabu saw Goshiki worry about Tendou in the winter, he knew it was time to explain that that was absolutely not the case. And it was the truth that Tendou didn't mind being cold; he had never considered himself the proper, warm kind of person anyway so what difference did it make that his body temperature acted the same way?

That was until he felt how warm Ushijima's hands were and how he flinched every time they touched.

From that moment on, Tendou began to take precautions against his coldness. He took boiling hot showers, drank hot beverages as much as he could, ate the spiciest foods, and began to wear gloves.

Ushijima didn't understand the changes. He didn't like the taste of the foods on Tendou's tongue when they kissed and he missed feeling the calluses on his hands. He frowned as Tendou grabbed his hand with his gloved one, swinging their arms once enjoined.

He notices the frown on Ushijima's face and leans closer to him. "Eh? What's wrong?"

Ushijima squeezes his gloves hand, replying, "I do not like these gloves."

Tendou hums, pulling his hand back. He hadn't really thought about how Ushijima would react to the material of the gloves. Maybe these ones were too irritable for him? He made a mental note to buy a softer pair that Ushijima would prefer.

"Sorry bud, I'll get a new pair later today-"

Ushijima grabs his hand again. Tendou's eyes widen in surprise as he watches Ushijima pull the glove off his hand and intertwine their fingers, immediately pocketing the glove before Tendou can protest.

"Better." Ushijima asserts, nodding to himself.

Tendou blinks rapidly, attempting to pull his hand back despite enjoying how warm Ushijima's hand was. Ushijima holds on though, refusing to let go and watches curiously as Tendou pulls their hands towards him.

"No, bud, you don't have to hold my hands when they're so cold! You're gonna turn into ice-"

Ushijima furrows his brows, "I do not think that is possible."

Tendou almost laughs but remains strong, adamant to make Ushijima understand. "No, no, I mean I don't want to make you feel cold."

Ushijima seems to think about this for a second. Tendou takes that as confirmation that he is indeed too cold for him and tries to pull his hand back. But Ushijima tightens his grip and pulls their enjoined hands back towards him.

"I have never been cold," Ushijima mumbles, running his other hand's thumb across Tendou's knuckles and sending a bloom of warmth across them, "I like that you cool me down."

With that, Ushijima raises their hands to his lips, pressing them firmly against the back of Tendou's hand. He leaves a warm imprint on it that Tendou relishes, squeezing his hand in response.

"I like that you warm me up." He replies before leaning fully into Ushijima and pressing their lips softly together, cold melting into warmth.

Tendou had almost forgotten that Ushijima ran hot. But it shouldn't have come as a surprise that, when it came to the two of them, they often found that what they had missed all of their lives could always be found in the other.

[rosedpetal]

Behave is SOOO hot! I can’t help but imagine giving Bucky a taste of his own medicine. Let’s see how he reacts when he’s suddenly too aware of the men thirsting over his wife and maybe a little bratty twist that while his wife doesn’t entertain them, she also doesn’t stop them, bonus if she keeps Bucky at a distance. then bam, he snaps. Filthy jealous/possessive smut. I’m sorry imma see my way out ur work short circuited my brain 😭

girly, he'd be PISSED

Part I | Masterlist

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: smut.

Minors, do not interact.

To say you were enjoying your little power trip was an understatement.

Dressed in a long gown, with your hair up in the most beautiful bun Bucky's ever seen, a few locks loose to frame your face, and your makeup done by a professional, you were a vision to behold.

Unfortunately, it wasn't for his eyes only.

Being the wife of an Avenger meant dealing with people and fancy events. Most of the time, Bucky accepted the attention with grace, and then moved on with his life.

But on some very rare occurrences, his fans and the press also turned their attention to you.

It wasn't that Bucky wasn't proud of the gorgeous woman by his side — he gave you one of those freaking Darry engagement rings that could only be bought once by person, and married you only half a year later. 'I don't wanna give you any more time that could make you change your mind', were his exact words to you. He was insane about you. You were the love of his life, and he overcame so much to make sure he would be worthy of your love.

He worshipped the ground you walked on. And he wasn't afraid to tell you that.

But just like a man born in his time, Bucky was extremely possessive of his wife.

And he couldn't stand the two photographers flashing their cameras at you and asking you to 'turn around', 'blow a kiss' or 'smile'.

Bucky's mood was changing quickly, as he analyzed every micro expression on their faces as they took pictures of you. Your face, your dress, your fucking curves.

And you were gracefully accepting every little praise, your smile a little too bright for Bucky's liking.

While he tried to detain his thoughts to going for that dark place, were he would bash these assholes' heads on the concrete until they were beyond recognition, he couldn't help but wonder what had triggered such a reckless behavior from you.

Did he do something that riled you up during this week? He remembers unloading the dishwasher the moment you asked for it. Sometimes he forgets his shoes in the middle of the living room, but it surely couldn't be it.

His eyes darkened in realization when he finally figured you out. Letting these men fawn over you like you were a free woman... That was payback.

Bucky was very aware of your territorial nature when it came to him. For fucks sake, you let the whole world know when you were pissed at another woman for eye fucking him just by the way your eyebrows furrowed and your lips pressed in a thin line, — which once Thor made the mistake of pointing to, and the mean mug you gave the Asgardian still haunted his dreams to this day.

So, Bucky teased you for it. It was okay, right? It was just light banter. You couldn't be possibly punishing him for such a petty reason right the fuck now?

His mind took a quick turn to all the life choices he made that had lead to this exact moment. You giggling and tossing your hair while other men undressed you with their eyes.

It doesn't matter that they were simply doing their jobs. He could see how long they were taking to photograph you when... Well, Bucky was the famous one.

The moment one of the photographers' hands went for you, Bucky instantly reacted, putting himself between you and the fucking moron that seemed to conveniently forget that you were a married woman and your husband was right there.

"Don't you dare touch my wife. Keep running your fucking mouth and taking your fucking pictures and I'll show you why they used to call me Winter Soldier." Bucky's voice was low and lacking any emotion, his vibranium hand wrapped tightly around the dude's wrist.

Bucky's threat wasn't directed at you, but it went straight to your core. You felt all warm and fuzzy inside as he went all alpha mode.

The two guys quickly excused themselves after that, and you let out a light chuckle.

"Thank God, they finally left. I was worried for a second they were gonna blind me with- hey, what are you doing? Bucky, what the fuck?" You whispered as he practically dragged you back to the waiting car, quickly sending a text to Sam to let him know you two were leaving early.

He opened the door for you and you quickly scooped inside, knowing your husband was mad. Bucky sat next to you and told the driver to roll up the partition wall.

"Bucky, talk to me!" You finally snapped, annoyed. "Why are we leaving early?"

"Because-" Bucky turned to you, interrupting himself when he noted how loud he was being, lowering his voice on the next words, and pointing his index finger to your face, eyes boring into yours. "Because you decided to piss me the hell off tonight, and I'm gonna have to teach you how properly a married woman should behave."

Your eyes widened in indignation as you threw your bag in the couch. "Excuse me? How properly I should what? I'm sorry to inform you, honey, but this is the 21st fucking century, not the damn 40s."

Bucky chuckled, humorlessly. The audacity of you. To twirl your hair locks while smiling at other men flirting with you openly, and now pretend he was the bad guy for reprimanding you.

"You're gonna keep your mouth shut until we get home, and if you so much as try to be cute with me, I promise that what I have in store for you is gonna turn ten times worse."

You raised your eyebrow. Maybe you were looking for trouble today, but you sure as hell weren't about to let Bucky undermine you over his bruised ego.

"What are you now, a caveman? Is your masculinity so fragile that you can't stand the fact that I can be lusted after too? When you smirk at me across the room while women are flaunting themselves to you, you think you're the only one entitled to make me feel insecure, as if you're a goddamn prize?"

"Y/N-"

"No, please, enlighten me on why the hell you think you can joke with your friends about my possessiveness and act exactly the same, then have the guts to belittle me for it!"

"Dollface-"

"You know what? I was only posing-"

"Goddamnit, will you shut up?" Bucky snapped. "I don't smirk at you across the room to show off and make you jealous, I do it because I thought it was our thing! Some delusional girl will come to me, I'll playfully smile at you because we both joke on how ridiculous they are! I'm not trying to make you insecure, you insane little thing, I think it's cute how you react every time, and how you never direct your anger at me. And by the way, I never tossed or twirled my hair for any woman, or giggled, just to spite you!"

You clenched your fists. No. Even if he was right (which he wasn't), you couldn't just give in and apologize right now. You had reasons to be pissed, you were tired of being teased, as if you were the only one in the relationship that was overly jealous. You knew your words should've been measured, but right now, you couldn't care less. You crossed your arms, voice neutral as you gave him the fatal blow:

"You know what I think, James? I think you're not enough of a man, and what I just did broke your little illusion of power. That's what got your lady panties in a twist."

Bucky's jaw clenched, a flash of anger coursing through his veins. "What the fuck did you just say to me?"

"Are you deaf?"

Two seconds of you staring at him with your coy little act, he was fuming and he practically lunged at you. You squealed and giggled when he pushed you to lay on your back in the leather seat of the limo, breathless and flustered.

"You little minx. You're about to get spanked in the back of a limo like the whore you are." Bucky hissed in your ear, maneuvering you so you were laying on your stomach. He impatiently raised the long skirts of your dress, not even giving you time to prepare for the series of blows he delivered to your poor ass.

Your giggles quickly stopped, and they turned to whimpers.

"C'mon, brat, tell me I'm not a man now." He nibbled your earlobe, pressing his chest against your back. "I dare you. Go ahead, baby. I'm waiting."

