#is eighty enough proof for you?

[number1daisukefan]

Front Street by Will Wood is such a Mouthwashing-coded song actually

the. the undertones of sa and substance abuse.

THE VIBES.

[bluetimeombre]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲𝐩𝐨𝐨L 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐢e

Deadpool and Wolverine but your lady pool and an absolute SLUT for Wolverine.

[this is a complete self insert with just everything I was thinking about during the movie and since then I’ve watched it three times. It gets better every time. Snippets of the movie, will probably do a part two. SPOILERS!]

part two

Warning/disclaimer: femreaderxwolverine, sexual content, sexual language, offensive language, just being a whore the man, cursing, repeat daddy issues, never proof-read.

After digging up Logan and expecting to find a shirtless and oiled-up Hugh Jackman, you were a little more than disappointed to find the bones and metal. 'Damn it! Shit! Fuck! They Les Mis'd him!'

Eventually, you settled down next to the remains, against the same log that had impaled him. 'That was weird,' you chuckled. 'I'm much calmer now. Look, I'm not a woman in stem but you seem incredibly dead to me. Oh, you sexy lump of bones and metal. I would have let you slide them into me any day.'

'But it's good to see you,' you pat his knee. 'I gotta be honest, I've always wanted to ride you, Logan. Oh, whoops, I meant with you. Ha! Who am I kidding, no I didn't. Just you and me, getting into it. And I mean into it. Every style. Doggy. Sixty-nine. On the kitchen counter to the bathroom. Till my back broke. Yea, we'd have been good together.' You ranted, fantasies flying across your mind too quick to focus on one.

With your red-gloved hand, you jerk the chin. 'G'day mate, there's nothing that'll bring me back to life faster than a big bag of Marvel cash. Ha- I hear you, Hugh. But no, no, no, no you had to go and get all noble and die for real. I could really use your help right now. And a massage. Your big manly hands just rubbing all over me-'

Just as you were about to go into further detail about what you want him to do to you, the sound of portals opening and heavy boots stomping closer alerted you.

Quickly, you pulled the skeleton down on top of you.

'There are two hundred and six bones in the body. Two hundred and seven if i'm watching Van Helsing.'

Que the fucking montage.

You have a mission. Find a Logan to take back with you. First up you end up in a bar, catching an axe as it was thrown at you. 'Logan! I'm gonna need you to come with me.'

The Logan sitting at the bar slowly turned to you. 'Who's asking? ' He slipped from the bar stool to reveal a 5'3 Logan.

You coo. 'Well, who's this little ankle biter. Did you stick the landing little guy? Yes you did, comic-accurate short king. Such a cute little Wolvie.'

The little guy started stalking toward you.

'Que the fucking montage.'

You found a Wolverine for the seventies, or eighties, something close enough to that, one hand missing. 'Oh yea, sexy, you have anchor being written all over you.'

You found patch Logan. 'Oh hello, Patch. Should've worn my white suit.'

You found another old man Logan, sitting solemnly on his front porch. 'Howdy! Oh, I see, you're the daddy issues one. Good to see god has answered my prayers. So soldier, do I need to be a bad girl so you put me over your knee, daddy?'

Another was tied to a cross with red bloody skulls acting as a floor.

One was dressed in a tight yellow and brown suit, walking through the woods. 'Hubba hubba. Classic! Now, you fought the Hulk in this suit, right?' as he snicked his claws out, the green of the beast reflected from behind you. 'I am Marvel Jesus you dull creature and I will not be-'

One, your favourite, was working on a bike in a tight white vest and dark pants. You drooled. 'That's the whole goddamn package right there. You know from behind you look a bit- holy Shit!' he turned, and everything about him was Wolverine. Except for the fact he was Henry fucking Cavil. 'The Cavalry has arrived. The prophecy has been fulfilled. Can I say, sir, sorry, daddy- on behalf of all of humanity, this just feels right! We will treat you so much better than those shit fucks down the street!'

He took the cigar from his mouth, stalking to you. You had never been so aroused in your life. 'You were just leaving'

Giggling and twirling your hair, you hold a hand out, ghosting over his chest. 'Can I just, one- one touch. Oh my god! You're like Superman or something.'

He punched you right into the Logan you needed. Thank you Cavil.

'You two gonna fuck or fight?' asked the bartender. 'Both if i'm lucky,' you said.'

'Oh look at those sexy little jammies, that only took twenty fucking years!'

The trash heap was the last place you wanted to end up, but when you woke to Logan looming over you, a snarl on his face, you sighed in relief.

'Well, hello sexiest man alive, 2008. Wanna give me a hand? Or head?'

He sniked his claws out.

'Kinky! That's new for Disney!'

He dug his claws into your ribs and dragged you up with them. 'Where the fuck are we?'

'I dunno, but it looks a bit mad maxxy to me. But that would be IP infringement right?'

'Fucking jokes,' Logan uttered. He threw you over his leg, your back breaking.

'Till my back breaks, Wolvie!' you yelled out, quickly rolling yourself back up and shaking it off. 'Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I'm a big fan. How about we strip off our suits, take a tumble in the sand, get to know one another you know. Personally, I'm more of a cowgirl fan but I'm willing to do whatever you want baby.'

'You're unbelievable,' he grumbled. It was still sexy. He turned his back to you.

'Oh, I see, is that what you did when your world went to shit!'

He paused, his head slowly turning to you. 'Say again, bub?'

'Oh, I am so horny right now.'

The two of you engaged in a fight, and not the sexy stradling fight that would happen later, but the guns firing, swords slashing kind of fight. that was only interrupted by a familiar voice.

The only other voice that could have you dropping your panties as quick as Wolverine. He was hooded, hidden, but you knew him from your sex dreams.

'Dear god almighty, it's him.'

'Who?' growled Logan.

'Don't be jealous baby, I have two holes for a reason. Don't worry gorgeous, you're gonna encounter some delicate language, a smidge of ass play but we've been prohibited from using cocaine, at least on page.'

He raised a hand. 'They're coming.'

'Who's they?'

The three of you watch cars and trucks drive through the waste, keeping you trapped. There were familiar faces, Pyro, Toad. And Sabertooth.

The mysterious figure jumped down and mastered the superhero landing that had you clapping your hands and jumping up and down.

'Oh my god! Oh my god!' you held onto Logan's shoulder as you jumped while he just glared at you.

'I've got this,' the man takes down his hood, showing the beautiful, hot, strong, handsome, hubba-hubba worthy, Chris Evans.

'Oh yes, you do sexiest man alive, 2022!' you cheer.

'Stay close,' Chris- or Steve- called back to you.

You stalk over to him. 'Aye aye, Captain.' you wrap your arms around his stomach, fingers trailing over his abs. He removes you and you groan, sulking. You walk back to Wolverine and jump onto the side of his hip.

Instinctively he holds your ass which makes you giddy before he realises his mistake and drops you.

'You're not gonna love what happens next,' shouted the captain.

Your jaw dropped from behind the mask. 'Holy shit, omg! No way, he's gonna say it! He's gonna say it!' you flick one of your swords that was still poking out of Wolverine's chest. 'Avengers-'

'Flame on!' Steve- no, Johnny- yelled and took to the skies in a ball of fire.

It was sort of stupid in hind sight as Pyro lifted a hand and extinguished him, causing him to fall from the skies and go crotch first into a billboard.

'No!' you screamed, rushing to him and rolling onto his back to get a look at him. 'No, no baby, stay with me. Let me take a look!' you tried to pull down his pants but Logan literally pulled you off him.

You were tied up with Wolverine on the front side of you and Johnny on the back. When you woke, you giggled. 'Woah, just like my dreams.'

Johnny woke to, lifting his head from your shoulder. 'How long was I out?'

You smirk under the mask, looking back to him. 'Not all of you was asleep, say Cap, is that a Glock in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

'Is that Chuck? Hey Chuck, over here! Hope it's you young, god, we got James Macovy in this?' you yelled as a wheelchair rolled out as you entered the thing that was apparently large Paul Rudd.

'Cassandra Nova. Charles's twin,' the villain introduced herself.

'Holy shit,' said Logan.

'How was anal birth?' you asked.

Cassandra smirked. 'You two are cute. I have a good feeling about this.'

'Right!' you cheered. 'Just wait till this ends, the smut is off the charts!'

She took the chain from around the two of you but you wrapped yourself around Logan's arm, he only grunted at you. He only pushed you off when you started to go off and off about what Johnny said about Cassandra. 'People think i'm a shit talker but this guy-' you chef's kiss. 'Next level!'

Cassandra, with a flick of her hand, shed the skin from him as he fell in a heap of bones and blood and skin,

You cried out, holding onto Logan for dear life. 'My favourite Chris!'

'You silly little bitch, you just got him fucking killed!' yelled Logan.

'Fine, spank me then! P.S. Do you know what he was doing to the budget!'

You were brought to Ultimatum with Cassadra, Oliath or the other British villain, but all you wanted was to save your world, bang Wolvy and go home.

'I didn't want it to come to this, either you help us or my boyfriend here is gonna perform the whole of Greatest Showman as a one-man show,' you warn.

'I'm not her boyfriend,' Logan grumbled.

Cassandra went on a trauma dump that had you groaning. 'Couldn't you just turn into accomplishment like the rest of us?'

But I'm not like the rest of you, except maybe the Wolverine, now we could be truly terrifying together.'

'Sorry lady, he's taken!'

'Not for long,' Cassandra smirked and as Logan attacked, she sent him in the ground and away from you. You only whined at his disappearance, a whine that turned into a groan when Cassandra's fingers entered you in the worst way possible. Through your head.

'What can I see here?' she asked. Cassandra gasped. 'Oh, you are a whore.'

Oh yes, she saw the million filthy things you wanted to do to Logan.

The two of you made it out and to the diner where Logan was intent on finding food and taking rubbing alcohol shots. When he sat across from you, chucking a tin of spam at you, you pulled of your mask.

Logan stilled, looking at you with finally something a little different than anger.

'What?' you asked.

'I thought you'd be ugly under there.'

'No- no, that's the Deadpool. I'm better, and a self-insert.'

The two of you took to walking through the rather nicer side of the waste. You had his hand in yours, swinging it happily like you were a couple before he threatened to chop your hand off.

'You said Logan was a hero, what happened?' he asked.

'You died. Technically you were chest fucked by a tree, but really you just ran out of batteries trying to save this girl- a kid really. Always wanted a man who's good with kids. The shit heels who grew her in a lab called her x-23, but she was just a kid. A smaller, cute and mean version of you. Yep, you saved her, very hero, very demure.'

The two of you were interrupted when a bark sounded over the hill and the BEST DOG EVER ran out to you, ears flapping in the wind, tongue out as it always was. The little boots. The collar. It was Dogpool.

You threw off your mask and picked her up, cuddling her close. 'She's coming with us.'

'No she's not!' he argued.

'Yes, she is!'

'No!'

You pulled out your puppy dog eyes and lifted the dog to your face and slowly the resolve in his face slipped.

'Sorry!' another man ran out, chasing after the dog.

'Fucking shit bag!' you cursed.

It was another dead pool, a good-looking one with long hair.

'What's Ryan Reynolds actually doing here, I thought I replaced him?' you said.

'In here everyone calls me Nicepool.'

'Can we have your dog?' you asked immediately.

He laughed. 'over my dead body!'

You nod, thinking about it but Logan holds out his arm before you can even move.

Whatever Nicepool was saying was you didn't care as you cooed and hugged the dog closer and Logan watched.

Fuck, he was paying attention to you.

'Why are you so nice?' you asked eventually.

'It costs nothing to be kind,' he said.

'Shutting the fuck up is also free,' said Logan.

You bite your lip in his direction. 'God I am so attracted to you right now. This is Logan, he's usually shirtless but he's let himself go since the divorce.'

Finally, the Nicepool took you to his ride to get you and Logan and the dog to the borderlands.

It was a honda fucking odyssey.

Logan wasn't willing to listen to your complaints. 'Get in the fucking car.'

'Make me, Daddy,' you said.

He took one step closer to you and you backed away with the dog. 'No, we're running away!'

Logan forced her from your arms and handed him back to the Nicepool.

'The corn was to dense girl!' you called after her, pouting.

Logan shoves you into the passenger seat while he takes the wheel.

You pull of your mask, hair falling around you like you were in an advert. 'So, what shall we do to pass the time...'

Honda Odyssey coming soon, that my friends, is called edging.

[waffles-art-writing]

JOKER - Task Force 141 x Reader

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First post - please ignore any mistakes as I write this on my phone at like midnight most of the time haha. Be Nice :’). Anyway, enjoy! Sorry if any of the slang or anything like that is wrong. I’ve never lived there (I’m in Australia)

GIF: thewriterg

Proofread: Half-assed proof-read sorry.

I got inspo for this from the song “Joker -Rory Webley”.

Summary: Joker (you) gets captured on a mission. Ghost and Soap search high and low for you as Gaz and Price gain as much information as they can about the man they suspect has taken you. Will you make it out and get back to your team?

Pairing: Task Force 141!Platonic x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.4K Roughly - kinda long sorry

Age Rating: 16+ Preferably, unless you can handle goreish stuff- otherwise anyone can read it

Codename: JOKER

Key: Y/N - Your Name, Y/N/N - Nickname. L/N - Last Name

Warning/Info: third person??, descriptions of injury, blood, weapons, normal COD stuff, mentions of Torture, Kidnapping, Childhood trauma, angst?? I think… FLUFF, Soft!Ghost. If theres anything I need to add please say so :)

EDIT: If this gets enough traction or if you guys want! I am more than happy to make a part two or turn it into a whole mini series :) Thanks for all the likes and reblogs <3 (Here’s the part Two)

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The rolling thunder in the distance rumbles, you can feel it through the ground. The air is thick with the feeling of rain, but not a single drop has touched the dry and dusty earth you are currently laying on. You’re watching the rest of the team work their way through the small village, your thermal scope making them glow like glow sticks at a rave. “Joker, how copy?” Price’s voice crackles to life in your ear, you press the button on the comms to reply. “Hear you loud an’ clear Cap” you reply, clicking the button to the pressed position to keep the comms open, you’re watching Ghost and Soap clean house in one of the larger ruins of a house.

“Do you ‘ave eyes on the target yet?” Price’s stern voice rumbles in your ear again. You adjust the scope to get a larger field of view, scanning all the windows in the dilapidated village. Your eyes narrow as you watch a figure poke their head around a wall not far from Ghost and Soap’s position. “Not yet Sir, but there's a shifty guy looking for Ghost and Soap” you comment “Ghost do a one eighty… some guy is looking for you from the building with a red door.” You pick up a low grunt in response from Ghost as Price acknowledges what you’ve said. You’re zoned in on watching any and all movement not yet spotting who you are looking for.

Sweat forms on your brow as you continue watching for any shifty people, the balaclava you wear has red paint smeared on it like a smile like the joker from Batman, the fabric is not helping with the heat. The faint sound of dirt shifting draws your attention from the scope, you push yourself to your knees while spinning around to face the source of the sound. Your glock raises steadily as you lift your arms in front of yourself, the pounding of your heart is deafening, blood pumping quickly, breathing quickens. You scan your surroundings, you’ve perched yourself just in front of a moderately sized group of boulders, shrouded in twiggy bushes.

The little amount of sun casts harsh shadows on the ground as you rock yourself up into a crouched position, your feet light on the ground as you stay close to the boulders. Your breathing falters as you see a shadow not matching up to a group of bushes and rocks in front of you. You whip around to the sound of more footsteps, your vision blurs, you feel your body go numb, black spots decorating your vision like snowfall. The faint sound of Ghost’s stern voice and Soap’s concern calls can be heard as your vision fades to nothing.

“Joker, do you have a visual?” Ghost asks as he looks over the wall he’s crouched behind, Soap just a few feet away. “Joker? Lass, can you hear us?” Soap barks out as he looks over his shoulder towards Ghost, his brows knitted together as he watches Ghost try reaching you again. “Price! Can you reach Joker?” Soap quickly questions through the comms, his mind running a thousand miles a minute as he tries to figure out what happened to you. “You two need to get the fuck out of there now, Joker’s been compromised.” Price barks through the radio, his voice commanding as ever as he himself looks over to Gaz who is desperately trying to figure out why you're not responding. “What?” Soap breathes out as he looks up towards the hill you were perched on, trying to see if you’re still there but to no avail. Ghost is quick as he spits out commands to Soap to follow him to the rendezvous spot you all agreed on if something went south.

