#one of the things keeping me running i swear

[mayasaurusss]

hey how are you? could you write jinx x reader? something like jinx taking the reader's virginity. thanks ❤️🫰🏻

My favorite piltie

A/N: Hello! I am okay anon, thanks for asking! Just a bit sad that tomorrow Arcane will end😭.

I want to make it clear that I tried to do this before the next act drops, so I wrote it in two days and some things might not be very good, but I hope you will enojiy it nonetheless!!

Contains: female reader, detailed description of a wound, smut. All characters are 20+ years.

2,8 K/4 pages

When Jinx came knocking at your door tonight, you didn't think you'd end up in this position: her hands gripping at the skin of your chest and with her head buried in it.

The beginning of your night had kicked off with a strange twist when you heard a knock on your fifth floor appartment's window. You gulped down your fear and with a fast beating heart, looked past the window's glass to see a crouching figure with bright pink eyes staring at you. Any other occasion and you would have died on the spot, but you knew who she was. As soon as you opened the window, the figure let herself in, crawling out of the darkness and into the light of your room. "You are so nice letting me in, piltie" she said, and you don't miss the venom laced in the last word she spoke. "Your people aren't really known to be kind" her long fingers mess with the many little trinkets displayed on your shelves, checking their mechanisms and turning their gears.

"What do you want, Jinx?" you can feel a tingling sense of anger inside your skull at her continuous teasings.

You still remember the first time you had seen her, running from enforcers and covering her wounded shoulder.

You knew how ruthless they could be, especially since Miss Kirramman had taken control over the city. In a strange turn of events, you had found her curled up in one of Piltover's abandoned alleys and brought her with you to your home, taking care of her for the next few days until you found your window open and the blue haired criminal nowhere to be seen. During that time, you grew fond of her and were sad when she disappeared. Some weeks had passed and your life continued to flow normally, until she showed up at your door again. You were actually kind of amazed by the fact that she managed to sneak inside the appartment's building without being noticed, but after the third time, when someone called the enforcers on her, she had begun to climb on the building's exterior and knock at your window instead.

"Oh nothing, just wanted to pay a visit to my favorite piltie" she falls back on your bed, sizing you up from head to toe with that smirk of hers that makes your heart beat faster. "That's all?" the mattress dips under your weight as you sit next to her, always keeping your eyes on hers. "Mhmm, maybe" she fishes something from a bag -one you've just noticed- and shakes it: a small glass globe filled with water and fake flakes of snow. The tallest buildings of Piltover reflect the warm lights of your room, making the city of progress look ethereal under the glass. But it wasn't the shiny buildings or the snowflakes that got your attention, but a small name made with metal and gear parts glued to the bottom of the globe. "No way...is this a real Valdiani?!" the shock in your voice makes Jinx's heart flutter, something that she has never experienced before.

She lets out a proud snuff of air from her nose, pushing her chest outwards, "Consider it a gift for my fav- shit!" the sudden swear catches your attention and you look over to see Jinx doubled over. "Jinx! What is going on?!" It's faint, but you can see her hands wrapped tightly around her left side, traces of blood seeping from between her fingers. "Oh shit! Jinx what happened?" she lets out a breathless chuckle, her skin suddenly far paler than normally. "Hah, just some gift the bluebellies have given me" she sucks in a breath when you move her hands, biting a scream away. A deep wound runs along her side, pus forming where her skin had been pulled back from the slash, bleeding red on your covers. You run outside of your room and collect gauze, antiseptic, healing creme and a glass of water.

"Here, bite this" you hand her an old cloth, which she promptly places in between her teeth. "Ready?" she nods, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. The heat of your hand is the only thing that brings her comfort. She isn't ready though when you pour the liquid over her wound: it feels like billions of needles stinging and burning her flesh, making her want to vomit.

"There there, it's over..." you quickly dry her skin and massage the healing cream on her, finally finishing when you cover her stomach with the gauze. She releases a huff of relief, mindlessly tangling her fingers with yours. When the pain subsides, she realizes how close the two of you are. You on your knees, her panting and sweating, how close you are to her and how fast her heart is beating. It would take a second, just a second for her to reach for your lips and melt into you...

"Uh... I- uh, just-, what happened?" you try to not sound too shy but your voice gives your feelings away. "I..." Jinx's throat bobs and it seems that she'd rather curl herself up like a hedgehog than admitting whatever she did. "You know, the usual. Went on a walk, stormed a shop, stole some things, got the enforcers called on me and..." she gestures towards her side, "...this happened".

Jinx isn't clear with her words, but something about the blush on her skin hints at the fact that there may be something else underneath her facade. You might try at least, right? Reaching for the glass globe, you twirl it in your hands, watching the snowflakes fall on Piltover. "Jinx...did you get chased after stealing this?", she doesn't answer, but her shy silence is enough for you.

"Why? Why do this for me?" she pouts her lips before answering, still held back by some sort of pride. "W-what can I say? Anything for my favorite piltie...".

A heavy silence fills the room, of the kind that is difficult to bear.

You can't believe it. You just can't believe that she'd be so reckless, so stupid! It's difficult to bite your anger back, but you do so, and instead of crying or screaming or scolding her, like Jinx thought you were going to do, you just hug her tightly against your chest. Your grip is so strong against her that she feels like she'll choke on it.

But you are so warm in comparison to her body, so, so warm. For the first time in a while, after Silco's death, after Vi's betrayal, after everything went to shit, she feels like she can breathe. And so she does, inhaling your scent in between, tasting it on her tongue. When you pull back, Jinx's eyelids are heavy with want, her mouth slightly open and her skin red.

It takes a second for her lips to push against yours, for her hands to come up and grab your face and pull you down towards her. The kiss is surprisingly tender for it to be Jinx's: you expected teeth and tongue, not pecks and soft touches. The way she sighs and runs her hands on your chest has you keening for her. "Jinx..." a small line of spit connects your lips, and before you can say anything else, she wipes it off on your bottom lip and sighs, "You know what piltie? I think I deserve something too".

Blinking at her a couple of times, she groans at your naivety and continues while taking your cheeks in her hand. "It has been a hard day for me: running from enforcers, bleeding all the way here... I think I deserve a gift too".

And that's where you are now, naked from the waist up with Jinx on your lap, diligently taking what's hers. The way her tongue teases your nipple is something to die for. It seems all her softness has died with the kiss you shared before, now tugging and biting every part of you. You gasp as she bites your nipple, leaving the indents of her teeth on the delicate skin.

"If I knew I could see you all shy and fidgety-" she tugs your left nipple with her long fingers, smiling cruelly when tearing a gasp from you, "...I would have done this earlier". Her lips leave your right nipple, spit chilling the skin, before she teases both of them with the point of her fingernails, moving and tickling them.

Jinx lets out one of those cruel laughs of hers before diving right back on your nipple, giving it one last kiss and moving towards your stomach. She kisses and strokes every one of your scars, every mole or freckle, every inch of skin, until she comes across the hem of your pants. "N-No wait, Jinx..." you place your hand on her forehead, strands of blue hair falling in between your fingers. She halts immediatley at your discomforted voice, billions of little alarms going off in her head and an attentive yet scared look in her eyes. "What is it?".

"I... I have to tell you something" and with that, her heart beats faster and faster and that obnoxious voice inside her head speaks; 'You've hurt her' and 'Look at what you've done' and 'Did you really think she would genuinely like you?'. But your voice is stronger than theirs. "Hey? Is everything alright? We don't have to do this" in the meantime, your hand cups her cheek, thumb stroking at the pale skin. "Yeah I- I am okay. And I want to" her own fingers close in on you and she takes a moment to breathe. Your own warmth is one of the only things that can make her calm. When the voices blur away and only you and her are left, she opens her eyes again, your reflection sharp inside their pink. "What do you have to tell me?" now it was your time to take a breath, because knowing Jinx, she could have two reactions over your news: making fun of you or absolutely losing her shit. "I... I am a virgin".

She takes a moment to process the information and then lets out a wheezing laugh, making blood rise quickly to your face. "That's it?! I thought I accidentally hurt you or something!". The only thing you can do at this point is pout and look away offended. "Oh come on toots" her hands take a hold of your face before turning you to her, who is smiling softly and with tenderness. "I am just kidding. Don't be so moody. And besides..." she captures your lips, biting and licking and sucking until they darken, leaving a faint trace of blood where her teeth were, "...It's so fucking hot".

The descent to get to her prize is tedious and long, but Jinx can't help but want to savor each one of its steps. Her fingers finally hook on the hem of your pants and pull down, revealing your naked thighs to her; the only thing stopping her from claiming her prize is the fabric of your underwear. "Wait a second..." despite how cute you look to her, Jinx rolls her eyes at yet another one of your attempts to stop her. "What, toots? You don't want me to fuck you?" your eyes widen when she so bluntly says that, without an ounce of embarrassment on her face, but continue. "What?! N-no I want to....it's just that..." you eye Jinx's position on the floor. "The wound might be painful if you crouch... I don't want you to hurt yourself".

"So, what do you want me to do?". You look back between Jinx and the plush, comfortable bed, a lightbulb popping off on your head. "Lie on the bed", you say, making Jinx blink a few times before processing and understanding your intentions. "Ohh, I didn't take you for the kinky type, toots". She crawls over the bed, making sure to look as alluring as possible, then lies down with her head pressed on one of your pillows. "There. Do you like this more?" the way that she's so smug about it, with that stupid smirk of hers, makes you want to choke her to death.

"Shut the fuck up", you follow her, placing yourself on each side of her head, feeling her hands rise on your tighs to curl on the soft fabric she so wishes were to disappear. "Hmhm, alright" she eyes the patch of cloth that has begun to show a wet stain, images of what she is going to do to you already flashing in her mind. But this position prevents her from sliding them off without you having to move away from her, and she'd rather keep you and your pussy here. "You know, as much as I love how cute you look with these..." you only have a brief moment to see a malicious glint in her eyes, before she tears your underwear apart, leaving you naked in front of her "I'd much rather have you bare". "Jinx! I just told you to shut up!" it doesn't help that she doesn't mind you and whistles loudly, making you feel more and more embarrassed. "And I -shut up!-. And-and those were expensive! Do you know how-!" but all your words die in your throat when she, with a strength you didn't know she had, pulls you flat against her mouth.

She licks your clit like a starved woman, like it will be the last meal she'll ever have. She doesn't dive right in your pussy, instead takes her sweet time to torture you, making you wish she'd just fuck you already. "Jinx...please, I-" she opens her eyes to see you above her, naked and panting with pleasure, something she only ever dreamt of seeing.

She can't say no to her favorite piltie. Her cold hands grab your ass, propping you up in a new angle on her face so you can't move, but she can do everything she wants to. She spends the next minutes milking your pleasure out of you, before pushing one finger slowly inside of you. You gasp in pain at first, a small trickle of blood wetting your skin and her fingers, and after a few minutes, feeling need arise from the depths of your guts. Jinx's eyes widen when she first feels you move atop her fingers, riding them messily; and she already has a new idea. "No, none of that toots" with her left hand, she yanks your hips down on her fingers, preventing you from moving further. Her next words feel like ice cold water on naked skin; "I won't make you cum if you do it again" and as if that wasn't bad enough, she emphasizes her point with a trust of her fingers. "You will be a good girl, won't you?".

"Yes, yes, yes I will be a good girl..." her smile is all you see before she disappears underneath your thighs. As soon as you get used to the alien feeling of her fingers inside of you, her pace is unrelenting; fast and hard, torturing your clit with her lips. She takes your hips and places your slit directly onto her tongue, forcing you to grind down on it. When you start to wheeze from her touches, she decides to move onto the next phase of her plan. "Hey baby, get up a sec" you would rather keep on grinding on her tongue, but comply anyway. You get up, putting ditance between your slit and her mouth, but while you do, she directly shoves in her fingers, making your legs almost give out. With her other hand she pushes you until your ass is flat against her lap. "Come on, bounce" you don't let her repeat herself twice, already fucking yourself on her fingers at the best of your abilities. What she's seeing is far better than anything she could have ever dreamt of: her favorite piltie bouncing up and down her fingers, eyes heavy and panting above her. And your movements on her own crotch only make her feel more and more euphoric. Oh, if only she could feel you... When she curls her finger on that spot that has you keening, you finally come undone; finger intertwined, billions of stars exploding beneath your eyelids and electricity coursing through your veins. You collapse on her, skin against skin, puffing and gasping for each breath. Your whines reach Jinx's ears and right now, she wants nothing more than to tear orgasms upon orgasms from you, but she'll have to wait.

You roll over, taking a place near her on the bed, shivering from the intensity of your first time. And when Jinx, with a horrifyingly both sweet and sadistic smile turns to you, excitement clear on her face, your pussy clenches around nothing and your blood turns to ice. "So, wanna go again?"

[stxrslut]

BEG FOR IT 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

pairing; ceo!rafe x pa!reader

summary; getting in trouble with your boss is never good in any sense, but with the particular personality that rafe cameron has, you know you're in deep shit, no matter how completely accidental or unintentional your mistake was

content; abuse of power, boot humping, dacryphilia, humiliation

authors note; none

there are better situations to be in than yours, that’s for sure. walking towards the office of your boss, you wonder why you ever even decided that the business world would be a good place for you to step foot anywhere near, no matter how small or insignificant your role in it really is. 

making a decision that could put this whole corporation at risk without even running it by anyone was never your intention, never your intention at all. it was a mere accident, you thought it was something random and unimportant you were doing, until mr cameron called you.

on the phone his voice had reeked of suppressed rage, even though he was quiet and calm, and he didn't use too many aggressive words, you could tell, you could tell because his voice had inadvertently struck the fear of god in you. 

his office is on the very top floor, which allows for plenty of thinking time on the elevator ride up, forty five seconds to be exact. in that forty five seconds you decide that you are willing to do absolutely anything to keep your job. the elevator stops and you step out, making your way to his office.

“come in,” he says in a composed sentence, but the fear is still there when you hear it. you push the heavy door and step inside. his desk is alone in the middle of the room, a large cushioned chair seats him behind it. there are large windows that span from floor to ceiling across the whole back of the room. there are a couple of hallways at the sides that lead to other meeting rooms, and youre also aware of a small private living quarter, though, even as a personal assistant, youve never had the liberty of entering them.

mr cameron is sitting in his chair, supposedly signing paperwork. he doesn’t look up when you come in, “you know what you did,” he murmurs lowly, face not faltering from that hard icy expression youre so intimidated by.

you immediately resort to being pathetic. “I'm so sorry sir! i didn't know i swear, i didn't know what i was doing.” you step forward, speaking quickly and panicking obviously. “I will never do it again! from now on i will double check everything, i promise.” his eyes finally flick up to you and he raises an eyebrow before leaning back in his chair. 

“you have put this company at risk,” he begins calmly, “if I wasn't as high in my field as I am, this would be an unsolvable issue, we would be done.” he informs you. you feel like your heart might drop out of your ass. 

“well it is solvable right, so it's okay?” you say tentatively. you need this job, he knows you need this job, there's absolutely no disguising it to him that you’re desperate. “please dont fire me, I'll do anything.” 

he watches you, like he's studying your facial expression and trying to read your thoughts. “you'll do anything?” he raises an eyebrow in a questioning look. that one sentence you uttered has now opened a whole new world of possibilities to him.

you nod quickly, “yeah! I'll take overtime or– or I could run more of your errands… uhm.. i could start bringing you lunch every day, i can–” he cuts you off by silently raising a hand and shaking his head.

“those are all things that you are already expected to do.” he says, “to keep your job you would have to do something… outside of your contract.” his tone changes, and you suddenly realise that he wants you to do something twisted.

you can think of the type of thing. and god, it would be a terrible thing for you to do. it goes completely against any moral you’ve ever had, to do a sexual favour in order to keep your job. it's twisted, if it ever got out your career would be ruined everywhere. but your career is already ruined if you don't do it. you can't afford to lose your job.

“what… what do you need me to do?” you swallow thickly, the shame already swallowing you whole at the implication of the actions you may be about to perform. you become aware of the unlocked door, what if somebody walked in right now, you would be fucked.