Your ass had his fingerprints now, a beautiful shade of red in them. More beautiful than the blush on your cheeks. Your lip was quivering when he was done, finally showing mercy on your rear. You sighed in relief and he gave you a wolfish grin, his hand sliding between your thighs and collecting your arousal, gently spreading it on your folds, his voice low and full of purpose:

"We're just getting started, baby girl."

"This is not fair." You whined, your words dying down when his index and middle finger entered you, opening you up for him. You bit your hand when curled his digits, brushing against your spongy spot.

"What's not fair? Do you want me to stop?" Bucky teased, kissing your neck.

It was getting hot inside the limo, with your gown and your husband crowding you against the leather seats. The sweat was quickly forming in your skin, and it was a bit uncomfortable, but you couldn't bring yourself to tell him to stop.

"No... I just-"

"I just-" Bucky mocked you, clicking his tongue. "Can't even speak anymore?"

"It's hot." You complained, in a whiny tone.

Bucky sighed, sitting up to turn the air conditioner on, the cold breeze welcomed to you both. His fingers never left your pussy, and he scissored you hard, smirking at how you tried to keep it down so the poor driver wouldn't hear you.

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand from you, pulling your head back by your hair and shoving his slick digits on your mouth, which you eagerly licked clean. Bucky undid his slacks, groaning in relief when he freed his rock hard length from the constricting fabric. He pulled you to his lap, your back to his chest, your thighs spread over his.

"Think you can ride me without hitting your head in the ceiling?" He whispered on your ear as you grabbed his cock and aligned him at your entrance.

"Hmmm... Probably no." You looked up.

"Then stay still while Daddy fucks you."

Your mouth hung open when he slammed into you, harder than you expected, without giving you time to get used to his thickness. He shoved his tie on your mouth to muffle your moans, one hand on your hip and the other squeezing your breast, while he pistoned his hips up.

You didn't even make a sound.

The sound of his balls slapping against your clit and the shameful, wet noise of your pussy being rammed were enough.

"See why I'm so obsessed with you? Why I can't stand you being lusted after? It's cause the thought of someone else having this pussy makes me wanna rip my fucking hair out, baby." Bucky murmured in your ear, his movements not easing down, not faltering for a second. "I know I have no leg to stand on, acting jealous and possessive of you, but fuck if I'm taking a single risk of losing you, of losing this."

Your eyes rolled back, your walls clamping down violently on your husband's cock, and you spasmed above him, reaching your apex.

With a groan that made you blush, Bucky came in hot spurts, filling you up with his load.

His chest was rising and falling as if he ran a marathon, and he gently patted your thigh. "C'mon baby, pull yourself together. We just got home. I'm not done with you yet."

[perseephoneee]

sugar & spice [ficmas day 13] [bucky barnes x afab!reader]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2024

author's note: this is super late bc i drove home for the holidays today!! also i was watching SNL and got distracted

playlist:

christmas in hollis -- run dmc

thats christmas to me -- pentatonix

if we make it through december -- phoebe bridgers

Living next to the Winter Soldier was usually peaceful but sometimes awful. 

He had moved recently to St. Bernard Parish only a few months ago. You remember seeing all the drama with John Walker on the news, and Sam Wilson, aka “The Falcon,” stepping into the role of Captain America. You knew Sam was from the area, but you never expected his best friend to move in so close by. Let alone next to you. 

Most times, you don’t see him at all. Bucky tends to hide or only go out on errands. You’ll exchange a nod, maybe an awkward smile. You think to yourself that he’s incredibly handsome, even amidst the awkwardness. Maybe you would invite him out if you had more confidence. 

The first time you had a real conversation with him was in the apartment complex’s laundry room. Your cat had knocked over a glass of red wine all over your comforter, and you were sitting down there with spot remover cursing to yourself, trying to remove it. Additionally, the washer and dryer were ancient and didn’t want to accommodate something of your comforter size. You had attempted to smush it down to as small as possible, but the stupid machine wouldn’t turn on, and you were afraid of it exploding if you tried to put more detergent in. 

Bucky had come into the space at that moment. 

You never really knew what to do around him. He was this badass, sexy super soldier, and you were a nursing student who liked $6 wine. You guys did not operate in the same circuit. 

“Everything alright?” he asked. His voice was slightly raspy in a way you liked. 

“Washer,” you pointed to the offending object. He nodded like he understood. He probably did. He lived in the building. Bucky walked over and looked at the machine, shaking it a little like it would dislodge its problems. He tried pushing a bunch of buttons, but all it did was make the machine gurgle. You were too late to tell him to stop pressing things when your fear of bubbles exploding out of the machine was made a reality. 

Soapy water leaked out of the machine, covering you both in bubbles. By the time you found a way to shut off the machine, you were both wet and squeaky. Bucky looked mortified.

“I-I don’t know much about technology,” he apologized, red tinging his cheeks. You couldn’t help but burst out in laughter, which just made him confused. 

“This is ridiculous,” you laughed. Bucky chuckled until both of you stood there, trying to hold in laughter while covered in bubbles. The building manager came in a moment later and yelled at you both. 

Now, you had a tentative friendship with the Winter Soldier. Sometimes, you guys would go on morning runs or grab a coffee. One time, Bucky had you over to watch a sports game. You didn’t care much for sports but recognized it was him trying to be friendly, so you said yes. You guys made nachos for the big event. 

With Christmas around the corner, you were still trying to think of what you could get Bucky. He didn’t share much information about himself. Plus, you had a budget to work with. You were debating knitting him something but worried he would hate it. A knock on the door disturbed your thoughts. 

Bucky greeted you with a card in hand. 

“Hey, Barnes,” you smiled, leaning against the door frame. 

“Sam invited us to Delacroix for a Christmas gathering,” Bucky shrugged, handing you the invitation. You smiled at the family photo. 

“Sounds fun.”

“I’m not good with people.”

“Sure you are, I’ve heard stories of the infamous Uncle Bucky,” you chuckled. Sam had once shown you photos of his nephews hanging off Bucky’s arm. 

“That was a one-time experience,” Bucky said matter-of-factly. He had a hint of a smile on his lips, though. He shifted on his feet. “Are you busy today?”

“Not really.”

“I need to go holiday shopping…. I want to get something for the Wilsons,” Bucky sighed. He sounded stressed, and you got the sense that it had been a while since he’d had to think of gifts. You thought it was cute. 

“I’ll go shopping with you, Buck,” you grinned. “Let me grab a jacket.”

Bucky had seen in the paper an ad for a Christmas market in New Orleans, which is where you guys decided to head. You had a car and were able to drive you both into the city after relentlessly teasing him for still using the paper to find events. 

You didn’t live in the French Quarter for a myriad of reasons, and it being too expensive is one of them. But it was very pretty during this time of year. The market was covered in fake snow and twinkling lights, the smell of evergreen permeating the air. You ordered some mulled wine for the both of you, burning your tongue in your eagerness to sip the drink. You helped Bucky buy some things for Sam and his nephews. At some point, you snapped a picture of him comparing two different stuffed animals; his look of determination was absolutely adorable. You grabbed some things for your family, and while thinking of your Mom, you ended up at one of the jewelry booths. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it? Fresh pearl, right off in Olympia, Washington,” the seller crooned, pointing to a delicate necklace you were looking at. There was a delicate gemstone in the center. It seemed to be twinkling at you. 

It was a pretty penny, but you wanted to do something for your Mom, who singlehandedly helped you through nursing school. You fished out the money from your wallet and opted to get it wrapped, too. 

“That’s pretty,” Bucky said from behind you. He had a bag from the hot sauce stand and was just now seeing what you were getting. 

“It’s for my Mom, as a thank you,” you shrugged. You said thank you as you took the necklace from the seller. You paused, sniffing the air. “Do you smell schnitzel?”

You dragged Bucky to the German food booth and excitedly ordered both pork schnitzel plates with a side of potatoes. You didn’t realize how starving you were. Bucky looked concerned as you inhaled everything. 

“You eat like the men I served with.”

“I eat with an aura of awesomeness?” you retorted, shoveling more potatoes. He laughed. 

“Sure.”

“I feel you don’t have faith in my superior abilities, Barnes.”

“I rarely do.”

You were about to respond, something well thought out and clever like always, when someone jostled you walking by. You turned to call out to them to watch where they were going when you saw a familiar bag in their hands. You stood up immediately, Bucky following your line of sight. 

“They took my bag! That has my Mom’s gift in it!” you cried out. People looked at you in bewilderment, your assailant sprinting in the crowd and knocking people out of the way. 

“Y/N, wait!” Bucky yelled as you took off after him. You weren’t an athlete, but you could pick up speed when necessary. You felt like you were in a game of Temple Run as you dodged people and objects while moving after him. Bucky caught up to you easily, not even breaking a sweat. He surpassed you quickly, grabbing the guy from the back of his jacket and throwing him down. You gasped at how quickly he moved. Bucky held him down while he checked for your bag. He looked up to you in alarm. “He doesn’t have it.”

“I saw him take it,” you gasped. 

“He must’ve passed it off to someone in the crowd,” Bucky cursed. The guy was crying underneath him, and he let him go. He basically kicked him to the side. You scanned the crowd, noticing a similar get-up from a guy to your left. You nudged Bucky’s arms, pointing him out. He nodded at you before stalking his way towards him. Even in his movements, he seemed completely still. You weren’t surprised to know that he was one of the scariest assassins. 

