#not prompted by dust or any other usual thing

[arthursfuckinghat]

Nothing is quite like enjoying the early days of chapter three, then hearing Arthur's first cough to snap you right back to the reality of his fate

[windvexer]

Crafts of the Witch Useful to Learn

Welcome to December 25th, here's some stuff about witchcraft to think about because you're on your phone looking for a distraction :)

So anyway here's stuff that's really useful to learn how to do before you actually need it because putting it all together for the first time on game day is stressful.

Creation and Desecration of a Poppet

A poppet is a deeply sympathetic representation of someone or something (usually another person).

According to the law of sympathy, whatever you do to the poppet will happen to the person it represents. You could cleanse and bless it, or smite it.

Poppets can be made in a wide variety of ways, from paper dolls, to clay figurines, to crocheted stuffies - anything you like. They also must be worked over magically to link them to their target.

The most ideal poppet is decorated to look very similar to the thing it represents, and is imbued with a taglock (such as hair, nail clippings, footprint dust, etc).

Learning Prompts:

The handicraft of creating the poppet - start with any arts and crafts you're interested in and see if they'll work for you

Practice making several poppets - you do not need to consecrate them. How easy is it for you to decorate it just like the real person? How easy is it for you to include taglocks?

Find a disposal plan. ""Voodoo dolls"" are steeped in public awareness; will it be safe for you to throw away the poppet in the trash when you're done with it?

Consecration or enlivening poppet as target. Find or develop a ritual to fill the poppet with magical life so that it becomes the target. Practice this once or twice (perhaps on a poppet of yourself, to cast blessings or prosperity magic on yourself)

Desecration or severing link. Find or develop a ritual to end the sympathetic link between the poppet and its target. Practice this once or twice.

Storage and tending of enlivened poppets. They are alive and they act like it. If you intend to have poppets sitting around for long-term spells or to use as-needed, you will need a system of storing them so that they "go to sleep" and remain undisturbed until you need them.

Consecration, In General

Here I mean "consecration" to be an act of magic which anoints an object as sacred unto a purpose, and therefore primed for magical use. In crude terms: you're making an object magical and giving it a purpose at the same time.

Consecration is a very useful thing to know how to do. In and of itself it can form a kind of minor enchantment (I consecrate this mug of oolong tea to be a potion of survival +1), but it can also prepare the way for powerful enchantments (I consecrate this ring to become a divine protector, ready to receive the powerful enchantment I soon cast upon it).

Learning Prompts:

Find or create a minor consecration spell which can be cast in under a minute. Strive to obtain one which is covert and can be done even in the presence of others. (Perhaps we could call this a 'cantrip'). Such a spell tends to be suitable for moving fate a few degrees over, or to dig a shallow pool in the tides of reality.

Find or create a hefty consecration spell. Consider what abilities or access you have that allows you to redefine the fate and purpose of an object. Contemplation of this spell can provide great insight into one's own belief and path. Such a spell may completely reorient fate, and carve new channels into the waterways of reality.

Practice minor consecrations on 5 different types of objects. Consecrating the tea, that's easy - stir it a few times. But how to consecrate a hairbrush? How to consecrate a mirror?

Practice major consecration twice, unto two very different domains. Perhaps a pepper oil of fiery smiting, and a crystal bracelet of deep soothing. This is an opportunity to compare and contrast the powers you raise when you work within different domains.

Desecration, In General; and Spell Reversal

To make profane; as in, to remove the magic from something and make it no more than a lump of physical matter, or a meaningless event like scattered dust on the winds of fate.

In my opinion, all witches should learn this - "don't raise up what you can't put down" also includes "don't enchant shit if you don't know how to undo enchantments."

To know how to nullify magic also means you can nullify unwanted and harmful things around you, and take the force and energy out of them.

Learning Prompts:

Find or create a minor desecration spell, one that you can cast on the fly and without tools or ingredients. Such a spell may be like a slapping a broom on a dusty rug; it will shake free things not tightly held.

Find or create a major desecration spell. Such a spell is like steam cleaning and shampooing a rug; it must remove every particle of magic and leave nothing behind but stripped fibers.

Practice minor desecrations 5 times in day-to-day life, targeting stank vibes and irritating situations that do not serve you.

Practice minor consecrations and desecrations 5 times by consecrating a stone, candle, etc., unto a magical purpose, and then removing the consecration.

Find an opportunity to cast a major desecration, which you may find the opportunity to do the next time the need for banishment comes up; or when sorting through old magical tools you no longer need, etc.

Find or create a solid spell reversal, one that you can use without having to have physical spell remnants on hand. Note that reverse to sender is not the same as nullifying your own magic.

Binding Divination Tools to Veracity, and Sundry Divination Management

Or if you like, binding veracity to divination tools. Binding is not baneful magic. Binding means to attach one thing to another thing, or to prevent something from being ways.

You can cast a binding on your divination tools to constrain them to only tell the truth, to truly peer beyond the veil, and only deliver what it can see; and never reflect your personal whims.

There's plenty of magic you can cast for your divinatory tools to make your life easier.

Prepare a binding spell to constrain a divination tool to only reflect the kind of truth you want. Do you want a tarot deck to only show your true state of mind? Do you want a set of runes to only read the will of the gods? Do you want your charm set to only read on the future, and not the past?

Find or create a protection spell to stop undue influence on a divination tool. This does not mean "evil spirits are manipulating your reading." Undue influence also means the strong emotions of querents, random psychic garbage, and the like; but it can also have an impact on the way you phrase questions and work with the tool itself.

Find or create a spell to enchant your tool as a magical seer/oracle. You can use a tarot deck out of the box, of course. You can also enchant it to be a magical object that obtains truth from mystical sources. Try it and see if you like the difference.

Find or create a charging ritual to revitalize your divination tools. This is a good opportunity to examine elemental energies; what kinds of energies are best suited to the purposes of divination and seeing beyond? The full moon is classically used for such purposes. Challenge yourself to recharge your divination tools once a month for 3 months, and see if you like the difference.

Blessing, In General

You have the power to generate and coalesce benevolent and helpful energies, and to distribute them into the world around you. You can bless anything you like, and perhaps the more the merrier; it's a very fine way to transform a space, and put love into the world.

Try considering blessings to have 2 parts; the first is to evoke a desirable force, and the second is to apply the force in a certain way: You could evoke the winter dawn as a blessing power, and then ask it to do something specific (provide a calm day, to make wise choices, to avoid bad traffic, etc).

Write your own minor blessing spell that you can perform in a minute or less. Try centering this blessing around a wonderful and benevolent force, whether it be a certain god, mushrooms, unconditional love, and so forth.

Write a separate minor blessing spell using a very different focus. Try the deep blue calming waters of the deep ocean, or the sprightly breezes of alpine hills, or the feeling of the first sip of a perfect bowl of soup; but make it have really different vibes from the first blessing.

Practice both minor blessings and see the difference. Challenge yourself to use each blessing cantrip 5 times. Try clustering the blessings to fill a space with that kind of energy (such as five items on desk blessed under the alpine breeze, and five items in the bathroom blessed under the deep ocean). Can you feel a difference in the spaces as you move in and out of them?

Write a major blessing using the various benevolent and lovely powers of your practice. This is another good opportunity to explore your practice. When you are in need of love, kindness, grace, and softness, what part of your path rises to meet your needs?

The Big Practice

Consecrate a poppet unto yourself. Bind and enchant a divination tool to be a powerful oracle of truth, and read on the most helpful equipment the poppet needs (RPG style: weapon, armor, familiar, potion?).

Whatever the answer, make a tiny container spell which serves the purpose. Consecrate it to be the tool that the poppet (you) needs.

Give the enchanted container spell to the poppet and cast a blessing on it, to be empowered with the new tool it has been granted in life.

Carefully store the poppet and its tool.

Periodically, perhaps between 1 to 6 times a year, recharge your divination tool and discern what new tools the poppet might need. Desecrate the old tool if you need to (or let them stack up), and consecrate new tools.

Keep the poppet and its tools for as long as you like, carefully severing the link between yourself and it when you're done with it.

[folkloresthings]

Hello darling I have a request from prompt ‘we were supposed to be just friends’. Lando x fem!reader, she work as legal for McLaren, they met at the McLaren technology center, and from the begging they had this special bond. During a party in a disco in uk with his friends, he stay very close to her and try to kiss her. After a sec of confusion, they kissing each other.

❛ ARE WE STILL FRIENDS? ❜ ❨ lando norris x reader ❩

where lando has loved the mclaren legal officer from the second he set eyes on her and has finally decided to do something about it.

eight months out of university and working in a coffee shop was not exactly how you had pictured your life post-graduation. you had a law degree from one of the best schools in england, but all it was doing was gathering dust on a frame in your living room. nights were spent in front of the television, only half paying attention, with your laptop screen lit up with job postings. it was like the four years of knowledge was itching to be used, instead of idle hands pouring overpriced iced lattes.

admittedly, you didn't remember applying for the job at mclaren. you were so desperate that you had sent your resume to every posting you could find, barely sparing a second glance at the job summary. it was only when they emailed with an interview date did you do your research. they were a formula one team, and a pretty good one at that. the sport had never much been your thing so you hadn't a clue what kind of work you'd be doing.

but it was work. legal work.

the interview went smoothly, then the second, and the third. they seemed to love you and your education. thankfully the internships you had done during university made up for your lack of experience. they hired you and had you come up to headquarters the next day. the drive from london to woking was full of jitters, turning your radio up to block out the nervous thoughts.

"ah, y/n! welcome to the mclaren technology centre." zak brown was the one to greet you by the front desk, with a smile and a firm handshake. you had spoken during your last interview, the final hurdle with the boss, and thankfully you got along fine. despite your age and greenness in the legal world, zak admitted he saw potential in you. they had gone through six other employees in the past two years for this position, all much older and more experienced. they needed a change.

"this is where you'll be working when you're in-office," zak explained, leading the way through a tour of the centre. it was much bigger than you expected, so modern and open. yeah, you could picture yourself here. "we usually would have you here one or two days a week, the others you can work from home. is that okay?"

"that's perfect," you agree, nodding happily. "i live in london, so the drive is only about an hour."

zak grins, continuing the tour and filling each space with small talk; your education, upbringing, hobbies. he only laughed when you sheepishly told him you knew very little about formula one, and didn't have a huge interest in the sport.

"you'd be surprised how many people here don't watch it," he chuckled, his american accent strange in the midst of the english countryside. "ah, speaking of. boys!"

in the foyer, at the end of the hall, two heads whip around at zak's call. both in the mclaren colours, one was thinner and smiling crookedly. the other, well. he was...

"lando, oscar, i want you to meet y/n. she's our new internal legal officer," zak explained. "meaning if you fuck up in any way, she'll have to deal with it."

the three men laugh, bringing your own bashful smile to wake.

"hi, i'm oscar," the thinner boy speaks in a soft australian accent, shaking your hand. "but it's lando here that you'll have to keep an eye on. i'm always on my best behaviour."

lando. he'd been staring at you since zak dragged you over to them, barely blinking despite for the odd laugh. he blushes then, gently nudging oscar with his elbow. he meets your eyes and his mouth goes dry, lips parting like a fish out of water as he tries desperately to think of something witty to say.

"don't worry, if you don't do anything wrong then i won't have anything to do," you jest, breaking the silence. a grin pulls at your mouth with the words, soon mirrored by the two drivers.

"i think i'd rather you didn't, then," zak scoffs, patting your shoulder. "go get settled, i'll come check on you in a while. boys, we've got that meeting in ten — c'mon."

smiling gratefully, you nod towards zak as he leaves — a silent thank you for his hospitality. oscar waves shyly, turning on his heel to hurry after his boss. lando follows suit, just about pulling his eyes from you, but only makes it a few steps before he's turning back.

"it was, uh, nice to meet you," he murmurs, clearing his throat. "hopefully i'll see you around."

biting at your cheek, holding back a small laugh, you nod. "hopefully."

lando finds himself grinning, walking a few yards backwards just to spare another minute looking at you. oscar calls for him and forces the teammate to hurry, shoes scuffing against polished tile as he catches up.

"stare much?" oscar asks him once they're side by side, a knowing smirk twisting upward.

"shut up," lando mumbles, but his own smile flickers. "she's pretty."

after that day, lando and you became close friends. he would sneak upstairs from briefings to bring you a coffee ("extra caramel, of course") and hide out in your office. he would vent to you about changes zak was, or wasn't, making with the car. you would confide in his about particularly stressful cases you would get handed. on days you weren't in the office, lando would text you pictures of him and oscar bored in meetings.

but the worst was race weekends. very rarely did you go along with the rest of the team, as there was little need for you there. if something went wrong, you could fix it from your desk in england. lando sent you updates from each city, everything from the track to sightseeings. you would often reply with a picture of your rainy window in central london and a sad face. and each sunday, you would sit up and watch the race with your fingers crossed. no matter the time, you were there. and when a race went particularly bad, you would wait up for the phone call from lando, needing a shoulder to lean on.

the staff at mclaren began saying you two were joined at the hip, partners in crime, so often not seen without the other. the best of friends.

"hey," lando chirped, knuckles rapping on your office door one friday morning. he had two coffees in his hand, as usual, perching both them and himself on top of your desk. "you going to the office party tonight?"

"open bar, free cocktails, seeing mark from marketing drunk?" you hummed thoughtfully, sipping at the hot drink. "you bet i am."

lando laughs, head thrown back slightly. the knowledge that you'll be there relaxes him, actually letting him look forward to the mandatory night out. "okay, good. i'll see you then."

"see you tonight," you call after him, watching until he disappears around the nearest corner. luckily, zak lets everyone go an hour early in account for the party starting at eight. you hurry home, sorting through every outfit option and getting ready as quickly as you can. the club was on the other side of london, at least forty minutes on the train, hence your rushing out the door with only one heel buckled.

inside of the club, completely booked out by zak for the company's pleasure, you realised just how many people worked in the world that was mclaren. legal was such a small part of it, a tiny cog in the whole machine. it was quite overwhelming, if it wasn't for the fact that you knew so many of the faces.

"y/n, hey!" the familiar sydney accent pulls your eyes to the nearby bar. oscar waves you over, smiling as you weave your way into a hug. "this is lily, my girlfriend."

you recognised the girl from pictures, but she was even prettier in real life. you exchange bright hello's, hugging in greeting while oscar orders you both some drinks.

"it's so nice to finally meet you!" lily beams, tucking her hair behind her ears. "i've heard so much."

curiosity peaks you, head tilted ever so slightly. "you have?"

"yeah, of course. lando is always—"

her words are cut short by a wide-eyed oscar, shoving in between you both to give you your drinks. "ha, hey! let's go sit, hm?"

your brows furrow, only more confused when lily shoots you an apologetic look. she takes your hand to lead you through the crowd to a booth at the other wall. amongst a few individuals you vaguely recognise, lando sits sipping a beer. he looks up when he hears oscar greet them, but his eyes instantly shoot to you.

"jesus," he mutters, quiet enough that only max next to him hears. you look absolutely stunning, your figure newly shown off by the little dress you have on. it falls to about mid-thigh, the rest of your legs accentuated by the heels you had on. your hair and makeup has been done a bit more than it would for work, and the sight has lando's stomach churning.

you squeeze in next to lily, across the table from lando. he can't tear his eyes away from you, even when max tries to strike up conversation. all you're doing is talking to lily, leaning over into each other to hear properly, face lighting up every so often with a laugh.

"so, that's who's had you so distracted recently?" max eventually catches lando's attention, watching his best friend's eyes widen. "she's pretty."

pretty? lando though. she was gorgeous.

"we're just friends," lando explains, shaking his head.

"bro, you've been staring at her like she's the only person in the room for the last twenty minutes," max laughs airily, nudging him. lando scoffs and rolls his eyes, but doesn't deny the fact. after another moment, you catch his gaze and smile softly. lando blushes, lifting his hand to wave slightly.

"okay, let's dance! this is my favourite song," max suddenly exclaims, standing up with a slap to the tabletop. a few follow suit, and you turn to lily with raised brows.

"oh, no," she shakes her head with a giggle. "i need at least two more of these drinks before you get me up there."

"well, drink up. i'll save you a dance."

smiling sweetly, you slip off of the seat to give her attention back to oscar. lando stands at the same time, smiling playfully when he looks at you. a hand of his stretches out and you can't even fathom denying it, slipping palm to palm and letting him drag you to the middle of the dance floor.

the song is drake or the weekend, something you don't really know, but the beat is so loud that you can feel it in the floor beneath you. falling into a rhythm, you giggle as lando begins moving with you. he sings along, but you don't recognise the lyrics, only the movement of his lips as his eyes shut. your chest thumps in time with the music, the heat of the people around you creeping onto your bare skin. the music mixes, changing into a melody you instantly know.

"i love this song!" you squeal, grasping lando's arms to shake them in excitement. he chuckles, watching on in admiration as you begin dancing again, reciting every single word to abba's lay all your love on me. your hands sneak down from his arms to his hands, forcing him to move along with you. he spins you around again and again just to watch your hair and dress float around you like magic, the lights of the club basking you in a heavenly hue.

somewhere in the midst of the second verse and chorus, lando feels his judgement cloud. he'd like to blame it on the beer, but he had only drank one, and he knew it was that usual intoxicating presence you carried around everywhere. your lips mould around each lyric, having listened to the song so many times (and your endless summer rewatches of mamma mia, as you once told him) that it was engraved on your memory. you looked perfect, the same as every day he snuck glances at you in the office or scrolled through your instagram late at night when he couldn't sleep for thinking about you.

you were it, for him. everything he loved and dreamed of, the only thing that had kept his feet on the ground this past season. and here you were, chest pressed to his thanks to the swarm of drunken guests, so close that he could smell your perfume and the shampoo from your hair. you had used a darker lipstick tonight, he noticed, unlike the usual clear balm you wore at work. it made you lips look even more soft than they normally do - he knew, because he spent a hefty chunk of his day staring at them.

abba fades out, along with the loud and out of tune singing filling the club, and all lando can think about is kissing you. it wouldn't be fair, for such pretty lips to go unkissed. and it wouldn't be fair on him, who has spent hours on end imagining how kissing you might feel, to let such an opportunity slip away from him.

so, he's tightening the hands that are already on your waist to pull you even closer, until there's not an inch of space left between you. his lips around rough, unmoving as they press against yours, eyes screwed shut and cursing the long seconds as he waits for your mouth to respond. eventually, he peeks through hesitant eyes to meet your surprise. your lips, colour smudged a little now from the contact, are parted and your eyes are wide. he can't discern what you're thinking, but he would bet it wasn't pure elation.

blame it on the beer, blame it on the beer, blame it on the beer.

his mouth opens just as all of his senses wire back in again, the end notes of the song just ringing out when he begins making his excuse. but your surprise and panic fills you so much that you can't breathe here, not with so many people around and lando's body heat still so close. stumbling, you push past him and everyone else that you meet to escape the busyness. the neon exit sign beckons you to the fire door, gasping when it opens and the fresh night air hits you.

thankfully, there isn't a soul to watch you and your flushed cheeks struggling for breath, and you wait until you hear the door shut behind you to fully relax again, frankly not caring if you lock yourself out. but the click of the lock doesn't come, only a familiar sound that crumbles you again.

"y/n—"

lando stands helpless in the doorway, eyes pleading for forgiveness when you turn to him. your head shakes, searching for something to say.

"i... you, what—” you struggle to grasp the right words, eyes squeezing shut. "i thought we were just friends?"

"we were! we are," lando corrects you quickly, striding towards you. "but that doesn't change the fact that i—"

"lan, please don't."

"— love you, y/n. i've been in love with you since your first day at work. how couldn't i be?"

his voice is smaller than you've ever heard it before, urging guilt into your throat until you have to swallow it back down. you make yourself look down at the ground, your heels and his sneakers facing each other, because you know you'll fall apart once you see those damned brown eyes.

"lando..." you murmur through a sigh.

"don't you feel it too?" he asks, desperately grabbing at your clammy hands. "us, me and you. it's right there."

you cave then, heart taking over from your mind, chin raised to look at him. lips turn into a frown, searching his lovelorn eyes for the moment he'll laugh and tell you its all a big joke. because he's lando, and you're just you.

"tell me that you don't, that there's nothing here," lando mumbles lower, gripping your fingers for dear life. "tell me this isn't real and i'll walk away. but — but i can't leave you if there's a chance."

your lips part with a breath, lips dry, and your sense screams at you to tell him no. that it'll never work, it's impossible. but something tugs in your chest and you realise something you had never wanted to admit to yourself: you loved lando norris.

"it'll be too complicated." you settle for excuses instead, chewing the inside of your cheek, wincing when you nick the flesh. "we have to work together, so if something happens then it'll mess everything up."

lando steadies your shaking head with his hands, one on each cheek, staring deep into your eyes. "what are you so scared of?"

you swallow, shoulders raising with each shallow breath. "i don't want to lose you. you're my best friend, the only person i can talk to. i don't want to mess that up."

your confession melts his heart, affection bringing his thumbs to graze across your cheeks. "i won't let that happen," lando promises, tongue sincere as can be.

you wait a moment, scouring his features before the trust solidifies. gently, tentatively, you search for the taste you barely got inside of the club, lips ghosting together. strawberry and beer mix on your tongues, hands wandering over body heat and mouths hungrily moving together like two teenagers in a back alley. only when breathless does lando fall from your lips, hands still steady on the round hips of your dress, keeping you close.

