#i would have NEVER thought of that until i read it just now but that is SO CUTE

[cowgirlvi]

mdni.   cam-girl jinx.   loser-ish reader.   sex toys.   squirting. based off this ask.

wc; 1,476

you make sure to get home from work most days at precisely 5:00 PM—enough time to wash off the dirt and grime of the day in a quick shower, throw together a rushed meal, and settle in front of your computer by 6:30. your routine is second nature by now, the anticipation building as you watch the minutes tick by before jinx appears on screen.

jinx streams every other day, always at the same time, and you're careful never to be late. the moment her stream goes live, the screen fills with a warm glow. it illuminates her petite frame as she sits on her bed, poised and teasing. tonight, she wears a dark brown leather belt across her chest, cinched just enough to lift her small breasts, showing off her blue cloud tattoos. the worn leather is barely covering the soft, pink shade of her tiny nipples.

she has such a thin piece of fabric decorating her hips that you wouldn’t have even noticed it, if not for the way the black, lacy thong contrasts against her pale skin. she’s striking—utterly mesmerizing—and every movement is deliberate as she shifts, adjusting herself before flashing a sly smile at the camera.

the chat chirps with excitement when she leans in, offering a loud, enthusiastic greeting to her supporters. there’s an undeniable, mischievous confidence in the way she carries herself—a playful allure mixed with an effortless intimacy that only strokes the flames of your parasocial relationship with her.

heartseekerjinx: hi gorgeous!!!

spaceprincessjinx: you look so sexy, jinx <3

user3263288412: give us a show already.

jinx’s stream requires a hefty membership access fee, but you’d pay anything just to see her.

“hmmm,” she trails her fingers down the taut, creamy skin of stomach until they reach her panties. she toys with the lacy hem, saying, “i’ve been needing to play with my pussy all day . . . but i was waiting for you.”

you gasp. it feels like she’s speaking to you directly. you know you must stand out to her the most compared to her other subscribers, with the way you spam her with donations, flooding her chat with desperate compliments. she has to remember you.

you unbutton your jeans hurriedly, pushing your pants down your thighs and then you stuff your hand inside your underwear. you’re completely soaked already, as if jinx put a spell on you—on all her viewers. that would explain the all-consuming loyalty you feel towards her.

jinx plucks a sleek, blue vibrator from her toy basket, the one that’s directly attached to her many donations, where each contribution controls its intensity. it might be your favorite toy of hers. you enjoy the way her viewers can set the pace—how you can set the pace. of course, you love watching her stuff monstrous dildos inside her pussy too, but there’s something so intimate about being the one to force her to feel good, despite the distance between you two.

jinx plants her feet on the bed, spreading her knees. she turns the toy on, and then she hooks a finger in the crotch of her thong, pulling the thin frantic to the side so hundreds of eyes can see her glistening, pink pussy. she rubs the vibrator against her clit for a moment, groaning softly at the stimulation, and then pushes the bean-shaped toy inside her hole.

”oh fuck, look how wet i am for you,” jinx whines, staring up at the webcam. she looks tantalizing from underneath her thick lashes.

biting your lip in anticipation, you donate $20 without a second thought—just enough to speed up the vibrations of the toy slightly. jinx gasps on screen, surprised that she received a donation so quickly. she leans in to read off her computer screen, recognizing your username instantly and snickering.

purring your display-name like a cat, she says, “thank you, mydarlingjinx. you always take, ahh, such good care of me.”

you feel an immense sense of pride fill your chest. you love taking care of jinx, making her feel good, and you wish you could take things further. you often fantasize about laying her up in your bed, pulling off the skimpy clothes adorning her body, rubbing your hands all across her smooth skin, playing with her small breasts.

you know you could make her feel so good, stuffing her full of dildos and other phallic-shaped objects from her toy box, playing with every single one of her holes like you know she needs, pushing her to the brink of pleasure in ways that would leave her crying. her box of toys is filled with possibilities, each one capable of pulling the sweetest reactions from her. you can picture it so clearly; the way she'd squirm as you explore every inch of her skin—teasing, stretching, biting, filling. she craves it, you know she does—her slutty body was made for this sort of thing.

the speed of the toy is relatively fast now, but jinx keeps her composure—or at least, she tries to. she continues flirting with the camera, dedicated to keeping her supporters entertained. “unnghh—do you like watching me play with my pussy? i bet, ahh, you’re touching yourself too, huh?”

your breath hitches. it feels like a direct challenge, one you’re all too eager to accept. you type a quick response in chat, confirming her suspicions, and she giggles, her laughter raspy and sweet.

mydarlingjinx: yes you look so cute jinx!

”i knew it,” she coos. “i wish you were here—mmgh! you’d feel so much better—aghh—than this dumb toy.”

holy shit.

your pulse pounds in your ears. she wishes you were touching her, that you were the one making her feel this good. it’s almost too much for you to handle. your fingers fumble over your keyboard as you send another donation, barely registering the amount before the confirmation pops up. you're not the only one—her other viewers flood the chat with their own desperate contributions, the collective need to see her fall apart pushing the toy's vibrations even higher.

”unghh! please, ohh, slow down—i can’t t-take it, mmmf!” jinx squeals, which only entices you to send another donation.

her magenta eyes are trying to flutter closed and it seems like she can barely keep her legs open, but she has to give her viewers a show—it’s what they paid for, after all. so she hooks her elbows under her knees, forcing her legs to stay spread open so everyone can see the way her sweet pussy is gushing more and more arousal out of her little hole, trailing down to her heart-shaped ass.

her makeup is ruined—messy, dark eyeshadow running down her face, black cherry lipstick smudged around her chin, her tongue lolling out like a dumb dog. she looks completely debauched, and yet, she pushes herself further. 

your fingers are moving with newfound desperation inside your underwear, awestruck by the sight of jinx unraveling. every labored breath, every twitch of her delicate frame is a testament to just how close she is to reaching her breaking point, how desperate her pussy is to finally orgasm, to release more heavenly juices from her hole—and it’s all because of you.

the realization is dizzying, a fire pooling deep in your stomach as you drink in the sight of how utterly ruined and overwhelmed your girl is.

“oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—!” jinx is repeating like a mantra, her raspy voice hitching with every syllable. “baby, ohh, i’m coming—hngggf!”

and then she goes crosseyed, nails digging into the skin of thighs hard enough to make her bleed. her back arches as she tips over the edge, pushing out her perky tits further. jinx squirts harshly from her pussy and you can see the powerful contractions of her hole as it pushes the blue toy out.

the vibrator falls onto the plush sheets of jinx’s bed with a bounce, but her orgasm continues. she’s trembling, her skin is clearly buzzing with electricity, and you think she looks like an angel.

the sight of her—shaking like a leaf and moaning whorishly—completely undoes you. heat coils tightly in your core before snapping like a rubber band all at once. a deep, shuddering wave of pleasure rolls through your entire body, your muscles tense and your fingers clenching as your breath catches in your throat. the intensity of your orgasm leaves you momentarily weightless. a full-body shiver overtakes you, every nerve alight with warmth and satisfaction.

your mind turns hazy, the world around you blurring until all that remains is her—jinx, who is sprawled out against her plush bedsheets, her chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths, and her lips parted in a lazy, drunk smile.

jinx came because of you, and you because of her. it’s irrevocably intimate and she has no idea.

taglist; @marvelwomenarehot0, @marieeeluvsyou, @mxchi-mxxn, @el-amor-que-tu-quieres, @jinxvex, @mwahbabe, @teddybearbutch28, @stupendousbananasharkcop, @nahcala, @ellieslob, @idontwannabehereatm, @rhian88, @kyur1jinx, @vivispace, @girlbeatings

(2/11/25)

[wendichester]

I would like to request a story/one-shot of Dean. Please, my idea is to have the reader come back from trying to have a normal life after 2 years but being saved by Dean from the reader's abusive ex-boyfriend, who was possessed by a demon. The reader calls him from a motel after being attacked and almost killed. The reader would be the same age as Dean. I love angst, fluff, smut, action. I can't wait to read it.

ִֶָ་༘࿐ back to you,

summary. you left hunting behind for a normal life, but normal almost killed you. and when you call dean for help, he comes without hesitation.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 739

warnings. abuse, violence, blood, angsty and slightly smutty ; mdni!

notes. hope i managed to do your idea justice! thank you for the request hun 🩷

You don’t know why you dial his number.

Maybe it’s instinct—something buried deep, something you thought you let go of years ago.

Or maybe it’s because you know, without a doubt, that if you call, he’ll come.

The motel room is dimly lit, the air thick with copper and fear. Your hands shake as you press the ice pack to your ribs, wincing at the deep bruising beneath your shirt. The bedspread is stained with your blood—your ex’s blood, too, but it’s black, inky, curling in places it shouldn’t.

You knew something was wrong when he changed. When the apologies stopped coming, when the anger started twisting into something unnatural, something cruel. But you kept telling yourself this was what you wanted—a normal life. Stability. Something different than hunting.

Now, you’re paying the price.

The phone rings once. Twice.

Then—"Y/N?"

You almost sob at the sound of his voice. "Dean."

His tone sharpens immediately. "Where are you?"

You swallow hard. "Pinewood Motel, off Highway 6. Room 14."

"Are you hurt?"

"Yeah," you whisper, voice shaking. "I—he—" Your throat closes, bile rising at the memory of hands wrapped around your neck, snarled threats spilling from a mouth that wasn’t his.

Dean doesn’t need you to say it. "Stay put. I’m coming."

Then the line goes dead.

You barely register the roar of the Impala pulling in. By the time the knock comes—loud, insistent—you’re already up, crossing the room.

When you open the door, Dean is standing there, eyes wild, breath heavy like he broke every speed limit to get to you. He takes one look at you—swollen lip, bruised cheek, the dark stains on your shirt—and his jaw clenches, something lethal flashing in his eyes.

"Son of a bitch," he breathes, stepping inside.

You don’t realize you’re shaking until he reaches for you, fingers brushing over your arms, your shoulders, his touch careful, reverent. "Did he—?"

"He’s dead," you say quietly. "It wasn’t just him, Dean. He was possessed."

Dean’s grip tightens. His eyes flicker over you again, checking, cataloging. "You sure it’s over?"

You nod, but your voice wavers. "I think so."

Dean exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before pulling you into his chest. It’s automatic—the way you fit against him, the way his arms wrap around you like he can hold you together.

"Jesus, sweetheart," he mutters. "What the hell were you thinking?"

You let out a choked laugh. "That I could have a normal life."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, fingers tilting your chin up. "And how’d that work out?"

"Really fucking bad."

His lips press together, something softer, sadder settling in his gaze. "You should’ve never left."

The weight of those words settle deep in your chest, guilt threading through your ribs. "I thought I wanted to."

Dean’s thumb brushes over your cheek, barely ghosting over the bruise there. His voice lowers, rough, but there’s something unbearably tender beneath it. "And now?"

You look up at him, at the concern carved into his face, the way his hands still tremble slightly where they hold you.

"I don’t want normal," you whisper. "I want you."

Something breaks in him at that. He breathes out your name like a prayer before his mouth crashes into yours.

It’s desperate, consuming. His fingers tangle in your hair, his other hand slipping under your shirt, tracing over bruises like he can erase them. Your hands pull at his jacket, needing him closer, needing him to ground you.

When he backs you against the bed, you go easily, gasping as he lowers you down. His lips never leave yours, not as his hands work your clothes off, not as he presses kisses down your neck, over your shoulder, mapping every place that hurts with his mouth.

"Mine," he murmurs against your skin, voice hoarse, possessive. "No one gets to touch you like this. No one but me."

And you don’t want anyone else.

The night is slow, filled with whispered apologies, soft moans, the warmth of him sinking deep into your bones. He doesn’t let go of you—not once. Even after, when the adrenaline fades and exhaustion crashes over you, he holds you tight, fingers laced with yours, his lips pressed to your temple.

"You’re coming back with me," he murmurs. "Not gonna let you go again. Nothing bad's ever gonna happen to you again."

You sigh, sinking into him, into home.

"Not going anywhere."

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @img14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098

[hivemuthur]

could we get some pervert!Viktor who stays up late at night touching himself to the thought of you? 🙏🙏🙏

YES, because this kept me up until now! The concept is there, changed a bit :') Never wrote something so fast, I swear to the old gods and new :v

What Brings You In?

solo viktor (gn!reader mentioned) explicit! I don't know what to say, it's just smut :v

word count: 1,6K

@rennethen beta read 🖤

—

Simple images come first. You, your dishevelled self as you let him in, unannounced, and offer him a little kindness in sharing your food you were just making, unbothered, as you seat him at the table in your kitchen with a gentle press on his shoulders and go back to your dismembering of mushrooms that you haven’t thought to wash before he came in, because you were about to eat alone, but he of course, doesn’t know that. And you don’t tell him, deciding it won’t kill him, most likely, or at least you hope so. With the corner of his eye, he watches you sink your thumbs in the legs, sliding in with your fingernails to split the umbrellas in half and toss them onto the hot sprinkling oil. Pouring more on top, adding three pinches of salt uncaringly, some grains falling on the table as he watches them bounce off.

Then, he watches you, as he tries to squeeze any of the words he’s prepared to come out and you show him another kindness by not pressing, just humming and stomping around quietly on your naked feet. And he has nothing for or against feet but were your feet about to stomp his face flat into the floor, or, in a better life, into the soft foam of the mattress, he would let you and he would lick your soles with gratitude while pulling his needy hands to feel the shape of your ankles.

When suddenly a clattering sound startles his poor soul as you drop your spoon, it falls between the table legs, and you mutter a soft curse. And then, without warning, you drop on your all fours, so he can see the soles of your feet that he thinks nothing of, and your curling toes and he dares not to look further, it’s only his eyes that betray him.

They wander up in a quick glance as his putrid brain has to decide fast whether to have the most likely shape of your ass or the crease of your calves etched into it, when he’s betrayed again and what his mind chooses is the arch of your back as you reach between the legs. And now the vision of you spread on all fours entered from behind is all that fits in his head the same way he hopes that he would fit inside you—hardly.

In this feverish dream, Viktor whines loudly enough to be heard—had anyone been in the vicinity of his bedroom—yet not loudly enough to wake himself. His hand travels palm flat, as the fantasy version of you kneels with your ass up and your chest down and the fantasy version of him has two healthy legs that allow him to kneel as well, right behind you so his cock can slide between your thighs until skin touches skin. The fantasy version of his hand pushes on the small of your back to deepen the arch, pressing your torso further down until you mutter a soft curse at the sole shape he bends you into, the same soft curse you’ve muttered in your kitchen above the sprinkling oil. Ideally his name follows.

His hips jut into the foam and cock rubs against his stomach and the cloth of his pants and he moans again, for you, but no one can hear it. Again, he is in your kitchen, when you set the simple meal before him and pass him the fork, and he does his worst not to touch your fingers as he accepts it. Fingertips linger and you smile softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear and tell him to eat first, with something that sounds dangerously close to care. As your lips move, he memorizes their shape and wonders if the shape of his lips would fit between them, if the shape of his cock could be pressed there and would you drool has he given it to you.

It's your lips now that plague him, with you back on your knees, your tongue stuck out and it’s so very red and pretty Viktor can’t make himself decide whether he is the one that wants to suck on it, or he wants it to partake in sucking him. Nothing that is happening between his legs at the moment is close to what he imagines your mouth would feel like, the dull press of dry skin of his belly pulling his foreskin down and the faint weep of precum at his slit incomparable to what softness you have to offer.

His unconscious mind conducts his hips to snap, making him believe that it’s your lips that he is fucking into, while it’s just the press of the mattress and the waistband of his pants teasing the sweet spot right below where his length ends. His hands fist the bedsheet which in the dream version of this encounter becomes your hair that he tugs on to make your jaw open wider and release gush of wet drool to well onto the ridges of his cock.

With his face pressed against the pillow and hips rutting forth, Viktor dreams of pushing himself past your throat making you release a sweet sound of gagging. He even dares to go thus far to pinch your nose and stare into your teary doe eyes when he leans in to whisper so good, holding your jaw open wide for him. Had you any more space left to move your lips you would curve them into a grateful smile and your eyes would squint with bliss.

Sweat pearls his forehead, it gets wiped on the pillowcase when he writhes in his bedsheets, the images of you filling his sleeping mind, unbidden. Next thing that presents itself to him are your thighs that shake as you scrape the frying pan with your back to him and he can shamelessly watch the jiggle of your ass and the muscles flexing in your legs. And he doesn’t really care if your thighs quiver as you move around or if they quiver as you sink onto him, his hips pressing sharp dents into the tender flesh. He’s granted the vision of his cock disappearing within you, the imaginary sound of skin slapping against skin as your rise and fall and your lips part to gasp for air that he pounds out of you.

As you lift your hips the strings of gooey slick cling to your legs, and slap into a puddle on his navel once you fall with a sharp snap. The tightness of his clothes is nothing compared to what he imagines the inside of you would be, but his body follows the false thread and finally his throat gives in, betrays his restless slumber, when the sound of his whimper strangled against the pillow makes his eyes fall open.

He gasps, unaware of his surroundings, embarrassed of himself and for himself as he lifts his chest to gape between his hips and the bed, where a wet stain blooms and mocks him. He rolls onto his back, cock poking out of his pants and this time it’s Viktor who mutters a curse, though it lands far from your soft ones. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, wipes the halo of sweat from his forehead with a sleeve and sighs, long and heavy.

The unbearable tightness of his own skin clinging to him drives him nearly mad, so he sheds the damp clothing and throws himself back onto his soaked sheet with a resigned exhale. Whenever he closes his eyes, he sees you, smiling, gentle, kind and oblivious to the words that never came to him. So to end this painful torment, ease the need that invaded him uninvited, his hand travels down below his navel to stroke his aching cock absently.

Once you are back behind his eyelids, this time it’s his conscious mind that shows him what his heart fears, and you are back there, bent over, your hands fisting the very same sheet he just drenched and he is right behind you, fucking into you with his knuckles whitening around your hips and his other hand reaching between your thighs. The better version of himself bends over your back to lick the sweat from between your shoulder blades and the better version of his hand tugs at the hair on the base of your skull drawing out hopeless moans from your pretty throat.

And even though his real, calloused hand is nowhere near as soft and wet as you would be, he strokes himself hard and dry, free palm caressing his chest, imagining it’s your fingers that trace loving circles on his skin. He whispers your name over and over again and in the moment when his balls pull up and his stomach coils unbearably, he imagines kissing your sweet lips and saying all the words he can’t bring himself to say around you. And he imagines you kissing him back and accepting the words.

He cums all over his belly and around his fingers clasped on his cock with a hot groan and a tension in his neck in a few scorching spurts. His hips jolt up, tensing up his spine, toes curl and legs stretch far beyond the mattress. Laying there spent and bathed in his seed, he spreads it on his chest, imagining it’s you’re your tongue licking him clean and brings it up to his mouth, imagining it’s your mouth that carries it into his in a loving, debauched kiss. Dirty and tired, Viktor blinks and thinks, time after time and once he’s empty it’s only the image of you in your kitchen, laughing warmly at his jokes, and pressing your hand to his in silence, when you finally ask, “So what brings you in?”

[valeisaslut]

Undercover desire

⚢ pairing: Secret agent!Ellie Williams x Secret agent!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

ෆ synopsis: you and Ellie are two agents that can’t stand each other—but now you're stuck on a mission together. Between dodging bullets, sneaking through secret tunnels, and coming up with ridiculous escape plans, things get… complicated. 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭑ word count: 3.7k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

♱ content: tried to do an enemies-to-lovers, VERY suggestive, absurd amount of sexual tension and banter, blood, swearing, guns, bombs, blablabla, unexpected softness in the middle of chaos, some morally questionable decisions, ending that’ll leave you screaming at the wall. 𖥔 ݁ ˖

꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ : Hey! BE READY FOR THIS ONEEEE. I noticed how much i wanted to write a agent movie style enemies to lovers so i gave it a try. If i see ya'll like this one, ill be happy to make a spicy pt.2 !!!!. This is one of my fist fics and english isn't my first language, so if there's some misspelling or writing mistakes I will be happy to receive constructive criticism <3 𖥔 ݁ ˖

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The first rule of an undercover mission was simple: trust no one.