You both followed the guy onto a quieter street from the market. Unfortunately, that’s when the rest of his accomplices came out to greet you. While you were confident that Bucky could get out of this situation, you were unsure about your own abilities. 

You didn’t even have a chance to fight back when someone grabbed you from behind, pressing a sweet-smelling cloth to your nose, lulling you into unconsciousness. 

You were awoken by a bright spotlight. 

Akin to a bad interrogation scene, you sat up and groaned. You were tied to a chair. Bucky was next to you, looking bored. Or at least feigning boredom. The gang of guys were standing around you, looking smug. 

“Well, well, well, look at what the cat dragged in,” one of them said, sounding smug. 

“Aren’t you the cat?” you groaned. One of the other guys slapped you, Bucky growling at the motion. 

“Keep your mouth shut, this isn’t about you.”

“Then why kidnap me?”

“Y/N, shut up,” Bucky hissed. 

“I become annoying when I’m nervous,” you shrugged, the sting from your cheek starting to fade. The guy had a fairly weak slap. You spied your bag out of the corner of your eye, in the back near the door. You kissed your teeth. 

“What do you want?” Bucky asked. You wondered why he hadn’t broken out yet. 

“We want your privileged ass off our turf,” one of the guys called out. “Avengers aren’t welcome here. Not after the Blip.”

You thought that was a dumb reason but neglected to comment. 

“We were just about to leave; we were just doing holiday shopping,” Bucky said, tone even. 

“Oh, yes, sugar and spice. I’d love to have some of that sugar if you get my drift,” the main guy said, leering at you. You considered spitting on him, but Bucky’s hard expression was enough to cause a few of them to back off. He glanced at you, nodding at the door. You thought he was talking about your bags, and you nodded back. 

“You guys are barely passable villains, and I have better things to do,” Bucky sighed, snapping out of his restraints immediately and standing up. The other guys jumped into action, and that's how you got to see the Winter Soldier in true form. Even still, you knew he was holding back. He didn’t need full strength for these goons. 

You shuffled in your chair, trying to tip forward slightly. You had seen this once in a movie and thought of trying it now (everything is accurate in movies). You pushed back, landing with a hard crack on the back of the chair. The back part cracked, allowing you to wiggle out of your ties with ease. You got up off the ground, making a sprint towards the exit. Bucky caught up with you a second later. The guns started firing a moment after that. 

“Go!” Bucky yelled, basically dragging you behind him as you guys sprinted out of wherever you were. You followed behind him uselessly until he felt you were far enough away to catch your breath. You sat on the curb of the sidewalk, panting. Bucky put your bags on the ground next to you. 

“You remembered,” you sighed happily. Bucky sat down next to you. 

“Least I could do.”

“I’m sorry I got you caught up in that for a stupid present.”

“Those guys were idiots; it made my week to beat them up,” Bucky smiled. You knew he was trying to make you feel better, but you couldn’t help but think there was a shred of truth. 

“I still feel bad.”

“Don’t,” Bucky leaned against his knee. “Nothing with you is bad.”

You felt your cheeks heat, and you hoped Bucky didn’t notice. Adrenaline still coursed through you, your brain going a hundred directions a minute. You leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, making him go still. 

“Thanks for saving my life.”

Bucky smiled. 

“I think you saved your own.”

You both went home after that, Bucky hesitantly leaving you by yourself. Like he was afraid, something would happen. You didn’t realize until you were behind closed doors how scared you had actually been. You broke down sobbing a second later. You were glad Bucky wasn’t there to see it. 

Sam's party was at the end of the week. You were putting on some simple pearl studs when Bucky knocked on your door. You ran out to greet him, swinging open the door. 

You had never seen Bucky dressed up. He was always dressed in his “civilian attire” and in varying shades of dark. Today, he wore a dark blue button-up with his leather jacket over it. He had put on some nicer boots instead of his worn ones. He looked devilishly handsome and very much like someone who would break your heart. You were pleasantly surprised to find him appreciating your appearance as well. 

“You…,” he trailed off. You had put on a nicer maroon dress for the party but no heels. It wasn’t that fancy. It seemed to be enough for him. 

“I know–”

“You look beautiful,” Bucky coughed out. He was never good at talking or expressing anything, really. You didn’t know how much willpower it took for him to admit this. You beamed. 

“So do you,” you replied, shuffling your feet. Bucky offered you his arm, and you wondered how many girls he would do this to back in the 40s. You took it with glee anyway. 

Neither of you lived far from Delacroix, and didn’t have to wait that long to get to the Wilson’s. You could hear the music from down the block. Bucky parked, running to your door to quickly let you out. He was being a gentleman and it was giving you heartache. 

Sarah Wilson was dressed in a beautiful crushed velvet gown and greeted you with a hug when she saw you. You had met the Wilson sister twice, and both times she greeted you warmly. She quirked a brow when she saw Bucky, and he gave her an awkward salute and shuffled away. 

“You look wonderful,” you said to Sarah. 

“So do you, and he seems to notice,” Sarah nudged you, nodding towards Bucky. He had found Sam and the kids, who were already swarming him. 

“We’re just friends,” you bit your lip. Sarah chuckled. 

“And I’m a virgin. We all have our crosses to bear.”

You didn’t have a good retort to Sarah’s comments and decided to just follow her to the bar instead. You were going to need wine to get through this party if she was going to make suggestive comments. 

Two glasses of wine later, you were starting to feel calmer. The kids practiced patience when opening their presents, and the adults enjoyed the buffet-style food. One of Sam’s family members put on a Marvin Gaye record, and with the liquor free-flowing, dancing was bound to occur. Bucky was hiding on the edge of the dance floor, nibbling on a cookie. You joined him. 

“Did you dance in the 40s?” you asked. Bucky finished his cookie. 

“Yeah, it’s how I got all the girls,” he smiled. The wine flowed through your head, and you offered him your hand. He looked down at your hand and then back at you. 

“C’mon, get the girl Barnes. Take me dancing,” you grinned, even as your heart was thundering. Bucky took your hand, following you onto the ‘dance floor’ (carpet). He gave you a quick spin until you fell into his chest. 

“Falling for me already?” Bucky smirked. You understood why he was a stud back in the day. 

“Shut it,” you smiled. The music was upbeat enough that you weren’t left in the uncomfortable holding pattern of a slow dance. Bucky knew what he was doing, though, even if you didn’t. You let him spin you and pull you close, your breath catching every time. By the end of the third song, you’re out of breath and need another drink. Bucky follows you to the bar, a few steps behind. “You’re a good dancer,” you commented. 

“You’re a good partner,” Bucky offers you a wine glass, topping it off. You smile in thanks, taking a sip. You want to dissolve under his gaze. 

“You’re unbelievable,” you murmured. 

“Why?”

“You know why,” you quirked a brow. Bucky just chuckled, looking down. He was cute when he was bashful, and you hated him for it. When he looked up at you, you were caught by how blue his eyes were. 

Coughing interrupted you. 

Both you and Bucky turned to see Sam. His arms were crossed. 

“I need you two to hook up already,” Sam exclaimed. Bucky rolled his eyes, but you just glared at Sam. Your glare was enough to send him away. You turned back to Bucky with burning cheeks. Bucky rolled his shoulder with the metal arm like he was preparing for something. 

“Buck–”

He cut you off with a kiss. It stole your breath, and if it weren’t for his hand on your waist, you would’ve collapsed to the ground. When he pulled away, you looked at him with shock and adoration.

“I was tired of waiting,” he murmured. “And Sam was right.”

“Does it pain you to admit Sam was right?”

“Every time,” Bucky grinned. 

You kissed Bucky again and again until Sarah’s sons were making fake kissing noises in the living room, Sam was cheering, and you and Bucky were wondering how you ended up spending Christmas at the Wilsons. 

[casuallyimagining]

Set Me Free || myg (teaser)

Summary: Tired of being told how to live his life and unsure of where he stands in the world, Yoongi--your soulmate--yearns to be free. When you give him what he wants, it causes a rift in your relationship that seems irreparable. 12 years later, you find him back in your life. Can you mend your relationship? Do you even want to? Word Count: TBD (at least 10k. unclear if this is a one-shot or not) Genre: friends to enemies to lovers, supernatural au, witch & familiar au, soulmate au, angst, fluff, more to be added Warnings: death of a parent (brief mention), drinking, soulmate breakup, more to be added

Notes: I don't really know when I might be posting this. I'm still in the process of writing it, but it feels about halfwayish done, and I'm excited about it, so I wanted to share!

teaser under the cut

“Maybe this way of life isn’t for everyone. Maybe not everyone wants their whole existence to be predetermined at birth. Maybe not everyone wants the universe to choose who they’re supposed to be with and how they’re supposed to live.”

His words stung, and until then, you weren’t quite sure why. Rejection. Not just of how you lived, and who he was, and how things had always been. But of you. Yoongi was your familiar, you were destined to be together in some way since you were toddlers and the bond gem first appeared. Not all witches and familiars were in romantic relationships–your parents were, sure, and Yoongi’s parents–but plenty of them had other partners, lives separate from each other. Platonic soulmates navigating the world together.

Until a few months before, you’d been content with that. There was no doubt you’d been best friends from the jump. You’d been practically inseparable through school. Then, months before, he’d kissed you at the winter market. Right there in the park, under the aurora. Before that, you hadn’t thought of him as any more than your best friend. But the kiss had unlocked something inside you. And now…

Now he wanted you gone. 

“You want to be free that badly?” By some miracle, your voice sounded positively venomous, even though you felt like you could crumble at any moment. “Fine.”