"i'll always be your best friend," he whispers like an oath, a boyish smile tugging at the corner of his swollen and lipstick-covered mouth. "but can we be best friends who do that, like, a lot?"

writer's note: wrote this in one sitting and may have gotten carried away but pls enjoy <3

[leesromanova]

dust collected on my pinned up hair

pairing: natasha x reader

warnings: angst, hurt reader, happy/hurt/guilty nat, idk they're both hurting, marrige, cursing, self-criticism, lots of feelings. (i’m sorry)

synopsis: you go on your usual coffee run and bump into your ex, who if it wasn’t for the mutual break up, would have been the one.

a/n: i love angst lol. blame my over active imagination and taylor swift. thank you all for continuing to support and read my works <3

to put y’all in the mood i recommend listening to ↴

The line seemed endless. Bodies upon, bodies of caffeine addicts waiting to be serviced.

The energy of a busy New York coffee shop at 8am was truly a sight to see for any newbie to the city—thank god, you were accustomed to the rude grogginess of the baristas and the lines to wait for your wanted—no, needed, yet still overpriced coffee.

You hear the door open again as a small bell atop of the frame is triggered by the entering customer. The chill breeze of the city winter rips through the space, making you shiver and wrap your coat around yourself a bit tighter. Cool air creeping through the fibers of the winter coat you were sporting made you need that coffee a bit more urgently.

“Next in line!” the line moved as you pulled out your phone and took a step forward. You scroll through your notifications, looking for anything you had missed in your previous peak, before feeling a tap on your shoulder. Your first reaction is to look up with a rather hostile look in your eyes at whoever intruded your non-social, pre-caffeine headspace.

“Natasha?” your eyebrows crinkle at the sight of the woman in front of you. Her smile genuine as she looks down at you.

“Hi, stranger” she says, the raspy voice bringing back memories of a not-so-forgotten time in your past. She moves her arm around you to pull you into a side hug, you accept it—a bit stiffly and pull away, taking in her appearance.

She looked professional yet still casual and comfortable, a combination that always suited her quite well—at least the version you had gotten to know in your past. Her red locks in a neat braid that swept across her head and onto her shoulder, a few framing strands left out on the sides. Her eyes were more worn on the sides—the start of crows feet present besides her lashes.

Her eyes were the same, still the same shade of captivating green.

“How are you? How have you been?” she asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. Her voice coming out a bit rougher than how you remembered. Maybe it was caused by the cold air or, maybe it was just the other way the few years had affected her.

You look down and pocket your phone, “I’ve been okay, just y’know…holding up,” you watch as the person ahead of you steps forward, prompting the both of you to move up and fill the gap. You shift to the side, and make room for the redhead to stand beside you. The scent of her perfume lingers in the air, stirring up memories of the past.

“How about you? What have you been up to, besides finding ways to cut-in-line at random coffee shops?” she lets out a huff of air as she turns to look at you “I was leaving when saw you…so I decided I should come and say hi," she looks at you with an amused expression.

you smile and hum in acceptance, letting her continue. She takes a breath before starting, "I've been okay—for the most part. Just trying to keep up with what life throws at me." She smiles and puts her hands in her pockets. You wonder if they were just as rough as how you remembered, or if they’d grown more calloused with time.

"Are you cold?" you ask, still looking at her now-concealed hands. She turns to look at you, you meet her eyes, and she lifts a brow "I've told you before how we Russians don't get cold," she says before continuing "that’s something you should've remembered." her voice carries as the last words enter your ears and without thinking you respond.

"I remember lots of things."

You feel the energy around you both change as the words leave your lips and you cringe as you watch her body visibly stiffen. Your brutally honest word choice must’ve reminded her of the reason why it had been so long since the two of you spoke.

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

Sometime in the past 2 years

“Natasha… I just can’t do this anymore.” The words choke in your throat as you pace in front of her in the living room of your shared apartment. Every step you take feels like it’s pulling you further from everything you once wanted, but you can't stop yourself. You can barely breathe, the emotion inside you holding your lungs down. Your eyes move to look at Natasha, and everything inside you screams to hold on.

“I’ve always been here for you,” you continue, voice cracking. “Always. I kept waiting, hoping you’d open up to me, just like I did for you, bare an-and vulnerable.” Your voice cracks making you take a steadying breath before continuing, pointing a shaking finger toward her. “I put my heart on the line, expecting the same... but I never got it. And when you finally did open up... I was there. I loved you through the dark days, the lonely nights. I stayed, Natasha. I stayed through everything, and I'd do it all again in a heartbeat.” Your words spill out like a dam breaking, but the anger, the frustration, the heartbreak—none of it makes the pain go away.

You want to somehow make it work, to find the missing piece that would make her open up fully. You wanted this to work more than anything. But the hard truth is, you don’t know just how much more you can keep giving without receiving the same in return. You’ve poured so much of yourself into this relationship—your love, your patience, your vulnerability—but now it feels like you’re just…empty. Every night you lie awake, hoping that tomorrow will be the day she finally opens up to you the way you’ve been opening up to her, and every day feels like another unanswered question, an in-life purgatory you can’t escape.

Your fingernails find their way into the flesh of your palms, the sharpness grounding you, but it doesn’t help.

Her heart tears in two as she watches you like this, feeling like a failure. She feels it deep inside—your hurt, your exhaustion, the years of unspoken emotions—and she knows, with crushing certainty, that no matter how much she loves you, she can’t undo the damage. You’re the one person who has always been there, who’s loved her unconditionally, who’s been so patient, so willing to fight for the relationship. She’s failed you. It wasn’t enough. Nothing she did was enough. She loved you—God, she loved you so much—but somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to give you the one thing you needed most: her whole heart. Every single time you reached out, she recoiled, afraid that if she gave you more of herself, she’d lose herself in the process. She knew loving you would mean taking the risk of loosing herself within the beauty that was to love just as hard as you did. 

She doesn’t know how to love you the way you need.

She lifts her head, eyes red, blurry with unshed tears, and glances at your hands, fingers still digging into your skin like you're trying to hold yourself together, as the nails cut through the layers of flesh on your palms. The pieces of yourself feeling like they're falling through your fingers like water. She hurts seeing you like this, she knew you did it to feel control in moments where you felt that control slip away—she’d had been trying to help you stop it, to show you that hurting yourself wouldn't heal anything, but now, she feels just as lost. She feels herself drowning in guilt. 

She’s the one who’s made you feel like this, hasn’t she? 

A warm, trembling hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you out of the darkness of your thoughts along with herself–trying to claw her way out of her guilt. Her touch is gentle, almost too gentle, as if she’s afraid you’ll break if she holds on too tight. She guides your fingers away from your skin, but the ache in your chest only deepens. She’s trying to fix you–to help you, not acknowledging that she needed it as well. And neither of you knew how to do it.

What’s the hell is wrong with me? 

The question cuts deeper than anything she’s ever felt. 

Why can’t I just give her what she needs? 

I love her. 

I love her so much. 

Why isn’t that enough?

“I feel horrible,” she whispers, her voice thick with tears. When you meet her eyes, they’re filled with more pain than you’ve ever seen in them. It tears through you. You wanted to help her, to make her feel loved and safe, but all you've done is hurt her. You've made her feel like she's failing, like she’s not enough, and the guilt is suffocating. She wants to tell you how much she loves you, wants to apologize, to make it better, but she knows deep down that no amount of apologies can fix the damage done. 

You swallow, but your throat is tight, your chest heavier than it’s ever been. "You’re right. You always did the right things. You said the right words. You showed me you loved me, but… I couldn’t see it. I didn’t feel it the way I needed to, and I hate myself for that. I hate that I couldn't be enough for you, Natasha." Your voice breaks at the end, a sound that rips through you, as if you're breaking apart inside. Not enough for her to give you her all. “I’m so sorry. So sorry for making you feel like you weren’t enough.” Making her feel like she hadn’t been giving you enough because she couldn’t give you want you wanted—craved. The sudden realization makes you heave as you reel about you both hurting each other unwillingly—how could something so good turn into something so hurtful?

The weight of your own apology hangs in the air, suffocating, because you don't know how to fix this anymore. You don’t know how to make her stop feeling like she’s a failure when all she’s ever done is try. 

Her heart shatters as you speak. She sees the pure hurt in your eyes, feels the way you’re pulling away from her. it crushes her to know she's the one that hurt you, the one that made you feel as if you weren't enough. Every word you say is a reminder that she’s failed. She’s tried so hard to be the person you need, to show you how much she loves you, but every time she’s gotten close to letting herself go the crippling fear of falling too deep holding her back. 

“I wish I could change,” she says, voice barely audible, but you hear the depth of her regret in every word. She places her hand over her heart, almost as if trying to stop the pulsating ache there. “I don’t want you to suffer with my shit anymore. I don’t want to drag you through this anymore… but I don’t know how to fix me.” She looks at you, her tears falling freely now. “I hate that I can't give you everything you need. I hate that I couldn't be the person you deserved."

You feel every ounce of her guilt like a physical blow, and it’s suffocating. You wish there was something you could say to make her feel better, but the truth is, you're not sure if you even deserve to make her feel better right now. You've failed her too, in so many ways.

Maybe I’m not enough for her. Maybe I never was. 

The thought stings, like a shock against your skin. You can’t help but feel that maybe you’ve failed, that you’re the real reason things fell apart, not Natasha. But as you look at the redhead, her guilt hanging heavy in the air, you realize there’s not just one person to blame, there’s not only one person responsible for this. You’ve both been afraid. Afraid of fully trusting, of letting the walls down completely, of letting each other in.

And now? Now, it feels like it’s too late.

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” she says, her voice cracking. “You deserve so much better than me. You deserve someone who can love you with everything they have, without holding back... and I’m not her. I can't be that person." Her eyes search yours, desperate for some sign, some glimmer of hope, but all she finds is a reflection of her own pain.

Staring at her tear-streaked face, the realization hits you like a punch to the gut: it’s not going to happen. It’s not because you haven’t tried, and it’s not because she doesn’t love you—she does, so much, and you can see it in her eyes. But love isn’t enough. 

I can’t keep waiting for something that’s never going to come. 

I can’t keep hurting like this. 

You’re shaking now, but it’s not from anger. It’s from the unbearable truth that lingers in the space between you. The love you had, the connection you both tried so hard  to hold onto, is slipping away, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

“I think…” you can barely get the words out, but they’re there, hanging in the air like the inevitable. "I think you’re right." Your voice cracks, your heart shattering with the weight of those words. You’ve known for so long, deep down, that this was coming. The back and forth, the exhaustion, the constant battle to make her open up, to make her let you in—it was destroying both of you, and it would never change. The months of fighting—wanting her to open up, to show you the real her, nothing was working as it should be. You had been fighting against something inevitable.

You run your thumb over her knuckles, trying to find comfort in the familiar motion, but it feels hollow now. “We’ve tried, Natalia,” you whisper, your heart breaking with every syllable. “We’ve tried to make this work, but I can’t keep pretending it’s going to be okay. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I don’t want you to hurt for me anymore.”

Her tears fall harder now, as if the weight of your decision has broken something inside of her. You both sit there, silently, broken and exhausted from a love that was never enough. Neither of you knows how to fix what’s been destroyed. As she looks at you, so broken, so utterly lost, she feels like she’s watching her own heart crack in two.

You both sit in silence as the sounds of the city bleed into the apartment and circle the two of you.

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

“Next!” the barista’s tired voice carries through the space of the café, and makes you both turn to reach the counter. Your cheeks warm and tinged a shade of red at your earlier admission.

“Uh, can I get an iced blond vanilla late, with an extra pump of vanilla, and sweet foam with Carmel drizzle on top?” you order and look over at the redhead who was diligently staring at the side of your face.

She wondered how you hadn’t changed. Time seemed to have left you untouched. While she felt it’s weight etched into her face and mind—you were still the same. With the same coffee order, at the same coffee shop, the same you.

“W-would you like anything?” you ask, stuttering at the gaze she held.

“I’m okay,” she turns to the barista, “That’ll be all.” she completes your order out of habit as you pull out your card to pay.

the barista asks for your name and you both utter a thanks to the young woman, who doesn’t return the pleasantry as you both walk off to the side. The silence, between you both not unwanted, but definitely heightening your anxiety at the unexpected meeting.

You were not dressed to be seeing your ex at a coffee shop.

“Would you like to sit?” you clear your throat and ask, finding a table with two chairs. She smiles and looks at her watch. “Yeah—yeah, I got enough time” she says, sitting down beside you and looking out at the busy streets of the city that never sleeps.

She loved it here, her time in other continents and cities made her realize just how at home the city lights and sirens made her feel, just how at home the people in her life made her feel.

The light of the rising sun reflects off of the glass windows of tall buildings and illuminate her face. Her nose had stayed the same, the feature being something you loved about her even if she said she hated it from time to time. She turns and catches you staring. You to look away and clear your throat as she smiles warmly. She always liked that about you, so attentive to everyone around you.

Stop staring. You mentally kicked yourself for being caught.

“Y’know…you still order your coffee as if you hate the taste of it.” she teases, her hands motioning to the receipt that outlined the specific order you gave. A smile grows as you turn to look at her and laugh softly at her face of accusation. “I swear, you get the sugariest thing on the menu.” she continues, making you laugh a little louder.

Your laugh was the same–she noticed, your smile the same, but your eyes now held a few winkles at the sides as the joy spread over your face. She smiles at you then and leans back in the uncushioned, tall stool.

You roll your eyes and remove your gloves, “hey, before you tease just know you traumatized me with your coffee order,” she looks at you questioningly, making you lean in “Nat, you order a black coffee with like two sugars and call that a coffee order.” she laughs, her cheeks tinting a wonderful shade of red as she answers “It’s a legitimate coffee order y/n, that’s why they make me pay and why I made you try it.” her voice raspy as ever as it leaves her lips. “Oh yeah, trust me I know. I can still feel it on my taste buds and recoil every time I think about it.” she looks at your now very serious expression with a raised brow, and you both break into a shared cackle.

As the laughter settles, you both look at each other. Familiarity and warmth returning to your veins, you missed her. Sure, it had been more than enough time for you to get over her, but you never truly did. Everyone told you it was time to move on, but you never did, hoping, praying, manifesting that maybe one day you could fix things and reunite with the love of your life.

You went out with people, met other singles, dated—but no one made you feel what she did.

"So, how’s work?" you ask, your fingers nervously fiddling with the paper wrapping of a straw that was left on the table by some other customer. She glances down at your hands, noticing how your nails are no longer bitten or ragged, your palms free of the crescent-shaped marks that used to linger there. She smiles softly, noticing how you'd managed to break those anxious habits.

"It’s been good," she replies, her voice warm. "We got some new teammates in—I'm sure you saw it on the news." She looks into your eyes, smiling as she sees the familiar focus in your gaze. That hadn't changed either.

You nod and smile back, leaning in as she continues. "One of them is named Wanda. She's brilliant—you'd love her. Amazing sense of humor, and the best style. I know you’ve always been into fashion."

You chuckle softly, the memory of how you used to carefully pick out your outfits coming back. "That’s nice. So, you and her are close?" you ask, your voice lighter than you feel. It's easy to fall back into the rhythm with her. Conversations with her never felt draining, never like you were just filling silence. At least, it didn’t, not before everything went wrong.

"Yeah," she says, smiling shyly, but her eyes drop to her hands. And that's when you see it. The ring.

The world seems to blur for a moment as your eyes lock onto the silver band adorning her finger. Simple, yet undeniably there. Your mind races, struggling to catch up, focusing on the details—an engraving, some flowers, maybe lilies? You remember how she always loved those.

The sound of her voice cuts through your thoughts. "Y/N?"

You snap back to reality, but it feels like your heart is still racing. You blink, meeting her gaze. The concern in her eyes is unmistakable, but it's not for you. She's moved on.

“Order for y/n!” the barista yells, and you turn, smiling tightly at Nat before getting up to retrieve your coffee.

God, how had you not seen it before? Was it always there? How long ago did she become so open? So willing to let someone in, that she’d actually gotten married?

The questions hit you like a wave, crashing over your mind with unbeatable force.

You make yourself look away, desperate to regain control of your thoughts. You tuck some hair behind your ear, trying to ground yourself, and take a long sip of your cold drink, the ice crunching between your teeth. It does nothing to ease the nausea building in your stomach.

“I—uh, I was looking at your wedding band,” you mutter, feeling the words slip out awkwardly. Your gaze drifts back to her fingers, the ring glinting in the sunlight. She follows your stare, quietly adjusting her hand, almost as if she’s waiting for this moment to land.

“Oh, um… yeah," she clears her throat, her voice sounding a little tighter than before. "Me and Wanda... we, uh... I proposed a few months ago,” she adds, looking down at the ring, tracing the engravings with her fingers. Finally, she meets your eyes, and for a brief second, it feels like everything you thought you knew about her is slipping away. This wasn’t the Natasha who used to laugh at your bad jokes, or the one who whispered your name in the quiet of your shared apartment, the one who whispered sweet nothings in your ear as you laid naked in bed after you’d had sex. No, this was a version of her you did not know.

“Oh.” The word barely leaves your mouth as you nod slowly, but it’s enough to echo in the silence between you two. It’s all you can manage, the word feeling too small, insignificant.

What else could you say?

You want to bury your face in your hands.

God, Y/N, think of something better. Say something better.

The words feel hollow, useless, as they form in your mind. The words don’t feel like your own. They feel forced, clumsy, like you’re trying to hold onto something that’s already slipping through your fingers. You hate how it feels. You hate how she feels like a stranger to you now, someone you don’t know anymore, someone who has moved on without you.

"Congratulations," you finally say, the words coming out flat, lifeless. Your smile feels too tight, too forced. You can feel it pulling at the corners of your lips as your body instinctively turns inward, the discomfort sharp and heavy.

Congratulations? Are you fucking serious?

She notices, of course—how could she not? Her eyes flicker with concern, watching as your posture shifts, your guard rising. But it’s too late. You’re already pulling away.

What the hell did I just say?

The self-criticism is almost suffocating.

Congratulations?

You want to slap your forehead, but you settle for simply glancing up at her. Her gaze is locked onto you now, intense and unwavering. It’s like she’s trying to reach you through the growing distance between you two, but you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve lost her... that you never really had her.

The sound of the coffee shop fade as your own internal dialogue takes over, mocking you.

You’re pathetic, it whispers.

You haven’t moved on.

You never really let go.

You glance around the coffee shop. There’s a woman in the corner smiling at her boyfriend—no husband, the wedding ring sparkling as she holds his cheek, a group of tourists chatting loudly about going to watch some play on Broadway, someone in the backline swiping through their phone, you can see the TikTok home screen from your place in the corner of the café.

But you can’t hear them. All you hear is the hollow beat of your own heart, pounding painfully in your chest, as if it knows that this moment is the end of something—something you still thought was possible.

It feels like you’re drowning, surrounded by noise, by life moving forward, while you’re stuck here in this tiny moment, unable to breathe.

Her eyes flicker with concern, noticing how your posture shifts, how you stiffen at the words that should have felt normal, casual. But they don’t. They can’t.

There’s nothing casual about this.

Nothing normal.

Not when your heart is bleeding under the weight of a past you can’t shake, a future you never thought you’d face.

You try to steady yourself, but you can feel the walls you’ve built around your emotions crumbling.

She’s married, Y/N. She’s married. Get over it.

But you can’t.

You feel a pang of guilt. Natasha’s gaze is warm, but there’s an ache in her eyes too—something that makes your heart hurt in a different way. She’s trying. She’s not the woman you left behind. But then again, neither are you. Neither is she.

Her hand rests, trembling, on the table now. She wants to reach out to you, but she’s scared of pushing too hard. You can see it in her eyes—she’s uncertain. She’s terrified of what you might say. Terrified of making it worse. Her fingertips brush against the edge of the table, hesitant, before pulling away. She’s probably wondering if she’s done the right thing. Wondering if she was wrong to move on, to make this decision without you, without this—whatever you two were. She watches you, her gaze softening as if she wants to comfort you, but she doesn’t know how. She doesn’t even know where to begin. She could try to reach for you, but she knows it might make things worse.

"Are you okay?" Natasha asks softly, her voice trembling slightly. She’s staring at you now, as if trying to understand what’s happening inside your head, but you don’t have an answer for her. You don’t even have an answer for yourself.

The silence stretches between you two, heavy with unspoken words, as the noise of the coffee shop crashes around you both, a stark reminder that the world keeps moving. And in it, Natasha is moving forward, and you... you’re left behind.

She regrets it. She regrets this—this distance. This moment. She wants to take it all back. To fix this. To fix you. But she can’t.

The weight of the regret hits her, and she breathes out a slow, steadying breath, her hand trembling on the table. She can feel it too, the unbearable tension between you both, the space that feels like a chasm even though you’re only inches apart.

But you—you’re the one who’s drowning, trying to keep your head above the weight of the memory and the feeling that you were never enough.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, almost too quietly to hear. “I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted you to feel like this.” Her voice cracks, and she looks away for a second, almost as if she can’t stand seeing you like this, can’t bear the thought of how much she’s hurt you.

But the truth is, she’s already lost you.

And she’s the one who will never be able to move on.

Her words cut deeper than she knows, because you can’t help but wonder—does she really not know? Has she been so caught up in her own life that she hasn’t seen how much this is tearing you apart? Or is it just that she’s moved on, and this is all just… a part of the past to her?

The thought makes your chest tighten. Your breath feels shallow, and you find yourself squeezing your cold drink harder, trying to steady the storm inside. You swallow, but it feels like there’s a lump lodged in your throat, blocking any response. You want to scream, to tell her everything, to make her understand how much it hurts to see her here, happy, with someone else. But the words are gone—lost in the space between your need to cry and the reality of the life she’s chosen without you.

“Why?” The word slips out before you can stop it, raw and desperate and hurt. You didn’t mean to ask it—didn’t want to ask it—but you can’t help it. You need to know.

Natasha’s heart aches at the sound of your voice, the fragility in it. For a moment, she feels as though the floor beneath her might give way. She had hoped—hoped—that you would be okay. That this wouldn’t hurt so much. But the pain is evident, like a raw wound, and it’s impossible to ignore.