The government gave your agency a clear order: infiltrate a secret base near the Russian border, the only goal being extracting information about an experiment they suspected was monstrous.

It was a suicide mission, meant only for the best. When you received the summons, you saw it as the greatest honor. You thought it would be yours—and yours alone.

Until they told you that you wouldn’t be doing it alone.

They assigned you a partner. A stranger. Not even from your team. From the very first moment, you knew this wouldn’t end well.

The only thing worse than infiltrating enemy territory was doing it with someone you didn’t know.

And the only thing worse than an enemy, was an enemy that made you feel things you shouldn’t.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The building reeked of stale tobacco and old coffee, and the flickering fluorescent light made the meeting room feel even colder and desolate. You were alone, but the air felt heavy, dense, as if the room carried the invisible echo of forgotten conversations. The only sound was your leather boot tapping impatiently against the floor.

You never liked working in pairs, much less having partners forced on you. Most were a nuisance, dead weight that only slowed down the mission. So when you were informed that you’d have support on this operation, you were already in a bad mood before even meeting the person.

Sitting at the edge of the table, arms crossed and eyes fixed on the open file your boss had left before stepping out, you gave it a glance without picking it up.

AGENT 086 - Active since June 2020. Birth: 23/04/04. Sex: Female. Place of birth: Boston, Massachusetts. Family: Unknown. Background: Unknown.

Her entire past and origins are unknown? God. Mysterious complex.

You rolled your eyes and kept reading the rest of the protocol data—physical characteristics, skills, expertise, and it only went on and on.

You quickly skimmed to the list of missions she had participated in. Quite a few. Advanced complexity for someone with so little time as an agent. However, you stopped reading by the third one. Your attention had shifted to the photo in the corner of the document.

Agency pictures were never flattering—yours wasn’t exactly your proudest moment. But Agent 086’s… you examined it carefully. Cold expression, pale skin with slight freckles, short auburn hair in a half updo, deep green eyes, photogenic… with pretty features…

The sharp sound of the door snapping shut pulled you from your thoughts.

You looked up. In person, she was even more intimidating—and attractive—than in the photo. Dressed entirely in black, she radiated a firm presence, devoid of any cordiality.

She walked in without hesitation, shutting the door with a sharp motion. No greeting, just a cutting glance scanning you head to toe.

“_____ ______.” You broke the silence, revealing your real name. Calling each other by numbers was tedious.

“Ellie Williams.”

What a voice.

Deep, sharp, cold—it sent a subtle shiver down your spine. But besides her voice, her height surprised you.

“You’re shorter than I expected.”

She raised her gaze, locking onto your eyes. Looks like she’s a fan of eye contact. Lucky me.

“And you talk more than I expected.”

You smirked. Well, at least she wasn’t boring.

“Let me guess. They forced you to work with me on this mission.”

Silence lingered for a few seconds as she stepped closer, scrutinizing you.

“I had a choice.”

That definitely caught your attention.

“And you chose me? What an honor.” You murmured with sarcasm, narrowing your eyes.

“No. I chose the mission. You just came with it.”

Your expression didn’t change, but something inside you tensed.

Fine. So this is how it’s gonna be. If we’re working together, we better know exactly where we stand.

You snapped the file shut with a flick of your wrist, raising an eyebrow slightly.

“Well, this is gonna be fun,” Ellie muttered, equally sarcastic.

“I’m not here to entertain you.” you replied in a neutral tone, standing up and grabbing your coat.

“What a relief. I thought we’d have to sing campfire songs together.” She let out a low chuckle. “Meeting point. Don’t be late.”

You ignored her and headed for the door. She watched as you left, your silhouette disappearing behind the door, not even glancing back at her.

“How charming,” she muttered under her breath.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The air was cold and dry, carrying a faint scent of frozen earth and rusted metal. You adjusted the hood of your coat as you moved through the underbrush, your boots sinking into the snow with a muffled crunch. The meeting point was close, right at the edge of a clearing.

Ellie was already there.

Of course she was.

Leaning against a tree, arms crossed, rifle secured on her back—she looked like a statue carved in ice. She didn’t say anything when you arrived, just glanced up briefly to assess you before returning her gaze to the map in her hands.

“Late.” she muttered.

“One minute doesn’t count.”

“Everything counts.”

You huffed, dropping onto a nearby rock as you pulled your own map from your jacket.

“If you’re gonna correct me every second, this is going to be unbearable.”

“Then don’t talk.”

Silence.

The wind rustled through the trees, carrying the distant echo of patrols moving nearby. You were close to the base. Too close.

You glanced at Ellie from the corner of your eye. Her posture was perfect—straight back, relaxed shoulders, fingers light over the paper, as if she could absorb every detail with a single touch.

Efficient. Precise. For some reason, you found it irritating.

And very attractive.

But mostly irritating.

“We should start moving in ten minutes.” you said without looking up.

“And who exactly put you in charge?”

You lifted your gaze, locking onto her dark green eyes. You couldn’t let her set the pace without fighting back—especially not let her treat you like some rookie.

“You’re not special, Williams. This isn’t about you. So if you want to live, you’ll do as I say.”

Ellie didn’t even flinch. Instead, a smirk curled at the corner of her lips. Something about her expression put you on edge, but before you could react, she dropped her next words with calculated insolence.

“Whatever you say, princess.”

…Princess?

A chill ran down your spine. Not from the cold.

You moved through the forest, your steps sinking into the snow. The silence between you wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it was dense. The moonlight barely managed to slip through the tree canopy, casting jagged shadows around you.

“You don’t seem like the team-player type.” you remarked, breaking the quiet. She was walking slightly ahead, but she didn’t turn around.

“I’m not. But this time I got stuck with you as punishment.”

You frowned, mildly offended.

She thinks she’s all that. Arrogant.

“Stuck with me as a punishment? I’m one of the best agents in the division.”

Still, after a few seconds, curiosity got the better of you.

“So…what did you do?”

Ellie let out a low, almost amused chuckle.

“Punched someone in a previous mission.”

“A target?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

That was when she finally turned to look at you, walking backwards with her hands in her pockets. Her expression remained cold, but there was a mischievous glint in her eyes, one that immediately put you on alert.

“Worried you’ll be the next?”

You tilted your head slightly, feigning confidence without breaking your stride.

“Worried? About you? Please, you have no idea wha—”

But you didn’t finish the sentence.

With a move as swift as it was precise, she lifted her leg and swept the ground with her foot. The treacherous loss of balance under your boots sent your body tilting dangerously forward. Only pure instinct kept you from landing face-first in the snow.

Ellie turned on her heels with satisfaction and resumed walking as if nothing had happened.

“One point for me.”

You clenched your jaw, shaking off the mild humiliation with a slow exhale.

“You’re a fucking headache.”

“What did you expect? A friendly partner?” She glanced at you from the corner of her eye, a barely-there smirk playing on her lips. “Sorry, no refunds.”

You huffed, but you couldn't stop the corner of your lips from curving up—just a little. You couldn’t make it that easy for her.

Unfortunately, the brief moments of peace didn’t last long.

A few meters ahead, the sound of branches snapping shattered the forest’s stillness. Both of you froze instantly. Your muscles tensed, and your hand instinctively reached for your weapon.

Ellie raised a finger, signaling for silence, her eyes locked in the direction of the noise. Without a sound, she moved through the trees with precise, effortless movements, as if the cold and snow didn’t affect her at all. You followed closely, adrenaline seeping into your veins, sharpening your senses.

A few more steps.

A shadow slipped through the undergrowth.

Your grip on your weapon tightened, ready to fire. But before you could react, Ellie vanished from your sight.

"What the…?!"

The gasp barely left your throat before you felt a sharp tug on your arm. In the blink of an eye, you were pulled back, your back pressed against her body. The warm breath of the agent brushed against your ear as she whispered.

"If you're gonna scream, at least do it for something more interesting."

Your lower stomach clenched in response. And not from fear.

The feeling of her body, the firm grip on your shoulders keeping you still, the subtle press of her leg against yours… everything felt too intense, too fast. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to ignore the sudden heat creeping in your core.

"I’m going to kill you." you whispered, your voice sharp as a blade.

"So mean."

The sound in the undergrowth returned. Both of you fell silent, the tension in the air shifting immediately. Ellie tilted her head, listening more closely. Slowly, she slid her hand to her rifle, her grip firm yet relaxed, like someone who has done this far too many times.

The shadow moved again. A couple of seconds of absolute tension and then…

A small deer emerged from the bushes, its hooves sinking into the snow as it sniffed the ground in search of food.

You exhaled, shoulders relaxing.

"Did you just hold me over a deer?"

"Shut up." Ellie secured her rifle with the soft whisper of metal sliding into place.

"I'm starting to think you just wanted an excuse to get close to me." You murmured with a sly smile, trying to regain some control over the situation.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stepped back just enough to look at you, her gaze traveling slowly over your face. When she spoke, her tone was teasing, but her voice was lower, more personal.

"Says the one whose face is all red."

You frowned, cursing her internally for pointing it out what you both knew was obvious.

Before you could respond, she was already back in mission mode, moving forwards with silent steps toward your next objective.

You shook your head, quickly pulling yourself together. There was no time for distractions. The enemy base was less than a kilometer away, and both of you had work to do.

Thirty minutes later, you reached the perimeter. The base loomed between the snow like an impenetrable fortress, its metallic structure illuminated by the sporadic flicker of security lights. You moved through the darkness like shadows, slipping through the undergrowth with absolute stealth.

From your position, you could see the patrols. Two guards at the main entrance, three more patrolling the fence. They moved in methodical patterns, their silhouettes barely visible in the dim light.

Beside you, Ellie scanned the structure with her sharp gaze. She climbed slightly up the stairway, her eyes assessing every possible access point.

"The entrance is too exposed." you whispered, eyes fixed on the guards.

"Good job, Sherlock." she murmured sarcastically. "Theres another option. The ventilation ducts at the back, but it’ll be tight."

You sighed, already anticipating the discomfort.

"I guess we’ll both fit."

She turned slightly, a sly smile playing on her lips.

"Yeah…." Her gaze drifted down your body, a flicker of amusement crossed her eyes. "I’ll disable the cameras. Get ready."

She didn’t wait for a response. While she slid towards a hidden electrical panel on the ground, you advanced towards the back of the base.

The duct was even tighter than you had imagined.

The cold metal pressed against your jacket as you crawled forwards, barely enough space to move. But the worst part wasn’t the claustrophobia—it was her.

Ellie was right behind you, her body practically flush against yours in the cramped space. Her breath matched your rhythm, and every tiny movement caused her to brush against you.

"Stop pushing." you whispered in a threatening tone.

"Stop going so slow." she retorted in the same tone.

You barely allowed yourself to let out a silent sigh before you felt Ellie’s breath ghost the skin of your neck.

"If I wasn’t so focused on the mission, I’d say you get nervous when I’m this close."

You closed your eyes for a second.

Patience. Patience. Control yourself.

You turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of her in the dim light of the duct, meeting her arrogant smirk.

"If I wasn't in an enemy base, I’d make you swallow that smirk."

Ellie tilted her head, amused.

"Promises, promises..." she murmured playfully.

"Shut up!" you hissed, feeling the heat burning your skin.

No more words were exchanged. Minutes later, you both managed to slide out of the duct, landing gracefully in an empty hallway.

The red glow of alarm lights flickered on the walls, casting intermittent flashes over the concrete floor. The air smelled of metal and electricity. Remembering the map, this had to be the restricted zone.

"We have ten minutes before they check this corridor." you whispered.

"You keep watch. I’ll access the system."

Ellie moved quickly, pulling out her hacking device. You pressed against the wall, weapon raised, your senses sharp for any movement.

But you couldn’t help your gaze from drifting towards her.

The glow of the screen illuminated her focused expression, loose strands of auburn hair falling around her cheeks. Her breathing was steady, her fingers moving with surgical precision over the keyboard.

Efficient. Precise.

Incredibly attractive.

CONTROL YOURSELF.

"Stop looking at me like that." she murmured without looking up.

"Like what?" you smirked slightly, tilting your head.

Ellie turned just enough to capture you with her green eyed gaze.

"Like you can’t decide whether to kiss me or shoot me."

A low laugh slipped past your lips.

"Depends."

Her eyes narrowed, her expression hovering between mockery and provocation.

"If we survive, we can discuss that."

But the flirtation was cut short when a silent alarm flashed on the screen.

"Fuck." Ellie muttered.

"What?"

"They found us." she said, and the sound of hurried boots filled the corridor.

"Move!" you shouted, and both of you bolted just as gunfire erupted behind you.

The sound of shots ricocheted off the metal walls, deafening you as you ran through the narrow corridors. The echo of bullets striking made the ground tremble beneath your feet, and the acrid scent of burnt gunpowder was beginning to fill the air.

The red alarm light flickered frantically on the walls, casting distorted shadows that pulsed in sync with your desperate sprint. You felt the adrenaline burning through your veins, every muscle in your body tense and ready to react.

The rifle in your right hand felt even lighter than usual, as if it was an extension of yourself—a survival tool as natural as your own breath. Behind you, Ellie moved with the precision of a predator, her breathing steady, her gaze locked onto the enemies' movements.

Then, they appeared.

A group of guards stormed into the hallway, blocking the only exit. Their rifles were raised in seconds, ready to fire.

Both of you lunged towards the right wall, sliding in perfect synchronization. You turned and fired without hesitation. One of your bullets struck a soldier's leg, the second hit his shoulder. The man fell to the ground with a muffled cry, his rifle slipping from his hands.

Before you could aim again, a shadow moved beside you. Ellie, fast as lightning, threw a small pocket knife. The blade cut through the air and sank into the second guard’s throat before he could even react.

A wet gurgle. Blood splattered onto the floor, dark under the flashing lights.

No time to think about that.

"To the left!" you ordered, pushing her to a side door.

Ellie didn't hesitate. In one swift motion, she pulled a small explosive from her jacket and tossed it down the hallway without looking back.

The explosion roared through the air, a wave of heat slamming into your backs as you slipped into the adjacent room. The blast echoed off the walls, and thick smoke began seeping through the half-open door, clouding the vision of the approaching soldiers.

"We don’t have much time." you whispered, frowning.

The room was small, an improvised storage area with metal shelves and boxes stacked to the ceiling. The air smelled of dust and aging plastic. At first glance, there was no exit except for a single ventilation duct in the ceiling. Not a viable option.

"Any ideas?" she murmured, running her tongue over her dry lips.

You didn’t respond immediately. Your eyes scanned the room quickly, assessing every object, every possibility. Your mind illuminated a crucial detail, and your gaze locked onto her with determination.

"Do you trust me?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"No."

"What a shame."

You didn’t give her time to react. Grabbing her wrist, you dragged her quickly to the back of the storage room, where a large metal shelf leaned against the wall. With calculated effort, you pushed it aside, revealing a hidden opening.

A passage. She blinked in surprise.

"Since when did you know this was here?"

You shrugged indifferently.

"Wouldn’t be a secret mission without a few surprises."

You saw it on the map. You just wanted to add a little drama.

The voices and hurried footsteps on the other side of the door reminded you that there was no time for questions. Both of you slipped into the passage just as the storage room door burst open.

The tunnel was narrow and cramped, probably a maintenance passage used to discreetly move supplies. The air inside was heavy, thick with the scent of dampness and rusted metal. The floor creaked slightly beneath your boots, and every step seemed amplified in the silence.

The corridor stretched on for a few meters until, suddenly, you both stopped short.

A group of armed men patrolled the area just ahead. Your heartbeat pounded in your temples. There was no time to turn back, and you couldn’t engage them without being discovered.

Then, without a warning, Ellie leaned in and whispered in your ear.

"Just go along with it."

You barely had time to react before she pushed you against the wall, trapping you between her body and the cold metal surface. Before you could protest, her hand slid up to your face, dangerously close.

"If they find us, we're dead," she murmured, a barely visible smirk playing on her lips. "So… let’s give ‘em something else to think about."

The footsteps approached.

You felt the warmth of her body against yours, the way her breathing slowed, controlled. The guards turned the corner, their flashlights illuminating the passage.

Ellie was quick. In one fluid motion, she dragged her lips along your neck, her warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. Her fingers tightened at your waist, pressing just the right amount to make your body appear relaxed–even though inside everything in you screamed the opposite of relaxed.

The closest guard frowned at the sight of you both, but instead of raising his weapon, he scoffed in annoyance.

"Seriously?" he said in Russian. "Fucking underground workers..."

Another guard chuckled.

"Let them have their fun."

With a disinterested wave, the men kept walking, leaving the two of you trapped in the same position. Several seconds passed before the echo of their footsteps faded.

But Ellie didn’t move.

And neither did you.

There was something charged in the air between you, something not even the imminent danger could dispel.

Finally, she tilted her head until her lips were mere inches from yours.

"I got a little into the role" she murmured with a smirk, her voice laced with feigned innocence.

Your pulse was still racing in your chest, adrenaline mingling with something darker, something more dangerous. But you weren’t going to give her the satisfaction of knowing that. Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to stay composed.

"You should win an oscar for your performance." you replied with feigned indifference, keeping your gaze locked forward.

But she didn’t step away immediately. She stayed there, close—too close—as if savoring every second of your discomfort. Her eyes traced your face with a mischievous glint, her smirk barely curving at the edges of her lips. Then, finally, she stepped back, like a predator choosing to delay its attack.

"Maybe we should practice more often, princess." she murmured, her tone dripping with provocation.

You let out a sigh, pretending to be exasperated, even though the truth was that every cell in your body still burned with the sensation of her touch.

"Shut up and keep walking."

You moved forward, forcing yourself to focus on the mission. But it was useless. Her presence lingered on your skin like an invisible tattoo—the pressure of her fingers, the warmth of her breath, the electric tension in the brush of your bodies.

And the worst part was knowing that if you dared to turn around, you’d find her watching you with that damn smug smile.

This mission was going to kill you.

Or worse… make you wish it never ends.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

DAYUMMMM I REALLY ENJOYED WRITING THIS, PLEASE LMK IF YOU WANT A PT.2 AND I'LL HAPILLY WRITE IT

Hope ya'll enjoyed and I'm SUPER grateful for every repost, like or share you wanna give!!! :D

(sorry again if there's any spelling or writing mistake)

[sincerelybubbles]

a. hotchner x reader - crawling through your window

i saw someone post about their fav crawling through a window in the rain and the long-form spencer fic is rotting my brain so enjoy hotch crawling through your window <3

i don't think there are any warnings, lmk if that's wrong. also, not proof read, I am back to my usual bullshit

The knock on your door was probably easy to miss. You wouldn’t know, though, because you didn’t hear it.

You were in the kitchen, hunched over the counter, forehead pressed to the cool marble as you debated whether or not another cup of coffee would actually be helpful at this point or just make the buzzing in your head worse. The case had been brutal. Messy, exhausting, the kind that left shadows under everyone’s eyes and an ache in your bones that no amount of stretching could shake.

Nausea builds deep in your navel, a resounding sign that you need to go to sleep, and soon.

You had ignored your phone when it rang earlier. The thought of answering it, of extending your exhaustion into another conversation, had felt impossible. And now, lost in your haze of weariness, you missed the second attempt at contact.

It wasn’t until the faintest creak from somewhere inside your apartment—somewhere that shouldn’t have been occupied—reached your ears that you felt the first tendrils of alarm coil around your spine.

You straightened, heart picking up speed, blood surging in your veins as your mind catalogued the possible explanations. The locked door. The windows—

Your bedroom window had been cracked open to let the storm air in earlier.

