#or any of the other times they could avoided where they are now

[yuoimia]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ HEY, HANDSOME

summary: you’re shameless with your antics, and he hates loves it. characters: kinich & wanderer notes: fem + flirty reader, relationship is not established, but you’ve known each other for a while, wanderer’s is super short and messy bc i didn’t know how to execute my ideas well, wc: 580

kinich

“Are you free next week?”

Kinich glanced up from the base of the tree to where you sat casually on one of the thick branches. Sunlight streamed through its delicate leaves, spilling onto your hair, casting a familiar shadow he breathed in the first time you two met.

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, eyeing you with suspicion. “What do you mean?”

“What does she mean!? Are you STUPID-“

A momentary flash of yellow and green materialised for a split second, not without the usual explosive expressions, before being promptly booted with the irritated flick of Kinich’s right hand.

“Stop smirking,” he sighed, not coming out nearly as stern as he intended. “Out with it, and come down; my neck is starting to hurt,” he continued, turning away, trying to seem as composed as possible. Not now; he cannot be succumbing to nerves and sweaty palms. Why was his mind so foggy? Absolutely no helpful excuses formulated in case he faltered any further.

You let out a disappointed huff. “Fine,” Kinich could almost sense the roll of your eyes from the back of his head. “Make sure to catch me.”

“Wait-“

It happened in a split second, his arms subconsciously reaching out as you slipped down with no hesitation.

Almost instantly, words of disapproval (which included his typical empty threats that he seemed to forget within the next ten minutes) bombarded your ears as one arm held you from the back of your knees, another supporting your back. “Imagine if I didn’t catch you…you need to think before you do things…”

“But you did either way,” you shrugged nonchalantly at his frustrated face, enveloping an arm around his neck to rest your chin on his shoulder. “So…you free next week?” you whispered conspicuously, adjusting yourself to face him properly. “I’m running out of ideas for commissions, you know?”

And you swear you’re hallucinating. You swear you might actually be delusional.

“What if I told you,” he mused at the intimacy of the shared closeness. “That you never needed the commissions for my attention in the first place?” he responded, holding back a smile.

wanderer

“You look terrible.”

The unexpectedly rash comment causes him to jolt his head upright, his eyes instantly meeting the owner of the familiar voice and malicious remark. A strange feeling washes over his body as he relaxes his posture almost completely, careful to avoid seeming too relieved.

“Likewise,” he countered, scanning you with a look of supposed disinterest. Except he wasn’t disinterested at all, thoroughly noting down your appearance and mannerisms. Loose ends of your braid had fallen out of their original position, a vibrant rosy blush below your cheekbones, likely from exhaustion the way your chest rose quicker than usual.

“…likewise?!” you gaped incredulously, seizing a mirror from a pocket of your jacket.

You’re the one that told me I looked terrible.”

“You know I didn’t mean that at all.”

“And you know that, too.”

“You’re supposed to say that you’re tired and hungry,” you muttered disappointingly, fixing your braid in the matter of a few quick movements.

Confusion flooded his mind at the sharp diversions in conversation topics. “Why would I need to say that?” he replied slowly, surveying your face with greater interest and intent, as if thinking that if he stared hard enough, the deepest secrets of your mind would be magically revealed.

A victorious smile and wink adorned your face as you extended a hand. “So I can offer you lunch, handsome.”

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Bad Blood

♥ masterlist | request rules | based on this request

♥ pairing: franco colapinto x fem!driver!reader

♥ synopsis: tensions started rising in the williams garage when bad strategies pitted you and your teammate, franco against each other. after spotting him in a bar the night of a race the two of you bonded over your shared bad result. 

♥ one-shot - wc: 1.6k

♥ as always none of the pictures are mine <3

♥ warnings: swearing, drinking, and vaguely suggestive !!!

♥ a/n: rivals to lovers + forced proximity, go nuts babe. btw there’s some salty team vibes so i just wanna say i love williams (except james) this is purely for the plot lol

“Plan B, Y/n. Plan B,” you engineer said on the radio of your car.

”Is Franco undercutting me?” you asked, shifting down into a corner.

“We think this is the best decision point-wise.”

“You’re joking.”

“Y/n stick to the strategy, you’ll get your time eventually.” they responded.

“No this is bullshit. What advantage are you giving him? He can’t chase down Kmag any better than I can—at least he doesn’t have the pace right now. I don’t see why you’re making him the priority.”

You reached the end of the main straight watching as your teammate exited the pit lane in front of you.

He was on hard tires, an extremely odd choice for the end of this race. You were trying to complete the last 20 laps on softs while your teammate tried to make up positions on the opposite compound. Wait why the fuck would they put him on those tires? If they were aiming for an undercut, they were certainly going to fail with this strategy. 

You dove down into the apex and collided with Franco, who was turning in front of you. You both spun out into the gravel, ending your race. 

It was always like this. Somehow you always found yourself competing against Franco no matter where you went. 

“Fuck,” you yelled on the radio as you threw your HANS device outside of the car. 

“Are you okay?” your engineer questioned.

“Yup, yeah I’m fine.” you responded. 

The Williams team could hear faint breathing from Franco. 

“Is she ok?” he asked. 

“Yes, are you?”

“Yeah, I am.”

-

You scrolled through your phone in your driver's room, coming across a couple of posts about the situation.

@fcswife “is she okay?” FRANCO THE MAN THAT YOU ARE 😭❤️

@charlesgf16 she really has zero respect for franco huh?

@francodefender1 how could anyone hate him? 😩

You rolled your eyes and clicked off the device, throwing it onto a different cushion on the couch. You were going to need a drink. 

-

Later that night you retreated to a bar you were unfamiliar with. A couple of F2 drivers in your circle mentioned it in passing and considering you couldn't fluently speak the language of the country you were visiting, you hoped to run into a few people you knew.

The room was dark, loud, and packed. You could hear music playing over the sound of dozens of drunk voices. You pushed your way through the crowd of people towards the front of the bar in order to get a drink.

You spotted a familiar face when you arrived. To your dismay it was the only person you wished not to talk to at that moment. His brown curls were immediately identifiable and if that wasn't enough, the fluorescent lighting illuminated his face, drawing your eyes towards the small mole on his cheek.

You looked around for a place to avoid him, but all the booths were taken and the only open bar stool was the one next to Franco.

Because of course it was.

You sighed and took the seat next to him, trying your hardest to avoid eye contact.

"A bottle of Dom Perignon please," you asked, causing Franco to snort.

“What?” you shifted your gaze towards him.

“Champagne is for winners,” he said, looking you straight in the eye.

It wasn’t like he was incorrect. Champagne was for the podium—but you had a long day and it was time to treat yourself. Regardless, you rolled your eyes at the man’s comment.

Franco waved over the bartender to get a glass and help himself to the bottle of alcohol.

“You can venmo me,” you said only half joking as he poured himself some champagne.

A small tv in the corner of the bar had a replay of the race and press.

”There were a lot of emotions definitely, uhm I think the decisions tire wise for the strategy weren’t great. It’s frustrating to see the prioritization of your teammate but I guess I have no input on whether that goes to me or Franco each race. We had a rough week overall as a team but I hope we can bounce back.”

“As much as I hate to agree with you… you were right. Both our strategies were fucked.” he said referencing your post race interview, “They screwed us both.”

The two of you never really got along, but at least neither blamed each other for the crash. It was just a racing incident and it didn’t have to prevent you from finally having a civil conversation with Franco.

“To screwing us both,” you smiled while raising your glass of champagne, eliciting a chuckle out of him.  

He clinked his cup to yours with a smirk and took a small sip. 

From that point on your distaste for him slowly started to die down and you began to have a mutual understanding.

-

The next race went over far smoother than the last. Franco ended up in P5 with you right behind him in P6; an incredible result for the two of you and the team.

You jumped out of your car and strolled your way over to his. The camera picked up on you patting his helmet and mumbling something.

Of course this was going to be all your media feed would show for the next few days.

-

That night you found yourself at a far more tame pub than the last.

“From the gentleman across the bar,” a server said, causing you to look up from your phone and towards the direction he was pointing. 

Franco was leaning against the counter with a grin. He raised his eyebrows quickly and waved.

You took a sip of the cold blue drink in front of you and waved back. His eyes stayed locked on you as you pulled out your phone and unblocked a number.

You 

is there red bull in this? 

+1800******

yea 

You got a text back immediately, prompting you to change the contact name. 

You

i think that’s a sin

Franco

oh?

You

yea if i can’t drive it i shouldn’t be drinking it  

Franco

i guess it’s too bad williams doesn’t make energy drinks

You

come sit with me

-

Tensions were still high on track between the two of you but the minute race weekend was over it was like someone flipped a switch.

A few weeks flew by and people started to notice your behavior towards Franco. By now there were probably dozens of pictures of you looking very cozy together at parties, but not getting along at the circuits or simply ignoring each other in the paddock.

Of course people were getting suspicious. Maybe this was a ruse to keep your relationship a secret? Maybe it was all staged for Netflix. Or maybe—you two didn’t really know what you were.

-

“Che,” a voice called out to you in spanish, instantly grabbing your attention.

You spotted Franco in a booth at the back of the club. It was far darker in that corner, but with the flashing lights and loud music you were glad he picked a more secluded area.

The building was full with the familiar faces of drivers and team members.

”Look at you,” he said, impressed.

You laughed and did a small spin, showing off your dress. You knew he’d liked it and by the memory you had earlier this evening, it seemed as though a lot of people would.

”Another date with Franco, huh?” Kika smirked while putting on some dangly earrings. “It’s not a date,” you protested. She spun her body around to face you. “This,” she gestured to your outfit. “Is for a date.”

You slid into the booth next to him, setting your black clutch purse beside you.

Franco’s hand firmly grabbed your thigh to steady himself as he shifted closer towards you. Your eyes darted down to the action but he didn’t seem to notice. His grip loosened as he settled and he started rubbing small circles with the pad of his thumb.

A small hum escaped your lips, barely audible over the music and voices, but there was no way in hell your soft noises wouldn’t catch his attention.

”¿Esto está bien?” (is this ok?) he asked in a whisper, causing you to only nod.

His face moved closer to yours, and you wasted no time cupping his cheeks in your hands, and connecting your lips.

You melted into the kiss knowing damn well you daydreamed about this an embarrassing amount.

His tongue swiped over your bottom lip, tasting the gloss you applied earlier. You opened your mouth to allow him entrance and he dragged his fingertips further up the inside of your thigh.

Franco moved down to your neck leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses. His index and middle fingers brushed the lace of your lingerie, causing him to smirk against you.

“Stand up,” he demanded. He slipped out of the booth and pulled you onto your feet. You grabbed your clutch as he guided you through the crowd, hand-in-hand.

He opened the chiming door and the two of you stepped onto the wet cobblestone. Your heels clicked on the ground as he guided you to his car in the rain.

He pulled open the passenger seat door for you.

“Wow, we weren’t even in there a couple of minutes,” you stated.

“I think we’ve had enough time to talk… quiero llevarte a casa…” (i want to take you home) he leaned down and mumbled to you.

“O en este caso mi hotel,” (or in this case my hotel) “unless you’d rather go back inside..” he trailed off.

You shook your head in protest to his last works and a light chuckle slipped through his lips.

”Alright then,” he smirked, getting into the drivers seat.

[hahaifolded]

141 x POC!GN Intelligence Operative - Thanks for the ride (Long Drabble) Author's Notes: Personally this one is the worst one of the four. Also I didn't expect this to be this long. Warnings: MDNI, Angst

Did Soap enjoy being a little shit? Most of the time. But when it involved hurting you, even disguised as Price’s doing, he couldn’t find any joy in it. He may have successfully ruined Price in your eyes but at what cost?

He knew that you would only take so much of this. He wasn’t stupid. You will snap one day and all of their efforts to keep you will end up being futile. But some sick part of him hoped that you liked them enough to stay. That’ll you’ll hold out as much as they have so far.

And if you hold out long enough, maybe, just maybe, Soap can outlast the others. It’s only a matter of time before the others get over their little crush. Right?

But until then, he’ll be waiting. He’ll keep his distance but he’ll come as soon as you start calling.

Like now, as his phone lights up with your name. It’s Friday morning and he’s currently spotting Gaz on the bench press when his phone starts to ring. His heart jumps when he sees your name. He swipes his phone and answers it.

“Sergeant MacTavish,” he says. He cringes at his words.

“Sergeant,” you start. He could cry. He’s not just your sergeant, he’s Johnny, your Johnny-boy. “I am so sorry to bother you so early but I didn’t know who else to call.” He could tell from the tone of your voice that you were in trouble. He turns around to avoid Kyle from overhearing.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I'm okay, but... I... I'm on my way to base, but my car just broke down. I'd walk but I won't make it on time to today's meeting if I do. Is there anyway you can pick me up? I'll pay for gas and your time. Again, I am so sorry for bother--"

"It's not a bother. I'll be there in 10." He hangs up the phone before you can say anything else. Soap was truly God's favorite. Despite everything, you still called him. And like always, he'll answer.

"Everything good there, buddy?" pipes up Gaz.

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry. Uh... just one of the techs," Soap explains. He grabs his bag and tells Gaz he has to go... "bomb emergency." He leaves and rushes to his room. He zips through his room, trying to change into something less sweaty. He wasn't sure why, but his heart was racing.

Was he nervous?

Of course he was nervous.

This would be the first time in over a month that you called him for something that didn't involve a mission. There would be no Ghost, no Price, no Gaz to get in his way. He sprays some perfume that you had gotten him for his birthday, grabs his keys, and runs out of his room.

It's just a straight shot - straight down the hall and to the parking lot. Should be easy?

Wrong.

Waiting for him at the door was his fellow sergeant, Kyle Gaz Garrick.

"Where you going there, buddy? Isn't techs on the other side of the base?" He stands up straight, staring the Scotsman down.

Soap does the same. One way or another, he was going to give you that ride. "It is, but it'll be faster if I drive there. So if you can move, you'd make my day." He tries to side-step Gaz, but Gaz stay still. "Move!" Soap tries to push his teammate. Kyle pushes back, pinning him up against the wall, his arm over his neck.

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice? Mate, your brightness and volume were all the way up ," he scoffs. "You really think I'm going to let you be the hero here."

"Get off!" Soap roars. He shoves Kyle back and punches him in the gut, forcing the sergeant to fall to his knees. However, it does nothing to stop him as Kyle lunges at the Scotsman, forcing him on the floor. They tussle for a bit before two pairs of arms pull the sergeants off from one another.

"What the hell is going on here?" commands Price. He has Soap in his grip while Ghost grabs Gaz.

"Soap here is trying to see them without us," Gaz spits out. Soap feels Price's hold on him tighten. Soap tries to explain himself. How you had called HIM for a ride and he was just trying to be a good teammate.

Price lets out an empty laugh. "Just like how I was trying to help with lunch." Fuck. Soap knew that was going to bite him in the ass, but he didn't think so soon. Ghost lets Gaz go. Gaz walks towards Soap and snatches the keys from his hands.

Soap tries to stop him, but it's no use, Price isn't budging.

And you of course don't know that all of this is going back on base. You're stuck in your car, waiting for Soap to come pick you up. You weren't happy that you called him, but you really had no choice. The bus had already passed, you didn't have enough time to walk, and it looked like it was going to rain. Besides, Soap said it wasn't a bother.