Her face crumbles for a moment, and she looks away, as if she’s searching for the right words, for something that might make this hurt less. But there are no words that can make this better. No words that can undo the last few years.

she feels a lump in her throat, the wounds she'd covered, gashes shed mended, all coming undone in this moment.

“I don’t know,” Natasha whispers. “I really don’t know. I thought I could give you what you needed, but… I couldn’t. And I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed me to be.”

Her voice cracks as she says it, and she feels herself breaking inside. She knows you’re hurting, but she’s not sure what she can do to make this right. She had tried—tried so hard—to be what you needed, but she failed. And it kills her that she couldn’t give you the love and stability you deserved. The love she thought she could offer, the love that now feels so distant and ungraspable.

Your heart aches. It’s a contradiction, isn’t it? The way she sounds so guilty, and yet you know deep down that she’s not really sorry for her life—she’s sorry for the fact that she hurt you in the process of living it.

Her words feel hollow to her, and as they leave her lips, she wonders if she’s just prolonging the pain for both of you. She swallows hard, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her ring again. It’s such a small, insignificant gesture, but in this moment, it feels like the biggest thing in the world. It feels like a symbol of everything she’s lost. A symbol of a promise she made to someone else, a promise she can’t go back on.

She wants to reach for you again, but she knows better now. She knows that you’ve already made up your mind—that you’ve already closed the door on what could have been. The door that used to swing open so easily for her, but now only feels heavy and locked.

You look at her, your gaze raw, and for a second, you think you might say something else. You might beg her to take it all back. To come back. But you know you can’t. You know you have to let this go. You feel a deep ache in your chest as you realize that this is the end. The finality of it settles in, and you can’t hold on any longer.

Instead, you take a shaky breath and pull back from the table, your hands folding into your lap as you gather yourself. It’s almost like you’re physically trying to close yourself off, to shield the part of you that still hopes and longs for something that no longer exists.

“Maybe... maybe you were never what I needed either,” you mutter quietly, more to yourself than to her. The words taste bitter on your tongue, and you wish you could take them back as soon as they leave. But it’s true. Somewhere along the way, you lost her. And maybe, just maybe, you lost yourself in the process.

The words hit Natasha like a slap, but it’s the truth. She’s never been able to give you what you needed, and that realization settles like stone in her stomach. She opens her mouth as if she’s going to say something—something to fix it, to undo the damage—but the words die in her throat. They would only make things worse, only deepen the wound between you both.

She doesn’t speak. She can’t. She just watches you, helpless, as you turn away from her, the finality of your departure cutting into her chest like a knife.

You shake your head, unable to meet her gaze. The tears you’ve been holding back for so long feel close now, threatening to spill over. You can’t let them. You won’t. Not here, not in front of her, not when everything feels like it’s already slipping through your fingers.

“I should go,” you say, your voice quieter than you intended. It’s not a demand, it’s not even a decision—it’s just the only thing you can bring yourself to say. You push your chair back, standing up slowly, feeling like your legs might give out beneath you. You feel empty, but in a way, that emptiness is almost worse than the pain.

Her eyes follow you, and Natasha doesn’t try to stop you. She doesn’t ask you to stay. Her hands are folded in her lap, and she’s left with the sense that, somehow, she’s failed you, failed the both of you. She doesn’t think she could stand to watch you walk away again. The understanding in her eyes is quiet, gentle. She knows this is the end.

As you turn to walk away, you hear her raspy voice one last time. “Y/N… I still care about you.”

You stop for a moment, the weight of her words pressing down on you. You want to say something back—anything—but you know it wouldn’t change things. It wouldn’t fix anything.

You don’t respond. Instead, you walk. One foot in front of the other as you push open the door of the coffee shop, the cold New York air hitting your face like a slap. It’s sharp, biting, but somehow, it’s exactly what you need. You step into the busy street, the noise and the rush of people washing over you, but all you can hear is the silence of her absence. Is this it? You think. It has to be.

You keep walking, trying to put one foot in front of the other, but every step feels heavier than the last. You don’t know how you’re supposed to move forward—to move past her. You don’t know if you ever will.

After all, it’s never over.

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

a/n: YAYY!! i was so excited to start writing this fic, it’s my drafts since October so i’m happy it’s finally out. i hope you all liked it! it was my first time writing angst and i’m very proud of it, if you guys have any constructive criticism pls give it politely:)

ps: i’m excited to see everyone’s reactions to it, please do share how you feel afterwards <3

[puranami]

✿ Omelette ✿

A/N: A little fic based on one of the prompts I have~

Summary: Sanji finds you cooking an omelette in your underwear at an ungodly hour.

Content: Warning - my really bad attempt at writing anything outside of lil paragraph points (blz help, I have no idea what I'm doing)

Despite the scenario - it's all SFW and fluffy like dem eggs! A light dusting of pining, G/N reader. ✿

(Part 2) - (Part 3)

You had tried to sleep and ignore the rumbling in your stomach, but the harder you tried, the more you felt it, and you had finally reached your limit. If you were to be at all functional tomorrow, you needed to eat something. Only then could you try to sleep again.

Exhausted, you drag yourself from the safety and warmth of your blankets, slowly ambling towards the ship's kitchen, single-minded in your endeavour. All that mattered was appeasing your stomach, leaving you completely unaware of the sudden cold that embraced you once you had left the confines of your quarters.

Flicking on the kitchen light, you quickly gathered everything you needed, deciding that the best thing to make would be an omelette. It's an easy dish, filling, and doesn't take long to make. In other words; it was perfect!

You make quick work of prepping the eggs, seasoning to taste, even considering throwing a little cheese in there before deciding against it. It's not like you believed the myth of cheese giving people nightmares if eaten before bed, but you were so desperate to be able to sleep afterwards that you didn't want to risk it. Stranger things have happened on this ship.

The pan hisses as you pour in the eggs, sounding much louder in the empty kitchen, only amplified by the late hour.

"Don't you sass me," you grumble, "The middle of the night is a perfectly acceptable time for an omelette!"

Unbeknownst to you, you weren't the only one awake on the ship, and your late night excursion had attracted attention, clearly not having noticed any of the noise you were making.

"I thought Luffy had snuck in on a midnight raid with all the clattering," a groggy voice behind you laughs, but you are too tired and focused on cooking to even register that you had been joined by anyone. Sanji leans against the table opposite the kitchen island, fidgeting with the hem of his nightshirt, waiting for an answer that never came.

Surely you heard him, right?

"Is everything alright, darling?"

Nothing.

Terms of endearment usually prompted some kind of response, be it a dismissive laugh or an equally fond term of your own, clearly thinking they meant nothing in particular. He'd accepted pretty quickly that they wouldn't be the way to win you over, but it certainly didn't stop him using them, at least on you. The same couldn't be said about everyone else, as he was no longer vying for the affection of anyone but yourself. Sanji wondered if you'd ever noticed that.

A clumsy flip of the omelette brought him back into the moment, honestly surprised that you hadn't dropped it on the floor.

He moved his way to your side of the kitchen, round the central island toward the stovetop.

"Why are you cooking at this hhhh-" he wheezed at the end, only now seeing that you weren't in the pyjama bottoms he'd assumed you'd be wearing, but in your underwear.

He clasped one of his hands over his mouth, the other grabbing the island for support as he felt his legs begin to fail him. Keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, he blurts out, "W-WHERE ARE YOUR PANTS?" as his face went fully crimson.

That finally gets your attention, but you are slow on the uptake, mind completely glazing over the fact that you had at some point gained an observer. Finally, furrowing your brows a little, you murmured a soft "What?" You knew a question was asked, but nothing else beyond that.

"Your pants, darling!" he gestures wildly, continuing to look down, knowing if that he caught sight of your bare legs again, he would lose his mind.

You stand there, pan hovering in the air away from the stove in one hand, a plate in the other, looking absolutely lost; you had completed your mission of acquiring omelette, and so your brain had decided it was no longer needed. Looking down, you see your legs and feet, wiggling your toes a little, then you look back up at the mess of a man in front of you, things finally starting to fall into place in your overtired mind.

"Oh, Sanji, what are you doing here," you ask, sweet as anything, completely ignorant to the battle he was waging internally. Once you plate your omelette, you place it on the island before putting the pan back on the stove to cool and grabbing a fork to tuck in, oblivious to Sanji frantically unbuttoning his night shirt beside you. He refuses to look directly at you until he has covered you with it, cheeks noticeably burning with how flustered he is.

"Darling, you can't do that to me," he says, almost breathless, "I am a weak, weak man; I can't handle seeing you so bare!" He manipulates your arms into the sleeves of his nightshirt, ignoring your protests when he briefly pulls the fork out of your hand in the process, before buttoning you up, doing his best to preserve your dignity.

As you feel the warm sustenance finally begin to settle in your empty stomach, you feel your brain booting back up, at least a little bit.

"Ah, shit I forgot to put on pants..." You giggle, wondering why everything was always funnier when you were tired. Taking another bite of food, you look down at your legs once again, starting to fully comprehend the situation you found yourself in. "I guess I was just too hungry." He can't help but sigh at how nonchalant you are.

Looking back up, your brain once again decides to abandon you, not from how tired you are this time, but from your eyes being met with his bare chest and abs, causing your own face to turn a charming shade of red. Sanji was always so neatly dressed, so he most you ever saw was his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves to work. It made sense that he was in good shape given his fighting ability, but it never really hit you until you saw his body tonight. There wasn't really any way to get accustomed to it, not like there was with someone like Zoro, who had his shirt off at least half the times you saw him, flashing his man tits whenever and wherever he damn well pleased.

Sanji's eyes never left you during this quiet minute, one that felt like hours, and he couldn't help but feel a hint of pride when he watched your eyes dance over his shirtless body, clearly flustered, bringing a confident smile to his face.

"Everything alright down there, sweetheart," he laughed softly.

You were clearly lost in your thoughts, it finally clicking why he was shirtless; he'd put his shirt on you. You brought a long sleeve up to your face as you dragged your eyes away, looking awkwardly to the side to your recently emptied plate. The shirt smelt like him, only without the lingering scent of cigarette smoke. It was sweet and musky. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but you felt a wave of feelings crash into you. Feelings you knew were there but had simply brushed aside, assuming they were just a result of his natural charm more than anything. But, you couldn't so easily disregard them now.

Sanji followed your gaze. "Ah, don't you worry about that, my dear," he says, grabbing the plate and bringing it to the sink, leaving you standing in a bit of a daze. "I'll take care of things here, so you go and get yourself back to bed, alright?"

"Oh, no!" You couldn't help how loud that ended up being, surprising the both of you. "You shouldn't have to clean up my mess," you say with a more regulated volume. If there's one way to get you back in the present, it's offering to do something you feel solely responsible for.

"In all fairness, darling, you shouldn't have been cooking in my kitchen in a state of undress," his cheeks started to go pink at the recent memory. He clears his throat before continuing, "Do you know how dangerous that is?" Ah, the professional chef just can't help himself when it comes to kitchen rules.

You pout slightly as you lean back against the centre island.

"Sorry, Sanji. I wasn't really with it. Too tired, too hungry..."

He makes quick work of the dirty items you had used, all while prattling on about safety and other things you probably should have listened to. Drying his hands, he makes his way back to you. It is evident you hadn't really been paying attention.

"At least promise me this," you look up at his warm, smiling face, "if you ever find yourself in this predicament again, please come and get me."

He brushes back some loose strands of hair, tucking them neatly behind your ear.

"You know that I'm always happy to cook for you, right? Whatever you want, whenever you want it."

Returning a gentle smile of your own, you nod.

"I promise."

With that, Sanji leads you out of the kitchen, plunging it back into darkness as he flicks the light off.

You reach his quarters first since he's closest to the kitchen. He pauses outside his door, hesitating for a moment. There are so many things he wanted to say to you, yet he couldn't bring himself to utter a single word.

Oblivious, you carry on toward your own room, turning back to him to wish him a good night, nearly falling over your own feet in the process, to which he smiles, letting out a soft chuckle.

"Bonne nuit, ma chère."

Guys, gals, and non-binary pals; I tried my best! This is my very first full fic ever, so if the grammar, wording, presentation, literally anything is bad; it's bc I am completely winging it! ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Exchange

Warnings: allusions to parental abuse, non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Summary: Your father surprises you for Christmas.

Character: Cole Turner

Day Twenty-Three of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - let me dust the snow off your coat/hat/shoulder 

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“What the fuck are you doin’?” Your father’s snarl sends the turkey slipping back into the sink. You spin to face him, holding up your cold hands. 

“Daddy, just doin’ up the turkey,” you blink. “It’s thawed now--” 

“I don’t care about the fuckin’ turkey,” he retorts. “Should be gettin’ yourself ready.” 

You frown and look down at yourself. You wear one of his old shirts, the Ford tee with the hole near the hem and a loose cardigan Shelby from down the way gave you, over loose sweats that were once also his. Nothing you have it really your own, it’s only his scraps, what he doesn’t need anymore. 

“Ready for what?” 

“You questioning me, girl?” He growls. 

You gulp and shake your head. You lower your hand, keeping them away from your clothes as you’re all too aware of the raw poultry all over them. You stare at him. 

“Yes, sir, I'll get ready,” you step forward hesitantly, uncertain as you watch him.  

He huffs through his nose and curls his lip, “presents on your bed. Figure it out.” 

You nod as you come close to him, wary of a lunge as you thank him under your breath. He only shoulders past you and goes to the counter. You’re confused.

Your father doesn’t get you gifts. He doesn’t get anyone gifts. You spent weeks thrifting what you could to give to your aunt and uncles when they got here, altering it all to make it presentable, but he only ever reads his sci-fi books and makes demands. 

You go to the bathroom to wash your hands. You look at yourself in the mirror. Anxiety tenses in your cheeks. Every day roils with the same uneasiness. Every day for more than two decades. You should want to get away but complacence is easier. He hates you but for whatever reason he won’t let you go. 

You go to your room. There’s a bag on your bed. You don’t know why you expected something wrapped or a bow. Still, your surprised by the contents of the paper bag. 

A pink dress with long bloused sleeves and a short skirt. You lift it out and stare in disbelief. You lay it on the bed and take out the shoes with it; little white booties with fur. At the bottom, there’s a box with shiny colours streaked across it; makeup? 

Your father’s footsteps have you facing the door and he appears in his stained flannel, slurping his instant coffee. “Well?” 

“Thank you, daddy, it’s really nice--” 

“Get a move on,” he snaps his fingers at you. 

“Oh, uh, yes, sir,” you shrink down and turn to gather up the things. 

“Make sure you wash all of ya,” he sneers. “You smell like a dead bird.” 

You swallow down your embarrassment. It feels like a trick. Why would he get you such nice things but still be so mean? Where did he get the money? His Christmas bonus always goes to whatever car he’s clanking around on in the garage. 

You go to your dresser and fish out a bra and some clean underwear. Everything you have are handmedown. They are all forgotten, like you. It feels so strange to have anything brand new. 

You take it all to the bathroom and start the shower. You stick to the golden rule; no more than three minutes to get washed up. Don’t waste the damn water, your father’s voice haunts you. 

You dry off and dress. The dress is nice but a bit snug. It’s too short, isn’t it? You tug at it until you can breathe. 

You once more face your reflection. You are lost. You do your best to tame your hair then put on the dollar store cream.  

You open the box of cosmetics. You read each label and search for any instructions. There’s nothing.  

You uncap the liner and examine the tip. You pull your eyelid taut and meticulous draw a thin line over the edge. You let it go. It looks okay. Not tacky or anything. You do the other and do your best to even them out. 

Next the mascara. You fear scraping your eyes but coat your lashes without incident. It looks better now. You blink as you take in the effect. The blush... you’re not very sure. You blend a bit into your cheeks but don’t think it makes much difference. 

Finally, you gloss your lips with the stick of pink. You like the colour but the sheen feels unnatural and sticky. Your father clears his throat as he prowls outside. You sniff and pack everything up. That’s as good as it gets. 

You step out as he grumbles in the kitchen door frame. You glance over and he huffs. “Put the damn shoes on. Whatcha draggin’ your ass for?” 

You flit back to your room and grab the boots. You think of grabbing socks or something but you don’t have anything to go with the dress. Your legs will just be cold. 

You come back out on the heels, wobbling slightly. Your father storms at you from the front door, moving quicker than you’ve seen. He shoves your coat at you. You pout as you try to unravel his intent. 

“Daddy?” 

“Go wait outside. He'll be here soon, won’t he?” 

“He? Daddy?” 

“You’re so fucking mouthy, go.” 

He jams his thumb at the door and you flinch. You take the coat and pull it on. It doesn’t go with the dress or boots. What’s going on? 

“Are you coming?” 

“Fuck off,” he pushes you toward the door and you stumble into it. 

You put your chin down as you plant your feet and pull away from the door. You put the coat on before you untwist the lock. You are lost. 

He slams the door behind you before you can shut it yourself. You shiver as you step onto the porch and search the wintery country fields. There isn’t much snow, enough to dust the ground, but the air is crisp. Your legs are scalded by the early freeze. 

You stare off in the distance. Your heart pumps faster as a thought startles you. Did your daddy just kick you out? Why? On Christmas? 

You see the square headlights first. The pale blue truck winds down the hidden dirt road and steers towards the old homestead. You squeeze yourself as another chill sweeps over you as you watch the approach. Hooked to the back of the truck is a long trailer, the contents covered. 

You recognise the silver trim of the truck. You squint at Cole through the windshield as he pulls up, the exhaust clouding the frigid air. The door shrieks as he pushes it open and you chatter as you bring your hands to your raw cheeks. 

“Hey, you look frozen,” he says. “Merry Christmas.” 

“M-merry Christmas, sir,” you call back. You still don’t understand. 

“I’ll just unhook the load for your dad, then we can head out,” he grins as he keeps his hand on his open truck door. “Got the heat going, you wanna get in before you freeze your knees off?” 

You wince and turn to peek at the windows. Huh? You shrug and come down the steps. You’re so cold, you don’t care. You just want to stop shivering. 

Cole closes the driver’s door and leads you around to the passenger’s side. He pauses to dust snow off your shoulder as flakes swirl down lazily. His touch somehow makes you colder. He opens it and holds out his gloved hand to help you up. He’s always polite but you don’t see him very much. Your daddy did a few repairs on his truck and he would help with the garden in the summer. You were always inside, locked up. 

You let go of him, your hand thrumming from his warmth. He gently shuts the door and continues towards the rear. The truck jostles as he unhooks the trailer. You peek in the mirror and see the thick ends of the wooden planks poking out from under the tarp. It’s a lot of wood. Expensive, probably. 

None of this makes sense. Cole comes up to the driver side and gets in with a ‘brrrr’. You blow into your hands and he reaches to turn the vent up even higher. He smiles at you as you avoid looking at him. 

“Ready?” He asks. 

You hunch down and rub your hands together, “for what?” 

He’s quiet. He peers through the windshield at the house then back at you. You shrink under his gaze. 

“Did your dad... what did he tell you?” 

You heart thumps. Will you get in trouble if you don’t go along with whatever this is? “He didn’t... he just told me to wait for you.” 

“Ah,” he reaches once more to wipe away melted snow from your sleeve. “Well, er...” He stiffens in his seat. “I thought he’d... say something.” 

You just nod. Whatever you say or do will get back to your daddy somehow. He’ll be mad if you ruin whatever this is. 

“It’s a lot of wood. Your dad says he’s going to add onto the garage,” Cole speaks as he shifts gears and steers away from the trailer, circling back towards his tire tracks. “Not many folks got that kind of money and I don’t really need anything done on the truck.” 

Your lashes flutter in furious thought. It feels like this should be obvious but your mind isn’t clicking. 

“Did I say you look really nice?” He clears his throat. “Cold, but nice. I shoulda bought some stockings too.” 

You look down at the rosy skirt and shake your head. A piece slips into place. Of course it wasn’t your daddy who bought it all. 

“Oh, you—thank you, Cole,” you squeak as you smooth the short hem. 

“Well, I figured you’d want to look pretty. I mean, you always do, but... it’s Christmas, right?” 

He sounds nervous, just as much as you. You wring your hands and look around the white landscape. Your stomach is a storm. 

“It was nice of you to bring daddy all that lumber, sir,” you say. 

“Please, call me Cole,” he insists. He’s quiet for a moment as he steers, then sucks his teeth. “Or you could call me something nicer. Like... honey?” 

“Honey?” You eke out. “Why-- uh... oh?” 

You furrow your nose and rub between your brows. That dark feeling crawls up from your stomach as the doubt in your head trickles down to meet it. It’s not making sense but... 

“You still look cold,” he reaches over to rest his hand on your knee, “you can get warm...” He tickles along your skirt then bends his arm up and stretches it out to grab your shoulder. “Come here.” 

You blanch but make yourself slide over. You tremble as you do. He curls his arm over your shoulders, his other hand on the bottom of the steering wheel. 

“See, isn’t this nice?” 

Your eyes prick as that rotting sensation in your chest overwhelms that voice in your head. You sniffle and touch your nose. You squirm as the cold seeps away to unbearable heat. Your denial melts under the flames of dread. 

“Sir-- Cole,” you twiddle your fingers. “Where are we going?” 

He chuckles and slows, turning to plant a kiss on your hair, “you’re going to come meet mom and dad. They are very excited to have you for Christmas.” He squeezes you even tighter, “not as excited as I am though.” 

Your chest hollows out as if you’ve been hit directly in the heart. You can’t breathe as it sets in. It’s absurd but there’s no other explanation. Did your daddy really trade you for a cartload of wood? 

Well, he always did love his cars more than you. You hope it’s a nice garage, that it’s worth it. Well, it would be worth more than his useless daughter. 