And now, standing in the dim light of your apartment, soaked from head to toe, rainwater dripping onto your floor, stood Aaron Hotchner.

Your mouth opened, words tangling, tripping over each other, before settling on a very eloquent:

“What the—Aaron?”

His expression didn’t change. If anything, the faintest flicker of exasperation crossed his features, a barely-there pinch between his brows.

“The door was locked.”

A beat of silence.

You blinked.

“I—” You shook your head, taking a step back like that might help you process this. “Are you breaking into my apartment?”

He sighed, heavy, dripping water like a crime scene in your doorway. “You weren’t answering your phone.”

“…So you climbed through my window?”

“I took the fire escape.”

“Oh, well, that’s so much better.”

You stared at him, stunned, watching the way his soaked dress shirt clung to his arms, how his tie was askew, his hair darkened and sticking to his forehead from the rain. His jacket was nowhere to be seen, and he was standing there, entirely unbothered by the fact that he had just climbed into your apartment in the middle of a downpour like some kind of brooding, law-abiding criminal.

The absurdity of the situation was just shy of sending you into a laughing fit. Instead, you rubbed your hands down your face, exhausted in a way that felt almost separate from the case now.

“I can’t believe you,” you muttered, shaking your head as you finally moved, stepping around him to grab a towel from the hall closet.

When you turned back, he was still watching you, carefully, the way he always did—assessing, reading, cataloguing your reaction. The way you hadn’t been answering your phone. The way you were still drained, that bone-deep exhaustion sitting behind your eyes.

Aaron never failed to make you feel seen - for better or for worse. With your messy hair, smeared makeup, and stained sweats, you're not sure how you feel about the in-depth examination your boyfriend is currently giving you.

Aaron would never do anything to make you feel even remotely uncomfortable or ugly but self-consciousness creeps through you, anyway.

You shoved the towel at him.

“You’re actually insane,” you informed him.

He took it, finally moving to scrub some of the rain from his face and hair. “And you should answer your phone. You know, before I feel the need to crawl through your third-story apartment window to check on you.”

"You can just say you miss me, you know." Teasing him is easier with your back to him, planning on warming him up some tea - coffee was out of the question now that he's here, there's no chance he's letting you caffeinate yourself further.

"I missed you," Aaron says, arms snaking around your waist and nose settling in the curve where your shoulder and neck meet. "And I was worried. And I wanted to ask if I could spend the night before we're thrown back into work tomorrow. Is that wrong?"

Fluttering at the base of your stomach erupts instantly at the tone of his deep voice, tone open, honest, and raw.

"Someone's tired," you say, voice soft, hands reaching up to grasp at his forearms. It's not that Aaron isn't affectionate, far from it, but he usually goads into your teasing, resisting for the fun of the give and take. Instead, he's leaning his weight on you, breathing in your scent heavily.

He also climbed through your window to see you. There's that, too.

"Exhausted. And wet. And now so are you." With a flex you can feel through his soaked dress shirt, Aaron lifts you easily and begins walking backward into your room. "I think that means I'm entitled to a shower."

"Aaron!" You giggle out, leaning back against him in lieu of fighting. Your incredibly loving, handsome, and usually-stern boyfriend is carrying you to the shower - who are you to complain?

[yoomiwrites]

Not cute

Summary: Law isn't as mature, cold and stoic as seemed – no, he is cute. And awkward. Truly. ! GN reader ! You perspective.

Notes: I love Law. He my baby. But, since I know everything bout him (yes, I even know THAT one figurine), I also assume that he is not like, well, most people think he is. I mean, I could go on and explain everything, but I won't. I had shit and giggles while I wrote this in the night (couldn't sleep and all your love really motivated me). Even now, not being half asleep, I like it. So, I thought I'd already give you the winner of the poll! Enjoy!

♡

You had always thought Trafalgar Law was a mature man.

From the moment you joined the Heart Pirates, he had carried himself with an air of authority—commanding, sharp-witted, and composed. His knowledge of medicine and tactics made him a formidable captain, and his often-cold demeanor made it clear he didn’t tolerate foolishness. You respected him for that.

But then, you started noticing the cracks.

It was small things at first—like the way his lips twitched upward whenever Bepo did something particularly endearing, or how his fingers would absently toy with the coins he kept in his pocket. Then came the comics. You had stumbled upon them one evening when you went to grab a medical text from his cabin, only to find a neat stack of well-read books featuring over-the-top action scenes and exaggerated expressions.

And then there was the bread.

You had never seen a man react so viscerally to something so harmless. The way his expression soured, nose wrinkling in utter distaste, was so dramatically childish that it almost made you laugh out loud the first time you saw it.

Yes, Trafalgar Law was not just a man who had grown up too fast—he was still, in some ways, a child beneath it all.

And so, you decided to conjure those reactions more often.

It started subtly. You’d leave tiny, cute trinkets on his desk—once, a small plush bear you claimed was from Shachi and Penguin. Another time, you placed a particularly round and fluffy piece of bread on his plate at dinner, watching as he scowled, dramatically shoving it onto Bepo’s plate instead.

When you pointed out a particularly adorable sea otter floating by the ship one day, he had scoffed—but his gaze lingered a little too long, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out.

It became a quiet game between the two of you—though Law didn’t seem to realize it until much later.

One evening, while the crew was docked at a small island, you sat on the Polar Tang’s deck, flipping through a book when a shadow fell over you. Looking up, you found Law standing there, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but there was a slight crease in his brow, a sure sign he had been thinking about something for far too long.

“You’re doing it on purpose,” he said flatly.

You blinked. “Doing what?”

He exhaled through his nose, clearly unimpressed by your feigned innocence. “The comics. The plush. The damn bread.” His jaw tightened. “You like… that.”

You considered him for a moment, watching the way his ears tinged slightly pink, the way his fingers tapped a steady beat against his arm. Finally, you closed your book and stood, looking him in the eye.

“I do.”

His brows furrowed further. “Why?”

You gave a small shrug. “Because it’s you, Law. The real you.”

That caught him off guard. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He seemed completely thrown off by the simple honesty in your words, and before you knew it, his hand lifted, tugging his hat low over his face.

“…I have work to do,” he muttered, turning abruptly and striding away, shoulders stiff.

You were still watching the spot where Law had disappeared, trying to make sense of the strange flutter in your chest, when another voice cut through the quiet.

“Enjoying yourself?”

You turned to see Ikkaku standing beside you, arms crossed, lips curled in amusement.

You met her gaze evenly. “What do you mean?”

She jerked her chin toward the stairs Law had just fled down. “You like seeing him like that, don’t you?”

You didn’t hesitate. “I do.”

Ikkaku hummed knowingly. “Figured. It’s not every day you get to see Trafalgar Law flustered.”

You exhaled a quiet laugh. “He tries too hard to act composed. It’s nice seeing him be himself.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ikkaku waved a hand dismissively. Then she tilted her head at you, eyes gleaming. “But have you ever noticed something else?”

Your brow furrowed slightly. “Something else?”

She leaned in just a little. “It’s always you.”

You stared at her, uncomprehending. “What?”

Ikkaku grinned. “You’re always trying to get a reaction out of him—but have you noticed who he reacts to?”

Something about her tone made your stomach twist.

She patted your shoulder and walked off, leaving you standing there, silent.

And then you started thinking.

The way Law’s gaze always seemed to settle on you when you spoke, even when you were talking to someone else. The way he never scolded you the way he did Shachi or Penguin, even when you were obviously pushing his buttons. The way he had just reacted—not with irritation, not with exasperation, but with embarrassment.

Oh.

Oh no.

A slow, creeping realization settled over you, and for once, you weren’t sure how to handle it.

You weren’t blushing, of course. That would be ridiculous. But your heart was beating far too fast for comfort.

The captain, in love with you? Certainly not.

You couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t like you to let something rattle you, but Ikkaku’s words kept circling in your mind. You turned on your side. Then onto your back. Then onto your other side. But no matter what, you couldn’t shake the thought.

The idea of Trafalgar Law—your captain—being in love with you was absurd. You weren’t the type to entertain ridiculous fantasies. And yet… the weight of his gaze, the way he had reacted earlier, the way he always reacted—

You exhaled sharply and sat up. This was useless.

A walk. A drink. Something to clear your head.

You slipped out of your quarters and padded down the silent hallways of the Polar Tang, making your way toward the kitchen. But when you pushed open the door, you weren’t alone.

Law stood by the counter, back to you, pouring himself a cup of tea. His hair was messier than usual, as if he had run his fingers through it too many times. His hoodie hung loosely off his frame, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

He turned at the sound of your steps, his tired eyes meeting yours.

“…You too?” he asked.

You nodded, stepping inside. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Law didn’t say anything as you walked over and grabbed a cup for yourself. The silence between you was surprisingly comfortable, the occasional clink of porcelain filling the air.

If you hadn’t been thinking so hard about him before, you would have left it at that. You would have let it be another quiet moment between the two of you.

But your mind was still tangled with Ikkaku’s words. In your mind, you battled against her words.

And maybe that’s why, without thinking, you muttered, “Don’t worry, I didn’t think you were in love with me.”

A pause.

A sharp, quiet breath.

Then, in a voice so calm, so matter-of-fact that it took a moment to register—

“But I am.”

The world went still.

Your fingers tightened around your cup. You turned your head, slowly, as if movement itself might break the moment.

Law was staring at his tea, his expression unreadable, except for the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly.

You weren’t the type to let things shake you. But this?

This stunned you.

He realized it a second too late. His lips parted just slightly, as if to take it back—but the words had already been said. There was no erasing them now.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Law, the man who always had a plan, the strategist, the genius doctor—looked utterly lost. His fingers flexed against his cup, his shoulders stiff as if preparing for some inevitable response.

Finally, you set your tea down carefully, leveling him with a look. “…What?”

It was the best you could do.

Law exhaled sharply, tipping his hat forward to shield his face, as if that would somehow save him.

“…Forget it,” he muttered, turning toward the door.

Like hell.

Law tried to leave.

You didn’t let him.

The moment he turned, you stepped forward and grabbed his sleeve. He froze—not yanking away, not looking at you, just standing there, tension running through him like a live wire.

“Forget what?” you asked, your voice steady.

His fingers twitched. “…It doesn’t matter.”

You tightened your grip. “It does.”

Finally, slowly, he turned his head just enough to glance at you. His eyes were sharp, searching, but there was something else there—something hesitant, something uncertain.

You exhaled, forcing yourself to be honest. “I don’t know what I’m feeling for you,” you admitted. “But I know I don’t want to forget this. And I know that… I want to be with you.”

Law inhaled sharply through his nose, his lips parting slightly, his whole body locking up as if you had just struck him with Room.

He looked—

Embarrassed.

Genuinely, painfully embarrassed. And still, still, he tried to escape. He turned again, this time slower, as if hoping you wouldn’t stop him.

You refused to let him slip away.

So, you did something reckless.

“I don’t even know how to use the washing machine properly,” you blurted out.

Law froze mid-step.

“I was the one who turned all the boiler suits pink,” you added.

His head tilted just slightly, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“And sometimes,” you continued, voice as calm as ever, “I have very intimate dreams about you.”

This time, Law nearly choked. His shoulders hunched, his ears instantly burning red beneath his hat. “What—”

“You’re not the only one embarrassed here,” you stated simply. “So don’t run away.”

For a moment, Law just stood there, hands clenched into fists, face half-hidden by his hat.

Then, slowly, he turned back to you.

Something in his expression had shifted. His gaze was still hesitant, still unsure, but there was something determined beneath it now. His fingers flexed at his sides before curling into loose fists.

And then—without a word—he stepped closer.

You stayed perfectly still as he reached for you, as his fingers hesitated just inches away before finally brushing against your cheek. It was uncertain, clumsy, like he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to do this.

But you didn’t pull away.

So he leaned in, just slightly. Just enough for his lips to press against yours.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t smooth.

It was awkward and hesitant and entirely, unmistakably him.

And when he pulled back, lips barely lingering against yours, he swallowed hard and muttered, “…You turned the boiler suits pink?”

You exhaled a quiet laugh. “That’s what you’re focusing on?”

“…It’s my crew.”

“Not just your crew anymore.”

Law stared at you for a moment before exhaling sharply, tipping his hat forward to hide his face again.

“…Shambles,” he muttered.

And with that, he vanished—leaving you standing alone in the kitchen, lips still tingling, heart pounding, and very much not forgetting any of this.

PS. Yes, he is probably dying in his room. ♡

[akawifeyy]

ENCHANTED | smau & fic (OP81)

description: oscar piastri has always been one to think before acting, the consistent voice of reason that allows mclaren to be such a successful team. and then he meets you, the daughter of toto wolff — the team principal of mercedes — and all his efforts crumble like a castle made of sand.

tropes: forbidden romance, opposites attract, age gap (18 and 23), wolff!fem!reader

face claim: lucia ferrato

trigger warnings: suggestive content, swearing

| note: hope you all like this!

You knew the sacred rules of Formula One as an innocent, pure daughter of a team principal. Your father, Toto, had taught you to never interact with anyone outside of Mercedes, even if they were looked nice and acted friendly. You kept to yourself, only talking to Carmen sometimes when she visited, and maybe the drivers, if your father was there to monitor the conversation.

When you told your friends about all the safety precautions, how your father checked your phone every night to ensure that you weren't sneaking behind his back, they thought he was crazy. That he was overreacting, because you wouldn't do anything that bad.

But little did any of you know, Toto's fears would come true.

Because the moment a man arrived, promising you love and happiness for eternity, you fell for all his sweet nothings, hook, line, and sinker.

@ yourusername: Gestern war mein achtzehnter Geburtstag! Ich kann nicht glauben, wie die Zeit vergeht. Ich hatte einen schönen, entspannten Tag zu Hause mit Eva (meiner Lieblingshündin) und meinen Eltern. Ich bin nicht bereit, wieder zur Schule zu gehen 😓

(Yesterday was my eighteenth birthday! I can't believe how time flies. I had a nice, relaxing day at home with Eva [my favorite dog] and my parents. I'm not ready to go back to school 😓)

tagged: @ totowolff, @ mercedes, @ yourbffusername

comments (14):

@ yourbffusername: Happy belated birthday cutie!

-> @ yourusername: thank youu 🤗

@ totowolff: Ich bin so stolz auf alles, was du erreicht hast. Ich liebe dich so sehr, süßes Mädchen. Auf viele weitere Jahre voller Glück und Gesundheit.

(I am so proud of everything you have achieved. I love you so much, sweet girl. Here’s to many more years of happiness and health.)

Once your father had left the room, kissing you on the forehead and wishing you a good night, you tugged out the secret book you kept under your pillowcase. It was a thick romantasy novel, something one of your friends had loaned you. And it was definitely forbidden in the Wolff house.

It told the story of the fair maiden Elora, who had been kidnapped by the cruel Fae overlord, Ren. He wanted to use her blood to save his people, because of some strange prophecy you couldn't make heads-or-tails of. The two, originally so vehemently against one another, eventually fell in love, realizing that their differences didn't equal hatred. Now you were finally on the part where the tension would culminate in a very steamy scene.

You pulled the covers up to just below your eyes, flicking on the flashlight tucked within the book's cover. Your face grew redder and redder as you read.

Once you were finished, you realized how underwhelming your own life had been with romance. Your father had effectively caged you; you had barely any contact with members of the opposite sex.

It was ridiculous, but your father had all the power. Until you went off to uni, you would have no choice but to abide by his rules, no matter how much it annoyed you.

@ f1gossip: Oscar Piastri (McLaren) was asked not once, but twice today about his love life by some overeager fans. In response, he shrugged and said, "I don't really focus on romantic exploits, I leave that to Lando."

tagged: @ f1, @ formulaonelore

comments (485):

@ user1: oscar is SUCH a savage 💀

-> @ user2: Lando is probably seething lmaoo

@ user3: ngl he'd be super cute w y/n wolff, they're both private and introverted 🤔

-> @ user4: no way that THIS is the way i find out Toto has a daughter

-> @ user3: yep! she's 18

Text messages between Y/N and your best friend, Sophie (2025)

You scrolled through Oscar's Instagram page, analyzing (and admiring) his face and body. As a F1 driver, he had to maintain a top-tier physique, putting in loads of hours at the gym, and you could tell. His biceps were almost triple the size of your own.

It was fun to fantasize about a romantic relationship with him, but you knew exactly how your father would react. He would yell at you, saying that you were giving up everything he had built for some man who'd betray you in an instant. He'd call you selfish, and hormonal. And maybe that was true. Maybe you did want to feel something other than the sensation of being a trapped animal, helpless and lost.

Your friends told you stories about their own romantic adventures. Sophie herself had informed you about how a guy had tried to take a peek up her skirt. A week later, she'd ended up going on a date with him, because she'd accidentally bled through the fabric since she'd started her period without realizing. Sophie had been dating him for almost two years at this point, and you knew you were falling so behind, you'd never catch up.

Your other best friend, Rhiannon, had made you take a Rice Purity test. To no one's surprise, you had a 100. You'd never even "danced with someone without leaving room for Jesus". It was so embarrassing.

Yet, despite all this ill will against your father, everyone knew you'd never actually confront him about it. He was six foot five, temperamental, and absolutely terrifying when provoked. There wasn't anything that was worth being on the receiving end of his wrath.

So you were about to go to university with almost zero experience with talking to the opposite gender. You were two seconds away from becoming a nun in a convent at this point.

And then...

Oscar Piastri himself reached out to you.

Instagram conversation between Y/N and Oscar

comments (2849):

@ user5: OMG wait is this real???

@ user6: i can't believe our fave hermit is finally talking to a man! 😭

-> @ user7: She's not really a hermit, her dad is just strict

@ user8: Oscar's such a liar we knewwww there had to be something happening with his love life, he's too cutie for there not to be

@ yourusername: actually, a lot is going on at the moment 😋

tagged: @ yourbffusername

comments (5):

@ yourbffusername: We all know what's happening

-> @ yourusername: 😇

-> @ yourbffusername: Hope you're having fun though <3

A month and a half later

"I don't want to push you past anything you're not comfortable with," Oscar warned, his brown eyes crinkled into a serious, stern expression. "I don't want to rush you."

"I'm ready," you reassured him for what felt like the thousandth time.

Oscar took a step forward, closing the distance between you in less than a blink of an eye. His hand tugged back your loose strands of hair, gripping your jaw as he kissed you.

You bucked, leaning into his touch and going boneless. This was like nothing you'd ever felt before. Like a thousand stars, exploding right under your skin. Like finally being able to drink water after stumbling in a barren desert for centuries.

When you broke apart, both of your faces were flushed, cheeks blotted red with pleasure.

Oscar grinned. "How was that? Everything you ever dreamed of?"

"And more."

The day after

You had told your father that you were going to Sophie's house, maybe to play pool or watch a movie. He'd let you go, begrudgingly, after you promised to study extra the next day. Little did he know, you were actually with Oscar.

Your phone was safely with Sophie, and she knew your password to reply to any messages Toto might send your way. Your plan was fool-proof.

Oscar placed his palm on the square of your back, following you into the restaurant. Your eyes immediately scanned the interior, looking for a familiar face that might rat you out, but there were none.

The restaurant was thankfully quiet and nearly empty, save for a few stragglers who were ordering drinks from the bar.

Oscar ordered a steak, medium-rare, and you ordered a bowl of fried chicken tenders. While you waited, you drummed your fingers on the table, listening to the lo-fi music emitting from the speakers above.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," Oscar said.

You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Your father."

You bit your lip, unsure of how to proceed. "What about him? Did you talk to him?"

Oscar shook his head. "No, I didn't. But I don't want to keep our relationship a secret anymore. I like you, Y/N, and I understand that your father cares about you too, but he can't keep you tied up forever. You're mine, and he's going to have to come to terms with that."

"He won't."

Oscar shrugged. "He'll have to."