15 minutes have passed and you were starting to get antsy. The meeting was going to start soon and Soap still hadn't come by. You decide to text him... worst case, he's driving and can't answer.

You: Hey! Sorry to bother, but are you close? Again thank you so much for the ride

You put your phone down and look out the window.

Buzz, buzz.

Johnny-boy: Something came up. Sorry.

No fucking way. You could cry right now. And not even out of disappointment, but out of anger. You don't even bother to answer. You turn off your phone and jump out of your car. At this point, it didn't even matter. You were going to be late either way. What's the point of giving them a heads up?

And to your luck, it starts to rain... hard. Could your day get any worse? Fuck, your month, really? Whatever you did, there's no way it was that bad to deserve all of this.

You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn't hear the racing car blasting rock music behind you.

Back on base, Soap is close to just dying in his seat. The 141 are all in the conference room, waiting for your arrival. Gaz and Price are in their seats while Ghost blocks the door. He can see his phone in his Lieutenant's pocket.

Soap begs him to let him go. It's pouring out there and knowing how stubborn you could be, you're probably walking in this weather.

Price shoots him a pointed look. "You really think I'd let them walk in this rain. I already sent some rookies to pick them up." And on cue, his phone rings. "Look, it's the rookies."

Price answers the phone. But instead, of keeping his neutral face, he just frowns. "What do you mean they're not there?" Soap's blood runs cold. Price argues with the rookies for a bit until he hangs up. The room tenses. Everyone looks at Price with baited breath. They all assume the worst. But before anyone can even suggest it, the door opens.

"141! My favorite team! How are... what's with the long faces?" The men all pause. They all had forgotten that Nikolai was going to help them on this next op.

"Nik, not the time," Price grumbles out. All of the men agree. Right now, you were missing and it was all their fault.

Nik gets serious and takes a seat. He assures them that things will work out. Once you finish changing, you can all brainstorm and find a solution.

Once you finish changing?

Soap makes the connection first. He asks Nik if you were on base.

"Da. Found them on my way here." Soap could just cry out of joy. You were okay. You were alive.

His joy is cut short when you come in. You don't say anything. You take your seat at the end of the table.

You look at all of them with indifference, with apathy. "Let's get started."

Soap calls your name. He wasn't sure what he was going to say. All he knew was that he needed to talk to you.

You glare at him. "Sergeant MacTavish, we've wasted enough time today. Let's just do our job," you spit out. You reel in your anger. You were done with Soap, with this team, with everyone.

Soap sinks in his seat. He didn't think you were capable of hatred.

Word Count: 1450

More Thoughts - Next Thought

[clangenrising]

Month 19 - Leaffall

The rogues attacked from downwind. Somehow, despite their multitude of bell collars, they approached the camp silently, only revealing themselves when they appeared at the top of the ridge and poured down into camp. Barleybee had been talking with Aldertail when it happened and in the time it took to blink, Aldertail was gone, sprinting as quickly as she could away from the camp. 

The rogues hit like a wave and it took a few moments for Barleybee to reorient herself in the tide of muscle and claws. She found herself on her back underneath a pair of snapping jaws that she barely managed to keep at bay by extending her long legs. She pulled herself together, kicked hard, and sent the kittypet reeling just long enough for her to climb to her feet. 

Another kittypet lunged in to fill the other’s space, lashing out with both claws, and she barely avoided losing an eye with a corkscrew twist. There were so many of them, jostling around each other claustrophobically. She danced backwards, using her long reach to her advantage as she skirted claws and teeth and threw in a strike here or there. 

One of the kittypets struck hard in the elbow and she limped backwards only for another to lunge in and topple her onto her back again. She hissed and kicked out but this one didn’t give. He sank his teeth into her shoulder and she cried out in pain. The other cat was snapping at her tail. The number of cats was overwhelming, threatening to shut her brain down entirely which was terrifying. She could feel her thoughts spiraling out of control, wondering where Slatepaw was or if Songdust would be able to keep up with the amount of enemies. 

“Barley!” Yarrowshade’s voice snapped her back into the here and now. With a painful tug on her shoulder, the cat on top of her was tackled to the side and she managed to focus long enough to kick the other kittypet hard in the face. She stood and found herself back to back with Yarrowshade, relief flooding through her from every inch of him that pressed up against her. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

“Fine,” she said without looking at him. The kittypet prowled in front of her, looking for a gap in her defense. 

“Get off me!” Yellowkit’s voice screamed above the din and it took all of her restraint not to turn her head towards the sound. 

“The kits,” she gasped.

“Go,” Yarrowshade said, “They need you.” She didn’t wait. Darting sideways, she wove around the thronging combatants, Yarrowshade snarling behind her. She moved as quickly as she could to the nursery, managing to leap and spring past any attacks that came her way until she came upon a smoky tabby hoisting Yellowkit by his scruff, another cat’s tail twitching in the entryway to the nursery as Bluekit screamed inside. 

“Back off!” Barleybee roared, smacking the tabby as hard as she could across the face. There was a righteous satisfaction in the resistance of his flesh against her claws. He reeled and Yellowkit managed to pull out of his grasp. 

“Help!” he wailed, trying to crawl underneath her, which wasn’t exactly helpful. 

“Get in the nursery!” she ordered, landing another sharp blow on the tabby’s head. Yellowkit nodded and rushed past her into the den. Barleybee turned quickly, hoping the tabby stayed down, and latched her teeth into the other rogue’s leg, yanking him backwards until his hindquarters were out of the den. Bluekit screamed even louder and Barleybee gave another frantic tug. 

“What the-” The kittypet wheeled around and swiped at her but she tumbled under the blow and into the nursery. Twisting onto her feet, she slashed at his eyes driving him backwards into the clearing. The two kittypets loomed close, glaring at her but she arched her back and did her best to block the entryway with her body. 

“Bluekit, are you hurt?” she asked over her shoulder.

“No, ma’am,” the kit said, voice trembling. 

“Good,” she nodded. “Both of you stay at the back of the den.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” cried Bluekit.

“Okay,” Yellowkit sniffled. 

“Out of the way, girl,” growled the second rogue, a burly, fawn-colored tom in a green collar.

“No way,” hissed Barleybee. 

“We’re just here for the kits,” said the smoke tabby, much calmer, as if they weren’t in the middle of a bloodbath. “They belong in the city with their mother. It’s wrong to keep them separated like this, surely you can see that.” 

“They’re happy where they are,” she said. “Touch them again and I’ll make you pay for it.” The tabby’s eyes darkened with thought. The fawn tom lunged. 

Barleybee had been waiting and she braced herself against his weight as he tried to shove her backwards into the den, paws skidding in the dirt. She wrapped her paws around his neck and sank her teeth into his cheek, twisting her head with her jaw clamped firmly around his flesh. He hissed in pain, twisted his head with hers to avoid the worst of the pain, and ended up losing his balance, forced to fall back. Barleybee gave him a few more claw wounds to send him on his way. 

The tabby moved in and reared up to swipe at her. Barleybee could tell by his stance that he would be easy to tackle but she ignored the temptation, instead swatting his paws out of the air before they could reach her face. He dropped back down, scowling, and she smirked in return. 

“Nice try,” she said. “I’m not moving.” 

“You’re smart,” said the tabby, “I’ll give you that.” Barleybee couldn’t help but be flattered, even if the cat complimenting her was despicable. When she realized it, her chest seized with panic. Was that a trick? Was he trying to get her to drop her guard with flattery? Had she already made a fatal mistake? She squared her stance, ears pressed back against her head, and bared her teeth. The smoky tabby’s tail twitched irritably. 

“London!” a voice hissed, “What’s the hold up?” Slinking in from the edge of the clearing came a small brown tabby with a dark mask and a silver collar. He glared at the smoky tabby for a beat before turning his cruel green gaze on Barleybee. 

“They’re big kits,” London said. “It’s not so easy to drag them off.” 

“Besides,” growled the fawn cat, “this bitch is blocking the door.” 

“She’s one girl!” the new tabby snapped, tail bristling. “Do your jobs already! Casper and I have already finished ours.” 

“If you’re so competent, do it yourself,” the fawn cat’s lip curled. The masked tabby’s gaze turned venomous. Barleybee took the chance to catch her breath, ears and eyes alert for any sign that one of them was about to move. She had to anticipate their attacks, had to be ready for anything. Yellowkit and Bluekit were counting on her.

Suddenly a new chorus of yowls broke out from the north-west. The movement of the battle shifted, turning towards the flood of cats that was pouring into the clearing. Barleybee’s eyes widened as she saw Snowstar and Orangestar clawing their way side by side into the heart of the fighting. 

“Reinforcements,” London hissed under his breath, his thick fur brushing up. 

“Quickly!” spat the masked tabby. “Let’s grab the kits and leave already!” 

The fawn cat lunged for Barleybee again and this time he took her to the ground. Yellowkit and Bluekit screamed in chorus as he slammed her onto her back. She kicked as hard as she could, trying to tear up his belly, and he twisted off of her, leaving claw marks on her shoulders. 

The nursery had been breached. London darted in over her, moving straight for the kits, only to be suddenly pulled backward by his tail. He yowled in pain, twisted around and slashed at Russetfrond but the deputy held fast to his tail. With another yank, he dragged London back out, stripping a section of his tail of fur. 

“You again,” the masked tabby grumbled, dropping low into a crouch. Russetfrond growled around the tail in his mouth. 

Barleybee quickly rolled to her feet and lunged for the rogue inside the nursery, tearing his fawn pelt in her claws as she chased him up against one of the walls. He kicked her hard in the belly and she stumbled back, trying to make her body as big of a barrier between him and the kittens as she could, but, to her surprise, he took the opportunity to slip through the entrance and take off into the night.

“Coward!” shouted the masked tabby. 

London had finally managed to get Russetfrond to let go of his tail and now he backed up next to the smaller cat. “I think it’s time to go.” Barleybee quickly moved to block the entrance again. Outside, the battlefield had changed dramatically. Now outnumbered, the city cats were starting to fall back one by one, only making the remaining rogues more outnumbered with every second. 

“Sardine, right?” Russetfrond growled, prowling forward. “You’re not going anywhere this time.” Appearing from the crowd, Sparrowsway hissed his agreement and moved to cut off the rear. The masked tabby -- Sardine, it seemed -- glanced warily at both of them, shifting into a smaller, defensive stance. London growled and turned to keep an eye on Sparrowsway, his tail twitching threateningly back and forth. 

A white shape slammed into Russetfrond’s side, pushing him off his feet. The deputy swayed, caught himself, and lurched back at the snub-nosed kittypet who had attacked him. The rogue’s face was drenched in blood, a crimson streak stark against his glossy white fur. Barleybee shuddered at the sight. Whose blood had he spilt? Was it someone she knew? 

“Just in time, Casper,” Sardine purred smugly. He sprang towards Barleybee and she braced herself only to realize he was leaping up over her head to escape. Sparrowsway lunged after him but London tackled him out of the air and they rolled away, hissing violently as they clawed at each other. Barleybee bunched her legs to go after Sardine but froze. She glanced over her shoulder at the kittens huddled frightfully against the wall of the nursery. They stared at her with matching pairs of wide, glistening copper eyes. 

What if she left and they were kitnapped because of her? But wasn’t catching the leader of the city cats a top priority? Her ears fell back against her head as she realized that in her indecision she had made her choice. Swallowing, she braced herself in the entryway again. London and Casper had detached themselves from their opponents in the time she’d spent waffling and fled after their leader. Russetfrond snarled after them for a moment, then his gaze fell on her and he hurried over. 

“Are they alright?” he asked, peering over her shoulder.

“Yes, they’re safe,” she stepped to the side and pressed herself up against the wall to let him in.

“Father!” Bluekit wailed and rushed to press his face into Russetfrond’s fur. Yellowkit was close behind and Barleybee’s chest swelled with emotion as Russetfrond crouched down over his kits and ran his tongue over their pelts. 

“Did they hurt you?” he growled, checking their bellies and sides for wounds.

“They didn’t hurt us,” Bluekit shook his head.

“They were trying to take us away!” Yellowkit sobbed. 

“Those foxhearts,” Russetfrond snarled, curling tightly around his sons. “I’ll make them pay for that.” 

“That’s the last one!” Branchbark’s voice called out. Things had quieted somewhat but the camp was still noisy with the sound of EarthClan and SkyClan’s warriors. 

Stormwhisper leapt up on the Stoneperch and called, “Everyone with a serious injury, please gather over on the big flat stone there! Everyone else, please disperse so that we can tend to the wounded.” The crowd slowly began to separate and drift away from each other. 

Coyotechaser barked, “Someone help me take this kittypet out of camp and bury him.” Beneath her paws lay a tabby and white kittypet with glazed over expression. 

“I’ll help,” said Pantherhaze, limping over to her. Together, they started dragging the body out of camp, thank StarClan. Barleybee sighed, stepped away from the nursery, content that the kittens were safe, and padded over to Sparrowsway. 

He looked her over and asked, “You alright?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded. She had her fair share of claw marks and a bite or two but nothing that needed immediate attention. “You?” 

“I’m fine,” he nodded. “I can’t believe they attacked during the gathering. Mystique must have told them about it.” He glared at the dirt, kneading his claws in frustration. Barleybee frowned worriedly. 

“I guess so…” she mumbled. Self-consciously, she straightened out a few of her feathers that had been knocked askew in the fight. She was certain that a few had fallen out. She’d have to find another cardinal to replace them…

A sudden scream cut through the air. Barleybee’s hackles shot up and her eyes darted across the camp to where Fogpaw was quickly backing out of the healers’ den. The apprentice’s fur stood on end, making her a white puff ball, and her tail arched sharply down behind her, ears pressed against her head. 

“What is it?” Scorchplume bounded over to her and searched her face. Fogpaw shook her head, staring unfocused into the mouth of the den. “Fogpaw, what’s wrong?” Fogpaw shook her head some more, this time meeting Scorch’s gaze, and burst into tears, flinging herself into her mentor’s chest. Scorchplume stiffened and very gingerly pulled the apprentice close, staring at Goldenstar for help. Goldenstar, standing by her den with Orangestar and Snowstar, looked just as lost and extremely concerned. 

After a moment, Floodstrike stepped out of the healer’s den, his paws drenched in thick, dark blood. He looked angrier than Barleybee had ever seen him and his eyes were red with tears. Dread gripped her chest tightly in its claws as the whole clearing held its breath. 

“Sagetooth and Lakepaw are dead,” he said hoarsely. “The herb stores are destroyed.” 

“Oh, stars,” Barleybee breathed. They’d been sick. Undefended. An overwhelming wave of crushing guilt fell over her. She should have known. She should have gone to help them. Someone else would have saved the kittens, she should have rescued Lakepaw. She started to cry as well, paws shaking as the adrenaline crash consumed her. 

“No,” Branchbark sobbed. Quickly, he hurried past Floodstrike into the healers’ den, jostling Floodstrike who failed to step out of the way. 

“Bogmist!” Stormwhisper stood up from where he had been inspecting Ospreymask’s wounds. “I need cobwebs and sorrel right now.” The EarthClan deputy nodded and took off towards the woods. Stormwhisper looked at the nearest non-RisingClan warrior and said, “You! I need fresh moss and water from the river. Go!” Nodding dutifully, Pebblefall leapt to his feet and dashed off into the fields. 