[miguelhugger2099]

OMG HIIIII I HAVE A REQUESTTTTT

I LOVE UR STORIES

So imagine Fem reader just going through her closet throwing out old things along with miguel and she finds an old shoebox of hers opens it and its her retired vibrator and pink dildo that she hasn’t used since she started dating Miguel and she’s looking at him awkwardly since she said that she totally threw them away so miguel gets back at her by taking the toys and making her use them

ANYWHO BYYEE THANKKZZZ

Pretty in Pink

me when you appear in my inbox, throw a smut prompt in my face and dip: ∑(; °Д°) i genuinely had fun with this request i made him speak more spanish than usual idk why lol but as always, if you don't like it, i'd be more than happy to make another one <3

Miguel x Reader, Smut, Word Count: 2,777

You stare up into your messy closet; old clothes, old photos and yearbooks and maybe some plastic shopping bags you forgot about were all scattered inside. Hands on your hips, you blink at the cluttered mess while Miguel is behind you and crosses his arms with an unamused look. “You really let it get this bad?” He asks, looking down at you. Miguel had called to say he wanted to see you but you told him it was cleaning day for you and you decided to deep clean. He assured you he still wanted to come over and even help you but when he arrived he wasn’t expecting to see how even the smallest places needed organizing. Life got in the way, you told him. You shrug and let out a deep sigh. “Just help me.” You grunt with a roll of your eyes and go on your tiptoes to reach the top shelf in your closet. There was a big heavy box filled with god-knows-what and you huffed as you slammed it down on your bed. Miguel takes a peek through it while your hands empty out the contents. A two year old angel halloween costume, childhood belongings for sentimental value and a local shopping bag that held your graduation gown. “How do you even still have these?” Miguel scoffs a laugh while he digs through with you, picking up a stack of old movie tickets you used to collect. You snatch the wad of crumbled tickets back with a pout on your face. “They have sentimental value.” Miguel chuckles and teasingly pinches the tip of your nose. “I know but stop being a hoarder. C’mon. Pick what you wanna keep and pick what you don’t. I’ll get a trash bag for the stuff you don’t want.” Miguel then steps out of the room, leaving you alone to set up two piles. You huffed out a big sigh and got to work. Carefully, you picked things one by one to decide if you really needed it.

Some old shirts that didn't fit you were tossed in the don't want pile and the cute headband you thought you lost was placed in the keep pile. Any other things like some old bags or trinkets you grew out of were placed in a different pile on the floor for trash. When the top shelf was fairly cleaned out, Miguel came back with two large black trash bags and began helping you stuff the things away for donation, trash or something along those lines. You then sat on your knees to start on the floor area of the closet, picking out shoes that were too small now and tossing them to Miguel. You reached for a small shoe box in the corner and opened it up to see if any shoes inside were still usable. You didn’t expect to see a matching set of your old baby pink vibrator and hot pink dildo catching dust inside. You gagged on your own spit in surprise, feeling the color drain from your face. You were sure you threw it out. You didn’t need them anymore, not since your first time with Miguel just a little over a year and a half ago. “What’s that?” You hear Miguel peek over you, curious since you stopped handing him things. You slam the shoebox shut. “Nothing!” But he had already seen it. “It’s nothing–haha.” You strained, standing up to open the trash bag Miguel brought to throw it in there but he stops your wrist. With his other hand he takes the box and you screech, trying to take it back. He lifts it open and inside are the familiar toys he’d seen before.

He remembered assuring you that you didn’t need them anymore–not with him around. So he made you promise something to him that day. He made you promise to throw it away after you both had sex; that while you had him, no flimsy toy could ever satisfy you like he could. You kept most of that promise. You really hadn’t picked them up since, you just forgot to actually throw them out. “I thought I told you to trash these.” He glared down at you. You pause reaching for the box, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as you try to excuse yourself. “I-I did—I was!” You stutter and feel yourself get smaller and panic when he cocks an eyebrow up. “I haven’t used them!” “At all?” “At all.” You grip around his forearm, hoping he wouldn’t be pissed you broke your promise. He glances back down into the box, the sight of it pissing him off. “Sit.” And so you sat on your bed, looking up at Miguel. Miguel picks up the small baby pink bullet vibrator in his hand. He turns it around to find the button and playfully clicks through the different settings. The buzz of the bullet makes your face burn, slightly angry and embarrassed how he’s just fucking around. “Okay, I get it! I’m sorry–just throw it out.” You groan and reach for it again but he snaps his head to glare down at you and you freeze. His eyes narrowed. “How’d you like it?” He asks, turning to face you, your eyes meeting his stomach before you look up.

“Huh?” You ask. He presses through the settings again as if guessing. “Did you like it slow?” He clicks to the first vibration. “Or maybe fast?” He hums as he clicks to the fifth vibration. He guesses you like it faster. You’re stumped. You weren’t sure where he was going with this. You don’t think he’s angry but he’s quiet–there’s something about him that’s changing the shift in your conversation. You cross your legs together when you hear the small buzz increasing. “Fast,” You mutter. “Start at one or two then to three or four.” You look away from him playing with your old toys, your heart speeding up at the sight of the two things that gave you pleasure these past few years. Miguel tosses the box on the bed. You yelp when Miguel pushes you down onto the bed, his knee already forcing your legs apart. You gape up at him, open mouthed in shock when the look on his face is more sinister, head full of ideas of what he’s planning to do. It makes you gulp nervously. “How ‘bout I try them out? You let me know if they’re just as good as me, yeah?”

“Huh?” You squeak out and before you know it, Miguel crashes his lips onto yours. Your eyes flutter close and your hands find purchase in his hair, a dance the two of you knew like the back of your hand. His tongue easily slips through to the inside of your mouth, entangling itself with your own tongue. You moan and roll your eyes back, kissing his back with equal fervor. You buck your hips up to grind yourself on his knee, you can already feel yourself getting wet. He helps alleviate that pressure by rubbing his knee to your aching pussy and you sigh in relief. His left hand holds your waist then moves up your body to cup a tit in his hand that makes you moan his name between kisses. Miguel then slides that hand under your shirt, lifting it up to show your bra. His kisses don't relent up, instead pushing your bra up to reveal your breasts to him and freeing them from confinement. He massages your breast in one hand and ghosts his thumb over your nipple, feeling it harden from the soft touch. Miguel moves his hand to tug your pants down and you lift your hips up to help him rip them off. He clicks the button of the vibrator and ever so gently presses it against your clothed cunt, the small wet patch making it easier to feel through the fabric. You jolt from the buzz, gasping and holding onto Miguel’s wrist. He rips your hand off and collects both of them to pin them above your head. Just one hand from him is enough to render you helpless. He then pushes your panties aside to slip the vibrator right on your clit. You choked on a gasp and tried to pry your hands away from him but he wouldn’t lend up. Your hips squirmed around to try and get away from the sudden stimulation. “I bet you missed this feeling, huh? Is it better than my cock?” He hums against your neck. You shake your head, your face burning up with desire. “N-no���” You whined, nothing was as good as Miguel but he tsks under his breath.

“No? But look at you making a mess on it already. I barely even started.” He whispers, leaning up to bite your earlobe and you moan. His voice had gotten deeper, more husky–just how you liked it. He rubs it gently, applying pressure a few times to find the spot that hits your nerves. You moaned his name when he found the exact point and he began circling around your swollen nub. His action made you jump from pleasure, the shock of it hitting your chest and down to your pussy. “Un poco de vibración y ya estás mojadita en mi mano.” He murmurs, clicking the bullet to a faster pace. You writhe and struggle between deciding to close or open your legs. Miguel struggles to keep the small bullet in his hand, the toy being incredibly tiny compared to his large fingers especially when it was wet from your cunt. Growing frustrated, Miguel pulls the vibrator off your clit making you whimper. He lugs your nimble body up and he moves to lay back against the headboard laying you to rest against his chest. You can feel his strained cock behind you but you barely have time to properly register it before he places your familiar hot pink dildo in front of you. “Muestrame cómo lo usaste antes.” He brushes his lips behind your ear. He helps you hold onto the base of it and you weakly look up at him with a lustful and dazed hum. “Miggy…” You whimper.

“Hazlo.” He growls as he places the silicon tip at your weeping entrance. He rubs the girth of it between your folds to lube it up, especially at its tip. He then lets go of your hand to move up to your breast and starts fondling the round flesh in his palm, using his fingers to roll and flick the nub. It sparks pleasure to your stomach and you bite your lip. You take a firm grip around the dildo and slide it inside your folds, your pussy sucking up the toy into its walls slowly. You moan and lean your head on Miguel’s shoulder. He leans down to nibble on your neck, his canines catching your flesh in between them as he suckles gently while playing with your perky tits. Miguel’s left hand holds the baby pink vibrator and he sets it at its lowest setting before placing it over your clit again. You gasp and arch your back off of Miguel’s chest, bucking your hips to meet the vibrator which makes you also shove the dildo further inside your cunt. “Hnngh! Mig–uel!” You mewled, closing your eyes as you submit to ecstasy. Miguel chuckles, kissing your jaw. “Que te pasa? I’m barely doing a thing. That’s all you, mami.” He rubs the toy around your swollen clit while you pump the dildo in and out of you. Your hips thrust in time with your hand with the vibrator slipping and even smearing your juices from around your labia. Miguel turns up the speed of the buzzing and you let out a high-pitched moan. “No–no, please–” You squeal. “Wait–wait…” You pleaded and grabbed his wrist but Miguel didn't budge. “I thought you liked it fast.” He teased.

“‘s..’s too much…” You mutter, slowing down the dildo into soft long strokes, fucking it up into yourself to hit that sweet spot Miguel always hits. Even with a toy, you’re thinking of him. Miguel pulls on your hardened nipple and you cry out, clenching on the dildo. “Too much?” He scoffs. “You’ve taken a lot more, nena. C’mon, make it faster just how you like it, yeah?” He mutters, moving your hand off the silicon to replace it with his. With your hand now free, you reach up and behind you to grab onto Miguel’s locks. Miguel then pumps the dildo deeper inside you causing you to scream and pull on his hair, bucking your hips against the toy. “Miggy, Miggy–!” You whined, looking down at the sight of his hands using the pretty pink set of adult toys filling and playing with your wet pussy. “Oh, fuck…” You groan, thrusting yourself wildly onto the silicon. “More…” He smirks. “There she is.” He groans and clicks the vibrator to a higher setting, the buzz becoming louder as it surrounds your sensitive clit and folds, the dildo pounding into your cunt at a fast yet hard pace. It was like Miguel was fucking you with his cock himself. “Is it better than me, mami? Did you miss stuffing these inside you?” He murmurs against your ear as he continues to thrust it inside you, slipping the vibrator in circles and pressing it against your puffy entrance.

You shake your head while sweat beads down your forehead. “No…” You whined. Miguel doesn’t believe you. “No? Should I stop?” He slowed his hand down and was about to turn off the buzzing bullet when you squealed and grabbed his wrist tightly to stop him. “Don’t stop.” You pleaded, panting since you finally got the chance to regulate your breathing. Miguel tuts in disapproval. “It’s only good when you do it…” You murmured and his smirk grew back on his lips. “Oh yeah?” He kisses your cheek, slowly starting up his pace again, staring at the way your slick glistens against the hot pink color. You relax on his back again, stuttering your hips as they thrust up. “Mhm..” You moan and gasp when he pounds the toy into you, its soft balls slapping against you. In the middle of fucking you with your own toy, Miguel’s hand gets drenched with the overwhelming amount of juices that you leaked out of your wet pussy. He resists the urge to rip the dildo out from you and dive between your legs for a taste. He settles for licking his chapped lips instead and fucks it into you faster. Your body begins sweating profusely, squirming about as you try to reach your high as fast as you could. Miguel presses the vibrator at a faster pace and you screech, your nails digging into his skin. Your face scrunches up in pleasure and your breathing becomes uneven, panting heavy breaths as your mind gets clouded with the goal of cumming.

“Already close, mama? Go ahead.” He urged you further to your release. He watched as he hands made quick work to fuck and please you, bewitched with how perky your nipples got and how your body bounced and grinded on some plastic dick. “Miguel, harder…” You whined, spreading your legs further apart. With a kiss to your neck, he thrusts the dildo into you and clicks the vibrator to its highest setting, shocking your nerves and getting the breath knocked out of you as it makes you see stars. You screech out a high pitched moan, stilling and shaking your legs while your pussy clamps on the toy and drenches it in your cum. Miguel slips it out with a wet shlick and sets the vibrator to a lower setting to ease out your orgasm. With now one hand free, he wraps his arm around you and cups your left breast, giving it a small squeeze before pushing your bra back down over them. He kisses along your neck and jaw, murmuring praises to you. “Así es, hiciste bien…” He whispers as you slowly come out from the haze. You pant softly and twitch when the vibrator buzzes on your now sensitive clit. Miguel turns it off quickly and sets it to the side with the dildo and rubs your inner thighs comfortingly. You hum and lean back against him, catching your breath as your cheeks slowly stop burning as well. “Do you still wanna keep them?” He kisses along your neck, feeling your blood pump through your veins. You gaze over at the box and to the abandoned toys to the side. “Maybe the vibrator. The dildo wasn’t big enough.”

A/N: how r we feeling ? ┗(･ω･;)┛

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Amor

Summary: After a bad day at work, coming home to his family makes Javi realize his day wasn't so bad after all

Word Count: 1.9K

Pairing: Dad!Javi x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: Tooth rotting, sickening, fluff 😩😭 Allusions to smut, breeding kink, dad!Javi needs his own warning bc oh my GOD (more specifically, girl dad!Javi...) (*Also general spoiler warning if you don't want to read NTL out of order!*)

A/N: Y'ALL. I told you the dad!Javi brain rot was UNREAL. After writing this, I don't think I'm ever gonna be able to stop writing for dad!Javi ever and I'm not even sorry about it 🤷🏼‍♀️ Don't mind me casually screaming from the rooftops about how much I am obsessed him okay BYE 🤪

Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the NTL universe!

Series Masterlist Never Too Late Masterlist

Shitty. 

There were a lot of words Javi could have used to describe how his day at work had gone. 

At 9:30, after his weekly phone call with border patrol, who provided him with little to no helpful information, the word would have been annoying. 

At 11:15, after Agent Miller knowingly jammed the copier and left it for someone else to fix, leaving Javi with no way to make any copies, the word would have been frustrated. 

At 3:40, after his department meeting with the other Sheriff’s Offices from the county, none of whom came prepared, as usual, the word would have been angry. 

And now, at 6:15, after a spilled afternoon coffee, a giant stack of paperwork that had been thrown on his desk, and a pounding headache, the word to describe his day was nothing short of shitty. 

Throwing his briefcase into the passenger’s seat, cranking the AC up and the volume of his car radio to zero, Javi sat in his truck, silently brooding in his moodiness to sulk in the misery that had been his absolutely shitty day. 

The rest of his drive home was the same as his pouting in the parking lot of the Laredo County Sheriff’s Department- no music, no windows down, no grin on his face like his usual drives home after work. Javi couldn’t remember a day at work this shitty since the DEA, and that in itself was saying something. 

As Javi pulled onto your street, dust swooshed beneath the bouncing of his truck tires along the gravel road, the sun just beginning to fade from its vibrant yellows and oranges to its soft pinks, beaming behind the clouds scattered throughout the September sky. The view was just enough to snap him out of his overbearing funk- the brightly colored sunset painted behind the view of your house and tiny, shadowed figures dancing in the driveway meant that nothing else in the world mattered anymore. Not frustrating colleagues, piles of paperwork, even spilt cups of desperately deserved coffee. The only thing that mattered to him now, were his 4 favorite people in the world, waiting for him to come home. The only thing that mattered was his family. 

Lucy was the first to notice Javi’s truck rolling down the driveway, immediately prompting the 4 of you to pause your soccer game that had been happening in the front yard, which, after your two year old had decided she wanted to get involved, had really turned into more of a match of “Chase Harper through the grass as she tries to run away with the soccer ball”. 

“Daddy’s home!” Lucy and Elliot squealed, bolting towards Javi’s truck as it finally reached a halt at the end of the driveway, prompting you to scoop up Harper and follow behind, knowing she would be just as thrilled to see her dad, even if her little legs couldn’t keep up with her older sisters' quite yet. The girls bounced in excitement, frantically waving at Javi as they waited for him to exit the car.

From the moment the driver’s side door was open, and both Javi’s feet were on the ground, Lucy and Elliot were wrapped around Javi’s waist, squeezing him with a love and affection that instantly eased every last bit of stress, melting away any remnants of the previous parts of his day. 

“Hi Daddy!” The girls giggled in delight as they latched tighter around their dad’s hip, the feeling instantly making him crouch down to their level and drape his arms around them, pulling them in as closely as he could in return.

“Hola, Pollitas.” (Hi, little chickens). The sigh Javi let out was like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders, hugging his girls just a little tighter and longer than normal, almost as if he couldn’t bear to let them go. 

“Daddy, you’re squishing me!” Elliot squealed, wriggling her little body in Javi’s grasp. 

“Yeah, Dad, you’re gonna crush us!” Lucy teased, both the girls bursting into laughter as Javi gave them one last squeeze before hosting them up, letting their little legs flail as he shook them in his grasp before setting them back down, pressing a soft kiss on each of their heads. 

“Crush my Pollitas? Never. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Javi teased back, making the girls roll their eyes. 

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” Harper cooed, outstretching her arms towards Javi as the two of you made it to the driveway, Javi immediately scooping her up from you and hosting her in the air, peppering her with little kisses across her body, making her squeal just as loudly as her sisters. 

“Mi mas pequeño amor (My littlest love).” Javi grinned, resting Harper against his hip as his little fan club had finally parted ways enough for you to greet your husband, gently cradling his face in your hands, pressing a soft kiss on his lips, savoring the sweet taste of him that felt like home. 

“Hi.” You smiled, pulling back just enough to see the sweet grin spread across his face before leaning back in for a hug, letting the warmth and scent of his body engulf you whole, making the grin on your face just as wide as his. “Long day?” You asked, still pressed against his chest, noting his arrival time back home was later than normal. 

“Not anymore.” He beamed, staring down at you with that tender gaze that still made you melt, even after all your years together. 

“Daddy, can I show you the picture I made you in art today? Please, please, please?” Lucy pleaded, once again wrapped around Javi’s hip, gently tugging at his shirt for his attention. 

“I made one, too!” Elliot interjected, crossing her arms in defiance, a shocked look on her face that her sister dared to leave her out of the art contribution about to be made to their dad. 

“Your little artists have been hard at work today.” You grinned. “I’m pretty sure the Peña house is going to soon be a nationally recognized museum for pictures of puppies, Daddy, and gorillas.” 

“Gorillas? That’s a new one.” Javi laughed, looking at you with a confused tilt of your head, your only response to shrug your shoulders in just as much confusion and amusement. 

“Mrs. Collins read us a book about them in library today! So I showed Elliot and Harper how to draw them!” Lucy beamed, proudly crossing her arms over her chest with a satisfied nod. 

“I’m sure they’re amazing, mi amor (my love), gorillas and all.”  

“Alright goobers, now that Daddy’s home it’s time for dinner, why don’t you go clean up the rest of your art stuff and we can show Daddy your pictures before we eat.” You smiled, Javi gently setting Harper back on the ground, only to quickly be scooped back up again by Lucy, the 3 girls racing through the front yard and into the house, giggling and screeching in excitement the whole way there, leaving you and Javi watching your daughters dash across the driveway. 

Once the girls were out of sight, Javi’s hands slid down your sides, fingers pressing into your hips as he tugged you in closer, making your rest your hands on his broad chest as he kissed you, now making you giggle as he grabbed an unexpected handful of your ass, giving it a playful smack as you swatted at him, rolling your eyes. 

“You’re in a surprisingly good mood for having a shitty day at work.” You smirked, biting down on your lip as you raised a suspicious eyebrow at him. 

“How’d you know I had a bad day at work?” Javi asked, cocking his head in confusion, hand still gripped tightly around the small of your back. 

“Because I know you like the back of my hand, Javier Jesús Peña. I could just tell. Plus, you always give those girls an extra big hug after a long day, since I know how much you miss them, even though you literally saw them this morning.” You snickered, lovingly nudging Javi before pressing another kiss onto his lips. 

“What? Like it’s a crime to miss my family while I’m stuck in terrible fucking meetings and doing shitty ass paper work all day? To wanna spend all my time with my beautiful daughters and their even more beautiful momma? Fine, guilty as charged, I guess.” Javi winked, gently tracing his thumb on the soft skin of your stomach, barley peeking out between your shirt and shorts. 

“Well I guess the five of us will all just head off to Peña prison together since we’re all guilty of missing you just as much.” 

“God, you’re such a dork.” He sighed, pulling you in to plant a kiss on your forehead. “I love you so much, Osita.” 

“I love you too, Jav.” The two of you stood there for a moment longer, the comfort of each other’s embrace, forever your favorite feeling. “Okay, we should probably get back in there before the munchkins get up to no good, huh? In addition to trying to teach Elliot and Harper how to draw gorillas, Lucy was also trying to teach them how to body check someone when they played hockey in the driveway.” 

“They are their mother’s daughters, I wouldn’t expect anything less. Plus, I apparently have some pictures of gorillas to go see.” Javi chuckled, reaching back to open the passenger side door of his truck to pull out his bag as the two of you headed back towards the house. 

“Well, if you needed something to make you feel better, looking at Elliot’s attempt at drawing you, her, Lucy and Harper riding on a purple gorilla while I chase you riding a rainbow gorilla will probably do the trick.” The two of you laughed, walking hand in hand to the front door, pausing one last time on your porch before entering back into the giggles and grins filling your home. “And if that doesn’t work, I bet after we put the girls to bed, I can think of something else that might help you feel better, too.” You smirked, eyeing Javi up and down with a mischievous grin spread across your face. 