You exhaled a shaky breath, weighing your options. All the sneaking around had caused you a lot of extra stress, and you knew it was only a matter of time until your father realized what was happening. Perhaps it was better to tell him now, before things snowballed.

"Fine," you conceded after a long pause, and you prayed that you hadn't just signed your and Oscar's death warrants.

From @ oscarpiastri's Instagram story

comments (4298):

@ user9: SOFT LAUNCHHH

@ user10: omg WHO IS THIS WHO IS THIS 😲😲😲

-> @ user11: i bet you 5 bucks it's Y/N wolff

@ user12: screaming crying throwing up 🤯

@ user13: My nosy ahh can't handle this I wanna know who this is so bad

-> @ user14: AGREED

@ oscarpiastri: You can thank the fans. Happy three months, Y/N, you're the light of my life. Love you ❤

tagged: @ yourusername

comments (8794):

@ user15: called it since day 1.

-> @ user3: me too!

@ user8: OMG NO WAYY 🤭

@ user16: Happy 3 months!

-> @ user16: They're adorable I'm gonna start sobbing *rocks back and forth*

@ yourusername: Love you too mein papaya-Prinz 😚🧡

─── ୨୧ ─── THE END ─── ୨୧ ───

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: lucky's choppery (series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, vague smut, implied blowjob, mention of abortion (not to reader), mad scientist tony stark, laboratory, mentions of gambling, alcohol, smoking, vague mentions of physical violence, angst, some fluff (?), criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: wowee, i wrote this so fast (i already had the dialogue and some writing ready for like 80% of this chapter, so it was pretty easy to fill in the rest). hoping to at least get one more chapter out but no promises, beginning to feel a bit burnt out and my birthday is on sunday yippe. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

taglist: @nash-dara @sebastians-love @calwitch permanent taglist: @globetrotter28

main masterlist | series masterlist

The crowded sea of workers flooding out of the factories for the evening parted like a tide before Bucky, his strides purposeful, shoulders squared. The setting sun cast the Smokestack District in a haze of burning amber and ashen grey, the air thick with soot and the sharp tang of metal. Even here, in the industrial veins of Sootstone, men instinctively stepped aside lest they be trampled underfoot.

This Stark friend of his was apparently buried deep within the district, tucked away in whatever workshop or lair he called home. Even if their fathers had once been in business together, Stark seemed to have chosen a different path that didn’t dance as closely with the violence that pulsed beneath the city’s surface. You had no doubt that his work, whatever it was, still dipped into the murky waters of illegality. The Smog Boys and their associates rarely kept company with anyone clean.

You let your mind wander, dissecting the possibilities, if only to drown out the roar in your thoughts. For once, Bucky Barnes and his uninvited quests were a welcome distraction.

But no matter how much you tried to shove it aside, Becca’s revelation clung to you like a thorn buried deep beneath your skin. Her words would haunt you long into the night. You knew they would. You’d toss and turn, picking them apart, unravelling them until they unravelled you.

Your father—the man who had half-heartedly raised you, the man who had buried himself in drink and violence, the man who had driven your mother into an early grave—was not your father. Not the man you had thought him to be at all.

The realisation felt like a gaping wound in your chest. The years you had wasted on him, the countless excuses, the hesitant forgiveness. It was all for nothing. You had bent yourself backwards trying to make sense of him, trying to make peace with how he had broken you repeatedly. And yet, he was just another name to add to an already endless list of cruel men.

And your mother—gods, your mother. You had resented her for the life she had chosen, for trapping you in the Warrens, for binding you to poverty and suffering. You had never understood why she stayed, why she had chosen him, why she hadn’t run far from Blackstone and disappeared into the countryside. But now, it all slotted into place like the final piece of a puzzle you hadn’t realised was incomplete.

A sickness curled in your gut. You had hated her.

Your lip was raw from how hard you had been chewing it, and you forced yourself to focus on the roll of Bucky’s shoulders as he marched ahead, unphased, a cigarette hanging from his lips. You hated yourself for ever blaming your mother when she had endured atrocities. She had shown remarkable strength in escaping, in carving out a life of her own in the shadows of Sootstone. She had run from that wretched place, hidden in plain sight. Marrying your father…it must have been a last resort. Perhaps the only man who would take in a woman in her condition.

And she had never told you. Neither of them had. Did your father—no, the man you had believed to be your father—even know the truth? He had never spoken of the Church of Light beyond vague, half-drunken warnings, letting the weight of it gather dust in your memories. A ghost of something unspoken.

But you had never forgotten.

There was a plan forming in your mind—a quiet, insidious thing. A plan to destroy the Church of Light, to repay them for the cruelties they had stained your bloodline with. That day with Michael—gods, Michael— it had given you confidence, perhaps even delusion. You had power. Power strong enough to tear them apart, to bring them to their knees. But beyond any misplaced ideas of grandeur, you knew a truth. You couldn’t act alone. Not in such an obvious way. The Church was vast—multiple temples, hundreds of members. A massacre would not go unnoticed, and the coppers wouldn’t hesitate to drag you to the gallows. It had been a miracle you had escaped them as a teenager.

And every power, every body in this realm, had limits. 

You’d never had the full opportunity to explore the depths of this cursed power you’d been gifted, this death that clung to your very being. You couldn’t know if you had what it took to destroy them all in one fell swoop without destroying yourself in the process.

Your gaze flickered back to Bucky. His expression was guarded, jaw tight, eyes locked ahead as smoke curled from the cigarette between his lips. Even now, with his muscles still taut from anger, he exuded a dangerous calm. A readiness to act, to strike.

You could use him.

You could use him, use the Smog Boys to rip the Church of Light apart. If it became a gang war, the coppers wouldn’t so much as bat an eye. They’d let the criminals handle their own if Bucky's name was attached.

And you would be protected—so long as you could keep his attention.

The thought twisted something deep inside you. Was it wrong to think this way?

Then again… had he not used you, too? Had he not sought you out for your power, for what you could do for him? Yes, he had paid you, but at what cost? There was no permanency in this. You were just another indulgence, another fleeting pleasure. He had told you himself—he didn’t think himself a man capable of love.

Maybe you could have loved him. But him loving you?

It would be foolish to think so. Foolish to believe he could care for you beyond lust, beyond the pull of your body against his.

Your thoughts twisted in on themselves, tangling like a mess of threads in your mind, squeezing, choking, refusing to come undone.

The streets of the Smokestack District grew narrower as you followed Bucky deeper into its labyrinthine alleys, the industrial skyline choking out what little remained of the evening light. Buildings leaned into one another like drunks in an embrace, their brick faces blackened with soot, their windows murky with grime. The air stank of coal smoke, damp rot, and something metallic—oil, or maybe blood.

At the end of a particularly filthy lane, past a crumbling row of tenements, you finally stopped in front of what appeared to be an unassuming butcher’s shop. A weathered wooden sign, its red paint peeling, hung above the entrance: Lucky’s Choppery. The display window was lined with thick cuts of beef and strings of sausages, though the glass was so smeared with grease it barely reflected the gaslights flickering in the street.

You eyed the butcher’s block just inside, where a cleaver had been buried deep into a slab of meat, its blade glinting under the weak glow of an overhead lamp. The floor, lined with well-worn tiles, bore the dark stains of years of blood and brine. 

Bucky shoved open the door without hesitation, the bell overhead giving a feeble jingle. A lanky kid behind the counter—maybe eighteen at most—jerked up from where he’d been counting money, his dark eyes widening.

You glanced around, taking in the place. “Your friend Stark… is a butcher?”

Bucky huffed, crunching his cigarette beneath his boot. “It’s a front, doll.”

“Good to know…” You exhaled slowly, shifting your weight as the kid behind the counter fumbled with the till.

Bucky stepped forward, tapping the counter with two fingers. “Parker. Here to see Stark.”

The boy—Parker—flinched, his expression tightening. “Stark—you’re supposed to say Lucky—”

Bucky’s brow creased. “Who the fuck is Lucky?”

“It’s the codeword—” Parker sucked in a sharp breath, pressing his lips together like he was already regretting this conversation. “Mr. Stark is busy, I’m afraid Mr. Barnes…”

Bucky gave him a flat look. “Kid, I’m sure he is. But do you think he’s gonna be pleased if he finds out you turned me away?”

Parker swallowed hard. His shoulders sagged, and with a sigh, he jerked his head toward the back. “Alright… come on through.”

You followed Parker behind the counter and through a heavy wooden door into the backroom. The temperature dropped immediately. The air was thick with the lingering scent of salt and raw flesh. Rows of bloodless animal carcasses hung from iron hooks, swaying slightly from the draft that slithered through the room. You stepped carefully as Parker led you toward a door set into the far wall. The door's surface was scratched and worn, but the metal handle was polished from years of use.

Parker pushed it open, ushering you both in. You winced as you were blinded by the buzz of lightbulbs hanging overhead, illuminating the space. 

A laboratory. 

It was a chaotic masterpiece of metal and magic, stitched together in an unholy fusion of science and the occult. Copper pipes ran along the walls like veins, some hissing with steam, others crackling faintly with unnatural energy. The exposed brick was scrawled over with chalked equations, half-translated runes wedged between calculations that looked like they belonged to some deranged engineer’s fever dream.

Workbenches sagged under the weight of strange devices—bronzed contraptions with whirring gears, delicate instruments of glass and silver, and something that looked suspiciously like a heart pulsing inside a vat of thick, viscous liquid. Along the far wall, a large metal figure loomed, wires and arcane sigils wrapping around it in a spidery embrace. A dull red glow pulsed from within.

And at the centre of it all, hunched over a mess of gears and copper wiring, was the man himself.

Stark.

He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His dark hair was a mess of careless waves, tousled as if he’d run his fingers through it a hundred times while deep in thought. A faint shadow of stubble darkened his sharp jaw. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, exposing forearms slathered with grease and soot. His vest, once fine, was smudged with oil and singed at the edges, and his half-buttoned shirt carried the distinct stains of burnt metal and something vaguely alchemical.

Perched on his nose was a pair of brass-framed goggles, their lenses thick and dusted with soot, the left one cracked down the middle. A tiny, flickering spark of blue danced across the metal frame as if whatever enchantment he’d woven into them was barely holding together. He had the look of a man who was equal parts genius and disaster, the kind of bastard who could build something to change the world but would probably set his own lab on fire in the process.

And, of course, he didn’t even look up as the door swung open.

“Who's this? A present for me?” His voice was rough. He finally glanced up, gaze narrowing as he studied you. “I see magic about her—”

“She ain’t for one of your experiments, Tony,” Bucky interrupted, stepping between you and the mad scientist. “She’s with me.”

“Huh.” Stark exhaled, leaning back against his worktable with an air of disappointment. “Shame. And touchy, too… I take it this is your infamous spirit-raiser?”

“What?” you muttered, stiffening.

“He experiments with magic and technology,” Bucky explained dryly. “Thinks he can… power metal with magic.”

“That’s possible?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Stark’s expression turned downright wolfish. “Oh, it’s possible. Just needs the right conduit.” He stepped forward, his fingers twitching like he was already picturing carving something out of you to power one of his creations. “I mean… if I could just experiment with a drop of your magic, it doesn’t hurt, I promise… just a prick, bit of bleeding, long-term possibilities can include sudden death buuut—”

Your expression melted into something of horror.

“Oi, that’s not why we’re ‘ere, Tony,” Bucky cut in sharply. “I’m hostin’ a party. You’re invited.”

With a flick of his wrist, he produced a pristine envelope from inside his suit jacket, the deep red wax seal still unbroken. The contrast was almost comical—elegant, refined, and utterly out of place. You doubted Bucky had penned the invitations himself; the script was too precise and delicate. No, he’d likely had some poor girl painstakingly scrawl each one by hand while he barked orders from the corner of a smoky room.

Bucky’s expression remained flat, but his tone had an unmistakable edge when he added, “Preferably, you’ll keep your hands off my bird while you’re at it.”

You had to fight the urge to snap your head toward him in shock. His bird? Had one week tangled in your sheets left that much of a mark on him? The man hadn’t even taken you on a proper date—unless you counted brutalising a handful of Iron Rats as a romantic outing.

Stark paused, his keen gaze flicking between the two of you like he was dissecting a particularly interesting experiment. The glint in his eye was pure mischief. “Your bird, aye? Didn’t realise things were so… serious.”

Bucky scowled, jaw tightening. “Shut ya fuckin’ gob and take the invitation.” He flicked the pristine envelope onto Stark’s cluttered workbench, where it landed atop a mess of copper wiring, scattered blueprints, and a wrench smeared with something that definitely wasn’t just grease.

Stark picked it up, popping open the seal with ease. “Alright, alright.” His expression shifted slightly as he skimmed the contents. “This ain’t got anything to do with that Smokin’ Jacks business?”

Bucky smirked. “Somethin’ like that.”

Even with the vague way they spoke, you had heard rumours.

The Smokin’ Jacks were a gang of gamblers—slick bastards who ran their operations like clockwork, their fortunes made not through brute force but by sleight of hand. They had gambling dens throughout Blackstone, and their debts were written in blood.

The Smog Boys and the Smokin’ Jacks had long held a hesitant truce—so long as the Jacks didn’t turn their tricks on the poor bastards in the Warrens, there was no need for bloodshed. Their scams and schemes were reserved for the rich and reckless of the Flower District, the men who never knew the weight of a real loss.

But lately, there had been whispers. The Jacks weren’t keeping their word. Their debt collectors had started crossing into Smog Boy territory, leaning on the desperate and the weak, pressing them for coin they didn’t have.

Bucky didn’t take kindly to broken deals.

Stark folded the invitation with an almost exaggerated neatness, tucking it into the inner pocket of his grease-streaked waistcoat. His eyes gleamed, sharp and knowing, the kind of look that suggested he saw a game unfolding that only he knew the rules to.

“Guess I’ll be there, then.”

Bucky gave a short nod as if he had expected no less. He reached into his coat pocket, retrieving his cigarette case with a flick of his wrist. But before he could light one, you stepped forward, words spilling from your lips before you could stop them.

“You just wrapped up that business with the Iron Rats, and now you’re goin’ after the Smokin’ Jacks? Can you be any more reckless—”

Bucky turned his head toward you, exhaling slowly through his nose, cigarette forgotten. “Don’t make me remind you whose fault that Iron Rats business was.”

Your jaw clenched. “You’re the one who escalated it—”

“Yeah, well, you sure were into it, weren’t you?” His voice dropped, low and taunting, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “Sure fucked me afterwards like you did—”

Heat shot up your spine, equal parts fury and disbelief, and before you even realised what you were doing, your hand was fisted in the sleeve of his coat, yanking him toward you. He barely moved, only grinning down at you with that infuriating glint in his eye, like he was daring you to do something about it.

Behind you, Stark let out a low whistle, then a chuckle, clearly enjoying the show. “Well, well. You two are a real pair, aren’t ya?” He leaned back against his workbench, arms crossed, amusement dancing across his features. 

Bucky rolled his eyes and wrenched his arm free, though not before squeezing your wrist briefly—just enough to remind you who was stronger. “We’re leavin’,” he muttered, turning toward the door.

“Try not to start a war before the party, Barnes,” Stark called after him. “But if you do—” he grinned, “—make sure I get front-row seats.”

You cast one last glance at the chaos of the lab, the scattered notes, and the eerie hum of machinery before following Bucky out. You didn’t need Stark to tell you that. A war was already brewing.

—

Your front door creaked as you pushed it open, the familiar scent of candle wax and herbs greeting you as you stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, the only real light coming from the amber glow of the streetlamps outside, their hazy beams spilling through the lace curtains. You shrugged off your coat, glancing over your shoulder as Bucky followed you in.

Only, he didn’t move the way he usually did.

Gone was the effortless swagger, the quiet, calculated control he carried himself with. Instead, he lingered near the door as if he wasn’t sure whether to stay or turn and leave. The sight unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

“You stayin’ the night?” You asked, tone casual despite the tension between you. “Or are you gonna go over to keep an eye on Becca?”

Bucky exhaled, rubbing at his jaw before answering. “No. I’ll have Nat watch over Becca. Think I’m the last person she wants to see right about now.”

There was something distant in his voice. You had noticed a shift in him during your quiet walk back from Stark’s lab. You turned, leaning against the edge of the table as you studied him. His shoulders were taut beneath his coat as if he were bracing for something.

“Are you angry with her?” you asked carefully. “For what she said to me?”

His lips pressed into a firm line. He took a moment before answering. “Can’t say I’m not a bit upset, doll.”

You sighed. “I wouldn’t take it out on her. She was just tryin’ to protect you.”

His head tilted slightly, expression unreadable. “I can make my own choices.”

“Bucky… I just—” You began but you cut yourself off as the gangster finally spoke.

“I’m…” He hesitated.

You blinked. That alone was enough to unnerve you.

You had never seen Bucky hesitate, not like this. He always had something to say—sharp, sure, commanding. But now, something unfamiliar wove itself into his voice. Vulnerability.

“…Grateful.”

The word came quietly like he almost couldn’t bring himself to say it, and when you looked at him, really looked at him, you saw it—the slight furrow of his brow, the way his hands flexed as though he didn’t know what to do with them.

“For what you did for Becca today,” he finished.

You swallowed hard.

“Well,” you sigh, “I couldn’t have just left her there—”

“I’m serious.”

His voice was firm now, but there was a softness beneath it. He shifted his weight slightly, jaw working as he forced himself to continue. “I know she is cruel, but she is my blood. My responsibility.”

You let his words sink in, picking them apart in your head.

“I don’t think she’s cruel,” you murmured. “I think she’s a woman who’s built her walls so high to protect herself. Now she can’t tell a friend from a threat.”

Bucky huffed a quiet breath, barely a sound at all.

“I can tell you why she’s like that,” he said. “And I’m afraid I’m on that list.”

Your brows pulled together. “I wouldn’t blame yourself—”

“Sometimes I worry, doll.”

Something in his voice… a weight settled in your ribcage. It was lower now, rougher like the words were being dragged from some part of him he never let anyone see. His fingers twitched at his side, clenching once before flexing open again. His jaw went tight, and when he finally spoke again, the words came slowly, carefully.

“I worry that I am becoming my father.”

Silence stretched between you. You didn’t think. You just reached out, fingers brushing over his hand, grounding him, offering something—anything—before he could retreat behind the walls you could already see rising.

But it was too late.

His body went rigid, tension snapping through him like a wire pulled too tight. His hand twitched under yours as if instinct told him to grip, to hold on, but then…He pulled away. The moment his expression hardened, you knew. Whatever softness had been there was gone in an instant, buried beneath cold calculation and the armour he had worn for so long. “I should go,” he muttered, voice clipped.

“Bucky—”

But he was already turning, already stepping away.

The door swung open, and before you could say another word, he was gone, the night swallowing him whole.

You stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where he had been, his presence lingering like a ghost you couldn’t quite banish. 

—

Three days later, you made the—likely foolish—decision to deliver a care package to Becca. You knew you’d probably receive a tongue-lashing for it, but a small, wicked part of you wanted to be the better person. You had sourced some gin from the Flower Districts, strong, quality stuff that the upper-class women drank. A classier alternative to the harsh whiskey that the Smog Boys brewed and likely already lined Becca’s shelves.

The alley was dark and damp, the scent of piss and rotting wood lingering in the narrow space. Your breath curled in the cold air as you hesitated in front of her door, fingers tightening around the woven basket in your hands.

Maybe your presence wasn’t the best idea, given what she was recovering from. Perhaps it was best to leave the package and disappear into the night unseen. The message would be there, but you’d be spared the inevitable onslaught of curses she would toss your way. You imagined whore would be right at the top.

With a quiet huff, you bent to place the basket on the doorstep. Inside, nestled together, was the bottle of gin, a fresh loaf of bread, butter, and some cold-cut meats you had hunted down at the Sunday market. You knew Bucky and Nat were caring for her, but you wanted to be sure.

The door creaked open just as you straightened up.

Bucky.