“Floodstrike,” Sparrowsway started towards his brother but Floodstrike turned his head away and stalked out of camp. Sparrowsway paused and looked back at Barleybee. 

She swallowed, sniffed, and said, “I’ll talk to him.” Quickly, she strode across camp to follow him. She caught up with him at the bottom of the hill on the southern side of camp, calling, “Floodstrike, wait!”

“I’m going to kill them,” he spat through tears, still walking. “I’m going to kill every single one of those monsters.”

“Wh- Now?” Barleybee asked, following his gaze towards the glowing orange of the distant city lights. “Floodstrike, that’s impossible! You’re going to get yourself killed!” 

“So what?” he rounded on her, tears streaking down his cheeks. “I have to do something! She needed me and I let her die! I failed her!” 

“You couldn’t have known!” Barleybee pleaded. “It’s not your fault, Floodstrike.” 

“She was my apprentice,” he sniffed harshly. “She looked up to me -- stars, she was so young! She was my little girl and they killed her!”

“I know,” Barleybee’s tears were flowing freely now. “I know, Floodstrike. But trying to take revenge isn’t going to make you feel any better. It will only make you a killer too.” 

“I’m not doing this for me!” he hissed, tail arching, “I’m doing this for her! She’s watching! She deserves to know I’m not just going to accept what they did to her!” 

“She wouldn’t want you to do this,” Barleybee stepped closer. “She was so sweet and kind. She would want you to move on and heal, Floodstrike. Please, come back to camp with me.” She watched his face for a good, long moment. His eyes were blazing with fury and red with grief. His throat rippled with effort. Eventually, he grit his teeth and looked down at his paws, chest shuddering with sobs, and sat down. Barleybee sat down next to him and pressed her head against his. 

“I… I can’t believe she’s gone,” he whispered between breaths. 

“I’m so sorry,” Barleybee pressed firm licks to his cheeks. “I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have to be this way.” Something about that caused him to break down even harder and he collapsed into her side. Barleybee wrapped her arms around his neck and eased him down to the ground. The two of them lay there, holding each other, and Barleybee tried to convince herself that, at the very least, if she couldn’t be there for Lakepaw it was good that she could be there for Floodstrike. 

The thought rang hollow and she spent the rest of the night thinking of what she could have done differently -- what she should have done differently. When they went back for the vigil, she whispered an apology to Lakepaw’s body. When they found white and dark tabby fur under Lakepaw’s claws, Barleybee knew exactly who was responsible but held off on telling Floodstrike. When they went to bed, she, Sparrowsway, and Oddstripe curled tightly around Floodstrike in a single nest, weary eyed and worn. 

Sardine would be held accountable for his atrocities, she vowed, knowing everyone else in camp had likely made the same vow.

[floatingaimlessly333]

>:)

Teen!Simon getting teased teen!Roba + gang at his new school and Johnny stands up for him, shouting at Roba in Gaelic

It was always the same shit. Didn't matter where, didn't matter when, didn't matter who. It was always the same shit.

Simon Riley was destined to be ridiculed and tormented wherever he went, so it was damn stupid of him to think switching schools would change that. It was only a week into the new term, and he had already become the target of another group of arseholes who thought they were better than him. The boys at the group home, his shitty excuse for a father, and now his newest torturer, Manuel Roba; it was like each of them could sense that he was weak, that he was lesser.

Simon had been trying so fucking hard to just ignore Roba and his lackeys. He's sure Nik and Price would be pissed if he got into a fight before they even hit the two week mark, but he couldn't stand it anymore. Every single second he wasn't in a classroom, he had to face jeers and insults and grabs for his mask. He was constantly on the edge of snapping, and he felt powerless to stop what seemed so inevitable at this point.

His only saving grace was Johnny.

Whenever he was able to find a moment of peace amidst all of the chaos, Johnny was right there beside him. But today, he was nowhere in sight. Simon had even gone so far as to actively search for the older boy, but he wasn't in his usual spots. The only thing his hunt did was land him right in the middle of Roba's warpath.

"Where have you been, English? It's almost like you've been avoiding me. Why would you do that, perro cachorro?" Simon could barely suppress a growl at hearing the other boy's taunts. He knew that would just bring on more dog comparisons.

"Roba-"

"Ah, ah, ah. I didn't say speak. Did you forget your commands already? Don't worry, perrito, I'm a very patient trainer."

This is exactly what Simon had been trying to avoid. He knew lashing out wouldn't do him any good, in the long run. It wouldn't stop the bullying. And then all his new teachers would know just how much trouble he was. But he couldn't fucking take it anymore.

He was preparing himself to throw the first punch when he heard footsteps hurrying towards them down the hallway.

"Och, ye fuckin' bawbags! Leave 'im the fuck alone!!" The accent alone clued Simon into the identity of his savior, and he looked up to see his knight in shining footie gear. Honestly, Johnny looked sort of like an angry porcupine at the moment, with sweat making his mohawk look even wilder than usual.

"This isn't your fight, Mactavish. Leave English and I to our little chat."

"Chattin' ma arse. Piss. Off."

Simon had been so busy watching Johnny that he hadn't noticed Roba steadily getting closer until the shorter boy grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie.

"We were just teasing him, hombre. You were having fun, weren't you, English?" Roba gave Simon a firm shake, causing him to hit the set of lockers behind him.

Once again, Simon didn't have time to speak before Johnny was jumping in to save his arse. The angry Scott rammed full speed into Roba, spending the bully careening backwards into his little gang of dickheads.

"Ah said FUCK OFF, YE SACK OF DICKS!!! Na bean ris a-rithist!!! No gearraidh mi dhiot do làmhan! And then I'll shove them up yer flabby arse!!"

Even as Roba and his crew made their slow retreat down the hall, Johnny continued shouting at them in a language Simon couldn't understand. He didn't stop until the other boys were fully out of sight, and even then he let loose a few more words that Si was sure must've been curses.

"If ah dinnae have a football game on Friday, ah would've kicked his arse for ye." He spun around to give Simon a once-over, making sure he wasn't hurt. Satisfied that the other boy was as okay as he could be, he extended his hand towards him. "Well, ahm bloody starving. Wannae go get lunch?"

Speechless, and with a raging blush creeping across his face, Simon took Johnny's hand. And suddenly, all thoughts of Roba and his goons left his mind. He had much better things to focus on at the moment.

Uh oh, this once again came out way longer than expected. >:)

Warning, I speak neither Spanish nor Gaelic, so these translations might not be accurate.

Spanish: perro cachorro=puppy dog; perrito=puppy

Gaelic: Na bean ris a-rithist=Do not touch him again; No gearraidh mi dhiot do làmhan= Or I will cut your hands off

[nottsbitch]

Casual - T.N.

Summary: Just a girl and her favorite situationship, who are strictly "casual". 18+ contains smut.

Frat Boy Theo

✩✩✩✩

In the semi-dark house, all that could be heard was blaring music, making it impossible to hold a conversation.

You had regretted your decision to come as the smell of sweat surrounded you. But unfortunately for you when Theo wasn’t answering your text you knew exactly where to find him.

Every Friday night his frat would throw a themed party, and when this was going on it was almost impossible to get a hold of him.

As you navigated through the large crowd, you finally spotted Theo on the far side of the room, engaged in animated conversation with a girl you didn’t recognize. Her hand rested casually on his arm, and the way Theo laughed at something she said made a pang of jealousy twist in your gut.

The music seemed to drown out, leaving just the sight of them and the gnawing feeling that perhaps he wasn’t as committed to you as you had hoped. It stung to see him so at ease with someone else, and despite the thrumming bass that filled the room, the ache of your jealousy felt deafening.

You took a deep breath and pushed through the crowd, determination set in your stride. When you reached Theo and the girl, you tapped him sharply on the shoulder.

His smile faltered as he turned to face you, the recognition in his eyes quickly replaced by a flicker of surprise. "Theo, we need to talk," you said, your voice steady but edged with frustration.

The girl looked between you two, clearly sensing the tension, and took a step back, giving you both space. Theo's expression shifted from confusion to concern as he tried to gauge the situation. "What's wrong?" he asked, but you could hear the uncertainty in his tone.

"Oh, I thought something might be wrong, but I’m just thrilled to see you’re perfectly fine here, chatting away." Your tone dripped with sarcasm as you gestured toward the girl he’d been talking to.

"Alright let's talk upstairs, Now," He said quickly pushing you to the stairs trying to avoid any onlookers who may have been listening to the conversation.

Once in his bedroom, Theo was quick with attaching his lips to yours, his arms tightening around your waist as he tried to pull you closer and closer.

As he started walking you backwards towards the bed his lips moved down to your neck.

"This isn't talking" You pushed out trying to hold back your moan, Choosing to attempt to stand your ground upset by the way he was acting.

"Can't we talk about this later?" The look he gave you immediately shutting you up.

You watched as Theo walked to his bed sitting down on the edge before motioning you over "Come here" It came out as a whisper as he gestured to his lap.

As much as you didn't want to you found yourself walking towards him, your arms going around his neck when you reached him pulling him in for another kiss. This went on for what felt like forever your lips together, his hands twisting and pulling at your hair every few minutes.

"You know you're my number one girl." He said smiling as his hands began to tug your shirt over your head. He left a trail of kisses on your exposed skin, as he continued to talk about how you had nothing to worry about, though your anger was long forgotten.

You pulled Theo's head back up to yours, your hands running through his hair before you guys were back to undressing each other.

"You're so gorgeous" Was all you heard from Theo which you almost missed because of how low it came out. "Your not leaving this bed until the only thing you remember is my name."

Shivers ran up your spine as you pulled him down to kiss you for the millionth time, this kiss more aggressive than the rest. Theo had his hands on your sides as he moved over your body. Once situated he moved his hands to yours interlacing your fingers as he pinned you into the mattress. Your tongues fought for dominance the only sound heard was the quiet moans coming from both of your mouths. You could feel the warmth radiating off of his body as you used your legs to pull him even closer.

You pulled apart for one moment "I'll never get tired of looking at you" He said, as his eyes hungrily took in your naked body.

You bit your lip trying not to let his words have too much of an effect on you, remembering that sex was the only thing you were ever going to get from this man.

Your core tightened as you guys made eye contact. The feeling of his skin on yours always left you feeling speechless.

When you leaned back in you kissed him more desperate then you ever had before. Not being able to hold back your moans as you ran your hands from his hair to his shoulders, using them to pull him closer if that was even possible.

He bit your lip before pulling away, much to your displeasure. He had his body positioned between your legs. He gripped your hips painfully tight as he started kissing up your thigh.

As you closed your eyes letting out soft whimpers he took the time to look at you, before slowly pushing one long finger into you and quickly pulling it out again. This causes you to open your eyes and look at him. He admired your wetness on his finger before bringing it to his lips and sucking it clean.

You heart was racing out of control at this point just waiting for him to make a move.

"I want to hear every noise you make, Don't try and stay quiet. Got it?" The most you could do was nod your head. He ran his hand through your hair, moving down your body until he reached where you needed him most.

The next thing you knew, his fingers were on you clit, rubbing slowly. You let out a cry from the pleasure "Theo... Don't stop!"

And he didn't, his fingers continued to work as he moved his head next to yours whispering in your ear "I wouldn't dream of stopping now."

The feeling of his hand caused your arousal to take over your mind. Your legs were starting to shake as your head fell back, every sound coming out of your mouth like you couldn't hold it in. The sounds were going to his head causing him to speed up his pace bringing you closer and closer to your release.

She had never felt this much pleasure moaning loudly as he held your hips, stopping you from grinding against his hand. Then before you expected it a wave of pleasure came over your entire body.

You cried out sharply as Theo continued his pace letting you ride out your orgasm.

That was the start of your night and later as you laid next to a snoring Theo, you could only think how things didn't feel so casual to you .

✩✩✩✩

I'm literally so bad at writing smut if this is bad just let me stay blissfully ignorant

[owuwi]

NATALIE SCATORCCIO

summary: she can't be into you, so why not distance herself?

pairings: natalie scatorccio x fem!r

warnings: angst, a tiny bit suggestive, detailed description of throwing up, internalized homophobia from natalie

2.0k words

Natalie wasn't into girls. She wasn't opposed to fucking them but she wasn't romantically attracted to them. Or at least that's what she thought until she started seeing you in a different way.

You were the whole package; not only were you easy on the eyes but you actually cared about Natalie. That's why she immediately started to distance herself from you the moment she realized that she was starting to get too attached.

A bit of context here; you were Nat's person. You were the only one who she trusted enough to talk about every single shit that happened to her. You were always there for her no matter what and she even tried to 'return the favor' and be there for you — though it didn't always work but at least she tried —.

You protected her, you defended her and she — grumpily — allowed you to. She'd be lying if she said that it didn't make her feel good, that it didn't make her feel safe, but she simply wasn't ready to admit it. She wasn't someone easy to be around, let alone date, so she thought that avoiding you was her way of protecting you back.

Your friends and even Natalie's didn't understand why you were so persistent about her, why you tried so hard to show people that she wasn't a bitch or any of those terrible things they called her, but you weren't doing it for them, you were doing it for Nat. You needed her to stop being so harsh on herself. Your efforts didn't go unnoticed by the dirtyblonde-haired girl, in fact, it only made her like you even more.

She skipped school today which was something you were already used to, but you were worried about her thanks to the fact that she hasn't been calling you back nor meeting you at your spot — yeah, you and Natalie had a secret place where you would meet each other before school —. That's why you built every ounce of courage and decided to pay her a visit after your classes.

Natalie's house — trailer — wasn't unknown to you but you never actually walked there without her permission. She was always telling you when to show up or not, and it was always at times when she was completely alone. You were obviously aware of the issues she had with her family which is why you never visited her unless she told you to, and you prayed that this visit wouldn't get her in trouble.

You knew she was home alone by the sight of her sitting on the stairs of her trailer, a bunch of light-out cigarets and a pair of empty bottles — most likely of booze — scattered around the pavement. Seeing Natalie like this pained you more than she understood but you knew you needed to be strong for her, that's why you walked closer to her, ready to help her in any way possible.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Natalie, though, didn't seem happy by your presence at all. The slim girl immediately stood up after letting out those slurred words, her voice as rough and deep as always.

You knew she was just drunk and payed no attention to her sharp tone of voice, instead, you took a deep breath and approached her even more. There was an odd tension between the two of you; the air suddenly thickening around you, the sounds of the trailer park muffling as your feet moved towards the girl.

"I asked you a question." She spoke again, looking at you with a mix of confusion and discomfort in her gaze. The way she was staring at you was enough to send shivers down your spine, a look you've never received from Natalie before.

Making her mad was definitely not going to be a good thing, especially not when you were trying to get answers for her startled behavior. "I was worried.." Is all that managed to come out of your mouth, your voice sounding shaky and stuttered. It was obvious that Nat was drunk — you could now smell the alcohol on her breath due to how close she was —, hence is why you understood that she wasn't in her right mind.

The girl in front of you simply scoffed, a cold, raspy noise coming from the back of her throat and slipping past her cut-clad lips. You'd be lying if you said you've never thought about kissing them, about feeling them pressing against every inch of your body. Though right now wasn't the moment to be thinking about that stuff, it was almost as if Natalie could read your mind; her eyebrows furrowing slightly as she stares at you.

"Leave me alone, don't you understand that i don't want you close to me? Or are you so fucking stupid that you can't realize something as simple like that?" She quickly asked again, but you could see the way her bottom lip was slightly trembling while she looks at you.