“Yeah? You gonna let me give me baby number 4, huh Momma?” Javi’s face lit up, biting down on his lip, his eyes wide and smirk even bigger than yours. 

“Bold of you to assume the rainbow gorilla isn’t enough. Guess we do have an extra room to fill, don’t we?” You giggled, giving Javi a playful nudge before heading through the door, joining the girls in the kitchen, eagerly waiting with drawings in hand to show their dad. As Javi trailed behind you, greeted by the image of his wife and daughters gleefully gathered around the kitchen counter, waving their colorful papers at him, he couldn’t help but feel his heart burst at the seams, flooded with sense of love and comfort that he was convinced nothing else on this earth would ever be able to top. 

Even on the shittiest of days, Javi knew that nothing could really ever be that bad, knowing he would get to spend the rest of his life coming home to the 4 people in the world that made it all worth it. Knowing he would spend his forever surrounded by the love of his family.

Taglist:

@cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @messinadress @milly-louise @dappydelta @blackfemalenerd

[dilf-rot]

Avoidant Attachment

based on Anon request :  could you do a fic of meeting Logan and wade in the void and joining the team? Logan and you are into each other but are kinda awkward hide behind being mean to each other wades so over it later on smuttt <3333

Word Count: 5841 

Tags: Wolverine x Reader, Worst!Wolverine x Reader, Logan howlett x Reader, Fem!Reader (kinda?), Wade is here too, Meeting in the Void, Deadpool 3, Deadpool and Wolverine, Laura is Also here, 5 people in a one bedroom apartment is a great idea, Althea is here briefly, dogpool mention, slower burn but like not really, mutual pining, Wade and Laura as wingmen, insults as flirting, eventual smut, One bed trope included, P in V, Riding

AN: This one took a lot longer than I was expecting, probably since I haven’t written Wade before and I didn’t want it to suck, and also because I was quite busy irl. Regardless, thank you for the request and your patience, Hope you don’t mind my interpretation of the prompt<3

If you enjoy my work consider sending me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/rotwrites (Not required by any means, writing requests are still free!)

MDNI 18+

—------------------

The Void. Boring as Hell, and yet somehow worse than hell. At least Hell would grant you company, shitty company, but better than the dust and trash here. You don’t even remember why you got put here. Probably some bullshit you weren’t even responsible for. You had a pretty lame set up, just a hole in the ground really. And you’d find garbage to shift through, look for food. You had managed to do pretty well on your own for a decent amount of time. Other than being lonely, and the occasional breakdown, things weren’t so bad.

The air was stale and unremarkable, as was the sky, no sign of oncoming doom or any excitement for the day. Or so you thought. 

Over the horizon of dusty dirt and forgotten garbage, appeared two silhouettes. 

As they approached, inching closer and closer you debated on whether you should interact or just ignore, they didn’t seem like they had been here long. 

You watched closely waiting for your moment to make a move. Listening to them as they approached.

Deadpool. Common, usually annoying. 

But the one with him. That’s a rather rare sight. You had never seen one of him before.

They seemed like they were on a mission, maybe trying to escape from here. If you could escape, maybe you could return to something approaching a normal life again. 

You decide to take the chance.

“Hello,” You pop out from your little shelter. Both men jolt into action, blades and guns drawn. The man in yellow, the interesting rare man, had blades coming out of his hands. “Oh no, not a threat.” 

They regard each other and then put the weapons away.

“Knew I smelt something,” his voice was rough and it added to his appeal for sure. 

“And you didn’t want to say anything? Some blood hound you are!” Deadpool spoke, punching the gruff one in the shoulder.

“Sorry, I know you’re a Deadpool. But you are?” You point to him. 

“Logan,” “Wolverine,” they speak out in tandem. 

“Right, so… what’re you doing this far out?” 

“Not telling you random dirt dweller,” Deadpool looked back towards Logan, and seemed to be weighing his options.

“Ok well, if you decide to be friendly I could offer my help.”

“You don’t look like you’d be of much help,” Logan retorted as he looked you over. You were obviously smaller and not as strong as either of them, but you had some tricks up your sleeve.

“Ouch, I would be offended if you didn’t have hair like kitty ears.” You pointed up at Logan’s hair and he seemed surprised by your response. “I’ve been in the void longer than you, I’m sure I know some things that would be useful to you,”

“Listen, Kid-”

“Yeah, me and Kitty Cat here are trying to get back at that bald freak show of a woman and escape this hell. So unless you know how to do that, I’d stay out of it, dust bunny.” 

You laugh and look at the state of them, confused but still combative, barely holding it together and hardly friends. “That’s a good one. Good luck with Cassandra then, Ketchup and Mustard.”

Deadpool gasps and Logan seems to have the inklings of a smile on his face but it quickly fades when you turn to look at him. You sit down on a nearby piece of rubble and watch as they take a few steps away and start to argue about what the plan is. You smile and wave when they look back at you.

“Ok, so what do you know?” Deadpool asks, rushing back up to you. And so you do your best to fill him in on as much as you know about the void itself and Cassandra. All of which seems to not be that useful to him as he just sort of brushes it off and continues, “Well as much as I’d love to have you on the team sunshine, seems like Wolvie over there isn’t too keen on it.” He points over to Logan, who turns away and kicks some dust and debris around. “But, between you and me, he’s just bad with girls. Especially pretty ones with quick mouths.” 

You blush a bit but return a quick retort, “That’s fine, not like I have anything to escape back to anyway. Good luck, random Deadpool.”

“It’s Wade.” 

“Right,” You wave as he runs back to Logan. You imagined it wouldn’t be that long before you see them again, mostly because you had planned on following them, or at least trailing them for long enough to find a new place to stay. 

—-----------

You meet them again at the safe house with Laura, she drove them here and plopped them down without a word. She had been very welcoming when you had wandered this way in search of food, and let you join them for a quick meal. You had told her that you saw Wolverine, and her interest had been piqued. She explained to you everything that had happened before she was sent here, and the two of you bonded over not having something to return too. Although now, with this Wolverine sitting in the same space, it seemed like her chances were looking up.

You figured you’d let them be once they woke up, and wait it out. By the time everyone had finished their speeches, you just stood behind them and waved. You didn’t have much to say, everyone else had much more valid reasoning for wanting to escape than you. You could hardly remember life before the void, if you even had one. Luckily, nobody ever bothered to press you about it, probably assuming you had forgotten for a valid reason. So when Deadpool- Wade, asked you for your input, you sort of just shrugged. Listening to them all plotting was entertaining at least, you were sure you would be of much use, maybe an extra distraction, at the very least you could cover them enough to get the job done. 

You noticed Logan slip out with a bottle of liquor in his hands. You gave Laura a nod before following him outside.

He had started a fire, and was sitting watching the flames.

“So how’d someone like you end up with someone like that?” You gesture back up to the house, as you stand against a tree, watching the fire flicker in front of him.

“It’s complicated.” He says taking a swig from the bottle.

“It always is.” Silence runs through the trees, nothing but crackling fire and the dead stale air of the void. “At least he seems fun.”

“Hah,” He breathes out.

“If that’s what you’re into.”

“No.” His gruff demeanor drops for a second, the bottle halting as he brings it down from his lips.

“No?”

He looks you over, before turning away.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll say a prayer for your liver,” You reference the bottle in your hand. He nods, and you walk back up to the house, passing Laura on your way in. She’d probably have better luck cracking him than you.

You wondered if you would ever have a chance to mean something to him, to be more than some small tag along he sniffed out in the dirt. If he would ever find you to be a friend, an ally, someone to talk to, depend on. But you hardly just met, and hardly discussed anything other than half baked insults and nihilistic opinions of the void and your futures.  

—----------------

Wade and Logan had somehow convinced the TVA after everything with Cassandra to allow you and Laura to stay in this universe, and you weren’t sure how or why they wanted you to come along. Laura made sense, he felt responsible for her, and to make up for losing her Logan, to make up for missed moments. 

You? You hardly had a clue why they wanted you here. Or why they offered to let you stay with them until you found something else. You were surprised that Althea would agree to having 5 people sleeping in a tiny apartment. You appreciated the shelter, you were just very very confused by the entire situation. 

“Hello my little floor sleeper, how were your dreams? You were moaning about something…” He slides up next to you in the kitchen as you're pouring a cup of coffee.

“Hi, Wade.” You sip from the mug, not answering his nonsense.

“So,” he jumps up to sit on the counter in front of you, “You gonna spill? Tell me all about your honey badger dream fling? I was surprised you didn’t just wake up and mount him right there on the floor.”

“Shut up, I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, the three of us sleep in the same tiny space, I hear everything.” 

“I’m gonna steal the couch space from you if you don’t drop it.”

Laura had been given a space in Althea’s room since the boys figured she deserved it, and You, Logan, and Wade were stuck in the living room. Rotating between the couch and cheap air mattresses, usually you just stayed on the floor and let Logan and Wade fight over the couch space. Compared to sleeping on grass and dirt in the void, an air mattress was a definite improvement. As long as Mary Puppins didn’t lick you to death in your sleep, it wasn’t a bad deal. 

“Come on, just admit you like Loggie Bear and I’ll get you some alone time with or without the couch.” 

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Currently, no.”

You sigh, and walk towards the bathroom to change, locking the door behind you as Wade continues to ramble and try to get you to slip and say something about Logan. But you won’t, even if he is right.

There were many nights where you thought about climbing into bed next to him and pressing your face against his chest, breathing in his scent, being held close to him by those utterly ridiculous arms, having him place warm chaste kisses against the top of your head. But you wouldn’t.  

You hardly knew him, and what you knew about him led you to believe that he was not the kind of man to be interested in someone like you. Although he had become more pleasant after having been invited into Wade’s life. Some days he still was that gruff sort of emotionally unavailable man you met in the void, but other days he’s sweet and gentle and kind, usually whenever Laura’s around. It’s as if he’s been given a reason to live again and he’s navigating how to be a person again. 

After you get dressed, you grab your bag and head out, avoiding Wade and his nonsense. You told Laura you’d meet her after her class and go to a cafe she’s been wanting to try. It’s just down the street from the apartment, but the walk is nice and gives you time to get your thoughts back in order. Trying to keep Wade’s pestering from seeping in and getting you to slip up.

When you get to the cafe, Laura is waiting for you outside. You go in and are met with soft florals, sleek wood finish, and the overwhelming smell of coffee. It is so cozy and bright, a welcome break from the dim and crowded apartment. Laura orders something you didn’t know was a thing, and you opt for a simple latte. She finds this funny and smiles at you, “Don’t you want something sweet?”

“No, I’m alright.” You lean against the wall as you wait for your order.

“What’s with you and Logan’s hatred for sugar?” She asks as she slides over to stand next to you.

“I don’t hate sugar, I’m just not in the mood for it.” You shrug and stare at the counter.

“At least you get milk with your coffee, better than black like Logan drinks.” She laughs again and grabs your order when it’s called. The two of you find a nice table by the window and enjoy watching the people passing by. When a particularly handsome man passes by, Laura perks up and asks, “How about that one?”

“He’s alright, not really my type though,” You shrug your shoulders and take another sip from your cup.

“You’re right, I already know your type.” The grin on your face reminds you of how Wade greets you in the mornings.

“Oh yeah? What's that?” You look at her quizzically. 

“Starts with an L and ends with an ogan”

You groan, “Don’t I get enough of that from Wade?”

“I think everyone can see it but you, even Al.” She looks up at you from her drink, in a way you both know she’s right.

“Wow,” is all you can muster in response. 

“I don’t know why you won’t do something about it, and look if you’re worried about me, don’t be. I give you full permission to pursue my not Dad kinda Dad.” 

You quickly try to change the subject, and once your coffee's finished and you’ve loitered around, you walk back in a knowing silence. 

You do have some sort of crush on Logan, but you feel like it would be too ideal to expect him to share those feelings. Especially when you aren’t one hundred percent sure what those feelings even are. He is exceptionally good looking, and well built. If it weren’t for his confrontational attitude and lack of expression, you’d be so certain in your attraction. But there is something blocking you from fully admitting it to yourself.

Maybe it is simply your lack of self, having to build back an identity from nothing, that keeps you from knowing if He is it for you. Even though sometimes he is all you can think about. When you catch him playing dad with Laura. When you catch him helping Althea, a gentle smile plastered on his face as he speaks soft and gentlemanly. When he falls asleep on the couch with Mary Puppins in his arms. The images of the side he works so hard to hide, the soft domesticity he allows himself so rarely. That is what really sticks in your brain.

Along with the less than innocent images you have carved into your brain. Like that time he forgot you were home and came out from the bathroom only wrapped in a towel. The water clinging to his muscles and dripping from his hair. Or when he had his sleeves rolled up while walking around the apartment, the skin shiny from sweat, and all you could think about was what it would feel like to be held in place by them.

When you remember yourself, both you and Laura have made it back to the apartment. 

—-------

You were surprised that for once, everyone was home for dinner, and it wasn’t even a special occasion. Wade decided that it would be easiest to order some pizzas to avoid having to cook. You didn’t complain, even if you would have preferred a home cooked meal, pizza was fine. Of course he had gone to pick it up and left you with Logan, Laura, and Althea. She, reasonably so, had her spot already picked out in the armchair by the window. Logan and Laura were sitting on opposite sides of the couch, watching something on tv. All the while you sat on the floor, legs folded over each other, leaning back on your hands. 

“Why don’t you come sit on the couch?” Laura had asked, and you knew she already knew the answer, which was that you didn’t want to be so close to Logan that you would be touching. You had been cultivating a very specific environment with him, one where if you could just avoid any close contact with him, you could pretend like your heart didn't ache at the thought of him.

“I’m good here,” You didn’t bother looking away from the tv, which you weren’t even watching. 

“Come on,” Laura patted the cushion next to her. 

“Maybe I don’t want to sit next to the cat,” You looked over your shoulder at them. Logan was leaning back into the cushions behind him.

“I don’t want to sit next to you either,” His tone was only slightly malicious.

“Good.”

“Just sit on the couch,” Laura insisted. 

“No. He reeks, I think the animal dna gave him the scent too,” You waved your hand in front of your nose.

“But I don’t smell,” Laura sniffed her shirt.

“You reek too, ya know?” Logan pointed to Mary Puppins in the corner, “Probably cause you’re always sleeping next to that.” 

“Thanks. She’s actually a better roommate than you.” 

“You all stink,” Althea commented from her spot. 

As you stood up to walk towards the kitchen the door swung open. “PIZZA TIME!” Wade shouted, carrying the stack of boxes into the apartment. 

You ate mostly in silence, as Wade rambled on about something or someone that you had no interest in. Lately he was obsessed with those trashy reality tv shows were people all live in one house and things go wrong one way or another. You felt like you were already living in that, no need to watch strangers go through it too. It’s not that you felt like you were walking on eggshells, or that you weren’t welcome. More so that you were waiting for this whole thing to blow up in your face. 

—---------

It was late in the morning when you managed to roll out of your bed. Logan and Wade had already been awake and were trying their hardest to be quiet. Rather, Logan was quiet, and Wade was not. You didn’t hear what they were talking about, only that Logan mumbled something under his breath and Wade turned to see you sitting up on the floor.

“Good morning sleeping beauty! Pancakes or waffles?” He turned to you and you saw he was wearing one of those tacky ‘kiss the chef’ aprons.

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and stood up to stretch, “Whichever you’re less likely to burn.” 

Wade feigned offense, as you walked into the bathroom to brush your teeth and hair. “How do you manage to sleep so soundly down there?” Wade called from the kitchen as you walked back into the living room.

“I don’t.” You pulled out a chair and sat at the dining table, still groggy. “Which is why I need to get a job, and my own place.” 

“You’re leaving me?” Wade gasped, and crossed his hands over his heart. “How could you? What about the kids?” He started making a big fuss about it as if you hadn’t told him before that this had been your plan. “I can’t believe you would leave me alone with honey badger and the little ones! I can’t raise them alone.”

“Everyone that lives here is an adult, Wade.”

“Let her be,” Laura said as she slid into the kitchen and sat next to you. She smiled at you and nodded. 

Wade and Logan joined you at the table, sliding the plates of pancakes to you and her. They weren’t burnt, which was progress. 

—--------

You had spent the day job hunting, and apartment hunting, which was not as important since you kinda needed the money first. The cafe you had been to with Laura was hiring, though not having much of a resume due to the whole void and lack of a world thing, probably meant your chances of getting hired were slim. You submitted an application anyway, and to a few other shops and things in the area. Hopefully something would stick.

There really weren't many options in the area for apartments either, but when you ran into the building manager they had mentioned that one of the other units on your floor might be opening up soon. It wasn’t ideal to be in the same building as Wade and the others, but it was your only lead at the moment. 

When Wade got home, he had a sort of look in his eyes, which you had learned meant something was up. And when Laura came home with the same sort of look, you were even more suspicious. 

“What are you two doing?” You asked, approaching them in the kitchen.

“Well I thought I could do something nice for you,” Wade had his hands behind his back, holding something hidden from you. “And Logan,” he whispered but you still caught it.

“What?” Logan appeared from the bathroom, and leaned against the wall.

Wade handed you a piece of paper, “Tada!” You looked over the paper, it was a reservation confirmation for a hotel. “A magical getaway for you and the kitty cat to work out your differences at an all inclusive resort!”

“This is a Best Western.” The dates on the sheet were for tomorrow, Friday, until Sunday morning. 

“Did I stutter?” Wade stood with his hands on his hips.

“Who said I wanted to do this?” Logan asked, coming up behind you to look at the paper. He was so close you could almost feel his warmth against you. 

“Come on, you complain about the air mattress all the time,” Laura started, “This is your chance for a real bed.”

“Ok? So why do I have to go with her,” He was looming behind you, and the deep vibrations of his voice made your cheeks redden.

“It was cheaper to have two guests than one.” 

“Fine,” He walked away. You were also surprised that he would so quickly agree to something like this. As it was so obviously a set up. A plot against you.

“Perfect! Now go get packing!” Wade slapped you on the shoulder, and smiled. You knew this was all his idea. 

—-------

You were expecting this to be a set up, but when you opened the door and saw only one bed you knew it to be true. Logan walks in while you hold the door and he drops down onto the edge of the bed. You sigh as you drag your bag in and make a mental note to get back at Wade later. You turn the TV on to try to dispel the oppressive silence in the room, but all that's on the hotel cable is questionably written Hallmark movies. Logan shifts on the bed, and you hear it creak under his weight. You wonder what he would feel like on top of you, if he would crush you entirely.

 You sit in the chair that's against the wall, peering out through the cracks in the curtains to stare out at the parking lot, the sun is low against the horizon, and it’s surprisingly quiet. You can hear the fabric of the cheap hotel sheets rustling under Logan, along with the sound of his breathing, as he leans back into the bed, and you wonder how long you’ll be able to survive in a small room alone with him.

Despite having slept in the same room for the past few months, this is an entirely different situation. There’s no Wade, or Laura, or Mary puppins, or Althea. It is just you and him, in a hotel room, with one bed. Which was certainly a set up from Wade, in his quests to get you to admit your feelings for Logan. 

“Are you hungry?” You try to break the silence in the most mundane way possible, at least to save yourself from the discomfort.

“I could eat,”

“We could get room service?”

“Fine by me.” You toss him the menu and once you both decide on what to get you call it in. It was going to take a while, so you decided to take advantage of the luxury of a hotel shower. Telling Logan you wouldn’t be too long and to let you know if the food came before you were done. 

The shower is nice, clean white tiles, and a rather standard sort of set up. It is nice to have some time to yourself, despite Logan being in the other room, you try to allow yourself this time to relax. Letting the hot water soak into your skin and soothe your aches and pains. The sound of the water blocking out any thoughts or concerns about the current situation, letting you forget, at least momentarily, that you would be having to sort out the sleeping arrangements. The hotel soap is tropical, but gentle, not too overwhelmingly sweet or fruity. As you lather up you can barely hear the sounds of the tv in the other room. It is so still and unremarkable. It feels normal, but somehow you wonder if you can ever shake the loneliness of time in the void, if you can allow yourself to have a normal life again. As if you can build back something you don’t even remember. As if you deserve this space that has miraculously been carved out for you, for some reason unbeknownst to you. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door, and the noise of Logan’s steps going to retrieve the room service. You quickly rinse and towel off, wrapping up your hair and sliding into the hotel bathrobe. 

“Food’s here,” Logan calls from behind the bathroom door. You wait until you hear him sit back down on the bed before opening the door and returning to your spot in the chair. 

The two of you eat in silence, and you can’t help but notice his eyes on you. You wonder if it is just in your head, or if he is actually trying to steal glances at you from across the way. You tried to ignore him, to stare fully at the trash tv movie, or at the weird art on the walls. Anything but him. If you could just pretend like he wasn’t there, you could make it for the next two nights. 

Although being this close to him in a small hotel room was not the ideal scenario to make forgetting about him easy. His breathing was audible. His presence was palpable. Even the vague scent of whiskey, cigars, and sweat was radiating from his position on the bed. Every little detail filled your mind with a fog, and all that was running through your brain was him. Over and over. Logan was everywhere. 

“You want to sleep soon?” His voice cut through the haze and you practically snapped your neck to look over at him.

“Hm? Oh… uh yeah probably.” You couldn’t help but look directly into his eyes, and you felt like you should disappear so that he couldn’t make you feel so foolish. So utterly trapped by the idea of him. “I can Just take the cushions from the chair and sleep on the floor,”

“That defeats the whole point of Wade’s gift.”

“So?” You started pulling the cushions of the chair and throwing them on the floor.

“You can sleep up here in the bed,” His voice was commanding. It was no longer a polite suggestion. “I don’t bite.”