“Wh-”

The chain around your wrist snapped easily when you wrapped your fingers around it. The incantation meant to keep the bond gem safe became meaningless as soon as you wanted it gone. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been without it around your wrist. You loved it, with its gem of swirling, inky black and navy blue. It reminded you so much of Yoongi, deep and calm and unwavering. 

Without a word, you tossed the bracelet to the ground. Yoongi’s eyes widened as it hit and the jewel cracked. For good measure, you stepped on it, crushed it into dust. There was a pitiful swirl of blue magic that puffed up from the dirt. When you moved your foot, there was nothing left of the bond gem or its chain.

“What the fuck?” Yoongi’s eyes were glassy when you finally looked at him. He looked almost as crushed as you felt. “What the fuck?”

“You’re free.” And this time, you couldn’t hide your sadness behind your anger. 

I am very curious to know your thoughts on this. I'm so fucking excited to post. stupid grad school is getting in the way of me being able to devote 100% of my time to it, but god I'm trying so hard to get it done.

[niceutossu]

What Ifs | Iwaizumi x Reader

Iwaizumi hasn’t thought about you in years—or at least that’s what he tells himself. Most days, he’s too focused on work, friends, and the steady rhythm of life in Japan to linger on the past. But every so often, something breaks through. The sound of waves crashing, the bite of winter air, or the fluorescent hum of a convenience store late at night—moments that crept back into his mind when he least expected them, and brought him right back to you.

The first real friend he made while studying in California. At first, he found your cheeky attitude irritating, a little too much like Oikawa’s. You were sharp-tongued and playful, and if Iwaizumi was being honest, a little too easygoing for someone who had so many academic responsibilities. But somehow, you wormed your way into his daily life. Sitting next to him at the library, catching the same bus, calling him “Iwa” like you knew him forever.

He could’ve made an effort to completely shut you out if he really wanted to. Taken a different bus route, found a new study spot, or pretended you didn’t exist when you called out his name childishly. Except, even more annoyingly, you reminded him of home.

But you weren’t home. You weren’t like Oikawa or anyone from his past. There was more to you—things that made you different, and, he would later admit, better. You were diligent, kind, and despite your popularity, you were humble. You didn’t boast about your accomplishments, didn’t flaunt the attention people naturally gave you.

That was his favorite thing about you. When people would be whispering in disbelief over who could have possibly gotten a one hundred percent on the midterm, you remained unfazed. It wasn’t until class was over that you would let that silly, triumphant grin spread across your face.

“It was meee,” you’d tease, voice lilting with mischief. He never saw you do it with anyone else. That side of you, that playful confidence—it felt like something just for him.

Despite all of this, despite how you’d already become woven into his everyday life, Iwaizumi kept you at arm’s length. He had to. He knew this was temporary—both the place and the time you shared. He told himself it would hurt too much if he got caught up in your antics, no matter how charming. Except you had a pull, your own gravity, and by the time he noticed, it was too late. He was already in your orbit.

He was the one who broke first. The one who asked to see you outside of class, breaking his own promise to himself. He took you to the beach, and you showed him your favorite tourist spots, laughing at how unimpressed he was with the so-called ‘attractions.’ And later, when you invited him to your favorite restaurant, he didn’t mind paying for dinner, or the ice cream afterward. Somehow, with you, it didn’t feel like a big deal.

There was no label, or a need for it. The reminder of the time you had left together was enough. You both lived like you knew there wasn’t time for ‘what ifs.’

But then the time came, and the goodbyes followed. The first was when he left California for Japan. You had insisted on driving him to the airport, despite his protests that you were a terrible driver. He had teased you, of course, but the truth was, he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving you behind. He remembered looking back, risking bumping into frustrated travelers, just to catch one last glimpse of your face.

The second goodbye was harder. You flew out to visit him in Japan, and the weeks you spent together were filled with blissful dinner dates, shared memories, and the kind of closeness that made it feel like no time had passed at all. Unsurprisingly, you got along well with Oikawa, much to Iwaizumi’s dismay. He thought maybe you’d want to try long-distance. He thought you maybe you might want to keep this going, somehow.

But you were smarter than him, as always. You told him you didn’t want to.

“I just wanted to see you one last time,” you’d said, your voice trembling as you stood in his arms.

He could still remember how you felt in that moment—the way you shook, not out of fear, but because of the weight of it all. You cared too much about him to let him get tangled up in something that couldn’t work. The distance, the different paths you were bound to take—it would only pull you further apart. He understood. But it didn’t make the ache any easier to bear. It didn’t stop him from wishing he could have stayed with you just a little longer.

After that you never reached out to him again, once again saving you both from the ‘what ifs’. He threw himself into his career and met a lot of women, experienced love, real love unconstrained by time. Oikawa would ask about you occasionally—sometimes out of genuine curiosity, sometimes just to annoy him. It didn’t matter. It’d make him wonder what you’d done all these years apart. Had you gotten to experience the same? He hoped so—and that whoever you were with understood they’d always be second best to you.

At this point he’s been an athletic trainer longer than he’s known you, but you still managed to occupy a smaller corner of his mind. Still, unlike his childhood his friend, he wasn’t enough of a masochist to look you up on social media. The one time Oikawa tried to show him something about you, he’d looked away, feigning interest in something else.

But today was your birthday. His phone had made a collage of the special occasion. ‘Eight years ago, today,’ it read, with the cover photo being of your back to the camera, looking out into the sea. Iwaizumi felt his lips twitch at the sight. It had been more than enough time, right? He could allow himself to indulge in memory lane, just for a little.

The first photo: you’re wearing his sweater. He feels his nose exhale in amusement as he recalls you complaining that it was ‘freezing cold’ as you pressed yourself closer to him, teeth chattering. The next photos show you pointing out a lifeguard post, a devilish twinkle in your eye as you suddenly begin sprinting full force towards it. The blurry shots confirm he was close behind—there’s a clear shot of your laughing face as he traps you in his arms once he catches you. It softens his heart.

You had always been so beautiful, you were probably even more so now. The next images show you two inside the lifeguard post, your grin surely due to his nagging about your behavior, despite the fact he always chased after you. When he slides his thumb for the next picture, he finds a video instead.

You’re the one filming him, and he feels awkward seeing a younger version of him nervously staring back at him. He hesitates before pressing play.

“Alright Iwa, time to sing happy birthday!” Your voice rings out and his breath hitches. Over time he had forgotten the little details—like your voice. Hearing it now, how could he have ever forgotten?

“I feel stupid this is stupid,” His younger self mutters, and while he should feel more embarrassed hearing his own voice, he’s still reeling over the sound of yours.

You laugh, and it makes him feel like he can’t breathe for a moment. This is why he did not indulge in the past. What was the point of reliving this? Nonetheless, his eyes remained glued to the screen.

You turn the camera so that both of you are in the frame, albeit at a weird angle.

“Let’s sing it together then.” And you do. He isn’t even paying attention to his grumpy twenty-year-old self in the background, too focused on the way your eyes keep darting back to him as you two sing happy birthday off key.

“Yayy! Thank you Hajime!” Right. You used to call him that sometimes. And the way you’d say it, voice so sincere, it crushed him then and it crushes him even more now. You make him wave goodbye to the camera before ending the recording and he’s left alone, ears still ringing with the sound of your voice.

Now, on a newfound masochist streak, he felt himself looking up your name on every social media app he could think of. He had to know, he was alone so he could feed into the dangerous what ifs. It had been years but today was your birthday, maybe he could send you a message, maybe enough time had passed where you two could-

When he finds your account, there’s a new post. It’s you, celebrating your birthday. You look just as you did back then, with the same bright smile and mischievous glint in your eyes.

Only now, it’s directed at the child in your arms. It’s a slide show and each photo shows you in familiar places. The beach where you once watched the sunset together. The restaurant where he bought you ice cream. Tourist spots he’d scoffed at.

‘Happy birthday to us,’ the caption reads. ‘Showed baby Haji all my favorite places.’ He feels the breath leave his lungs, slow and heavy.

He shuts his phone off and sits in the silence. It didn’t ache as much as he’d expected—this final realization. You had kept him in your life, but that didn’t mean there was any space for him in it now.

He wasn’t heartbroken—just surprised, maybe. That you’d kept a part of him close by, even after all this time. He should’ve felt more guilty at the thought of the poor guy who either knew or didn’t know of his existence, which one was worse was anyone’s guess. Instead though, all he felt a strange sense of relief.

He wonders, just for a moment, what might have happened if he’d stayed, if you’d fought a little harder, if there had been room in both your lives for more than just memories. The thoughts come softly, like the waves crashing on the shore of a distant beach.

But he knows better than to dwell on what ifs. He knows, deep down, that you were right even if you were also clearly living with your own regrets. Your lives had gone where they needed to go. You had found your path, and so had he.

And maybe, that was enough. If not, he could always keep praying for another chance in the next lifetime.

[loudclan-clangen]

Yay! More lore!

They in fact cannot! Leadership is a lifelong commitment in Loudclan. Maybe they could sacrifice all but one of their lives and then just live as a normal warrior, or step down while keeping their lives, but the next leader wouldn't be able to receive their lives until the former leader was fully dead. Same goes for the Lead Healer. When they receive their lives they give up their "normal" life and become inextricably linked to Starclan/The Black Water and that's not something that can be undone.

Yes! Exactly like that! They have to die to see starclan the 1st time, this costs them their "mortal" life, so when they come back they are using their first "divine" life. When they sacrifice a life to speak to starclan they must die again in order to give the current life back, as opposed to giving up the chance of using a future life. This does mean that everytime they come back they come back slightly...different. Nothing major, they're still the same person, just like a different iteration of them. Maybe their favorite prey is different, or their dominant paw changes, minor things that no one but their closest friends and family would notice, but the leader rarely seems to notice the change.