“come here and kneel.” he speaks curtly, pushing his chair back so there's space in front of him. you’re practically shaking with trepidation as you ever so slowly kneel down in front of him. your skirt rides up as you do, leaving you almost uncovered, completely visible if he was just a little bit lower down.

you expect him to say something, give you a command, but he doesn't. what he does is unexpected. he puts his foot forward. that's it. he extends his leg and places his foot right in front of you. shiny black dress shoes that look practically new, not a single scuff on them.

you frown in pure confusion. you are completely taken aback. what is he even expecting you to do? he knows that you don't understand and so he leans forward to clarify, “sit on it, grind on it.” your face twists in unexplainable emotion. “and then beg me for your job.” 

you feel every moment of pride youve ever had slip away as you rise up and shuffle forward so that one leg is on either side of his foot. then a tear slips down your cheek as you slowly lower down to place your panty covered pussy onto his shoe.

it's a sudden sensation, the laces are rough against your sensitive area. you don't like it, but oh, the pressure does incite an involuntary sensation of pleasure there. you can't help it, it's only natural. mr cameron knows it too.

your movements are shaky as you start to push your hips up and down, subsequently grinding down on his shoe. you wobble a little, not knowing if you should grab his leg for support and so you play it safe and don't. 

“you’re not begging.” he tells you, his tone so unbothered that it makes you wonder how many times he may have had someone do this for him. you take a moment to bring yourself to look at him, but the moment you do the pathetic words begin to roll off your tongue like they're the only ones you know.

“p-please. let me keep my job.” you cry, “I have debts, I'll never- uh- I'll never be able to live without this pay.” your voice is all broken apart, every time there is a twinge of pleasure down there you have to let out an uncontrollable sound. “I'll never make this mistake again mr cameron.” 

oh it goes on for minutes. long, shameful, disgusting minutes. you don't stop talking, begging, grovelling. your words only become more incoherent though, as the pleasure grows, you have no choice but to hold him for support.

your movements become erratic and he watches you. a sick smirk is planted on his face as he watches. It brings him a sick sort of pleasure to see you so desperate. he takes pride in the way he's taken advantage of you, he doesn't care how horrid or immoral it is. 

it escalates more when that knot forms in your stomach. you can't keep begging, you are overtaken by pleasure. for a few seconds you nearly forget about the situation you’re in and then the pleasure comes to an end.

your head snaps up to him immediately. you decide it's safe to stand back up again and so you do. “sir..” you say tentatively, hoping, praying even that he will now at least consider letting you keep the job.

he is silent for a moment before he looks up, “i have an errand for you to run.” 

you nod immediately, happy at the insinuation that you still have some sort of duty, despite what you have just been made to do for it, “of course sir, what do you need.” 

“take my shoes to be polished.” 

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part 16

Pairings: Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: ANGSTTYYYYY, swearing

A/N: here we areeee sorta lmao

Masterpost

Steve walked you up the steps to your apartment, the silence between you both heavy but not uncomfortable. The city lights flickered faintly in the distance, casting a soft glow on the quiet street. You paused at the door, fumbling with your keys, when Steve broke the silence.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked, his voice gentle but firm. His blue eyes searched yours, filled with concern. “I mean, Bucky’s bound to come back sooner or later.”

You offered him a small, tired smile, shaking your head. “It’s okay, Steve. You’ve done enough for me tonight. This… this is something I need to figure out with him. Just the two of us.”

Steve hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” you said, your voice soft but steady. “I’m a big girl, remember? I can handle it.”

Steve sighed, then pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms around you tightly. His warmth was grounding, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to just exist in that safe space he always seemed to provide.

“I’ll always be here for you,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with quiet promise. “No matter what.”

You squeezed him back, your heart aching with gratitude. “I’ll always be here for you too, Stevie. And… I’m sorry.”

He pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your shoulders, and gave you a small, sad smile. “You have nothing to apologize for. Not to me.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a second, you couldn’t find the right response. You just nodded, your throat tightening. Steve leaned down and pressed a quick, reassuring kiss to your forehead before stepping back.

“Goodnight,” he said softly.

“Goodnight,” you whispered.

With one last lingering glance, Steve turned and made his way down the steps, disappearing into the night. You watched until he was out of sight, the ache in your chest deepening. Taking a deep breath, you turned back to the door, bracing yourself for what was to come.

As you closed the door behind you, you felt it—the subtle shift in the air, the unmistakable presence of someone else. Your heart jumped, and when you looked up, there he was.

Bucky was sitting on the edge of the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together tightly. His head snapped up the moment you walked in, his blue eyes locking onto yours. The apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You just stood there, staring at each other, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down like a suffocating blanket.

Finally, Bucky broke the silence, his voice low and rough, tinged with something that sounded dangerously close to desperation. “Can we talk?”

Your throat tightened, your hand gripping the strap of your bag like it was the only thing keeping you upright. Part of you screamed to say no, to protect what was left of your shattered heart. But another part—the one that had clung to him for so long, even when you shouldn’t have—was too tired to keep running.

You nodded stiffly, your voice barely audible. “Yeah. We can talk.”

The tension in the room was unbearable, the silence crackling with unspoken truths and jagged edges. Bucky shifted uncomfortably, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“You wanna sit?” he asked hesitantly, his voice soft, almost careful.

You shook your head, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “No. I’d rather stand.”

He nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before he looked back up at you, his eyes stormy and unsteady. “I don’t even know where to start,” he admitted, his voice rough, almost raw.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, sharp and humorless. “Well, there’s a lot to unpack, Buck,” you shot back, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and exhaustion.

He flinched, but nodded again. “I know,” he said quietly, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of it all was finally dragging him down.

The silence between you stretched out, heavy and suffocating. You could feel the words bubbling up, the frustration, the hurt—it was too much to hold in any longer.

“You had no right,” you said suddenly, your voice slicing through the stillness.

His head snapped up, confusion flickering across his face. “What?”

“You had no right to tell me about Steve,” you snapped, your tone biting. “That wasn’t yours to share! I can’t believe you’d do that to him—to me! He’s your best friend too Bucky!”

He recoiled, his jaw tightening as his face crumpled in guilt. “I—”

But you weren’t done. “And you had no right to punch Dean, no matter how you felt about him. Or to make those snarky little comments about me not being able to handle a real date. What the hell is wrong with you, Bucky? And for what? Why?”

Bucky looked at you, his blue eyes shining with something raw and unguarded. He opened his mouth, but it was clear he was struggling to find the words. Finally, his shoulders sagged, and he exhaled a shaky breath.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. “You’re absolutely right.”

You blinked, not expecting his immediate agreement. The anger bubbling in your chest faltered, leaving behind a hollow ache.

“I had no right to any of it,” he continued, his voice rough and remorseful. “Not to tell you about Steve, not to hit Dean, not to say those things to you. I—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I’ve been an asshole to you, and I know it. I know that. And I’m sorry.”

The words sounded genuine, but they weren’t enough to soothe the pain in your chest. “Sorry doesn’t fix this, Bucky,” you said, your voice trembling. “Sorry doesn’t undo everything you’ve done.”

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking again. “I know it doesn’t. And I know it probably never will be enough. But I don’t know why I do it. I don’t know why I say the things I say, why I push you away and pull you back, over and over again. I don’t know why I—” His voice broke, and he took a deep, unsteady breath. “I just know that I can’t lose you. I can’t. Not as a friend. Not as anything. I can’t, I won’t live a life without you in it… a part of it.”

Your heart clenched at the desperation in his voice, but it only fueled your frustration. “You don’t get to stand there and act like you’re the victim here, Bucky!” you snapped, your tears finally spilling over. “You’ve hurt me so many times—more times than I can count. Do you even realize what you’ve done? How much you’ve hurt me?”

“I do,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I realize it every fucking day.” Bucky’s voice is low, rough, as he takes a step closer, his fists clenching at his sides. His blue eyes blaze with frustration, pain, and something deeper—something raw and unfiltered. “But, what about me?” he snaps, his voice trembling. “What did you think those moments meant to me? When I would try and try and try to break through those walls you had up? You think that was easy? It wasn’t.”

Your breath catches, and you take a step back, but he follows, his eyes locked on yours, unrelenting. “Every time I tried to get close, every time I put myself out there, you’d shut me down. You’d give me that look, and then you’d fuck off like none of it mattered. Do you think it was easy for me? It wasn’t.” His voice cracks slightly, but he powers through. “You’re acting like this is all my fault, but it’s not. This is a two-way street, sweetheart.”

The room feels like it’s closing in on you, the walls pressing tighter with every word, the air thick and suffocating. Bucky’s voice reverberates in the charged silence, raw with an intensity that shakes you to your core.

Your voice trembles as you finally manage to speak, your words slipping out, shaky and sharp. “Do you blame me? That night in college—we dove headfirst into it! Y-you never even tried to talk to me about it after. What was I supposed to think? To feel?!” You pause, your voice breaking. “You had a reputation, Bucky! What was I supposed to believe?”

His face twists, a mixture of frustration and pain that spills over in his words. “We’re going back to that night again, huh?” he growls, pacing the length of the room like a caged animal, his movements restless, his fists clenching at his sides. “Fine. Let’s remember.”

He turns to you suddenly, his voice rising, cracking under the weight of the emotions he’s been carrying for years. “You left me that night! I never left you! You walked out on us, on the possibility of something real, and you didn’t even look back. You assumed!” His voice breaks on the word, loud and desperate as it ricochets off the walls. “Because you always fucking assume! You never stopped to think about what it meant for me—what it actually meant for me—that night. You leaving…”

His pacing stops abruptly as he runs both hands down his face, dragging his palms over his stubble like he’s trying to hold himself together. His chest rises and falls unevenly, his breathing ragged. “What about me?” he asks, his voice cracking, and for the first time, he looks at you like he’s completely unraveling. “What about me?”

Your breath hitches, and the tears that have been burning at the corners of your eyes finally spill over. You don’t even try to stop them as you glare at him through the blur of your tears. “You never clarified anything to me, Bucky!” Your voice is trembling but sharp, slicing through the tension. “You just let those rumors float around! And even after we had sex, you never stopped them! You still went out with girls, you still slept with them! And you wanted me to just… somehow know that it actually meant something to you?!”

Bucky’s jaw tightens as your words hit him like a physical blow. His hands drop to his sides, clenching into fists. “Of course you should have known!” he yells, his voice cracking under the strain. “It’s YOU! For god’s sake, it’s you! You’re not just anyone, and after all these years, all this time, how could you think of me like that? How could you not see it?”

His breathing is erratic, his blue eyes boring into yours, raw and pleading. “And for the record,” he says, his voice dropping to a quieter, almost broken tone, “I haven’t been with anyone since you.”

You shake your head, your disbelief immediate and sharp. “That’s bullshit. I don’t believe you.”

Bucky lets out a bitter, humorless laugh that slices through you. “Of course you don’t. You never do apparently! But you believe everybody else, don’t you?” He takes a step closer, his voice rising again, full of pain and accusation. “Everyone except your best friend. You’ve known me since we were five, and you still think I’m lying?”

Your voice shakes, your anger breaking through your tears. “Fuck you,” you snap, your words trembling with both fury and heartbreak. “That was over two years ago! Don’t stand here and tell me you haven’t slept with anyone in two years, Bucky!”

He lets out a hollow laugh, shaking his head as he lifts his right hand, his fingers splaying out. “I’ve got a hand, don’t I?”

The bluntness of his words stuns you into silence for a moment. The room feels impossibly small as his voice drops, quiet but raw with emotion. He takes a hesitant step closer, his blue eyes never leaving yours. “You don’t think I’ve tried?” he asks, his voice breaking on the words. “I’ve tried! I tried with Kate. I’ve tried with others. But I just can’t.” His hands fall to his sides, his voice rising with desperation. “Because it feels wrong without you. Everything feels wrong without you.”

His confession hangs in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and suffocating, and you’re left standing there, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s about to burst. The vulnerability in his voice, in his posture, is devastating. You’ve never seen him like this—so unguarded, so exposed—and it cuts deeper than you thought possible.

And for a moment, the world seems to stand still.

Summer before senior year

The sun was casting a soft, golden glow over the quiet neighborhood as Bucky finally reached your house. His chest heaved with exertion, and his knuckles were bruised and bleeding, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was finding you.

The house was eerily silent as he approached. He pounded on the door, his heart in his throat. He called your name, his voice cracking with desperation. “It’s me. Please… are you here?”

No answer.

Bucky clenched his fists, the pain in his knuckles grounding him as panic threatened to take over. He stepped back, his eyes scanning the windows, the driveway, any sign that you might be home. He was about to start circling the house when he noticed movement down the street.

It was you.

You were walking slowly, your arms wrapped around yourself, your head down. Even from a distance, Bucky could see the way your shoulders were hunched, like you were carrying the weight of the world. His heart broke at the sight.

He called your name, jogging toward you. The sound of his voice made you stop in your tracks, but you didn’t look up. He reached you within seconds, skidding to a halt a few feet away. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice trembling.

You lifted your head, your tear-streaked face cutting him like a knife. “Bucky,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

He took a cautious step closer, his hands raised slightly as if approaching a wounded animal. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said softly. “Steve told me… he told me what happened.”

Your lip quivered, and you quickly looked away. “You didn’t have to come, i didn't ask you too…” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

“Yes, I did,” Bucky said firmly. “I did because…” He trailed off, his fists clenching at his sides as he struggled to find the right words. “Because I care about you, You’re my best friend. And I’m sorry for telling you that you couldn't come to me, for making you feel that way, I’m sorry for everything.”

Your eyes finally met his, and he saw the anger and hurt swirling within them. “You were right, though,” you said, your voice breaking. “Mike didn’t care about me. He didn’t even want to stay.”

Bucky’s chest tightened. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice trembling. “I feel like this is my fault. Like… like maybe if I’d told you about Carley, if I’d been honest with you from the start, you wouldn’t have felt like you had something to prove.”

You blinked, startled. “What does Carley have to do with this?”

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I never told you about her because I was ashamed. I wasn’t ready for… any of it, but I did it anyway because I felt like I had to. Everyone else was moving on, and I thought I should too.”

He paused, his eyes filled with a vulnerability you rarely saw. “But it wasn’t what I thought it would be. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like it thought it should’ve. And I hate that you had to go through that with Mike. That it wasn’t… that it wasn’t what it should’ve been for you either.”

You stared at him, your heart twisting painfully. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because you deserve to know,” Bucky said quietly. “And because I never want you to feel like you have to settle for less than you deserve.”

The two of you stood there in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you. Finally, Bucky took a deep breath, his voice trembling as he asked, “Can you forgive me?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. Bucky froze for a moment before his arms came around you, holding you tightly as if he could somehow piece you back together.

“I’m sorry too,” you whispered into his chest. “For everything, i never wanna lose you Buck”

Bucky rested his chin on top of your head, his eyes closing as he held you. “We’ll be okay, we’ll always be okay, its us”

“I have loved you since we were kids,” Bucky’s voice broke, his words raw and desperate, the kind that claw their way out of a person when they’ve been buried too long. He stepped closer, his hands trembling at his sides, his blue eyes blazing with emotion. “How could you not see it? How could you not feel it?”

His voice rose, cracking under the weight of his emotions, and his fists clenched as if trying to hold himself together. “I love you. I have always loved you. I LOVE YOU!” The words ripped from him like they’d been burning a hole in his chest for years, finally too powerful to contain.

His shoulders sagged, and his breath hitched as he continued, his voice softer now but no less intense. “Every time, every single time—you needed something, you called me, and I came running. I dropped everything for you. Everything. Even when you didn’t ask, I was there. I chose you, over and over again. And every damn time, you never saw it.”

His gaze locked onto yours, his anguish laid bare. “I’ve spent years waiting, hoping you’d notice. Hoping you’d see me—not just as your friend, but as the guy who would do anything, be anything, just to make you happy. But you didn’t. Or maybe you did, and you didn’t care. Either way, it’s been tearing me apart.”

His words hung heavy in the air, the silence crackling with tension as he stood there, breathing hard, his raw confession filling the space between you. For the first time, Bucky Barnes wasn’t just your best friend—he was a man who had reached his breaking point, stripped of every defense, standing exposed in front of you, waiting for you to either put him back together or shatter him completely.

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips as tears streaked down your face. “No. No, you don’t get to say that now. You can’t just say that now.” Your voice cracked, raw with the weight of everything you’d held inside for years. You wiped at your tears with trembling hands, frustration bubbling over. “It wasn’t obvious, Bucky! Maybe in your goddamn head it was, but not to me!”

Your voice rose, trembling with anger and heartbreak. “How could it have been? You were always with someone else, or talking about another girl. Every time I started to think, maybe—maybe—this isn’t just in my head, you’d do something to prove me wrong. You’d flirt with someone else. You’d talk about someone else.” You gesture wildly, your emotions spilling out uncontrollably now. “And you expect me to believe that this—that we—was obvious?”