“Right but-” As you go to protest, he interrupts.

“We can face opposite ways.” 

And so that is how you ended up in your pajama shorts and a ratty tee shirt, in bed with Logan. Who, true to his word, had his back facing you, and you had your back facing him. You could hear your heart beating, and no matter what you told yourself you could not get it to slow down. His presence, only inches away, was consuming you. Your mind is unable to stop racing with images of him holding you down, touching you, eating you alive. Making you squirm beneath him. You squirmed and thrashed trying to get comfortable enough to fall asleep, but even with your eyes screwed shut you couldn’t.

“Stop moving,” Logan’s voice was low and rumbly. He turned towards you, and laid his arm over your middle, pulling your back against him. “Go to sleep,” He murmured, his lips against the back of your head. 

He was warm and solid behind you, his body pressed to yours gently. His grasp on you wasn’t tight, but the sheer weight of him kept you firmly in place. As you tried to quell your heart and steady your breathing, you finally managed to drift asleep. And stay asleep, the entire night. 

—-----

The hotel was so quiet and peaceful, and clean, compared to the apartment. You managed to sleep soundly, and stay asleep until late in the morning. You had nearly forgotten about the situation, until you were met with Logan’s arm still snuggly wrapped around you as you opened your eyes.

His lips were pressed to the back of your head, his muscular frame firmly pressed against your back. His grip had tightened in the night, and he had pulled you even closer to himself. As you tried to remove yourself from him, he grumbled against you, “Stay.”

“Logan-” You tried to protest, to escape from the growing embarrassment and heat building up in your body.

“Just a bit longer.” He groaned, and pressed himself further into you. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the growing bulge against your lower back. 

“Logan, please. Let me get up.” You pushed against his arm, and tried to pull yourself away but you were no match for him. 

“Why?” His voice was losing the grogginess of sleep, he was almost fully awake now. 

“Because-” You tried again to free yourself.

“Don’t you like me?” He sounded cocky, the question perhaps meaning to be playful but it stopped you dead in your tracks.

“I-” You stiffen, unable to react accordingly. 

“Then, stay.” Taken aback by his words and sudden clingy behavior, you realized that maybe Laura had been right, and everyone, including Logan, could see it. The way you had begun to feel about him, the almost immediate crush you developed as soon as you spotted him in the void, the way you felt thankful to have the chance at life again, simply because you wanted the chance to spend it with him.

You lay stuck in his arms for an unknown amount of time, the silence makes you a little uneasy, but his warmth and tenderness keeps you from leaping away. You didn’t imagine him to be someone so gentle, although you had glimpsed some of his more domestic behaviors when he thought it was just Him and Laura at home, and he would fuss over her like how you would want a good father to do. You felt safe and held by him, the frantic thoughts and anxieties being melted away into the warmth of him and his body against yours. 

As you nearly drift asleep again, he speaks, “Turn around.” And so you do, clumsily, but when you see his face those frantic thoughts and the racing of your heart begins again.  

“So pretty like this,” He murmurs, his face and voice soft. And before you can respond he closes the gap between you, his hand lacing in your hair and pulling you into him as he presses his lips against your gentle and steady. The brief taste of him makes you crave more.

As he pulls away to search your face for any signs of discomfort, you pull him back to you, your hands reaching up to his face to crash your lips into his. You whimper against him as his hands run down your spine and land on your hips, pulling you as close to him as he can. You can feel your arousal pooling between your thighs as he darts his tongue in to meet yours, twisting and tangling yourself with him as much as you can. The months of unspoken tension pouring out of you and dissipating as you desperately try to push yourself against him. You bring your hand down to paw at his bulge, darting your fingers across the fabric of his pajama pants. 

He smiles against you as he catches your hand with his and bring it under the waistband. You gasp when you realize he had not been wearing anything underneath his pants. Your fingers wrapping around him, the warmth and size of him in your hand making your head spin. 

His hands find their way to the edge of your shorts, pulling them and your panties down your legs as he breaks the kiss only for a moment to find his breath. His fingers trace up and down your thighs, pressing gentle circles into the skin before he pushes his hand between them, his palm pressing into you. The brief friction against your clit drawing a short moan from you. His hand rubs against you, the pressure making you grind down to meet him, craving more.

You whine as he pulls his hand away, only for him to grab your hips and pull you on top of him. His back against the bed as he brings you to straddle him. You kick your shorts and panties away, as he pulls his pants down further. His erection springing up against you. You can barely focus long enough to glimpse the size of him, too overcome with greed and arousal. 

You sink yourself onto his cock as his hands guide your hips. You moan at the stretch of it. He lets you catch your breath as you take him down to the hilt. His hands never leave you as he kisses and nips along your neck and shoulders, your head pressed against his shoulder as he begins to rock into you, whispering praises and filth against your skin. 

You grind your hips against his, the head of his cock dragging along that magic spot inside of you that causes the pleasure to build and the knot in your stomach to tighten. He growls in your ear as you tighten and pulse around him. You can feel the pressure building, making your head spin. He slips his fingers into your mouth and you greedily accept them, sucking and licking and kissing along them. He removes them and a trail of your saliva beads down them. He brings them between you to rub circles on your clit. The sensation dizzying, as he draws you closer and closer to the edge. Your moans are frantic as you practically pant against him, begging him not to stop, that you’re so close, so so close. 

With one steady thrust he snaps the last thread and you come undone around him. The feeling of you cumming around him bringing him to his limit, if he wasn’t so enraptured by you he might have been embarrassed with how quickly you’ve made him cum. His warmth fills you as you come down from your high, hazy and drooling. You smile as he presses you against him. You don’t mind staying like this, you whine when he tries to move.

“Alright, princess. I’ll stay.” He smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

[hyewka]

Omg for your game beomgyu + hybrid ! Except he’s a bear hybrid since I don’t actually see it often despite him being a bear and though I love puppy hybrid gyu I want to see some bear gyu appreciation 😭🤭🤔

⭑ warnings; hybrid!au, switch!beomgyu, wolf!reader, mean femdom, dubcon, fwb, predator x prey, creampie, use of whore and bitch in demeaning ways, not proofread

⭑ send in a small prompt with the format of (member) + (nsfw prompt) and ill write you a small drabble!

you don't exactly know what the dumb cub's obsession with you comes from. you've never looked at him different than any other predator, and yet he has this weird big crush on you. does he know what's good for him or do all preys really just lack critical thinking?

"you're pretty," he babbles in answer of your question as you purposefully clamp down on his itty bitty thing. all it really has is girth. as expected of a bear.

"no duh. but i'm not the prettiest wolf out there so again, why do you like me so much?"

your eyes shoot open when beomgyu unexpectantly starts bucking his hips into your cunt, without permission. who the hell does he think he is?! you're about to curse him out, but as you lose your composure the faster he humps into your heat, he starts talking again.

"but y-you're the prettiest to me."

it's embarrassing how much those words have an effect on you. the heat that rushes up your cheeks is embarrassing, all of it is embarrassing, you're the one who's supposed to have him blushing and yet the dumb cub is the one having you so flustered. you manage to recover, quickly collecting yourself. you huff, taking it upon yourself to hold his wrists together over his head then using your right hand to trail under his shirt, pinching his nipples. that ought to teach him.

"ow! fuck! that hurt!" he shrieks, tears shooting to water his eyes.

"ill do it again if you act out little grizzly, sit there pliant or ill rip your little teddy ears off." he looks angry, frowning at you with his bottom lip stuck out like the baby he is, but really who is he to act like this? you're the one riding him and exerting all the effort while he sits against a tree. he should be grateful that you aren't a bigger bitch.

he looks like he wants to say something, but he keeps it in as his frown transforms to ecstasy, mouth agape as his brows knit together and god, his facial expression really has you horny, hoping you could at least cum from this too.

then he rips it away from you. again.

"gonna cum, keep going you're sooogood at this--h-ha fuckkk"

you blink dumbfounded, does he really think you'll let his dirty litter in your belly? god what a dumbass.

almost immediately you stop and his glossy eyes fly open, he really looks like the most precious thing as he tries and fails to hump you. "no--no fuck!"

you tsk, letting go of his wrists and getting off his dick, dusting off your top. "hoped you'd last a little longer," you murmur pulling your panties up, indifferent to the fact that you just ruined an orgasm for him and he's squirming to try and get his high back with his hand. you could tell he's failing.

it's almost like a power trip leaving the bear on his ass, ruined to shreds against the tree, hiccuping and panting, legs still spread like a whore-- you're satisfied with your work if anything. so you didn't expect to be hurled with your back against the tree, everything going so fast and seemingly out of nowhere, the light switch terrifying with how dangerously close beomgyus face is to yours, with your wrists pinned.

"god you're such a bitch," he growls lowly, and you shiver, for the first time seeing his canines in a more predatory light. "want me to treat you like one? throw you around and give it to you rough like all the asshole predators?"

you don't let your weakness show, trying to bury down your fear. "let me go if you know what's good for you beomgyu." you warn trying to stare him down with the same intense look. it's not as effective as it usually is because he doesn't stop, tightening his hold.

"want me to use you as a body rag? thats what you want right? will that get you to treat me better than a fucking second class citizen? fuck your pussy and breed you with my cubs?"

with every word, it's like venom, your nose flaring, you're pissed. but yet the last bit stirs something deep in you, it's all confusing. why're you into this? you like toys you can control, not someone so unpredictable. who is he to think he could speak to you like that anyway? just because you haven't killed him the first chance you got and kept him around your circle he's acting out like he's better than you, like you've wronged him. you sneer at him.

"i could brush my knee against your dick and you'd buckle to your knees gyu, that's how weak you are. you wouldn't know a thing about fucking me like a bitch." you whisper, keeping the demeaning smile on your face, trying to ignore the feeling of his nails digging into your skin further and further, no doubt bruising.

you expect it, him attaching himself to you again. no matter how much you get a little mean, his lips still crash onto yours, rough and greedy and grossly passionate, like he's trying to convince you of something. it's different this time, he's not holding back, slipping his hand down your pants not wasting any time to rub at your clit, not waiting for any instructions and your body is reacting.

"so wet." he sighs into the feeling of your pussy, squeezing in a second, then a third. "what a whore."

he's fast, he's experienced with his fingers, he knows exactly what you like and it's all your fault for instructing him this entire time. he always had a glint to his eyes, like he'd snap and take you himself. and you guess today was his last straw.

"fuck, beomgyu, i-i'm gonna cum.." it's humiliating, but your pussy clenches around his slender fingers, and you could hear him whimpering, like this gets him off too. even when he's the one in control, he's still as desperate.

suddenly, like your warning is the call he's been waiting for, he turns you back to have your body against the tree, and you know he wants to go along his promise to breed you. suddenly you feel the emptiness of his fingers, and you're about to complain before he takes both your wrists in his hand, having them behind your back, his dick proding your entrance. "ready bitch?"

"beomgyu i swear if you cum inside of me-"

he doesn't listen, of course he doesn't. your tits bounce with each and every thrust and you just hope to the gods that nobody finds you like this. he's totally gone savage, trying to drill his cock deep into your pussy, whispering all sorts of filthy words. if everything before wasn't a big whiplash this was it.

even when you orgasm around his dick, he isn't satisfied. "beomgyu-fuck! stop please it h-hurts-"

"im not stopping until i have your tummy filled. ill make you have my babies." he says with so much conviction, his breath staggering.

"for the last time we can't breed dumb cub!" is what you wish you could say but all you're capable of with the mush state of your mind is intelligible moans. he's as fast and ruthless, playing with your tits when he can, not missing a second to kiss all over your neck.

you've lost to beomgyu of all people, how humiliating.

note; I haven't read over this but hopefully it's okay, crossing my fingers 😭

[justaparsec94]

Firsts

Author's Note: For @spaceyjessa. Written for the prompts: Snowed In and First Christmas (I couldn't decide so I combined them lol). I'm a little rusty after not writing for so long so I hope this is ok! Happy Holidays!

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!reader

Word Count: 4,407

If Crosshair had to pick one thing out of his long list of dislikes as the thing he liked least, it would probably be snow. He let out an annoyed huff, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting from one foot to the other in an effort to maintain some warmth as he stood outside The Havoc Marauder. Even with his HUD on his view was almost completely obstructed by the falling snow. Perhaps, that was part of why he disliked it so much, snipers and poor visibility didn’t mix well. But the bigger reason was because he just downright hated the cold. No planet had any right to be this cold. It was icier than a Kaminoan’s heart. 

In theory, it had been a simple mission: retrieve Separatist intel from a supposedly abandoned outpost on some outer rim planet that no one had ever heard the name of before. It was easy—so easy that he and his brothers had actually been offended when the mission had come through to them. But in typical Bad Batch fashion, nothing ever turned out quite as easy as they expected.

The first problem had been that the abandoned outpost wasn’t actually abandoned, but that had made this boring mission much less boring. There was nothing The Batch liked more than scrapping a bunch of clankers. They’d made sure the place was well and truly abandoned once they were through with it and grabbed the data chip that they’d been sent to retrieve. It was at that point as they’d been on the way back to their ship that they’d encountered problem number two, the weather. It had been cold and snowing when they’d arrived but what had started out as a light dusting had turned into a downright blizzard. They’d barely been able to see a foot in front of them as they’d made their way back, the wind so strong it felt as if it was blowing right through their supposedly insulated armour. 

They’d made it though, mostly because Tech had a homing beacon on The Marauder that he could trace on his data pad but then they had encountered problem number three, likely due to the snow, their ship wouldn’t start. Instead of powering up like usual, all they were greeted with were warning alarms. 

All of which had led to his current position, standing guard outside, miserable, in the freezing cold while Tech was in the bowels of the ship, trying to figure out what was wrong with it. He cursed softly under his breath as he shifted from foot to foot again, trying to bring back some feeling into his frozen feet. A quick look at his HUD showed that the temperature was just continuing to drop. 

A curse from beneath The Marauder snapped him out of his own brooding, he turned and took a few short steps to where he could just make out Tech’s boots sticking out from underneath the ship. He ducked down, joints protesting from the cold as he did so. 

“What is it?” He called out to Tech.  

Tech didn’t answer for a long moment, so long that Crosshair was about to call out to him, or better yet, kick him in the leg when he started to move. Crosshair stood back up as his brother crawled out from underneath the ship.

“I have discovered the issue,” Tech stated matter-of-factly as he pulled out his datapad, his helmeted gaze shifting down to it as he began to type something. 

Crosshair waited for a long moment, crossing his arms over his chest once more, irritation growing by the moment, “Are you going to elaborate or…”

“Oh,” Tech made a surprised sound, as though he’d forgotten that Crosshair was there, “Well, the good news is that I will be able to make the necessary repairs. Unfortunately, based on the research I have done on this planet and the way the temperature is rapidly falling, I will not be able to complete the repairs until tomorrow morning. If I attempted to do so now I would likely freeze to death before the repairs are completed.” 

Crosshair was quiet for a moment as he took in that bit of information, “It would be a noble sacrifice,” He said before he snickered, ducking out of the way as Tech swiped at him. 

With the mystery of the broken ship now solved, Crosshair wasted no time in getting back inside and out of the snow. He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of staying the night on this planet but at least The Marauder still had heat. And most important of all, you were on the ship.

Crosshair shook the snow that had accumulated on him off as the ramp hissed closed behind the two of them. The snow was gone but the chill in his bones remained as he reached up to pull his helmet off his head. He only managed to take a step further into the ship before he was accosted by a small body. 

“Here,” You said quickly, throwing one of the heated blankets you kept stored on board as part of your med kit over his shoulders. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself, shivering slightly as you moved away to do the same for Tech. 

Before he could even frown at the loss of contact you’d returned to his side, concern etched on your features as you looked up at him. His heart rattled in his chest as your gazes met, a feeling that wasn’t new to him but still caught him off guard every time. You were so beautiful, sometimes it was like staring directly at a muzzle flash. 

His eyebrows shot up in surprise as you reached out to place a gentle hand on the exposed skin on his neck. Your brow furrowed as his skin tingled beneath the touch, the warmth of your hand against his cold skin sent a shiver down his spine. He cast a quick look over at Tech but his brother wasn’t paying any attention, instead, he was typing away on his datapad, the blanket you’d given him thrown over his shoulders. 

He lifted a gloved hand to cover your own, expression questioning as you looked at him. The relationship between the two of you was still relatively new, having come to a head after you’d been injured on a mission a few months previously, so he still wasn’t quite used to public displays of affection. Generally, you were entirely professional whenever his brothers were around and he was well, himself, so this gentle touch was somewhat surprising. Usually, it was reserved for the quiet moments between the two of you. 

“You’re freezing,” you replied softly, seemingly catching on to his line of thinking, “You need to get out of this armour. It’s just trapping in the cold air.” 

Crosshair smirked, his voice only loud enough for you to hear, “Trying to get me undressed?” 

“Cross,” you rolled your eyes but a smile bloomed on your face, “Behave.” 

He had another snarky response on the tip of his tongue but he was interrupted by Hunter coming out of the cockpit, Wrecker hot on his heels. 

“What’s the situation Tech?” Hunter asked, dark brow furrowed with concern as he looked at their brother. 

“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” Crosshair drawled before Tech could answer earning him a glare from both Hunter and Tech. He snorted in amusement before his attention was pulled away by your warm and nimble fingers making easy work of removing his armour. Normally, he wouldn’t accept help with his gear, even from you, but in that moment he wasn’t about to turn away from any source of heat. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to curl up in a ball beneath the warm blanket hanging over his shoulders. Preferably with you. 

Hunter sighed, rubbing his hand against his face in frustration before looking back at Tech, “I guess the bad news.”  

“Delivering the information in that way would be illogical,” Tech stated, “I have discovered the source of the problem and I will be able to repair it, however due to the storm and the rapidly falling temperature I will not be able to do so until the storm breaks. According to the weather reports and information I have gathered on this planet, that should be sometime tomorrow morning.” 

Hunter groaned while you paused your work momentarily. A considering look overtook your face as you looked between Hunter and Tech. 

“Aw man,” Wrecker groaned loudly, “you mean we’re stranded???”

“Snowed in would be a more accurate term,” Tech replied simply before turning his attention back to his datapad. 

Wrecker groaned even louder before muttering about bad luck and being hungry and a multitude of other things. Tech simply shrugged, unbothered by this turn of events, and made his way into the cockpit. 

“Well, better get comfy then,” Hunter replied, frustration evident in his voice as he looked at the remaining members of the squad. 

Crosshair looked over at you with a frown as you suddenly stepped away from him. You’d managed to remove the top half of his armour, leaving it in a neat pile at his feet, and he was feeling much warmer than before but he’d been enjoying the feeling of your hands on him, perhaps a bit too much.  

His brow furrowed as he watched you grab your coat from where you had placed it on one of the jump seats earlier. There was a gleam in your eyes suddenly that he wasn’t quite sure he liked the look of. 

“What are you doing?” He asked gruffly as you pulled your coat back on. Both Hunter and Wrecker looked over at you questioningly as well as you zipped up your coat and wrapped your scarf around your neck. 

You smiled brightly at him before you pulled the scarf up over your nose, his heart flipped traitorously at the sight, just as it always did, “I’m just going to go grab something quick. I’ll be right back!”

“Did you miss the part where Tech said he’d freeze to death?” Crosshair hissed, narrowing his eyes at you. 

You rolled your eyes, much to his annoyance, “No, I heard. But that’s why I’m going to go right now, not later.”

“It’s freezing out and you can barely see anything!” Crosshair snapped as he stooped to pick up the armour you had removed. There was no way he was letting you go out there alone, “You’re going to get lost!”

“I am not and put that armour back down. I know exactly where I’m going. I’ll be less than five minutes!” You protested, pulling his chest plate back out of his hands and adding it back to the pile. 

Crosshair’s ire was rising by the moment, “You could freeze out there!” 

You quirked an eyebrow at him, before pulling up the hood of your jacket, leaving nothing but your eyes showing, “That would happen regardless if you’re there or not.”

Crosshair spluttered, anger coursing through him but before he could say anything else you patted him on the shoulder, “I’ll be fine Cross, unlike you I’m used to the cold, I grew up on a planet with a weather condition other than just rain. And if I’m not back in five minutes you can send out the search party for me.”

“If you’re not back in five minutes I’m just going to let you freeze,” Crosshair replied grumpily, even though it was a complete lie. If you weren’t back in 4 minutes and 30 seconds he was going to be out that door faster than a jump into hyperspace. 

“So rude,” You said with a laugh, you gripped both of his arms with your gloved hands, giving him a gentle squeeze, “It was nice knowing you then.” 

His scowl deepened as you pulled away, normally you were very logical and level-headed, which he admired that about you, so whatever idea that had come into your head that was making you think this was a good idea was completely out of the normal. 

“Wait,” He hissed softly before you could make more than a few steps toward the door. 

You paused looking up at him as he lifted his hands, pulling the scarf around your face just a little tighter and tugging it up to cover more of your face. It had slipped while you’d be talking and that was completely unacceptable. He wasn't about to let you freeze to death on his watch.

Your eyes were warm as you looked up at him for a quick moment before you hit the button to release the ramp of The Marauder.

“Five minutes!” You called back at him over your shoulder happily as you made your way down the ramp. 

He continued to scowl after you for a long moment, arms crossed over his chest unhappily as the door rose once more, sealing off the outside world. With an annoyed huff, he turned back towards his armour that needed to be stowed in his kit only to pause as he caught sight of his brothers. 

Wrecker was clearly pretending to be busy by moving an old equipment crate around while Hunter was just outright looking at Crosshair with an amused expression. 