This is going to be very vague, and I apologize for that, but if I was ever to explore one of the other clans in a blog it would be Freezingclan, so I don't want to say anything too definitively and lock myself into something I haven't fully thought out. But the answer is that no one from the other clans really knows? Freezingclan is weird, they've existed longer than all of the other clans, in fact longer than anyone can really remember, and they only decided to take the clan naming system for the ease of everyone else. They meet at gatherings and are generally quite friendly and shockingly generous, but they don't discuss their religious practices with the other clans too much, because it usually only results in confusion and fear. What I can tell you is that Freezingclan's ancestors don't go to the Black Water Pool with the rest of Starclan, as they've never been seen there and Freezingclan predates the discovery of the oil. Based on the logic of why Starclan lives in the oil (it's a pocket of eternal night) it would make sense for Freezingclan's ancestors to live in the depths of the ocean, but since their leaders don't receive lives there's really no way to prove it. It's equally possible that their ancestors just stop existing when they die and that makes the rest of the clans VERY uncomfortable so they've just stopped asking for the most part. Freezingclan certainly believes that they can communicate with them, leaving offerings of prey and herbs on the shore in exchange for plentiful hunts or healthy kits, and their Healers often slip into trances where they speak in strange languages, but no one can agree whether they are just faking it or not.

Okay, so, a lot of this ask touches on stuff that I want to cover later in backstory drops for the founders, but, I'll try to answer everything I can without spoiling anything for that! Wildfirecry is the only one who came from another Clan, he was a healer in Forestclan, which eventually collapsed, leaving him on his own. He met Fiercestripe along the way, she joined up with him, and they made their way to the valley territories. Meanwhile Owlstar and Siltsplash were born and raised in the valley. Generations of rogues, descended from kittypets who were abandoned when the mine closed, lived and died across the valley, of which Owlstar and Siltsplash were two. Owlstar was sort of a folk-hero amongst the rogues, so when he and Wildfirecry got together and decided to form a clan, many others followed. Owlstar asked the studious and strict young Siltsplash to help him keep the clan in line, and they excitedly accepted, becoming his mate and deputy. The mountain was chosen because they were seeing signs of an especially harsh winter, and it's one of the few places where the wind keeps the snow from piling several feet high. Shadedclan and Ghostclan formed for similar reasons, only they disagreed about where they should go to escape the deep snows. They absolutely did leave behind people that they miss/feel deeply guilty for leaving, but those are details for a later post!

[amazinglyashy]

Frostbite - Prologue [Ch. 1]

Read on Ao3 Pairings: Foreseer Zayne x Reader Summary: In the Creatio Protocore, you would find an extension on the life you had all but given up on until recently. In you, the Foreseer would find a life worth living for once in his immortality. And together, you would find just how lovely and just how cruel fate could be. Tags: N/SFW, Hurt/Comfort. Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Canon Divergence, Abuse, Domestic Violence, Chronic Illness Notes: A slightly divergent retelling of Zayne's time as Foreseer and the myths and memories that flow with it. Chapters uploaded as frequently as I can. Chapter wordcount: 1,445

Prologue - You

Freezing- that would be a good word to use to describe how you were feeling right now. It was the dead of winter, with the wind howling as it bit across the rose color of your cheeks, making you wonder how long it would be before you became a frozen icicle yourself, much akin to the ones hanging down low from the trees. The nature around you was breathtakingly beautiful, you wouldn’t deny that- the trees nearly black in color from the wet of their wood in the snow coating them, the stark contrast of black and white mixed with the pale blue of ice taking form along the branches- if you had more time, you would stop and enjoy it. Maybe start a fire to add some warm oranges and red to the canvas before you while you admired the view. But you didn’t have such time, nor luxury at this moment. 

You couldn’t tell if the ground beneath you feeling like a glacier was a bad omen or not. In most cases, the danger of slipping on the tightly packed snow would be at the forefront of your mind, but right now, it was a comforting sign that the road you were traversing was commonly used. It meant if you got stuck up here, you could find help fairly easily, possibly even before freezing to death. 

Well, until you had to fork away from the main road and take a much less common way to get to your destination. 

The route you were currently using was one that branched off several times in its length, commonly leading to local villages or nearby cities for tradesmen and artisan to go and sell their wares. Farmers would also utilize the main roadway when transporting livestock or their crops in imposing wagons, though their wheels would have much difficulty on the ice and sleet that had formed since autumn had turned to winter. Their trips were far and fewer in between, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist until spring. 

You had the lingering thought of hopefully passing a hunter somewhere along your route. You had brought some coin just in case, hoping to talk them out of a catch they may have on hand in exchange, so that you could have a bite to eat later once you were making the trip back down the mountain, huddled around a makeshift fire as you waited out the evening. 

That would be to say, if you were able to make it back down the mountain at all.

Quietly, as if on instinct, you reached up to clutch your chest as you felt a slight tendril of pain throb across your bosom. You needed to be careful, and pick up the pace. The frozen wind howling around you was dangerous for your condition, and you didn’t need to experience an aggressive flare up in the middle of an unforgiving mountain. Not when you were this close to a possible salvation. 

The area ahead of you cleared, and you could see an olden wood sign with markers and text burnt into the grain, covered in snow, but clean enough to read. You approached the gray wood that complimented the white contrast of snow surrounding it, making out a few small, nearby villages whose names you recognized from day trips the summers before now. The roadway you were on split off into three different directions, snaking to locations nearby and further away. Two of the options had paths similar to the one you had just come from- packed down snow slick with footsteps and wheel markings, the travel route being utilized faster than fresh snowfall could cover it. It was alright to walk in, with nails cobbled into the soles of your shoes to prevent a fall. Both paths promised common traffic. But the third option was quite the opposite. 

It was nearly completely powder, only packed down from more snow landing down on top of it. It looked more akin to a small, sudden cliff rising above the other pathways, like a two-foot tall wall challenging you to dare take a step onto it, not knowing if what lie beneath it was solid ground, or covered underbrush. 

Obviously, it was the one you were meant to take.

Of course, the state it’s in makes perfect sense , you thought to yourself, stepping forward to begin carefully trekking the thick climate. After all, when was the last time an official royal envoy had been sent to the Tower of Thorns anyway? Most people didn’t make it a daily habit to go and see the Foreseer. The fear of angering him or the god Astra Himself usually too much for most to bear, even in exchange for the possibility of finding out a future prophecy that greedily pertained to themselves. And the ones who didn’t fear the concept were simply too stupid to have fear of the godly and divine in the first place. You had definitely heard talk in the taverns, wild men drunk on too much ale, spilling their tales and woe about friends or cohorts going missing after a brazen trip to the tower in the mountain. Usually, it was someone who had been down on their luck, searching for a prophecy that promised better fortune in the near future. But occasionally, it was someone who wanted to grasp one of the Foreseer’s many treasures, the coin fetched for such items would be immense enough to live on for years to come, simply because of his divine name. 

That very same tavern talk was what had led you to this very moment- trudging your way as the stony spire slowly came into view, your lungs burning with every freezing breath you took. 

Yes, those who didn’t fear the Foreseer or Astra were out of their right minds, and the ones who even humored the thought of stealing something holy for their own benefit were even worse. But you were finding it harder and harder to mock them, even simply in the depths of your own mind, due to what was bringing you here today.

The Creatio Protocore. 

It was a divine relic, supposedly nestled in the center of the scepter the Foreseer used in most of his magics, knots of wood and metal curling around it as it hovered in place. It could reign destruction- leveling parts of the mountain, taking lives without an ounce of mercy from the wielder, Astra’s cruel sword and emissary, and freezing to death anyone who may speak out of line. But there were two sides to this coin- with the Creatio Protocore also capable of more than simple miracles. It could bestow life upon rot, and will tranquility on the lands surrounding. Both sides were tales you had been told, sure, but you knew the words bore some weight. You had read the scripture from the royals before and their envoys, and how the Foreseer would act when they were in his presence. 

The Creatio Protocore would be able to cure you- the ailment that scarred deeply across your chest- you just knew it. 

Not much was known about Cryoarsis, except that there were no known cures nestled among the browned, stained pages that spoke of the few known cases. And when you said few, you meant few. The amount of known cases could be counted on both hands, and missing a few fingers at that. The cases happened so infrequently, the information that spoke of the disease could be considered even rarer than the disease itself. Your deductions had found that the only possible cure would be nothing short of divine intervention. A rare miracle bestowed upon you by the gods themselves. A rare miracle taking shape, could be considered the Creatio Protocore, the main source of power for the Foreseer, and a blessing from Astra in physical form. 

So, blindly- on the basis of some tavern banter you had heard a few weeks ago and the writings you had read up on after- you were lifting your knees to your chest as you trudged your way up the last length of the mountainside you would need to reach the Tower of Thorns. The human will to live was a mighty thing, you were finding. And you knew yours was mightier than most. It hadn’t always been, but recent events transpiring had done well to change your mind, and now your only goal was to find- and take- the Creatio Protocore to cure your Cryoarsis. Even if it killed you.

Besides, you would die anyway without it. What did you have to lose, trying to go toe to toe with a demigod?