Bucky flinched, his eyes wide, but you pushed forward, unable to stop yourself. “We had moments, Bucky. God, so many moments where I thought maybe… maybe. But you never did anything. You never said anything. You just left me sitting there, waiting—wondering if I was crazy for even hoping.” Your voice cracked, and your hands fell limply to your sides. “You never tried. You never did a damn thing. And now you stand here, years later, telling me this? Now?”

You could see the pain etched across his face, the regret in his eyes, but it didn’t dull the ache in your chest. “It’s been years, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Years of me wondering if I was imagining it all. And you just… let me.”

The air between you and Bucky was suffocating, heavy with years of unspoken words and unresolved feelings. You could feel your pulse hammering in your ears, every word exchanged cutting deeper than the last. The living room, once a safe space, now felt like a battleground where the ghosts of your past circled, waiting for the final blow.

Bucky’s chest heaved as he stared at you, his blue eyes glassy, his face etched with frustration and heartbreak. “You think I didn’t try?” he said, his voice a mix of anger and desperation. “You think I didn’t want to make a move? I didn’t do it because I was scared! Scared of ruining the one good thing in my life! I couldn’t risk losing you, so yeah, I kept my mouth shut and buried how I felt.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms tightly over your chest as if it could shield you from the weight of his words. “You didn’t just bury it, Bucky. You locked it away and threw the key at my feet. You made me feel like I was imagining everything! And all the while, you were running off with other girls like it didn’t mean a damn thing.”

He flinched at your words but didn’t back down. “You think it was easy for me? Watching you look at me like I was just another guy, like I didn’t matter? God, every time you’d laugh with Steve or go on about some asshole, it killed me! And yet, I stayed. I stayed because you needed me, and I thought that was enough. But it wasn’t.” His voice cracked again, and he wiped a hand down his face. “I needed you, too.”

The tears you had been holding back spilled over, hot and stinging as they trailed down your cheeks. “If you needed me so badly, then why did you let me walk away? Why didn’t you come after me, Bucky? I gave you every chance, and you still—” Your voice broke, and you turned away, unable to face him.

Bucky’s hands balled into fists at his sides, his voice hoarse. “Because you looked at me like I was nothing that night. Like everything we’d built, everything we could’ve had, didn’t matter to you. Do you know what that did to me? You left me, and I—I didn’t know how to fight for you when you didn’t want to be fought for.”

You spun back around, your eyes blazing. “You don’t get to put this all on me! You broke my heart before I even knew what it meant to love someone! You made me feel like I was never enough, like I was some backup plan while you figured out your life. And now, now you want to stand here and tell me you’ve loved me all along? No. That’s not fair, Bucky.”

He took a step closer, his voice trembling. “I’m not asking for fair. I’m asking for real. I’m telling you now because I can’t hold it in anymore. I’ve carried this for years, and it’s tearing me apart.”

The words hung between you like a fragile thread, stretched to its limit. Bucky’s face was a canvas of raw emotion—anger, sadness, longing. “I’ve loved you since we were kids, I will always love you” he whispered, his voice cracking. “And I’m sorry if I didn’t show it the way you needed. But don’t you dare stand there and tell me I didn’t love you with everything I had, with everything I could”

You shook your head, your body trembling. “And what am I supposed to do with that now, Bucky? After everything? After all the pain, all the missed chances?”

He stepped closer again, his voice quieter but no less intense. “You say I never made a move? Well, here it is. I’m laying it all out. I love you, im so in love with you! and I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. But if you don’t feel the same—if you can’t—then tell me, and I’ll walk away. I’ll leave, for good this time.”

Your heart clenched painfully, the weight of his confession crushing you. You looked into his eyes, searching for answers, for clarity, but all you found was the same broken boy you’d loved for years. The one you’d always loved.

But love wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It wasn’t supposed to hurt this much.

“I don’t know, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Bucky’s shoulders sagged, his face falling as if the weight of your words had physically struck him. He nodded slowly, the fight draining out of him. “Okay,” he said softly, his voice hollow. “Okay.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You felt like the ground had been ripped out from under you, leaving you suspended in a free fall with no end in sight.

Finally, you turned away, your voice breaking as you said, “I need time, I just need a minute..”

Bucky didn’t stop you. He didn’t call after you or try to pull you back. He simply stood there, watching as you walked out of the room, his heart shattering with every step you took.

The streets felt endless as you walked, the cool night air biting at your skin but doing nothing to soothe the ache in your chest. The echoes of Bucky’s voice still rang in your ears, his confession, his anger—it all felt too big to hold. You didn’t know where else to go, so your feet carried you to the one place that always felt like a refuge.

Natasha and Wanda’s apartment.

You didn’t knock. Your hands were shaking too much to even try. Instead, you turned the handle and stepped inside, your breath hitching as you fought to hold yourself together.

Wanda was the first to notice you. She stood in the living room, wrapped in a soft blanket, her fingers curled around a mug of tea. Her face softened the moment she saw you, her expression filled with concern. “Oh, babe,” she said gently, setting the mug down and crossing the room to you. “Come here.”

You nodded wordlessly, letting her guide you inside. Your coat hung limp in your hand, and your shoes scraped against the floor as you kicked them off.

Natasha appeared from the kitchen, a glass of wine in her hand. Her sharp green eyes flicked over you, taking in the tear-streaked face, the uneven breaths, and the raw emotion clinging to you like a second skin. She didn’t say anything right away, just gestured toward the couch.

You sank into the cushions, your heart hammering. The silence was heavy, and when the words finally came, they spilled out of you like a broken dam.

“I talked to Bucky,” you choked out, your voice unsteady. “We fought. He told me he loves me. That he’s always loved me.”

Wanda perched beside you, her hand gently squeezing your knee. She didn’t say anything, just offered silent support. Natasha, however, stood in front of you, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her silence was unnerving, her face unreadable.

“And now?” Natasha asked, her tone quiet but carrying an edge. “Why are you here crying?”

Her question hit like a slap, cutting through the haze of your thoughts. You blinked at her, confused. “What do you mean?”

Natasha took a deliberate sip of her wine, her gaze steady and unnerving. “I mean, why are you here? Why aren’t you there? With him?”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Instead, you stared at her, trying to make sense of her words. “Because…” you stammered, shaking your head. “After everything? After everything he’s done, you’ve always told me not to run back to him.”

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she set her glass down with a sharp clink. “Yes. After everything.”

You stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate. When she didn’t, frustration bubbled up. “Why aren’t you on my side right now?” you demanded, your voice cracking.

Natasha sighed, rubbing her temple as if this conversation was physically draining her. “Because, for once, he finally said it. He said what you’ve been waiting to hear for years.”

Wanda’s hand stayed steady on your knee, but she looked at Natasha with quiet curiosity. Natasha’s tone wasn’t just sharp—it was laced with something else, something deeper.

“If this is what you’ve always wanted,” Natasha continued, her voice rising slightly, “and he’s there, telling you he loves you, why the hell are you here? Why are you sitting on my couch crying about it?”

The words felt like they knocked the wind out of you. You tried to speak, to justify your actions, but nothing came.

“Let me make this clear,” Natasha pressed on, her voice trembling with barely restrained emotion. “At least the person you love actually loves you back.”

Your heart stopped. “Nat…” you started, your voice weak. “What are you talking about?”

Natasha’s eyes flashed, her carefully constructed walls beginning to crack. “God, you’re so blind,” she snapped, the words biting. “I’ve been in love with Steve for years.”

The air left the room. “What?” you whispered, the disbelief in your voice evident.

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Yeah. And Steve’s been in love with you for just as long. And while you’ve been chasing after Bucky, Steve’s been stuck watching it all, pining after someone he’ll never have. It’s a fucking circle of misery, and I’m tired of watching it.”

Her words felt like daggers. “I didn’t know,” you said, your voice cracking. “I didn’t know, Nat.”

“Of course you didn’t!” Natasha snapped, throwing her hands in the air. “Because you’ve always been so wrapped up in your own little world. I’m not saying you’re a bad friend—you’re not. You’re one of my best friends. But God, you’re such an idiot sometimes.”

You swallowed hard, tears welling in your eyes again. “I’m so sorry.”

Her shoulders sagged slightly, the anger giving way to exhaustion. She waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t need your apology. I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad. I’m telling you this because you need to get your shit together. You need to stop wasting time. Steve, he needs to let you go and Bucky…”

Her eyes bore into yours, the weight of her words impossible to ignore. “He loves you,” she said softly, her tone shifting. “And you love him. So what the hell are you doing here?”

The silence hung heavy between you, the gravity of everything sinking in. Finally, Natasha sighed and gestured toward the door. “Get out of my house. Go back to yours. Go see Bucky.”

You hesitated, glancing at Wanda for reassurance. Wanda gave you a small, supportive smile. “She’s right,” Wanda said softly. “You know she is.”

Natasha crossed her arms again, her expression softening just slightly. “Go,” she repeated. “Before I lose my patience and drag you out myself.”

You nodded slowly, standing and grabbing your coat. As you reached the door, you turned back, your voice trembling. “Thank you…”

Natasha gave you a small, tight smile. “Don’t thank me yet. Just… go fix it. Go be together, finally… please.”

You stepped out into the cold night air, your heart pounding as you walked back toward your apartment, Natasha’s words echoing in your head.

He loves you. You love him. So what the hell are you doing here?

[jungshookz]

teeny tidbits: jungkook gets hurt during practice and the only thing y/n has in her backpack are miffy bandaids 

➺ pairing; quarterback!jungkook x librarian!y/n

➺ genre; university!au!!! sfw!! soft soft fluff!! jungkook and y/n are so fond of each other wowowow it actually makes me physically nauseous please get a ROOM

➺ wordcount; 1k

»»————- ♥ ————-««

“ow!” jungkook hisses, wincing as you dab against the scrape on his arm with a cotton ball that’s been drenched in a generous amount of warm water, “ow…”

“sorry, i know…” you mutter, trying your best to be as gentle as possible as you reduce your pressure (you were already going feather light but jungkook has always been a big baby with cuts and scrapes) and toss the soiled cotton ball aside before reaching for another one in the big plastic bag, “i can’t believe you guys don’t have a proper first-aid kit.” 

“it’s taehyung’s fault, coach asked him to restock it and apparently he completely forgot.” jungkook snorts, glancing down at the rusty tin box sitting on the counter next to him - you managed to find it after about fifteen minutes of searching the changing rooms but you were more than disappointed when you opened the rusty old box to find practically nothing but dust 

but if this were a real emergency, jungkook would be bleeding out on the ground and all you’d have to try to save your boyfriend is a single q-tip and one dried out packet of rubbing alcohol

luckily, you always carry a mini first aid kit with you in your backpack - last winter you slipped on a rogue patch of ice and ended up falling to the ground, your poor books sliding across the sidewalk and your palms all scraped up and bloody, so ever since then, you’ve been carrying your little pouch with you in case of emergencies 

gauze, bandaids, cotton balls, surgical tape, and some hard candies - you have it all!! 

“explain to me again what the hell you guys were trying to do out there?”

“taehyung said that when one sense goes dark, the other ones become way stronger and we wanted to test that theory out-“ 

“so you did this on purpose-“ you pause, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion, “you blindfolded yourself and ran around the football field on purpose.” 

“i thought i had better instincts than this!” jungkook gestures to himself, his kneecaps all scraped up along with a few scratches on his arms, “and my head hurts…” 

watching jungkook run into the goal post full force would’ve been comical if it weren’t for the fact that that was literally what happened - he ran full force into a damn goal post and thank god he was wearing a helmet otherwise he probably would’ve knocked himself clean out

“i don’t wanna study anymore.” jennie huffs, leaning back against the benches behind you guys as she props her elbows up on them, “can’t we do something else to pass the time while they’re practicing?” 

“i don’t wanna study anymore either, but weirdly enough this is the only time i can really concentrate.” you shrug, keeping your eyes on your laptop as your fingers continue to dance across your keyboard, “is this the only google presentation the professor shared with us this week? i swear there’s another one-“ 

“all you care about are google presentations and taking notes-“

“it’s coming up to finals season, of course all i care about are google presentations and taking notes-“ 

KONK!

“oh, shit-!“ you look up when you hear taehyung’s loud laugh travel over to where you’re sitting, your eyes squinting slightly when you notice that jungkook on the ground, “wait, that was kinda sick, actually, we should do that again-“”

“aw, gross!” jungkook gets up from the ground and shakes himself off and that’s when you notice crimson smeared across his legs as he hobbles towards your general direction, taehyung trailing behind him, “yuck, there’s dirt and shit in my cuts-“

“oh my god, jungkook!” you slap your laptop shut and set it aside, grabbing your backpack and practically sprinting down the steps, “are you okay?! what the hell happened?!” 

and that’s how you ended up here - patching up your idiot boyfriend with nothing but miffy bandaids because that’s all the store was selling (it was miffy or hello kitty, and you’ve always loved miffy) - and you’ve practically used up the entire pack at this point 

“i just think that you have to think about whether or not an idea sounds stupid before deciding to do it.” you huff, tossing another soiled cotton ball into the bin before peeling open the thin wrapper for the bandaid

“well, how am i supposed to know if an idea is stupid or not?”

“you didn’t think blindfolding yourself and running around a football field was stupid?”

“no, i thought it was an innovative training technique that’s been undiscovered by coaches in the world of football!” jungkook perks up, sticking a finger up into the air before shutting his eyes so that you can tend to the little scratch above his eyebrow 

you settle in between his legs from where he’s sitting up on the counter and he instinctively reaches down to place both his hands a little above your waist before giving you a squeeze, “thank you, by the way.” he says softly, and you can’t help help but smile before leaning forward to press a little kiss to the corner of his mouth 

“you’re welcome. i’m gonna need a new box of miffy bandaids because you literally used up the entire thing.” you can’t help but frown as you place the last one on his brow bone, “on the bright side, you look really cute with miffy bandaids, so i don’t regret giving them all to you. but you seriously have to stop trying to kill yourself during practice.” 

“i’m more of a hello kitty guy, to be so real.” jungkook opens his eyes, leaning down to give you a quick kiss before pulling away, “and you worry too much about me.”

“you worry too little!” 

🎙️ ask y/n what kind of candy is in her first-aid pouch (talk to my characters!) 

📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (go say hi to yoongi and y/n in la vie en bonsai, they miss you!) 

💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series!)

🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits like this!) 

[archiveof22048]

there she goes | rin itoshi

sfw | fem!reader with she/her pronouns

there she goes again.

she passes by him, as she tends to do when she's helping out all the athletes on the field. she walks with a purpose, a quick gait, and it almost seems like she's marching. with one water bottle in her hand and a case holding five others, she's doing her best to hydrate everybody, making sure no one ends up passed out.

what he seems to notice before all else is her big smile, like she enjoys being here in blue lock. it's a kind smile paired with gentle eyes, and if he takes just a second longer to stare at your face he might in fact get completely lost in thought.

then, a water bottle appears before him.

"itoshi, water?"

there you are, standing right in front of him. he looks up at you from his place on the bench.

he takes the water, meekly. "... thanks," he says. "and i told you to call me rin."

while maintaining eye contact with him, you giggle as you reply, "ah, my bad. i'm a bit forgetful outside the field."

you then do something unexpected as he drinks his water– you lean down and grab the towel that rests around his neck. then, you gently pat dry his neck, jaw, and forehead. "you're getting a bit sweaty," you comment. "make sure you dry yourself off once in a while so your skin doesn't get irritated."

you smile at him, a beautiful, bashful one at that.

then, you continue your rounds with your quick stride and exclaim, irritatedly, "igarashi, are you trying to get yourself hurt? stop trying to dive on the turf, you already have a bunch of wounds that are healing on your knee! let me take a look at them!"

rin looks down at the grass.

maybe he'll play just a little bit more aggressively for the rest of practice.

he does so, unsurprisingly, yet unintentionally. he swears he was being careful as he was doing his shuttle runs across the field, but he catches a glimpse of you in his peripheral vision. he really wants to think you were watching him, but he can't be so sure. even so, he runs just a little bit faster. the persistent thought remains in his mind, it consumes him so, and he ends up face-down on the ground as he trips over his own feet.

immediately you rush over to him and set him on his side to keep him from choking on the blood of his epistaxis. in quick and concise movements, you plug up his nose with a cotton ball and you ask him, "are you okay? do you know where you are?"

no.