“Shut up!” He hissed, picking up one of his vambraces and throwing it at his eldest brother who ducked away from it easily. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Hunter replied, his tone as amused as his expression before he disappeared into the cockpit to join Tech. Wrecker simply whistled casually in a very poor attempt to pretend he didn’t know what was going on. Crosshair frowned, cursing softly under his breath at your insistence to do something stupid and his own inability to keep his feelings in check as he bent down to retrieve the rest of his armour. At least you’d been right about one thing, he was much warmer without it on. 

Thankfully, you were true to your word and by the time he’d stored the rest of his gear away (4 minutes and 23 seconds to be exact) you’d returned to the ship, something bundled beneath a blanket under your arm, looking like you’d just single-handedly won the war. 

Curious about what you were up to, the rest of the squad re-appeared as the door to The Marauder hissed closed behind you. Your smile was so radiant as you pulled off your scarf that it made Crosshair’s stomach clench. Despite still being somewhat annoyed at your little side quest, he was unable to resist following after you as you headed towards where Gonky was currently plugged in placing whatever was in your arms on top of the sleeping droid. 

“Ta-da!” You announced happily, clapping your hands together in excitement as you revealed a small…tree. 

The Batch was quiet for a long moment while you simply bounced happily on your feet, looking between them all expectantly. 

“Why did you bring a tree on the ship?” Tech asked finally, breaking the silence. 

“It’s Life Day tomorrow!” You replied excitedly, “So, I figured if we’re going to be stuck here then we should celebrate. Make it a little more festive in here!” 

“Life day?” Hunter asked though it came out more of a statement than a question. 

You frowned suddenly and Crosshair instantly wanted to kick Hunter for ruining your enthusiasm, “You.. do know what life day is, right?” You asked, concern suddenly evident on your face.

Of course, they did, but only because they had once had to listen to Tech prattle on about it during a mission when they’d been stuck in hyperspace. Not because they actually celebrated it. There wasn’t much room in a clone's life for celebrations or holidays. 

“You mean the traditional Wookie holiday that has been perpetuated by large businesses to drive consumerism?” Tech asked without even looking up from his datapad, his tone completely matter-of-fact. 

Crosshair wasn’t able to stop the snort of amusement that left him at the look on your face at Tech’s comment. It was somewhere between outrage and resignation.

“Well, yes,” You replied with a grumble, though your grumpy tone was more endearing than threatening, “But it’s about more than that! It’s about spending time with your friends and family, the people you love and care about!” 

“And.. you require a holiday to do this?” Tech asked skeptically as he finally looked up from his datapad, his eyebrows were raised towards his hairline questioningly.  

Your frown deepened to an even more amusing level, “Well, no, we shouldn’t,” Your eyes narrowed slightly at Tech, “But that’s it, no more questions from Tech.” 

Crosshair snorted again as you clapped your hands together once more, brightening considerably, “Who wants to help me decorate?”

“Oh, me! Me!” Wrecker answered excitedly, rocketing up from where he’d been sitting in one of the jump seats and bouncing on the balls of his feet in front of you. Crosshair couldn’t help but roll his eyes at his over-the-top excitement. You, on the other hand, looked thrilled by his enthusiasm. 

“We don’t have any decorations.” Tech pointed out, “What will…”

“No more questions!” You cut him off in a sing-song voice before you grabbed Wrecker's large hands in your own and dragged him towards the back of the ship. Powerless, as he always was when it came to you, Crosshair followed along behind. Admittedly he was curious about what you’d be able to find that would count as a “decoration”. 

Within the hour they were all once again gathered around the Life Day tree, which now sported an assortment of random spare parts and a few extra headlamps as decorations while Hunter handed out their rations. 

Clearly taking their lack of Life Day experience as an opportunity to educate them, you’d started regaling them with some of your favourite Life Day stories. They all listened with wrapt attention, much more interested in your stories than Tech’s technical information about the holiday. Crosshair was unable to take his eyes off you, you were so beautiful, face lit up with excitement and laughter as you talked. There were a lot of moments, especially ones like these when you shone so brightly, that he still couldn’t quite believe that you’d chosen him, of all people. 

The hours melted away as you talked, his brothers joining in with their own stories, not specific to Life Day but the ones that had been passed on from clone to clone over the years, it was all they had to share but you listened and laughed right along with them. Crosshair remained quiet, simply basking in the warmth of the ship and enjoying the sight of the people he cared about most simply enjoying each other’s company. It was the most peaceful he’d felt in a very long time and he knew that was mostly because of you. You’d added so much to all of their lives, fitting into the squad as though you’d always belonged there.

Eventually, the stories slowed, and voices lowered before stopping altogether. Crosshair smirked as he watched your eyes begin to droop, your body slumping back in your chair as you curled further into the blanket that had once been wrapped around his shoulders. He’d been just about to jab you with his foot and order you off to bed when suddenly the sounds of Wrecker snoring rocked the ship, startling you awake once more. 

Hunter stood at the sound, casting an amused look at their brother who was fast asleep in his chair, “I’ll take first watch, get some rest.” He made his way back over to the cockpit before anyone could even think about objecting. Silently, Tech rose, giving them both a nod before he headed over towards one of the bunks and climbed up to the top. There were only three since one of them was usually on watch and there hadn’t been a need for more before you’d joined the squad.  Despite your protests, you’d been given the middle one permanently which had left the other two for them to rotate through. 

Crosshair’s eyes followed you as you rose, pulling the blanket closer around you as you made your way over to him. He reached out to gently grasp your hip through the blanket, closing the distance between the two of you with a soft tug.

You smiled softly before you bent over, pressing a kiss to his cheek, making his skin burn, “Goodnight, Cross,” You said quietly, squeezing his shoulder gently before making your way over to your bunk. Unfortunately, you only slept together when you weren’t aboard The Marauder and surrounded by his brothers. 

With a sigh, Crosshair stood and kicked the chair Wrecker had been sleeping in, jolting him awake. He, fortunately, had the ability to fall asleep anywhere and not suffer any consequences. Wrecker on the other hand would be sore if he slept all night in a chair and then they would never hear the end of it the next day. 

“Go to bed,” Crosshair ordered sternly.

Wrecker grumbled something incoherent as he stood, still half asleep but somehow he managed to stumble his way over to the bunks. Crosshair watched with amusement as he collapsed in a heap, snoring once more the moment his head hit his thin regulation pillow. 

Crosshair was about to return to his chair to get some sleep of his own when he paused, his eyes straying over to where you were now curled up in your bunk. As usual, his heart picked up a notch as he looked at you. At that moment there was absolutely nowhere he wanted to be more than in that bed with you. He suddenly wasn’t sure why he bothered pretending like he wasn’t as crazy about you as he was. 

You let out a surprised squeak, eyes popping open and he climbed into the bunk, shouldering you over and tugging at the blanket until he was between you and the wall. He pulled you in close, the lines of your body matching up perfectly with his own before he pulled the blanket back up over the both of you. 

“What is this? You asked, tone amused but you snuggled closer into him nonetheless. You moved your hands to rest over top of his own where they were wrapped around your stomach, holding you close.  

“For warmth,” Crosshair replied dryly. 

“Ah yes, of course,” You let out a soft laugh, “Practical as always.” 

He snorted, tucking his chin against your shoulder and closing his eyes for a moment. He hadn’t been all that tired but the warmth you were giving off was very quickly changing that. 

“Does your Life Day celebration usually involve rations?” Crosshair asked quietly, despite how ridiculous he’d found the whole thing at first he found himself growing curious about the holiday. Mostly because he wanted to know more about your life and the things you felt were important. 

You let out a soft snort of laughter, “Well no, but it’s the people that matter most, Cross.” 

“Hmm..” he replied, skeptical. 

“It is!” you cried, indignantly, turning your head slightly so you could look at him out of your peripheral vision, pinching his hand lightly in response. 

“If you say so,” He drawled. 

You laughed softly again, shaking your head before you turned around to face him. In this position, your faces were only inches apart and he had to try very hard not to kiss you. 

“I will say that the rations were a first. My mum always goes a little crazy, she loves life day. There’s always so much food. It’s hard to even move after because you're always so full. Hopefully, we’ll be able to go next year.” 

Crosshair’s entire body seized at your casual comment. Thinking of the future wasn’t something he ever allowed himself to do. He didn’t see the point of getting his hopes up. A future, a family, that wasn’t something he had ever thought he could have. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out with future talk,” You said softly, trying your best to meet his averted gaze. You’d caught onto his avoidance of the future much quicker than he would have liked. Though he shouldn’t have been surprised, you’d always had the ability to see him in a way no one else ever could. 

“You didn’t…” He started gruffly, but he wasn’t sure what else to say. You’d read him so easily and that still unnerved him at times.

More than just avoiding getting his hopes up by not thinking about the future, there was a part of him, an admittedly large part that was constantly worried that one day you would realize that you could do so much better than him. He was just a clone, a defective one at that, and he had nothing to offer you. Not even time was on his side. 

“Cross,” You started softly, one hand reaching up to cup his jaw, gentle touch forcing his chin down so that your eyes could meet. Your gaze was so warm that it made his heart clench, “You know I love you, right?” You continued, as though you could hear his very thoughts.

It wasn’t the first time you’d said it but the overwhelming feelings that filled him each time you did never changed. He’d never been a man of many words so he showed you just how much you meant to him in one of the few ways he knew how. 

You let out another soft sound of surprise as he pressed his lips to your own, pulling you so close that it became difficult to tell where one of you ended and the other began. When the two of you were like this, the future didn’t seem that intimidating and it was easier to forget about all the doubts that seemed to constantly haunt him. There was just the two of you, as you were meant to be. 

He nipped gently at your lower lip once before pulling back slightly, resting his forehead against your own before closing his eyes. You let out a soft sigh as your hand slid down from his jaw to rest over his heart, bunching gently in the fabric of his blacks. 

“Next Life Day we’re getting a bigger tree,” Crosshair said after a long, quiet moment. 

You laughed softly, body shaking slightly in his arms, “Of course, Cross. Anything for you.” 

He grunted happily in response, eyes growing heavier as sleep began to take over. 

“Happy first Life Day, Crosshair,” You whispered, just before he drifted off to sleep. Warm, content, and most of all, happy. 

[promptthebear]

Peter Pevensie x F!Reader

Summary: You end up stranded in Narnia after a routine errand with your family goes awry. The Pevensie siblings take you on an outing to a nearby lake to help pass the time. Chaos ensues. Fem!Reader, set during The Golden Age, written in 2nd person with reader referred to as "you"

A/N: So...this is also using the prompt "Oh look, my will to live, it's gone" bc the anon who sent it also requested Peter and after I did the Tormund version I couldn't get this idea out of my head so...Peter anon wherever you are. Enjoy.

The whole thing was, as usual, Edmund’s fault.

You and your parents had come to pay the Narnian royal family a visit. It was meant to be a quick trip, your father only wanted to petition King Peter for some rights to more farmland when the simple errand was waylaid by a broken carriage wheel. Thankfully, the accident had happened just outside city limits but had left you with an injured driver and no way home.

Since then, you had all been guests at the Cair for nearly three weeks while a solution was found. Under normal circumstances, being stranded anywhere would’ve been tedious at best, with nothing to do but wile away the long days in some dusty inn. You instead found yourself quite enjoying your little detour, given that you were of an age with King Peter and each of his siblings give or take a couple years. They hadn’t hesitated to bring you into the fold, filling your waking hours with various distractions and excursions.

Today’s particular trip had been to the lake, a pleasant little spot with a pebbly beach, calm green waters and a dock for fishing about an hour’s ride from the castle. While Narnian summer wasn’t quite in full swing, it was still a much hotter country than you were used to and you appreciated the cool breeze that danced across the water and gently caressed your skin.

“Do you swim, my Lady?”

At the sound of Peter’s voice, you turned, and gave the King a shy smile.

“I’m afraid not, Your Majesty. Ettismoor is a frigid land, barren and mostly made of mountains. There aren’t any lakes that I’m aware of, so I never really had the means to learn.”

“Pity,” Peter replied “These waters are perfect for it.”

“We could always teach you, couldn’t we Peter?” Lucy piped up from where she was skipping rocks along the shore line “You’re practically part fish, yourself. Everyone always says so.”

The tips of Peter’s ears suddenly turned red, though whether that was from heat or something else, you couldn’t say.

“You and Susan might have to do the teaching, Lu.” he said, clearing his throat “I don’t think our guest is quite ready to have me prancing about in my smallclothes just yet.”

Lucy let out a giggle, before turning back to searching the ground for flat rocks.

“I suppose you’re right. I’m so used to all of us swimming together, I forgot we aren’t exactly dressed in “proper” clothes when we do.”

You quickly ducked your head, and stared fixedly down at the water. Whether you had wanted it to or not, your mind had snatched up the idea of Peter in a state of undress and run with it. The more you tried to push it away, the more insistent the idea became and the hotter your face grew.

What would he look like, you couldn’t help but wonder, stripped of his doublets and tunics? He’d be well muscled, certainly. You knew he was strong, the other day he’d lifted you onto the back of your horse as easily as someone else might lift a cup of tea. The question was whether that strength was in his arms alone, or if he’d been blessed with a wide chest and chiseled stomach as well? And would he be smooth skinned under his clothes? Or would he have a healthy dusting of hair across his torso, not unlike the reddish beard that adorned his face?

“Penny for your thoughts, my lady?”

The sound of Peter’s voice made you start slightly, and you turned to him, hoping you didn’t look as frantic as you felt. You longed to come up with something witty and clever, something that would make him laugh and flash that devastating smile your way. Though, given that your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears you could hardly think, perhaps coherent was a better choice.

“I-”

A sudden, loud shriek from the general direction of the shore saved you from having to answer. Thankful for the distraction, you glanced over your shoulder and were surprised to see Susan running towards you at full pelt, with Edmund hot on her heels.

“Edmund! You get that disgusting creature away from me, this instant!” the young queen shouted, all decorum forgotten in her panic.

“Oh come on, Sue, it could be a prince! Why don’t you kiss him and see?”

As the two came closer, you glimpsed something small and greenish clutched in Edmund’s cupped hands. You knew right away it was a frog, and shuddered sympathetically on Susan’s behalf. You didn’t much care for the beasts either. Their wet skin and bulging eyes made your stomach turn.

“Will you behave yourselves?” Peter bellowed, his voice taking on a distinct kingly quality “For Aslan’s sake, Ed, we’re not children anymore!”

Neither Susan nor Edmund paid any attention to their brother’s admonishing. Instead, they kept on their chaotic race, down from the grassy shore, across the beach where pebbles flew in their wake and right onto the little dock where you and Peter currently stood.

“Edmund, I’m serious, if you don’t stop it this instant I’m going to thump you so hard-”

“Pucker up, Susan! You don’t want your betrothed to think you don’t like him, do you?”

“Oi! Watch out!”

You’d taken a step backwards to try and escape from the fracas, only to find your boot sinking through thin air rather than onto the dock like you’d planned. All too quickly, the rest of your body followed suit, sending you backwards towards the water, shrieking and flailing like a windmill.

The cold hit you first, making you feel as though someone had just dumped a bucket of ice over your head. You opened your mouth to scream again, perhaps on the slim chance someone would come to your aid, only to have your nose and throat immediately fill with water. Now the cold was inside of you, clawing into the pit of your stomach and freezing your bones in place. You could feel your body tensing with shock, making your feeble attempts to swim to the surface all the more impossible.

Then again, what difference did it make if you tried or not anymore? In order to get to the surface, you needed to know where it was and after being tossed and turned around in this frigid, murky nightmare you weren’t even sure which way was up anymore. The fact of the matter was that you were going to drown, your young life cut short all because you’d never learned to swim.

With your lungs burning and your heart pounding in your ears, you closed your eyes and let your body go limp. Once you stopped fighting, the water seemed to respond in kind. For a moment, you felt strangely peaceful, as though the lake was cradling you in its embrace. You allowed the weight of your shoes and dress to pull you down further into the darkness, imagining you were snuggled deep beneath the blankets on your own bed at home. You were going to die anyway, so why make your last moments fearful ones when you could simply…let go?

You had no sooner accepted your fate when you found yourself suddenly being wrenched in what you assumed was an upward direction. Someone, or something, had managed to hook itself beneath your armpits and was tugging you free of the water with a surprising amount of strength.

Faintly, you recalled that there were merfolk living in Narnia, though the idea only confused you further. Surely if there were such a people, they would be living in the oceans by the coast? And not in some little lake way off in the forests? Whatever this thing was, it seemed determined to save you, and who were you to be ungrateful?

All thoughts of mermaids and otherwise vanished as your rescuer finally brought you to the surface. The moment your face broke through the water, you took deep gasping breaths even though each one stung as though your lungs were filled with angry hornets.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

You tried to place the source of the voice, though when you looked up you could see nothing more than a hazy silhouette, haloed by the bright afternoon sunshine. The shape was human enough, but aside from that there was nothing human about it.

Where people were made of flesh and blood, this being was made of diamonds and spun gold. Nothing in the mortal world could be this beautiful. You reached up to touch your rescuer’s face, your addled mind convinced that if you could just make contact with them somehow, then all that goodness and beauty would flow into you and make your head stop aching so abominably.

It was only when your fingers brushed against the curls of a beard that you finally clued in.

Peter.

“I’m okay!” you all but shouted, sitting up so quickly you nearly smacked your head off the King’s chin. He had been kneeling over you, almost cradling your body within the frame of his arms as he’d inspected you for damage. It actually would’ve been rather nice, were it not for the fact that you were utterly mortified.

“Steady,” Peter said, bringing one of his hands to rest against the small of your back “You don’t want to move too quickly, my lady, otherwise-”

Right on cue you began to cough, your lungs rejecting all the water within them as a fish’s gills reject air. You clung to Peter’s arm for dear life as your body trembled with the effort, your fingers tangling in smooth silk of his sleeve.

The King sat with you while you shook, his blue eyes clouding with concern as he rubbed your back soothingly and murmured faint words of encouragement you couldn’t quite hear. When the spasms had finally run their course, he slipped his arm around your middle and gently guided you to your feet. The simple act of standing made your head spin, and you clung to Peter all the more tightly, far less worried about propriety than you were about not falling back in the lake.

“I’ve got you,” he said softly, adjusting his hold on your waist before rounding on his siblings.

“Are you happy now, Ed? Now that you’ve nearly killed someone? I hope your foolishness was worth it.”

“I’m sorry,” the other king mumbled, his expression of boyish contrition making for a strange contrast with his manly features “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Why am I not surprised? Could you perhaps try and look at her when you apologize? I think you owe her that much, at least..”

“I’d…I’d rather not.”

Peter’s brow creased, the eyes beneath them flashing with rage. He was no longer a King, but rather an exasperated older brother, just like a hundred others in his kingdom.

“Ed, of all the disrespectful-first you practically drown the poor girl and now you don’t even to have the decency to look her in the eye when you-”

“Peter.”

Four heads, yours, Edmund’s, Lucy’s and Peter’s, all turned towards Susan. The young Queen’s face was serenely calm, which was at odds with her bright pink cheeks. Susan didn’t strike you as the type to get embarassed or angry often, so what exactly was it that could have her in this state?

“Peter. She’s…she’s soaked.”

You stared at Susan, equally as puzzled as her brother. Of course you were wet, you’d just gone for a surprise dip in the lake. Why was that such a cause for concern?

Unfortunately, you and Peter happened to glance down at the same moment. Your pale green, silk dress, which had seemed like such a clever choice this morning given the heat, was sticking to you like a second skin. Every part of your body was visible, from the divot of your navel to the outline of your breasts and the curves of your thighs and ass. For all the good your dress was doing you, you may as well have been standing there as naked as the day you were born.

“Oh look,” you said to no one in particular as you brought your hands up to preserve what little modesty you could “My will to live, it’s gone.”

“Damn it all” Peter said, flushing red to his hairline “Come here, let’s get you sorted.”

No sooner had the words left Peter’s lips then you became aware of movement from the corner of your eye. You stole a glance up from your feet, and were surprised to see Peter’s fingers flying down the length of buttons on the front of his shirt. With each one opened, another inch of the King’s skin became visible, and as much as you hated yourself for it, you couldn’t help but stare. Was this really happening?

Your fantasies hadn’t been too far off. Peter was strong, the muscles in his arms flexing as he shrugged his shirt from his shoulders. A dusting of curly, reddish hair adorned his chest and stomach, growing in thickness and darkening in color the closer it got to the waistband of his pants. He was also covered in freckles, which spread across his shoulders like a cloak and most likely went down the length of his back.

If Peter noticed your staring, he thankfully didn’t seem bothered by it.

As soon as he’d removed his shirt, he was draping it over your shoulders, guiding your arms into the sleeves and doing up the buttons as though you were a child. You stood, dumbfounded, your mouth dry and your throat tight. The shirt still held the warmth of Peter’s flesh, and smelled faintly of soap and sweat.

“Thank you, your Majesty.” you said, your voice noticeably hoarse.

“You’re welcome.” Peter replied, giving you a warm smile and placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. He seemed far more comfortable now that you were covered.

“I think it’s time we head home, don’t you?”

This was from Lucy, who had been rather silent throughout the whole debacle, but as always had a keen knack for jumping in with the perfect suggestion at the perfect moment.

“High time,” came Edmund’s answer, and he quickly turned heel and started walking back towards the shoreline, as though if he ran quickly enough he could outrun the fact that he caused this mess in the first place.

The other Pevensies followed suit, Susan going after Edmund, Lucy following Susan and you and Peter bringing up the rear. Much to your surprise, the King was holding your hand, gently guiding you back towards shore, as though he was afraid you’d drift off if he let go.

As you walked, your eyes were drawn to the lines of Peter’s back, hungrily tracing his shoulders and the slant of his waist like you were trying to commit them to memory. Much like you’d thought, his back was covered in freckles, the faint dots forming constellations across Peter’s smooth, tanned skin. You wanted nothing more than to reach out, wrap your arms around his middle and plant a kiss between his shoulder blades.