He stepped out, locking up behind him, keys dangling from his fingers with an idle sort of ease. He was dressed in his usual suit—dark, well-fitted, with the coat buttoned up against the cold. The brass glint of his pocket watch chain caught the dim light as he turned to you.

For a moment, you thought you saw something flicker across his face. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition. But it passed too quickly to catch.

“You just can’t help yourself, huh?” His voice was low, edged with something you couldn’t quite place.

Your mouth opened before your mind could catch up, fumbling for an excuse. I was just making sure she’s alright. I was worried. I care. But instead, you settled for, “Sorry, I was just… ah. Care package. For Becca. Thought she’d need it.”

Maybe it wasn’t best to admit to your convoluted, backward scheme of making the woman feel bad through kindness. 

His gaze dropped to the basket at your feet, scanning its contents with a slow, deliberate look before exhaling through his nose. Without a word, he bent and picked it up, turning it slightly in his hands.

“She’s out with that Brackett kid,” he muttered, shifting the basket to his other hand.

You hesitated. “That’s… good?”

Bucky arched a brow as he pulled out the bottle of gin, tilting it slightly to read the label.

“Still gonna kill him,” he said flatly, setting the bottle back down.

You bit back a smirk. “Of course you are.”

He didn’t smile, but something about his posture loosened—just a fraction. The last time you had seen him, he had stormed out of your flat. You couldn’t tell if he was still feeling stand-offish, or if the sharpness in his tone was just habit. The keys clinked softly as he turned them over in his palm, watching you with that same brooding expression.

He placed the basket on the hallway table, pulling shut the door and locking it with practised ease. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon,” he murmured, voice measured, almost lazy. But there was something deliberate in it, like he was waiting to see how you’d respond.

You hesitated, shifting on your heels. “Didn’t think you’d want to.”

Something flickered in his gaze, just for a second, before he looked away.

“Yeah, well,” he said, slipping the keys into his pocket. “You keep showing up, don’t you?”

You exhaled a short laugh, though your pulse was a little unsteady. “Guess I do.”

Bucky made a noise in his throat, something between amusement and resignation. Then, with a tilt of his head toward the street, he stepped past you.

“Walk with me,” he said, not looking back.

It wasn’t a question. And, despite yourself, you followed.

The night air bit at your skin as you fell into step beside him. The streets of the Warrens were quieter in this part of town, though the distant hum of nightlife still clung to the air—rowdy laughter spilling from taverns, the occasional shout of a drunk stumbling home.

Bucky’s flat was deeper in the district, past the noisier streets, tucked above an old tailor’s shop. He didn’t say a word as he led you up the narrow stairwell, the scent of dust and mothballs lingering in the close space. At the top, he flicked the key between his fingers before unlocking the door, pushing it open without much ceremony.

Inside, it was… surprisingly nice. Not lavish like Becca’s, but well-kept—orderly. The furnishings were simple: a sturdy wooden table, a leather armchair that looked well-worn but hardly used, a small bar cart against the wall with only a handful of bottles. Unlike Becca’s place, which was decorated with velvet drapes, gilded mirrors, and delicate trinkets, Bucky’s was bare. Functional. You got the sense that he didn’t spend much time here.

He didn’t look at you as he shrugged off his coat, draping it over the chair. Instead, he reached for the bar cart, grabbing a bottle and two glasses. “Drink?”

“Sure.”

He poured the amber liquid out and slid one of the glasses toward you across the wooden table, his own drink resting loosely in his grip. You hesitated for only a second before taking the offered glass, the cool weight of it grounding you. The scent was rich and smoky, promising a slow, lingering burn.

Silence stretched between you for a long moment, the soft clink of glass against wood filling the space. Finally, you exhaled, rolling the whiskey between your fingers before speaking. “Are we going to talk about it?”

Bucky lifted a brow. “About what?”

“You storming out of my flat the other day?” You sighed, leaning back against the edge of the table. “Look, I didn’t expect a thank you if that’s what’s got you all wound up.”

His gaze flickered to yours, sharp and searching, something unreadable in the depths of his blue eyes. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “I’m not wound up.”

You scoffed. “You’re impossible.”

That pulled a smirk from him—slow, teasing. “Did you want me to stay?” There was a beat of pause before he huffed a quiet laugh, swirling the whiskey in his glass. When he finally looked at you again, amusement curled at the edges of his lips. “Did you miss me?” he drawled. 

“Maybe.”

Bucky’s smirk deepened, but there was something else beneath it—something you couldn’t quite name. His gaze flickered over your face, searching, considering.

“Careful, doll,” he murmured, tilting his glass toward you in a slow, deliberate toast. “That almost sounds like an invitation.”

He watched you as you lifted the glass to your lips. The first sip hit hard, burning its way down your throat and curling warm in your stomach. You coughed, barely suppressing a wince as the heat spread through your chest. Bucky smirked, tilting his own glass to his lips with far more ease.

“Shit, is this Smog Boys stuff?” You rasped, blinking away the sting.

“Off the market, yeah.” He hummed, stretching back as he pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sank into it with a sigh. “Some of it, we brew strong. Just for us boys.”

Your gaze flickered to his hands, the way his fingers idly traced the rim of his glass. He had settled into his seat with the ease, legs spread wide, confidence dripping from every lazy shift of his body. The sight of him like that, whiskey warming his blood, watching you with quiet interest—it sent a pulse of heat low in your stomach.

You tipped back the rest of your drink, hissing at the burn, then shrugged off your coat. The heavy fabric slipped from your shoulders and crumpled to the floor between his feet. Bucky’s gaze sharpened. You lowered yourself onto the discarded coat, knees pressing into the worn wood through the fabric, your hands smoothing up the inside of his thighs.

His body reacted before his words did. His legs spread a little wider, welcoming you in, his breath hitching just slightly. You nuzzled against the rough fabric of his trousers, blinking up at him through your lashes.

“What’re you…” He trailed off as your nails ghosted over the buckle of his belt.

His hand caught your wrist, and you smirked at him, tilting your head. “I wanna taste you.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, his fingers tightening on your skin for just a moment. Then, with a quiet curse under his breath, he tossed back the rest of his drink and set the empty glass down with a heavy clink.

“Shit, doll,” he muttered, his voice rougher now, lower, as his free hand went to his belt. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

From where you knelt, you could see the way his breath had quickened, the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—before undoing his belt.

Your pulse thrummed in anticipation, thighs squeezing together beneath your skirts. Bucky exhaled sharply as you leaned in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against the fabric covering his length. His head tipped back, a quiet groan slipping from his lips, one hand smoothing through your hair.

He was always so controlled, always so composed—but now, beneath your touch, you could feel him unravel. And gods, you wanted to watch him fall apart.

[blindmortal]

this silly feeling called love ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ੈ♡‧₊˚ | y.jw

❀ | idol!jungwon x nonidol!reader ₊ ⁺ fluff & w.c 946 ; wherein jungwon confesses cause he just can't take it anymore

author's note: i don't really know how i feel about this one lol. belated birthday post for jungwon <3 and a little something before v-day ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

─── ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

Messages flooded through the chat so fast that Jungwon struggled to keep track of what the viewers were saying.

“Woah, guys,” he chuckled, dimples peeking through as he leaned closer to the screen. “Slow down, I can’t read.”

Jungwon, did you have dinner?

He hummed, thoughtful. “Yeah, Jay made curry.” A pause, a flicker of something fond. “It was good.”

His gaze drifted, skimming the screen, until a question caught and held.

Jungwon, have you ever been in love?

His fingers stilled. A quiet settled over him, though the chat still pulsed, still pulled at him with a hundred voices.

Vanilla and rosewater. The hush of night air slipping through an open window, the warmth of laughter half-swallowed in the dark. A brush of silk against his wrist, the weight of a gaze that never quite met his own. The feeling of something just within reach—only to vanish like breath on a mirror.

Heat stirred at the base of his throat, curled along the edges of his ears. His pulse thrummed, light and restless, like wings against his ribs.

He exhaled, slow. Smiled, small.

“Have I ever been in love?” he echoed at last, voice softer now, almost distant.

The chat buzzed, waiting. But he only laughed, shaking his head as if to scatter the thought before it settled too deep.

But they didn’t buy it.

You’re blushing

So you have been in love!

Seems like he’s actively crushing on someone~

He couldn’t help the soft giggle that bubble out his throat. “Guys, come on, I don’t like anyone.”

Yeah, you looove them

His fingers twitched where they rested. His smile lingered. He said nothing.

“Goodnight guys,”  he waved, “sleep well! Remember to stay warm~”

He ended the live, and the silence of his room weighed down on him. His gaze flickered to his phone, his notifications empty of a specific contact.

Maybe he was reminiscing about the way your warmth had seeped into his clothes as the two of you lingered outside on a night far too cold—the way your fingers curled around his wrist, hesitant at first, then certain, as if they belonged there. How the world had felt quieter then, the air laced with the scent of frost and distant chimney smoke, yet all he could focus on was the press of your body against his, the steady rise and fall of your breath.

Or maybe it was the way you remembered the little things. How you always noticed when he was tired, nudging a cup of tea toward him before he even asked. How you knew his favorite songs before he ever said them aloud, humming them under your breath in a way that made him wonder if you had been paying attention all along.

Maybe it was the way your absence felt heavier than it should. How silence wasn’t just silence anymore—it was missing something, missing you.

Call it need, call it desire, call it recklessness.

But there was no mistaking the flutter in his chest when someone spoke your name, the way he stilled at the faint trace of vanilla in the air, or the way he found himself smiling at the mention of chewy cookies—because he knew just how much you savoured them. He would giggle into the quiet like a man set free from the psych ward.

It was this feeling he couldn’t rub off.

It was this silly feeling called love.

This feeling that had him dialing your number despite it being one in the morning. The same feeling that had you picking up, your voice groggy and thick with sleep.

“Won?” your voice croaked through the speaker. “Everything okay?”

“I love you.”

His voice came out breathless, fingers gripping his sheets, sweating forming into beads at his forehead.

The silence from your end had him reeling.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m just springing this on you, but I had to tell you. I love you. I love the way you smell, like... like vanilla and something else that I can never quite place but always reminds me of home. I love your pretty face, and your pretty voice, and your pretty laugh when I make a stupid joke that’s not even funny but you laugh anyway, and it makes me feel like I’m actually good for something.”

He paused, his voice cracking slightly, fingers tightening around the phone as though holding onto his words might make them easier to say.

“I love you, and I can’t stop thinking about you, even when I’m out with friends, even when you’re nowhere near me, even when I’m in a completely different continent—hell, even when I’m standing in the middle of a long line for coffee, all I can think about is you and how much you’d love the smell of vanilla latte. How you’d think the trees are pretty, even the ones that look dead, and how you’d smile when at kids passing by. I—”

“I love you too.” Your voice came out in a soft giggle, still hazy from the sleep.

Jungwon’s heart fluttered in his chest as he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And he swore he could hear the smile in your voice.

“But you just had to tell me this at one in the morning while I was asleep?” You teased.

His lips curled into a sheepish grin, the nervousness from earlier melting away. “I... I couldn’t wait,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper now. “It felt like I’d explode if I didn’t say it.”

“You’re silly.”

He smiled into the phone, his heart a little lighter, a little fuller. “Silly... in love with you.”

130225 © blindmortal 2025. do not copy, translate or upload any of my works without my permission

[monimccoythings]

Regrets

Hey, Doey survives AU. But Doey thinking he killed you, his good friend, during his grief fueled rampage. Let's just pretend that there was a pit surrounding the area when you have to give him the final blow with the giant saw.

A/N: I was not very much into the Poppy Playtime fandom until Doey's chapter, yeah, I watched some gameplays and all but I was not fully invested in the game. So, I'm not sure about the lore of the characters, if they are still children, if they grew up while being in the bigger bodies or what. So I'm not risking it, and from now on I'm separating them into two categories: mascot (mostly adult with exceptions) and game character (child). So if I get to write anything romantic, I'll write it about the mascot, I don't want to see or read any weird shit that isn't platonic about the game characters.

He didn't mean to.

He hadn't meant to.

Lately it seemed it was the only thing he could repeat to himself, over and over in his head like a broken record.

He had been angry, furious like he had never been before, his friends, his family, they all had perished in the explosion, safe Haven completely reduced to ashes and blood.

That anger soon turned to rage. Due to a lack of healthy ways to deal with it, he started looking for culprits, which led him to you.

Doey-dough could only stretch so much before it broke.

You had been his friend. He thought you understood him, he thought you cared about Safe Haven, about him. Your time together had been brief but he had read once that the strongest of friendships got built in the battlefield.

He had trusted you, goddamn it. You were supposed to be one of the good ones.

THEN WHY HAD YOU ALLOWED THIS TO HAPPEN. An angry voice inside him, driven insane with grief and fury, screamed.

You had been fooled too. How could you have known this would happen? He tried to reason.

You had begged him to leave, to pack his things and take the survivors as far from the Factory as he could, somewhere safer. Dead bodies wouldn't supply them forever, and the constant threat of the Prototype was taking its toll on all of them. He was insanely strong, he surely could punch his way towards an exit.

He wondered why he hadn't listened to you back then. Maybe it was fear of not being able to protect them all shall they leave the confines of the Safe Haven; maybe it was because, despite his doubts, he had so foolishly decided to give Poppy's unhinged plan a chance. Maybe he was scared of leaving the only home he had ever known for the unpredictable outside world. Better the devil you know...

When he rushed back into Safe Haven and found everything in crumbles, he hadn't thought, he hadn't rationalized, he was so consumed by despair he only saw red. He had ignored your apologies, the tears running down your cheeks, your overwhelming grief. All Doey had wanted back then is to hurt back as much as the Prototype had hurt him.

He gave chase like an animal, tearing everything on his path, squeezing and slippering through the tightest holes and corners, ignoring your pleas, your calls to him. While you tried to defend yourself instead of attacking Doey, he went for the kill.

They were afraid of me.

THEY FREEZED ME, THEY KNEW IT HURT AND THEY STILL DID IT.

They had multiple chances to kill me, yet they were still unable to go through it.

That had been your mistake. You had left him there, hoping he would 'cool down' and left while countlessly apologizing for all the pain you had caused.

You had thought yourself safe, despite how broken you felt on the inside. You thought that a whimsy door would be enough to keep him outside. He slammed it open the second you turned around, sending debris and metal flying everywhere. You barely had any time to react before one of his arms smacked you harshly against the rusty railing, sending you spiraling down the pit to the darkness below.

It took him a second to process what he had actually done. Maybe a second too late.

"NO!!" he howled, form becoming unstable, stretchy limbs extending in desperation, hoping to grab you, any part of you, before it really was too late. He just had to reach you, he couldn't let you fall to your doom.

It was one thing wanting to kill you. And a very different thing to actually do it.

When his numerous hands caught nothing but air and darkness, he let out a thunderous roar. What had he done?? He hadn't meant to! You- you just couldn't be- you couldn't be gone. You couldn't be gone because of him.

You had faced numerous encounters with death, you had survived, you just had to. Surely you had used your grabpack to hold on to some scrap of metal, stuck to the walls and were currently making your way up for some payback. Maybe he would humour you this time.

Seconds turned into long and agonizing minutes. He tentatively called out your name, anger long gone and replaced with something heavy in his stomach: dread.

No answer. Just the machinery and the consuming blackness down there. His reptilian form started to decompose when realization kicked in.

They were right. He was made for breaking things. The only thing he could do was get angry and hurt people. And now he had run out of people to hurt.

He was alone. Utterly alone.

He had failed everyone.

His large body wrecked with sobs, body trembling with gentle shivers that cleared the way again for the burning rage inside him to make its pressence known.

There was nothing in there for him anymore. No friends, no family, no hope. What was actually stopping him from bringing this whole place to the ground?

Poppy wanted it to come crashing down, to destroy this hellish place once and for all. Well, then let's give her what she had always wanted. Let's bring this whole place down, let the living proof of humankind's depravity be buried under all the debris.

And let him be buried with it.

Elsewhere, several feet down the pit, a human shaped figure fought hard to not loose concsiousness. Yeah, the hit had been nasty and the fall would have been much worse if you hadn't used the GrabPack to briefly hold onto a rock. The sturdy structure of the GrabPack itself had beared the brunt of the fall, yet you were pretty sure you had a couple of broken ribs.

But you had to get up. Keep moving. You couldn't fall asleep.

With great effort, you managed to stand up and limp towards an opening which lead to another cave.

Just a little more.

Keep pushing forwards.

[dellamortethelesser]

The Wigmaker Job

Notes and Thoughts - Part 2

pt1 | pt2 | pt3 | pt4 | pt5

Picking back up in the next scene, Lucanis and Illario are exiting the tavern on their way to the contract. Here, they are described as "lean with dark hair and umber eyes". ← THIS MEANS THEY PURPOSELY GAVE MY POOKIE BLUE EYES TO MAKE HIM LOOK MORE EVIL.

(I also forgot to mention in the previous scene they discuss that Illario fastidiously grooms his 5 o'clock shadow so they also took THAT from us. But! Veilguard did give him a huge ass… no, I need his brown eyes back).

"Illario was all smiles. His was a calculated handsomeness. From his smooth skin to his perfect, white teeth, everything was contrived to be enticing". ← insane thing to say i think what did caterina do to influence that so strongly. like yes, lucanis is a mage-killer and that's certainly a Niche, but let's not pretend that Illario isn't filling a different sort of niche. both of them have been trained to be more valuable Alive than Dead.

"As they walked through the crowd, he basked in the appreciative glances he received," ← unsure whether this is omniscient on part of the author or intended to be directly lucanis's pov. this specific passage i've never been able to figure it out. if it's lucanis's pov though, i would wonder if that 'basking' isn't just… a front.

I have to assume this passage is somewhat omniscient because it goes on to say that "… while Lucanis stared ahead, focused and intense. He was the kind of man you couldn't look away from—until he looked at you." ← i have to assume this is all referring to Lucanis? if so? because if it is lucanis's pov why would he… idk. 'the kind of man you couldn't look away from' could still refer to illario? idk. it's a really hard passage for me to parse i feel stupid. debate in the reblogs

This whole next part of the story makes me insane because it's just further emphasizing my point that Lucanis gives absolutely no thought to Illario as an equal working with him on this contract—THAT HE ASKED ILLARIO TO BE HERE FOR. i'll try to break this down but i recommend just reading along in your own copy alsfjk

"So what's the plan? Now that Ambrose knows we're coming" / "We were never going through the front door." ← Illario is asking here, now that there's proof the Venatori know the Crows are after them, what the new plan is. he is only JUST NOW finding out that Lucanis never HAD a plan that didn't account for this? again i'm not sure how lucanis "knew" unless it's supposed to make him out to be the better assassin, but it reads as though he was purposefully keeping Illario in the dark.

hang on let me just directly quote this next part

"I bought THIS—" Illario gestured towards his tunic. "Because YOU said we were dispatching Tevinter's 'premiere' wigmaker at an exclusive party. Emphasis on exclusive." "Uh-huh." "It was a rush order. We were with the tailor for hours." "I recall." "Why let me go through the motions of purchasing formal wear for an event we're not actually attending?" "I know how much you enjoy dressing up," Lucanis goaded and ducked under a pointed archway.

But. You are attending this event. Crucially you are in fact both attending this event and do need Illario to dress the part to get YOU where YOU need to be. Why are you goading him on like this?!

You're both on the way to this contract—and Lucanis is leading him through a back entrance, btw, AND THE FACT THAT ILLARIO DOESN'T ALREADY KNOW THAT TELLS ME THAT LUCANIS DIDN'T TELL HIM THAT PART OF THE PLAN EITHER—so why are you doing this?!