"yes."

in your arms.

"at blue lock."

you sigh in relief. thankfully, rin seems to be oriented. you sit him up and hold onto his shoulders as you tell him, "we're going to take you to the medic so you can rest. you haven't been playing well all day."

to anyone else, he would have popped a vein at that. but since it is you, all rin can do is resign and pull himself up.

as the two of you walk out the field, all of the blue lock eleven team along with the bench exchange odd glances at each other, as if they've come to a unanimous conclusion.

then, it is the two of you in the hallway. walking side by side. silently. alone.

"sorry..." you start. rin glances over at you, who is looking at the ground in discomfort.

he slows in pace, and you do the same. soon, you both come to a full stop, looking at each other.

"i didn't mean to say you weren't playing well, not in that way, at least," you clarify, clasping your hands together in sheepishness. "i usually am watching you, and you looked a little... distracted?"

rin takes a moment before he replies. you are usually watching him? you?

well, of course you are, he thinks to himself, you're the assistant medic for blue lock, after all. of anybody that should be kept in the most pristine, healthiest condition, it should be him. there is definitely no other reason that you should be keeping your eyes on him only.

though, as he quickly files through all of the interactions he's had with you in the few weeks that you've made yourself known in blue lock in his memory, they all seem to show the same thing– your gentle smile, your kind eyes, the soft touch of your hands. you are clearly nothing like he's ever known during his time at blue lock; you're someone who looks beyond his talent, someone who seeks for the humanness of rin itoshi.

for once, rin is rendered speechless, nor can he simply scoff and brush off your apology like it's nothing. he stares at you with slit eyes, trying to come up with a semblance of a reply.

so, he decides to be truthful.

"i was distracted."

"why?" you ask. "if there's something on your mind, we can talk about it. is it the upcoming game?"

rin hesitates. "no," is all he can say. how can he talk to you about what's on his mind, when you're the one distracting him in the first place?

"rin, i can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

his gaze softens. whatever was tense in his body ultimately relaxes, and rin feels at ease.

"you called me rin," he says.

you let out a humored exhale, and you give him a bashful smile. "yes, i did call you rin. you told me to."

rin licks his lips out of habit and turns his gaze downward, towards the ground. for some reason, he can't look at you.

he feels like a boy, a child free of hatred and grudge.

what have you done to him?

[rottenpumpkin13]

tf when "Sane!Sephiroth" is still a complete psycho sometimes

Sometimes. There's things he does that his friends find mildly questionable.

• Judges people in silence. He's not vocal about it but will grace them with a side-eye or a critical "hm" as he stands there with his arms crossed. One time he watched Zack tie his shoes. He said "interesting" and Zack suffered -3 confidence.

• Maintains a precise 7-foot radius of personal in public. Has been spotted using Masamune to measure distance between himself and others.

• Keeps exact inventory of his stuff. Any attempt to borrow, move, or touch his things is instantly detected. Genesis once dropped off some forms for him while he wasn't in his office. He adjusted a pen on his desk. Sephiroth appeared moments later to silently set it back.

• He talks to Masamune. Occasionally whispers to it during training. One time, he seemed to laugh at its "response." Angeal pretended not to notice because he already had enough on his plate.

• Doesn't hold elevators, which one might think is a sign of rudeness, but his reasoning is "if the elevator wishes to close who am I to disrupt its command?" Doesn't matter if he's friends with the person. He'll stare down Zack running to catch up as the doors close.

• Terrifyingly good memory and weaponizes it. Genesis accidentally knocked over his coffee during a strategy briefing in 1997. In 2000, during a completely unrelated argument, Sephiroth casually began his rebuttal with "This reminds me of when you ruined my coffee three years ago" Genesis hasn't known peace since.

• He takes a lot of things literally and it drives Angeal insane.

Angeal: We need a way to break the ice with the new recruits to ease them into things. Sephiroth, summoning Blizzard: Understood. Angeal: NO.

• Never uses an umbrella, refuses to wear a coat in winter, is unbothered by the wind. Somehow his hair remains perfect even during blizzards. Zack asked him how he does it, Sephiroth said "The weather does not control me."

• There's a rumor going around at Shinra that he can teleport, because he's always somehow in two places at once. Lazard swears he saw him calmly reading reports in his office, and five seconds later Sephiroth was delivering a lecture on swordsmanship to the new recruits in the training room.

Lazard: Sephiroth, how are you doing that?? Sephiroth: The human spirit can be split across space and time. Some fragments fight. Some observe. Some exist simultaneously. Lazard: That's terrifying information, go lay down.

• Hates small talk. Hates it.

Tseng, in the elevator: How are you? Sephiroth: Small talk is a psychological warfare technique designed to destabilize strategic communication. Tseng: Sephiroth: Not well.

[taurasiscntybun]

But we’re roommates! Pt 2

-College DT x nerdy reader

-18 plus minors DNI

-Warnings: Adult language, anxiety, internalized homophobia, descriptions of foreplay, virginity kink

-2,800 words

Diana’s POV

I shove my headphone over my head, my hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, the curls threatening to escape. 50 cent blares in my ear as I cross through the hallway of the dormitory.

“Distracts me?” I mutter to myself. I don’t understand my weird ass roommate, it’s rare she actually talks to me, even rarer that she comes close. Maybe it’s for the best, if she knew the thoughts I had about her I'm sure she’d never speak to me again.

“Distracts me?” I mumble again, I’m stuck on that, it has to fucking mean something. Why would it bother her if I’m in my sports bra? I wish she wouldn’t walk around in her goddamn tank top and shorts, well not really, I think her thin sleep shirt is my favorite thing she owns. I let out a groan as I picture her, the thin fabric stretching over her tits.

“Fuck” I mumble and shake my head to clear the thoughts. If only she knew how distracting she was, I keep my music blaring so I don’t notice her. I already know today is going to be a waste in class. Not that I give two fucks about my English class, as long as I get a C I can keep my scholarship and keep playing basketball. I should care more, I’m the first in my family to go to college; I’m not gonna flunk out or some shit but I’m happy with getting by. I hate my English class the most, what the fuck am I learning by reading Beowulf and Pride and Prejudice? At least my roomie helps me with English, she’s so smart. I turn up the volume on my mp3 player, keeping my mind from drifting to thoughts about my nervous baby bunny. I wave to a few people as I walk through the green, I don’t know everyone but since my face was on the fucking school magazine everyone seems to know me. Finally I get to one of the biggest buildings on campus, it’s on the other side of the fucking campus from my dorm but at least most of my classes are here. I glance down at my watch and swear under my breath, I’m like five minutes late.

“Miss Taurasi, you do know class starts at nine, correct?” My professor says, a smug look on his face.

“Yes sir, I got held up this morning.” I reply and flop down in my seat, pulling out my notebook.

“It’s five minutes, can he fucking chillax?” I mumble under my breath as he drones on about the oral history of Beowulf. I should be paying attention, I should be taking notes, but I can’t stop thinking about my fucking roommate. The way my hands fit perfectly around her waist, her touching my shoulder, her soft voice saying I’m distracting plays over and over in my head. It means something, it has too; why would my sweaty body be distracting to her? I look up from my blank notebook, realizing.

”Fuck, she’s attracted to me.” I mutter without thinking and a few heads turn my way but I ignore them. Now all I want is my classes to be over so I can get back to my dorm.

“Oh god, shit.” You say and run your fingers through your hair. Your classes start a little later in the day, back to back history classes then humanities. You stare at Diana’s unmade bed and replay your conversation. You had admitted she was distracting, you’d said her body was distracting.

“God she’s gonna think I’m some lesbo weirdo.” You mutter and pace the small space.

”No.. no.. it’s normal to be distracted, she’s hot.” You try and reassure yourself but it doesn’t work, you know deep down that the feelings you have towards Diana aren’t platonic. You want to feel her big hands on you, her lips, her everything, you want to be consumed by her presence. She’s gorgeous, a mix of strong muscles and soft curves that make your mouth water.

“Don’t be weird, it’s fine, it’s fine.” You dress quickly, a tank top and loose cargo pants and hurry out the door for class; your mind clouded with anxiety with before class.

The rest of the day goes by in a droning bore, your classes blurring together as your stomach tumbles in anxiety. When your last class leaves you bolt for the door and race across campus to your dorm. Diana’s day ends before yours but she has practice so it’s fine.

“Calm down, calm down, its fine, she’s at practice and I’m sure she doesn’t even remember what I said this morning.” You mutter as you fit the key in your dorm room door. You swing it open and yelp as Diana looks up at you from her bed.

”Finally you're home, I didn't know when your last class ended.” She says and stands to come closer.

”No it’s Monday, your math class lets out at four and your practice starts at four-thirty, why are you here? It’s five?” You say and shake your head.

“You memorized my schedule?” She asks and cocks her head to the side, her hair is down for once and the dark curls bob as she turns her head.

”I..I..I wanted to know the times you wouldn’t be here, for.. for studying.” You stammer, still standing in the open doorway. Diana gives you a wolffish grin and takes another step towards you, she’s in touching distance now but she feels much closer, her large statue looming.

”Oh yes because I’m so distracting right?”

“Y..your music and..and..” You stammer but she cuts you off by grabbing you and pulling you into the room, the door clicking shut and locking behind her.

”We dont need to have this talk with the door open.” Diana says in a hushed tone, her hands still on your arms.

”And I know, you find me walking around in my sports bra very distracting right?” She taunts, her thumbs rubbing up and down your bare arms, leaving goosebumps along your skin.

”I..I..”

“Why does my body distract you Baby bunny?” She whispers, drawing you even closer.

”I’m not the genius you are but could I be distracting you because you find me hot?” She’s standing so close now you could count the freckles across her face, she looks down at you with a serious expression, something you're not used to. You look up at her slack jawed and you know you're blushing but you can’t stop. You try to think of something, anything to say to her but your mind is drawing a blank.

”Y..yes you..you are pretty but..but lots of g..girls are pretty.” You stammer and try to pull away but her grip tightens to nearly painful.

”Do you look at a lot of other girls?” She whispers and searches your face.

”I..I mean a normal amount, everyone notices pretty girls right? I mean you notice pretty girls right?” You answer nervously and look down. Diana moves one of her hands from your arm to under your chin and she tilts your head up gently to look at her.

”Oh yeah, I notice pretty girls, all the time, but then again I don’t notice boys.. if you understand what I mean. I definitely fucking notice you. You think I’m distracting? Baby I can hardly think when you're around, everything comes out in a rush of word vomit when you look at me with your big eyes.” She’s leaned down to you, your air mingling as her eyes dart from yours to your lips.

“Do you feel the same way baby? Am I right?” Diana says, her tone so hushed its barely audible over the roaring in your ears. The room feels too small, Diana too close, you can’t breathe let alone think. As if she can read your thoughts she takes a step back and lets go of your arms, raising her hands in surrender.

“Tell me I’m wrong, tell me to fuck off and I’ll never bring it up again, I’ll even wear a shirt all the time.“ Her eyes search your face and you can see the quiet vulnerability in her face. You’re frozen, not able to deny how you feel but not knowing what to say either. Diana looks at you concerned and then a look of understanding crosses over her face.

“You’re new to liking girls aren’t you? Or rather new to admitting it to yourself?” Her tone is soft and her gaze warm. She sits on her bed and pats the place next to her.

“It’s ok, everyone’s been there.” You take a tentative step towards her, trying to think of anything to say.

“If you don’t say anything cause you’re scared of rejection, don’t be.” Diana says in a hushed tone and you sit, she immediately puts her hand on your thigh, nothing scandalous just resting on your knee but it was enough to get your blood heating.

“I don’t know why I feel this way about… about you.” You say softly and turn to look at her.

“Are you attracted to me? Do you get distracted by my body because it turns you on? You don’t understand why I affect you… it’s nothing I did baby, you just like women.” Diana says and grins, her touch on your thigh turning teasing as she traced patterns on your inner thigh; the calluses on her long fingers leaving goosebumps under your pants.

“It’s ok, I feel the same way, I want you baby, fuck I want to kiss you all the time, I want you to come to my games in my jersey. I want to devour you.” Her tone dropped as she spoke and she squeezed your thigh for emphasis on the last part. You let out a hushed whimper and she moved closer, her hand moving up your thigh.

“You gotta say something babygirl, I’m not going to keep touching you unless I’m sure you want it.” She starts to pull away and immediately you feel the loss of contact and speak before thinking.

“No please keep touching me. Fuck I want you to touch me please.” You admit and she grinned.

“Thank fuck.” Diana groans and doesn’t give you a chance to respond before pulling you in tight, her lips crashing into yours. You freeze, your body locking up under the foreign touch.

“Come on baby, let go, let me show you how I good I can make you feel.” Diana says and kisses down your neck.

“Don’t think, just feel; you want me to keep touching you? Well I want you to touch me too, give in baby.” She almost begs and her soft suck on your pulse point makes you come undone. You melt against her, and pull her down for another kiss. Your kiss is clumsy and unpracticed but passionate; Diana’s hand comes up behind you and tangles in your hair, tilting your head back as she takes control. She slows your kiss, her mouth moving against yours with practiced ease.

“God you don’t know what you do to me.” Diana practically growls and pulls away a bit.

“Talk to me baby.” She begs and strokes your back.

”Im sorry I..I’m not good at this at uh talking about stuff.” You manage to say and she grins.

“No apologies baby, you don’t need to try, just be you.” She kisses down your jaw and you gasp.

“O..Ok” you say in a breathy tone, collecting yourself a bit.

”I like you, i really like you in a way I haven’t liked another girl before and I didn't know what to do or how to act because i didn't want you to think I’m a freak but then that meant you needed to stay away from me because my like brain stops working when you're around.” Your words tumble out a fast long sentence and Diana pulls away to process your words.

“Firstly I dont think you're a freak, I’m actually super fucking happy that you have feelings for me because fuck I’ve wanted you since you walked into this dorm all wide eyed and excited the first day.” She smiles and pulls you close again, this time in a tight hug, Diana was successfully breaking your walls down, bit by little bit. She waited until she felt you relax in her embrace to speak.

“When you see me walking around in my underwear what are you thinking baby?” She whispers against your hair, her tone low.

”I..I..” You start to stutter in response.

”You tell me and I’ll tell you what I’m thinking when I see you in your cute little pajamas.” She teases, moving her head down to whisper in your ear.

“I..I think about your body and.. and how much I like it and want to touch you. I..I think about your boobs probably too much and your uh sweaty sports bras hide little.” You admit and pull away again, sitting next to her. Diana raises her eyebrows in question.

”My…boobs?” She asks and looks down at her somewhat flat chest.

“Yes yes I think about them all the time, every time I see you without a bra at night or when you walk around after practice. God Diana were you not doing that on purpose?” You ask, you're softening, feeling more comfortable with her now that your crush was out in the open. Diana laughs and shakes her head incredulously.

”I honestly just started dressing in here because it seemed to annoy you and you look so adorable when you're mad but you weren’t mad were you? You were horny?” She hooks a finger in your belt loop and tugs you towards her, forcing your body to angle to her. You blush and look down at your hands in your lap.

“Nah baby dont get shy on me now, you were just telling me how much you like my boobs.” Diana’s hands cover yours and you tilt your head to look at her.

“Do you wanna see ‘em baby?” Her voice drops to a whisper and she looks down at you with heat in her gaze. You suddenly realize yes, you’d very much like to see her boobs and the rest of her.

”Yes, Diana I..I want you.” You say in a shaky tone and bite your lip. She lets out a groan in response.

“Ok , you can have me but fuck that means I get you, I get to really know you, you gotta let me in.” Dianas words came out in almost a plea, she needed you as much as you needed her right now.

“Yes I promise Dee you can-“

”Don’t call me that.” She cuts you off abruptly and you look at her in confusion.

”But everyone calls you that?”

“Yeah but you aren’t everyone and you’ve never called me Dee, I uh I like that you're the only one that calls me by my full name. To everyone Im Dee or DT but you have always called me Diana.” She brings your hands to her lips and kisses across your knuckles; you're left breathless by the reverence in her touch.

”Diana I promise I’ll be myself, I want you, I don’t want to hide from you anymore.” You admit to her as she kisses your knuckles again.

“Thank god baby, now I want to touch you, I want to touch you everywhere, can I?” Diana asks softly and drags her big hands up your arms.

“I wanna show you how much I like you.” Her thumbs hook under the thin straps of your tank top and pulls them down your shoulders.

”I..I dont know what to do, i.. I’ve never..” You stutter and she groans low in her throat.