“Sir, the locator she has is saying she’s still where she was before the comms went dark.” Gaz states as he types furiously across the keyboard, his eyes flicking between maps and coordinates. “The fuck is going on Gaz?” Price asks as he looks over the younger man’s shoulder. Price runs a hand down his face as he watches the white dot on the map blink, his heart skips a beat when he watches the light go out completely. “Fuck! No, no, no. Come on” Gaze mumbles as he tries to get the locator back online, his attempts falling short of the goal he wishes he reached. “Ghost, Soap, can you see Joker anywhere at all?” Price curses under his breath as he watches Ghost and Soap’s lights nearing the rendezvous spot. “Nothing… What the fuck is going on Gaz?!” Soap sneers down the line, Ghost staying quiet as he looks around, looking where you would’ve been coming from up on the ridge line.

“I don’t know, her locator is offline.”

“I thought you couldn’t turn ‘em off without smashin’ ‘em or disconnectin’ from our comms?” Soap growls out.

“You can turn them off if you know the correct button order but they are hard to get to without the proper tools”

“What do ya mean Gaz?” Ghost questions.

Gaz rubs his brow as he looks at the map again. “She either had to have the patience to disconnect it without breaking it, or someone broke it…” his words hang heavy over everyone’s head, everyone knows you’re not the patient kind, nor are you one to smash her own locator without telling them beforehand or without good reason.

“She’s been taken…” Soap’s voice cuts through the silence, everyone knows deep down that's what has happened yet they don’t want to believe it. “You two go search where she was, try to find anything you can on what happened to her. We need to get her back.” Price growls out, he marches out of the room where he was with Gaz, his footsteps echoing around the building.

Your heart is thumping, body aching, throat dry as the Sahara Desert. Your eyes hurt like they have been stabbed with nails. A small groan escapes you as you attempt to move, nothing happens. Your vision is blurry as you look down at yourself, noticing the rope around your wrists and ankles, securely tied to the chair you have the opportunity to sit in. “Wha- What the hell…” your voice is scratchy, hoarse, but clear. Your head snaps up, your eyes widening as you notice the balaclava you hardly ever took off is now missing, it's gone, your face on full display. “Welcome to the waking world Joker… or should we call you Y/N?” Your breath hitches as the voice sounds out from behind you.

You attempt to look at the man who spoke, your attempt failing as a hand comes to grip your hair holding your head forward. “Get your hands off me!” You scream, attempting to loosen yourself from the binds and get away from the bastard that's behind you. “Oh don’t be so harsh now” “Get your fuckin’ hands off of me you bastard!” “Now, now Y/N don’t be so… callous” his voice drips with a sickly sweet tone, your skin crawling as you watch him walk around to the front of you. You stare at him, brows furrowed, jaw clenched as you see it is the same man you were tasked with finding and killing.

“Cat got your tongue?” His eyes roam your body, the shirt you are wearing now sticking to you from sweat, your combat pants covered in dirt just like your shirt. Boots gone. “My eyes are up here you arsehole” you sneer as you watch his eyes trail back up to yours. They are dark, not dark like Ghost’s cold and calculating stare. They are dark like a man with sinister intentions, a predator who’s on the verge of snapping and turning into a hellbent rabid dog.

“Why are ya doing this? If you want information ye ain’t getting it outta me you sick bastard. You’re just a coward hiding behind a name.” Your voice darkens as you stare him down “You won’t even survive five seconds out there if it weren’t for yer’ guards or yer’ stupid little posse that kisses the earth ya walk on!” The man stares at you, his movements blur in the low light of the dark room. The cold blade of a knife traces along your cheek. “I wonder how you got these scars…” his voice trails off as he follows the pale scar that runs along the apple of your left cheek going towards your nose. The scar is from your early years in the armed forces, you were sparring with a fellow comrade which ended up with you face in the dirt and cutting your cheek on the end of the rough mat you were on.

“How about this one?” The tip of the knife pushes against the corner of your mouth, a small scar going to the side, almost like it’s extending your smile by a fraction. You’ve had it since you were young, you were using a stake knife, you were playing around with the knife and using it like a fork. Your parents were out and they left a steak for the babysitter to cook, yet the sitter was distracted by her phone. You accidentally moved the knife slicing the corner of your mouth open. Your parents ended up scolding you while you sat on a bed in the overnight section of the local doctors surgery.

“That’s none of ya fucking business” you sneer as you lean away from the blade. “Well I’ll now know where this one will come from, hold still… let’s match the joker smile that’s on your mask to your pretty little face shall we?” “No, no no no no no no!”

Boots splash in the puddles of mud, rain falling heavily from the clouds overhead, grumbles of curses can be heard throughout the group as they march through the drenched ground. Soap is quick to push the door to the safe house open, Gaz not far behind, followed by Price, Ghost a few strides out. Price immediately heads to the wall decorated in maps and sheets of information, Gaz opening the laptop on the closest surface. Soap looks over to Ghost. His shoulders rigid, eyes set in a hard stare, hand in tight hold around the strap of the rifle case you decorated with patches from all the places you’ve been.

The gun was gone, you were gone, but the case was still there sitting in the dirt.

Soap and Ghost looked around the area you were in, just as they were getting close, the clouds opened up the heavy rain fell, it drenched the earth quickly like a burst fire hydrant. Ghost was the one to spot the case hap-hazardly thrown into the bushes off to the side. Ghost knew you adored making at least something personalised, make it seem less… daunting…

Ghost places the case on the table, keeping a hand on it as Soap steps up next him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “The lass is probably already on her way back to us L.T…” Soap quietly states, his voice low. “She’s strong… she’ll be back with us in no time”. Ghost looks to Soap out the corner of his eye, watching the Scotsman walk off towards Price. “She better…” His voice is low, a small hint of worry dancing in his tone as he runs a gloved hand over the patches on the case.

The taste of iron rests on your tongue. Blood.

Throbbing, stinging pain burns across your face. Pain.

The burning feeling of aching muscles flows through your legs, arms, back… Just everywhere.

All you see is red, the colour of blood, the smell of death. The corpses of men littler the corridor you stand in, the men that once beat you to a bloody pulp, talked down upon you like you’re some barnyard rat.

Sound of blood rushing fills your head. Your feet drag across the ground as you limp over the dead men towards the door, the door that leads to the outside world, to your escape, to your freedom… to your team.

Rain, water, cool air, wet ground. You let the rain run down your face, your hair a tousled mess as it clings to your forehead. From sweat? From rain or from blood? You don’t know and you don’t care as you stumble through the slippery mud. Your mind is flooded with the desire to get somewhere warm and dry, to be surrounded by your team, your friends, your found family.

The dark silhouette of the safe house can be seen amongst the other small village buildings, the safe house isn’t far from where the mission was taking place, it was for convenience. It was just over half an hour by car, but by foot it was just over seven hours of nonstop walking. Your feet are red with blisters from walking across the earth. You were lucky enough to find a quad bike off to the side of the run down building you were held in, but it quickly ran out of gas within the first 10 minutes of riding it. You were close to giving up right there and then, you were barely able to stay upright, your grip on the handlebars was almost non-existent. You dumped the dead bike in a ditch, not giving a shit about how out of place it looked.

Four hours of nonstop walking, rain, mud, wind and the occasional moments of running to avoid being spotted by someone driving past.

Tears rim your eyes as you approach the front door of the safe house, inputting the code in the keypad, your breathing ragged as you nudge the door, the creaking of hinges sounding out, muttering can be heard from behind the door leading into the main common room. Using your good shoulder, the doors open quickly and the voices go silent as they turn to the sound of the doors opening. Your eyes are half lidded, your right hand clutching your left bicep. “I-.. I’m sorry…” your voice comes out mumbled, your legs quiver as you feel yourself tipping forwards.

Ghost turns to the doors, his back once to them, his eyes widened as he sees your tired, bloodied and dirty face. “I-.. I’m sorry…” his feet moving before he even realises he’s moving, Soap right behind him. “I’ve got you kid, I’ve got you…” he mumbles as his arms wrap around your waist, his grip firm but careful to not hurt you any further. “Lass…” Soap’s voice is soft as he approaches you and Ghost. Your face is pushed up against Ghost’s chest, blood still dripping down your face. Your hands clutch to Ghost’s tactical vest, the rough surface rubbing against the deep gashes that drag heavily across your cheeks. “J-Johnny…” you whimper out as your hazy eyes focus on the blue eyed Scotsman next to you. “I’m here Lass, don’t worry.”

Only you and Ghost have the pleasure of calling the ruthless Sergeant Soap MacTavish ‘Johnny’.

Everything around you is muffled, nothing is coherent enough for your fizzled mind to make out. You feel your body get scooped out from under you, your head leans into the junction of Ghost’s neck and shoulder. His broad frame keeps you stable and warm, Soap is rushing ahead to the kitchen moving everything out of the way on the small island bench. “Shit, kid, what did they do to you…” Price curses, his question comes out more like a statement. “I… I didn’t tell... I didn’t s-say… anything” your mumbled words slur as you lean into Ghost more. “Don’t close your eyes L/N. Keep those pretty eyes open.”

‘Did he call my eyes pretty?’

You whimper when Ghost places you on the kitchen island, grabbing the med kit from Gaz who was running in from getting it from the bathroom. Price is standing to your right, Gaz next to him. Ghost to your left, while Soap wraps a tourniquet around your left thigh.

“We gotta cut your pants lass, I know you like these ones” Soap chuckles lightly as opens the pant leg up to your thigh. He’s quick to clean the bullet wound that marks your flesh. Ghost has gone quiet, his whole body rigid from head to toe, his hands working quickly to rip open your shirt, not hesitating to run his hands gently down your ribs. “Gaz, get a bowl of warm water” Soap barks out as he realises what state your feet are in, his touch is firm but careful.

Your body feels numb, the men around you are fuzzy, your eyes roam Price’s face as he holds your shoulders down when Soap says he’s gonna have to dig the bullet out. You don’t move, other than a pained and strained cry leaves you as you feel Soap pulling the bullet out. It wasn’t too deep. Thank god.

“Joker, look at me girl. Keep your eyes on me, that's it sweetheart.” Price’s voice is stern, commanding, as he desperately tries to keep you awake. “I’m sorry C- Cap…” Price shakes with his head lightly, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I know, kid, I know. You just need to keep talking, okay? Can you do that?” You nod your head slightly, cringing when Ghost touches a bruised rib while applying anti-inflammatory cream to it, hoping to ease the pain. “Ow- you arse…” you mumble as you glance at Ghost, who’s eyes squint slightly like he’s smirking. “M’sorry, keep your eyes on Price for me.” He says gently as he takes a damp cloth to your cheek. You flinch away harshly, tears falling down your face even quicker now. The adrenaline is wearing off quickly, the pain from everything is bubbling to the surface.

“No. No no no” you whimper out as you try to hide your face away from Ghost’s touch. Price and Ghost swap positions naturally. You glance up at Ghost whose face is now upside down when he looks at you, your eyes blurry with tears. “Kid… Love, you gotta look at me. I need to clean your face to see where you’re bleeding from.” His voice is muffled by the Balaclava, and hard skull mask adorning the dark fabric.

“He- He said let’s m-match the mask… make my f-face match my mask… he-” your pained voice states, tears streaming down your face, Price’s grip on your hand and shoulder tightens. Gaz’s hand’s still from cleaning the cuts and scrapes around your ankles and feet. Soap halts his bandaging of your thigh, they all stare at you with stormy eyes, filled with rage. Ghost’s hands cup your jaw gently, his fingers twitching with adrenaline from the rage, his eyes darken as he stares into your teary and puffy eyes. “I’m gonna fucking kill him…” he sneers lowly, your voice sounds like a small kitten when you speak.

“You can’t….” “Why can’t he kill ‘em Lass?” Soap questions as he secures the bandage around your thigh. “He’s… he’s already dead… I killed him.” Your voice breaks when a sob racks through your body. “He’s dead, in a puddle of his own blood… I killed him…” you repeat, “… he’s unrecognisable now…” you lift your hand to place it on Ghost’s forearm. Your hands shake as you do so, Ghost snaps out of whatever trance of rage and concern he was in. He nods his head, Price has gone to call for a medic evac, Gaz and Soap continue cleaning any other wounds you have.

You lean into Ghost’s touch, allowing him to clean one side of your face at a time. The gashes are reasonably deep, not deep enough feel from the inside of your cheeks thankfully. “I can’t stitch these L/N… the doctor will have to do that. All I can do is cover them with gauze and tape…” he sounds sorry, only slightly, his eyes still burning with anger but there is some softness of concern in them. “Just… just do what you can Ghost…” the man nods as he gently sits you up, allowing him to see if the wounds will bleed when you are up right.

You sit there, eyes heavy and dull. The dried tear stains are still on your cheeks as Ghost gently applies antiseptic cream and gauze, followed by medical tape. You wince at his touch. You feel like you just got your wisdom teeth removed, your head cloudy, your face aching, eyes sore.

“Ghost the heli will be here in five minutes, is she ready to move?” Price barks out as he walks over. Gaz and Soap throwing anything dirty and used away in the trash. Ghost looks from Price to you, his eyes scanning your body from head to toe. Noticing the skin around your ribs already turning a dark blue and purple. That’s gonna hurt. Your hands shake as you push yourself to stand on the ground, as soon as your feet touch the ground your knees give way.

Ghost is clutching you to his chest, you whimper as you clutch to him like your life depends on it. “Doesn’t look like it, Sir.” Ghost states as he keeps his arms under your arms, to keep you upright. “Well, gotta carry her then.” Ghost just nods as he leans back, making you look up at him. “Johnny’s gonna carry you okay?” Ghost states as he sees Soap approach you two, one of his shirts in hand and a blanket. “… O-... Okay…” You look over at Soap and let one of your hands reach out to him, doing a grabby-hand motion.

The Scotsman chuckles as he moves over, slipping the spare shirt around your head, slipping your arms through it gently. Ghost wraps the blanket around your shoulders, making sure you’re snug once you’re in Soap’s arms. “Comfy there Lass?” His low chuckle makes you smile as you lean into him more, letting your eyes close. “Yeah… just tired…” you mumble as you nuzzle into his neck, his cologne comforting you in a way. “Don’t sleep just yet, we gotta get you outta here.” He states as he walks to the door, following Gaz and Price. Ghost behind you with your belongings and Soaps rifle and his own. “Keep talkin’ to us, love.” Ghost states as he makes eye contact with you, you nod your head gently. The sound of the chopper overhead is loud, the wind from the blades and the rain makes you bring the blanket up more, making you curl in on yourself.

“Can they go any fuckin’ slower?” Soap laughs at your complaint about waiting for the chopper to land. “I don’t think so or they would stall Lass.” You chuckle with Soap as he tightens his grip on you as you approach the chopper, a medic is there waiting, you groan as you realise that Soap has to put you down. You wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly to show you don't want to be out down. “No.” The medic looked at you confused, she was ready to help you with your injuries. “Lass we gotta put-” “No. No. No.” You cower further into Soap’s chest as you see the medic reach for you. “Fuck off!” You growl, Soap’s arms wrap around you further as he gets comfortable in the chopper. Ghost sits next to him, Price is up by the pilot, Gaz on the other side of Soap.

The ride back to the main base of operations is quick, there's mostly silence amongst everyone, other than the medic who keeps asking questions about your injuries. Soap mainly answers, Ghost pitching in when needed. The whole time you kept your face hidden in Soap’s shoulder or neck, keeping the blanket up by your face.

You wouldn't let go of Soap until you were in the medical wing, laying on a bed. But even then you wanted at least one of the boys to be in the room. The nurses and head medic came in and out the entire time, asking questions upon questions, preparing you for further treatment of your condition. You eventually fell asleep after getting some pain medication and proper medical attention to all the injuries.