Lucanis why are you fucking with him like this on purpose? THERE'S NO REAL REASON GIVEN IN HIS NARRATIVE SO I HAVE TO EXTRAPOLATE THAT THIS IS JUST NORMAL FOR THEM. WHICH ISN'T NORMAL

quick interlude to add that Lucanis's 'bleeding heart' sympathies are here from the jump; he is aware of the cultural importance of the vhenedahl, and remarks that the magisters trying to make a statue to keep their slaves in line had the opposite effect.

Again Lucanis reveals some way into the passageways they're using—that Illario didn't know about on both accounts—and is SMUG ABOUT IT. HE TOSSES ILLARIO A SMUG LOOK OVER HIS SHOULDERS.

"I wouldn't complain if you filled me in," he grumbled. "Yes, you would." "As much," Illario conceded. "I wouldn't complain as much."

WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN BY THIS LUCANIS. The dynamic between them is just consistently reinforcing the idea that wherever Lucanis goes, Illario is expected to follow, unwaveringly, unquestioningly, and to be quite honest i would be driven fucking insane.

We're only so many pages in and there is a very clear way that Lucanis treats Illario just in the context of working CONTRACTS together, and that way is… not very good! YOU INVITED HIM HERE. WHY ARE YOU KEEPING HIM IN THE DARK?

I say this like I don't understand but a lot of people have rightly pointed out that this is their 'normal'. This is learned behavior, a learned dynamic, and I do believe Caterina is partly responsible for fostering it by showing such clear favoritism to Lucanis and likely giving him behavior to model.

Which goes back to my previous question of… why? If you're not going to name an heir and want this to be a winner takes it all relationship, why show such clear favoritism?! THESE ARE YOUR LAST TWO LIVING RELATIVES, CATERINA.

Back to the book. Lucanis's elf contact greets him with "Master Dellamorte". Cool! When she looks for an introduction, though, it is Illario that butts in with "Master Dellamorte the Lesser". ← hi my love. why did you do this? well because it reinforces the same shit we've been seeing the whole time. and calls back to how he already referred to lucanis as 'the great' in their first scene together.

"My cousin," Lucanis clarified. ← no defense or correction? fine maybe not the time or place. one of the more neutral statements that Lucanis has said to him but he's damned by faint praise and the fact there is no INNER NARRATIVE QUESTIONING ILLARIO'S ANSWER MEANS THIS IS ALSO ASSUMED TO BE NORMAL.

Heading up the passage. It's magic. the room spins

"Lucanis bit back a laugh as Illario held out an arm to steady himself." ← WHY. why is this funny to you. okay now im sounding like i'm seething at lucanis which i kind of am BUT TRUST I STILL LOVE HIM

THIS DYNAMIC IS JUST INSANE TO ME. okay anyways next bit. i'm covering one more scene and then will do another post for part 3. together we can work through this story a few pages every day. I'm gonna break up this last bit in some chunks

"You've made friends." / "You would too, if you ever left Treviso." / "I'm here now, aren't I?" ← Illario was trying to be nice. Lucanis immediately takes a shot at the fact that Illario stays in Treviso (are we implying here that Illario doesn't take jobs? Doesn't work?) and Illario reminds him that HE CAME TO VYRANTIUM FOR LUCANIS. He's here for you!

"Seriously, though, what is this place?" "A perk. Given by our mysterious benefactor." Lucanis quickened his pace, hoping to leave the answer at that. Illario did not take the hint. "Speaking of, I have some questions about him… her… them?"

1) diversity win

2) AGAIN. Illario is being kept in the dark about things and Lucanis is intentionally not sharing them. WHY? We are never given a reason WHY from Lucanis. Just that he doesn't want to share anything with Illario—ostensibly about their client but ABOUT THE WHOLE CONTRACT IS WHAT THE NARRATIVE SHOWS.

"Oh, come on," Illario urged, matching Lucanis's pace. "When have we ever taken on an anonymous client?" "Since someone could put tangible stock in the phrase 'Silence is golden'." "You're not the least bit curious?" Lucanis exhaled through his nose. "If someone wants to pay me top coin to kill a bunch of racist blood mages—who have it coming—I'm not going to complain."

again we see Lucanis's sympathies coming to light. these are not bad feelings to have obviously we should hate racists. but they are assassins paid to kill and not get emotionally entangled in the job which Lucanis consistently does in this short story.

additionally. again. the way he talks to illario. i just. can it be stated enough at any point.

Quotes are either paraphrased or taken directly from The Wigmaker Job, written by Courtney Woods.

[bisexualhedgehogs]

I had a silly idea about a possible way Shadow could meet the Wachowskis again after falling back to earth, so I wrote something for it. I'll make an ao3 account at some point and post it there as well. Warnings for injuries i guess? Nothing too bad tho.

Anyway enjoy my dumb one shot (also hints of possible sonadow but way too early for either of them to understand any feelings yet)

Shadow's first thoughts after landing hard into the ground were how dizzy and cold he was. He had to think for a moment, had he survived that blast? Must have. You dont feel this sore all over if you're dead. He groaned and slowly rolled onto his back and looked up at the sky. It was a vibrant shade of blue, similar to Sonic he realized. He hoped the idiot was alive as he watched some clouds go by. He was so distracted by his anger the last few days that he had not noticed how beautiful the sky was during the day too. He could feel the burns on his skin start to heal, and he stayed there for a while until the sun began to set. Then he had to force himself up and search for his disgarded inhibitor rings. Luckily, they landed nearby.

Once they were found, he tried to figure out where he was. He was in a crater among some tall snow-capped mountains. He had landed in some sort of dense wilderness. The view was wonderful, but the air was starting to get even more of a chill. His gloves had disintegrated during his fall through earths atmosphere, and he could feel the cold on the pads of his hands. Honestly, he could feel it down to his core, like his bones were cold. He had to move though.

He checked if his air shoes were still in tact enough for him to glide instead of walking, and thankfully, they were. He didn't have enough chaos energy at the moment to just teleport down the mountain. His lower left leg was trying to heal from what he guessed was some sort of fracture or strain, and putting weight on it was incredibly uncomfortable. Even gliding still hurt, but he was able to ignore it for now. He had to. He stopped to hide in various small caves and under fallen tree roots when he thought he heard humans nearby walking around or needed to rest his leg.

After over a week in the forest, around dusk, he came across a large sign that read, "Welcome to Green Hills." He moved slower as a brief rain and snow shower mix blew through. He shivered and tried to stay hidden as he approached town. He realized the glow from his shoes could give him away, and now he had no choice but to walk, which turned into a limp.

"Fuck, maybe I did break something," he hissed as he stopped to rest again. The lack of food was slowing his healing. He ended up taking his shoe off on that foot and carrying it. The weight of it was hurting too much. He realized he had never felt grass under his bare feet before. It was nice, even if it was crunchy, cold, and wet.

He continued walking along the road, avoiding stepping in any patches of snow as best he could, just out of sight in the treeline. He was lost in thought when a deer ran out in front of him and startled him enough that he used what little chaos energy he had to move. Big mistake since he didn't have a specific location in mind. He panicked and landed hard on the road, directly in front of a large pickup up truck that had swerved to miss the deer from seconds ago, and it did not have time to brake fully. The pain in his leg and blinding headlights in his eyes made him freeze as his ears went flat against his head.

‐---------------

About 10 minutes earlier, Sonic was helping Maddie load some groceries into the back of the truck. Normally, all three boys would tag along, but with Tom still healing and insisting he needed the air, Knuckles and Tails stayed home to prevent any accidental added stress. Sonic also did not like leaving Tom's side yet.

Speaking of Tom, there was some short bickering between the two adults as Tom had snuck into the driver's seat while she was loading everything into the back.

"It's 15 minutes back home, let me drive. Please? I drive with one arm all the time."

Sonic laughs, "Yeah, when you're stuffing your face full of donuts, but you could still use that arm."

Maddie groaned, "Okay fine, but if you're so healed and competent now, you can also make dinner when we get home."

"Deal." Tom couldn't hide his grin, and Maddie looked ready to slap him on the back of his head. Sonic was seatbelted between them, kicking his legs, happy his family was getting back to normal. He opened the sunroof so he could look at the stars that were peaking out behind some clouds. He was uncharacteristically quiet and lost in thought.

"You thinking about Shadow again, Bud?" Tom finally asked him.

Sonic nodded, "yeah, I just miss him. He deserved a second chance, and he didn't even get to fully take it. Doesn't seem fair."

Maddie pet his head, "I know, sweetie, earth failed him. I'm just so glad we found you before GUN did."

Sonic leaned against her and watched the stars for another minute until they completed disappeared behind some clouds. He closed the sunroof when it started to rain and snow a bit.

He shivered, "I thought I smelled snow. It felt cold enough."

Maddie side eyed her husband, "Tom, if you crash in this weather, I will kill you."

Tom laughed nervously, "Relax, it's not even sticking to the road at all. Actually, it looks like it stopped up ahead."

Suddenly, Sonic started sneezing, repeatedly.

Maddie groaned, "Sonic, is this just something in your nose, or is danger coming."

Tom scoffed, "Oh, come on him sneezing is not a sign of danger, that's just a coincid- ... OH SHIT."

They all screamed as a deer suddenly ran out in front of them, and he had to swerve and brake.

Sonic yelled, "SEE NOT A COINCID- ... LOOK OUT!" Something black suddenly appeared on the road as well. They were still mid swerve, and Tom could not swerve again without risking tipping the truck. He also was a bit too shocked to see those red eyes glowing at them. All he could think to do was slam on the brakes as hard as he could. They felt one of the front truck tires bounce over something.

Shadow managed to duck his head down in time, but said truck tire went over his already injured leg that he couldn't curl up to his body as fast as the other one. There was a lot of screaming from inside the truck, that was now above him. One of the voices sounded familiar. He couldn't chaos control himself again, still entirely too worn out. He was afraid he would land somewhere worse anyway and could only mentally prepare himself to run if need be.

Inside the truck, Maddie and Tom slowly looked at each other before finally looking down at the Sonic. Sonic looked just as shocked as them before he finally unbuckled himself and stood up on the seat, "Tom, we told you you shouldn't drive with one arm! You just got out of the hospital yesterday, and you hit a ... a ... hedgehog? wait. Wait. ... was that Shadow. Is he alive? ... oh god, the truck bounced ... OH MY GOD, DAD, DID YOU JUST RUN OVER SHADOW?????." He zipped out of the car in a flash, and Maddie gave her husband an exhausted look before she soon followed.

Tom needed another moment before he got out as well. 'What the hell just happened', he thought. These kids were going to give him a stroke.

Sonic quickly got on the ground behind the truck and looked under the bed. Yep, there was Shadow, curled up between the back tires with his quills sticking out in all crazy directions in defense, clearly giving into the instinct to make himself as big and scary as possible. "Jeez, you look like a wet feral cat under there. Why are you missing a shoe? Are you okay?"

There were some orange sparks and a low growl before he realized who was talking to him. "... Sonic? What are you -"

Before he could register anything, Sonic grinned and quite literally yanked him out from under the truck by his quills and pulled him into a hug. Shadow actually hissed at him.

"Oh, come on, it's just a hug, relax. And the quill thing was payback for throwing me by mine back at that base." He laughed, and then paused. "I'm so glad you're alive, Shadow." Sonic sounded almost ready to cry from relief.

Shadow sighed. "It's not that," his voice was a bit shakey from adrenaline still. "I hurt my leg in the fall, and then whatever idiot is driving your truck ran it over. If it wasn't broken before, it sure is now"

Sonic pulled away from him and looked over at his leg. It looked swollen. "Oh, that's why you're holding your shoe. MADDIE, he's hurt. Come quick. Tom ran over his leg"

Shadows quills bristled as she slowly approached with a first aid kit and a flashlight. "Who is she?"

"Shhh, relax, Shadow. I won't hurt you. I'm Maddie. Tom's wife, otherwise known as the idiot who ran you over. You've, uh, met before." Her tone was a little sharper at the end than she meant for it to sound. She felt bad when shadow flinched at her tone. He looked incredibly pathetic with his ears back like that and visibly shivering. And young. He must be Sonic's age. 'Oh no, we're going to adopt this one too arent we?' She thought to herself.

Sonic was about to reassure Shadow that it was safe when Tom got out of the truck.

"I'm an idiot? Why is he appearing out of thin air into traffic? I didn't even know you kids could do stuff like that" He didn't sound mad. He was even laughing a little. Until he saw Shadow's leg. He frowned and knelt down beside them. Shadow backed up into Sonic and growled again. He looked very nervous now. Both adults felt their heartstrings tug a little. He just looked like a scared kid to them. "Sorry, I didn't mean to hit you. You're safe, don't worry."

Shadow stopped growling and just titled his head confused, " ... you didn't hit me on purpose? For revenge?"

Sonic rolled his eyes and hugged him again, "Dude, we seriously need to ban that word from your vocabulary."

Tom laughed, "No, of course not." He realized Shadow was being completely serious and not joking. "Wait, why would I purposely try to run you over?"

Shadow glared, "Do you have brain damage? I almost killed you. I'm a little impressed you survived actually." He added dryly.

"Oh trust me, I remember. So you think that means I should try to get back at you, though? You're a kid. " He seemed concerned at his way of thinking. Especially when Shadow just answered "yes" like it was the most obvious answer in the world. He even almost seemed annoyed now that this wasn't on purpose.

"I don't need your pity." He just leaned into Sonic, quills deflating finally. He was so focused on Tom that he didn't even realize Maddie had begun to check his leg until he felt pain from her moving it. He shot her a warning glare and growled, "I didn't say you could touch me."

Sonic squeezed him, "Hey, easy, she's a vet. If you dont trust her, at least trust me. Besides, if you don't let her splint that, I'll have to. And I'll make Knuckles restrain you." Sonic smiled but also looked completely serious.

Shadow groaned, "is he the red one?" Sonic nodded in response, resting his head on top of Shadow's. He couldn't even use his chaos control now even if he wanted to with Sonic having such a firm grip on him. Something told him Sonic was aware of this too. "Fine, but only because I want that big brute touching me even less."

Maddie laughed a little and finished splinting his leg. She also examined his bare foot for injuries. "Well, I'll have to properly resplint this later with better supplies, but all your adorable little toe beans look in tact besides being cold."

Shadow looked at her like she was insane, "what the fuck is a toe bean?" Sonic started laughing into Shadows quills. Even Tom laughed, which startled Shadow. "I don't get what's so funny."

"Just the way you said it, and it's a cute way to refer to pawpads." Maddie joined in the laughter and rubbed his foot to warm it up a little.

"Stop that I'm fine. ... and I'm not cute"

Sonic looked at his face and grinned, "I'm telling you from experience. Pouting does not help. They also think that's cute. Humans are weird like that."

Shadow tried to finally squirm out of Sonic's embrace, "Can I get up now? The road is cold and staying here will draw too much attention"

Maddie nodded and helped Sonic get Shadow into the truck. She had to move to the middle so Shadow could rest with his back against the door and his leg over Sonic's lap. Thankfully, him and Sonic were small enough to both fit onto the passenger seat without being too squished. He also obviously trusted Sonic and didn't mind being so close to him. If Shadow didn't look so apprehensive of them still, she would have commented on how cute they looked together like that.

Instead, Maddie just turned up the heat when she realized Shadow was shivering still. "You look cold. Do you want a blanket? I think there is one behind your seat. How long were you in the woods?"

He sighed as Sonic made the decision for him and got the blanket out, and draped it over him. "A week, I think. Maybe longer. I landed in the mountains."

"Well, when we get home, you can have a nice warm bath and something to eat. You're probably starving. ... and dehydrated. Oh no have you been without water this whole time?"

Shadow snuggled a bit more into the blanket (and Sonic) before answering, "No, I drank from a couple streams, I'm fine." He still didn't understand why they were being so kind. He didn't feel he deserved it. After a long silence, he finally spoke again with a low voice. "Sorry."

Tom pulled into the driveway of their house, and him and Maddie exchanged looks before looking back at Shadow. "For what specifically?"

Shadow's ears were flat against his head again. He looked quite sad and guilty. "For attacking you, I ... I thought you were Walters. He's the one who froze me for 50 years. I was just so angry ... and I wanted him to hurt. He didn't even let me finish saying goodbye." He hated how his voice cracked at the end. He wanted to curl up in a ball, but his leg wouldn't allow it.

Sonic pulled him into another hug, or as much of one as he could with Shadow's left leg also resting on his lap. Maddie slowly put a hand on his head. Shadow flinched a little but didn't protest. She softly pet behind one of his ears, like she does with Sonic when he's upset.

Tom finally spoke, "I hold no grudge against you Shadow, you're just a kid like Sonic. And I can't say I wouldn't have also punched Walters if I went through something like that. Besides, you also saved the world, which includes us. Now, let's get you inside."

Shadow just hid his face into the blanket. "I don't deserve your kindness." His voice cracked more. He really really didn't want to cry, but he was so tired of it all, tired of fighting and hating himself, tired of being so cold. Just everything. It was becoming harder to keep it together. He was absolutely exhausted. He could feel himself shaking more, and he hoped they just assumed it was only because he was cold still.

Maddie pet his head again, "You know, the friend you lost would probably want us to be kind to you. And for you to accept it. So let us."

This time, when he tried to talk, he couldn't find his voice. A small sob escaped instead, and he covered his head with the blanket, which caused Sonic to hug him as tight as he could. They were right, Maria would want someone to help him. It was just hard to accept. He needed a minute to calm himself, but he eventually allowed Maddie to pry him away from Sonic and carry him inside.

He tried to protest being carried like a child, but she would not allow it, not with a broken leg anyway. So he accepted it and rested his head on her shoulder, sniffling a few times as quietly as he could.

Once inside, Sonic got his other shoe off, and what was left of a very dirty burned sock, and placed both shoes by the door next to his. Knuckles and Tails looked up from the couch, and Tom shushed them before they could react too loudly. Even though Shadow was mostly covered by the blanket, the other two instantly recognized the fur pattern on his legs and feet. Tails ears were back, clearly concerned about how bad the one leg looked.

"Is that the more impressive hedgehog? Is he alright?" Knuckles finally asked.

Maddie held Shadow tighter when she felt him tense up, "Yes, and he'll be fine, mostly cold, I think. I'm going to take him upstairs for a bath and a proper look at his leg. Go help Tom with dinner since he still has his arm in a sling. He'll explain everything. You too, Sonic."

"Yeah, let me tell you both how Tom clearly shouldn't be driving yet and literally ran Shadow over with the truck."

Maddie could hear them bicker about it while she walked upstairs. She set Shadow down on the bathroom counter while she got the bath started. His eyes were still a bit wet, but he looked calmer now, just tired. She held some bottles up to him, "Which of these scents do you like better?"

Shadow seemed surprised, "I get to pick? Why?"

Maddie looked concerned at his confusion, "I want you to like it. No one wants to smell like something they don't like."

He slowly sniffed the bottles, and finally picked the lavender ones. He wrapped the blanket tighter around himself while she undid the makeshift splint and checked his leg.

"If you'll trust me, I would like to get this x-rayed tomorrow. Sonic can stay with you. You might need a cast"

"You don't need to, just splint it so the bone is straight, and it should fully heal in a few days as long as I eat something."

She sighed, "I shouldn't believe you, but nothing would surprise me these days with you bunch. However, if there is no improvement in a few days, I'm taking you. Now, let's get you warmed up. You're still shaking."

"Yeah, well, I went from nearly burning as I fell through your atmosphere to plumetting into a snow-covered mountain."

Maddie paused for a moment, "You fell all the way down to earth? How are you not burned and more injured ... how are you even alive." She began to palpate him, discovering some cracked ribs.

"Stop, I'm fine. The burns healed already. Bones just take longer. ... and I'm not sure, honestly. ... I wasn't expecting to live."

She really didn't like how disappointed he seemed to be over being alive. Might be time to finally look for a therapist. She brushed the thought aside and picked him up again to help him get into the tub. "Well, I'm glad you're alive. You can't make up for what you did if you're dead. And Sonic would have kept being sad."