”Fuck are you telling me you're a virgin?” Her thumbs move in small circles on your shoulders as she looks down at you predatorily.

“Y..yeah I uh have never with uh anyone.” You say quietly, a touch embarrassed.

”But you want me to touch you right? You want me to make you cum dont you baby bunny?” She asks in a raspy tone, dipping her head to kiss down your neck.

“Y.yes Diana p..please.” You say and let your head lull to the side giving her more access.

“Mhhmm you're so beautiful.” She said against your skin, one hand fisted in your hair to gently lean your head and her other hand wandered up your body, teasing at the hem of your shirt.

“Diana please I..I want you to make me cum I… I want you.” You whine and arch your back into her touch, your body automatically knowing what to do. Diana chuckles against your skin and places one more kiss on your pulse point before pulling away.

“Ok baby but first I need you out of these clothes.” She leans down and starts untying your sneakers, her long finger moving deftly as she undoes the knot and slips the shoe off you.

“Lay back, lemme take care of you.” She says softly and kisses your inner ankle sending a buzz of heat through your body. Diana repeats her actions with your other shoe then stands.

[rebelliousstories]

A Thief and An X-Man

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 2,738

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: Southern charm is a thing. Something that Remy LeBeau has taken advantage of over the years. All it took was one little X-Man to throw him off his rhythm apparently…

How everyone found themselves in their own current predicament, only the universe knows. The tomfoolery that had followed them during their journey was like something straight out of a superhero book.

Remy panted and hugged his side as he rested against the brick wall behind him. His partner in crime, albeit a reluctant one, mirrored his actions against the other wall of the alleyway. She was glaring hard in between her pants in an attempt to catch her breath.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you Cajun?” There were shouts and the pounding of footsteps getting closer and closer.

“What can I say, chere? I like pretty things.” The weight of the jewels in his pocket weighed down under her gaze.

“We’re being chased because you couldn’t keep your greedy little hands off of stuff that doesn’t belong to you!” Her words were almost drowned completely out by the pounding of footsteps.

Making a split second decision, Remy grabbed her hand and began to haul the woman towards a fire escape that was already pulled down. She was confused, but faced with the possibility of the men that were chasing them catching up? She would take the fire escape with the thief. As soon as they had made it up onto the roof of whatever building this was, Remy leaned over the edge to get a look at their personal mob that now ran by the building and alleyway they had disappeared into. With a smirk, he laid down on the cool tiles below.

“We safe now,” she questioned, almost ready to run again.

“I wouldn’t be layin’ down if we weren’t. Now would I, chere?” His eyes slipped closed as he relaxed as much as he could.

“Oh, of course. Because I should be trusting the person who got us into this mess, to be honest and truthful when he is a known Thief, to get us out of this mess. Wolverine needs to come and extract me right now.” Her grumbling was followed by the sound of her trying to use her transponder. With a frustrated groan, it clattered to the ground when it would not work.

For three days, she had been stuck in Louisiana with the leader of the Thieves Guild. A mission that she had been sent on alone to help the X-Men get a relic that needed to be kept out of the wrong hands. Had they been able to do it solo, they would have. But the Thieves were the only people who had made it to where they needed her to go, and made it back out. Thus, an unlikely alliance was made. And from that point forward, she had been subjected to the rugged charms of the one they call Gambit.

From the second she walked up to him, she had been the focus of his flirtations. Maybe it was the fact that she was a new pretty face for him. Or maybe it was that fact that she was “forbidden fruit” being an X-Man. Whatever it was, for the past three weeks, she had been subject to every one liner and flirty comment.

In all honesty, she did not mind the banter that they usually had. It was better than being with someone that did not talk much, like a certain X-Man she knew. But it was annoying once he got into a flirtatious mood.

“Ooo, chere. Did it hurt when ya fell from heaven? You look so angelic.”

“Shut up, Cajun.”

“Here, let Gambit take care o’ dat for ya. Ain’t no reason to sweat your pretty brow.”

“If Gambit don’t give me back my tools, I’m not gonna sweat my brow over putting him down.”

It was like this for three days. Any chance he got, he took. She could see that he was just doing it to get a rise out of her, since she refused to be another notch on his belt. Even though some times, she could almost swear there was something genuine about the affectionate quips he made. A sharp bark pulled her from her thoughts and brought her attention to the transponder that was still down by her feet. Careful not to step on it, she opened it to be met with the authoritative voice of a certain Canadian calling her name.

“Where have you been? You were supposed to check in an hour ago, bub.” He was upset, that was for sure. But after all these years, she could hear through the layers to his tone and knew it was just because he cared for his team like his own family.

“Wolverine, I’m fine. We ran into a snag but we should be getting back on track soon. The communicator wouldn’t work earlier or I would have checked in at the appropriate time,” came her retort. A groan trailed into a sigh on the other end of the line.

“Just be safe, kid. Let me know when you get the relic. We’ll be waiting to extract you when you need it.” His voice lowered in volume, and his tone shifted.

“Will do, Wolvie. Just gotta get this Cajun to actually get me to the place, then we’ll be on our way home.” With that, the two X-Men signed off from each other. She sat there for a moment longer as she began to rub her temples. The evening breeze was welcome against her flushed face.

“So you and da Wolverine, huh?” Gambit’s sudden ask brought her out of her head quick.

“What? Me and him? No, god no. We just work well together. He’s the one that got me into the school. Got me into the X-Men,” she stood, and looked around the night sky that was sprinkled with lights. “You gonna take me where I need to go, or do I need to find another thief to do it?”

“Oh, you wound me, chere. Suppose if ya did that, I could call another X-Man to grab the item with me instead.” He teased, finally rising to his feet.

With fluid movements, like that of a skilled ballet dancer, Remy looked towards the streets again. The mutant dubbed them safe enough, and began his descent down the same fire escape that he had them go up on. She followed after him, always maintaining a bit of distance between them as they went closer and closer to where they needed to go.

A well lit mansion greeted the two mutants after a while. This was the house that she had been searching for. She was finally here. Once again, she followed Gambit’s lead. After all, he and his guild made it out of here before with their pockets loaded. They could do it one more time.

Gambit caused a minor explosion on one of the windows in the back of the building making her flinch as she expected the commotion to begin. And yet, there was nothing. No alarms, no dogs barking or humans shouting. He turned back to the stunned woman with nothing short of a pompous smirk on, before he climbed through the window. She took his hand to help stabilize her while she was slipping through the opening.

They had ended up in the west wing of the mansion, only a few doors down from the room that they needed to go to. She had no time to be stunned at how efficient this mutant was seeing as he was already grabbing her hand to pull her through the house. Their journey was cut short when they spotted guards walking towards them in the hallway. Remy tucked them both against a wall that was out of sight, but knew they did not have long. Scanning around, he did not see a spare room or broom closet. He tried not to show the panic on his face, but he could feel his heart speeding up.

“They not supposed to be here, chere. We gotta go back out.” But when he tried to leave, the sounds of quiet conversation and boots on the hardwood floor were far too close now.

“Go with me,” was all the warning that the Cajun was given. In an instant, she made him press her against the wall. What he did not expect even more than that, was the fact that she had him engaged in a full lip lock. Stunned did not even begin to describe what he was feeling. Here this woman was, kissing him voluntarily, after spending the last three days shutting him down at every chance.

Losing himself in the moment that he wished would never end, Remy kept one of his hands on the wall near her head, while the other went to the dip of her waist. Her hands came up and pressed him even closer by the nape of his neck. This was a dream. A wonderful, beautiful dream that he did not want to wake from. Unfortunately, that was not in the cards for him. Right as he was truly enjoying the moment, a wolf whistle caught his attention. But she did not let him turn around. Instead, she pressed his face into her neck while she shouted at the guards that had finally rounded the corner.

“Cad é? Cad atá tú ag féachaint air?” Now that was a language Remy had never heard spoken. His confused face was stuck in the crook of her neck, while he felt her shooing the men away. Apparently, they were just as confused as he was, but left without complaint. As soon as they were away from the par of mutants, she pushed Remy back a bit.

“Now, where in da world is dat language from, chere? Gambit ain’t never heard nothin’ like it in his whole life.” He was a bit out of breath but it was understandable.

“I used to go visit my grandmother in Ireland when I was a kid. She made me fluent in Gaelic.” She was just as out of breath as him, but neither called attention as to the reason why.

They both sat there for a moment, not moving from their spots where they were oh so close to one another. This was the closest they had been physically the entire time they had been working together. And it was breaking down barriers that had been put in place for their own sanity and safety.

“Let’s get going before someone else catches us and we can’t get out of it as easily,” she stated breathily. For her own sake, she needed to do something, and soon before she could not stop herself. Remy nodded to himself, to confirm that he had heard her or to shake himself out of his own stupor, who knows. But soon, they were back on track with him grabbing her hand and leading them to the room once more.

Gambit made quick work of picking the lock, and then they were inside. Encased in glass was a small pendant and necklace. Unassuming at first, but they knew better. This one little artifact was responsible for so much suffering around the world, and more of it if they did not get it out of non-mutant hands. Remy approached the glass case and looked for a way to get it open without disturbing it too much. But the sound of glass shattering spooked him, made him jump back from the shards.

“You were taking too long.” She shrugged, turning back to look at the pendant. Pulling out her own case for the necklace, she tried very hard not to touch the jewel in the center. Once it was secured, Remy did another look out to make sure that the coast was clear.

“Let’s get going, chere. Don’t want no unwelcome guests taggin’ along now.” The two mutants slipped out the same way that they entered. It was such a shock for her, not having any hangups during a mission. Usually it was every chance the universe got to make something go wrong, it did. So to have one go this smoothly was a welcomed change of pace.

They fled into the night before them, and did not look back until they were safe in the heart of New Orleans once more. Lights, music, and conversation drowned out any and all thoughts they had for just a minute or two. Instead of going somewhere quiet and out of the way, Gambit ended up leading them further not the heart of the city to a late night cafe.

As soon as they sat down, he ordered something for them both to eat and drink, but she was not paying any attention to him. Instead, she was trying to figure out how she was going to discreetly call her team back at the mansion to go home. For some reason though, it was not working right now.

“This thing has been finicky the entire time I’ve been here. Doesn’t know whether or not it wants to work when I need it to.” She lamented, tossing the item down onto the table before them.

“So, now that you got whatcha came here for, just gonna head home? Like that?” There was a mournful tone to his voice that did not miss her ears. Neither one needed to say exactly why he sounded so upset at her leaving, or rather neither wanted to acknowledge why he was upset.

“Well, there’s always someone else that needs saving. Or a disaster that needs to be avoided,” she said, watching his face carefully.

“Right, right…” he trailed off, not quite knowing where to take it from here. Thankfully, a waitress came by with two bowls, and two drinks for them to enjoy.

“What on earth did you order for me?” Poking her spoon around in the stew like dish in front of her, she arched an eyebrow and looked at the Cajun.

“Dat right der is what we call gumbo, chere. It’s real good. Gotta use dat piece o’ baguette at the end though.” When she still did not eat, he tried a different tactic. “Come on. Humor me before ya head on home, chere?”

If you ever asked her, she would vehemently deny that she had given in to the soft way he pleaded with her. Bringing the spoonful of hot stew and rice to her lips, a symphony of flavors erupted on her tongue. It was unlike anything she had ever eaten. The chicken, sausage and shrimp were so tender and perfectly cooked. The veggies melted, and the rice was the perfect binder.

While she was busy devouring her food, Remy was taking that time to lock in on her joyful face. If this was going to be the last time he saw her, he was going to make it count. But his day dreaming was interrupted by the transponder on the table suddenly jumping to life. As fast as she could, she set down her spoon, wiped her face, and grabbed the item.

“Wolverine,” she began, “listen, I got the necklace. Ready when you are on the extraction.”

Her eyes drifted over to the man in front of her who was trying very hard not to eavesdrop on the conversation happening two feet away from him. The long she listened to Wolverine talk, and watched Remy’s face, the more her heart moaned in pain. It was an unusual feeling to have, especially for someone that she swore she did not get along with or that she had not known for too long.

“Kid, we’ll be there in a couple hours, okay? We’re gonna track you by your communicator and then we’ll-”

“Actually, Wolvie,” she cut the man off, “I think I’m gonna stick around New Orleans for a few days. Just to make sure that nobody comes looking for this thing. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come home.”

The transponder was shut off fast, and tucked into one of the pockets of her uniform. When she looked up again, the startled face of Gambit greeted her. His eyes were wider than the bowls they were eating out of, but she paid it no mind. Picking up her spoon again, she sent a teasing smirk across the table.

“Hope you don’t mind that I’ll be sticking around a little more.” She brought another spoonful of gumbo to her mouth while Gambit took a minute to recover.

“Not at all, chere. Not at all.”

[zahri-melitor]

15, 26 & 28 for dick grayson!

More requests for Dick!

15. Worst storyline they had

Look, on my considered opinion, having now trudged through all of the various Nightwing runs: TentaTodd is at least ridiculously funny; I think Batgirl 2008 was a bad story for Dick specifically because he got cast as the skeptic but everyone gets stuck with that occasionally and I am a BG08 supporter; Grayson is miserable but Dick was also pretending really hard during most of it...so yeah. It's gotta be Ric Grayson, and specifically the opening Lobdell plotted arc. Not only is it a miserable, unfun time for both Dick and everyone reading it, I am convinced nobody involved in writing it had any sort of longterm planning about where it was going or how it was supposed to resolve. The very definition of treading water while bowing to editorial mandate.

26. When do you think they were being "themselves" the most?

I think, at heart, Dick is always happiest and most himself in territory that he can define as 'his', whether it's something as small as the circus caravan he grew up in, Haly's Circus, his position in the family with Bruce at the Manor, or in Blüdhaven.

Especially Blüdhaven, particularly once Dick has chilled out a little bit that Bruce isn't going to burst in and take over his turf. It's where he doesn't have so many people's expectations weighing on him, and he can choose what he wants to do. I think there's a reason so many fans identify him so strongly with his time in Blüdhaven, and it's because it's so fundamental to the modern conception of what makes Dick Grayson Nightwing.

28. The most unnecessary thing they ever did?

Dick. Unnecessary. What do you mean, everything this born performer has ever done was completely necessary and well thought out.

It's probably that time he jumped off an infeasible height and trusted in his skill to make the impossible landing work. No, the other time he did that. No the other time.

I'd probably pick the time in Transference if I had to point to only one, or maybe the time he arrived at a family meeting in the cave by skydiving but I swear, he keeps doing it, separating them all out and calling him out for every occasion would take me hours.

[gretavanmoon]

Keep Me In Your Back Pocket

Sam x Female Reader

6.6k words

+ Not sure if this is a one shot, a blurb, or just an extended thought, but. Enjoy an angsty little Sammy idea.

Warnings: Cursing, Yelling, Mention of Smoking & Drinking, Mention of Mental Manipulation/Abuse, Arguing, Mention of Sex.

“Alright, lay it on me.”

For the life of her, she never knew exactly what color she wanted her hair to be. It seemed like every month she was rolling the dice on something new, something fresh and vibrant that she’d never tried before. She loved it blonde, she loved it when it was a dark chestnut, even liked it the time she dyed it a bright scarlet with some kind of purple streaks. She was always changing it, always daring to be different and go against the grain of what all the other girls were into that season. Every single one of them suited her, though. As gorgeous and poignant as her features are, every different way she decided to style herself fit her perfectly. 

“I love it,” I reassure her as she asks my opinion, knowing good and well that I’d admire her in any one of her decisions on changing up her appearance. 

“Sam, you say that every time. It’s okay to have a little constructive criticism sometimes,” she scorns me with a playful scoff. “Give me your honest opinion. I can take it.”

My eyes travel to meet hers in the mirror as we both stand before it, the reflection showing my appearance as disheveled and worn, just as it always was when I’d let myself indulge too much the night before. My shirts have always stayed permanently wrinkled and unbuttoned, and my hair was always in a constant state of tangles, tied in a forgotten knot at the back of my head. 

Her, though, as perfect as a shiny new thing just unwrapped and pulled from the box. Every single morning, every single night, every single ticking second of the day, she hardly ever looked like she was out of place. Naturally gorgeous, and she never even knew it. 

She pulls her fingers through her locks, fluffing and tousling and deciding whether or not her newest color-switch decision was a good one. 

"Y/N, I swear..." I reply, my hands coming up in front of my face to show my white-flag honesty.