"What's going on, Nat? Why are you acting like this?" You couldn't help but to ask your friend, shifting even closer to her, your words dripping with serious concern and affection — which was definitely not helping her with her mixed feelings —.

Natalie wanted nothing more but to yell at you, to punch you until you were a bloody mess on the pavement, but she couldn't. There was never a violent — hell, not even a negative — thought about you in her mind. For her, you were perfect; an angel sent from heaven to keep her safe. Despite how fuzzy her head was due to all the alcohol and cigarets she had, you were all she could think about.

That's why she grabbed the collar of your shirt and crashed her lips against yours, so roughly that you swore your lips were going to bruise. It was a quick kiss, though messy and filled with anger, it wasn't enjoyable. You couldn't even kiss her back, your hands hovering over her sides but not fully resting against them. What were you supposed to do? Natalie kissed you like some sort of rabid animal — grunts slipping past her lips — and you could taste the cigarets and licor she previously had.

She pulled away some moments later, allowing her forehead to rest against your own, and everything was quiet for some moments. "Because of you... why can't you fucking see that?" She rasped out, her eyes slowly fluttering open to look at you.

There was an evident hint of lust in the girl's gaze but there was something else; a hint of fear glimmering in her eyes. You knew she wasn't doing well yet you couldn't bring yourself to say anything, you were paralyzed — her taste still lingering in your tongue —.

"I can't do this shit... you know that.." She continued talking before closing her eyes and pushing you away — which caused you to stumble back a bit —, acting as if you were the one who kissed her. She then ran her fingers through her ruffled hair, clearly trying to hold back her emotions.

Despite still being quite in shock, you knew that you needed to say something before she dugs herself further into this messy hole. That's why, after taking a deep breath and really thinking about your words, you speak up; "Y-You're... too drunk. Let me help you, please.." You weakly muttered out, offering her a small, almost shy smile before gently reaching out to grab her hand.

Now, Natalie was definitely not a touchy person. She actually hated to be touched — always flinching whenever someone got too close — but you were different. You were you, and she would always allow you to do whatever you wanted with her — though she wouldn't say it out loud —. So seeing the way she roughly slaps your hand away and then takes a step backwards hurt you more than you thought it could.

"Don't—...." She trailed off, looking at you with parted lips for a moment before lightly shaking her head side-to-side and then turning around. She sat down on the edge of the stairs once again, resting the back of her head against the door of the trailer. "Don't touch me.." She managed to continue her sentence, looking up at you like a kicked puppy.

Her eyes were red and filled with un-shed tears, her body visibly shaking, and you knew that was going on in her head. She needed her person right now — she needed you — and you could tell. Even though she was going to complain, you simply sat down next to her and then let out a sigh. You couldn't look at her, you were confused. Did Nat liked you? Did she wanted to be something more than just friends? Or was it the booze in her system? Millions of thoughts were racing through your mind until the sound of her voice snapped you back into reality.

"My uh... m-my dad's gonna be here any time soon... you should leave.." She warned you, looking over at you through hooded eyes, a hint of concern hidden in her words. Despite everything, she still cared about you.

"I'm not leaving you... especially not when you're like this." You quickly protested before bitting down on your bottom lip. An idea crossed your mind, an idea drunken-Natalie wouldn't enjoy, and you knew it was the right thing to do. Before the dirtyblonde-haired girl could say anything, you spoke again.

"You should come with me, you're in no state to see your—... dad." You then added, your voice cracking with nervous and even hesitation. There was a glimpse of anger noticeable in the girl's eyes for a moment before she looked away from you, her face turning into a wince before she threw up on the pavement.

You immediately grabbed her hair and hold it up for her, using your free hand to slowly rub soothing circles on her back — the fabric of her t-shirt soaked in cold sweat —. Natalie Scatorccio was probably the most stubborn person you've ever met, yet you hoped that she would allow you to help her in this moment.

"Please, just—... make it stop.." She weakly stuttered out, not being able to stop the warm liquid slipping past her lips. Natalie liked the effect of being drunk but she absolutely despised the consequences; puking and then being hangover the next day. The way she was acting like a little kid was only breaking your heart even more.

"C'mon..." You simply indicated before helping her get up, ignoring the putrefying smell of her vomit. You've helped Natalie during moments like this plenty of times yet you never truly realized how messed up it was; how fucked up it was.

The drunk girl was literally shaking, her body seeming much smaller than it ever did, and she was weak. She would never admit it but she was weak; she was so weak that she could barely walk on her own. If it wasn't for you, she'd probably be passed out on the cold floor, waiting for the inevitable to happen.

The next hours were a blur for the two of you; you managed to get her into your car and drove her to your house. Your family were — thankfully — out of town so you had your house to yourself. Natalie was mumbling nonsense under her breath the whole time you helped her into your place, you assisted her with brushing her teeth and even bathed her. In another time, another moment, the pair of you would've joked about this; you probably would've crack a joke or two, but this was different. Nat was barely conscious and she wasn't herself.

After giving her some fresh clothes, you lied her on your bed and she immediately passed out.

It was until midnight where she roused and she couldn't help but to break, tears rolling down the pale skin of her cheeks like a cascade. You obviously woke up yet you didn't say anything, you simply wrapped your arms around her figure and she allowed you to — she was so weak for you —.

With her head on your chest, she eventually calmed down, her lips parting to mumble out some simple words. "I'm so—... so sorry.."

[fatal-thoughts]

A Lovely Exchange

Telemachus x Servant! Reader

Synopsis: Telemachus already fights off his mother’s suitors, but what if he manages to become one? To… one of the palace’s servants?

warnings: slow burn, flustered Telemachus, puppy love, assault, threats

A/N: This is fluffier than what I usually write, but I couldn't help it. I love him sm wtf

Part 1 of ???

You went about your routines as usual—watering the garden, cleaning the halls, fixing any imperfections in the palace, and even helping other servants when needed.

It wasn’t unusual to see you wandering around the palace; after all, you were the queen’s favorite assistant.

No one really knew why or how you and the queen were so close, not even you. But you knew there were both benefits and drawbacks to it.

Including being a target of the 108 suitors now living under the same roof as you.

As much as you wanted to continue your duties as usual, they never failed to hinder your responsibilities.

You were heading toward the palace dining room. Though it was the last place you wanted to go, you had to pass through it to reach the kitchen to prepare something for the queen—who also refused to set foot in there.

So far, so good, until you stepped into the hallway. The once loud and distracted suitors were now eyeing you.

You swallowed nervously, the lump in your throat growing, but continued forward, treading slowly so as not to attract more attention than you already had.

You made it to the end of the hall, believing you were safe, until you felt someone grab your wrist and pull so hard you almost lost your balance. You looked up and saw one of the queen’s most persistent suitors: Antinous.

The man had a proud smirk on his face as he looked down at you, still holding onto your wrist. He’d made multiple attempts to converse with you, all of which you declined, so you weren’t entirely surprised that he’d resorted to these measures.

"Ah, well, if it isn’t the lovely slave herself.”

That pissed you off.

You knew you couldn’t do anything about it, but if you could, you’d have slapped him by now. Instead, you jerked your arm away from him.

But that didn’t stop him. He grabbed you again, this time by the arm, with a much tighter and more painful grip, making you gasp in pain.

“Whoa now, where do you think you’re going? You don’t think you can just run off that easily, do you?” he taunted, leaning closer to your neck, his voice low.

“We want the queen, and since she’s unavailable, I guess we’ll have to settle for you.”

You glanced behind you, noticing all the men in the hall staring at you with intense gazes filled with hunger, desire, and thirst.

Frightened, you hurriedly tried to break free from Antinous’s grip. He chuckled softly, holding you tighter and pulling you closer. You struggled with all your strength until, finally, he let go. But it wasn’t because of your effort.

His gaze had shifted—he was no longer looking at you, but at something, or someone, else.

Backing away from him, you looked behind him and saw none other than the queen’s son, Telemachus.

He was gripping his sword, pointing it at Antinous.

“Leave her alone.”

You were surprised, to say the least. You and Telemachus had never really spoken. He usually avoided you whenever he ran into you.

You never understood why. Every time you saw him, he’d dash away like a startled deer.

But now, here he was, standing in front of you, holding a sword to one of the suitor’s neck.

Antinous raised his hands sarcastically, a smug grin on his face as he glanced between Telemachus and you.

“Alright, I’ll leave her be, little wolf.”

He walked past you, but as he did, he whispered, “Don’t think I’m done with you yet, slave.”

You recoiled instantly as he let out a shameless laugh.

You and Telemachus watched him walk away, and then you quickly exited the dining hall.

Catching your breath, you adjusted your hair and robes, trying to calm yourself. No suitor had ever approached you with such aggression before, and now Antinous had gone to these lengths? It was terrifying.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you realized Telemachus was still standing in front of you, staring at you like a deer caught by a hunter.

You raised a brow, confused. Did he see something?

“My prince, are you… alright?” you asked, still somewhat shaken. After all, he did just save you. Maybe he was in shock?

“Shit, shit, shit, shit—” was what was running through Telemachus’s mind as he stood there.

He hadn’t really thought he’d get this far. All he saw was you in danger, and his instincts had taken over.

But now that he had actually saved you, talking to you afterward wasn’t part of the plan—if he even had a plan.

He was practically begging the gods that you wouldn’t notice the inconvenient pink hue on his cheeks because that would only make things worse.

He had gone to such lengths to avoid you, to ignore you, to ward you off—foolish attempts, all of them—and now here you were, standing right in front of him.

He waited for you to tell him that you knew. Knew he admired you, probably too much.

His lips quivered slightly as he stared at you, unable to stop himself. Come to think of it, he’d never noticed how beautiful you were up close. The shape of your nose, how perfectly it fit your face. The look in your eyes, with the soft tint of color. And your lips, how pretty they looked, even when they smiled just a little.

“Fuck, I’m staring,” he muttered under his breath, snapping out of his trance.

Which you definitely heard.

You tilted your head slightly. Was he okay? Had Antinous done something to him?

No, he was just a nervous wreck because his childhood crush was standing right in front of him, and he was so not prepared.

If Athena was watching him right now, this was definitely not a battle she had prepared him for.

With a silent, desperate cry, he cleared his throat, trying to make the situation less embarrassing than it already was.

“I-I’m fine. How are you?”

…

Seriously? THAT’S the best you could do?

He stared at the ground, trying to mask his shame. Maybe if he couldn’t see you, you couldn’t see him either, right? Zeus might as well strike him down with lightning.

He was about to punch himself when he heard something.

You were… laughing?

He looked up to see you covering your mouth, short giggles escaping your lips.

Was it bad that he found them so pretty?

Eventually, you calmed down.

“Thank you, my prince, for saving me back there. Truthfully, I wouldn’t know what to do if you hadn’t come to my aid. So, thank you.”

You bowed your head, expressing your gratitude.

“How can I repay you, my princ—”

“N-No! It’s fine, please! I don’t need anything. You’re safe, that’s all that matters. I wouldn’t want anything bad happening to you, so just…”

And now he was rambling.

Nice going, Telemachus. Might as well confess to her right here and now, right? Just go for it!

Before he could continue his spiral, both of you noticed a familiar silhouette approaching. As she got closer, you immediately recognized her.

And she did not seem pleased.

“Queen Penelope! Forgive me, I was delayed on my way to the kitchen. I’ll quickly fetch your meal as you requested—”

“No, it’s alright, Y/n. You are not the one I am concerned with.”

Her gaze shifted sharply to Telemachus, her eyes almost piercing through him.

The boy’s soul nearly escaped his body when he saw the way his mother looked at him.

“Son, come with me.” Penelope turned and walked away without another word.

Telemachus glanced back at you, taking in your beautiful presence one last time.

“I…”

“Quickly, Telemachus.”

If there was one thing he didn’t want to do, it was anger his mother. He feared her more than any god.

“I’lltalktoyoulaterbye!” he blurted out as he hurried to catch up with her.

That… was something. For a first impression, it wasn’t that bad, right?

Right?

Ah, shit.

He followed Penelope as they walked through the halls, still unsure of where they were headed, but he kept his pace with her.

Eventually, they reached the palace garden. A place where Penelope liked to unwind, where Telemachus often rested, and where you, conveniently, loved to work.

The queen sat beside the marble fountain, and Telemachus followed suit. A comfortable silence fell between them as they enjoyed the peaceful moment. It had been some time since they’d spent time together, and both of them treasured even the smallest moments.

“You like her, don’t you, son?”

…

Wait… WHAT?

So, what do you think?

[wheneverfeasible]

Based off this post because I’ve lost all control of my life.

cw: sex trafficking, reference to non-con

Modern au. FBI au. Stobin became inseparable when they both started training in the FBI around the same time, though it started as a bit of not-so-friendly rivalry at first. Robin felt like she had to prove herself as a woman in the FBI, while Steve felt like he had to prove himself as a legacy who has always been a disappointment to his father. A fateful rookie hazing that went a little too far bonded them inseparably, however, and now years later they are the go-to team amongst the younger agents.

Also if you try to separate them then all hell will break loose.

Anyways, so one day there’s need for undercover work. They’ve been tracking this sex trafficking ring for a while and they finally believe they’ve discovered the mastermind behind it all, some newly famous rockstar called Eddie “The Freak” Munson.

So someone needs to dress up like a prostitute and infiltrate their ranks to get hard evidence to put this lowlife away once and for all. As she’s really the only girl on the team that fits the age demographic, Robin is picked as the fake prostitute. Except…well, let’s face it, she’s never been the most feminine of girls. Not a true butch or anything, more a soft futch than anything, but dresses and high heels and makeup? Yeah no.

As soon as Robin wobbles herself out (falling face first in the process) it’s not just Steve immediately telling her no and to go change back into her FBI kit because she looks super uncomfortable and there’s no way they can make her do this, whether or not she could even convincingly play the role to begin with.

And so comes in Steve.

Now, Steve isn’t exactly femme either. While he’s certainly not the butchest agent on their team, he was a jock in high school and even now still picks up the occasional game with civilians or other agents when free time allows. What had once been a respectful firmness to his stomach was now a verifiable six pack, his biceps and thighs filling his clothes out nicely as his FBI workout regimen added some muscle mass.

But there was more to Steve than just the stereotypical musclehead jock. Steve had also been a bit of a prep in high school, and even now still brought some of that with him in his civvies and beauty regimens, especially with his hair. He also opposed to a bit of a shiny lipgloss when the mood hit. And secretly? He’s always wanted do undercover work like this. And it’s not like the victims were only girls.

Plus, though Robin would call him sexist for it, he didn’t like the idea of sending Robin or any other woman into the pits of hell alone like that.

Steve struts out of the changing room wearing the skimpiest outfit he’s ever seen in his life (think like, Julia Roberts’s first outfit in Pretty Woman), except he didn’t shave at all so his hair thighs and chest hair still poke out. There’s no hiding his physique, so he’s going for the whole hairy thing, and he knows it works for him. For any gender.

With a grace that might belie that this isn’t his first time in heels, Steve is on his way to the hotel where all this is going down, slipping in easily, Steve starts casing the place and compiling evidence before the big event that night where hopefully they catch Munson in the act of selling victims to the highest bidder.

Except, while sneaking around trying to gather as much evidence as possible, he runs into Munson himself. Not in some big penthouse full of drugs and weapons and whatever else used to keep the product in line, but in a small little unused room Steve had slipped into to avoid one of the muscled “bodyguards” Munson kept on hand.