[bombasticsalt]

Loustat and Loumand love vs fascination (take this analysis with no grammar because it's 1am)

One of the scenes that really sticks out to me with Loumand in season two is when Louis tells Armand he loves him and dreamstat starts laughing it's crazy because if this were a Louis and Lestat scene it would have been framed as dramatic and their would have been tears but it's comedic almost when Louis and Armand do it especially when you remember that we never see Louis tell Lestat he loves him yet we as the audience can obviously see he did. Both Armand and Lestat stalked Louis and they both had some sort of soft spot for him before they even actually talked to him and yet, look at how different the way Louis views their first meeting as he says he left the meeting with Lestat thinking only of him but Lestat was real he said things that he meant with Armand it's almost like their meeting is framed as some meetcute he says I will not harm you which yeah sounds sweet until you consider the fact that meetings later he talks about killing Louis. Ever since they met Armand has been presenting himself as a sheep in wolfs clothing and you can say a lot about Lestat but for all his acting he showed Louis who he really was before Louis got in too deep he shows Louis his temper he shows Louis his passions his ramblings his privilege everything I think that says something that Armand would rather pretend to be anything else but what he is a dangerous predator.

And the worst part is it still doesn't work sure love at first sight wasn't something to expect in a gothic romance but listen to how Louis describes meeting Lestat he wanted to be the man and murder the man when Louis was at the party getting ready to kill Lestat he still wanted him all to himself there was this passion for Lestat since their first meeting yeah sure Louis at the moment thinks of this memory fondly but at that time when it happened he was confused like the scene was almost eerily sweet to me

I don't think Louis feels absolutely nothing for Armand I think Louis thinks he loves Armand or at least Armand interests him at first he loves armand in the way you love a spring fling that you don't expect to last through the winter it's fun, interesting and new and that's the main problem with Loumand it lasted way longer than it should have because both Louis and Armand can't be alone a spring fling is nice during the spring when you're bored and depressed but what about when you have a thousand other things you could be doing and you're stuck in a marriage thats like a candle that went out almost five seconds after you lit it for 77 years when the person stops being interesting and fun what's really left of the relationship? Love? Yeah sure maybe but not when you know there's a person out there you loved more than anybody else somebody like Lestat

I feel like this is further proved by how Lestat and Armand react to the boys Louis confides in, for Lestat it was Jonah he got mad about Jonah because he famously heard their hearts dancing and felt the affection Louis had for Jonah especially since Lestat was a lot for Louis. It seems like Lestat thought Louis could fall in love with Jonah and leave him and for Lestat leaving equates with somebody not loving him anymore what threatens Lestat is the idea Louis might not love him and that's ultimately what Lestat wants love he needs attention more than we ever see him need blood he's greedy for it. However, with Daniel he didn't even sleep with Louis so what threatens Armand isn't that Louis might not love him anymore it's that Louis finds Daniel more interesting than him because I think deep down that Armand knows that their love was short lived and the only reason why Louis was still with him was desperation and fascination because Armand knows things even though Louis isn't exactly always curious about vampires he taught Louis how to use fire he does know things that prove useful he clearly doesn't care all that much about the great laws if he let Daniel live this experience because it was never about the great laws it's about Lestat the first interview was a call out to Lestat from Louis and Armand knew that I'm not saying love isn't involved but I'm saying I believe in my opinion it was more about him not wanting Louis to leave because Armand believes he needs a master he needs somebody else to pretend like they have control over him sure yeah him calling Louis Maitre is just for fun he doesn't have to listen to Louis in fact he doesn't listen to Louis sure he keeps Daniel alive but also he turns Daniel eventually Armand is so interesting to me because Armand is a puppet master who wants to feel like a puppet because he never really realized he got cut loose from his strings that's why he potrays himself as helpless even his clothes are meant to make him seem smaller than he actually is he makes people do things for him indirectly TWICE he lets Lestat and Louis destroy his cult coven and then hides behind the words I could not prevent it. Both Lestat and Armand are afraid that Louis will leave them but for different reasons Lestat's afraid Louis will leave him because Louis doesn't love him and Armand literally fucking tortures Daniel aesthetictly just because he's afraid Louis finds him boring he has to be fascinating or else Louis will leave.

Another reason that really shows the differences between Love and fascination is what Louis says to both of them when he wants to hurt them, Louis tells Lestat that's why he's always going to be alone and why they won't work because Louis knows Lestat he knows the thing that will hurt Lestat more than anything else is threatening to take his love and affection away and leave him all alone because Lestat is also a part of the three musketeers of making bad decisions because he can't handle being alone, with Armand though Louis calls him boring because for Louis the worst possible thing to say to Armand isn't I won't love you anymore and I'll leave it's you're boring something that hurts Armand worse if Armand isn't fascinating or fun to Louis then what's the point? What's the point to be in a marriage of spite what's the point of living if Claudia is dead Lestat fucked off to God knows where after the trial and Louis's only companion has lost all the traits that make him want to stay but Louis would rather die than be alone and unloved. But for Loumand the words I love you are like a dagger in both instances when Louis says it (it's fucking 3:46 am if they say it more than twice I'll edit) it's mocked dreamstat laughs Louis laughs while saying it in San Frisco. Love is a weapon when Louis verbally says it after Paul's death. In fact Louis not saying he loves Lestat seems more romantic than him telling Armand he does. Because we as the viewers know he loves Lestat in the way he talks about him, the way he remembers Lestat's ramblings, the way he reacts to Lestat telling him about Magnus, because even though Louis memory has bias ultimately he remembers Lestat as this beautiful monster who he was in love with we're shown that he loves him. But with Armand and Louis we're told their in love but when is it shown with Loustat their was an intimacy in the shadows because they were in a openly homophobic town but with Loumand their relationship seems more like a performance they hold hands in public but in private they're divided when Louis was supposedly falling in love with Armand in Paris he says they aren't companions to Santiago and I think that's why Armand lied about saving Louis because that was the only major thing he could do that would make Louis want to stay, Lestat turned Claudia for Louis in his love Lestat brought the azalea for Louis because he loves him he shows Louis he loves him but what does Armand do? He threatens to kill Louis he won't turn Madeline for Louis sure he tells Louis he loves him but it's not shown not like how Lestat's love is. AND LESTAT DOES IT AGAIN he saves Louis again he proves that he loves Louis again when Armand can't or won't the only thing is the opportunity presented itself where Armand could take the credit for it he could please the coven and keep the guy at the same time because if Armand wouldn't have taken credit for that they wouldn't have stayed together he would have left. Would Louis have gotten back together with Lestat? Probably not but the point is the 77 years wouldn't have happened. Daniel calls it a seismic lie because it is that's what the relationship is based on that's the reason Louis stayed because he felt like he owed it to Armand and that's why he doesn't hesitate to leave Armands when he learns it.

I think that's what makes Loumand so interesting is that Louis doesn't want someone soft he wants the chaos back of Lestat once it's taken away he doesn't want a manipulative pillow who hides all his flaws and does everything he says he wants Lestat who screams back at him with the same passion that burns like a furnace Lestat who can't help but be so passionate about everything he does Lestat who does too much and that passion makes Lestat feel so human even when he's doing the most inhumane things whereas Armand acts as if he's above it all like he's some type of God but also portraying himself as weak and helpless in other situations that makes him so inhumane which could also be why Daniel ends up falling for him.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 8 all chapters

-Your birthday falls on a beautiful spring day, and of course, you have to work. When a new customer growls into the parking lot on a shiny black motorcycle everyone crowds behind the counter to see who it could be.

It takes so little to entertain all of you, sometimes.

The boys titter excitedly about the sweet bike and torque and ccs, whatever that means.   

When the rider takes off his helmet there’s a fall of fabulous dark hair, and something inside you utterly purrs at the sight.

It’s Mr. Wick.

Maybe you should have known. His padded motorcycle jacket makes his shoulders seem impossibly broad, and as he crosses the parking lot on long legs you hear Cassie sigh behind you.

Same, girl, same.

Cassie had made you a little birthday crown to wear out of a to go cup, a la Princess Peach. You forget about the silly adornment clipped to your head, until Mr. Wick approaches the counter to make his order.

“One coffee…your Highness?” He lifts one of those dark brows with a small smirk, and fuck if it doesn't make you blush. 

“It's my birthday,” you sheepishly tell him. His expression actually softens.

“Happy Birthday, then.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Not fair you have to work today.”

You shrug. “No rest for the wicked.”

This makes him smile a little wider, and you feel that’s a good present for today.

“Hopefully you have something fun planned for later?” 

Is he fishing, or just making conversation? You can never tell with this man. 

“Not really,” you admit with a shrug.

Your parents are divorced and remarried, living far away from you in their new lives, with their new families. You know they’ll call you later, when they remember you. You’ll have an awkward little conversation that will only serve to grind up your heart into smaller pieces, rather than lift your spirits like its meant to.

Your friends are busy too. One, with her new baby who never has time for you anymore, and you totally understand (and endorse) her priorities, even if it still hurts. The other’s work schedule is exactly the opposite of yours, and you never manage to hang out anymore.

Maybe you’ll go to the thrift store after you get off work, or treat yourself to an ice cream. Nothing too extravagant. You’re saving every penny you can for your upcoming trip.

“Well, maybe something will come up.”

It’s a nice thought.

You make him his usual coffee order, and don’t think much about it the rest of the day. This warm spring day has everyone out and about, stir crazy after the thaw, and you were running full speed from open to the end of your shift. For some incongruous reason, people were extra rude too, and as the clock strikes 2 you are at the end of your rope, your smile more closely resembling a baring of teeth.

Your whole body hurts, and you think you are too exhausted to do anything fun for yourself, until you go to your car in the lot behind the brick building to find Mr. Wick—and his motorcycle—parked next to your old Rav4. He looks utterly scrumptious, if you’re being honest, those legs going on forever as he leans against the seat of his bike. His hair is waving down around his face as he browses something on his phone to pass the time.