“Ugh,” she groans, letting her fingers drift through it from her forehead and around to the sides, watching her reflection as the hair falls like feathers in front of her face. “Don’t do me any favors.”

“No, I promise. It looks really good on you. Every time you do this, it looks good. I wouldn’t lie to you, love.” And I’d swear to it. I’m not just trying to make her feel better. 

She was like a sponge to her surroundings, soaking up her inspiration from the dust that lied on the bottom shelves of high bookcases, or from the color of a new spring bud on a flower bush in the park. She saw beauty in everything and lived with nearly no hate in her heart, much to my opposite. She’s expressive and confident, effortless but with the loudest sense of humor and style. Never settling on one facet of life, but living in the sense that she’s able to change it whenever she damn well pleases. 

Mine and Y/N’s kinship goes back longer than I can remember. The ever-changing eras of our lives had been spent side-by-side since we were kids playing Kick the Can at the end of our neighborhood’s street, waiting for the street lights to come on to tell us when to run home for dinner.

I’d seen it all… Her first crush on the boy that sat behind her when we were in fifth grade, and her giddiness when he asked her to the winter dance. I’d seen her fail her driver’s license test four times before she finally passed, giving us both the freedom of inheriting her dad’s old beater flatbed and the open road. I helped her write the letter she wrote to her high school heartthrob, telling him that she no longer had the same feelings that she did when they’d first met. And I caught the subsequent tears that fell from her eyes as she listened to the horrific rumors he’d spread about her to the entirety of the school. I sat with her while she nervously opened her acceptance letter to college. Helped her surprise her parents with their twenty-fifth anniversary gift. I watched her fall in love with a man she met while she was pumping gas at a truckstop on her way home from a Black Sabbath show. And now, just as I always have, I’m helping her to understand the true beauty that she has always had as we stand before this mirror… Me in my pleated dark jeans, and her in her white dress and veil. 

“I just… this hair color doesn’t suit me, it never has,” she argues, trying her best to pin back the bangs she’d begun to let grow out some time ago. “It makes me look older, washed-out, don’t you think?”

I sigh, running my hand over my face as we go over this round-and-round again, probably for the fiftieth time in our lives. 

“Everything suits you, love,” I compliment her honestly, not brave enough to tell her that even though I’m standing behind her and encouraging her to notice her own beauty in her wedding gown, my heart and lungs are full of stones as the reality hits me that I’m not waiting for her at the altar, dressed in a tuxedo.

“Are you not happy with how it turned out?” I press.

I find it odd that instead of her embracing the newness of her copper-blonde strands that match perfectly with the color of the trim sewn onto her wedding dress, she’s instead criticizing it. It’s completely out of character for her. Normally, she’d be falling into the boost in confidence her new color has given her. But today… 

“No, it’s great it’s just… not me,” she argues. “It’s what Bobby wanted. Said he likes me best with this shade. Says it brings out the real ‘housewife’ side of my features.”

I physically can’t help the grimace that paints my face as it contorts into confusion. “Y/N, how the fuck does a hair color reflect how you choose to run a household?”

“Shhtt, Samuel. We’re in a church for god’s sake!” she turns and hits me across the arm as I roll my eyes at her pretending to care. She turns, careful not to step on the long train of her dress as she makes her way toward me, and away from the mirror. “Sammy this… This is my natural hair color. Close to it, at least."

“Oh…” I murmur, somehow only now realizing that I in fact have never really seen her with her real, actual hair color. Not since we were young kids, anyway, when my memory begins to turn to fuzz. 

“He says he loves me just the way I am, that I don’t need anything extra to make me look beautiful,” she goes on, her face falling just a bit as her eyebrows turn down. She stays quiet as she avoids my eyes, and she knows that it won’t take much for me to become argumentative. It’s easy to do, these days. 

At the risk of me making her mad on her wedding day, I stuff my sullied hands into my pockets, finding a wire nut and a few pennies at the bottoms to fidget with. “That may be true, love, but… is that what you want? You’ve always expressed yourself with all these wild hair colors… crazy makeup and outfits and whatnot.” 

It was true, her means of expressing herself were sometimes a little unprecedented in the grand scheme of things, but that’s exactly what always made her stand out to me. Besides the fact that I’ve been in her life for the past seventeen years, and the fact that I’m madly and incredibly in love with her.

“Yeah, I know… It doesn’t feel right to me, but. If it’s what Bobby wants–”

“Is that why you aren’t wearing hardly any blush on your cheeks? And you don’t have your fingernails painted, and your fingers aren’t dripping with all that silver you’ve collected over the years?” I grab her left hand, yanking it up close to my face to eye the small shiny diamond that now adorns her ring finger. From her betrothed… as her mother called him. Hell, the guy can’t even shoot Jack Daniels without a goddamned chaser let alone notice that the woman he’s to marry has laid down her entire life for him. 

She rips her hand from mine, jerking and forceful as I look back at her face. Striking as ever, even when completely devoid of any fancy eyeliner or powder, or whatever the stuff is. 

“Where’s that sparkly lip stuff you’ve worn every single day for the past ten years? Hm? And that necklace that you never take off because it’s bad luck…” My voice is rising now as she turns her back to me. “Fuck, Y/N, even your dress… You never wanted to wear white! Your dream wedding dress, what was it you always said, ‘I’ll never wear white in my wedding, simply because society tells me I have to!’”

“Stop, Sam! Just… Stop!” she yells, turning to face me now with rage emanating from her.

My jaw is clenched as my hands have long abandoned my pockets, rising into the air now as my voice continues to rise with them. 

“Stop what, Y/N?!”

“Stop being so goddamned honest with me all the time!” she yells. 

I scoff. “You just told me to not do you any favors, this is me not doing you any favors! Exactly like you asked!” I bicker. If there's one thing Y/N and I are good at, it's arguing.

“Ugh, do you know how easy it is to lie to someone?! How easy it is to sugarcoat reality to make it a little easier for them to digest?” 

“What in the fuck are you talking about, Y/N?” I ask, straining my voice.

She’s got tears threatening to fall from her eyes, and her voice is nearly as loud as mine. I halfway want to take this outside, pull a cigarette from my pocket and keep going so that the entire church can’t listen in, but I really don’t fucking care at this point. It feels like something is brewing.

“I’m saying it’s okay to lie to people sometimes, Sam! To make them feel a little bit better about their situations, okay?”

“Why in the hell would I lie to you, Y/N?” I retort, stepping closer toward her. She folds her arms over her chest in what looks to be self-preservation. “I’ve never fuckin’ lied to you, in almost twenty years, I’ve never once not been honest!”

She’s silent as we both begin panting through our rage, having trouble holding our tongues back from what we really want to say, simply because it’s her wedding day. 

But then, fuck it. “I’m not gonna stop being honest with you just because you’re marrying him,” I bite, tossing around the idea of whether or not I should keep it all to myself, for once. 

“What’s that supposed to mean? Why’d you say it like that?” she says, uncrossing her arms. 

I think about it for a second, and normally, I’d throw my opinion of her fiance right in her face, no questions asked. But today… Today is a little different. And it hurts like hell to hold it back.

“Nothin’, Y/N,” I stammer, pulling the half-pack of cigarettes from my front shirt pocket. I waltz to the wall, taking a seat on an old wooden bench before sticking the unlit cigarette between my lips. I force it all down for the sake of her happiness, shoving my words into the deepest depths of my throat. I eye her heavily from across the room, and the tension is thick. 

Before I know it her high-heeled feet are bounding across the hardwood floor, right toward me. “No, not nothin’, Samuel.” She rips the cigarette from my lips and breaks it right in half, dropping the remnants to the floor. 

“Are you fuckin’ crazy, woman?” I exclaim, bending down to clean up the mess of filter and tobacco from the floor. 

“Damnit, answer me, Sam,” she begins to plead as I’m now face to face with her chest, and all the bright white material of her otherwise very bland wedding dress, for her taste at least. But again, I’d never tell her that. “Be a man, answer me and tell me how you really feel,” she demands. 

I can feel some new type of energy radiating from her, something that I’ve not felt from her before. And it’s then that I begin to suspect that her pleas are loaded with some other type of emotion.

I clench my jaw and stand quickly, letting the cigarette pieces fall from my hand and back onto the floor. 

“Fine, you really want me to tell you how I feel? Then I will, fuck it,” I yell. She doesn’t back down, and now I’m towering over her, watching as her cheeks redden with madness and the tears sit still, glimmering as she refuses to let them fall. “He’s awful for you, Y/N. He ain’t you. He doesn’t deserve you. Every single thing about you has changed since you got with him. He’s made you into his goddamned puppet. His fuckin’ arm candy. Stripped you of everything that you love. Everything that makes you happy–”

“He makes me happy, Sam! Don’t you see that?” she cries, finally letting one tear fall. “Just because he–”

“Does he, Y/N? Are you sure? Or are you just lyin’ to yourself because it’s what you think you want?” I go on, letting the words I’ve kept holed up fly freely. We’re quiet for a beat before I take another breath and speak again. “He gave you the big house, the boat, the money… the status… The last name that will get you whatever you fuckin’ want in this town. And look at you now. You’re a shell of yourself, Y/N. You ain’t even you anymore. You haven’t been you in a long time, and I’m just the bravest son of a bitch to tell you.”

Her nostrils flare as she crosses her arms again, her eyes flitting from the floor to me, and back. “This goes a lot deeper than him not wanting you to be you, doesn’t it, Y/N?” I ask genuinely. 

“You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, Sam,” she says through a choked sob. 

“Then tell me, Y/N! Enlighten me. ‘Cause god knows you haven’t talked to me the same in months, now. Hell, I didn’t even know about this wedding until four fuckin’ days ago…” I go on, the sting of learning about it still hitting me right in the chest. I wasn’t even going to come, but…

She shrugs her shoulders. “He just, he gets me, ya know? He’s sweet to me, buys me nice things, takes me on vacations. His family loves me, tells me he wants to start our own family as soon as we can.”

“A family?!” I practically yell in her face. “Y/N, you don’t want kids, you never have!”

“I didn’t, Sam, until I–” she swallows her words, stopping to wipe the wetness from her face. In any other instance, I’d be working hard to catch them before they ruined the mascara and shadow she spent an hour on, but she doesn’t have a stitch of anything on her face to worry about.

“Until you what?”

I watch as her bottom lip trembles, her body a shaking mess as she lets herself fall onto the bench I’d just stood from. Her eyes shoot down and her shoulders fall; the once vibrant, radiant woman I knew that had a lust for life and an enviable outlook on the world now presents herself as someone who hasn’t seen the light of day in years. Someone who is skittish, unsure, and unconfident. Someone who lives under the thumb of a man who imposes such harsh reverse psychology on her that she doesn’t even see herself changing into something that she wasn’t born to be.

“Until I saw you holding Jenny Watson’s baby boy,” she croaks, anxiously rubbing her hands together.

What?

“What do you mean, Y/N?” I ask, my voice monotone as my thoughts begin to race. I slowly walk back over, and take my seat again on the bench beside her.

She inhales with a harsh sniffle, clearing the still-falling tears away as she tries to get them to stop. It takes her a second, but she looks at me.

“Until I saw you. Holding him. It… I dunno. Made some kinda weird switch go off in my head like, maybe… They aren’t so bad, after all,” she says, crossing one leg up underneath herself. “Like if you can be so natural with one, maybe I can be too.”

I’m left stunned. Hell, I hardly even remember holding that baby at our class reunion just six months ago. The kid was cute, and reached out for me. I couldn’t say no.

“Me?” I whisper, still feeling confused. 

“Yeah, fuck. Don’t flatter yourself. Ok? It was sweet, and cute… And… made me change my mind a little,” she says. “Made me think that maybe with him, I could do it.”

Her words nearly cut me in two. With him.

“But the making them part is what’s got me worried,” she admits, throwing me for a loop again.

“Worried? Why?”

She shrugs again, and I realize I’m slowly breaking through the barrier that she’s put up between us for so long now. She’s opening up to me, just like she always did. But still yet, she can’t find the words.

I search her face as she licks her lips, kneading her hands together again as she searches for the words. Sometimes I think that I can read her mind, but as of late, it’s as though she’s a prisoner to it. I keep my eyes trained on her as she starts and stops her sentences, biting them back as if she can’t admit anything at all. Finally, it clicks.

“Don’t tell me that son of a bitch don’t treat you right in the bedroom, too. For fuck’s sake… he’s a spoiled brat and he can’t fuck?! Wow, Y/N, you really hit the jackpot!” I couldn’t stop myself. 

“Oh don’t you even fucking go there, Samuel, I swear to god.”

“Go where, Y/N? To the truth? Is that not what you’re trying to say to me? That he doesn’t satisfy you?”

“Urgh, I know I shouldn’t have clued you in like that, now you’re just going to make it all worse!” she cries, resting her veiled, copper-blonde head against the aging wall of the church.

“Worse? When have I ever made anything worse for you, Y/N? For years, all I’ve ever tried to do was make you happy, be your friend. A shitty one, sometimes, but don’t sit here and tell me that I’ve ever been anything but good to you.”

She shakes her head and closes her eyes as she cries, finally bringing her hands to her face to cover it. She’s an absolute mess on her wedding day, and it’s all because of me. And my stupid words. And my stupid honesty. Why did I have to go and fall in love with someone who I knew was too good for me? Someone who would never refer to me as anything but a good friend? 

Truly, as degenerated of a person that I am, I’m still a million times better for her than the man she is supposed to marry. And suddenly, I’m wrought with guilt.

“Please stop crying, Y/N,” I beg her, quietly and gently bringing my hand to rest on her trembling arm. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. You’re getting married in fifteen minutes, you should be bursting at the seams with happiness, right now.”

She pulls the coverage of her hands away long enough to whisper a few words. 

“I should be happy, but I’m not, am I?” 

I can feel all the blood drain from my body and straight into the basement of the church, seeping through the crack and seams of the floor as it searches for somewhere else to be. Of course she trusts me to answer that for her. The one person who she knows will be nothing but brutally honest with her, no matter what the question is.

“I wouldn’t bet my last penny on it, love,” I whisper back, hoping that it doesn’t hurt her any further. “Just because it doesn’t take a lot for you to be happy doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be given the bare minimum of something real.”

She pulls her hands away from her face, her eyes blotched and swollen as she finally succumbs to her emotions, letting her arms wrap around my neck and her head rest in the crook of it.

Just like all the other times before.

“Why do you always know exactly what to say, Sam?” she says over another quiet whisper.

I shake my head as I wrap my arms around her waist, giving her the same hug that I have on so many other occasions like this.

“I don’t. I just say what I think. And hope that maybe you’ll listen to me, one day,” I chuckle a little as I feel her lips curl into a smile on the skin of my neck, making my cold heart feel just a little bit warmer.

“When was the last time you danced, Y/N? Like, really danced?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood a little.

She pulls away and shrugs, but she makes a point to let her fingers travel down the arms of my shirt, finally letting her hand fall overtop of mine. “I don’t know. Couldn’t tell you.”

“When was the last time you went to a gig? Or on those crazy long solo road trips you used to love… Or got your art featured in that showcase you used to frequent?” I ask. Again, she has no answer. I can feel my face fall in disappointment. This guy has really done a number on her.

“Are you still making your art?” I ask. 

The look in her eyes is solemn… empty and lifeless as if she’s reminiscing on a lifetime ago. 

She shakes her head. “No. Bobby says it’s silly and pointless to express myself like that. Makes too much of a mess in the house.”

I can’t help the scoff that leaves my mouth, and the subsequent eye roll. Does he even know who she is?!

“God, Y/N… next thing is you’re gonna tell me he made you get rid of Pepper.” Her beloved black lab has accompanied her through more of her life than I have. Her true best friend and one of the best dogs I’ve ever come in contact with. 

But again, she’s quiet. 

“You’re fucking kidding me, he made you–” I can’t even finish my sentence. That evil jackass made her ditch her dog?!

“He lives with my dad, now…” she says, rubbing a stray tear from under her eye. “Bobby doesn’t like dogs.”

I cup my hand around her temple, ignoring the position of her veil as I pull her to rest her head against my chest. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. That’s the fuckin’ worst. And that makes me dislike him even more. You don’t take a woman’s dog away from her.”

“I miss him so much, Sammy,” she cries again.

“Where did my Y/N go?” My question is rhetoric, but true, all the same.