But when it came to stitching up the gashes that made you look like the real-life Joker from Batman, you requested Ghost or Soap to be there. They both ended up being in the room, Ghost and Soap were standing to your left, your face turned towards them, having the left side already dealt with and covered. The head medic did whatever he could to help lessen the scarring. Ghost was like a brick wall, unmoving, cold eyes as he watched the medic. Soap was letting you play with his hands, and fingers, which allowed him to play with yours in return.

Blinding lights.

The smell of cleaning products.

Beeping. Bloody Beeping.

Your eyes crack open, your nose scrunching as the blinding lights flood your vision. Your head feels heavy, and your body aches. You hear the sound of the heart monitor and another softer sound. You look around the small room, three figures can be found in the room. Soap and Gaz leaning their heads on the bed. Your right hand is held in Soap’s as he snores softly, Gaz leaning on his arms that are crossed on the bed, out cold. Ghost in the armchair in the dark corner of the room, his chin to his chest, safe to say he’s probably asleep. The door to the room opens softly, you see Price closing the door with his foot.

He smiles when he sees you awake, he approaches and places two paper cups on the table next to you. His hand falls to your shoulder, a light squeeze in greeting. You smile up at him, your free hand wrapping around his. “Got you some juice, they said not hot liquid for a week…” he mumbles softly as he hands you the paper cup. “Thanks, Cap.” You softly say, barely above a whisper, your voice scratchy from just waking up. “Those two-“ Price points to Soap and Ghost “-have been here the whole time, Gaz got up to get food for them but otherwise he's been here most of the time.” “And you?” “I came just after you passed out, Laswell sends her regards as well.” You nod in acknowledgment, your eyes finding sudden interest in the liquid in your cup.

“You did good kid, I’m proud of you.” You look up to Price who is now sipping his coffee, tears form in your eyes as you nod your head. “Drink your juice kid, get some sleep too.” He states as he ruffles your hair.

You are safe, protected, inside, warm and dry. Surrounded by your team, your friends, your found family.

————————————————————————

[formulaforza]

Haiiiiiii i love your writing, could i request Lance Stroll with the prompt the first initial kiss being a simple peck, then they immediately go back in for a stronger, more passionate one?? I feel like that’s very him vibes.

—nowhere in particular

pairing: lance stroll x reader wc: 1.1k summ. everything with lance is so damn... friendly.

It’s been nearly three months of “Oh, Lance and I? We’re… we’re nothing,” followed by a pursed smile on your lips and an eye roll from whoever was bold enough to ask you. Three months, some eighty-something days of we’re nothing, when the two of you were most certainly fucking something. 

You weren’t dating, that was for sure. And you weren’t fucking, either. So, to anyone else it might look like you were nothing. But even if you thought you were crazy—the dozen or so people who seem to ask you about him every time they see the two of you interact is enough proof that you really are something. 

It’s hard to place exactly what it is, but it falls somewhere on the fault line between friends and dating, moving through like with the promise not to date anyone else, but without the balls to just date each other. 

It’s not that you don’t have the balls, it’s that you refuse to. You’ve always been a firm believer in him making the first move. You just never thought you’d be as desperate for someone to make the move as you are for Lance to just up and get it over with already.

Always a firm believer in the guy making the first move, but christ. Three months of waiting, and you’re about two days away from reaching your breaking point. 

Lance sits next to you on the flannel blanket in the park. The “friendly flannel blanket,” as he’d said shortly after proposing the idea—made skittish by your lack of response within the five second window he gave you to do so— “that I always have, like, in my car, y’know.” You couldn’t see him through the telephone lines, but you could imagine it, the way his hand nervously ran over the back of his neck. 

He was always adorable like that, all nervous and fidgety when you did anything more than give him the time of day. It’s cute. You’ve always thought it was cute when he was nervous, because he spends the rest of the time so stupidly confident. You like that you can make him nervous, but it seems like you’ve made him too nervous. 

Because he sits next to you on the friendly flannel blanket with the friendly picnic he’d prepared and the friendly cake he’d brought with carefully placed raspberries and the friendly bottle of red wine. You sit next to him, wearing the friendly hoodie he’d pulled over and off his head when you shuddered with the breeze, a friendly centimeter of space between your crossed legs and his wild brown hair, your eyes fixed to his friendly pink lips when he talks. You want to scream—fuck friends, Lance. Fuck friendly, and just kiss me already. 

Lance’s head, meanwhile, fucking spins. He’s such an idiot, he thinks, can’t stop himself from speaking—from feeling the need to inform you (lie to you) that everything he touches is friendly. There’s nothing friendly about the way he feels about you, but his stupid fucking mouth is too worried that making that fact known is only going to screw him over—that he’ll mess it up enough that not only is he not dating you, but now he’s not even your friend. 

Because… well. You’re you—all pretty hair and pretty lips and pretty smile and pretty skin and pretty personality. You’re soft when he’s brash and you’re brash when he’s soft and nothing ever feels balanced unless you’re the one balancing it. 

And now he’s lying here, on this thick, itchy blanket, just wondering when you’re finally going to have enough of him and his inability to just. To just kiss you, and let the rest of the world make sense. 

You eat, and you talk, and you make him laugh—you’re always making him laugh harder than he should. Anyone who watches probably thinks he’s a total fool, head over feet and half in-love with the same girl everyone else would be half in-love with. No joke in the history of the entire world has been funny enough to elicit the laugh you hear from him every time you crack one. 

He’s carefully slicing the cake when you swipe your finger through the white frosting, wiping the sugary substance off on the tip of his nose with a giggle. His head shoots up while you do it, catches your eyes and the completely human way they crinkle when you laugh, the way your lashes settle when you smile, and all he can think is that you just look so pretty.

You’re so pretty, and he doesn’t even have time to talk himself out of it, because he’s kissing you—quick, simple, like he was trying to shut you up. It’s a peck, nothing more, and certainly not the way he wanted to kiss you for the first time. He can’t believe he just managed to fuck up the first time he kissed you—that he definitely just made certain the first time was the last time. He’d strangle himself if he could.

“I’m sorry,” he’s saying before you can even process what just happened. “You just… I’m sorry.”

A smile pulls on your lips, and your cheeks ache from how much the muscles have been used this afternoon. “It’s okay,” you nod.

“You… there’s frosting on your nose,” he says, wiping the remnants of your swipe off his nose.

“I don’t care,” you say. “Kiss me like you mean it.”

His eyes shoot up before his head does, like he’s checking if you’re being serious or not. You are. You’re dead serious. The kind of quick peck a middle aged wife stuck in a miserable marriage gives to her middle aged husband will not be the first move you've been waiting three months for. If he’s going to kiss you with frosting on his nose, he better do it right. 

He makes up for it, though, when he wipes the frosting from your nose, licks it clean off his thumb and slots his hands on either side of your jaw, pulling you to him like he’s been waiting to do it for ninety days. When his lips finally meet yours, the rest of the park falls into the background. The sweetness of the frosting lingers, blending with the warmth of his lips. This is not a peck—this is a declaration, a revelation. 

“Better?” He says, his forehead warm against yours. 

You nod, smiling. “Much better,” and then you kiss him again like time might run out, even though you both know it won’t.

[leeknow-thoughts]

WINTER FALLS

tw : Jack Frost!Hyunjin, mortal!reader, sub!hyunjin, dom!reader, p in v, pillow humping, praise, slight edging

Your head hurt, when you touched it you saw the blood on your hands. Your ribs hurt. Everything hurt.Your body decided to close its eyes. You felt someone carrying you for a moment before everything went black and fuzzy.

When you did come to, you were in a warm bed. You scanned your surroundings. A cozy room made of wood. "You're finally awake," a man's voice exclaims.

You look around, finding the man, "what-"

"You were in a skiing accident, you fell down the side of a mountain," he explains.

He was blonde with tan skin. Possibly the prettiest man you've ever seen. He looked familiar somehow. Like you had seen him many times in the past. "Do I know you?" you ponder out loud.

"My name is Hyunjin," he smiles, his teeth pearly white.

You'd never heard that name before. Not even in your dreams. "You look familiar," you state.

He smiles, "where you're from they call me Jack Frost," he chuckles.

Oh you definitely had a concussion. "Prove it," you chuckle.

He takes the glass beside your bed you watch as his touch turns the lukewarm water into ice. "That proof enough?," he asks.

You simply close your eyes and pray that this is a dream. "You can't wish me away my love," he sighs, "I've had my eye on you for the longest time."

"That's creepy," you blurt.

He laughs, "not like that, for the past three years you've just always caught my eye whenever I've brought snow."

"Me?" you sit up to face him.

He nods, "you."

"Why?"

"Because you're perfect, and beautiful. At least you are during the winter," he cracks a warm smile.

You recall the memory fondly as you wait for midnight. That was the third year you had waited for him to show up. You waited until midnight on the first night of winter. He would show up. He promised you he would every year.

For the past three years he would stay with you during the winter. "You changed your hair," his familiar voice rang in your ears.

You turned around and there he was, standing in your living room. "Just cut it a bit," you reply.

He smiles warmly, "it looks lovely, you look lovely."

You cross the space between the both of you, wrapping him in a hug. He was cold like usual, at first it used to bother you, now you felt comfort in his coolness. He ran his fingers through your hair. "Missed you Hyune," you murmur into his chest.

You hated to admit it, but you had fallen in love with Hyunjin. He knew it, you told him last year before he had to leave. "Been thinking about what you told me last year," he says.

You pull apart from him, looking him in the eyes. "Wish you could stay forever," you mumble.

"There is a way, but it's just," he pauses, "I don't think you'd want to do that," he smiles.

"Well what is it?" you question him.

"We would uhm," he chokes it out, "have to fuck."

Your face went blank, you'd have to fuck the Jack Frost. "I'd do it," you say immediately.

He sighs, "I know you would but I don't want to force this on you, let's just be together, we have all winter," he smiles.

You nod, "c'mon let's go to bed, I'm tired."

First day of winter. You woke up to Hyunjin cooking you breakfast, "let's go ice skating," he suggests as he watches you eat the pancakes he had made.

You agreed, you both walked to the ice rink. And of course he had to show off when he was there.

Fourteenth day of winter, you and Hyunjin had a Christmas movie marathon. Christmas with the Kranks, The Grinch, and Christmas Vacation.

Every night he would hold you close to him, running his hands through your hair.

Twenty eighth day of winter, Hyunjin took you skiing for the weekend.

Sixtieth day of winter you both went walking in the park while it was snowing.

He would kiss you every night, holding you tenderly.

Eighty eighth day of winter, the last day. You went out to the store to grab groceries to make dinner while Hyunjin stayed back in your apartment. When you put the key into the door and swung it open, the first thing you heard was whines coming from your bedroom. You placed your bags on the ground, making a b-line to the bedroom.

The sight inside was enough to make you feral. Hyunjin was hovering over one of your stuffed animals, grinding on it, completely naked. Your mouth was watering at the sight. "You couldn't even wait hmm?" you ask.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he whimpers and tries to cover himself.

You cross the space between the two of you, "no baby, keep going, would you feel better if you saw my tits?" you hum.

He nods feverishly. You quickly remove your top, undoing your bra. Your eyes trail down to his pulsing cock. Long and veiny with a flushed tip. "Mistress, please, ngh touch me please" he whines.

"Why should I little love?" you pause, taking your nipple in your hands, twisting it gently, "you couldn't even wait for me hmm?"

"Please," he whimpers.

"If you want to cum at all Hyunjin, you'll keep humping that fucking toy," you grab his jaw making him look at you.

His hips resume their movements against the toy. He bites his lip. His eyes roll back into his head. You felt yourself getting wetter and wetter. You brush your hands through his hair.

"Mama, please, ngh I need to fucking cum-" he announces.

"Stop," you command.

You see the tears spill out of his eyes as he forces himself to stop his movements. "Want you to cum in my pussy little one," you grin.

You remove your pants and panties, kicking them somewhere in your room. You lean back on the bed, opening your legs for Hyunjin.

Hyunjin leaps at the opportunity to fuck you. Moving from on top of your toy, and lining his dick up at your entrance. "Such a good boy, go ahead and put it in," you coo.

He whines as he puts it in, his face contorting. Stopping once he had filled you completely. "Mama- ngh so wet," he whimpers.

"Such a good boy, c'mon fuck mommy good," you grin.

He whimpers with each stroke of his hips. His cock filled you so deliciously. The veins of his dick rubbing against your walls. You threw your head back whenever he hit your g-spot. "Atta boy, just like that, roll your hips just like that for me," you praise.

Your head fell back when he did it again. By this point he developed a steady rhythm. "Shit you're such a good boy for mommy," you praise him again.

You closed your eyes for a moment, but reopened them when you felt Hyunjin's hand rubbing on your clit. "Fuck, that's it little love, such a good boy," you smile.

"Can I cum- ngh please-" Hyunjin begs with hooded eyes.

You nod, "cum inside me Hyune, c'mon be a good boy."

He grips onto your hips as he cums inside you. You feel it filling you up, causing you to cum with him. He threw his head back, panting hardly.

"Thank you, mama-" he thanks you, "thank you for helping me stay."

[digoutskin]

Ｈｏｍｅ ｔｏ Ａｎｏｔｈｏｒ ｏｎｅ

Eren Yeager x BlackFem!reader

18+ CONTENT

Warnings: One shot, Y/n is a 'cheater' in this, explicit language, Angst, Tears, Sad Eren, Connie x Reader, Eren x Reader, Love triangle, very light smut, Fem reader, A LITTLE PLOT TWIST AT THE END

A/N: Hey guys, this time it's a just a little angsty one shot, I was feeling a little lazy so instead of updating Halfcrazy I decided to listen to music and I came up with this. THIS WAS LIGHTLY PROOF READ SO EXCUSE ANY TYPO'S FOR NOW!

-

-

"Call me, "Baby"

I know you go home to another one

Say you hate me

It's okay, boy, you're not the only one

Another year, we're still here

Call me, "Baby"

I know you go home to another one" - Madison Beer

-

-

Eren didn't remember the specific time or date he fell in love with you, all he remembers is why he fell in love with you.

Since college began it was you, Eren and Connie. You had met them both in the local coffee shop close to campus. They saw that you had the same school logo on your bag and they decided to approach. Two turned into three very quickly and all of the sudden you were attached at the hips. Going out to eat, clubs, even having late night study sessions grew all of you guys relationship.

The two best friends and roommates absolutely adored you.

Eren would note the styles of your hair, your fashion sense, and your remarkable intelligence, You saw him, but the shy young man wasn't vocal enough, because he quickly discovered one morning after attending a frat party, that Connie had already made his move on you.

He walked out into the common area only to see you laying on his friend's chest, asleep. He could see the bra you had on partially covered up by the rogue comforter around your bodies.

Scattered clothes surrounded the couch and your signature name chain discarded onto the coffee table. Tears quickly welled up in his eyes, his footsteps almost silent as he glided his way back to the room.

He locked his door and plopped onto the bed, tears threatening to spill. He decided to wait it out so it wouldn't be awkward.

He looked at the clock, 6:23 AM,

'damn'

he thought 'it's still early. I could just go back to sleep.'

His mind didn't allow that, because he quickly found himself opening up his photos app, scrolling to the section called 'BESTFRIENDS' in bold letters.

Picture after picture of you and him, your smiling face flickering across the screen in every photo and video of you. It was this one, his favorite one of you and him, that Connie took.

There you sat, straddled on his waist, him laying back on the bed head propped up on a pillow. It was the time you had convinced them both to try on your makeup, letting you turned them into the 'prettier' versions of themselves. "God, you would be so beautiful as a girl~" Your voice echoed in his head.

He remembers how you felt on top of him, how the scent of the cinnamon flavored gum you were chewing smelled in that moment. He remembers Connie's lingering eyes, and how soon after the video was done he had begged you to go pick up some food with him. 'he couldn't just let us be, could he?'

You were always so gentle and calm to him. Soothing almost. After that day you did a complete one-eighty.