He slowly sank down into the water, covering himself up to his chin. At least he looked more relaxed now. Finally he asked, "Sonic was sad? Over me?"

"Of course. He hasn't stopped talking about you. I'm pretty sure he has some sort of crush on you. It's cute." She began to wash his quills and detangle them. She was a pro at this after having to help Sonic with his so often.

Shadow chose to ignore the part about Sonic liking him like that. Clearly, this woman was just stupid. "Yeah, well, he's weird." Despite that, he began to purr softly as she washed his quills, at least until something fell out of his quills and startled them both. He slowly lifted a green gemstone out of the water.

Maddie laughed, "Oh my god, that's where the last one has been. They've been looking for days. Knuckles will bear hug you when he finds out it's safe"

Shadow winces, "Uh, maybe the blue idiot can give it to him then."

She went back to detangling his quills and scrubbing his head, "You know, you'll have to get used to them since you'll be staying here now"

"I didn't make that decision," he tried to sound more serious, but his voice turned into a purr and clicking noise when she scratched his head again. He looked a bit surprised by the noise. Before Maddie could say anything, he looked her dead in the eyes, "Do not call me cute again."

She smiled at him, "Fine, I won't. You're definitely a hedgehog like Sonic though. Also where would you stay if not here? This is the safest place from GUN. Any weird energy outputs, and we just can blame it on Sonic. Unless you want to live outside. During the winter. It gets very cold here." She knew if he was like Sonic, he hated being cold.

Shadow shivered at the thought, "Fine ... why you insist after I almost killed your husband, though, is still strange. You're all strange" He really was starting to think they all had brain damage.

"You're not a bad kid, Shadow. You're just a teenager. A very traumatized one, I assume, from what I've been told. You deserve a second chance. Besides, Sonic wouldn't forgive us if we didn't try. He could have easily ended up like you."

"I guess." It was clearly going to take some work to get him to feel like he deserves kindness. He just rested his head on the side of the tub while she finished washing his back, then she let him do the rest.

Once finished, she wrapped him in a big towel and placed him back by the sink. She put a proper splint on his leg and blowdried and brushed him as much as he would allow before bringing him downstairs where Tom was finishing up dinner. Tails and Knuckles were sitting at the table. Sonic had finished telling them what happened and to be nice to Shadow (mostly aimed at Knuckles), and they agreed. They were also glad Shadow was alive. Knuckles commented that he deserved a second chance like he had gotten. Although he wanted a rematch once the black hedgehog was healed.

When Maddie walked into the dining room still holding him, Tom couldn't help but laugh, "Wow, he gets even fluffier than Sonic does."

She smiled at him, "Right? And look at these cute little ear tufts too. He's more Maine Coon cat than he is hedgehog."

Shadow scowled as one of his ears twitched, "Why does everyone keep comparing me to a cat." Maria used to do it too. He never understood.

She ignored him and sat him down on a chair beside Tails. Sonic ran up and put a stool under his leg. Then he suddenly grabbed one of Shadow's hands.

"Well, these don't help the cat comparisons. jeez, these claws are crazy sharp. We're filing those later so I don't get shredded in my sleep."

Before Shadow could respond to him, Tails suddenly was much closer to him. Too close. "Hi Shadow. Good to see you're alive. How do your shoes work? Do you want me to fix them up? They look so cool." He had been inspecting Shadow's shoes that Sonic put by the door earlier.

Shadow looked surprised and a little overwhelmed. But slowly, he tilted his head, "Why do you want to?"

Knuckles caught on to Shadow's body language and pulled Tails back properly into his seat, and gave him a look.

"Oh, sorry," he laughed, his tails swishing behind him. "And I dont know, they look important to you, I didn't see any power source though, how do you hover?"

"They are, and I power them with my chaos energy. I still don't understand why you want to help me though." Kindness was definitely going to take a while to accept.

Tails just smiled at him, "Well, Sonic trusts you, so I will too. And you saved us all. So you can't be that bad." Knuckles nodded in agreement.

Shadow just blinked at him, "I kicked you and threw a car at you."

Knuckles laughed, "That was nothing for me and my muscles. Besides, when I first met the fox, he hit me with a police car. It's practically tradition at this point."

Shadow looked surprised, "why did you?"

"I was trying to kill the less impressive hedgehog." He laughed as he said this and pointed at Sonic. "The fox was protecting him."

"Dude, just say our names. You know our names. And that's nothing. Tom shot me when we first met." Sonic finally took a seat on the other side of Shadow.

Shadow just slowly looked over at Tom, who was carrying some food in.

"With a tranquilizer gun! No bullets. Jeez. Sonic, please stop leaving that part out."

Sonic just laughed.

"The fuck is wrong with your family Sonic." Shadow finally commented, he looked bewildered.

They all laughed despite his use of language again. That was a conversation for a different day. Tom put a hand on Shadows shoulder, "Well, maybe now you can see why I dont hold a grudge for you punching me. I'm pretty used to this kind of chaos."

Shadow still thought they were all crazy, but he stopped fighting it. Maddie got him to eat a little pasta, and Shadow just observed them all laughing and talking with one another.

Sonic finally spoke to Shadow again after a bit when he noticed him looking lost, ear twitching again as he was listening to everyone. "Oh, uh, Shads. I noticed you tilt your head whenever you're confused about something. That also doesn't help the cute thing. Even I think that's a bit adorable. Why is your ear doing that?"

Shadow scowled and swatted at him when he tried to touch his ear, "Stop calling me cute, I am not cute. I am the ultimate lifeform."

Maddie burst out laughing before stopping, "Oh my god, oh. ... Tom, I think he's serious. Of course you are honey."

Shadow growled, but she didn't seem phased. "You know, if you are the ultimate lifeform, then you would be the best at everything. Including being adorable. Yes?"

Shadow slowly relaxed and stared at her for a moment, seriously contemplating her words. "I suppose I can't argue with that."

Sonic huffed and faked being offended, "Are you implying that you think he's cuter than me? Mom."

Knuckles laughed loudly, "Well, he clearly is the superior hedgehog."

Sonic looked actually offended now, and everyone laughed. Even Shadow smiled a little.

After dinner, Shadow got Knuckle's attention and slowly handed him the missing emerald, "I was told this belongs to you."

Knuckles looked beyond surprised and thrilled, "The last one! It is not lost forever after all! I shall visit Wade tomorrow and reform the Master Emerald." He went to hug Shadow.

Shadow quickly put his hands up, "No, no, broken ribs. Hug Sonic instead in my place"

Before Sonic could register what was happening, he was pulled into a bone crushing hug. Literally you could hear them cracking. Sonic groaned. "Please let me go, I'm not dying like this."

Knuckles laughed and put him down, "Don't be so dramatic blue hedgehog. This is the best news we have had all week! We can continue our pact to protect the emerald. Thank you, Shadow."

Shadow gave him a small smile before Sonic interrupted, "What you can't call me by my name. Why are you so weird."

Before Knuckles could respond, Shadow got off the chair, using it to support his weight so he could keep his leg off the ground. He ruffled Sonic's quills and then flicked his forehead, "He probably does it because you get so worked up. You're an easy target."

"Wow, rude. I am not. ... wait" Sonic suddenly realized how much shorter Shadow looked. He grinned ear to ear, "Oh my god, am I taller than you? Aren't you older than me?"

Shadow scowled, "Absolutely not ... okay, maybe a little. SHUT UP."

Sonic just laughed as Shadow started to pout. "I told you pouting also makes you look cute. Especially combined with the ear twitch."

Shadow covered his ears and growled at Sonic and Knuckles, who was also laughing a bit.

Maddie and Tom interrupted them before the bickering got any louder, especially since Shadow was starting to spark. "Okay, enough picking on each other for one night, go settle in upstairs. Knuckles carry Shadow. ... gently."

"I will make sure not to make his injuries worse."

Shadow protested, but he couldn't exactly outrun anyone right now and had to accept his fate. Once upstairs, everyone talked a bit and played some board games. Sonic even kept his word and forced Shadow to let him file down his nails a little bit.

When it was time for bed, Sonic insisted that Shadow share his, especially when he found out Shadow had never slept on an actual bed before. Shadow was pretty sure Sonic just wanted to keep a hold of him so he wouldn't chaos control himself out of there in the middle of the night. He did consider it, but he also felt safe and warm for the first time in a very long time. And he let himself finally rest.

___________________

(Little note, the sneezing thing I got from someone talking about how in one of the earlier sonic games, it was strongly suggested that sonic had some sort of danger sense. It manifested as him sneezing right before something was about to hurt/kill him. I thought that was really funny and cute so I added it in here)

[covet-lovett]