No, Steve slipped in and found an anxiously pacing dweeb of man in Garfield sleep trousers and what looked like a homemade shirt with the graphic of a devil face on it, black polished nails being gnawed at by the hunched over form. The figure with frazzled hair matched the images of the mastermind he had seen, though he looked startling different from the persona he put on in public.

Munson’s eyes bugged out a little when he walked in, his eyes taking in Steve’s form with an appreciation that made Steve smug at being the correct choice for this sting after all, but then Munson was groaning in a less appreciative way and slapping his hands to his face.

“I told Dad I didn’t want a fucking hooker,” he mumbled to himself, before dropping his hands with a wince as he held up his hands beseechingly. “Sorry, nothing wrong with prostitutes, darling, I just…now is really not a good time.”

And…huh. Okay. This was the Big Bad Boogeyman who had been giving them the slip for almost a year now? He looked like a wet rat despite being completely dry.

So Steve struts some more, plays his part, simpers and encourages Munson’s eyes to focus on his bare skin and not the slight bulge to his thigh high heeled boots where his gun and handcuffs were hidden. And Munson looks, because Steve is hot and he’s only human, but he also looks really really nervous and lets out a choked giggle when Steve pulls out his charm.

And then Munson again apologizes, says he never met a prostitute before he and he seems like a really nice boy but that he wasn’t the one who hired him and he’s not looking for sex right now, just wanting to get through tonight and go home to his cats, Smaug and Shelob.

Which is unexpected. Even more so when Munson claims he didn’t even want to be there in the first place, that his dad was in charge of setting up the event, though he did so in Munson’s—Eddie’s—name, just as he had been doing ever since Eddie first caught a break for his music in high school. Had dragged Eddie away from his garage band and friends and instead threw Eddie headlong into being a solo artist and creating the persona of The Freak, acting as a kind of shadow manager. Working behind the curtains so that barely anyone even knew he existed.

And…oh. Ohhhhh. Suddenly, Steve didn’t think Eddie was the mastermind they were after. He just looked like nervous kid (who was technically older than Steve but whatever) thrown into the a spotlight not of his own making and made the scapegoat for all of his father’s illegal activities.

Not that Eddie knew anything about the current operation, that was more than evident. He thought it was an actual auction for like antiques and shit. Thought the only person being sold that night was a date with him, his father’s idea. It was why he was hiding out in an unused room to have a little freak out away from everyone treating him like a doll to do whatever they wanted.

But his father had suggested bringing in some hookers to help him calm down, which Eddie had rejected, but which he now thought was what Steve was. Just a hooker his father had bought for the night to help his son relax.

And Steve thought his father was a piece of work.

They talk, Eddie’s nervousness and discomfort in his life causing him to spill secrets he otherwise never would have, not just about his father’s past but also his own, talking about how much he missed his high school band, the Dungeons & Club he used to run, his uncle he hasn’t seen in years, and just a life where he could live it how he wanted.

Much to his surprise, Steve also revealed some truths about himself. Not about his real job, of course, but about his own father, about not ever being good enough for him or his mother, about how they had always held his inheritance over his head until he’d told them to stuff it and that he wasn’t going to marry some socialite of their choosing. He smudged some details about his work, which he felt weirdly guilty for, but needs must.

And well, Eddie’s babble reveals that they really have to change the focus of the sting, which means Steve needs to get a message to Robin pronto. Luckily, she should be nearby undercover as one of the hotel staff with a couple other agents.

Steve does get the message out, but in the process the truth is accidentally revealed to Eddie and he is devastated. He had known his father wasn’t a good man, but he hadn’t realized just how evil he was. He was also, surprisingly, hurt by the knowledge that Steve was just doing his job and the connection he had thought they’d formed wasn’t real.

Except, as Eddie worked with the FBI to take down the operation, getting shot by his own father in the process in a misguided attempt to protect Steve, Steve can’t help but wonder if maybe there was a genuine connection after all.

Later, Steve visits Eddie in the hospital, bypassing the armed guards outside because, while they have proof it was Al Munson behind the sex trafficking and forcing the victims into prostitution, Eddie is still a person of interest as a witness and they still need to fully clear his name regarding any knowing involvement.

Robin, of course, was sick of hearing Steve mooning about Eddie and encouraged the meeting, though she later regretted it when it just caused Steve to talk more about the former rockstar—Eddie was quitting, hating the lonely fame, and wanting to reach out to his old friends and apologize for abandoning them. She was fond of the man’s cats, however, going with Steve to make certain they were taken care of while Eddie was convalescing in the hospital.

Later again, once Eddie is cleared and the trial is over and Al is rotting behind bars, Steve meets up with Eddie when it’s no longer a conflict of interest. He also reveals that he kept his undercover outfit and the two of them put it to good use.

Robin, meanwhile, has likewise grown closer to one of the former victims, a young woman by the name of Chrissy. She had helped her and the others deal with everything, especially those who felt uncomfortable around the male agents. Eddie of course apologizes profusely to her when they meet, but Chrissy knows he wasn’t a part of it and actually helped save her and the others in the end, bringing him into a hug that helps heal the both of them a little bit more.

Steve and Robin and the rest of the team are honored for their work, but to them the real honor is in the loving embrace of those they saved, and who in their own way saved Steve and Robin too.

-

Hostage tags: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump

[missdirection26]

Joel Millers hair was going to be the death of you (Chapter Two)

Summary: After the kiss at the dance, you wonder if anything else would come of it

Word count: 2.5k

Rating: Mature (just for swearing and drinking)

Tags: Jackson!Joel, Fluff, Angst with a happy ending, Romance, First Date

Chapter Two (Chapter One - here)

Also, finished this chapter as I wanted to join in @justagalwhowrites Joel Birthday Celebration, and this is a cutesy Jackson Joel with Friends to Lovers fic. I just want the old man to be happy and content, living out his life in Jackson with his family!

A few days had passed since the Winter Dance, but the memory of Joel’s kiss had haunted you every night. His scent—whiskey and woodsmoke—seemed to cling to your skin long after you'd parted ways. You hadn’t seen him since that night, and despite telling yourself you needed to move on, the yearning gnawed at you. Something had shifted between the two of you, and no amount of distilling could take your mind off it.

You were busy now, though. With the dance over, your operation had scaled back to a more manageable pace, and you were grateful to get back to some semblance of normalcy. Still, you couldn’t help but glance toward the door of your makeshift distillery every time you heard footsteps. Part of you knew it was irrational to expect him to just show up—but deep down, you wanted him to. The idea of Joel standing in your doorway again, maybe with that same look in his eyes from the dance, made your chest ache.

It was nearing dusk when there was a knock at the door. For a second, you hesitated, but before you could convince yourself it was someone else, you swung it open.

And there he was. Joel stood on your threshold, hands in his pockets, looking as if he’d been debating whether or not to knock for a while.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, rough.

“Hey yourself.” You stepped back, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

Joel hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside. His eyes scanned the distillery, the barrels lined up against the wall, the equipment you’d scavenged over the years. It wasn’t much, but it was yours, and it kept Jackson in good spirits - literally. He seemed to take it all in before his gaze landed back on you.

“I brought you somethin’,” he said, pulling a hand from his pocket. He held out a small wooden carving - a bird this time, wings spread wide as if in mid-flight. You smiled as you took it, turning it over in your hands.

“You spoil me, Miller,” you said, brushing your fingers over the finely carved details. “What’s the occasion?”

Joel’s eyes flickered toward the floor, then back up at you. He seemed to wrestle with his words, and for a moment, the two of you stood in the quiet hum of the distillery.

“Wanted to talk about the other night,” he finally said, his voice steady but cautious. “About… what happened.”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling a knot form in your throat. It wasn’t regret you felt- definitely not. But the uncertainty, the vulnerability that had come with that kiss, it all came rushing back. You hadn’t thought too much beyond the moment itself, hadn’t let yourself consider what it meant. Now, standing here in the soft glow of the distillery’s lights, you realised you couldn’t avoid it any longer.

“Joel…” you started, unsure where to begin. “That night - it was…” You trailed off, not wanting to call it a mistake, but unsure of how to describe it otherwise.

Joel stepped closer, his presence filling the space between you. His eyes softened as he looked at you, like he could see right through the walls you’d spent years building.

“I’m not good at this,” he admitted, his voice a low rasp. “I don’t… I don’t have the right words, but I didn’t want to leave it hangin’ in the air. I ain’t blind - I know we’ve been dancin’ around somethin’ for a while now. And I need to know… if that’s what you want, too.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his directness. For years, you’d thought Joel kept his distance, that he wasn’t interested in anything beyond the whiskey you traded and the occasional conversation. But here he was, laying it out in front of you like a hand of cards, waiting to see if you’d fold or match his bet.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, your voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t think you… I didn’t think you wanted that kind of thing.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that rumbled low in his chest. “I didn’t think I did either. But with you…” His words trailed off as he took another step closer, his hand reaching up, almost instinctively, to brush a stray hair from your face. His touch was gentle, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “With you, I’m thinkin’ maybe I do.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and for a long moment, you couldn’t find the words to respond. This was Joel - gruff, hard-edged Joel - standing in your distillery and telling you he wanted more. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“I didn’t think I could do this again,” you admitted, surprising yourself with the confession. “After Talia, I just… I didn’t think I had it in me.”

Joel’s expression softened, and he took another step forward, until there was barely any space left between the two of you. “I get it,” he murmured. “I thought I’d lost that part of me, too. But you… you’ve been gettin’ under my skin for years now. Maybe it’s time we stop fightin’ it.”

You couldn’t help but let out a short, breathless laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”

His lips twitched into the faintest smile. “Ain’t nothin’ about this easy. But we’ve both survived worse, haven’t we?”

The air between you felt charged, like one wrong move could send the whole thing crashing down. But as Joel stood there, his hand still brushing against your cheek, you realised you didn’t want to back away from this. Not anymore.

“Yeah,” you said quietly, leaning into his touch. “We have.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. And then, as if drawn by some invisible force, Joel’s lips found yours again. This kiss wasn’t hesitant like the last - it was certain, slow, like the two of you had all the time in the world. His hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you melted into him, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, Joel rested his forehead against yours. “We can take this slow,” he murmured. “Figure it out as we go.”

You nodded, feeling something uncoil in your chest - something that had been wound tight for far too long.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I think I’d like that.”

And for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to feel hopeful.

–

The next few days after your conversation with Joel felt like a dream, a slow, simmering anticipation building in the quiet moments when you were alone. You didn’t know what to expect - Joel Miller wasn’t exactly the “romantic” type. Still, when he suggested you go on a “proper date” after his patrol, you had to suppress the giddy smile threatening to creep across your face. He told you to meet him by the grain store barn at sunset, and though he didn’t say much more, the subtle warmth in his eyes was enough to send your mind racing.

As the day drew closer, you tried not to think too much about it. You told yourself to keep it simple. After all, this was Joel - gruff, practical, no-nonsense Joel. It wasn’t going to be anything elaborate, and that was fine with you. But still, you found yourself lingering a little longer in front of the mirror, brushing your hair with more care than usual.

You made your way to the barn just as the sun began to sink below the horizon, casting the town of Jackson in soft shades of amber and pink. Your heart thrummed in your chest as you neared the building, half-expecting to find Joel leaning against the fence, all casual and unbothered like he usually was. But when you rounded the corner, you saw something entirely different.

Joel was there, all right, but he wasn’t just waiting. He’d set up a small table just outside the barn, far enough from the bustle of town that you’d have privacy, but close enough that the soft sounds of life still carried on the breeze. On the table sat two mismatched plates and a couple of candles - an attempt at elegance despite the rough surroundings. Next to the table was a small firepit he must have made earlier, its flames flickering gently in the dusk.

You blinked, completely taken aback. This was... more effort than you had expected. A lot more.

Joel stood there, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always did when he was nervous. When he saw your expression, he gave you a lopsided, slightly sheepish smile. “It ain’t much,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “But I figured we deserved somethin’... nice.”

You couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face. “Joel, this is... this is more than nice. It’s perfect.”

He let out a breath he must’ve been holding, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Good. I wasn’t sure if you were the candlelight kinda girl.”

You chuckled softly, stepping closer to the table. “Normally, I’m not, but for you? I can make an exception.”

The fire crackled softly in the background as Joel pulled out the chair for you, his hand brushing yours as you sat down. There was a tension in the air - not the kind of tension you’d felt all those years when you were tiptoeing around each other, but something softer, more promising.

Joel sat across from you, and the two of you shared a comfortable silence for a moment, the warmth of the fire keeping the evening chill at bay. The flickering light cast soft shadows on Joel’s face, and you found yourself staring at him longer than you intended, memorising every detail - the lines etched into his skin, the silver threading through his sparse beard, the way his hair curled just above his ears (he still hadn’t cut it, thank whatever deity may be out there). He looked more at ease than you’d ever seen him, and that alone was enough to make your chest tighten.

After a moment, Joel reached into a small cooler at his feet and pulled out two bottles of beer - your beer. He handed you one with a grin. “Figured it’s only right, seein’ as you’re the expert.”

You laughed, accepting the bottle and taking a long sip. “You know how to charm a girl.”

Joel gave a low chuckle, taking a drink from his own bottle. “Wasn’t sure what to cook,” he said, nodding toward a small pot hanging over the fire. “But Ellie swore up and down I couldn’t screw up stew. So… stew it is.”

The mention of Ellie made you smile. You knew how much she meant to him - how the work he did around Jackson was always to keep her safe. The fact that he’d even mentioned this “date” to her was surprising, but it made you feel a little more grounded in whatever this thing between you was becoming.

“I’m sure it’s great,” you said, leaning back in your chair, feeling the warmth of the fire seep into your skin. “I’m not too picky. Anything cooked over a fire tastes better anyway.”

Joel gave a quiet hum of agreement, stirring the pot with slow, careful movements. He looked content, peaceful in a way that seemed foreign to both of you. You hadn’t seen Joel like this before - not so open, so relaxed. And you liked it.

As the stew simmered and the conversation flowed, you found yourselves slipping into the same comfortable banter that had always been there between you. Joel teased you about the time you accidentally mixed up batches of whiskey and moonshine, and you shot back about his less-than-graceful attempts at fixing the leaky roof on the distillery. It felt easy, natural, like nothing had really changed, even though everything had.

When the stew was ready, Joel served you both, and the two of you ate in the firelight, the sound of the wind rustling through the trees. It was simple, but perfect, exactly what you both needed after years of surviving and making do with whatever scraps of happiness you could find.

After the meal, you leaned back in your chair, staring up at the night sky, the stars just beginning to blink into existence. Joel was quiet beside you, but you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the intensity of it making your skin warm.

“What’re you thinking about?” you asked, glancing over at him.

Joel hesitated for a moment, then shook his head with a soft, almost embarrassed smile. “Just thinkin’ ‘bout how long I’ve been fightin’ this.”

“Fighting what?”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his eyes still fixed on you. “This,” he said, gesturing between the two of you. “You. For years, I told myself I wasn’t ready. That I couldn’t… let anyone in again. But now… now I’m wonderin’ why the hell I waited so long.”

His words settled over you like a blanket, warm and comforting. You’d felt the same way - terrified of opening yourself up, of letting anyone get too close. But here you were, with Joel, on what was undoubtedly the best date you’d had in years. Hell, maybe the best date you’d ever had.