Your quiet voiced could be heard throughout the apartment, almost every night, sometimes during the day, mostly in the bathroom. Your moans echoing out while his best friend did his best to make you scream his name.

Your back arched off of the bed with a pillow underneath your stomach to make you stay in place, you could feel Connie going in and out of you, so wet from when he ate you out he could slip out any second now. He was inside you, much to his oblige, with a condom on.

Your slick coated his length as you screamed his name out loud, gripping onto the sheets "Fuckkk- Connie wait- s' too deep" You moaned out, begging him to stop over stimulating you. "Take this shit ma, you know you wanted it like this. Shit!" His voiced groaned, getting closer and closer to his orgasm.

He quickly came and pulled himself out, you let out a mewl, feeling the cold air hit your now empty hole. He left you there, throwing on his basketball shorts and heading to the bathroom.

You quickly got up and off of the pillow, looking into the mirror above his dresser. 'god' you thought 'he ruined my hair and makeup but couldn't wait till' I was finished?' You fixed yourself up and threw your clothes back on, tank top and sweatpants with no bra or panties.

You hadn't heard from Eren in such a long time, and when you asked Connie where he was he'd always say that he was at work, or had a late class when he knew that was a lie.

Since the party Eren barely had moved, as you and Connie occupied so much space that it felt like his name wasn't even on the lease, like he wasn't even wanted in his own damn home.

You exited into the kitchen, opening the fridge and chugging the water bottle you'd put in the fridge pre-sex with Connie.

You couldn't hear the faint footsteps behind you, Eren approaching. He didn't even want to look at you, knowing that minutes before his best friend was so deep into that he could hear you through the walls.

He walked pass you, book in hand. "Hey wait, Eren!" He turned to face you, hair so shaggy you could barely see his eyes.

Dark circles clouded the skin under his eyes, and the long sleeve shirt his was wearing hugged his body in the right places. It had been a while since you'd saw him, but you didn't think anything in particular about it.

He obviously looked troubled, so you decided to ask "What's going on with you? I haven't seen you in almost a month!" You exclaimed, getting closer to him. He could see your nipples poking through your white spaghetti tank top, so he quickly looked you into the eyes to avoid his face getting any more hot.

"I'm fine. Just been busy." He let out, deadpan and in a low voice. It kind of shocked you from his regular perky demeanor. "So, what are you about to do?"

"Nothing interesting. Read a little, maybe sleep." you took a look at the book he was holding. His body language was tense, and he looked away from you and sighed, obviously annoyed that you were taking up his time. You both sat in silence for about five seconds before you made up your mind.

"Wanna hang out? it's this Aquarium I've been meaning to go to. I know that's your thing so.. wanna tag along? I'll drive!" You said, in a vibrant voice. He couldn't turn you down, but what would Connie say about this? He already knew that Connie wasn't stupid, that the man that was currently skulking in the hallway knew the feelings Eren shared for you.

He knew that Eren wouldn't try anything. From the day they met in the 4th grade he had let him have everything.

His crushes, his food, hell, even Eren's family looked at him as a second child they never had. So why wouldn't Eren let him have you? That's what was logical to Connie. Pretending like he didn't heart the conversation, he walks into the living room, backpack in hand.

He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, matching jordans to go with it. "What y'all talking bout?" He said, looking you up and down.

"I was just trying to convince Eren to come to the Aquarium with me! Pleaseeee, it'll be fun! I promise!" You whined. A smile came across Eren's face. He couldn't say no to you, not when you had no idea how he felt. 'this is Connie's fault, I can't stay mad at her' he thought to himself.

"Okay, okay, I'll go." He huffed out, walking back to his room.

-

-

The ride over to the Aquarium was fun, Connie walked you guys out, claiming that he had some last minute class he couldn't miss. Eren silently was screaming on the inside, as you had asked to borrow one of his hoodies to match the black sweatpants you had on from earlier.

Before you two got out of the car he took a good look at you. Long box braids that reached your waist, curly ends sweeping the rim of the jacket he'd given, your bracelets and bangles jingling on your arms, babyhairs swooped to perfection, and glossy lips to tie it all in.

He could've just stayed like that, admiring you all day, but it quickly made him snap out of it when he saw your phone lighting up.

Connie sending messages and you haven't even gotten out the car yet. Typical.

You two hopped out and entered, immediately bombarded by the dim lights and the luminous blue water around you.

You hooked your arm with Eren's so you wouldn't get lost in the crowd. He decided to take charge and lead you two to the back, where the Koi fish were.

"It's been a long time since we've hung out like this. Jus' me and you." You nudged him, taking him out of his thought process.

"I know, I missed you." He wore a warm smile, glancing over at you. You looked up at him and returned the smile.

You did miss moments like this where it was just you. Sure, Connie was great and all, a true player but he didn't share that same spark that you had with Eren.

He could figure you out, and Connie couldn't even do that. The slightest change of expression, or the smallest brow furrow would have him asking, 'are you alright?' stroking your back. You two shared the same geeky love of literature, while Connie didn't even bother to read anything outside of his homework or assignments.

The truth is, You'd only hooked up with Connie because he was there. In a drunken haze you two had sex, but you never meant for it to be anything more. He had roped you into the whole thing, telling you that you were 'his' and that no one could have you, all because he claimed you.

The Aquarium trip sparked the same feelings you both held, and you found yourselves at your favorite ice cream parlor, treating you to a late night cone. You two laughed all the way to the apartment, to find that Connie hadn't even been back, yet.

You convinced Eren that it would be okay to watch a movie or two, so he turned it on a random 80's horror and plopped down on his bed beside you.

"Oh my god I can't believe you're scared, it's so fake! It's just corn syrup and food coloring!" Eren said, chuckling at the way you cowered into his side, putting your face into his chest.

"It's still so violent! He didn't have to cut his head off like that.." You said, muffled.

You inhaled his scent and then broke away, letting his arm fall around your body. The movie scene turned into credits, and the room went hushed for a second. "Eren?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell me the truth-" you sat up, positioning your body to face his "Why'd we stop hanging out? All of a sudden your too busy?" you said, looking away from him. "You're the one who started sleeping with Connie. You don't think that made things awkward?" He scoffed.

"The first time was a mistake, but who I sleep with shouldn't affect us. You're my best friend. I missed you so much, and it feels like nothing is the same anymore." You said, lip beginning to quiver.

"Nothing is the same anymore, Y/n. It's hard. Listen, I hope what I'm about to say doesn't freak you out-" He started, taking your hands into his "I had a crush on you. I liked you, no, borderline was in love with you, and Connie knew it. He just had to have you, I don't know why, but he had too. He was always in my ear, telling me that you didn't feel the same way for me and I just believed him blindly. He's probably right, but it doesn't stop me from felling for you." He finally admitted it.

Your heart skipped in your chest, and tears started trickling down your cheeks.

"Eren I feel the same way about you. I was just so drunk that night, and I woke up next to him. All of a sudden he started claiming me. He didn't even ask me what I wanted, so I just went along with it. So we just kept hooking up.. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you sooner. I should've." you said in a quiet voice, looking downwards.

"No, I should've." He got closer, foreheads almost touching.

"Fuck it, I can't wait any longer.."

He kissed you, taking you in deeply, features softening as the kiss progressed into you getting on top of him. You broke away taking the zip up off and throwing it across the room, exposing the tank top underneath.

He did the same to his long sleeved top, and before he knew it you were grinding into him, your bare top halves were exposed, cold air hitting you both. He flipped you onto you back and ripped down the sweatpants you had on, exposing your heat to the air of the room.

He could see the slick already dripping down, throbbing for him. He was about to dive in before he heard his room door slowly creak open.

Moonlight shown inside of the room, highlighting the person that was standing at the door. Connie was back, and discovered that your car was outside, yet when he got into his room you weren't in there.

The air stilled, and you sat up, propping yourself up on your elbows, face with a light sheen on it. Eren was still kneeling, still in front of your unwavering heat, waiting for something. A fist to fly, you to jump up and beg Connie to listen to you, but you did the complete opposite of what they both were expecting.

"Close the door, Connie. Get the fuck out." you said, a low voice. Connie's face contorted into a look of confusion "What the fuck you just say?" He said, widening the door more.

"Get the fuck out-" You said again, louder this time, with more bass in your voice. "Keep going, Eren."

-

-

-

[akko-kagori]

I calculated Diluc's Wealth

The number may not be 100% correct, so feel free to fact check me or do the calculation yourself. I literally had to redo this whole process like 5 times taking a total of like an hour to do because of the amount of errors there were so feel free to fact check me.

Since I know most people are here just for the number: 188,389,420,000,000 Mora and 779,845,926,816 USD.

How I got that number:

I'm using Germany as a real world stand in for Mondstadt since Mond is based on Germany. Firstly, I looked up how much money the German government has and the tax rates. The first results said 2867 billion euros and 45% respectively. For the German tax rate it's higher depending on how much money the person makes, and I just picked the highest possible option since he's rich rich. These are the numbers I feel the least confident in, but I still feel confident enough to post them.

The reason I looked up both of these numbers is because on a board outside angel's share it says that last year 11.4% of all of Mondstadt's tax money came from Diluc/Dawn Winery (picture as proof, you can also check in game if you want)

So, I subtracted 2867 billion by 88.6% and got 326,838,000,000. I then timed it by 2, since 45% + 45% = 90% and got 653,676,000,000. I then used a website to determine what 10% of 653,676,000,000 is and got 65,367,600,000, I then added that my calculation and got 719,043,600,000.

After that I converted the euros to USD and got 779,845,926,816. I looked up the conversion rate between mora and USD, and a Reddit Thread said that 1 USD equated to 262 mora, so I simply multiplied 779,845,926,816 by 262 and got 1.8838942e+14. I then used another website to convert that into a number I actually understand and got 188,389,420,000,000, or one hundred eighty-eight trillion three hundred eighty-nine billion four hundred twenty million. For context on how big those two numbers are, Elon Musk is worth 208 billion, diluc is more than 2.5x richer than Elon Musk. Diluc has more than double the money of the richest man alive. Holy cow.

[13as07]

Friends #2

(Shikamaru Nara Smut)

[Art work is not mine! Credit to Nachotart]

Requested by: Myself

Word Count: 3,590

Warnings and/or Pre-Notes:

Lee and Shika love triangle cause why not

Fingering

Hickies/Scratch Marks

Creampie

Nickname/Name Calling: Pretty Girl, Good Girl

———————————————————————

Shikamaru's hands are clumsy as they crawl up my body, almost as clumsy as his lips sliding against mine. His speech might not be lacking with the alcohol in his system, but his body language sure as hell is. "Are you sure about this?" He whispers into my cheek, his sloppy kisses trailing across my face.

"Ya," I mutter the answer as Shika's hands tumble down to my hips, pressing them against a door he found.

Teeth sinking and sucking of my skin is an untracked mess, a one-eighty from his usual 'no face, no case' attitude about our hookups. "Good, great," he mumbles into my neck, his fingers sliding against the wood in search of the door handle. "It's terrible of me to say but all I thought of was you on my date yesterday."

"You're full of shit," I bite back, clinging to his shirt when my balance is offset by the door swinging open.

Shika's hands fall back down to support my weight, making the both of us stumble into the room. "No, I'm not."

His answer gets cut off though, almost hiding the bickering forming between us. "Yo, Shika. Get the fuck out," Someone groans, making me dip my head backward to see who's in the room.

Sat on the bed is Kiba with a shirtless kunoichi a year or two younger than us who seems eager to be with the want-to-be furry. Kiba's head tilts in confusion, his sights set on me. "The hell are you doing with - "

"Get out," Shika cuts him off, hands slowly crawling under my shirt.

"We were here first," Kiba grumbles, not budging from his spot.

"Fine, stay, I don't care," Shikamaru answers, fingertips digging into my ribs so he can lift me. He goes back to attacking my neck, leaving more proof of himself on my skin.

He collides with the bed, making us stumble. I land on my back, a small ‘puff’ further proving Shika’s temporary inability to support us. His acts stall for a moment, just long enough for him to regain his balance. Shikamaru’s hands tug up my shirt, his mouth cupping the smooth skin of my stomach to further litter proof across me.

“What the fuck, Shikamaru,” Kiba grumbles, his eyes rolling over me.

“I told you I didn’t care, do you, Kiba? Do you care?” Shika repeats, head tipping up to look at me. He looks hot right now, his narrow eyes are focused, set on me as his hands grip my thighs, and his mouth still nipping at me.

“No,” I whisper, enjoying the feeling of him slowly tearing my thighs apart.

Shikamaru wiggles his way between my legs, setting my legs around his waist before his hands cup behind my thighs. His eyes stay locked on me as long as they can. His head dips, nudging my shirt up as he continues bruising me.

“I… ah… got to go,” the kunoichi yelps before jumping off the bed. She scurries out of the room, the door slamming behind her.

“Way to go, guys,” Kiba groans, flopping on the bed. He’s laid next to me, eyes crawling over me. His hand scoots forward, toying with the material of my pants as he drinks me up with his eyes.

“Ya, no,” Shika grumbles, his head tipping up to glare at Kiba. His hand shoots down, gripping the other boy’s wrists before tugging his touch off of me. “Get out.”

“Tease,” Kiba whispers under his breath, sitting up straight before tugging his wrist out of Shikamaru’s hold. “Later girly,” he adds on, sending a kissing face my way before he sulks out of the bedroom, off to go find another girl to spend his night with.

“I don’t care,” I mock, lifting my arms to toy with the ends of Shika’s ponytail.

He sends me a glance before tugging my shirt over my head. Like before, his head dips down to nip at my skin again. “Maybe that was a lie,” Shikamaru whispers, lips brushing just above my belly button. “I don’t enjoy other people seeing you in this way. It’s a drag.”

“Ya? Why’s it a drag?” I mutter, dipping my fingertips under the elastic in his hair. I shimmy it down, leaving it to fall to the ground as his locks tumble free.

My eyes settle on Shika’s face as I run my fingers through his loose hair. His nose is still pressed to my stomach, eyes cast up to look back at me, and his jaw shifting as he’s buried in his mind. “I don’t know,” he continues to whisper, his hands sliding up to my waistband.

“I think you do know and just won’t say it,” I counter, keeping my tone quiet to match his.

Shika’s slender fingers dip under the band, shimming my pants down my legs. “I just… like you, I guess,” the confusion comes out soft but sounds so loud as it echoes in my ears. “But that’s a dumb thing to say,” he quickly adds on, fingertips falling to brush over my clothed core.

“Shika,” His name is filtered out in a breathy moan as I tighten my legs around his waist. “What… what do you - ”

My question is cut short by him tugging my panties off before his middle finger quickly dips into my pussy. Shikamaru’s eyes are locked on me, watching the way I react to his touch. Even in his drunk state, his stoned strategy-planning face is present as he watches me, plotting out his next move. “Don’t worry about it. We’re focusing on you.”

“We’re always focused on me,” I mutter, tightening my hold on his hair.

“Well ya,” he says, a small smug on his face as he adds a second finger. His thrusts are slow and deep, making sure his digits are buried before he curls them against my walls. “It’s hard not to focus on you when you are pretty like this. Slightly breathless, mouth hanging open a bit, pussy trying to milk my fingers,” he teases, picking up his pace.

“Shikamaru.”

“Say it again,” he mumbles, his thumb clumsily searching for my clit. “Say my name again. It’s a drag hearing you say Lee’s name all the time. Say my name.”

“Shikamaru,” I mutter again, tugging his head back by my grip on his head.

His free hand wraps around my fingers, trying to release my grip on his hair. I do what he wants, dropping my hands to his shoulders instead. Shika’s head shifts back to place, eyes locked on me again. “I’m going to make you say it louder than that.” The promise is followed by attention to my clit, quick circles being rubbed into me as his eyes flicker from my chest to my face.

My nails dig into his shoulders as my hips thrust to work alongside his touch. “That won’t do,” Shikamaru mumbles, tugging his fingers out of me. I let out a disappointed whine, clinging to his shirt as I try to shove him downward. “Oh hush, whiner. Wait a second,” he teases, his smug smile only growing from my actions.