Suddenly, I can’t take it anymore. I’ve learned more shitty things about this Bobby guy in the past twenty minutes than I have in the year that they’re been engaged. Fuck, all I came in here to do was tell her congratulations. Tell her I was happy for her, even though I was going to lie through my teeth. My best friend on the planet, the one person who I can fight to the death with, and make up the next minute like it was no big deal. Though we’re older now with lives and responsibilities, I still count on her to bring me back down to earth. I still miss her when we skip a few days of talking. I still yearn to feel her near me, search for her in my dreams, hope and pray that one day the universe will allow me to call her mine. The one that’s too good for me, the one that I would walk to the end of the earth for if I knew it would make her happy. I’ve never been a romantic man, but I sure as hell know a good woman when I see one. And I’ll be damned if I let someone dull her shine any further.

So I ask, for the first and final time, as I hear a commotion starting to gather in the chapel.

I take a deep breath and gather myself, taking her hands tightly in mine as I force myself to look her in the eye. “Tell me you’re happy, Y/N. Tell me you’re really fucking happy with him, and I’ll leave. I’ll go sit in the pew and watch you vow to keep him happy for the rest of your life. All the while knowing that you’re puttin’ on a fuckin’ show for everyone,” I grit with softness, knowing that time is running out. If I’m gonna get through to her, I have to do it now.

The look on her face sends a shot through my heart, and I feel my throat tighten. Her eyes are lifeless again, and the woman staring back at me isn’t the one that I know.

Just then a soft rap on the door interrupts us, and an older lady peeks her head through to find us. “Y/N, honey, it’s time,” she says softly, her eyes landing on me as I realize it’s her grandma. 

“Ok Mamaw, thank you,” she says, wiping her face free of the dampness. 

“Samuel, I didn’t expect to see you in here,” she coos quietly with a sweet smile. 

“Afternoon Ms. Ellen, nice to see you again,” I say with a wave. 

She looks behind her quickly, checking to see if anyone had followed her. When she knows she’s alone, she lets herself a little further into the room with us. 

“I hope you’re in here telling my sweet Y/N all your long lost secrets before she’s an honest woman,” she says, folding her hands across her stomach. I’ve always loved this woman, the most picture-perfect cookie-cutter grandma with a virulent and exciting past. And, she sneaks and smokes cigarettes with me, sometimes. 

“Ah, maybe a few,” I say as I let Y/N blot her face with a tissue in the mirror. I’ve always felt like Ms. Ellen has been on my team, knowing, or better yet, able to recognize the love that I wear on my sleeve for Y/N. Sometimes those folk just have a sixth sense when it comes to these things. 

Ellen makes direct and intense eye contact with me before she mutters, “Doesn’t my granddaughter look beautiful in her dress?”

“Ah, yes,” I clear my throat, “she always looks beautiful.”

“Shame she didn’t even get to pick it out herself. Didn’t even get to try a few on to see what she might like,” Ellen says somberly. “Just had it handed to her by Bobby’s assistants.”

“Mamaw…” I hear the warning in Y/N’s voice. 

“What, child? Just telling Sammy here that I’m so happy it ended up fitting you like a glove.” I give Ellen a reassuring smile as I stand from the bench, realizing that it must be my time to go. 

Ellen turns and makes it to the door before she stops with her hand on the knob, taking a quick breath before she turns back to us. 

“Do you remember when you two were little, just kiddos in elementary school, and you decided that the two of you were going to have a wedding in my backyard?” she says. 

“Mamaw, shouldn’t you be finding your seat in the congregation?” Y/N warns her again, but it’s no use. 

“You invited all your little neighborhood friends and asked me to help you hem your dress. A bright purple one, I believe it was. Little Sammy spent all day roaming through the neighbors’ landscaping and stealing the perfect flowers to make you a bouquet. Asked me to bake cookies for your guests. Caught all the fireflies in town and stuffed them into a mason jar so that when the sun went down, you’d still be able to see to walk through the grass.”

My chest warms at the fond memory of all those years ago, back when life wasn’t real and time didn’t exist. I steal a quick glance at Y/N, standing in the mirror again as she listens to her grandmother speak. “Sam came inside and started rummaging through my cabinets, stealing the twist-ties off my loaves of bread to fashion into rings… The cutest thing I ever saw…”

“The first time I ever kissed you,” I add, once again stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jeans. 

I watch as Ellen’s face lights up with joy, and Y/N’s blushes with embarrassment. It was the first time, but it wasn’t the last. One drunken night after graduation, Y/N and I had climbed onto the roof of the old dry cleaner’s and played truth or dare. Of course, I dared her to kiss me on a whim. And by god, she didn’t hold back. It was fast and it was heavy, but I knew deep down that for her, it was all in fun.

Nothing ever went past that kiss that ended in nothing more than just a little intense drunken intimacy. Nothing except the feelings that I had for her grew tenfold, and never went away. 

“Well, anyway,” Ellen breaks the silence. “I’ll be outside, sweetheart.” Ellen sneaked back through the creaky old door, giving me a look that said ‘Last chance, honey. Don’t let her get away.’

All I can hear in the room now is Y/N taking a deep cleansing breath, smoothing the dress out over her thighs as she straightens her veil. I catch her eyes in the mirror again, giving her one last look before I begin to make my way to the door. 

“I kept that ring, you know,” she says, stopping me. “The bread tie one. I still have it.”

I turn back. “You do?”

“Mhm. In my jewelry box at home. I see it almost every day.�� She’s walking toward me again, cleaning up her face and running her fingers along her tear lines. 

“Why’d you keep it?” I ask.

“Because it meant a lot to me, reminded me how much you mean to me. And it reminds me to keep my promises, no matter how simple and pointless they are. They’re still important,” she goes on, biting her lips together every few words. “Do you remember what we promised that day, Sam?”

I shake my head, the memory a little fuzzy still. “Kind of…”

“We said that even though we might not marry each other when we’re grown ups, that we’d always look out for each other. Keep each other in check. And we promised to always stay connected, no matter what.”

I nod. “Simple as that…”

She smiles. “Simple as that.”

I fight a tear, myself, as I reach in my back pocket and pull out my wallet, fidgeting through the old, worn in pockets of it in search of what I know is there, buried away but not forgotten. Finally my finger lands on it, and I gently pull it from the narrow slot. I place it in the center of my free hand, tiny, blue, tattered and worn. 

“You kept your ring, too,” Y/N says breathlessly. 

“It’s survived three wallets and an accidental trip into the trash can. But, it made it,” I say, admiring the tiny item that I only see from time to time. 

She walks closer to me, gently running her finger along it’s paper edges. “Sammy, I can’t believe you–”

“Don’t marry him, Y/N,” I blurt, the words escaping my mouth before I can even give them a second thought. “Don’t do it. Don’t marry him.”

“What?” her eyes bulge from her head as she stops in her tracks. It feels as though the entire world is standing still. 

“I said don’t do it. Don’t lock yourself away for the rest of your life. Don’t be unhappy in a relationship with a man who won’t even let you have your dog,” I’m babbling now, my chest tight and my throat on fire. I don’t even care. I needed to do it, I have to say it. 

“But, I–”

“There are no buts, here, Y/N. You still have a choice, and if what you say is true, we promised to look out for one another. This is me looking out for you,” I say. 

She stares at me as her hands drop to the sides, her demeanor less than it has looked all day. 

“That’s all I’m gonna say, Y/N. That’s all I needed to say.” I stuff the ring back into it’s place in my wallet before smoothing my hands over my hair. My breath begins to pick up and I feel my face getting hot. I turn again and head straight for the door, and I hear the music begin to echo off the walls of the church. 

“Sam, wait–”

“You know it’s always been me, Y/N. And if it’s not me, then please, for the love of god, just don’t let it be him. Okay?” I say as my hand turns the knob. “Go in there and marry him, throw away everything that makes you happy, everything that brings you joy. Makes you you. Lie to him and yourself and to everyone in there…”

I feel thick, hot tears blurring my vision as I begin to lose composure from the adrenaline of what I’m saying and doing. I shouldn’t be doing this… But also, I absolutely should.

“But if not…” I raise my hands and let them fall back to slap my sides, nodding to her in a way that I know she will understand. The last look I got of the woman I just confessed my love to was one that will be etched into my brain for the rest of my life. For the first time in a long time, I saw hope in her eyes.

I dash out the back doors of the church and down the concrete steps, out onto the quiet street straight toward my motorcycle. I hear the music swelling inside, making me feel like I can’t afford another breath. I slip my helmet on and I check my watch, 4:59PM. 

I straddle my bike and grab the handle bars, taking a glance every few seconds at the back door I had just burst through. My heart is pounding as I hear the processional music begin, and my hands are rough as I grip the handlebars. I turn the key, revving the engine to let her know that I’m out here, serious, and ready to take her away from it all…

My eyes dash again and again, willing the doors to open. “Come on, Y/N, don’t do this…”

My hands twist the bars, the calluses on my palms harshly rubbing against them as I grit my jaw side to side. The anxiety is almost worse out here than it is inside. “Come on, baby…”

It feels like an hour ticks by as the music inside swells and becomes louder, and the blood pumping through my veins strains harder and harder. My foot is bouncing nervously on the ground, ready to kick the stand at a moment’s notice. But deep down, I know I’d wait out here for her for a hundred years. I’d never stop waiting for her, until she told me to stop. 

The organ music continues and starts from the beginning again, and it’s then that I realize, it’s still playing. 

She isn’t walking down the aisle.

My eyes flit to the door again, and just as I catch sight of the evening sun brightening its golden glow onto the stained glass windows, the back door opens. Slowly, at first, just enough for me to tell it moved. 

Fuck, she’s gonna run…

The door opens a little bit more, and I see the top of her head peek through the opening. I feel like my body is about to catch on fire as I realize she’s most definitely not where everyone is expecting her to be. She slips through the door, shutting it softly behind her as she finds me parked on the street, ready and waiting. I slide my helmet off to get a better look at her, and I swear every single ounce of breath is stolen from my lungs. 

Her veil is gone, and her high heels are off, and she’s tumbling down the concrete steps through the yard, directly toward me. My breath hitches, I can’t fucking believe it. She’s gonna leave. I feel like I’m frozen in place as I watch her run to me, her hair flowing in the breeze behind her. 

She’s glowing, rushed and anxious as she bounds barefoot through the mess of cars clogging up the street. My heart is thrumming from my ribcage, and I’m positive that I’ve never seen a sight more gorgeous in my entire life. 

She’s coming… she’s really coming with me.

Finally she reaches me and the bike, her chest heaving with nerves and lost breath as I give her a surprised and pleading look. I open my mouth to speak, but I really don’t know what to say. 

She rips the helmet from my hands and places it on her own head. “You gonna get me the fuck out of here Sam? Or am I gonna have to beg you?” she boasts with that old confidence she always used to have.

I laugh through my nose as she grabs onto my shoulders and hikes up her dress to straddle the back of the bike. 

“I’d love to see you beg, love. But not today,” I reply, kicking the stand up with my right foot as we find our balance on the bike. Her arms wrap around my stomach as I take off, zipping through the mess of parked cars and straight toward the quickest way out of here. 

“Where do you wanna go?” I ask her, turning my head just a little. 

“Anywhere. Literally any place on earth that isn’t here,” she yells into my ear over the deafening sound of the engine. 

I feel like I could speed up and ride straight into the sunset, and I’m positive that she wants to disappear just as badly as I want to. I feel the touch of her sweet lips land directly on the back of my neck, leaving a tiny peck there that nearly sends me into overdrive. I’m in such harsh disbelief. But moreso, I’m thankful. 

Her lips travel from the back of my neck and around to my ear again as her arms squeeze me a little tighter. “Thank you, Sammy,” she mumbles, and I feel a warmness overtake my entire body. She has no idea that I’m the one that should be thanking her. We both let the sound of wedding bells fall into our memories, only concentrating now on the sounds of the motor running, and the tires rolling across the pavement.

[soombee]

ଳ⋆｡˚𖦹 caught in the current of you — 08 , there’s other fish in the sea!?

warnings ! love triangle? bipod? angle? Idk!! ; two people liking the same person basically :3

word count , 300<

leehan’s been restless all day—the situation from yesterday, the chemistry project, and how you haven’t talked to him like how u used to in weeks. the notifications from social media didn’t help—every time he saw his best friend’s name pop up under one of your posts, his jaw clenched a little tighter, he swears he could feel his teeth get loosening up, yikes..

his day was a blur. notes from chemistry were barely legible, his lunch sat untouched, and he hadn’t been able to sit still for more than five minutes

what did i do wrong? he wondered for the millionth time

by the time he finally caved and checked twitter, it was worse than he thought. the first thing on his timeline? a picture of you, commented by? taesan.

leehan’s jaw tightened instinctively, his thumb hovering over the notification before pressing it. the comment was simple—a playful joke that made you laugh, judging by your quick reply

what the hell was he even doing on her page?

“what’s up with you” woonhak’s voice broke through his thoughts as he dropped into the seat across from him in the library. “you’ve been restless all day.. let me guess… yn?”

he flinched, but he couldn’t deny it—not even if he wanted to.

“look,” he continued, leaning forward, “you can either keep sulking or actually talk to her,” woonhak smacked his head lightly, “she’s probably thinking you don’t even care at this point”

“what do you think i’ve been doing” leehan rubs the spot where his friend smacked

the other man rolled his eyes in frustration, “not like that dumbass.” he takes out his notes, “talk to her about your feelings”

“oh,” the blonde groaned, exhaling heavily “it’s not that easy bruh. what if…she doesn’t feel the same way? what if she was just messing w me?”

woonhak snorted, “you’re actually dumber than you look, just figure it out before someone else does”

the words hit harder than leehan wanted to admit. he didn’t need his friend to spell it out—he knew exactly who “someone else” was… how did he know either way?!

later that night, leehan sat in his room, guitar abandoned in the corner as he stared at your latest post again. it wasn’t the photo of you that got to him—it was the caption

of course taesan’s comment was there too..

leehan groaned, running a hand through his hair. his chest tightened with a mix of frustration and something he didn’t want to name. jealousy wasnt a good look on him but he couldn’t help it..

and as much as he hated it, woonhak was right. he had to figure this shit out even before taesan—or anyone else—beat him to it

time’s ticking, lover boy!

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taglist (open) ! @saintriots @yourmyst4r @sftsohee @httpenhoon @alisonyus @astrae4 @lynnimini @enhacolor @mari3s @voikiraz @yveol @sol3chu @saritahwang @kazemiya @kamfaye @meoriapeuda99

[k1pta]

my loyalty for dijon and THAT song

2022 // 2021

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 55-56

Chapter; Highlights, Notes, Tags, etc.

The Thirteen were on edge. They hadn't yet decided where to go. And hadn't been invited to travel with the Crochans to any of their home-hearths. Even Glennis's.

None of them, however, had looked his way when they'd prowled past. None had recognized him.

Dorian had just completed another walking circuit in his little training area when Manon stalked by, silver hair flowing. He paused, no more than a wary Crochan sentinel, and watched her storm through snow and mud as if she were a blade through the world.

Manon had nearly passed his training area when she went rigid.

Slowly, she turned, nostrils flaring.

Those golden eyes swept over him, swift and cutting. Her brows twitched toward each other. Dorian only gave her a lazy grin in return.

Then she prowled toward him.

Another assessing stare. "I would have thought you'd pick a prettier form."

He frowned down at himself. "I think she's pretty enough."

Manon's mouth tightened. "I suppose this means you're about to go to Morath."

"Did I say anything of the sort?" He didn't bother sounding pleasant.

Manon took a step toward him, her teeth flashing. In this body, he stood shorter than her. He hated the thrill that shot through his blood as she leaned down to growl at him. "We have enough to deal with today, princeling."

"Do l look as if I'm standing in your way?" She opened her mouth, then shut it.

Dorian let out a low laugh and made to turn away. An iron-tipped hand gripped his arm.

Strange, for that hand to feel large on his body. Large, and not the slender, deadly thing he'd become accustomed to.

Her golden eyes blazed. "If you want a softhearted woman who will weep over hard choices and ultimately balk from them, then you're in the wrong bed."

"I'm not in anyone's bed right now." He hadn't gone to her tent any of these nights. Not since that conversation in Eyllwe.

She took the retort without so much as a flinch. "Your opinion doesn't matter to me."

"Then why are you standing here?"

Again, she opened and closed her mouth. Then snarled, "Change out of that form." Dorian smiled again. "Don't you have better things to do right now, Your Majesty?" He honestly thought she might unsheathe those iron teeth and rip out his throat.

Half of him wanted her to try. He even went so far as to run one of those phantom hands along her jaw.