Good on you, for only pausing for a moment to ogle him.  

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

You look between him and the bike with your lip between your teeth, wondering what he’s doing, your treacherous heart fluttering in your chest.

“I thought…it might be fun to go for a ride? If you want.”

You cannot suppress a wide smile, touched to the marrow that he thought of you on your special day. “That does sound like fun,” you admit, and not just because the thought of sitting behind him on a bike makes you a little weak in the knees. The sunshine that day truly feels like a gift from the gods after such a harsh winter. “But…”

He tilts his head inquisitively.

“Don’t you have better things to do?”

He shakes his head, a lock of his dark hair falling over his eyes, and your fingers physically ache to brush it away. “There’s nothing I’d rather do,” he assures you, and damn if that isn’t enough to convince you.

“Full disclosure: I’ve never actually been on a bike before?”

His smile is nothing less than gentle, and he could have pushed you over with a feather.

“All you have to do is hold on to me,” he assures you, and you think you lose your mind a little at that.

There is slightly more to it, he instructs you as you put on a helmet and he helps you clamber on behind him. He tells you to lean slightly with him into the turns, but not too much.  The bike grumbles like a fire-breathing beast beneath you as he starts it up.

The feeling of his slim hips and taut backside between your thighs crosses some wires in your brain.

He takes you to the winding backroads of the countryside and up the mountain. You feel like you’re flying, snaking through the curves on this powerful machine, with a man you find you trust implicitly at the controls.

You laugh out loud more than once.   

At a straightaway he asks through the helmet mic, “Want to see what she can do?”

“Sure,” you answer, even though you can’t imagine what more this beautiful bike could offer.

“Lean into me, and hold on.” You obey, looping arms around his trim waist, plastered to his backside as he hunkers down for aerodynamics. You were already going fast, but when he shifts a gear you take off like a shot.

A sane person would have screamed, but all you can do is laugh.

This is the purest joy you’ve felt in longer than you can remember.

John pulls over at a scenic overlook, parking the bike so you can have a little break. You sit together on a picnic table, looking over the valley below. A stream snakes through it like a silver ribbon, shimmering in the sunlight. You sigh and lean back on your arms, lifting your face to the sun.

This has turned out to be a perfect day. John smiles a little as he looks over at you, but says nothing, just lets you soak it in.

“Thank you for this,” you finally say. “I was having such a shitty day.”

“You’re welcome.”

You sit up and rub at your neck. You have an unrelenting ache in the muscle over your left shoulder blade. It never really goes away, but its definitely worse after a long day on your feet bending over coffee.

John looks worried, bless him. “Did I hurt you?”

“Not at all. I just…have this thing. I think there’s a demon living in my shoulder.”  

After a pensive moment he lifts his hands in offering, moving very slowly as though he might spook you. His hands are…beautiful. Large, long fingered, calloused too. You wonder what he does, when he’s not sitting in the coffee shop or binding books. The thought of them on your body gives you a forbidden little thrill.

You do not even consider the missing digit, until he looks at his left hand and frowns, closing it to hide it at his side. “Sorry. I still forget…”

But you take his hand in yours, inspecting it closely for the first time. He allows it, though there is something vulnerable in his eyes as you do. The healed skin almost looks jagged, like it wasn’t severed with a clean cut or a surgical blade. You feel the urge to press your lips to it, as though you could kiss it better, but you just rub your thumb over the fine dark hairs there.

“What happened?”

“Someone…” He cuts himself off with a frustrated sound. “I had an accident.”

You sense there’s much more to the story, but you don’t press him yet.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Sometimes, I get the phantom aches. Mostly it’s fine though.”

You nod and angle your back to him, placing his hand on your shoulder as you shoot him a pointed look, granting him permission to touch you. His sigh is almost imperceptible, but you sit up a little straighter as he squeezes your shoulder lightly. You get the slightest taste of the strength in those hands, yet you know he could rip you to pieces if he chose to.

He slays you in a different way, knowing exactly how to use them on your sore muscles, and you can’t help but moan as he squeezes the kinks out of your shoulders. For a second he freezes at the sound, before continuing to work his magic.

“God…that feels so good.” You’ve been in pain for so long that it’s damn near better than sex.

Maybe it’s been too long for that too, though.

“You are a mess.” You know him well enough now to know he’s frowning as he says this. He kills a knot with the well-placed blade of his thumb. You feel it release and you jump a little. Though it doesn’t really hurt you, you’re not sure why there is suddenly moisture in your eyes.

It’s been a long time since anyone’s taken care of you like this, you suppose.

“Job hazard,” you sigh.

“Do you ever do yoga?”

You laugh a little at that for some reason. “I used to practice, when I was younger.” It kind of fell by the wayside. You’re always so tired when you get home.  

“Well, stretching is good for you, as you age. Take it from an old man. It helps.”

“You’re not old,” you immediately protest.

“Nice to know I still have some curb appeal.” His words are laden with sarcasm, and yet you can tell he is pleased.

He finishes the massage with a lighter touch, to stimulate blood flow, that gives you delicious chills all over. Your shoulders are your kryptonite, and you are putty in his hands. You look back at him from beneath your lashes, curious what exactly it is the two of you are doing here. Does he like you, or is he just being impossibly nice?

He doesn’t avoid your gaze, but you find you can’t read him, not one bit.

“Want to get something to eat?” he asks.

It is almost dinner time. “Okay.”

You’re a little sad as you ride back down the mountain towards town. But he pulls up to the local diner, and you have sinfully greasy cheeseburgers and shakes. Despite your protests he pays, because: “No one should have to pay for their birthday dinner.”

You know he’s fucking loaded, so you let him have his way.

“This is the best birthday I’ve had in a long time,” you admit, munching on a fry. “Thank you, Mr. Wick.”

You know he’s told you to call him John before, but fuck if you haven’t noticed how his eyes darken just a little when you call him Mr. Wick, or even just Sir at the coffeeshop. You feel like you stumbled onto something you don’t entirely understand, but it fills you with a forbidden warmth all the same.

He gives you a hooded look from across the table, and you fancy he knows that you know what you’re doing.

“My pleasure, y/n.”

He doesn’t insist that you call him John again.

[wnobin]

NO BUNNY BUT YOU! 🐰

petsitter! wonbin x fem! reader

series synopsis: your friends refuse to look after your bunnies, tokki and dokki, while you’re on an overseas programme for a week. luckily, winter knows the right person for the job.

series masterlist

part four: maybe bunnies aren’t that bad

you had finally reached your accommodation after a long and tiring flight and endless security checks that never seemed to end. you checked the time on your phone, it was around evening time which meant wonbin was most likely over and taking care of tokki and dokki. you’re not sure why you were nervous but you kept retyping and deleting your text to him. it was just a simple “how are the bunnies?” text but for some reason, your heart was doing backflips at the thought of sending wonbin a text. letting out a sharp exhale, you hit send on the message, placing your phone face down. almost immediately, your phone started ringing with a call from wonbin.

fuck shit fuck why is he facetiming me now, i’m not ready!!!!

before you could even process what was happening, you accidentally pressed the accept call button and was now connected to wonbin. “h-hey?” your voice cracked as you internally cursed at yourself, already embarrassing yourself with one word.

“hiiii, y/n!! how was your flight? i hope it was good! tokki misses you especially.”

wonbin waved to you before directing the camera to tokki who seemed to recognise you through the screen. even thiugh you were exhausted from the travelling, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of tokki’s nose twitching as wonbin gently scratched the side of her face. soon the awkwardness faded and you were both telling each other about your days. you listened to wonbin telling you about how the bunnies missed your scent and would cuddle up near your pillows, responding with soft mhm’s, his voice almost lulling you to sleep. the call continued until the bunnies eventually tired themselves out and fell asleep, meaning wonbin would have to go back to his dorm. you were slightly sad that the call ended so soon but wonbin assured you that he would call you again the next day and keep you updated on your fur babies.

laying in your bed and staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t wait for the next day to come. not because you were eager to see tokki and dokki, but instead looking forward to seeing their cute petsitter.

the next few days went the same, you would spend the day taking part in events and programmes and wonbin would send you updates of the bunnies in the morning before he went off to his class. in the evening when you were finally free to relax, you would be on facetime with wonbin, telling him about the fun stuff you did today while he and the bunnies listened intently. your calls would last for hours until tokki and dokki fell asleep. wonbin would stay on call with you as he locked up your dorm and walked back to his own, telling you about his day and how his roommate, sungchan, was still torturing him and making his life living hell over the flowerpot incident.

you enjoyed these late night calls with wonbin, it felt very domestic and nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. you thought the highlight about your overseas trip would be the new experiences but no, the highlight was seeing wonbin being all cuddly with your bunnies and hearing his sleepy voice as it got later in the night.

tonight was the last night before you flew back and as usual, you were on call with wonbin. he seemed sleepier than normal today, his words slurring and voice softer. he told you that he was just tired from sungchan waking him up early in the morning because of an insect in the bathroom. “he’s sucha wimp, i swear… but i’m not!” you giggled as wonbin tried to prove his courage and braveness in attempt to win you over. “then i’ll make sure to call you the next time tokki brings a grasshopper to me.”

“mhm, that’s good. don’t call anyone else, okay?”

you could tell wonbin was getting even sleepier, tokki already curled up by his side. wonbin was dozing off slightly, eyes staying shut longer during his blinks. as much as you liked hearing his sleepy voice, you knew he had to get some rest. “you should head back to your dorm soon, yknow? you’re already so tired.”