Shikamaru’s hands drop to the hem of his shirt, tugging the cloth off himself. His fingers rub against his torso as he does so, coating his muscles with my slick present on his fingers. My eyes trail over the drips of myself, only making my legs clench around him more.

Once his shirt is off, he places my hands back on his shoulders before hovering over me. “That’s better, now I won’t be the only one leaving my mark,” Shika voices, brushing kisses to my lips as he goes back to tuning my needs.

“You don’t like markings. ‘No proof, no gossip’, remember?” I whisper against his mouth, my focus heavy on not digging my nails into his shoulders.

“I changed my mind,” Shikamaru whispers, kissing the corner of my mouth. “Mark me, Pretty Girl. Make me yours. I want to be yours. Let me be yours.” Shikamaru’s begging breaks me, making me clench around his fingers as my orgasm washes over me. I let my nails dig into his shoulders, trailing over his shoulder blades as I whine for him. “Good girl,” he husks out, his touches slowing down as he works me out of my orgasm.

Kisses coat my face, Shika’s lips set on brushing against every inch of it as he lets me calm down. “Shika,” I whisper, closing my eyes as lips try trailing over my eyelids.

“Say it right.”

“Shikamaru,” I whisper, the spark of arousal igniting again at the command. “Do you mean that? Or was it just a heat of the moment thing?”

“Did I mean what?” He asks, the snap of his belt buckle following his question. “Did I mean what, Pretty Girl?” He repeats, tongue sliding over my neck before he sucks on a section of my skin, mind set on stamping another hickey to my neck.

“Did you… did you mean that you want to be mine?”

“Yes.” The answer is short, left in the air as Shika rests his dick in my folds. His head tilts, his nose bumping against mine as he looks into my eyes. “I want to be yours, Pretty Girl. I want you to be all mine,” he mutters, sliding his dick against me to coat it in my cum. “Be mine,” he whispers, slowly sinking into me.

“Shika I - ”

“Say it right.”

“Shikamaru,” I hiss, clinging to his shoulder blades as he bottoms out. His head lays against my neck, brushing encouraging kisses to my throat. “I don’t think I’m - ”

“I know you’re not ready, Pretty Girl. I’ll wait. I’ll wait forever if I have to.” The - probably - empty promises calm me down, even if I don’t believe it. It’s enough for right now to live in the fantasy that Shika and I are meant to be, that he’ll be right here when I’m ready. “Do you want to stop?”

“No, I want you to fuck me. Fuck me.”

I can feel the smile pressed into my neck, Shika being as cocky as ever from my plea. His hips move, thrusting into me like I asked. “Say my name,” he whispers into my skin. “Please say my name, Pretty Girl. Please.”

“Shikamaru,” I call, my nails sliding down his back as his thrusts pick up.

“Say it again,” he groans, small whimpers falling from him despite his attempts to cover them up.

“Shikamaru. Shikamaru. Shikamaru,” I say on repeat, clinging to his lower back as he pounds me. His hand falls back to my clit, running the pad of his fingertips over it. “Fuck, Shikamaru,” I whine, arching my back at the extra stimulation.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans, shoving himself into me as the pace of his fingers picks up. “Damn it,” he whispers, dropping his hands to my hips as he stays still in me.

“Did you…?”

“Ya,” he groans, letting more of his weight settle on me.

“We talked about this.”

“I didn’t mean to last eight seconds.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I push out around my laugh. “Last time you promised you’d pull out.”

“Ya, I know. I didn’t mean to,” he huffs out, chest pumping for oxygen.

“I bet you get off to cumming in me,” I tease, toying with the ends of his hair.

“No, I don’t.”

“Oh ya?”

“Maybe that was a lie.”

————————————

"This is such a drag," Shika grumbles as huffy as ever.

"This is such a drag," I mock, pitching my voice to come off as more annoying than the lazy man walking behind me. "Maybe if you'd learn to pull out we wouldn't be here."

Shikamaru grumbles under his breath, shoving his hands in his pockets as he trails after me down the aisles. "So..." he starts, voice less pissy this time. "About that last night - "

"We were drunk," I mutter, scanning the aisle signs in search of the family planning section. I dart away, both to avoid Shika's confusion and because I found the section I was looking for.

Shikamaru's footsteps are heavy behind me, quick to match my pace and give into the half-assed chase. "You can't run away from me," he grumbles, turning the corner, still a step or two behind me. He scans the aisle for a second in search of me, his eyes softening when they find me. "We should talk about it."

"Yes, let's talk about our relationship in front of the condom and morning after section at the convenience store, great idea."

Shika sighs, hands buried in his pockets again as he stands behind me. The man is tall, easily enveloping me in his frame as he stands a little too close. I can feel his attention on me, his sight burnt on my bruised neck. "I'm going to get you color corrector while we're here. The last thing we need is Ino up your ass about your hickies."

"I can pay for my make-up, Shika," I mutter, scanning the caged pills. "And I can pay for the medicine myself too. I don't know why you bothered to come with, especially since it's 'such a drag'."

"If I didn't you would have disappeared until our next mission together and like I said, we need to talk," he answers, head dipping so his lips brush against my ear. "If you're not ready - which you're not - I can wait until you are. I don't just want casual - "

"You should go find a worker to unlock the case," I cut him off again, leaning closer to the glass to read the packages. I keep my focus on the small writing on the boxes, skimming them to figure out which one is the best to use.

"Fine," he grumbles, flipping my hair into my face before walking away to do as I asked.

I roll my eyes at him, fixing my hair out of my face before I let my body relax. I settle my forehead on the cold glass, snapping my eyes shut in the process. Shika's confusion rings in my ears, making me feel both stupid and confused.

How could I be so pissed at Lee for not releasing I liked him when I've been oblivious to Shikamaru's feelings for so long? How could I be upset about Lee not liking me back while also feeling so comfortable, safe, and loved by Shika? How could I like the idea of being with Shikamaru when I was crying about Lee last night?

Maybe I poured so much of my feelings into Lee because I settled on the fact Shika and I wouldn't ever be together. Maybe I'm just convincing myself that's what happened. Maybe I convinced myself I like Shikamaru back when really I'll just end up using him as a rebound.

But on the other hand, I've been hooking up with Shika for so long; that has to mean something right? We've been so close for so long. We've been attached at the hip our whole lives. I go to him for everything from a paper cut to my panic attacks. I would never go to Lee for something that big or that small. That has to mean something too, right?

My head hurts, a mix of my overthinking and my hangover from last night. It only hurts more when my name is called out. "Shika, I think we should have a movie and nap day," I mutter, lifting my head and turning in the direction of the voice.

When my eyes adjust to the bright white of the lights, it is not Shikamaru standing next to me. Anger bubbles in my chest as Lee's signature body suit and his dumb blown-out eyes settle in my sights.

"I'm not Shikamaru but that sounds nice. I'd be willing to do that with you today, Lotus-Chan," Lee answers, a close-eyed smile carved into his face.

A snort falls out before I can stop it, my arms crossing my chest to shut myself off from the man next to me. "What? Is Sakura too busy fantasying about Sasuke to give you any of her time today?" I know it's rude of me to say and it's not fair to Lee, but it feels so good to get my anger off my chest, even if it's tinged with regret.

Lee's smile falls away, eyes snapping open to look me over. "I don't know. I haven't talked to her today," he mutters, eyes repeatedly jumping around. "Are you mad at me, Lotus-Chan?"

I roll my shoulders, shifting my weight as my eyes jump around the aisle in search of Shika. I want him to come back, to swoop in and save me from the situation I'm in. The thought only makes me feel worse. Do I want Shikamaru to show up because I feel better with him around or because I want to use his admiration of me to make Lee leave? Maybe both? I don't know.

"Lotus-Chan?"

"Stop calling me that," I murmur, shifting my sights back to Lee.

Lee seems sad at my request, or maybe I'm just reading into the shift in his expression too much. "Oh, okay. My apologies Nara-San. Are you mad at me?"

"I'm not exactly happy with you right now," I whisper, dropping my eyes to my shoes. I don't want to have this conversation. I want Lee to disappear, I want Shikamaru to disappear, I want to disappear. Why do people have to be so confusing? Why do emotions have to be so confusing? Why do relationships and friendships and situationships have to be so confusing?

"Why not?"

"We made out earlier this week, Lee. I asked to make out again and you responded that 'I can have it whenever I want' and then you turn around and said you thought we were just friends? How the hell did you come to that conclusion?" I can feel my anger bubbling even more at his stupidity. I don't like being this upset, I don't like being in this situation with someone so dense.

"As I said, I talked to Neji and he was like 'Sometimes friends do things without being together'. So I asked him if it was normal and he said yes and... I just thought that maybe since you and Shikamaru - "

"That what?" Shika's voice rings out from behind me, cooling off some of the anger I'm feeling. "That since we hook up, you could hook up with her to feel better about Sakura not liking you back?"

"Shikamaru," I hiss, shoving my elbow into his ribs. "Don't be a jerk."

He ignores me, hand falling to cup my elbow so I can't use it to jab at him again. "I don't know why Neji and you are gossiping about us anyway. It might do you some good to keep our names out of your mouth."

"Shikamaru!" I hiss again, trying to jab at him with my other elbow. He beats me to it though, taking hold of both my elbows as he glares at Lee.

"No! God no, I would never use someone like that and I'm sorry it was taken that way. I just - " Lee starts, hands waving around like crazy alongside his panicked tone.

"But you did," Shika grumbles, using his hold to tug me closer to him. "Regardless of whether it was on purpose or not, you still did."

"It's not that big of a deal, really. Can everyone just calm down? Calm down," I repeat, tilting my head back to shoot the command at Shikamaru.

Shika rolls his eyes, turning himself as a way to end the discussion. His hand drops one of my elbows, but his fingertips cling to the one still in his hold.

"I'm sorry, Lotus-Chan - "

"She told you to stop calling her that," Shikamaru butts in, hold tightening on me as his jaw clicks.

"Oh, right," Lee mumbles, eyes glancing at Shika before settling on me again. "I'm sorry, Nara-San. I didn't mean to hurt you or make you feel used. I swear. I just... I should have talked to you about my thoughts and expectations. I'm really sorry."

"It is what it is, Lee. I'll get over it," I mutter, shifting backward to be closer to Shikamaru. His arm presses into my back, easing what little anger I have left. Maybe I do like Shika, maybe my overthinking has been for nothing. "I just need some space."

"Right, I can do that for you," Lee chirps, giving me another close-eyed smile. Shika rolls his eyes, a sigh spilling from him as he does so. "Okay, I'll... see you later," Lee mutters, eyes flickering between us for a second before he turns on his heels.

"That was a drag. What a dumbass," Shikamaru grumbles, head shifting around the aisle. "A worker should be here soon. They're searching for the keys."

"You didn't have to be so rude," I mutter, tugging myself from his hold.

"Lee might be stupid but even he should know friends don't hook up."

"We're friends and we hookup."

Shika's hand shoots forward, gripping my arm again and tugging me back against him. His head dips, his narrow eyes locked on mine, and as unamused as ever. "We are a lot of things, none of which fall under the friend category. You're a hell of a lot more than a friend."

———————————————————————

———————————————————————

[mappingthesky]

"just let me take care of you" for ✈️🍌, pleeaaaseeee!!!

Jane is curled up on one end of the couch with a book in her hands. She’s read the same paragraph four or five times now, and would really like to move on to the next one, except she can’t, because-

UUGgghh!

“Oh my god,” Jane’s head hits the arm of the couch when she throws it back in frustration. “What?”

From the other end of the sofa, beyond where their legs are intertwined, Nymphia groans at her laptop screen. She’s uncharacteristically disheveled: her long hair is pulled into a messy, bumpy ponytail, and she’s wearing her glasses, which almost never happens. Not nearly enough for Jane’s liking, anyway. The black frames are thick and rounded and perched perfectly on her button nose, and if she wasn’t being so annoying right now then Jane would find her absolutely, irresistibly delicious.

“It’s all wrong,” Nymphia whines, pushing her stupid, sexy glasses up to nest in her hair while she rubs her eyes with her palms. The laptop, the source of her misery for the last two and a half weeks, rocks in her lap.

“It’s not,” Jane rolls her eyes and rehashes this conversation for what must be the eighty-seventh time. “It’s fine. It’s great, even! It’s probably the best fucking artist statement anyone’s ever read in the entirety of their miserable lives. They should be so lucky!”

Nymphia whines and stretches, a sliver of skin peeking out at the edge of her t shirt when she lifts her arms over her head. Jane momentarily forgets whatever it is she’s supposed to be annoyed about.

“Can you proof it for me?” Nymphia says when she’s tugging her shirt back into place and reaching for her laptop. Jane groans at the request, and definitely not at the lack of exposed skin.

“Ugh, Nymph,” Jane pleads. “Again?”

It’s only days before Nymphia’s final assignment is due - a full collection of garments complete with a written artist’s statement. It’s all they’ve talked about for what feels like weeks on end. Jane hasn’t been nearly as annoyed as she says she is. In Jane’s eyes Nymphia is something like a magician, turning whatever she touches into something miraculous and profound. It’s the reason why she’s let their living room become a war zone, littered with bolts of fabric and stray ribbon and a pincushion that somehow seems to be underfoot no matter how far she hurls the thing. She doesn’t mind that much, not really. It’s only until the end of the semester. Besides, Jane loves having Nymphia around. She’d much rather have her working at home, where she can make sure she eats and sleeps and remembers to wash her face before bed. It’s better than having her cooped up in a studio across town all night, working too hard to remember to take care of herself. Plus, Jane loves to watch Nymphia work - when she loses herself in a sketch or in the draping of fabric and her hair starts to slip from her ponytail, and her glasses are sliding down her nose, and her tongue rests at the corner of her mouth-

“You’re so much better with writing than I am!” Nymphia wails. Her voice is whiny and desperate and Jane’s head is in the fucking gutter.

While Nymphia could produce an entire wardrobe in a matter of days, brilliantly tailored and united under some pristine vision that Jane can’t fathom how her girlfriend ever came up with, the artist statement has thoroughly stumped her. It’s a meager assignment, 500 words maximum describing the inspiration for the collection, and has been the bane of Nymphia’s existence for the past four days. Naturally, it’s become the bane of Jane’s existence too.

“Baby,” Jane begs. She’s enjoyed all this time at home with Nymphia, and she’s proud of her, truly, but she would really like her cheery, horny, reliably unfocused girlfriend back.

Nymphia’s bottom lip curls outwards and her eyes flutter. “Please?”

Jane blinks. Nymphia is a little too good at getting exactly what she wants out of her. The worst part is that she knows it.

“Fine,” Jane concedes through gritted teeth, tossing her book to the floor and sitting forward. Nymphia cheers and claps and leans close to grab Jane’s face, almost succeeding until-

“On one condition,” Jane holds her hand up before Nymphia’s lips can find her cheek.

“Anything,” Nymphia coos, like she expects Jane to go easy on her.

“This is the last of the work you do tonight,” Jane says firmly, watching Nymphia’s mouth twist with anxiety. “I mean it. I can’t fucking hear you whine anymore.”

Nymphia’s anxiety is all too quickly replaced with a devious smile, a practiced sort of coercion, “I thought you loved to hear me wh-“

“That’s beside the point,” Jane doesn’t budge. Nymphia is a tease, a very tempting tease, but a tease nonetheless. Jane knows this well enough, she’s fallen victim to her traps more times than she cares to admit. “Do we have a deal?”

Nymphia falls back to the other end of the couch with a defeated hrmph. “Deal” she pouts.

With that, Jane snatches the laptop. She reads Nymphia’s essay intently, because she really does care, making minor grammatical tweaks here and there. The piece is well written, even without the bit of fluffing Jane’s done over the past few days. Nymphia is absolutely selling herself short. It may not be her preferred medium, but her unique vision shines through her words just the same as it does with her clothing.

“What?” Nymphia asks when a small, proud smile tugs at Jane’s lips. “What is it?”

Jane beams, her eyes lingering on the last few sentences. “It’s perfect.”

Nymphia lights up, “You really think so?”