"You think I don't know why you don't want me to go to Morath?"

"Tell me to stay," he said, and the words had no warmth, no kindness. "Tell me to stay with you, if that's what you want." His invisible fingers grew talons and scraped over her skin. Manon's throat bobbed. "But you won't say that, will you, Manon?" Her breathing turned jagged. He continued to stroke her neck, her jaw, her throat, caressing skin he'd tasted over and over. "Do you know why?"

"Because while you might be older, might be deadly in a thousand different ways, deep down, you're afraid. You don't know how to ask me to stay, because you're afraid of admitting to yourself that you want it. You're afraid. Of yourself more than anyone else in the world. You're afraid." For several heartbeats, she just stared at him.

Then she snarled, "You don't know what you're talking about," and stalked away.

His low laugh ripped after her. Her spine stiffened. But Manon did not turn back.

Afraid. Of admitting that she felt any sort of attachment.

It was preposterous.

And it was, perhaps, true.

But it was not her problem. Not right now.

Manon stormed through the readying camp where tents were being taken down and folded, hearths being packed. The Thirteen were with the wyverns, supplies stowed in saddlebags.

Some of the Crochans had frowned her way. Not with anger, but something like disappointment.

Discontent. As if they thought parting ways was a poor idea.

Manon refrained from saying she agreed.

Even if the Thirteen followed, the Crochans would find a way to lose them. Use their power to bind the wyverns long enough to disappear.

And she would not lower herself, lower the Thirteen, to become dogs chasing after their masters. They might be desperate for aid, might have promised it to their allies, but she would not debase herself any further.

Manon halted at Glennis's camp, the only hearth with a fire still burning. A fire that would always remain kindled.

A reminder of the promise she'd made to honor the Queen of Terrasen. A single, solitary flame against the cold.

Manon rubbed at her face as she slumped onto one of the rocks lining the hearth. A hand rested on her shoulder, warm and slight. She didn't bother to slap it away.

Glennis said, "We're departing in a few minutes. I thought l'd say good-bye."

Manon peered up at the ancient witch. "Fly well." It was really all there was left to say.

Manon's failure was not due to Glennis, not due to anyone but herself, she supposed.

You're afraid.

It was true. She had tried, but not really tried to win the Crochans. To let them see any part of her that meant something. To let them see what it had done to her, to learn she had a sister and that she had killed her. She didn't know how, and had never bothered to learn.

You're afraid.

Yes, she was. Of everything.

Glennis lowered her hand from Manon's shoulder.

"May your path carry you safely through war and back home at last."

She didn't feel like telling the crone there was no home for her, or the Thirteen.

Glennis turned her face toward the sky, sighing once. Then her white brows narrowed. Her nostrils flared. Manon leapt to her feet.

"Run," Glennis breathed. "Run now."

Manon drew Wind-Cleaver and did no such thing. "What is it?"

"They're here." How Glennis had scented them on the wind, Manon didn't care.

Not as three wyverns broke from the clouds, spearing for their camp.

She knew those wyverns, almost as well as she knew the three riders who sent the Crochans into a frenzy of motion.

The Matrons of the Ironteeth Witch-Clans had found them. And come to finish what Manon had started that day in Morath.

The three High Witches had come alone.

Rushing steps crunched through the icy snow, halting at Manon's side just as Dorian's scent wrapped around her. "Is that—"

"Yes," she said quietly, heart thundering as the Matrons dismounted and did not raise their hands in request for parley. No, they only stalked closer to the hearth, to the precious flame still burning. "Don't engage," Manon warned him and the others, and strode to meet them.

It was not the king's battle, no matter what power dwelled in his veins.

Glennis was already armed, an ancient sword in her withered hands. The woman was as old as the Yellowlegs Matron, yet she stood tall, facing the three High Witches.

Cresseida Blueblood spoke first, her eyes as cold as the iron-spiked crown digging into her freckled brow. "It has been an age, Glennis." But Glennis's stare, Manon realized, was not on the Blueblood Matron. Or even on Manon's own grandmother, her black robes billowing as she sneered at Manon.

It was on the Yellowlegs Matron, hunched and hateful between them. On the crown of stars atop the crone's thinned white hair.

Glennis's sword shook slightly. And just as Manon realized what the Matron had worn here,

Bronwen appeared at Glennis's side and breathed, "Rhiannon's crown."

Worn by the Yellowlegs Matron to mock these witches. To spit on them.

A dull roaring began in Manon's ears.

"What company you keep these days, granddaughter," said Manon's grandmother, her silver-streaked dark hair braided back from her face. A sign enough of their intentions, if her grandmother's hair was in that plait. Battle. Annihilation.

The weight of the three High Witches' attention pressed upon her. The Crochans gathered behind her shifted as they waited for her response.

Yet it was Glennis who snarled, in a voice Manon had not yet heard, "What is it that you want?"

Manon's grandmother smiled, revealing rust-flecked iron teeth. The true sign of her age. "You made a grave error, Manon Kin-Slayer, when you sought to turn our forces against us. When you sowed such lies amongst our sentinels regarding our plans— my plans."

Manon kept her chin high. "I spoke only truth. And it must have frightened you enough that you gathered these two to hunt me down and prove your innocence in scheming against them."

The other two Matrons didn't so much as blink. Her grandmother's claws had to have sunk deep, then. Or they simply did not care.

"We came," Cresseida seethed, the opposite in so many ways of the daughter who had given Manon the chance to speak, "to at last rid us of a thorn in our sides."

Had Petrah been punished for letting Manon walk out of the Omega alive? Did the Blueblood Heir still breathe? Cresseida had once screamed in a mother's terror and pain when Petrah had nearly plunged to her death.

Did that love, so foreign and strange, still hold true? Or had duty and ancient hatred won out?

The thought was enough to steel Manon's spine. "You came because we pose a threat."

Because of the threat you pose to that monster you call grandmother.

"You came," Manon went on, Wind-Cleaver rising a fraction, "because you are afraid."

Manon took a step beyond Glennis, her sword lifting farther.

"You came," Manon said, "because you have no true power beyond what we give you.

And you are scared to death that we're about to take it away." Manon flipped Wind-Cleaver in her hand, angling the sword downward, and drew a line in the snow between them. "You came alone for that fear. That others might see what we are capable of. The truth that you have always sought to hide."

Her grandmother tutted. "Listen to you. Sounding just like a Crochan with that preachy nonsense."

Manon ignored her. Ignored her and pointed Wind-Cleaver directly at the Yellowlegs Matron as she snarled, "That is not your crown."

Something like hesitation rippled over Cresseida Blueblood's face. But the Yellowlegs Matron beckoned to Manon with iron nails so long they curved downward. "Then come and fetch it from me, traitor."

Manon stepped beyond the line she'd drawn in the snow.

No one spoke behind her. She wondered if any of them were breathing.

She had not won against her grandmother. Had barely survived, and only thanks to luck. That fight, she had been ready to meet her end. To say farewell.

Manon angled Wind-Cleaver upward, her heart a steady, raging beat.

She would not greet the Darkness's embrace today. But they would.

"This seems familiar," her grandmother drawled, legs shifting into attacking position.

The other two Matrons did the same. "The last Crochan Queen. Holding the line against us." Manon cracked her jaw, and iron teeth descended. A flex of her fingers had her iron nails unsheathing. "Not just a Crochan Queen this time."

There was doubt in Cresseida's blue eyes.

As if she'd realized what the other two Matrons had not.

There—it was there that Manon would strike first. The one who now wondered if they had somehow made a grave mistake in coming here.

A mistake that would cost them what they had come to protect.

A mistake that would cost them this war.

And their lives.

For Cresseida saw the steadiness of Manon's breathing. Saw the clear conviction in her eyes. Saw the lack of fear in her heart as Manon advanced another step.

Manon smiled at the Blueblood Matron as if to say yes.

"You did not kill me then," Manon said to her grandmother. "I do not think you will be able to now."

"We'll see about that," her grandmother hissed, and charged.

Manon was ready.

An upward swing of Wind-Cleaver met her grandmother's first two blows, and Manon ducked the third. Turning right into the onslaught of the Yellowlegs Matron, who swept up with unnatural speed, feet almost flying over the snow, and slashed for Manon's exposed back.

Manon deflected the crone's assault, sending the witch darting back. Just as Cresseida launched herself at Manon. Cresseida was not a trained fighter. Not as the Blackbeak and Yellowlegs Matrons were. Too many years spent reading entrails and scanning the stars for the answers to the Three-Faced Goddess's riddles.

A duck to the left had Manon easily evading the sweep of Cresseida's nails, and a countermove had Manon driving her elbow into the Blueblood Matron's nose.

Cresseida stumbled. The Yellowlegs Matron and her grandmother attacked again. So fast. Their three assaults had happened in the span of a few blinks. Manon kept her feet under her. Saw where one Matron moved and the other left a dangerous gap exposed.

She was not a broken-spirited Wing Leader unsure of her place in the world.

She was not ashamed of the truth before her.

She was not afraid.

Manon's grandmother led the attack, her maneuvers the deadliest. It was from her that the first slice of pain appeared. A rip of iron nails through Manon's shoulder. But Manon swung her sword, again and again, iron on steel ringing out across the icy peaks.

No, she was not afraid at all.

Around him, the Crochans thrummed with fear and dread. Either for the fight unfolding or the three Matrons who had found them.

But Glennis did not tremble. At her side Bronwen hummed with the energy of one eager to leap into the fight.

Manon and the High Witches sprang apart, breathing heavily. Blue blood leaked down Manon's shoulder, and small slices peppered the three Matrons.

Manon still remained on the far side of the line she'd drawn. Still held it.

The dark-haired witch in voluminous black robes spat blue blood onto the snow. Manon's grandmother. "Pathetic. As pathetic as your mother." A sneer toward Glennis. "And your father."

The snarl that ripped from Manon's throat rang across the mountains themselves.

Her grandmother let out a crow's caw of a laugh. "Is that all you can do, then? Snarl like a dog and swing your sword like some human filth? We will wear you down eventually. Better to kneel now and die with some honor intact." Manon only flung out an iron-tipped hand behind her, fingers splaying in demand as her eyes remained fixed on the Matrons.

Dorian reached for Damaris, but Bronwen moved first.

The Crochan tossed her sword, steel flashing over snow and sun.

Manon's fingers closed on the hilt, the blade singing as she whipped it around to face the High Witches again. "Rhiannon Crochan held the gates for three days and three nights, and she did not kneel before you, even at the end." A slash of a smile. "I think I shall do the same." Dorian could have sworn the sacred flame burning to their left flared brighter. Could have sworn Glennis sucked in a breath. That every Crochan watching did the same.

Manon's knees bent, swords rising. "Let us finish what was started then, too." She attacked, blades flashing.

Her grandmother conceded step after step, the other two Matrons failing to break past her defenses.

Gone was the witch who had slept and wished for death. Gone was the witch who had raged at the truth that had torn her to shreds.

And in her place, fighting as if she were the very wind, unfaltering against the Matrons, stood someone Dorian had not yet met.

Stood a queen of two peoples.

Yielding only those few steps, and nothing more.

Because Manon with conviction in her heart, with utter fearlessness in her eyes, was wholly unstoppable.

The other two witches had fallen back, as if waiting to see what might happen.

But she yielded no further ground. A wall against which the Yellowlegs Matron could not advance. The crone let out a snarl, attacking again and again, senseless and raging.

Dorian saw the trap the moment it happened.

No one seemed to breathe at all as Manon plunged Bronwen's sword into the icy earth beneath and bent to take the crown of stars from the Yellowlegs witch's fallen head.

He had never seen a crown like it.

A living, glowing thing that glittered in her hand. As if nine stars had been plucked from the heavens and set to shine along the simple silver band.

The crown's light danced over Manon's face as she lifted it above her head and set it upon her unbound white hair.

Even the mountain wind stopped.

Yet a phantom breeze shifted the strands of Manon's hair as the crown glowed bright, the white stars shining with cores of cobalt and ruby and amethyst.

As if it had been asleep for a long, long time. And now awoke.

That phantom wind pulled Manon's hair to the side, silver strands brushing across her face.

And beside him, around him, the Thirteen touched two fingers to their brow in deference.

In allegiance to the queen who stared down the two remaining High Witches.

The Crochan Queen, crowned anew.

The sacred fire leaped and danced, as if in joyous welcome.

"Go."

The Blueblood witch blinked, eyes wide with what could only be fear and dread.

Manon jerked her chin toward the wyvern waiting behind the witch. "Tell your daughter all debts between us are paid. And she may decide what to do with you. Take that other wyvern out of here."

Spared by the Crochan Queen on behalf of the daughter who had given Manon the gift of speaking to the Ironteeth.

Within seconds, the Blueblood Matron was in the skies, the Yellowlegs witch's wyvern soaring beside her.

Leaving Manon's grandmother alone.

Leaving Manon with swords raised and a crown of stars glowing upon her brow.

Manon was glowing, as if the stars atop her head pulsed through her body. A wondrous and mighty beauty, like no other in the world. Like no one had ever been, or would be again.

And slowly, as if savoring each step, Manon stalked toward her grandmother.

Warm, dancing light flowed through her, as unfaltering as what had poured into her heart these past few bloody minutes.

She did not balk. Did not fear.

The crown's weight was slight, like it had been crafted of moonlight. Yet its joyous strength was a song, undimming before the sole High Witch left standing.

So Manon kept walking.

She left Bronwen's sword a few feet away.

Left Wind-Cleaver several feet past that.

Iron nails out, teeth ready, Manon paused barely five steps from her grandmother.

A hateful, wasted scrap of existence. That's what her grandmother was.

She had never realized how much shorter the Matron stood. How narrow her shoulders were, or how the years of rage and hate had withered her.

Manon's smile grew. And she could have sworn she felt two people standing at her shoulder.

She knew no one would be there if she looked. Knew no one else could see them, sense them, standing with her. Standing with their daughter against the witch who had destroyed them.

Her grandmother spat on the ground, baring her rusted teeth.

This death, though ...

It was not her death to claim.

It did not belong to the parents whose spirits lingered at her side, who might have been there all along, leading her toward this. Who had not left her, even with death separating them.

No, it did not belong to them, either.

She looked behind her. Toward the Second waiting beside Dorian.

Tears slid down Asterin's face. Of pride- pride and relief.

Manon beckoned to Asterin with an iron- tipped hand.

Manon raised a hand. "Let her go."

When there was no trace of the Matrons left but blue blood and a headless corpse staining the snow, Manon turned toward the Crochans.

Their eyes were wide, but they made no move.

The Thirteen remained where they were, Dorian with them.

Manon scooped up both swords, sheathing Wind-Cleaver across her back, and stalked toward where Glennis and Bronwen stood, monitoring her every breath.

Wordlessly, Manon handed Bronwen her sword, nodding in thanks.

Then she removed the crown of stars and extended it toward Glennis. "This belongs to you," she said, her voice low.

The Crochans murmured, shifting.

Glennis took the crown, and the stars dimmed. A small smile graced the crone's face.

"No," she said, "it does not."

Manon didn't move as Glennis lifted the crown and set it again on Manon's head.

Then the ancient witch knelt in the snow.

"What was stolen has been restored; what was lost has come home again. I hail thee, Manon Crochan, Queen of Witches."

Manon stood fast against the tremor that threatened to buckle her legs.

Stood fast as the other Crochans, Bronwen with them, dropped to a knee. Dorian, standing amongst them, smiled, brighter and freer than she'd ever seen.

And then the Thirteen knelt, two fingers going to their brows as they bowed their heads, fierce pride lighting their faces.

"Queen of Witches," Crochan and Blackbeak declared as one voice.

As one people.

[samarecharm]

Random question about the “they should make persona for people who like good games” post. Do people think the persona series is that bad? I know they aren’t perfect but I wouldn’t call them bad games.

I had a wholeass essay written out before i realized im too tired to make it sound coherent. AND my only experience is p 4 and 5, so my opinion on it means jack shit. All i can say is that the most recent titles suffer from bad writing. (And repetitive gameplay, but thats a different issue). Be it poorly written characters and dialogue, or poorly written interactions and plot, it is hard to take some of the stuff in the more recent games at face value. One could argue that that just means the game is subpar, not necessarily bad, but thats subjective; bad means different things to different people. And i say this as someone who thinks this game is Not the best but still found it incredibly engaging and entertaining.

[einaudis]

.

[orcelito]

There are more trigun fanfics than there were back in April

This is creating a problem for me