“You sure you’re alright?”

Peter was still walking, but he’d turned his head to the side so he could glance at you over his shoulder. The sight of his blue eyes, looking at you so intently, made your pulse quicken.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” you said, hoping against hope he hadn’t felt your stare.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. I’m sorry Edmund is such a prat. We’ve been waiting for him to grow up for ages, but somehow I don’t think it’s ever going to really happen.”

“No harm done, your majesty” You replied, keeping your eyes trained downwards so you wouldn’t slip on the rocky shore and make yourself into an even bigger fool “Thank you, for rescuing me, and for loaning me your shirt.”

Peter chuckled softly, and shook his blonde curls from his eyes before speaking.

“You’re welcome. I actually think it suits you better than me, anyway.”

[aziraphales-library]

I remember a fair few fics where the premise is vaguely “Aziraphale does a blessing/miracle/other religious thing on Crowley and it’s strange/overwhelming/etc for all involved”. I just can’t… find any of them. I remember them being various ratings, pure fluff to pure smut

Your best bet is the divinity kink tag on AO3. Here are some to get you going...

The Agony And The Ecstasy by entanglednow (T)

A split second decision by Aziraphale to save them both from discovery leaves Crowley experiencing something he is unprepared for.

your love is sunlight by EveningStarcatcher (M)

“Why wait?” Crowley’s voice was faint, almost a whisper, but lined with the usual forced nonchalance. “What?” Aziraphale froze, brow slightly furrowed. “Just, I don’t have to wait.” Crowley’s cheeks flushed. “Could be all better right now. I mean. I-if you wanted.” “Are you asking me to heal you?” Aziraphale’s eyes flashed with something… divine.

A Negative Integer by racketghost (E)

“I’m the holy object,” Aziraphale says, and is also looking frantically around the room, the bookshop, the skylight filtering in the first glimpses of afternoon sun and holding dust particles suspended in their beams, dreamy and soft. “I can’t touch you.” “Yes you can,” he blurts out, and swallows down the cacophony of what are sure to be any number of embarrassing and hopeful ways in which the angel can touch him, really, whenever.

Bleak Without and Bare Within by Princip1914 (E)

Perhaps Crowley was right, Aziraphale thought. They were both working very hard in sometimes very awful places and for what? It was obvious that they couldn’t give up on temptations and blessings entirely--someone would notice, they had to surely--but combining forces here and there? What had Crowley called it, lending a hand, when necessary? It didn’t sound too bad. It didn’t sound like a good idea either, but Aziraphale supposed that was the whole point. It was a morally neutral proposition, and everything would still get done in the end. “I agree.” Aziraphale said finally. “As long as you accept that we’re going to have to teach one another.” Or, an angel learns to Tempt, a demon learns to Bless and things get a bit out of hand at the beginning of an unusual Arrangement.

Divine Hands by WanderingAlice (T)

After the end of the world didn’t come, Crowley had planned to spend a lot more time with Aziraphale, and Aziraphale didn’t seem opposed to the idea at all. Unfortunately there’s one glaring problem. Crowley has a strong, uncontrollable panic reaction to being touched by something divine. And Aziraphale cannot turn off his own divinity. A Good Omens Holiday Exchange fic written for the prompt: After the Notpocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale start getting closer...but they find out together that Crowley has deep-seated trust issues triggered by something about Aziraphale that he can't help. They have to overcome it together.

sanctuary by moonyinpisces (T)

“You’re staring.” “Oh dear,” says Aziraphale, completely unapologetic. “How rude of me.” Crowley begins to smile something slow, bright, and lovely, but he schools it with a bite to his lower lip. Aziraphale thinks of the way he looked two millennia ago, pressed up against the wall with Aziraphale's blessing healing his wounds, the only demon to experience divine ecstasy and live to tell the tale. How Aziraphale's hands itch to do it again, and again, and again. Crowley opens his mouth as if to say something, but then stops and spins around instead to go back to stirring the curry. “Shut up,” he says to the stove, flustered.

- Mod D

[cherubmm]

🩸⛏ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ BLOOD.Bath࿐ྂ

⊱.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ━━━━FEATURING: HORROR.sans

⊱.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ━━━━CONTENT WARNING: Yandere in general. Soft yandere. Unhealthy attachment. Unwanted advances. Obsessive & Possessive thoughts. Imprisonment mention. Vaguely mention of cannibalism. Hint of stalking. Violence. OCC. Not proof-read

⊱.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ━━━━PROMPT BY : oozgin

Everything was a mess, and it had been for a long time. The underground had never been a paradise, but it wasn’t always like this. The slow collapse into chaos had started with that human child—a little terror with a face too innocent for the damage they caused.

They’d kill, reset, and kill again. Each time, it felt worse. Worse for everyone. Monsters were beginning to lose what little hope they had left, and each reset took a piece of their minds along with it, even if they weren't fully sentient about it.

The final straw would be the permanent death of their king; Asgore, has been-long dusted. Undyne took over, fighting tooth and nail to keep things together but things went to hell even faster after that. Hunger gnawed at everyone’s sanity. Resources dwindled. Monsters were starving to the point of breaking down. And the people he deem were his friends, people he’d bonded with, had turned their backs on him, trying to rip the magic right out of his skull to fuel the Core. They figured that if they could power it again, things might go back to normal.

But it didn’t work.

And he snapped—and, OH, does he snap really, really hard. Sans obligated the source of the Core with his own hands, crushing any hope of fixing things. He nearly killed them. Alphys? Well, She was left with what could hardly be called a mind anymore, no longer the brilliant scientist she once was. He didn’t even feel bad about it. He should’ve, but there wasn’t much feeling left in him these days.

The underground became a twisted, hellish pit. Monsters clawed at each other for scraps. Most of them had gone mad with hunger, madness creeping into their bones like an old, painful infection. Sans was no different. He felt it too. It was always there, pushing at the edges of his mind, clawing, biting. He wanted to tear someting apart.

And then, out of nowhere, you appeared.

Another human, falling into their world, clueless, just like the ones before. But this time… this time was different. There was something about you that stopped him in his tracks when he first saw you stumbling out of Snowdin, disheveled but still intact. You looked like you didn’t belong there—and you didn’t, not in this cursed place—but you also looked perfect. And for reasons he couldn’t explain, it was like love at first sight.

Him? LOVE? It was ironic. He’d never had time for love, and especially not for humans. To him, humans were just sacks of meat waiting to be butchered. But you… you were different. Special. Oh, but unfortunately, you didn’t have the same power as them, no ability to reset when facing the death's door. You were fragile, small, and incredibly weak. A single slip, and you’d be gone for good.

He had to have you.

He’d done his usual schtick when he greeted you—whoopee cushion, a tired old trick he barely found funny anymore. But this time, when you reached to shake his hand, he didn’t immediately slice you in half like he normally would. He let you live. In fact, he stuck around to help you through your journey. Not because he particularly cared about your safety—okay, maybe he did—but because he wasn’t going to let anyone else get their hands on you. Especially not Undyne.

You were his.

And yeah, sure, he got it. You wanted to go home. Of course, you did. That was only natural. But you weren’t going anywhere. Not in this state. Did you really think you’d survive long enough to leave the Underground without him? The whole place was a hellhole now. Monsters would tear you apart the moment you stepped out of his sight. You had no power, no strength to fight back. He had saved your ass more times than you even realized.

So yeah, you're gonna stay. Like it or not.

You’d done the impossible. Somehow, through sheer will or dumb luck, you’d manage to make it all the way to the Queen’s chamber; Undyne. The door loomed in front of you, massive and foreboding. You weren’t sure what to expect when you stepped through, but you knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Pushing open the door, your breath caught in your throat. The scene before you was… horrific.

Blood. Dust. Carnage

The once-great hall was a massacre. The remains of royal guards littered the floor, bones skewered through their bodies like grotesque decorations. And standing at the far end of the room was him. Sans.

Before you could move, before you could react, he summoned bones beneath you, trapping you in a makeshift prison. You stumbled, falling into the pool of blood as you tried to free yourself, but it was no use. He was already in front of you.

“heh, thought you’d make it this far, huh?” Sans’s voice was light, almost teasing, as if he wasn’t holding the head of a dead woman in his hand. “gotta say, kid, you really surprised me.” You tried to stand, but the bones kept you pinned in place. You were trapped. The scent of blood and death filled your lungs, and you wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

You couldn’t even process his words. Your heart was hammering in your chest, the weight of the situation crashing down on you like a tidal wave. The blood soaked through your clothes, and you felt the cold, sticky liquid seep into your skin as Sans’s magic tightened around you. There was no escape. For fucks sake.

Sans crouched in front of you, dropping Undyne’s head beside him with a sickening thud. He grinned, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “it’s better this way, ya know? bein’ here, with me. this place… it’s a mess, sure, but i can keep ya safe. no one’s gonna hurt ya. not while i’m around.”

“well?” he asked, his voice still disturbingly light. “what’s it gonna be, kid? We don't have all day on this place. And plus, yer' all soaked up on blood, surely you must want a nice bath"

Ⓒ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐦 ──── 10/11/24 Navigation | Masterlist

[bearw-me]

Hii hope I'm not interrupting.

Can we please have some angel dust with a young sibling reader (everything platonic OF COURSE), they're younger than angel by two years.

Take your time with this one 🌸

you're never interrupting! thxs for request such a cute prompt! i love platonic stuff :,]

𝐒𝐩𝐮𝐧 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐛 — 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐜𝐬

𐐒 ft : platonic angel dust x younger sibling!reader, valentino mentioned 𐐒 cw : fluff, mentions of alcohol, swearing, slight angst, angel shoots someone for you 𐐒 summary : general hcs + what angel is like as a big brother 𐐒 note : forgive me that this feels a little long, but i needed to get all this off my chest!

every time the two of you are introduced to someone they assume angel is the younger one (you both correct them)

angel always acts like the younger sibling

by the way you pull up in your car or a cab and peel him from the clubs, annoyed that he's clinging to you drunkenly and hugging you but also relieved that he's safe

him mushing your face around and sobbing about "how much he actually loves you" and "what would he do without you"

Angel always stands up for you, even going so far as to shoot someone just because they said something to you

now that he lives at the hotel, he likes to text you and plan fun "dates" for you guys to do and spend time together

when and if you ask, he always gives you money "okay run along now, go, keep yourself busy or something" while shooing you away

although angel doesn't care that he's in hell, or the messed up situation he's in with Val, he really cares about you being down here

and in his own way, he tries to keep you away from all that stuff

likes when you call him by his actual name: Anthony

the only time you'd probably call him "Angel Dust" is when he tells you to, which is usually at work

and loves that no matter how much he f*cks up, or you do for that matter, you'll always have each other, no matter what

would love doing your makeup or giving you some of his whenever you drop by to visit him

you fight, as siblings do, yelling and throwing things at each other if it gets serious before angel walks out like a drama queen

then that very same night you'd both be sending each other funny videos and pictures as if it never happened

he always apologizes though, like when he sees you the next time in person

he still calls you "kid"

i feel like he'd be prone to fixing you up and dotting on you like a mother. like if you went to a school dance or something he'd help you get ready and fiddle with your hair until he figured it was perfect and would STAY all night

probably cried at any event that celebrated you; like a graduation

tries to be a big brother and not tell you about what happens at work, or how Val owns his soul (you could probably get a bit out of him and be there for his comfort, but he only talks openly about it to cherri and husk)

your big brother is always just a phone call away, like he will literally drop everything he's holding no matter how fragile and find a way to get to you

when you were both younger angel dust was a scrappy little kid, getting into fights with anyone on the playground and chipping his tooth.

always tried to give you the best he could (don't worry, he was never a horrible brother, just a little dramatic at times)

[gremlin-girly]

Flufftober Day 13

@flufftober

Prompt(s): Attic, Cellar, Hidden Room

Title: Attic

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x gn!Reader

Tags/warnings: FLUFF, Arachnophobia, implied smut at the very end (but I did write with the intention of just kisses!), retching/vomiting/nausea mentioned, literally as scared as you could possibly imagine, crying, panicking, comfort, friends to lovers (ig?)

Summary: You haven't cleared out your attic in a long time and rope in Bucky to help you; not expecting to be scared out of your wits.

Word count: 2k

A/N: This is one of 3 fics I had for this prompt. They will get linked here and on the Masterlist once they've been edited. Can you tell I'm arachnophobic? I'm so scared of spiders it's untrue (and I may have or may not have experienced the retching from fear hahaha) - Love, Grem x

Attic | Cellar | Hidden Room

Prev | Next | Masterlist

Your attic had not been cleared out in years. The accumulation of stuff and things was now too much and you knew you needed to sort through memories, keepsakes and – let’s be real – shit you no longer needed. So, you enlisted the help of your roughest, toughest, friend to help you along; Bucky Barnes.

Although he usually preferred holding onto memorabilia, he knew how to keep you on task, unlike Steve who would simply melt at your puppy dog eyes. No. You needed Bucky to help you be strong.

And you needed him to stand guard to protect you from anything that might move in the attic.

You weren’t necessarily squeamish, but one big reason you had opted to ignore the growing mass of stuff-and-things was spiders. Attics , especially old ones like yours, held untold horrors of gigantic eight-legged fiends that 100000% would attack you if given the chance.

Maybe poison you.

And eat you.

Maybe.

Regardless of whether the fear was justified or not, the fear remained and Bucky was the only one you felt would adequately protect you from such a creature. Even if you had never seen said fiends in your house thus far.

You made Bucky go into the attic first. There were two reasons for this. The first was if there were any spiders lying in wait as the attic door popped open, they would get him first and you could run. The second was so that you could subtly appreciate his strong build from the other end of the landing.

“Doll, why are you standing so far away?” Bucky had queried after opening the hatch and turning on the attic light. He was turning to look at you with a raised brow, utterly confused as you tentatively stepped closer to the ladder.

“Just in case you fell,” you lie, your nerves shot. “Wouldn’t want to get crushed.”

Bucky chuckles. “So you’d not cushion my fall? That’s nice to know.”

He crawls up the ladder and you follow closely behind, racing up the steps quickly before you chicken out. You and Bucky pull boxes and make chit chat about memories linked to your boxes and share stories about growing up. Soon, you’ve relaxed enough to actually begin enjoying the time you’re spending with Bucky.

“Thanks for helping me,” you say, smiling over at him as you open the next box.

“It’s no problem, doll.” Bucky smiles back, filling up another bag of stuff for charity. “But I don’t know why you couldn’t get up here yourself?”

You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you should say anything about your irrational fear of spiders, but decide against it.

“Just wanted the company, is all.” It’s a half truth, you like having Bucky around. Well, a lot more than just like. But it’s a can of worms you aren’t willing to open with him yet.

Bucky seems satisfied with your answer and hums in response. A comfortable silence settles as you both work, sorting through your stuff-and-things, dust pluming and giving a stuffy air to the warm attic. Your eyes occasionally rake over Bucky and your thoughts begin to walk in circles. You were grateful for his friendship, his help and his kindness. You only wished you could pluck up enough courage to ask him out on a date – without the worry that it would jeopardise your friendship. You also didn’t want to embarrass yourself if you’d read too much into the spared glances and giggles you both shared.

You stuck your arm into the black bag before you, mindlessly repeating the same conversation with yourself when you felt something on your arm. You frown and try to peer into the bag. The sticker on the side read winter clothes so it must have been a finger of a glove or a-

It moved.

You freeze. No. You were imagining things. It was totally a glove. Your hand is balled into a tight fist in the bag, lost between layers of scarves and jumpers, but there is definitely something moving against your forearm.

Bucky looks over at you concerned. Super soldier hearing means he can not only hear the sound of your stuttered breathing ; he can also hear your heart racing so erratically that he thought you would pass out. Bucky watches as you stay still and you whisper his name so quietly he almost misses it.

“Yeah doll? You okay?”

You turn to look at him slowly and Bucky’s concern grows exponentially when he sees tears in your eyes. You shake your head, slowly. He takes a step towards you, making the floor board creak loudly. The vibration of the floorboard makes the thing against your arm wriggle further and you let out a hushed sob.

What had you said about not embarrassing yourself in front of Bucky?

Your lip quivers and tears spill from your eyes as you look at him, seeing his confused and concerned expression. Words die in your throat and you just nod and your arm. Bucky's blue eyes drift downwards following your arm into the black bag. He doesn’t see anything at first and was about to ask if this was some sort of prank. However, as bad luck would have it, very long, very hairy legs appear at your elbow.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky mutters, staring wide eyed. You’re too busy having an existential crisis to care but if you weren’t you’d probably throw something at him.

“Please,” you choke out hoarsely refusing to look down at your arm. You felt nauseous. Maybe you’d pass out. Or throw up.... or both.

Bucky looked at you and then back down to your arm where four pairs of eyes blinked up at him.

“I’ll need a cup.”

“Fuck you and your cup!” You hiss angrily. “You have a metal arm. Just pick him up and throw him out.”

Bucky looks at you dumbfounded, as if you’ve suggested something utterly disgusting, then realisation dawns and he flexes his metal hand. “Oh, yeah.”

The spider moves a little higher, long fuzzy legs tickling the crease in your elbow as it feels its way up your arm slowly. It’s enough to make you heave. If being freaked out by a spider wouldn’t embarrass you in front of Bucky, vomiting from fear would. Your retching seems to snap Bucky out of his stupor of forgetting he does in fact, have a metal arm to deal with the spider. Bucky watches as your shoulder violently move as you retch again, harder this time, and listens to your staggered breathing as you attempt to stay in control.

He reaches over with his metal palm up, placing it gently against your bicep. The vibranium was luke-warm against your flushed skin. You were already breaking a sweat from anxiety mixed with the tepid dry heat of the attic and wished for once his arm was cool to bring some relief.

“Just stay still, doll.” Bucky instructs softly, waiting for the perfect moment as the spider makes its way into Bucky’s palm. You bite back a venomous quip, clamping your mouth shut instead. Once the spider is nestled in his palm, Bucky reels back and throws it across the attic. The spider lands in the cushioned yellow foam between the floorboards, re-orienting itself briefly, before scuttling awkwardly into a crevice.

Bucky would have turned back to you to comfort you but there was an empty space where you once stood. Upon feeling the spider and Bucky’s hand leave your arm, you had practically thrown yourself from the attic. You didn’t even know if you took the ladder or jumped. You were too pre-occupied crying on your bed, trying desperately to calm down.

Bucky appears at your bedroom door with a gentle knock and a soft smile as your wiping your eyes, breathing finally evening out enough with only a few hiccups of sobs.

“Sorry,” you say thickly, sniffing pitifully. “And thanks for getting rid of it.”

Bucky shrugs and comes closer to you, sitting next to you on the bed. “He was pretty damn big, gave me a fright too.”

The thought of the spider scaring Bucky too makes you smile over at him. You sniff again and realise you must look crazy; crying and hyperventilating over a spider touching you. You shiver at the thought and try to quell a wave of nausea. You rub the arm the spider was on subconsciously, your mind tricking you into thinking that something is on you again.

Bucky seems to take notice because he places his flesh hand over yours to stop you rubbing your arm too hard. You look over at him again and notice his eyes are looking into yours with a knowing kindness that makes your heart stutter.

“You don’t need to be sorry.” He says firmly and then, quieter, he asks, “Is that why you wanted me here?”

You nod. “I... I don’t do well with spiders.”

“I can see that,” Bucky grins and you shoot him a glare. But it’s half hearted and you falter into a chuckle. You rub at your eyes again, removing the last of the tears.

“I just wanted to make sure I didn’t pass out if I saw one. And I like your company so... two birds.” You shrug sheepishly and Bucky nudges your shoulder with his playfully.

“Well, congrats doll. You didn’t pass out. And...” He trails for a moment, deciding on what to say. “I like your company too.”

You feel your cheeks go a little pink but say nothing. You take a deep breath and exhale a long  exhaustive, lung-emptying breath, body finally letting go of the adrenaline. However, it all kicks up again when you feel Bucky inch closer to wrap his arm around you in an incredibly awkward, yet incredibly comforting side hug. He pulls you close and you're squished against his shoulder as he rests his chin on your head. Your face heats and you don’t know where to put your newly sweaty palms other than onto your jeans. Finally, you breathe and it’s like a switch flips. You relax entirely in Bucky’s embrace and lean your head into his shoulder, mumbling thanks.

You head vibrates as Bucky’s chest rumbles with a chuckle. “No worries doll. But maybe we cut the sorting short for today, huh? You made good progress.”

You beam proudly, even though he can’t see it. “Yeah. I think so. We were only up there for about two hours."

You hum thoughtfully, breathing in the scent of his aftershave. "So, uh, do you want to watch a movie or something? I’d feel bad that you came all the way here to help.”

“Sure. I’d like that.”

But he doesn’t move.

And neither do you.

You don’t really know how long you sit together, breathing in the smell of him, slotting under him as if you were always meant to. It isn’t  until you sigh as your eyes flutter closed that you feel Bucky’s head move. His nose brushes the your crown and he inhales the scent of your shampoo and ever so gently presses his lips against your hair.  You shift, unsure of how to react, and that makes Bucky stiffen with the realisation he’d just kissed your head on autopilot. Your cheeks flush – as do his. Yet you both remain silent for a few more moments.

“Bucky?” you call out quietly.

“Yeah, doll?”

Another pause.

“Do that again.”

He hesitates but complies.

And continues to comply every time you command it, eventually kissing all the way down to your cheeks, hovering at your lips. With one last command, he meets your eyes briefly before they flutter closed and your lips meet.

Neither of you watch the movie until, much, much later and even then you’re both too wrapped up in one another to care. That day was the first of many good days to come.

Who'd have thought you would be thankful to a spider for bringing you and Bucky together?