Mhm, Jane hums, looking over to Nymphia where she’s curled into the corner of the couch, grinning. “I’m proud of you, babe.”

“Okay, because I was thinking I could-“ Nymphia starts to ramble, but Jane has already hit ‘save’ and is slamming the laptop shut. Nymphia’s eyes widen.

“We had a deal, didn’t we?” Jane places the laptop on the floor.

“Yes, but-“

“Uh-uh,” Jane shakes her head, leaning forward. “I think you’re done for the night.”

Nymphia could try to make an escape, but it would be pointless. They both know it. “I am?”

“Yeah, you are.” Jane grabs at Nymphia’s ankles, dragging her closer until she’s lying flat on her back. Her glasses slide down her nose.

Nymphia is still muttering something about picking the right font when Jane silences her with a gentle palm over her mouth.

“You’ve done more than enough,” Jane tells her. “Just let me take care of you. Can you do that?”

Nymphia nods, wide-eyed and suddenly breathless. Jane pulls her hand away from Nymphia’s mouth. “Good girl.”

Her other hand is already sliding beneath Nymphia’s t-shirt, grazing her bare skin. She goes to pull it over her head, and Nymphia reaches for her glasses.

“No,” Jane catches her hand, kissing her knuckles before pinning her wrist above her head. “Those stay on.”

[medusapelagia]

20 Never fall for a client

written for @steddieangstyaugust (prompt: Careless Whisper – George Micheal ) and @augustwritingchallenge (Prompt: Joker: guardian) Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve/Eddie TW: violence, gun violence, open ending. injuries, blood Words: 1607

The black suit is perfect on Steve’s toned body. The shirt is slim but not so much to prevent movements. His hair is perfectly brushed. A pair of dark sunglasses and a transparent earpiece complete the outfit.

He’s not expecting any surprise, Eddie should just accept an award for his last song and get back home, but he has worked with Eddie for so long that he knows that he can expect anything from the guy, especially now that he’s royally pissed with him. He’s the exact kind of guy who would do something stupid just as payback.

Steve has tried to ask to be assigned to someone else, but with such short notice, Nancy didn’t find anyone available to be Eddie’s bodyguard for the night.

“You ready? Eddie is already throwing a tantrum. He has just yelled at the room service because the fries weren’t hot enough.” Robin’s familiar voice complains.

Yeah, Eddie’s typical behavior.

“I’m on my way. Is Gareth there?” the only people who can somehow manage to do some damage control with Eddie are Wayne and Gareth. Well, Steve too, but that was before.

“He totally refuses to put up with his childish behavior, and I can’t say I don’t agree.”

“I can hear you, Buckley! And you’re fired!” Eddie screams from somewhere in the back but so loudly that Steve hears him clear as the day.

“Max, is the limousine ready?”

“Yes. Just waiting for the big stars, you know?” Max, it’s at her first job but she’s already tired of those VIPs attitude. Steve has tried to explain to her that most of the VIPs are like the Corroded Coffin and she has rolled her eyes, grabbed the limousine’s keys, and declared that she wasn’t going to talk with them. Clever girl.

After a last look in the mirror, Steve leaves the room. Hidden under his jacket he has a gun, a pair of handcuffs, and a Kevlar bulletproof vest. Even if it’s just a short event he wants to be ready and the only time he didn’t wear his bullet proof vest a fucking psycho attacked the actress he was assigned to in front of the grocery shop. 

Walking in the elevator, the eighties music fills the air while George Michel sings, “We could have been so good together. We could have lived this dance forever. But now, who's gonna dance with me?”

Steve tries to ignore the pang of pain in his heart. There’s a reason why he’s so adamant that he wants to change clients and the reason is that the things with Eddie got too personal, and that’s bad. The first rule of being a bodyguard is never to get feelings for the client you’re working for because it will make you less attentive and ready to act. He knows many bodyguards who made that mistake and regret it deeply, but he’s not going to follow that path.

He knocks politely at the door, while Eddie is screaming something about his outfit.

It’s Robin who opens the door weary and lets out a big sigh when he sees him.

“Please, stop him. I’m tired of listening to him screaming about everything.”

“He doesn’t listen to anyone, Robs.”

“He listens to you.”

Maybe before. But after they shared a heated dance and a kiss in a seedy bar a few nights before he’s pretty sure Eddie won’t even consider him.

“Hey, Eds. Are you ready? Max is waiting for us.”

“Make her wait! Can’t you see my outfit is a mess?! It’s way too big! And I can’t pay guitar with a fringed jacket. And who uses fringed jackets anymore anyway? Call Chrissy! I need a new outfit and I need it now!”

Seated on the couch with one leg over the armrest, Gareth is looking at some videos on TikTok, completely ignoring Eddie’s meltdown, but when he sees Steve he turns off his airpods and smiles brightly at him.

“The lion tamer is here! Finally! Can you kick Eddie’s ass and drag him outside this stupid suite? We have an award to accept in… less than one hour.”

“I’m not leaving until my outfit it’s perfect!” Eddie yells again, glowering at the two of them.

“What’s the problem?”

Eddie lifts an eyebrow, looking at Steve through the mirror, “The stupid fringed jacket.” the guitarist complains, “I can’t play with that stupid thing on.”

“Then don’t wear it.” Steve simply declares, grabbing the jacket and stripping him of it.

Under the jacket, Eddie’s wearing a mesh shirt covered in dark crystals that do nothing to hide his black tattoos on his pale skin.

“Are you fucking kidding? The paparazzi will eat me alive if I don’t wear a jacket to cover my nipple piercings!” Eddie replies offended, grabbing the jacket from Steve’s arms.

Fuck this. They have to go.

“Wear mine.” Steve proposes, giving him his suit jacket. Eddie’s is thinner than Steve but they almost have the same size.

For a moment Eddie’s eyes stare at the black holster under Steve’s arm, but he quickly grabs the jacket and looks at himself in the mirror.

“I can work with this.”

“Glad to hear it. Now are you ready to start this show?” Steve asks, putting on the fringed jacket. It’s not as comfortable as his and definitely way more shiner, but it’s Steve's last work for Eddie so he doesn’t think too much about it even if Robin stares at him with huge eyes.

When they finally get back into the elevator, George Michael is still singing softly, and Steve surprises himself by singing along softly. Eddie turns toward him, confused and amused.

“Trying a new career as a singer? Because as a bodyguard you suck.” he declares coldly.

“Maybe. Do you have any advice?”

“Don’t do it. You're absolutely out of tune.”

Steve chuckles, used to their banter, but he doesn’t reply.

It’s the last day, he keeps repeating to himself during the car ride toward the event, the last day he’ll ever see Eddie. It hurts a bit but Steve knows it’s the right choice.

The event has already started and they are getting in from a separate door so there aren’t many screaming fans waiting for them.

Steve gets out first, takes a deep look at the surroundings, and then, shielding Eddie with his body, he drags him inside, while Robin does the same with Gareth. They met Freak and Jeff backstage since they refused to assist with Eddie’s tantrum and preferred to go ahead to the location.

“Nice jacket.” Freak mocks Steve for the flashy fringed jacket he’s wearing.

“Thanks. I heard it’s really on trend right now.” he winks, then he turns toward the other two bodyguards, “Did you already check the perimeter and the fitting room?”

“Everything clear, Steve. No crazy fans hiding in the fitting room or in the vents.”

That was another experience to remember. A couple of fans managed to move through the vents only to fall abruptly into Eddie’s fitting room, breaking a few bones but gaining an autograph.

Chrissy’s high heels click on the floor while she gets closer, “So the plan is staying behind the curtains until they call you for the award. A brief thanks and then back to the hotel because tomorrow at five am we have a plan to catch. Is that clear?”

“Can I grab a smoke? Steve didn’t let me have one.” Eddie immediately complains. 

It’s not true he didn’t let him smoke but he shrugs, ready to follow him outside.

Chrissy sighs, brushing a hand through her hair, “Please be quick, ok?”

“Don’t worry, doll,” Eddie replies, blowing her a kiss and moving toward the backdoor without even waiting for Steve.

As soon as he gets outside he lights the cigarette but takes just a few puffs before starting to play with it.

“Do you really mean what you said the other night?”

“What?”

“That you’re falling in love with me.”

“I do. That’s why I can’t be your bodyguard anymore.” Steve sighs, “I’m sorry.”

“Maybe it’s better this way.” Eddie replies, stomping the cigarette out, “I don’t want you as a bodyguard.”

Steve nods, Eddie has had many lovers but none of them lasted more than a couple of months.

“That’s good,” Steve says, but before he can add anything else Eddie is pushing him against the wall, kissing him hard, his wet tongue licking at Steve’s lips asking for permission while his teeth graze against Steve’s skin.

It’s just a moment of distraction, but it’s enough.

Steve doesn’t even see the shooter, he just feels Eddie jolts in his arms. Instinctively he holds him tight to his chest turning his back to the shooter to protect him with his body.

“Eddie? Eds!” Steve calls, while Eddie caresses his face.

“You ok, big boy?”

“Robin, call an ambulance! Someone shot Eddie!” Steve yells in the little earpiece in his ear, but when the girl starts to yell back he just takes it out and let it dangle down his shoulders. He quickly tears his sleeve to stop the bleeding.

“Aren’t you going too fast?” Eddie chuckles, “It was just a kiss.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Steve yells.

He fucked up.

He knew it would have happened if he remained Eddie’s bodyguard, but he thought he retreated in time to avoid any problem. Instead, Eddie is lying in a pool of blood with a mesh t-shirt covered in crystals.

“Make sure the pictures are good, will you?” Eddie asks him, before closing his eyes.

Steve doesn’t hear the ambulance coming or the Corroded Coffin and his team joining them, he just holds Eddie tight.

[sebsxphia]

bambi. | dream a little dream of me.

rhett abbott x little!reader.

￫ description: rhett spends the evening winding down with his bambi. based off this drabble here.

￫ word count: 2.4K.

￫ c/w: age regression. other than that, fluff, fluff, fluff.

￫ a/n: i understand this is niche, therefore if you’re on my taglist, i completely understand if you don’t read this! | woodland creatures | agere masterlist | main masterlist |

If it was any other Friday night, you and Rhett would be found down at the Handsome Gambler or sinking down a couple beers on your sofa and watching a corny action film from the eighties and debating weather Rhett could pull off that stunt or not. But tonight was different.

The week had been gruelling for you both, with heavy workloads and exhausting physical labour on your ranch for five days straight. There were still bits and pieces to do over the weekend, but you both always tried your best to get most of the work done during the week so your weekends could be spent lazing around with each other in a heap of bedsheets and day-old clothes. Understandably so, you were exhausted and you let yourself float in that familiar and fuzzy headspace.

Rhett could gauge that you were feeling really tiny within your age regression and he set up everything appropriately. Your living room floor had been coated in soft blankets for you to sit on and he had surrounded you with an array of plush cushions and pillows. He knew when you were feeling small within your age, your limbs would get floppier alongside it and Rhett had baby-proofed your surroundings.

The coffee table was pulled up to the sofa in your living room and you were comfortably sat between both. Colouring books aged three years and up had been put to the side and Rhett opted for a stack of coloured paper and pencils for you to scribble whatever your little mind would see. Alongside the scribbles you were deeply focused on, there were toys scattered across the table.

There were baby building block toys, that you would put in the matching shaped holes. There were plastic farm and zoo animals that Rhett ensured were big enough and had no rough edges. Your gathering of Sylvanian Families was placed neatly together and your beloved toy horse that he fixed up was placed at the corner of the table, with a compromise from Rhett.

“‘m sorry, Bambi, I don’t wan’ these little creatures' tiny furniture to get lost ‘nd I don’t wan’ Peach gettin’ any more ouchies, okay?”

You happily complied with the comfort of having your beloved, velvet creatures nearby.

You were snuggly sat in your baby grow that was patterned in delicate and detailed drawings of woodland creatures, including tiny baby fawns. Your pacifier clip that was attached to your romper was decorated in cartoon illustrations of cowboys. The pacifier itself was resting lopsided in your mouth and decorated with cartoon animals. Occasionally in between your drawing, you opted for your Giraffe-shaped chew toy that was layered with different textures.

Off to the side of the living room was the kitchen where Rhett was cleaning up the last of the pots and pans from your comforting and warm meal of macaroni cheese. He had never made macaroni cheese before he met you, but with love and patience, you taught him how and by now he knew the recipe like the back of his hand. He always had the ingredients in your home, ready to create the meal when you needed it most.

Unknown to you, Rhett was watching you cautiously from the kitchen as he dried up the remains of the pots and pans from your dinner. He had baby-proofed your surroundings and there were no real harmful elements around you, but he understood that your headspace was no older than one and he worried.

He took on the role of your caregiver high and mighty on his shoulders. He would protect you to the ends of the earth and the trust you put into him was something he didn’t take for granted lightly. Watching the way the cogs turned behind your eyes and how your body physically de-tensed in his hold as you regressed, was something he would always hold dear and close to his heart. The feeling of cradling you gently as you let yourself become vulnerable in his arms was something truly special. It was an unbreakable and undeniable bond, and he was devoted to you.

From the kitchen, he watched the way your tongue poked outwards from the corner of your pacifier as you concentrated feverishly on your drawing in front of you. Your hand came upwards towards your eyes curled in a tight fist. You rubbed at your eyes haphazardly, in an attempt to stifle an exhausted yawn on this Friday night. Rhett smiled knowingly to himself and turned his back momentarily to place the last of the cook pots in the cupboard and tuck the dishcloth on the rack of the oven.

As he opened the cupboard, he retrieved your milk bottle, strawberry milkshake powder and your milk of preference from the fridge, and placed them all in line on the kitchen countertop. When he turned back around to face you in the living room, another attempted stifled yawn was futile.

The exhausted yawn took over your body whole and you scrunched your eyes shut tight, the pencil in your hand almost going limp against the colored paper. When you came to, Rhett let out a chuckle quietly to himself and made his way over to you. He was gentle on his feet as he padded across the floorboards to your bundle of plush cushions and pillows.

“Hey, Bambi,” He soothed out in a low and quiet tone. As he steadily placed himself down next to you on the cushioned floor, you gave him a sleepy yet gleaming smile from behind your pacifier. “How y’ gettin’ on?”

Rhett knew that within your tiny headspace right now, for you to be nonverbal was normal. You gave him a gleeful verbalized hum, acknowledging his presence and question, still letting your hand scrawl on the paper with your pencil.

He tucked himself next to you and drew his broad arm around your back. You fell into his chest and side almost instantly, positioning yourself against his familiar warmth. His hand came up to the side of your head and he scratched his fingertips soothingly on your scalp, helping you regulate with his touch and subconsciously soothing you into that sleepy state. He knew it was nearly time for bedtime and he would be gently winding you down with his touches and quiet voice. His other hand stretched out and his nimble fingers pointed at the coloured paper. He let out a quiet gasp.

“Bambi!” A hushed exclamation, “Did you draw this?” You nodded vigorously, the ring on your pacifier knocking against itself. “Baby, it’s beautiful. My little one is s’ talented.” He tickled at the side of your ear with his other hand and you let out a giggle.

You tapped the pencil on the paper at the scrawl of a shape and let out a squeal, before turning to meet his eyes. Rhett clocked it instantly.

“That’s me?”

You squealed again and let out a single, “Dada!”

“Where’s Bambi? Can you point them out to Dada?” You tapped at the paper to another shape and he hummed approvingly, a prideful smile twisting on his lips.

Rhett pointed to the last scrawled-out set of shapes and colours, and he watched how your eyes drifted to the corner of the table where your beloved toy horse he had fixed up was sitting.

“Is that, Peach?”

You nodded again and mumbled out from behind your pacifier, “Tu’ day.”

Rhett let out a silent, “Ah!” and a rumbled chuckle, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest. His hand was now cradling your head against him and you wrapped your whole body into his. He put the pieces together and he knew you were referring back to the Tuesday just passed. It was an almost alarming hot day that came from nowhere and you took the evening to ride out on his horse to the wildflower fields, far, far off from your home. He remembered how after you both made your way back home, you were both tuckered out, but you smiled to yourself and told Rhett with a loving and whole look in your eyes, “I needed that. Thank you, Cowboy.”