You smiled, reaching across the small table to take his hand in yours. “Maybe we just needed time,” you said softly, your thumb tracing circles on the back of his hand. “We both had a lot of walls to break down.”

Joel’s fingers tightened around yours, his grip firm but gentle. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, but when he finally looked up at you, there was something different in his eyes - something deeper, more vulnerable than you’d ever seen before.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Maybe you’re right.”

You stayed like that for a while, sitting in the quiet, your hands intertwined. It was enough. For the first time in a long time, you weren’t worried about what came next. You weren’t thinking about tomorrow, or the dangers that lurked just beyond the safety of Jackson. All that mattered was the here and now—the firelight, the stars, and the man sitting across from you, his hand warm in yours.

As the night wore on, the fire began to die down, the embers glowing faintly in the dark. Joel stood, offering you his hand to help you up, and when you took it, he didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt both protective and tender.

“You wanna walk me home, cowboy?” you teased, looking up at him with a grin.

Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “You know damn well I’m gonna, my mama would turn in her grave if I let a lady walk home alone.”

And with that, the two of you set off into the night, walking side by side.

[isaacarellanesismyhusband]

i know p2

pair: Fred Weasley x reader

requested by anonymous & anonymous

heyyyyy can you do a pt 2 to I know?

if you’d want 😌😌 could you do a pt 2 of I know? where they’re both at hogworts and they sneak around doing pranks and they wind up in detention with umbridge? How y/n acted unfazed when their hand gets cut by the writing. Fred gets worried abt it and he asked about it. To which for a while she didn’t rlly respond for a while. Then they wind up in detention again. Same thing happened again and he asked again. She said it was just because she always played rough when she was younger but he didn’t believe it. then he asked her a while later one night. She was kinda hesitant but I she caved in. When she was younger she was having a hard time. She stressed that everything was good now. But ever since then Fred would always check in on her and spend time with her. She acted like they didn’t have the conversation and acted completely normal. (And like Fred and Sirius having a convo abt it?) I’m sorry that’s a lot 😅😅 absolutely love love love your writinggg 🫶

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The echo of Fred’s laughter bounced off the stone walls of Hogwarts’ dimly lit corridor as he and Y/N sprinted around a corner, breathless with excitement. It had been her idea to sneak into Umbridge’s office and leave a handful of fireworks hidden in her desk. Fred, always up for a good prank, had eagerly followed her lead.

“You’re insane,” Fred whispered, trying to catch his breath, his eyes gleaming with admiration.

Y/N flashed a grin. “Takes one to know one, Weasley.”

They continued running, dodging Filch, Peeves, and any late-night prefects, their hearts pounding in sync. For weeks now, they had been wreaking havoc on Umbridge’s regime, pulling pranks that caused chaos but brought much-needed joy to their fellow students. And somehow, they had always managed to avoid getting caught—until tonight.

“Fred Weasley! Y/N Black!”

Both of them froze, spinning around to see none other than Dolores Umbridge herself standing behind them, her beady eyes glittering with malice.

“Well, well,” she purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “It seems you two will be joining me for detention.”

The next evening, they found themselves sitting in Umbridge’s office, quills poised over parchment. The cold, sinister air of the room was suffocating, but Y/N sat there, unfazed, her expression stoic. Fred, on the other hand, was on edge, his gaze flickering nervously toward her.

“Now,” Umbridge said, her smile widening, “you will write, ‘I must not break the rules.’”

Fred’s heart sank as he realized what was about to happen. The quills they were holding weren’t normal ones—they were blood quills. His hand tightened around his own quill, and he threw a worried glance at Y/N, who was already scratching the words onto her parchment without hesitation.

“I must not break the rules.”

The words carved themselves into the back of her hand, blood welling up on her pale skin. But Y/N didn’t flinch. She didn’t even blink.

Fred, however, felt his stomach churn as the same searing pain cut into his own hand. He looked at Y/N again, horrified by how calm she was.

After detention, they walked out of Umbridge’s office in silence. Fred stole a glance at her, concern clouding his usual playful demeanor.

“Y/N, your hand… Doesn’t it hurt?”

She shrugged, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets. “I’m fine.”

Fred frowned. “But—”

“I said I’m fine, Fred.” Her voice was clipped, and Fred knew better than to push. But he couldn’t help the uneasy feeling that settled in his chest.

A few weeks later, they found themselves back in Umbridge’s office, caught again after sneaking dungbombs into the Great Hall. And once more, they were subjected to the cruel punishment of the blood quills. Fred winced as the sharp pain sliced into his skin, but when he glanced at Y/N, she was as calm as ever, her eyes focused and distant.

As they left detention, Fred couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Y/N, this isn’t normal. You’re acting like this doesn’t bother you.”

She paused, looking at him with an unreadable expression. “I’ve always been rough, Fred. I played hard when I was younger. Cuts and scrapes are nothing new to me.”

Fred wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t press the matter. Still, the gnawing worry inside him only grew as the weeks passed.

It wasn’t until one late evening, as they sat together by the fire in the Gryffindor common room, that Fred finally worked up the courage to ask her again.

“Y/N… about your hand. I know there’s more to it.”

She looked away, her jaw tightening. For a moment, Fred thought she wasn’t going to respond, but then she sighed, leaning back into the couch.

“I don’t like talking about it, Fred,” she said quietly. “But… when I was younger, things were hard. Really hard. I was a mess, and it was just… a rough time for me.”

Fred’s heart ached at the vulnerability in her voice. He had never seen her like this before—so raw, so exposed.

“But it’s all good now,” she added quickly, her tone lightening as if she wanted to brush it off. “Really. You don’t have to worry.”

Fred didn’t say anything, but from that moment on, he made it his mission to check in on her, no matter how much she pretended everything was fine. He’d find excuses to hang out with her more often, crack jokes, or plan another prank. She’d laugh and tease him as usual, but Fred never forgot the weight behind her words. He kept a close eye on her, making sure she knew he was there for her, even if she didn’t always want to acknowledge it.

One evening, after a particularly quiet day, Fred found himself in Sirius’s study. The older man glanced up from his book, giving Fred a curious look.

“Something on your mind, Weasley?” Sirius asked, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Fred hesitated, then shrugged. “Just thinking about Y/N. She doesn’t… talk much about her past, does she?”

Sirius sighed, leaning back in his chair. “No, she doesn’t. She’s been through a lot, more than most people know. But she’s tough. Stronger than you’d think.”

Fred nodded, his chest tightening. “Yeah, I know. I just… I don’t want her to go through anything like that again.”

Sirius smiled softly, a rare sight from the usually brash and rebellious man. “You care about her, Fred. That’s good. But she’ll let you in when she’s ready. Just… be there for her.”

Fred grinned, feeling a little more at ease. “I will. Always.”

And so, as time went on, Fred made sure Y/N knew, in his own way, that she wasn’t alone. Whether it was pulling pranks, sitting quietly by the fire, or just sneaking glances her way during Quidditch practice, he was always there—no matter how tough she acted, no matter how many walls she put up.

[moonsandmobilityaids]

Honest Conversations

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: The boys want to talk about sex. Warnings: Chronic pain and mentions of sexual dysfunction Masterlist

The bedroom is alive with the soft crackle of the fireplace, its warm light dancing across familiar faces. The armchairs are pushed aside, making room for a nest of blankets and cushions on the floor where you're settled in for the evening. Low chatter fills the space, punctuated by quiet laughter—a symphony of shared history between you and the Marauders.

But tonight, an undercurrent of something more serious tugs at the edges of your awareness. It's an unspoken question that has lingered in the air for some time now, growing heavier with each passing moment.

You shift slightly, your back resting against Remus's chest as he leans against the headboard. His arm is draped around your middle, a comforting presence despite the gravity of what lies ahead. James sits to your right, his hand resting on your thigh, while Sirius occupies the foot of the bed.

There's no awkwardness in the way you all fit together. This closeness is as much a part of you as the magic coursing through your veins.

But tonight, there's a palpable tension threading through the comfort, a silent acknowledgment that the conversation soon to unfold might change everything.

Your kisses with the boys have grown more fervent, their touches lingering, over the past few weeks. It's in the way Sirius's hand brushes against your lower back, how James's eyes linger on your lips, and the subtle shift in Remus's gaze when you're close. Something has changed, deepened. You can feel it, a thrumming undercurrent of desire and longing that threatens to pull you under. And you know they feel it too.

But something holds you back, a nagging thought at the edge of your consciousness. It's not because you don't want this—Merlin, every fibre of your being yearns for them—but because of everything else.

You've played this conversation out in your head a hundred times before, but now it feels different, real. You can't avoid it any longer; you need to talk about it—with them. They deserve to know.

It's Sirius who breaks the silence first.

"So..." He leans forward, elbows braced against his knees. A ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, but it never reaches his eyes, clouded as they are with something akin to regret. "Seems we've all been skirting around the same issue, doesn't it?"

James, ever the pragmatist, quirks an eyebrow, his gaze steady and unyielding. "What Padfoot's trying to say is..." He pauses, choosing his words with care. "Perhaps it's time we addressed the fact that things are escalating."

His voice is light, almost conversational, but there's an undertone that speaks volumes. It's in the tight set of his shoulders, the way his fingers drum a silent tattoo against the his thigh. His eyes meet yours, reflecting both concern and conviction.

You feel Remus shift behind you, an almost imperceptible movement, yet so familiar that your body responds instinctively, leaning back into the warmth he offers.

"There's no need to rush into anything, love," he murmurs, his breath a soft caress against your ear. "We're here for you, whatever you decide."

A nod of understanding passes between you and Remus, and your eyes fall to your hands, picking at an imaginary loose thread on your jeans. "I know," you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips. "It's just..."

You trail off, gathering your thoughts as tension coils in the pit of your stomach. This is it—the tipping point that could either strengthen your bond or shatter the fragile peace you've found with each other. "I want to move forward with this—with all of you. But there are some things you need to understand about me first."

James leans forward, his brows knitting together in concern. "What do you mean, sweetheart?"

You swallow hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. Your fingers dance anxiously over the fabric of your jeans, seeking solace in the familiar rhythm. "Because of my medical issues—my conditions, the chronic pain—sex will be different for me."

Sirius, typically the embodiment of reckless abandon, stills at your words. His brow furrows, not in confusion, but in concentration, as if trying to decipher a particularly tricky piece of parchment. "Just tell us what you need," he says, his voice low and steady. "Whatever it is, we'll handle it. There's no pressure."

A wave of relief washes over you as Sirius's words, genuine and warm, ease some of the tension in your body. You glance at Remus, who gives your hand a comforting squeeze, before turning back to face James and Sirius.

"I've never been able to finish by myself," you confess, your cheeks tinged with a faint blush. "It feels like hitting a wall that you just can't get through." You swallow hard, forcing yourself to continue. "And I rarely get wet, even when I'm aroused, because of the medication I take."

The room falls into silence as they absorb your confession, but there's no judgment in their eyes, no hint of discomfort. Only love, concern, and a deep understanding that makes your heart ache with gratitude.

James reaches out to gently take your other hand, his fingers intertwining with yours in a show of support. "That's okay, love, we'll work it out. And if it never happens, that's fine too. We just want to be here with you, no matter what."

Remus is the next to speak, his voice steady despite the gravity of the conversation. "We can use lube. There are ways to make things easier for you. And we'll always check in, make sure you're comfortable."

You nod, appreciating his patience. "The thing is, physically... I should be able to have sex. Most positions shouldn't cause any problems in theory. But I've never... well, you know. So I can't say for certain how it'll feel in practice. And I don't know if the things I'm worried about will become bigger obstacles when faced with the reality of the situation."

He moves closer, not touching but present, a comforting solidity. "What are you worried about?"

You glance at him, feeling exposed yet compelled to continue. This isn't easy, laying bare your fears and vulnerabilities, but you know it's necessary. "The pain," you admit, your voice hardly above a whisper. "Sometimes it's so bad I can't even move, and I don't know how that would translate into... well, sex." You pause, your fingers absentmindedly twisting the hem of your shirt. "And then there's the worry that I won't... enjoy it as much as I could. That I might need to stop or that something will go wrong."

James's hand comes up to gently cradle your cheek, forcing you to meet his gaze. His voice is steady, a grounding force amidst the whirlwind of uncertainties. "We'll go as slow as you need," he assures you, thumb brushing tenderly against your skin. "The last thing we want is to hurt you. If you need to stop, we stop. No questions asked. You set the pace."

Sirius nods, his usual playful demeanour replaced by a seriousness that underscores the gravity of the situation. "And it's not just about sex," he adds, his grey eyes locking with yours, "it's about being close to you, sharing this part of ourselves with you. If some days we do more, and some days we do less, that's okay. As long as we're in it together."

Remus, ever the voice of reason, leans down and presses a soft kiss to your temple. "You've been open with us about everything so far, and that's all we ask. If something feels wrong, if something hurts, you just tell us. We'll figure it out together."

The knots in your shoulders start to unravel, the conversation not as daunting as you feared it might be. Their responses are everything you need—understanding, patient, loving.

"I don't want to disappoint you," you murmur, the words barely more than a breath.

James's arms encircle you then, pulling you into his chest. His hug is firm but gentle, as if he fears you'll shatter at any moment. "You could never disappoint us," he whispers back, lips brushing against your hair. "We love you, all of you. This isn't about reaching some finish line. It's about being here with you, whatever that looks like."

Sirius edges nearer, his fingers resting lightly on your knee, grounding you in their shared resolve. "And we're not the sort to leave a job half-done, are we?" His voice carries a playful note, attempting to cut through the tension that has woven itself into the air. "We'll figure it out, love."

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, and you lean into them, warmed by their unwavering support. "I know."

Remus's hand moves in soothing circles on your arm, a steady rhythm amidst the storm of uncertainty. "It'll be a learning curve for us all," he admits, his gaze never leaving yours. "But we'll take it one step at a time. And we'll be here—every step of the way."

You study their expressions, finding only warmth and acceptance there, and something inside you unclenches. You'd been dreading this conversation, fearing it might create discomfort or distance, but instead, it seems to have drawn you closer.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice thick with the emotion of the moment. "For understanding. For being... you."

James's smile is soft as he leans in to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. "No need for thanks. We're the lucky ones, having you."

Sirius shifts, lying down beside you, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your thigh. It's a comforting presence, grounding you when everything else feels like it's spinning out of control. "We'll figure out what works best for you, together. And believe me, we're going to make sure it feels good."

Remus catches your eye, his own so full of understanding that it's almost overwhelming. He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the curve of your shoulder. "You're safe with us," he murmurs against your skin, his breath warm and comforting. "We'll take care of you."

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, warmth spreading through you. It's strange and wonderful, this sense of belonging that has blossomed between you and these three men.

James' gaze softens as he watches you, but there's a flicker of something else—curiosity, perhaps, or concern. "This might be a bit presumptuous," he begins, his tone cautious, "but have you thought about contraception? There's a potion for witches, and I know the Muggle world has options."

Your nod is slow, thoughtful. "I'm actually on a Muggle method. An implant. It's more reliable than potions or the pill, and easier to manage. I haven't had a period in... I can't even remember when, but it runs out in summer because it lasts three years."

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of Sirius's mouth, his grey eyes sparkling with mischief. "That's certainly convenient," he murmurs, a lightness in his voice that attempts to lift the heaviness in the air. "One less thing to concern ourselves with."