Just a coincidence? - Kitaroo

Kangaroo x self insert

word count: 752

~~~~~~

“fuck..” Kat groaned as she leaned her head back against the front door of her apartment. It had been a long, tedious day of classes so she felt immense relief to be home. She pushed herself off the door and dropped her bag down with her kicked off shoes. Kat looked around the small apartment to see the wake of Kangaroo’s morning. She had left pretty early that morning. He had oatmeal. He left his dirty bowl on the counter. She moved it to the sink with a sigh. His pants were on the floor halfway down the hallway.. she didn’t even want to know. 

“Hey..” she said through a sigh as she gently tapped the glass of her snake’s terrarium. The little guy booped the glass with its turned up nose causing Kat to smile. “At least you had a good day…” Kat rubbed her eyes before deciding a warm shower would do her good after the day she had. 

Being home alone, she stripped off her clothes on the way to her bedroom. She grabbed a random shirt of hers and yoinked a pair of Kangaroos sweatpants before heading towards the bathroom. After setting down the clothes folded on the counter, she checked the time on her phone. Only 6pm. Kangaroo wouldn’t be home for another 3 hours at least. Stretching and looking in the mirror at her dark circles she sighed again. 

Turning the knob, the water sputtered on from the rickety shower head. Her foot was halfway through its step inside when her phone dinged. The specific ding she had set for Kangaroo. She was too curious to wait until after her shower to read it. Kang almost never texted her during work. 

The message read “without me :(?” 

She froze. Kangaroo had a habit of barging into her showers.. when he was home. He was at work right now. He shouldn’t know.. he couldn’t know that she was about to shower. Her heart beat quickened as her eyes darted around warily. She put her phone down without answering the message. She was spooked. Her hand groped backwards for her towel that she promptly wrapped around her body. She didn’t know why. This was foolish wasn’t it? It had to be a coincidence.. right? A crazy coincidence. A wary, dry chuckle left her lips. “You’re being crazy..” 

She trusted her boyfriend. She thought. But did she really? If she truly trusted her boyfriend, why was she searching the bathroom high and low for a hidden camera.  Why was so paranoid she was checking the toothbrush bristles. She found nothing. Nothing. That was good right? …Right?

It wasn’t enough. She got locked in her anxiety and more time passed than she realized. She was just standing in the hallway in her towel when the front door opened. 

“Guess who’s back luv~” A cheery tone echoed through the cramped apartment. Kangaroos eyes met her figure in the hallway with a chuckle. “Whatcha doin there? Is the Kat seeing ghosts~” He poked her upper chest. When she didn’t answer, his smirk dropped a bit. “Hey- come back to me red” He tapped her cheek and she blinked rapidly. “Yeah- I’m fine” Kangaroo scoffed and yanked a strand of her hair. “Yeah right. Cause standing in a towel in the hallway screams fine” 

Kat pulled her hair away. “I showered.. that’s why the towel” 

“Oh bullshit. Your hair is too straight to have just showered. You’d have your little ringlets by now.” Kangaroo stepped forward, causing her to lean against the wall. Kat huffed. “Fine. I got distracted.” She pondered whether or not to continue. “Just..” Her eyes met his. “How did you know I was about to shower?” 

“Huh?” Kangaroo quirked his full brow. Kat slid to the side so she could get away from the wall. “The text. How did you know..” 

Kangaroos smirk looked sinister for a split second before he burst out with laughter. “The text? A coincidence. I assumed it was hard day and knowing you~ you can’t resist the warm water” Kat’s lips stuttered and Kangaroo continued. “What? You accusing me of setting up cameras luv?” 

Kat’s eyes darted to the side then to his face. “Well.. it..” While she stuttered, his gaze looked in the bathroom behind her, he could tell she went on a little ransack looking for a camera. He pressed a kiss to her stuttering lips and gently pushed her backwards into the bathroom. 

“All I’m hearing is you never got your shower~” 

[vershautece]

Now girlfriend I am gonna need a list of all possible kinks and things of sorts you think Luigi is into, DROP THE LISTTTTT 🩷🩷

ok queen i literally never like to project my own fantasies onto someone if i can’t realistically picture them doing it irl so these thoughts are just my opinion, taking an educated guess lol!!

size kink: phd tweet this speaks for itself ;) and he just exudes that energy hehe u guys get me (also u all know those 2 pics where u can see his bulge even though he’s soft :3)

on here we decided he has a breeding kink which could Definitely be farfetched but who careeees we’re never gonna know for sure what he’s into so whatever :) we started discussing that bc of his tweets about falling birth rates in japan, he’s brought it up more than once and in one tweet said sex needs to be more encouraged bc the falling birth rates are a cultural issue. thennn there’s also the fact that he seems quite traditional regarding relationships just based off his personality, i can imagine him courting a girl properly and wanting a committed relationship which is why i think he’s never been in one, bc he’s never felt that deep connection; he feels rlly hard, so i don’t think he’s found his person yet - SO what im getting at is that i think he would then be quite traditional in dating to marry and then having kids, definitely at least 3, even more so bc he comes from a huge traditional italian family :)) and there u go that’s why i think he might have a breeding kink and in like all of my writing he cums inside every time😭

i also think he is most definitely a switch in bed, he’s so cocky but is def a sub at times bc he 100% didn’t lose his virginity until at least college haha and he’s so soft and sweet like that boy just loves to be underneath u :3 i also think he prefers passionate sex over quickies, maybe not in his college era but definitely now, bc like i said it’s literally confirmed that he’s a veryyyy emotional sort of person like he feels so deeply and i know he’d be obsessed with making love to u more than any other type of sex

i’ve said before that anything non-vanilla he would do with u only if u asked first, like something as simple as choking he’d be like wtf no way bc he wouldn’t wanna hurt u but once he starts doing it to u and anything else u ask him to do (obvs within reason lmao) it would turn him on so much knowing how much u like it

which brings me on to my next point, and prob my final point bc i can’t remember if there is anything else i should mention! but yes the fact that he is 100% a munch :) it turns him on more than anything to know that you’re feeling amazing and that he’s the one making u feel like that, so he’d spend hours between your legs pleasuring u - & he had a couple of female pleasure books on his goodreads list (he hadn’t read them yet) so there’s that :p also i know with him being a nerdy science guy he would definitely love knowing all the different ways of making a girl cum, he’d research so much shit lol

& we all know he’s not kinky at all but he’s passionate as hell, he’ll be rough with u but in a passionate and intimate way, not any degrading shit ofc lol. and he will definitely pound u into the mattress if he’s in a bad mood or if you’ve been teasing him :))

oh and i forgot to say he 100% talks u through it, he’s cocky and intelligent there is no way he doesn’t :D

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror............Part XV

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length)

Summary: The chaos surrounding the death of Macrinus keeps Letha and Geta apart much longer than either of them expected. Geta has an urgent question for Letha.

Warnings: make-up sex, and a shitty understanding of ancient Roman procedures around rule, 18+ only.

Word Count: 3.6k

Part 15 of 15!

[ Part XIV ]

Series Masterlist

A/N: I would like to preface this by saying thank you for reading this self-indulgent slop. I hope you got some small amount of enjoyment out of it. Your comments along the way kept me engaged enough to actually finish this. It's the first thing I've ever started writing that I actually feel like I finished. There's so much I could've added to this post-reunion that this would've never been done. I could always embellish at a later date if anyone wanted it. I'm also a bit sad to finish this because I don't have anything to look forward to now. Thank you for your time and attention. It means a lot.

Also, mea lux is 'my light' I believe.

Almost two weeks passed before Letha laid eyes on Geta again.

It was prevented by a combination of things. There had been so much to deal with after the incident in the gardens. Geta had been embroiled in meetings, debating things Letha wasn’t privy to. There was a ceremony for Ancus, to honor him for his efforts to protect his Emperors. And at every party, everyone was so desperate to show face to their Emperors, to remind them of their loyalty in wake of the exposure of Macrinus’s plot. 

Though she wasn’t invited to any official meetings or ceremonies, there were situations where she could’ve sought Geta out at these fetes and events. But she didn’t. She was scared to have that conversation that needed to happen. 

She knew she was still treated as a guest in the palace. More like a fixture, really, available to distract Caracalla whenever the burden of rule grew too tiresome with more poetry, read under the shade of a tree in the gardens, Ancus always nearby. But aside from that, she felt quite restless. 

It’s not as if she expected things to go back to how they were, but she didn’t think it would be this hard to put her thoughts together. Leaving the gardens that evening, neck still sore, she was imagining how she’d look over at Geta the next morning and fervently apologize, for all of it. She’d tell him she would understand if he sent her away, and he would assure her that he wouldn’t dream of it.

But the next morning she couldn’t leave her bed, paralyzed by this new fear. She’d gotten a chance to see what her relationship with Geta could be, she didn’t know what she would do if it was not that. And the possibilities he’d promised her most certainly couldn’t and wouldn’t happen anymore. She stewed in the hesitance, the uncertainty, until she became convinced that it absolutely would be different. No matter what different meant, she was sure it wouldn’t be good.

And so it continued, Letha skipping mealtimes that used to be routine, bumping into servants gossiping on her way into the kitchens to eat. Occasionally she heard her name on their tongues, her appearance causing them to freeze as if Letha were Medusa herself. Not wanting to make a scene, she’d just duck right back out, resolving to return later.

Caracalla assured her his brother was just being kept very, very busy in the wake of the subterfuge and death of Macrinus, but she couldn’t help but feel like it was a little intentional. 

What did you expect, honestly?

She didn’t know why she was still allowed to wander the palace, as if she were back to being a guest. There were no guards posted outside her room, and for the last week she spent her evenings in the gardens, observing the moon, asking no one in particular what happens next.

She wasn’t naive, she knew Tegula didn’t trust her. And nothing spread faster than a salacious rumor. They weren’t so foolish as to speak poorly of their Emperor, so they resorted to tarnishing her reputation instead. She was a witch, had steered Macrinus to his end, was desperate to attach herself to the divinity the Emperors were entitled to.

It was ridiculous. If she had such powers, she sure wouldn’t have suffered all this. 

It was all just more fuel for her suppositions, perpetuating her unhappy cycle until she felt like it would be better if she just snuck out one night. She could become a ghost story. But against all odds, she still carried hope that the next day would be different. 

As for Geta, well, Geta was trying to prevent an economic collapse. Some part of him thought Letha might think poorly of him if he let the empire fall around them because he would rather be locked up in his rooms, curled up in her. Because that was what he wanted. But he had a duty, a responsibility to steer this monstrous empire in a direction he could have heirs in. Perhaps the danger had put things into perspective.

Listening to the senators describe just how involved Macrinus had been in arming their voracious armies became more and more painful as they dove into the minutiae of complex accounts and processes he never bothered to pay attention to before. It was overwhelming. But he knew their efforts were working. Still, there were moments where he’d trade it all for those eyes on him again. 

What little free time he had was spent trying to avoid Letha, because he needed hours, days, uninterrupted, for him to spill his heart to her. A few minutes here and there wouldn’t be enough to relay any of the complex emotions he felt. He couldn’t avoid her forever, though, because there was a certain conversation that had to happen. He needed to know where he stood with her before he picked a particular path to tread down.

So that was why he stalked the gardens that evening, waiting for her to appear for her nightly stargazing. And as he watched her spread out the emerald-dyed linen on the grass, he felt calm. Almost peaceful. He let himself forget the weight of all that had happened, the guilt, too. Everything they’d all been through. 

Well, not everything.

“You should have run far away from here,” Geta spoke, disturbing her peace. 

Letha looked over her shoulder, her breath held in her lungs as she appraised him. It almost felt like the first time. The first time she saw him and admitted against her better judgment that he was beautiful.

The moonlight glinted off the laurels and the golden chestplate he still wore, though the ceremony had long been over. His hair was shiny, neat, framing his fair face. His deep, dark eyes, still lined in crimson, were locked on her.

He looked close to divine standing there in the golden armor, easily one of the most opulent things she’d ever seen. He somehow looked taller, broader, in the armor. Untouchable, too. 

It was so late in the evening, he should’ve changed. He should be in bed. Anywhere but here.

No more hiding. 

“I was locked in a cell, I wasn’t running anywhere.”

He surprised her by sitting beside her on the blanket, the ceremonial armor quite uncomfortable to lay down in. He kept his arms slung around his knees, the bindings of the tall sandals flexing over his shins as he joined her in staring up at the large moon.

“What about after?” After Macrinus. “You’ve had no chaperone for well over a week now.”

Letha felt her stomach twist. “I’ve thought about it.”

“But?” Geta supplied, turning his head away from the splendor of the night sky to peer down at her where she laid out beside him. A challenger to the celestial might hanging above.

“You know there would be no point.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I do?”

She rolled her eyes, a treasonous activity if done by any other, but it filled Geta with warmth, bringing the beginnings of a smile to his lips. It all felt so familiar.

“There’s something that is keeping me here. Besides the fact I wouldn’t last a day out there with nowhere to go.”

“I dared to hope,” he admitted, taking her own admission and shoving it into the cracks that were slowly mending, a makeshift mortar.

She looked over at him, a line forming between her brows as she studied him, thinking very hard about what to say next. He reached down with a finger, gently pressing at the center of her brows, pushing away the line.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, the pressure of his closeness becoming overwhelming. 

“No,” he shook his head, moving his finger lower to press to her lips, silencing any further unnecessary apologies. “It is forgiven.”

Letha felt relief, could feel a tear forming at the corner of her eye. But she didn’t want to cry, not now. She recalled her apology muttered into his hair that day. He’d told her ‘no’ then too. 

“Do you still care for me?” he asked, his voice low.

“Of course I do,” she whispered, feeling the tear slide down the side of her face. 

He noticed it, moving his fingertip to wipe away the trail before resting his hand on the ground beside her head. He licked his lips, staring at her, all his weight bearing down, as if daring himself to collapse onto her. 

As much as he might have enjoyed frolicking beneath the stars, removing this armor was not a graceful job, even for two. 

“I want to show you something.” He pushed off the ground and sat up, the haze of him dispersed. She made herself sit up, kept her eyes on him as he stood up. He could feel a swarm of bees in his stomach moving angrily as he held a hand out for her to help her to her feet.

There was a split second of indecision and he nearly faltered, but her tight grip on his hand was a balm, immediately settling his nerves. As she leaned down to gather up the blanket, he tugged her hand, urging her to leave it. 

Geta  lifted the small chest off his desk and carried it over to where Letha sat on the side of the chaise in his room. It sank into the plush seat and she looked up at him, surprised. 

“It’s quite heavy.”

“I can manage just fine,” he smiled, his teasing tone returning.

It was so easy to get caught up in his magnetism. She wondered if he knew he possessed such a thing.

“Go on,” he urged. “Open it.”

She obeyed, pushing up the lid, exposing a rich ruby interior, the box created to house this one ornate bauble. Laurels, golden and sparkling. There were small, dazzling red gems hidden among the leaves here and there.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, reaching in to run a finger along one of the gilded leaves. “Seems a bit small for you,” she admitted.

“It is,” he confirmed. 

“Well I think Caracalla will love it,” she smiled, lowering the lid. “It’s a thoughtful gift.”

Geta reached down, pulling it back open. There was a look in her eyes that gave him pause, all the smiles and teasing forgotten. As if she knew already what he was about to say. To ask.

“It’s not for my brother.”

His words sent an icy chill down the center of her back, forcing her to sit up a bit straighter. He was already moving away, pacing.

“I have been busy, Letha,” he admitted. “I’ve spent more time with the senators than I can possibly stand. And in exchange for those long hours, I got this.”

“Geta, I—”

“Don’t feel like you need to say yes right now. Just promise me you will think on it. I know these last couple of weeks have been difficult, we’ve had a hell of a time trying to navigate—”

Letha stood and walked over to him as he rambled. She reached up and curled her fingers around the collar of the chestplate, pulling him down by it, pressing her lips to his. 

Geta recognized the action immediately, bringing one of his hands up to cover hers where she held the armor, moaning against her lips. He pulled her in by the small of her back with his free hand. Her necklace clattered against the metal plate until it was muffled by the press of her against him. 

He could not get near enough air into his lungs. He felt dizzy, incoherent, his blood at once diluted but also thickened, leaving his limbs feeling heavy with a honeyed sludge passing through his veins. The pressure of her hauling him down to her eager mouth by the bronze plate persisted in his brain, in his gut, and he suspected he would relive it for the rest of time. 

“Letha,” he breathed, his palm pressing to her heated cheek. “You can take time,” he offered, though he would be lying if he said he was satisfied with this and nothing more.

“I’ve taken it,” she replied quickly, releasing the armor. 

Before the dissatisfaction crept in, he felt her fingers at his side, brushing the underside of his arm that he immediately lifted. She worked at the buckle, pulling the leather free before moving down to the woven golden string keeping both halves together. 

Once his brain caught up to hers, he pulled at the cords holding the pauldrons over his shoulders, the both of them picking up speed as an unspoken sense of urgency grew in the silence. It all hit the floor with a loud clattering, the pteruges joining it not long after. 

Free from the weight of the heavy armor, Geta reached for Letha’s neck, pulling her into him, groaning against her lips as he attempted to make up for lost time.

As he held her, he realized she was working herself out of her dress. It was bunched up on her shoulders by the time he looked down. The next chance she got, the two of them needing air, she threw it off over her head. 

“I would have gotten to that,” he breathed, allowing himself to look her over. 

“Like I said, I’ve taken it.” she spoke with intention. He felt it low in his belly.

She got to spend only a moment more on her feet before he collected her in his arms and carried her to the bed. She let out a laugh as she sank into the plush arrangement of silks and pillows. He stared down at her, feeling that blooming of warmth in his chest that only she gave him.

 “What are you waiting for?”

As the words left her lips, Geta threw off the white tunic and joined her, crawling up her body to seal his lips to hers, finally allowing the weight of him to press her down into the bed. He had missed this. Her skin, already hot beneath his hands, her movements only drawing him in further, seeking his touch, his lips.

It had been a long couple of weeks.

He felt her bring a leg up around his hip and he reached for it, fingers digging into her thigh as he rutted against her. The ragged moan that left his throat said more about his desperation than anything else.

The tension in his arm trying to hold him up off of her was too much to ignore. He turned onto his side, clinging to her thigh, slowly bringing her with him until he was on his back. As she settled in this new position, she looked down where they met, a bashful smile on her face.

He couldn’t deny the wonder that overtook him at the sight of her above him, the way her mussed hair hung around her face, a few strands now loose. She was radiant, even in the night. Her nervous smile took hold in his chest, and he knew then that he would make it his goal to continue to find ways to draw that same smile from her. 

“I missed you,” she admitted, eyes cast down to the expanse of his torso beneath her hands. “I thought we might never…”

“Letha, you possess me.” Her eyes widened, her body frozen in his hands. “I think that was why it hurt so much to be separated from you.” He shifted his hips, forcing heat into her cheeks. “And I owe you an apology.”

“It is forgiven,” she insisted.

He shot her a look. “I could have lost you. It was cruel and impulsive.”

“We are fortunate your brother had the good sense to intervene, then.”

“Please, do not speak of my brother right now,” he pleaded, squeezing her thighs. 

She laughed at him, covering his hands with hers. “Let me distract you,” she offered, bringing his hands up higher, his fingers skimming her belly before she pressed his palms into her breasts.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, his hands squeezing her soft skin. 

She ground herself down on him, using him, the sight filling him with desire for her. How he ever got pleasure from anyone else, he could never know. This was all he ever needed. He could only thank the gods, the fates, whoever brought her to him. 

She surprised him as she swung her leg over him, leaving him there in the bed, a pathetic whine leaving his throat as the air hit his slick-wet cock.

Letha felt a bit unsteady on her feet as she walked through his room. She was ready to show him that she would take on the mantle, the responsibility of keeping him sated and happy. 

Possessed him? She would never get over it. 

She found the chest and lifted the lid, reaching down for the delicate crown. Even in the dim light it sparkled. Her prize in hand, she set it on her head and nearly sprinted back to Geta.

He still laid in the middle of his bed, a vision of long limbs and pale flesh. At the sound of her feet padding on the floor he craned his neck, his large brown eyes passing over her, lingering on her head, where the crown sat precariously.

His full lips parted in a grin. “Eager to fulfill your duty, Empress?” he questioned, his voice low with desire. He held his hands out for her, helping her return to her place astride his hips. 

“Do you like it?” she asked a bit bashfully, her hands leaving his to steady the crown in her hair.

He let out a deep breath. “Mea lux,” he smiled, reaching up to pull her down to his chest, “you spoil me.” He stole a kiss from her lips before he reached up to adjust the crown so it would sit more securely on her head. She leaned into every touch, relishing the sensation of his large hands on her skin, skimming, gripping, squeezing.

She was so overwhelmed by him that she didn’t notice him preparing to shove into her, her only warning a quick swipe of him through her slick. They let out matching sighs as he filled her, like this was all they needed. Letha sat up, a hand pressed against his abdomen for support as she reacclimated to him. 

“W-What exactly are the duties of an Empress, Geta?” she asked. His hips snapping up forcing a wanton moan to leave her lips. 

His flush extended from his face and ears down to his chest. “Besides the obvious?”

She nodded, shifting her hips, moving on instinct, eager for relief. 

He grunted, letting his head fall back. “Well,” he began, bucking his own hips up slightly to reward her. “You will sit with me in all the boring meetings. We will suffer together.” 

“Mhmm,” she moaned, nodding. “I can do that.”

“You will advise me, keep me in line,” he grunted. “Tell me when I’m being a fool.”

“I will relish every chance I get,” she grinned, chasing her pleasure.

“Don’t look so excited,” he chuckled, biting his lip. 

She felt her thighs burning, but she didn’t dare stop, the coil pulling ever tighter. “What else?”

“You will guard my heart, Letha,” he breathed, his eyes meeting hers.

Her hips stilled. 

Geta flipped them, bringing his face down to hers. She ran her hands up his sides, over his shoulders, tangling in his hair as he kissed her. She relaxed beneath him, her legs wrapping around his hips as he drove into her at a steady pace. 

“Can you do that?” he asked, meeting her eyes. 

“Haven’t I been already?” 

He blinked down at her, absorbing her words. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she echoed, pulling his face down to hers.

In the kiss, he quickened his pace. She felt like she was falling apart in his hands, unable to form more words. He reached down between them, his fingers finding home in the apex of her thighs, his nose brushing against hers as he urged her to her release.

She clung to him desperately, choked gasps leaving her throat as he pressed his lips against it. She clenched around him, the coil finally snapping and giving way for her hard-earned release. He pushed her through it, her hands squeezing his hips in an effort to slow him down, too sensitive. 

He sat up, pulling her to him by her hips, grunting as he pounded into her.

“Is giving you an heir part of my duties as well?”

He laughed. “Not a requirement, but–” He cut himself off, burying himself in her as he fell on top of her, pulsing into her. “–a perk.”

He settled on top of her, his lips pressing to hers before he buried his face in the side of her neck. She held him close, running fingers up and down his back, enjoying the warmth of him despite all the sweat. 

“I would stay like this forever,” she sighed, trying to fight off the exhaustion she felt. The last thing she wanted to do was sleep now that she had him back.

“I have no pressing business for two days, mea lux. You’re not leaving this room,” he spoke into her skin. “And when we do, we will be wed.”

She felt nervous, but optimistic. “Should we not have waited until after for this then?”

He lifted his head, his warm eyes settling on hers. Full of love and mirth. “Oh, no, dear Letha. I believe you said you have already taken your time to think,” he winked, “and I would not deprive my Empress of anything.”

[ fin ]

Thank you for reading!

[yerimbrit]

overture : k. haerin

synopsis: even in doubt, you'll always have haerin.

# : pairing ! nonidol!kang haerin x fem!reader

# : tags ! classical music!au, haerin is a pianist, reader is a violinist, fluff, childhood friends to potentially something more, i might actually make this into a series but who knows, this could also technically be read as a 5+1 style fic but idk, domesticity

# : wordcount ! 1.6k

# : warnings ! none

"let's play."

those were the very first words that you've spoken to kang haerin, ever.

the girl had just moved into your neighborhood, to the house next door, and her mom had brought her over to your door for introductions. she was shy, even six year old you could tell, the way she hid behind her mom. once she peeked out in curiosity, that's when you uttered those two words.

her mouth hung agape, and hesitantly, she nodded. while your moms were chatting away, you decided to continue the conversation.

"i'm y/n, what's your name?" you held your hand out, smiling and proudly showing off the top row that was missing a tooth.

she didn't take your hand—only stared at it—but she quietly mumbled a, "haerin," before pointing at your mouth. "what happened to your tooth?"

you held your mouth open, pointing at it with your own finger, "this?" she nodded. "oh, i tripped and it fell out!"

it took more than a few moments for haerin to process your words, but after it clicked, tears started welling up in her eyes. panicked, you look up to your mom for help, but she was too busy getting to know haerin's mom to notice. suddenly, a lightbulb lit up above your head, and your eyes sparkled.

the girl would soon feel an enveloping warmth around her, a hug, and her eyes widened.

"there, there, don't cry! my dad always hugs me when i cry, so maybe this'll help... wait!" you pulled away, another panicked look overtaking your childish features, "sorry! mom says i shouldn't touch others without asking first!"

once again, haerin took a few moments to process what had just happened, and you really thought you were done for, because this was taking longer than the last time.

that was until a noise made its way out of her lips. then another, and then she was giggling, and laughing, and the cat-eyed girl was now smiling, and you just knew that you had to cherish this bond and keep it safe for the rest of your life.

a few months passed and you started school together, managing to get placed in the same homeroom class. you were stuck by the hip, glued together—no one could tear you apart. even when you were out socializing, you always made sure to introduce your friends to haerin, although she would stay quiet for most of the conversations.

it was during the talent show the following year when both you and haerin found a shared dream. an older kid, maybe three or so years above, was playing a solo of a riedling piece, but what stood out the most to you was the addition of another older kid on the piano.

you wanted to play the violin with haerin at your side. and it was a good thing you knew that she felt the same way, you could see it in the way her eyes glimmered while watching the performance, because you would've begged and begged for her to take piano lessons so you could play together.

and so upon returning home, you tugged on your mother's sleeve with pleading eyes and asked for a violin.

"let's play."

you approached haerin, who was sitting at the upright piano that her father had enthusiastically bought a few months prior, when his daughter timidly asked for something out loud for the first time. she had never asked with her words, but she asked with her eyes, and her father had never been so relieved that his daughter was able to voice her wants.

it had only been four months since you and haerin started learning how to play, and you were impatient. you wanted to play with haerin.

"okay."

of course, the first few tries were a sad jumble of notes, creating dissonance and harmonies out of sync. this wouldn't discourage you. you were determined to play.

and after an hour of nonstop playing and readjusting, you and haerin's heart and soul emerged in an almost perfect ring.

you turned around to face the cat-eyed girl, a big grin on your face as you lowered your quarter size violin by the neck. she turned to you, a small smile also stretched across her lips, and while her expression was mild compared to yours, her eyes told you everything.

let's play again.

"let's play," you huffed, your voice less childish than it was six years ago, when you were seven and too innocent. "we have to get it right!"

"i-" haerin started, but paused. she was never one to say no to you—a blessing and a curse, at least for her. "okay."

you resumed playing, only to slide your pinky too far down and play a screeching high note, piercing your left ear and haerin's right one. she rested her hands on her thighs, taking a deep breath and glancing over to you. "y/n, i really think that-"

"again!" you raised your voice, and haerin slightly flinched. you weren't one to raise your voice. in this realization, you widened your eyes, gently set your violin back down in its case, and sat down next to your best friend. "i'm sorry. i've been so stressed lately."

she didn't say anything, only reaching over to push your head down. it wasn't harsh, but only just—and your head would be resting on her shoulder where it belonged.

"i'm sorry, 'rinnie," you mumbled.

she shook her head. "it's okay. let's take a break."

"mhm."

"let's play," you mouthed to haerin, both of you adorning stylish and elegant black concert dresses. now sixteen, years of experience tacked onto your belts, it was the final round of the national violin competition that you'd worked tirelessly to reach.

rachimaninoff's morceaux de salon, op 6. 2: danse hongroise.

nine years of hard work led you to this moment, where you would play and haerin would be your accompaniment. you believed in you and haerin's capabilities, for you had long surpassed the upperclassmen's level that had once inspired your dreams.

the notes you played, the ones you breathed life into, danced around the stage, entwining with the ones haerin set free before running off towards the audience for a chance to show the people your bond.

and yes, they danced, and danced, and danced. just like how you and haerin did when you were younger, when the tv was on and a i got a boy stage was playing. like how you and haerin did when it was pouring rain and haerin pretended she didn't have a collapsible umbrella in her bag because you loved to dance in the rain.

it was beautiful, both the harmony and the melody, and your relationship with haerin. you knew that you loved haerin. there was nothing you were more sure of. not even the mistakes that stuck out to everyone but you, and not even the fact that you loved the rain. and you knew that haerin loved you too. there was no need for words when it came to her.

sweat trailed down your brow as you switched between bowing and pizzicato, and with a glance to your left you saw haerin's brows furrowing in concentration, keeping up with your rapid notes. there was something in the way she played, there always was; she played the piano like she was a magician. there was something so alluring about her movements that you got surprised when she pulled something out of her sleeve. her hands were fluid, like they were one with the black and white keys, and once you got a taste of her magic? there was no going back.

in your own movements, there was emotion. joy, sorrow, anything that you could pull out of the piece. it was as if you entered the mindscape of the centuries old composers, and brought their feelings out in warm strokes of your bow. it immersed the audience, like you were bringing your hand out in an introduction and waiting for them to take it.

these two styles contrasted and complemented each other, and that was what made your performance so good.

the final notes of the piece rang out, and the crowd became silent. the only thing you could hear was the sound of you and your partner's heavy breaths on the stage and the final reverberations of your instruments.

the audience stood, and a deafening ovation was awarded for your combined efforts.

you smiled. you didn't have to turn around to know that haerin was smiling too.

"we're so little in this picture," you giggle, setting the framed photo near the windowsill that sheds light on the grand piano that haerin will play.

the girl hums, bringing a box full of old trinkets and memories to place near the couch. the apartment you now share is more than enough space for you and your partner to reside in. "you looked cuter with that missing tooth."

"oh yeah?" you feign an eye twitch, "why don't i give you one to match?"

"aw, you want to match with me?" she teases, eyes crinkling up in mischief. you playfully raise a fist and then lower it.

bending down to open the box she had just placed, you reach your hand inside and feel your fingertips brushing against a few pieces of paper stapled together, two sets of them. grabbing the sets, you read over the titles and your eyes light up along with your smile. "'rin, look! heart and soul."

haerin walks over, plucks her own set from your hands, and sets it onto the desk above the covered keyboard. she lifts the cover, motions to your encased violin. "y/n," she calls out, softly, warmly.

your smile widens, and you take the violin out of its case, naturally starting to tune it. once you're done, you walk to haerin's right side, and position the bottom edge of the instrument under the left side of your chin and onto your shoulder.

haerin says it before you can. you beam.

"let's play."

a/n : here is the haerin fic as promised, hope you enjoyed! i personally really like this one so i hope you guys feel the same :-)