He was silently touched beyond words that you would remember that day and that you treasured it so fondly that you would draw it, even within your tiny headspace.

“Bambi was s’ sleepy after that horse ride with Daddy, weren’t you?” He craned his face down to take in your sleepy eyes and the way your eyelids were struggling to stay open. The knuckle of his index finger came up and gently brushed against your nose and he still watched with adorning eyes how your nose twitched slightly.

You gave him a small nod and completely succumbed to his grasping hold, burying your face into the crook of his neck and latching your arms around his neck. Rhett read how your body was melting against his, how your muscles relaxed and your breathing was starting to even out, getting slower and slower with each passing second.

“Alright, little one. I think it’s time we get y’all ready for bedtime.”

There were occasions when at these words from your caregiver's mouth you would protest and plead to stay up for just one more hour, but your body had completely succumbed to the exhaustion. You weren’t putting up a fight anymore. You just wanted to sleep, curled into your Daddy’s chest.

Rhett waited for a beat and at your silent admission, he let his arms drop to your legs, scoop you up and hoist you to his hip as he stood. He took you into the kitchen where he placed you down gently on the wooden chair seated at the kitchen table. You let out a protesting whine as his comforting warmth left your body, your face contorting into a frown and a small pout behind your pacifier. Your hands reached out as fast as they could and you held onto the cuffs of Rhett’s plaid shirt, tugging on them to not let him take a step further.

He cooed at you and took your hands in his, squeezing them tightly and placing two kisses on the backs of them. “It’s alright, Bambi. Daddy’s right here. M’ not leavin’ your side. I’m just gon’ make you a bottle, okay?”

You gave him another verbalized hum in agreement to acknowledge what he had said and you tentatively let go of his calloused hands. You attempted to watch what Rhett was doing with big eyes, but your eyelids were drooping at every blink. The milk was poured into the pot and left to warm slowly on the stove.

At this point, Rhett came back (which was only two steps away from the oven, but it felt like miles) and lifted you, sat himself down on the kitchen chair and brought you to sit in his lap. You resumed your previous position of wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face into the crook of his neck. You inhaled his familiar and comforting scent of cedar wood and leather, and Rhett’s hands placed on your back felt your ribs expand and then let out of any tension you had.

Gently he began to rock you against his chest and in his arms. All that could be heard was the crackling whoosh! of the gas on the stove and quietly in your ear, Rhett’s low voice, humming a lullaby.

“Stars shinin’ bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper, I love you. Birds singin’ ‘n the sycamore trees, dream a little dream ‘f me.”

He continued for another two verses of the lullaby, his drawl getting lower as he went on before his head picked up and he heard the bubbling foam of the milk rise to the top of the pot. Slowly, and without causing too much disturbance to your nearly asleep frame, he untucked you from himself, placed you back on the kitchen chair and drew together your bottle. It was a combination of milk and a little dusting of strawberry milkshake powder.

With an instinct from yourself, as Rhett came back over to your side, you slipped off the kitchen chair and outstretched your hands to him. He carefully and gently hoisted you to his hip and carried you back to the living room, with the warm bottle in his hand.

“Alright, little one, let's get you cosy against Dada, yeah?” Rhett hummed as he placed himself down on the sofa. He propped himself up in the corner at the end and sat you in between his thighs with your head resting on his upright chest. One hand still held the bottle for you and the other reached for the television remote on the sofas arm. The television had already been quietly playing in the background for the entire evening and he switched it on to an episode of, ‘In the Night Garden’ before you could blink.

Rhett brought the bottle to you and began feeding you, with it still held in his hand. From this angle, he could ensure your safety and could carefully hold the bottle to not let you drink down too much too quickly, or wipe your chin briefly with his thumb. His spare hand was soothingly rubbing your arm, with his fingertips ghosting over your arm hair and tickling you gently. As you parted from your bottle in parts, he would return to running his fingers through your hair and scratching firmly enough on your scalp to regulate your sleepy-induced state. Occasionally he would dip down and place fluttering kisses on your temples, murmuring quiet words of praise against your warm flesh.

The sweet taste of the milk was dancing on your tastebuds and as your eyes were focused on the television in front of you, they were struggling immensely to stay open for more than five seconds.

Rhett clocked the remaining droplets left in your bottle and gently lowered it down, to not get the droplets caught in your throat and tickle you with a horrible cough. Instinctively, he knew this would signify the end to you, but he waited for you to confirm this before pulling the bottle away entirely.

“Fin’, Dada.” You murmured out with sleep lacing your words.

Very few words had been spoken by yourself this evening, but Rhett took this as your sleepy admission. The bottle was placed to the side and he brought you in closer to his chest. His nimble fingers found your pacifier in quick time and placed it between your lips. Another flurry of kisses was placed to your temple and as your breathing evened out to a slower pace, you felt the low rumble of Rhett’s chest underneath you as he spoke the last words you remember that night.

“Atta’, Bambi. Close your eyes, little one. Daddy’s got you.”

taglist: @beachbabey @tallrock35 @currentlybradshaw @unmistakablyunknown @iloveprettyboysblog @wkndwlff @flames-thebitch @randomfandomgirl96 @kmc1989

tagging those who may be interested: @sunblchdfly @lewmagoo @bradshawsbitch @peachystenbrough @becks-things @mangokitkats

[revelry-in-severity]

Ruikasatober: Eighty-Eight

After he turns the page, Tsukasa pauses when he feels a twinge in his wrist, like his veins pulsed for a second more than they needed to. He turns his palm towards him in confusion, peering at the journey of lines and seeing where they meet his buttoned cuff. Carefully, he curls his fingers into a fist. Odd, he feels nothing, so he flexes his wrist before returning to proper form.

He winces when his wrist twinges again. 

“Something wrong?” Rui asks from beside him, obviously having noticed him stop. They both arrived at the stage early again and have been relaxing quietly, him reading through his papers and Tsukasa idly playing with his thoughts. 

Does he tell him? Tsukasa debates with himself. Not telling his director could make his wrist worse. The pain might be mild now, but nothing can stop it from growing. Other than himself. A bit of rest would let his wrist heal and he would be good to continue. Adding doubts to the ones Rui already has isn’t a good idea, and Tsukasa needs to show him he can be trusted. 

“I think I might have overplayed,” he admits finally. He curls his fingers again and determines that only his wrist is starting to bother him. 

Rui hums. “If we stick with the opening song that can give you a break,” he muses immediately, not needing any further proof. “You’re already proficient when playing on your own, so it would not be a problem to focus on the other individual groups for today. Or if your wrist isn’t too bad, we can wait until the end of group practice. You’ll have to let me know.”

He shuffles in his chair, straightening up from where he had been resting his head on the back of it. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a few pens. Citrine eyes glance down at himself before focusing on Tsukasa. 

“Your ribbon, please.”

Tsukasa raises a brow but doesn’t question him as he unravels the thick ribbon. When it’s off his neck, he holds it out to Rui as he tucks his lily into his vest. 

Rui’s hand hovers over Tsukasa’s in askance, and when he receives a nod, he carefully places the pens against the inside of his wrist. “It’s not much,” he says quietly, “but it will help stabilize your wrist for now.” One hand cups Tsukasa’s wrist, fingers holding the ribbon, and thumb holding the pens in place. With his other hand, he begins to wind the ribbon. Round and round until Tsukasa's wrist is fully covered. When he’s done, he neatly ties the ends into a bow. 

Tsukasa smiles at him in thanks. He can feel the warmth of Rui’s hands through the ribbon and his shirt. It lingers, and he knows it will be enough for when his turn comes during rehearsal.

[workingdownthewordmine]

Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter 5 Every Man Is Guilty

Bucky struggles with the attitudes of his so-called friends and Hive makes themself scarce.

Read this chapter on AO3 here.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 4

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Nonbinary OC, Steve Rogers Rating: T CW: Guilt, bullying (mention), violent child abuse (mention), homophobia (mention), mild dissociation Prompts filled: @lgbtqbingo : Hickeys @fluffbruary : Day 6 - Embarrassment @multifandom-flash (Compliments) : You are better than you think you are

@fandom-free-bingo (World Book Night Edition card 1) : "I don't need you." @fandom-free-bingo (Flight Edition) : Can't make it to dinner, Teasing @anyfandomangstbingo : Best friend's boyfriend @febuwhump : Day 24 - "I'm doing this because I care about you." @seasonaldelightsbingo (Winter Wonderland) : Situationship

Dividers by @unfortunate-beetle-and-friends

Chapter 5 – Every Man is Guilty

“But I have my life, I’m living it. It’s twisted, exhausting, uncertain, and full of guilt, but nonetheless, there’s something there.”

Banana Yoshimoto

“You’re not selling me on this, Steve.” Bucky leant back on the kitchen wall, chin lowered and arms crossed.

“I can’t give you specifics right now. Security’s too tight. If you’ll just come and talk to Fury-”

This was the guy who’d lied to every draft office in the tri-state area? When had Steve become so damn hidebound? “I’m not interested. I told you before, I’m not going to work for SHIELD. And you can save Barton and Romanov’s very touching Different Call story. I’m grateful for what you did for me, really, but I never agreed to get away from Hydra just to sell my soul to someone else.”

Steve’s hands dug deeper into his pockets. “SHIELD isn’t Hydra, Buck. It’s not the same at all. Just let me set up a chat with the director and you’ll see that.”

“Why won’t you let this drop? You’ve got your whole Captain America deal with your team. I’ve got an actual life of my own now. You don’t need me.”

“Fine. You’re right. I don’t need you.”

Never had someone agreeing with him felt so much like a fist in the gut. Bucky didn’t get the chance to tell him to go fuck himself. Steve kept going. “This isn’t about me needing your help, Buck. I’m here because I want your help. I need people around me that I can trust and I trust you. You’re my oldest friend. And I gotta say, Bucky, this whole ‘new life’ you say you’ve got going on looks a lot like walling yourself up in a different cell. I’m doing this because I care about you. What good was getting them to let you go free if you’re just going to lock yourself back up? You look like shit, Buck. When did you last eat? Or drink anything that wasn’t coffee or at least eighty proof? You aren’t one of the bad guys anymore. You can do something worthwhile with your life. You don’t have to be all alone. Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Fuck you, Steve. I’m not gonna be your goddamn bad guy outreach program poster boy. And I had a cheese sandwich just last night, as though it’s any of your fucking business.” And I’m not alone…

They both looked up at the same moment, both heads turned towards the hall closet. “Shit’s always falling down somewhere round here. Place has gone to hell.” But even Steve wasn’t dumb enough not to recognise a sneeze when he heard it.

“For a guy with his windows rigged to blow, you’re weirdly calm about someone climbing around inside your walls.” The tinge of suspicion he heard in Steve’s voice hurt more than Bucky had expected. Who the hell did he think he’d be hiding in a wall cavity? Then he cringed inwardly as Steve began looking around with more intent than he had before. Bucky practically felt his eyes rest for a moment on the extra sleeping bag. His eyebrows visibly rose when he spotted the mug with its weird cute cartoon dragon thing. “Buck?” The suspicion had gone from Steve’s voice and Bucky missed it already.

“Hey, kid, it’s okay. Just a social call.” He listened for a beat of silence, then he and Steve both hear the departing scraping of Hive heading up to the roof. Knowing what he did, Bucky could pick up the unevenness in their movement and made a note to ask to check their injuries later. If he ever saw them again, of course. They might be too spooked to come back at all. He looked down at their mug. They’d be back. He hoped.

“I guess it’s cool that some things don’t change. But I don’t remember you being this coy about your girlfriends even in the forties.”

“‘Girlfriend’ is a real strong word for anyone I passed the time with back then. And that’s not… what this is. They’re just a friend.” Or something. This was definitely not the time to start seriously questioning the weird-ass situation he’d found himself in the last twelve hours or so.

“A friend who hides in the wall when your other friends drop by?”

Other friends? Did Steve think Bucky was having poker nights with the guys every week? What other friends?

“They’re shy, okay?”

“Buck, you don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m glad you’ve found someone you don’t mind having around. I hated thinking of you cooped up here with nothing but a bunch of old memories.” Steve, buddy, you have no idea… “Think I’ll ever get to meet them? What? I can’t be curious about the first person apart from me to ever know the notorious Bucky Barnes well enough to leave a mug at his place?” He couldn’t help but be mildly impressed at Steve’s rapid and unquestioning switch to the neutral pronoun.

“I doubt it. They’re shy, like I said. And it’s not really an ‘introductions to old friends’ kind of thing.” Of at least that much he was sure. Hell, it wasn’t even a thing. Just a really weird couple of days… that had left an extra sleeping bag on his floor.

Steve was frowning again. “You, uh, you’re not in trouble, right? I’ll believe you, whatever you say. I just can’t help noticing you’re a bit more banged up than I’ve seen you in a while. And you smell like that stuff your mom used to cover my hives in when we were kids.” He tried a weak grin.

Well, believe it or not a Hive was responsible… Buck almost returned the smile before he shook himself.  “I’m good. Just had a run in with some kind of funky old insulation while I was doing some repairs. Nothing to worry your pretty head about. The scratches are all healed up anyway.” He turned his shoulder to indicate the one Hive had uncovered. “Only covered them up so I wouldn’t get blood on anything, just didn’t get round to taking off the rest of the bandages before you stopped in for the little recruitment drive. Speaking of which –”

Steve held up a hand to stop him. “Speaking of which, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said… a lot of what I did. It wasn’t my place to judge what you’ve got going on here. I’m sorry.” The renewed anger Bucky had been preparing to unleash petered out more quickly than he had expected. “I meant it though, about wanting to work with you again.”

Buck grunted. “Howling Commandoes reunion tour? This time with one hundred percent less falling out of trains, right?” He hadn’t expected Steve to take the weak joke so hard. Steve hadn’t looked this green since a kid landed a kick in his stomach that left him puking his guts into a trash can. He’d been waiting on the ground by the can when Buck came back with split knuckles and a grin of triumph. They’d gone back to Buck’s place to clean up before Steve’s dad could see the mess on his shirt and add a bloody nose to Steve’s problems. Buck’s place. This place. The sink where they’d rinsed out that faded threadbare shirt had been torn out long ago or it would have been right about where Steve was standing now.

“I should have looked harder.”

“Huh?” Maybe Hive’s attention span was catching, somehow. It took him a second to reconnect the dots.

“I went back. To the pass. I went back about a dozen times, looking for – well – for a body, I guess. Maybe if I’d been smarter about it, I would’ve… would’ve found you. Maybe we wouldn’t be where we are now.” Steve’s words sounded like he was trying to swallow them rather than speak them aloud. “But we are. And I can’t fix what I abandoned you to, but I can’t walk away again. Please, Buck, stop by the compound sometime – nothing to do with SHIELD, just come say hi. Or answer your phone once in a while. I miss my best friend, Buck. The guy I knew back in forty-five, back when our lives made some sort of sense.”

“That guy died in the fall, Steve.”

Steve shook his head. “No, I think he’s very much alive. I see him in there. Don’t bury my best friend in this place, Buck, please. You might feel like you deserve that but you don’t. I’m not talking about showing off how ‘rehabilitated’ you are or anything like that. I mean that guy still deserves the life he should have got the first time around.”

Was that part of you given a choice?

Yes.

There’s always a choice.

No. I would never have chosen that…

Bucky managed to look up at Steve’s eyes. Still fucking insane that he was taller than Buck now. “He’s getting a life. And, I guess, if you’re going to be clingy dork about it, that life can involve spending more time with you than it has done so far. Happy?”

“Yeah, happy. Jerk.”

“We’re in the twenty-first century now, for fuck’s sake, Steve. Learn to curse, I’m begging you.” For just a second they shared a grin. The moment was broken by a beep from Steve’s phone. The sudden awkward energy that radiated from him came as a surprise. “I don’t care if you check your phone, you know? World might be hours from destruction or something.”

“That’s unlikely.” Steve blushed. “It’s probably personal.”