His hand slides further up your thigh, and you can't help the sharp intake of breath as a jolt of electricity arcs between you both. Remus shoots Sirius a warning look—part admonishment, part protectiveness—but you merely laugh, feeling more liberated and accepted than ever before.

Remus returns his attention to you, his own hand finding yours atop the table. His thumb traces gentle circles on the back of your hand, each stroke a silent promise of understanding and patience. "We'll move at your pace, love," he assures you, and you hear the sincerity ringing clear and true in his voice. "Whatever you're comfortable with, whatever you need—we're here for you."

Your heart swells with gratitude for these three remarkable men who have somehow become an integral part of your life. The future remains uncertain, but one thing is clear: Whatever comes next, you'll face it together.

[prettypinkporkchop]

Can I request one where the reader overhears her boyfriend Paul calling the reader clingy so she went from being by his side to always having plans barley seeing him and he finally gets her and she just breaks down saying she didn’t wanna be clingy anymore

You smile to yourself as you walk around Billy Black's house toward the back, where you know Paul is.

"Yes! Same, dude! Is y/n the sam way as Nessie?" You hear Jacob ask. "She's just clingy!" You can hear Paul say. Your heart jumps and then falls onto the ground, shattering. You feel sick to your stomach. You don't even want to hear the rest. You turn your feet and walk right back to your car. You start the engine and go.

On the drive back home, you're crying. But, things are going to change if you want to keep Paul.

You stop at a gas station and pull out your phone. You call your coworker who you get along with.

"Hey Angela." You say. "Hey! What's up? Oh, if it's to cover for your shift Thursday, I would, but I can't. Ask for any other day, though!" She pipes up. "No, no. I was actually wondering if you wanted to hang out." You say. She pauses but then starts talking again, "Yes! When? Where?" She giggles. "Are you busy now?" You smile. "Nope."

You drive to Angela's house. You know where she lives, considering you've had to scoop her up for work a couple of times. Her car hates to start on freezing mornings. You walk up the steps and knock on her door. Eric opens it. Typical Eric, in his nice suit from work. "Hello?" He asks. "Hey! I'm Angela's coworker, y/n. I'm just coming to hang out." You say. "Oh!" He smiles and then points at you, "Yeah, yeah! She just mentioned that! Come in." He lets you inside.

You get home, and you go to bed. Your phone starts ringing. You pick it up. "Y/n, where have you been?" He asks kind of angrily. "I've been with Angela." You reply. "Your coworker?" He asks. "Yes." You say dryly. "Oh.. uh, you didn't tell me?" He said. "Sorry, babe." You sigh. "You're acting off." He said. You had to think quickly. "I just forgot to tell you. I'm sorry, babes. Needed some girl time." You giggle. "Oh, I see. Well, tomorrow I'm not doing anything at all! My day off of being a wolf." He laughs. Your heart is pounding. Oh god, do you want to be next to him. "Want to come over?" He asks. "Uh, no, I have plans." You say. You put him on speaker phone and go through your contacts. "With who?" He asks, surprised. You see the texts between you and Leah. She asked you a couple of days ago to decorate her house since you're good at that. "Leah wants me to decorate her house." You text her saying you'll be there tomorrow. "How about after?" He asks. "I'll visit for a little bit." You sigh.

-------- 2 weeks later -----

You wake up to pounding on your door. You jump up out of bed and open the door. There stands a disheveled, hurt, and angry Paul. "Paul?" You ask. He pushes past you and walks inside, going straight to your room. You follow him, and he bear hugs you. Squeezing you and sighing of relief. "Jesus christ. You know it hurts to stay away from you. Why the fuck have you been avoiding me?" He pulls away and looks at you. Seeing him in this state and completely missing him just brings tears to your eyes. You can't hold it anymore. You sit on your bed and start sobbing. "What is going on, baby?" He leans down and holds your face, looking into your red eyes. He wipes your tears away, and you blink a few times. "Paul, I heard what you said to Jacob at Billy's house." You said. He raises an eyebrow. "I'm too clingy." You said dryly. "If that's what I am to you and you're unhappy, you should've just told me. I'm scared to lose you." You cry. "Babygirl." He pulls you into him. "No, I didn't mean it like that at all. I love that you're clingy. It's my favorite thing ever." He cooes. You shake your head and try to push him off. "No. You meant it bad, I could tell." You sniffle. He holds tighter, so you can't get out of his grip. "We were talking about you and Renesmee. We were saying things that we like that most guys hate. Babygirl, we are soulmates. Nobody understands what it's like to truly love someone." He strokes your hair. You look up at him, and now you feel stupid. "I promise you. I can't lie to you, you know that. And look at me!" He chuckles. "I actually feel like death.'' He says. "I'm so sorry." You sigh and wrap your arms around his neck. He kisses you deeply, it feel like the first time kissing him. It feels like it's been forever. He pulls away from your lips very slowly. "I'm staying the night." He says, demanding. You laugh and nod your head.

[al-the-remix]

WIP Wednesday

Buck finds the box when he’s helping Tommy pack up his stuff, slouched pathetically in the back corner of the closet in Tommy’s spare room, caked in dust and buried under a pair of old motocross boots. 

It took them less than a weekend to divide the contents of Buck’s loft into a neat truckload of tightly packed boxes. Tommy’s house is a whole different story. Junk collects in the bungalow the same way cobwebs shroud barn rafters; teetering stacks of brittle yellowed paperbacks cover low tables, rolling metal drawers filled with odd tools and bits of machinery are shoved into corners at a slant, and other assorted knick-knacks cake every other spare surface in the house. 

Actually, just about everything Tommy owns looks dated by at least a decade. Buck wouldn’t be surprised if he found something from the precambrian era fossilized beneath Tommy’s hoard of physical media. There are magazines and DVDs and–how do people even listen to CDs anymore? Buck thinks as he pushes another pile to the side to get at the box. 

Buck’s elbow deep in beige fabric before he realizes what he’s stumbled across. Pulling Tommy’s old fatigues into his lap, he runs his fingers over the shallow ridges of Kinard embroidered across the chest tape. The fabric is soft with wear but crisply pressed, Buck kneads it between his fingers, finding the inconsistencies where it has been patched and stitched. 

He digs a little deeper. There are two pairs of boots stuffed in there as well, a tan pair that looks like they have seen better days, and a black leather pair that might have been shiny with polish once but has since dulled from lack of attention. 

Buck rubs his thumb over the hard toe of one of the leather boots. It’s clear Tommy hasn’t touched this stuff in a while. He wonders just how much Tommy held onto over the years; if the rest of his house is any indication, most of it.

“What you got there?”

Tommy’s leaning against the doorway, a smile playing at the edges of his lips as he watches Buck poke through his personal belongings. He knows he’s just doing what he’s been asked, but he still feels like he’s been caught red handed digging through Tommy’s old military stuff. 

“Ah, you found the digies,” Tommy says, coming to hover at Buck’s elbow. Up close he looks pleasantly flushed and serene like he could spend all day moving around boxes and never get fed up with it. 

“Do you ever wear these?” Buck holds up the uniform he’s been swaddling in his lap. Aiming for curious but not too curious. 

Tommy frowns. “Not really. If there’s something ceremonial going on I’ve got my blues, but it’s been a long time since I got invited to something like that.” He reaches down and pulls one of the leather boots out of the box. “Oh, cool, my jump boots. I’d forgotten where I put these.”

No kidding, Buck thinks, eyeing the various sports equipment unceremoniously piled on the floor of the closet. If he'd ever been worried that digging through two decades worth of Tommy’s baggage–both emotionally and literally–would dull Buck’s interest in him, he shouldn’t have been. If anything, getting a chance to inspect Tommy's junk (ha) fanned the tinder of his curiosity till the point of ignition.

Tommy has both jump boots in his hands now, eyeing the dullness of them regretfully. “Twenty-five-year-old me would have been so embarrassed, I used to love these things.”

“How’d they end up in the closet then–so to speak?” 

Tommy snorts and drops them back into the box, causing a small eruption of dust to tickle Buck’s nose. He barely avoids sneezing.

“Sorry–I don’t know, I think I just packed all this stuff away when I got the job at the 118 and the house and forgot about it. Tried to make a clean break, you know?”

Not really. Buck had sort of bulldozed through his twenties with a brick on the gas. No stopping. No slowing down. Whatever snagged and held got dragged along in the turbulence of his life as long as it could cope: people, jobs, places, they all blurred into one and other in an unending train of flashes of light and color. 

“I see why you liked them,” Buck says, switching tangents. “They’re pretty cool. Very punk rock.”

He flashes Tommy a grin and the sign of the horns, pleased when Tommy rolls his eyes, amusement clear in every line and upwards curve of his face. Buck can smell the sweet powdery edge of his deodorant and see the sweat blotting at his temples right where he’s started to go gray. He weighs the pros and cons of yanking Tommy down by his belt and wasting fifteen minutes making out on the floor between islands of miscellanea.   

“Don’t even joke, the only punk rock going on in the Idaho panhandle was of the Boots & Braces variety.” Buck pulls a face and Tommy continues. “They’re more of an honorary thing anyway, you get ‘em after you pass your paratrooper training.”  Tommy nudges the box with his toe. “They’re not exactly practical.”

“They could use some buffing up,” Buck admits, taking a boot in hand, inspecting the scuffed heel. 

“Don’t start,” Tommy huffs. “You’re going to give me war flashbacks. Literally.” Buck stares shamelessly as he pulls the hem of his shirt up to wipe at his brow, making hot, implicit eye contact when Tommy drops it again.

“None of that, we’re on a tight schedule.” Tommy sticks a finger in his face like he’s warding off Buck and his nefarious intentions. 

“Fair enough, where do you want them, Sir?” He quips, all tongue and cheek.

Tommy shakes his head in defeat, grabbing a random collection of items from the floor before making his retreat. The nape of his neck is flush pink. “You can stick all that stuff in the keep pile.”

Buck salutes his back. He figured that would be the answer.

[4pfsukuna]

Hunch Punch T. Fushiguro

Sneak peak of the Enemies to lovers series and inspired by that tik tok trending sound “come here bae come sit next to me, DAMN YOU ON THE EDGE OF THE BED YOU BOUT TO FALL OFF”

Toji had promised Shiu that he’d be on his best behavior and that he wouldnt bother you. He promised no more witty remarks, no shit talking, no more of him being— him. All because little megumi loved spending time with you and avoiding Toji meant every extension of him unfortunately for little megs too. And the little brat had his death stare down to perfection it was why he had two killer dogs.

You weren't oblivious at all to Tojis stares though, specifically to the way his eyes would roam your curves or even your ass when he thought you werent looking. the floor to ceiling window of the one way hotel window had perfectly outlined his wide muscular frame and the minute you turn around his eyes avert from your frame sk quickly you almost thought you imagined it.

Lets see how well tamed he actually is?

“Hows megs?”you ask and his brows furrow for a second and he almost ask whos that because his only thoughts was that thin tiny piece of fabric that was backless showing your spine tattoo, tiny enough for you to bend over and fry his brain and thin enough to where he could see your nipples— were those nipple piercings?

Oh fuck.

“Good. Hes soo goo—“ and he stops himself in his tracks no he wasnt. “No. hes… he misses you” he shakes his head running a hand through his jet black silky hair before dragging a hand down his face.

You pout sitting down on the bed the scent of your perfume overwhelming and he has to bite his tongue to hold back one of his sly comments thats just on the tip of his lips. He clears his throat at the way you lean forward your breast pressing further into the fabric and he feels his hand grip the soft sheets tighter.

“You okay Toji?” You ask softly but your voice sounds like a goddamn siren calling out her prey he’d never heard that tone and the way you said his name has his knuckles aching from the grip.

“Your ears are red” you giggle and this man was so down bad for you so when your hand reaches out to trail from the top of the shell of his ear to the bottom he shivers grabbing your hand in a tight grip.

When his eyes look over at you your licking your lips the shiny gloss never moving from your pink thick lips.

“Are you?” His voice rasp you acted like you hated him any other time but right now it felt like he was being seduced and damn did he want to fold… and then fold you. There was only one way youd act like this.

“What were you drinking?” He ask arching a brow before you giggle again pulling your hand from his wrist.

“I had two shots… Don Julio act a foolio.” You smile and he sees the way your tongue runs over your sharp teeth. Not enough to have you drunk or even tipsy but enough for him to move further from you on the bed to the edge.

“Mmcht why you all the way over there” you suck your teeth, But its the low lided look in your eyes that has him stuck. You had mentioned something before about scorpios having a certain look they give you that locks you in a trance and he thought it was some stupid zodiac thing until he fealt nearly paralized.

“You on the edge of the bed you ‘bout to fall off” you smirk watching the wheels in his head completely stop turning and fall off track his pupils blown wide as you crawl over to him straddling his lap.

Oh, fuck megumi! the little brat hated him anyways the minute your hand touches his chest, behaving so you could come back over for megumi was over. And fuck Shiu too.

“Having fun mama?” He ask spreading his legs wider, hands coming to stabilize you quickly by your hips but fingers tips grazing the top of your ass. He doesn’t even flinch when you pull the gun from his hip dismantling all 6 pieces. The bullets clinking as they fall onto the hardwood floor.

“Keep letting your hands wander might find something else” he leans forward slightly until your hand presses into his throat making the air thicken more. His eyes wander down between the two of you drinking in every inch of you perched perfectly in his lap and he really wasn’t sure who trapped who.

“I thought you Told Shiu you were going To behave?” You tease this time using your opposite hand to caress his face slowly pulling it up to you.

“Sweetheart, this is me behaving” he chuckles his hand reciprocating yours on your neck pulling you down so his lips are against your ear your eyes fluttering shut.

“If i wasnt…” his thumb presses gently against your pressure point in your neck “id have you ride my tongue until the only thing you can remember is my fucking name.”

And your spun around so your back is up against his firm chest, buldge noticeable against your ass legs dangling on the outside of his. His hand holds your neck in place to make sure youre watching him in the reflection in the window.

“If i wasnt i wouldve ripped this slutty little dress off you and had you pinned to that window fucking so deep inside of you until theres tears” his fingers start to slide under your dress.

“ until youre begging and dont know what youre begging me for: to cum, to go faster to stop or let you breathe” his hands squeezes Around your throat tighter tongue against your ear with a soft groan that you almost miss.

“Until those pretty eyes roll back so far you cant give me the look you’ve been giving me all night” he smirks against your neck pulling your gun and knife both from under your dress dismantling it the same way you did his before returning back to your thighs thumb curling against your black lace thong. He doesnt comment on the wetness just tightens his grip on your neck.

“If youre going to try and kill me be less obvious” he snaps the lace against your clit loving the way you flunch back onto his hard on. He knew you were dangerous but fuck this was the sexiest way anybodys ever tried to kill him. He knew youd never drink on a job nor wear something that revealing but he loved being seduced by you he couldn't lie.

The way you were glairing at him had him smirking because you still looked so fucking sexy and your eyes still had that slightly seductive yet hypnotizing look. 

“Get off me” you hiss though your body shows no fight or signs of wanting to get off him. You werent in distress in the slightest. Not a drop of fear in you when your neck was in the hands of a man who could literally snap it easily if he wanted.

“I can feel how wet you are f’ me mama. You dont want me to ‘get of you’ you want me to get you off” he chuckles cupping your pussy smirking at you through your reflections watching your eyes flutter when his thumb brushes against your clit.