“mm, so lazy though…”

“then you can sleep at mine. i don’t mind and ‘s not like i’m there anyways.”

“reaaaally? you’re the best, y/n. your couch’s so comfy.”

wonbin eventually dozed off, too tired to even end the call, soft snores escaping his parted lips. you couldn’t help but to take a screenshot, he looked so pretty. his lips were so kissable. you couldn’t wait to be back tomorrow.

taglist: @istphanie @snowyseungs @nyuoqi @myizhous @jhskluv @babigriin @revehosh

[satinestales]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write a fluffy, hurt/comfort where the reader has a nightmare that leaves her in tears and sobbing, and Hobie holds her and comforts her till she eventually falls back asleep? Thanks! I also just wanna say your writing is so good and I really enjoy it! (:

ocean pressure | hobie brown × reader

pairing: hobie brown x fem!reader

warnings: reader has anxiety, depression, derealisation, my english

author's note: I am so sorry for replying decades later, I had no energy or motivation to write something. I have so many drafts and ideas for new stories (the winter soldier....) and maybe one day I'll get to them. I also wanna apologise of this is too short and not as good as others, I didn't write for a long time. Thank you all for the compliments tho, you have no idea how much they mean to me. Especially since english isn't my first language <333

m.list

It's like drowning. Being at the bottom of the ocean and both of your legs are tied up. The only thing you see is the light above your head, unreachable as you’re being crushed by the sea pressure, unable to move, speak, or think. The overwhelming sense of panic as your lungs fill with water, the involuntary gasps for air, for something to save you but instead you fill your lungs with more water. The feeling of disorientation, anxiety, exhaustion. Confusion. Your limbs began to feel heavy, slow, and clumsy. Your body starts to shut down, but it never fully drowns. It forever stays at that stage. Your lungs forever feeling they might explode any second. Your head filled with anxiety and remorse. It never goes away. You’ll always be at the bottom of the ocean, forever gasping for air that will never come.

You thought maybe one day you’ll get used to the feeling, and learn how to live without the air but you never had. The pain was too great, the pressure even greater. Drowning in the same dream every night, scared to close your eyes after the sun sets.

You ought to expect it. You almost forgot about it. After months you could say you had fun. But when you closed your eyes, the water was there waiting. You hoped for the best. But you always woke up disappointed.

This day’s morning wasn’t any different. You woke yourself up by your screams and panting for air. Your nails ripped the pearl white sheets, already covered in your sweat. Forehead layered by your wet hair, blinding you slightly. It wasn’t any different from any other night. The same routine at the same hour.

That’s why you let out a gasp when you felt a cold touch on your shoulder in the shape of a hand. Your head moved involuntarily to your side but your eyes, too disoriented to recognize the face millimeters away from you. You wanted to get away, you needed to get away. You needed to breathe. Open the window. Yes. You could see the light on the other side. You needed to breathe.

Your muscle memory dragged you to the window to force it open, fresh morning air hitting your face but none filling your lungs. You didn’t realize your tears until you tasted them, salty on your swollen lips. Mumbling to yourself.

Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. A cold touch on your back. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Rough material against your cheek. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Gentle hands on the back of your neck. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. Air. The smell of burnt wood. Air. Air. Air. Air. Cold skin against your cheek. Air. Hands playing with your hair. Air. 

Air.

The smell of burnt wood. Air. It was there. There was also a certain sound. Repeated sound. Like humming. Someone was humming a song. You couldn’t recognize the song. You knew the voice tho. It was a very deep voice, calm. Comforting. Sweet.

You forced your head to move, leaving the cold skin your cheek was pressed against. Your hands were holding onto some fabric close to your waist. You wanted to punch yourself for your eyes still not being able to focus. All you could see was a big blur standing right in front of you.

You started to feel shivers on your body. The sweat on your skin slowly turns cold. Without realizing you pushed yourself closer to the person in front of you, wanting to feel a little warmer. The floor was slowly stopping to spin and the walls began to fill a shape. You were in your room. The grey walls feeling familiar. The little box in the corner of your room. What was it for? A cat. A cat. A cat. You have a cat. Of course. The little mess of clothes right beside it. Our suits. Our suits. Our. Our. Our? Hobie and you. Hobie. Hobie. Hobie. Hobie is here. He’s here. The burnt wood. Air.

“Hobie,” you caught yourself whispering. Your voice was weak and quiet. If someone were standing on the other side of the room, they would ‘have missed it. But he was holding you in his arms. You whispered to his ears. His. Hobie. Air.

“I’m here.” You heard a voice back. Caramel sweet. The hands that were playing with your hair were his. So gentle and soft. “I’m here.” You weren’t sure if he spoke again or if your brain was playing jokes on you. Grabbing his top more roughly to convince yourself he’s real. Pushing your head against the crook of his neck more firmly. Anything to make you feel grounded and safe and be real in his arms.

In the last few weeks, the dreams got worse, pushing you further into the abyss. The light almost fading with the darkness surrounding it. You had trouble recognising what's real and what's not. And his touch was too sweet to be considered real. To gentle.

He had no reason to hold you like this. Nothing to gain. It didn't make sense to you. You were convinced it was part of your dream. A trick. A little taste of air before you got pulled back down again.

But it took way too long. You were breathing for too long. So you held onto his touch for as tight as you could, waiting for the inevitable fall.

Any second now. You were gonna be robbed of your air. Seconds away from the overwhelming pressure. You were sure of it.

But your legs still stood on a steady floor. Your hands still held a soft purple top. Cold sweat still tickling your skin. Your air still holding you.

It's not real. It's not real. It's not real. It's not real. It's not real. It's not real. It's not real. It's not real. It's not real. It's real. It's real. It's real. He's real.

Air's real.

You stopped shivering. Still cold and confused but it had no power over your body. You stood still, leaning against Hobie's firm body. Listening to the music of his voice.

"I'm gonna pick you up now," You heard him whisper softly into your ear, tickling the hair on your neck. Caramel.

He gave you a few seconds to concentrate on his words before softly picking you up in his arms, making sure to not be so fast to not scare you off. You now noticed his shiny earrings. He had so many. So many designs. His designs.

Your back pressed against the soft sheets of your bed as Hobie laid you down softly, his hands not leaving your body. Your grip wouldn't allow him.

"I'm so sorry," You were able to let out as soon as you got yourself comfortable, laying on Hobie's chest. His heartbeat fast, reassuring you of its realness.

"Nothing to be sorry about," he murmured, pushing the hair out of your face, letting his hands fall on your collarbone. He was so warm. So safe. "Don't apologise." He added before you felt a soft kiss landing at the top of your head.

Your mind had trouble understanding his actions. Why would he be so kind. You have been friends for just a few weeks. You had a hard time understanding why someone would do something good for you. Something that wouldn't benefit them. To go out of their way to be gentle with you. I didn't deserve it. I don't deserve to breathe.

"I have them too," he interrupted your thoughts, not stopping caressing your hair. "Most of them are the same. They get predictable at some point." Chuckle leaving his lips made your heart skip a beat. He's real. "They're often about me losing something. Someone."

You closed your eyes. How could you be so selfish. Hobie never told you about his dreams, but he's comforting you now. You felt so stupid. Embarrassed even.

"Every time I remind myself they're not real, 'cause when I wake up, you're with me." the hand on your hair stopped. His heartbeat slowed down. No.

You quickly pushed yourself up to see face to face. His eyes scanned your face, big brown covered under heavy eyelashes. He was beautiful. Alive. Real. Air.

"I'm real," you whispered. You didn't say it for your comfort but for his. You knew you were real for your anxious ripped skin around your nails, your bloody lips and salty rivers down your cheeks. You were real for your pain.

But was he? You didn't know what to believe. Was this one of your nightmares. Did he beggin to be part of them?

His warm hand reached your cheek, thumb caressing your skin. "I know," his lips let out. You noticed a little circle of blood on his bottom lip. Like he was biting on it too hard. "I am too."

He was right. Your dreams might have been scary and skin crawling but your brain could never think of such details.

The little mole next to Hobie's left eye. The way his smile was crooked on the right side. His eyebrows were uneven, too, thanks to a small scar at the end. The star constellation freckles on his shoulder. His lip pearcing out of place.

Your brain was good at making you feel scared. But it couldn't think of something that would bring you comfort. What you saw was real. And he wasn't gonna go anywhere.

Your eyes started watering again. Overwhelmed by the feeling. But this time, it felt different. It felt good? You didn't know how to describe it. But you liked it.

The second Hobie saw a glitter in your eyes, he brought his hands to your face, squishing your cheeks. "No. I know what you're feeling. It's not gonna get to you. I'm here. Real. Feel me." He took your hand and pressed it against his chest. You could feel the familiar beat. "Very real," he whispered, looking straight at you. Like he could see your soul. You didn't flinch. "Your thoughts, them ugly ones. Not real." Shaking his head, he brought your hand to his lips, leaving them there before speaking again. "I'm too fine to not be real," A chuckle left your lips at his comment. You saw his lips form a smile, looking at you.

You nod your head, convincing yourself. He was right. He was too gentle to be formed by your mind.

"Don't ever feel the need to hide your nightmares from me." He spoke as he started laying kisses on your knuckles. "I won't hide mine from you. I'll always be here to hold you." His lips now on your wrist.

"I'm not going anywhere."

When you laid on his chest again and matched your heartbeat to his, the fear of closing your eyes was there again. But you felt safer. Because you weren't drowning anymore. You could breathe. Because his arms held you above the shore. And his existence was the air that you breathed.