“Stark sending out mass dick pics or something? You’re practically glowing there, Rogers.” The blond head ducked, Steve pushing a hand through his hair. He successfully blocked the blush from view but the new angle… “Steve, that’s a fucking hickey! That’s… at least three hickeys!” Captain America’s complexion was a riot of crimson, the blush spreading down to the livid bruise just below his jaw. “You bruise like I do – those are new and vicious. Christ, Steve, you been hooking up with a moray eel?”

“I, ah, I’m seeing someone.”

“No shit.” Probably he should have expected it. Steve must be one of the most eligible bachelors in the country now. Superpowers, a name like “Captain America”, and serum-enhanced looks on tops of his natural Steve-ness… The girls were probably all over him. Weird thought. “Well? Who is she? Do I need to check she’s good enough for my best friend?”

The tips of Steve’s ears became practically scarlet. “It, uh, look, Buck, I–” Bucky frowned. “The person I’m dating is… he’s a guy.”

Well, Bucky couldn’t say he’d never wondered. The immediate mental maelstrom was much the same as it would have been in the forties. How much trouble was this going to cause him? How many more beatings because hiding himself was absolutely alien to Steve’s nature? It took a few seconds for the twenty-first century to impose itself on his thinking. No, probably no beating for Captain America, but public opinion could be a hell of a thing to reckon with – especially for the nation’s golden boy. And Steve was standing there right now closer to cringing than Buck had seen him since his dad was alive. God, there was a man – if he even deserved the word – who would have exploded at the news that his son was a fairy. He probably would have tried to thrash it out of him, Avenger or no.

“He’s not off the hook for best friend judgement just because he’s male, you know. Do I get to meet him?” He felt the pressure in the room change as Steve relaxed. Had he really expected hostility over his confession? From Bucky?

He doesn’t trust you…

“Uh, I guess, sometime. No one else has yet but it’s not… not really a secret. The team knows.”

Bucky nodded. “Well? You gonna see what he wants?” On cue, Steve’s phone chimed again. Reluctantly, ears still hot, he pulled it out of his pocket.

“Just asking where I want to get dinner tonight.” He tapped out a reply, making Buck smile at the geriatric concentration he had to put into the exercise, betraying the boyish face.

“Cute.”

He knows, deep down, what a monster he unleashed by letting you go.

Stop.

That’s why he’s scared of you, even now. Guilt for leaving you behind? More likely guilt for not finishing what he started when he let you fall.

He didn’t “let me fall”.

We’ve been over this, asset. You used to be less naïve. You know the resources he has at his disposal. Do you really believe he didn’t just decide you weren’t worth the trouble?

Steve pushed his phone back into his pocket and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

Bucky waved the apology away.

“I should probably get going. I’ll see you? Soon?”

Bucky nodded, but…

Empty offer. You really think he and his new friends want someone around who tried to kill them – however poorly you executed your assignment? Stark didn’t even trust you unsupervised in this dump, let alone in his precious Tower.

“Steve, you sure the others won’t mind me just stopping by? Doubt I‘m popular over there. Not real eager to get teargassed soon as I set foot over the perimeter.”

Steve smiled, his confidence returning. He’d swung his leg over the sill already. “Sure, I’m sure. It’s not like everyone trusted Natasha when she first showed up either. They’re the good guys, Buck. They believe in second chances.” His smile was warm as ever as he ducked out of the window, not seeing the way the temperature of Bucky’s blood had plummeted. “And charge your phone,” Bucky heard him say as his feet landed on the tarmac.

Second chances… isn’t that sweet? So much for his assurances of your deep and abiding innocent soul, it seems. You could have almost believed that choir boy act, couldn’t you?

It was three hours before Hive returned the way they had left. The hum of the generator wasn’t quite enough to drown out their scuffling descent. The faceless apparition was unnerving until they loosened their hood strings and pulled their hoodie down to uncover their lower face. “Protection,” they explained, though Bucky had already guessed as much. From the looks of the stretched fabric round their wrists, they’d had the sleeves pulled down over their hands too.

“Good call. Skin still itches like shit.” He’d had another go with the cream – Steve was right about the smell barely having changed in almost a century – but ran into the same problem as before. He’d had to spend a good twenty minutes scrubbing the stuff out of the joints in his arm with a toothbrush.

He was turning to offer Hive some of the beans he’d been heating on the camping stove, when he realised what else had bothered him about their appearance. They were huddled in the hallway, dressed as they’d been when they made their exit earlier – hoodie, cargoes, black and purple striped socks…

“You’ve been hanging around Brooklyn with no fucking shoes on?”

“You’d be amazed. Saw one guy with no shoes, no socks, and only half a pair of trousers. Guess I should be grateful for what I’ve got. Anyway, I wasn’t stopping for pre-flight checks while I was busy fleeing for my life, was I?”

“You need to check that you’re wearing shoes?”

“Told ya,” They seemed almost proud. “My brain is wrong.”

“Won’t be the only thing that’s wrong if you do shit like that. You’re lucky you haven’t got tetanus or something.”

“Probably too soon to be sure if I have or not,” they pointed out as they dropped down by the fire and stuck their feet out to warm near the flames.

“Not real comforting, kid.”

Hive watched him for a moment, maybe wondering the same thing he was: at what point had their continued well-being become a matter of comfort to him. Then again, maybe not.

“You call me that a lot. Kid. ‘M not a kid, you know.”

He grunted in reply. “I’m an old man, kid. Don’t take it personally.” That was apparently acceptable. They huffed but smirked. They wiggled their toes. Unsurprisingly, the soles of their socks were filthy, damp, and holes in more than one place. One big toe poked free. They saw him looking and wagged it pointedly at him.

“Rude to stare.” They were grinning.

“Sure your feet are okay? There are landfills cleaner than the streets round here. No cuts or anything?”

“Will you feel better if I check?”

“I’ll have less concern about my apartment stinking of gangrene tomorrow, yeah.”

They rolled their eyes but folded their legs and peeled off their socks.

He doled out beans, giving Hive the bowl and keeping his own in the pan, while they performed their inspection.

“All good,” they pronounced, hopping up with only a bit of a wobble to rinse their hands under the lonely sinkless faucet. Bucky wasn’t sure if it had been seeing Steve standing in the old place, looking not so much like he’d grown as like the room had shrunk around him, or if it was just having someone else inhabiting the space with him for a while, but the apartment’s wasted, skeletal feel was more noticeable to him now. He was making food over a camping stove. His bed was a sleeping bag. For someone who’d finally come back home, he looked pretty homeless right now, didn’t he? Was that what Steve had seen? Did Bucky have that same look? An abandoned shell, like the building?

What makes you think you deserve any better? You could have been so much more…

“Cheers.” Hands clean, Hive had grabbed their bowl and clunked it lightly against the pan. Seeing his confusion, they repeated, “A toast to toes not turning grey and dropping off! Which… now that I hear it again, may not have been the most genteel toast ever raised at a meal. Oops. Hope I didn’t put you off.” They tucked into their own food with no sign of discomfort.

“A toast to not losing body parts gets my vote,” he conceded. They shared a grin. “Where did you go earlier anyway? Guessing you didn’t find a café that didn’t care about the lack of shoes.”

“Rooftops, mostly. Nearby ones. Figured if it was a social call I probably didn’t need to flee the state. Thought about a library but figured I’d attract a bit too much attention.”

“Library?”

“They have books there! The wild kind, not the kind you have to pay for. Like a book zoo – except members can foster the animals. The analogy got a bit lost, sorry.”

“I followed, most of it anyway. I do know what a library is. We had ‘em when I was a kid too, you know.”

While he did the sparse dishes, Bucky could see Hive moving around out of the corner of his eye. A glance found them rolling up their sleeping bag and gathering the small quantity of trash they’d been accumulating into a sack. He dried his hands and grabbed his phone; it had turned up beside the plant pot. The generator fell quiet. Bucky turned the phone on and almost immediately wished he hadn’t. It lit up with message after message, the device rattling in his metal grip.

Steve: Been a while. How are you getting on?

Steve: Hope you are doing okay. There is a briefing later today that you might be interested in. Let me know.

Banner: Shuri sent me over your updated records. I think we should discuss a pain management regimen. Contact me.

Steve: Clint and Natasha are planning a movie night. How about joining us?

Steve: You really need to answer a text (or a call) once in a while.

Fen: You’re 30m late

Fen: Where are you??

Fen: Call me, James

Steve: I tried to call twice and didn’t get an answer. I’m going to drop by this morning. There’s some SHIELD business I want to discuss and it’s been a long time since you checked in. Miss you, man.

Fen: This is real shitty of you. You’re decent at the job and I like you but you can’t just ditch for the day without a word. The garage was busy today. We need to talk.

Steve: ETA 10 minutes.

“Fuck.” Hive looked up. “Everything going on since yesterday… Seems I forgot to go to work today.” He started moving automatically, grabbing his jacket off a picture nail, and toeing his boots upright. Hive must have taken them off for him while he was unconscious. He’d have expected to feel more latent objection to the idea but he definitely did not have time to stop and consider the unfamiliar close, warm sensation he experienced instead.

“I should have thought… sorry.”

“Huh?” He stopped, half inside his jacket.

“I mean, I knew, didn’t I? Where you work. That’s how I found you in the first place. Should have occurred to me that you ought to be there.”

He was already four hours late. What difference was five more minutes likely to make to his boss’s bad mood. “Wasn’t your problem if I went to work or not. I’m a big enough boy to handle my own routine.” He was a bit unsettled to see Hive huddling into a corner again, much as they’d done last night. They were still on their feet but they’d shrunken down into their hoodie and were not looking at him. “Hey, kid, it’ll be okay. My huge personal charm will smooth things over with my boss and anyway it is not up to you to have shit to do with my schedule.” They nodded but still wouldn’t meet his eyes. Their gaze was unfocused, drifting around the floor. Trying not to wonder why he cared, he cast around for something to ground them.

“Know what? I’m gonna try to make a dinner tonight that doesn’t come straight out of a can. What do ya think? Sound good?”

“I mean… it’s pretty vague.” He was relieved to see some… presence come back into their face. “Are we talking closer to a dead pigeon you found on the roof or delicately braised sustainably-farmed salmon?” Bucky’s expression apparently satisfied. They grinned a little.

“I guess somewhere in the middle but a little closer to the dead pigeon. I’ll do my best.”

The grin brightened. “Sounds good. I don’t like salmon much anyway.”

He nodded. “No salmon. Got it. See you later – gotta go save my job.”

The garage hadn’t been too bad. Fen had been obliged to rake him over the coals a little – sure it was real useful having a guy on staff who could jack up a car on one hand, in addition to being able to handle basically any bike issue she could remember being brought, but only if he was gonna decide to turn up when expected and not just when it was convenient to him. He knew she took no pleasure in playing the hard-ass, except with assholes who didn’t believe she was more than capable of dismantling their tricked out dick substitutes down to the nuts and then reassembling it faster than they could jerk off over a climate change denial manifesto; she just wanted her garage running smooth. He’d worked out the rest of the day and hung out past close to put away some late deliveries by way of apology and all ruffled feathers had settled. His extended shift had meant it was already past dark when he got to his supply run, though. He hoped Hive wasn’t getting too hungry waiting.

If they were, it wasn’t causing any notable chaos. The building was quiet and dark. Maybe they were taking the opportunity for some much needed sleep. A smile crept over his lips at the thought. He tried to keep quiet and not disturb them when he manoeuvred his awkward haul through the window, catching the new wok as it made a dash for the floor. But he’d no sooner set things down than he knew the apartment was deserted. It felt empty in a way he couldn’t recall it feeling before they’d arrived. He stuck his head out into the hallway but the whole building had the same mournful, abandoned echo. A shiver gripped him – all the more dramatic in a body that always ran so hot. He searched the apartment. Their sleeping bag was folded neatly in a corner of the hall. His own he found moved to his bedroom, spread out with pillow, blanket and a sheet of paper laid on top. He recognised their handwriting.

Hey Bucky,

Wasn’t sure when to expect you back. I’m so sorry – looks like I might have to miss dinner after all. I need to go do something. Should be back by 9 at the latest so… maybe save me some if I didn’t piss you off too much by ditching? Sorry, again. Sorry sorry sorry. See you later.

Hive x

Bucky stood in his bedroom doorway with the note in his hand and shot a look at the things he’d left in the kitchen – the wok and utensils he’d been managing without, the extra bowl, plate, cutlery, and the bag spilling spring onions and packets of noodles beside them. Gotta do what they gotta do, he supposed. The note creased in his fingers. No problem. Might take him a while to get this right anyway. He’d cook, and they’d probably be back by the time he was done, sure.

With how many people who’d love to know where to find Bucky Barnes in tow?

They don’t want to be found themselves. They wouldn’t bring anyone back here…

The nightmare act really sucked you in, didn’t it? Who knows who they really are? Even if they are in hiding from someone, aren’t there plenty of people who’d trade the whereabouts of the Winter Soldier for better protection than hiding out with a monster who already nearly killed them? Not a high bar, is it?

So what’s your suggestion?

What time is it?

What?

They said they’d be back by nine.

Probably so we’d stay put and off guard.

What time is it?

He’d never bothered to get a clock. He pulled out his phone.

22:27

His eyes shot to the window.

Note: Thanks for reading, y'all! And thank you to all the wonderful providers of prompt events without which I probably wouldn't have started writing again. Special thank you to my boys for inspiring me and keeping me motivated.

[randomcartoonbro]

I am a fucking person. Not a product. Fuck Mark Zuckerberg, but also fuck Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos and anyone that thinks "technological advancements" are more important than humans. AI stealing art was bad enough, but something we could work around. But now in Europe, Meta is testing out using people's personal data and pictures (as in themselves, family members, important events, pets, etc.) to train AI. Are you fucking kidding me?? And you can't even opt out unless you literally use the AI and show them proof that you're in it and they can still shrug and say it's not their problem. Even privatizing your account doesn't stop the AI. There's literally nothing you can do. Yes, there's backlash happening, but since when has that stopped Zuckerberg? To all the AI bros that said we were overreacting when we were upset about AI art: congrats. Your dead grandma is about to be in the algorithm. I hope she comes up and haunts you on your next AI art creation. Those that have continued to fuck with AI programs despite the warnings and upset, you are a part of why this is happening. You gave them numbers to show that people like AI and gave them the go ahead to keep going further and further with it. We are losing our humanity and it's just going to get worse. Ever read Nineteen Eighty-Four, The Giver, or even Hunger Games? We're inches from there and it's gonna be a bitch to turn back. The fact I can't even put in a job application without either an AI talking to me or knowing one will be going through what I submit instead of a person. It literally is affecting every single aspect of our existence at this point. I'm fucking scared and you should be too.

[khruschevshoe]

“Take me back to them, old girl!” the Doctor screams, banging on the console. “Let me have them again! Let me see them!” He is begging, pleading, by now, tears burning across his cheeks, snot escaping his nose, but he doesn't care, because his faith is eroding, his doubt growing, because he is no Eurydice, he is doubting Orpheus, always has been- “I have to know if they survived. Please, please, let me know, I need proof-”

Amy might be immortal, but she is also young. Young enough to have faith. Young enough not to doubt.

The Doctor is too old. He doesn't have enough faith. He never has. He doesn't believe in gods. He doesn’t believe in the divine.

Once, the Doctor believed in Rose Tyler. He believed in her resilience, and her hope, and her love.

But Rose Tyler left this universe, leaving only the remnants of the Bad Wolf scattered across space and time, afterimages of her fingerprints, as evidence of her brush with divinity.

Does the Doctor believe in the Bad Wolf? Does he believe that she would abandon him? Does he believe that a virus with a 100% chance of fatality will somehow be kept at bay for eighty years?

The Doctor yanks the holoscreen around with a scowl. “Take me to River. Take me to my daughter. My family."

The Doctor is having a harder and harder time breathing. The last time he was drowning in exhaustion and panic, Amy and Rory were there to pull him in and help him breathe.

This time, he has nothing. The song has ended. The story has fallen to a close.

(My reaction to reading @aletterinthenameofsanity 's Doctor Who-Eleven/Amy/Rory series. It gets better after this but HOLY SHIT was I not prepared for that bit!)