“You comin’ home with me after this… the brat misses you” he purrs in your ear making you nod when he pushes a thick finger inbetween your wet folds soaking his finger up with a squish. 

“Okay baby?” He needs confirmation before loosing his mind in between your legs.

“Not your b-baby” you stutter at the thrust. “But ill come—“ and he thrust further this time cutting your words off.

See megs, you can have your cake and eat it too

“I know you will mama, imma make sure you cum for me” he laughs biting on your neck listening to your soft moan and instantly knowing he’d be down bad for you, how hooked he’d be to hear that sound again.

Shit if he was going to be down bad so were you.

“Let me taste you”

[thesweetestofdreams]

The Gold and the Rust (Part 2)

How It Shines (part 2/??) 3k words

pairings: poly!marauders x reader (soon)

warnings: none I think

a/n: Hello, thank you so much for the warm welcome to this series. I'm so happy to share more, and I would love to hear your thoughts.

Sometimes the wizarding world felt like a fever dream, one that you would wake up from at any minute. The first time you saw magic, real and intentional magic it felt like you found something you didn’t know you lost. The strangeness you’d always felt suddenly disappeared even if for just a moment. As young as you could remember you felt like you were watching the world spin without waiting for you to catch up. You could finally catch your breath, that is, until everything came crashing down. People are frightened by things they don’t understand, even if it is their own child. This shining and magical world stole everything from you, and now you were left in the dark trapped between two lives that you couldn’t fit. 

You figured when your entire world is made of gold it's easy to be blinded by all of the reflections. That's how you thought of Gryffindors. It was strange to be in a house and only ever feel like you're viewing it from the outside. 

Few people left you with the feeling of an open door, a welcome and unencumbered view of what a true Gryffindor was. Lily Evans was one of those people. She was made for this life. It was clear from the moment you met. She was contagious and impossible not to like. 

Looking at her now as the two of you studied in the Great Hall, you could still see traces of her at eleven. The girl you met on your very first train ride to hogwarts. She always held an unwavering assuredness that no matter where she was she would find her place. She was there the first time an older boy with sharp eyes called you a mudblood. You hadn’t known what it meant at the time, but you knew it was bad enough that Lily broke his nose for it. She sought you out at the start of every year no matter how much work you did to avoid her. 

"Are you even paying attention?" She asked, finally looking up from her book. Copper hair fell over her shoulder. She looked like a painting from a museum, something timeless. She also looked rather annoyed. 

"Yeah yeah there's a rare pixie in eastern caves." You said trying to remember you were in the great hall and not your own head.

“That was ages ago, I asked if you were going to the Slytherin party?”

“Why would I?” Slytherin parties were notorious.

“Because it's going to be fun? And I'm going so you should.” She didn’t return to herbooks instead she watched expectantly.

“I don't know. I have a transfiguration’s essay.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t much of a good excuse, not for Lily.

“Remus is in that class and he said it wasn’t due until next week. Please come with me.” You were caught and Lily was giving you an irrefutable, pleading look.

You were about to answer when a surge of people flooded into the great hall. Their noise came with them like the roar of a wave, trickling down to where the two of you sat. 

You started to gather your things ready for your next escape, but you weren't quick enough. 

"You don't have to leave," a familiar voice said. It was James coming around to your other side. He smiled at them as he started talking to Lily about a new quidditch player. He always smiled like the sun, almost too bright to truly look at it. 

"You weren’t leaving, were you (y/n)," another familiar voice and a familiar arm over your shoulder as Sirius sat on your other side. He was looking at you with his usual mischief, already planning something surely. “What were you ladies talking about? It wasn’t me was it?” He winked, incredulous.

“It wasn’t you, Pads,” and there it was the last of the trio. Remus leaned over the two of you, if it was anyone else his height would be intimidating, but for him it was just, well, Remus. “It was, transfiguration?” he said looking at her work. “I thought that wasn’t due until next week.”

“That’s what I said.” Lily jumped from her conversation with James as Remus sat next to him. 

“Okay lads, well it's been lovely as always,” you said, sliding out from under Sirius’ arm. 

“Wait, you’ll come with me won’t you,” Lily added. She was certainly persistent. 

“She’ll go,” Sirius said.

“You don’t even know where, and I’ll speak for myself thank you,” you said, patting a less than gentle hand on his shoulder as you stood. 

Lily looked at you again with her best pleading face on display. 

“Yes, I’ll go with you, but can I finally leave now?” Your eyebrows raised as you tried not to smile at her giddy face. 

“Okay yes, go, you’re dismissed,” she said waving her hands to shoo you away. 

As you walked away you heard Sirius say something along the lines of never having any fun. Little did he know you were just doing your best to get through the year, fun came in rare moments you didn’t have the time for anymore. Really you were going to the party as a chaperone, to watch Lily have fun from your place at her side. 

If the wizarding world was a fever dream then slytherin parties were another realm altogether. The flickering candles were enchanted to an array of colors casting the room in darkened rainbow hues. It was as if the room was colored by stars. 

The floor to ceiling windows showed the dark expanse of the black lake only further reflecting the lights swaying with the water's movement. 

People were passing cups full overflowing with curling smoke and uniforms were long since abandoned for more festive clothing. 

Gryffindor parties often got a bit wild, but they still had nothing on Slytherin. Being below the ground, nestled in the dungeons, meant celebrations could be as loud as they wanted. Once you'd considered what life would be like if you were sorted into Slytherin, what it would feel like to be in the house of the cunning and ambitious. Then you were reminded that there were no more prizes in life that you wanted, only to get through.

The party was a swaying sea of green, house pride and what not, but there were occasional pockets of yellow, red, or blue. Some people it was nearly impossible to tell, blurring the lines of house division. 

Somewhere music was playing but it echoed through the large stone rooms so it seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. 

Lily had pulled you in a large circle around the room, seeming to greet everyone you passed. The night was still young and there was much to do and much to see, although you did wish for the comfort of your dorm.  

"Do you want something to drink?" Lily asked loudly overcompensating for the music.

"No thanks, I don't feel like tumbling down a moving staircase tonight." You said picking up a sugar quill instead from the table of drinks and treats. Gummy snakes slithered along the surface, curling around discarded cups and tangling amongst each other. 

"Sirius was right, you know," Lily said, taking another drink for herself. "You don't know how to have any fun." 

You'd heard Sirius say it plenty of times. You could almost hear him now. Hearing it come from Lily had a different weight to it. "I have fun, I just want to make sure I remember watching everyone else fall on the stairs."

"Ha ha," Lily deadpanned. "Here," she shoved a drink in your hand, clearly ignoring you. Smoke snaked around your fingers from the lid of the cup. You looked at her incredulous. "Just to hold," she said, "for decoration."  

 A group of kids in the corner were already placing lively bets on the coming quidditch season. A few more were playing some game with a floating bottle spinning in the air. Lily continued to pull you along with her almost like a tethered balloon. She slid between Slytherins with sharp eyeliner and bold shadow, she slid between a group of hufflepuff girls with yellow blouses more fit for summertime than cold dungeons.

The entire scene was otherworldly an escape from the sometimes stifling class schedule. Everything seemed to burst with color and that's when you saw it. That's when you saw the contents of your cup begin to bubble over spilling liquid past your fingertips. You looked around the room trying to see if this was happening to anyone else. A cup in the hands of a younger ravenclaw across the room and several at the refreshments table began to do the same things. You looked down at the purple foam now dripping down the side of your cup until suddenly it exploded. You were bathed in a sea of colors. The contents of the cups in the nearby table flew in fountain-like streams up to nearly touching the ceiling. You were soaked in streaming colors, bursting from the purple foam of your cup. Pink trailed down your arms and a bright yellow pooled around your shoes. A few others by the table caught the brunt of flying colors, but none so bad as you and the ravenclaw boy, well it was hard to tell now that he was ravenclaw his house sweater was now closer to a kaleidoscope rather than the usual blue and bronze. 

You felt yourself slide into place behind your eyes, almost watching the scene unfold from a separate version of yourself. Separate from the you that partygoers were now snickering at. Separate from the you that more resembled a rainbow than your usual self. You didn't share in the merriment, nor did your face reflect the shocked "o" shape of Lily's. You were fuming, almost as if you could steam the color right off of you. You knew exactly who was behind this, better yet, you knew the exact three who were behind this. 

You stalked into the Gryffindor common room eyes searching for your target. Sitting on a couch tucked near the back three laughing forms came into view. 

Pink powdered hair and color-smeared face forgotten, you approached them. “Can I talk to you,” you whispered to Sirius leaning over the back of the couch. It wasn’t a question.

“Of course love,” he started, but quickly stopped as the three of them took you in. Shock dancing on their features. From the look on your face Sirius knew he was in trouble. Pulling him into a secluded 

“Do you really think this shit is funny?” you fumed. Sirius took you in his face falling more and more by the second, then a quirk of his lip.

“Pink hair suits you.” For a moment you were dumbfounded. This was meant to be an argument. 

“Can’t you just be serious for one minute?” 

“I’m always Sirius.” He flashed what was meant to be a dazzling smile, it just made you want to smack him. Instead of actually hitting him, you started to walk away. Clearly there was no talking to Sirius on this issue. 

He catches up to stand in front of you. “I didn’t know you’d be there (y/n). I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.” Finally a sincere thought, let alone an apology. You sigh. 

“Please just leave me alone Sirius. I think that will be best for both of us. We don’t need any more distractions this year.” 

“So you think I’m distracting,” he says, quickly falling back into his usual ways. 

“Sirius Black.” It comes out far too loud from your mouth and immediately you wish you could snatch it back out of the air. You look over and James is peeking over his shoulder while Remus at least pretends to be engrossed in the fireplace. You run your hands through your hair pink dust staining your fingers. “Some of us are just trying to make it through the year and this,” you gesture to yourself covered in bright pigmented blotches, “only makes it harder.”

“I could try to help, make things easier, I mean.” He seemed oddly sincere. It suited him and for a moment you thought you saw a chink in his armor, that maybe there were pieces of you reflected in him. You pushed the thought away.

“I want you to stay out of it, to leave me out of it.” You were getting tired, of the night, of the conversation, all of it. 

“Well, I’ll try, but I’ve never been very good at doing what I’m told.” 

The Gryffindor common room was warm. It always was no matter the weather outside. As days marched forward the common room always seemed fixed in time. It was the one constant, it never changed when classes did. It saw everything. 

It saw you at every turn. It also saw you as you dashed through the portrait hole. Running extremely late for charms this morning.

After a long night of scrubbing colored powder from nearly every inch of yourself and catching up on assignments you’d meant to do after the party, you jolted upright, knocking a host of books off of the bed. Your hands were smeared with ink and a good portion of the parchment had smudged, illegible writing now pooling at the bottom. You muttered curses as you flew about the room for your uniform. With an undone tie and bedraggled hair you ran to Charms hoping you hadn’t missed the entire class. 

Stomach flipping as you made for the door, you had the vague sense to smooth down your hair and robes. Had the world been on your side the class would have been in the middle of chaotic demonstrations from students, but when was the world ever on your side? An overly dramatic hush came over the classroom and several students, a handful being Slytherins from the party, snickered at the sight of you. 

Sirius tried to get your attention, waving a hand at you and gesturing to the seat beside James. Ultimately this is what got Flitwicks attention, snagged away from his lecture. “Unfortunately that will be point from Gryffindor Ms.(l/n). Please have a seat.” Flitwick looked to the seat closest to you. As fate would have it that seat was also the one next to that of James Potter. It wasn’t particularly surprising as he had a habit of talking with his hands and a reputation for spilling ink jars.

“So Gryffindor, party too hard?” A voice sounded from the mess of green robes. You saw Sirius shoot a scathing look their way. 

“That’s enough distraction,” Flitwick reprimanded, quickly returning to his lesson. You could still hear your heart pounding over the scratching of quills. The thundering rhythm of embarrassment came with it. 

“I’m guessing you didn’t?” A whispering voice came from your right. James was restraining his usual sunshine smile.

“What?” You were still reeling from the sticky pull of sleep, your hands fumbled through your bag.

“Party too hard?”

“Oh, no,” you said, your mouth trying to catch up over the race of your heart.

“Sorry, it was meant to be a joke.” James said. “Here.” He slid you his notes, they were surprisingly diligent if only half legible.

"Alright everyone, as we are nearing the end of your time at Hogwarts, we must be sure you're prepared for the real wizarding world. In a real job you'll seldom work alone and for that reason I am introducing our first group project. I trust your desk mates will make worthy companions on this venture." Flitwick continued but you hardly heard him. A series of groans fluttered through the class, but Flitwick continued as if you had all just applauded. “This will be a considerable portion of your grade so please do take this seriously.”

You glanced down the table at Sirius who looked rather happy with himself. Remus smiled at you with a small wave, and James bumped your elbow with his. “Welcome to the best group,” he whispered to you. You felt a part of yourself crumble at the realization that you were now dependent on the Marauders of all people if you wanted to pass Charms and finally leave hogwarts. 

The rest of class was a blur between Flitwick going over the project and frantically copying James’s notes. He kept having to tell you what words were through all of his scribbling. Eventually after all of the trouble Remus passed his to you. There were little black stars drawn in the left margin. 

As class dismissed you did your best to get out and into the hall before being sequestered by Sirius. You were not successful. 

“Oh love you have ink on your cheek, James why didn’t you tell her?” Sirius said, standing next to you.

“I didn’t want to be rude.” James tried to defend himself. You were mortified.

Sirius began to lick his thumb. You take a few steps back bumping into another small group of students. 

“Here.” Remus rummaged through his bag pulling out a packet of tissues. 

“Of course you’d have that, Moony.” Sirius says, grabbing them up. With it comes a half bar of chocolate. 

“I figure you didn’t have time for breakfast, it's not much but…” Remus said trailing off at the end. 

“Oh great idea. I think I have a… an apple.” James pulled an apple from his robe pocket.

Sirius tries to wipe your face for you but you make quick work of doing it yourself. 

“Thank you,” you say, passing the packet back to Remus, “but it’s really not a big deal. Lunch isn’t too far off.” You can’t rightfully take food from them after telling them off just the night before.

“Don’t be coy, (y/n).” Sirius took both the apple and chocolate, pushing them into your hands. 

“Thanks,” you said, not sure what else you could say. They had no reason to be so nice to you. 

As much as you wanted to glare at them or make a snarky comment, they were being, well, caring. It left you feeling off kilter, like one push could knock you over. People didn’t treat you like this, not anymore. Not since your mother and father left their strange and scary daughter at Hogwarts only to never retrieve you, only to send you off again. It was another reason you would never be the same as the golden Marauders. You were from and you lived in two different worlds. 

“Okay well, I have a transfiguration essay to fix, but I guess I” you paused, “owe you guys.” Finally you seized the chance to leave. A series of objections fell from behind your back as you made your way to the library. 

You had to get a grip, remind yourself that staying away from them was what you wanted, was easier, was for the best, but how were you meant to work together if all you wanted was to avoid them? What was the better sacrifice, your vow to leave Hogwarts as soon as you can or the vow to never let anyone see who you really were? You were just going to have to make it work. You can work with the Marauders without falling into anything more. Sirius couldn’t rope you in if you tethered yourself to the truth, that no one wants the strange and scary girl left alone at the train station.