#someone explain to me why it is that when I can’t think of a title

[alittlegiraffe]

HEYYY i got an ideaaaa!

em thinks reader is cheating on him (due to a photo in the tabloids of a girl who LOOKED like her kissing another guy, but it wasnt her) so he dumped her. but, when he finds out the truth that she wasnt cheating and the pic was fake, he goes to her house in the middle of the night after a month of not seeing eachother and they make up (how cute ?? 🥹)

and maybe makeup smut idk 😭 ur writing is SOO good i love it i check ur page almost everyday

Title: “Not Her”

You never meant for it to become a thing.

The account had started as a hobby. Some light content—behind-the-scenes glimpses of the house renovations, your skincare routine, the occasional throwback of the girls when they were little. A new chapter for you, now that they were all mostly grown. Something of your own.

You never expected the brand deals to start rolling in. The way followers multiplied. The way your name—your actual name, not just Marshall Mathers’ wife—suddenly held weight online.

Marshall was proud. Protective, of course. But proud.

So when you got offered a partnership in LA, three days, full expenses paid, a glossy photoshoot, a press dinner, a seat at the table you never thought you’d be invited to—he told you to go.

You had kissed him in the hallway before your car came, hands around his neck, murmuring, “You’ll miss me like crazy.”

He’d answered without looking at you, his nose buried in your neck, “Already do.”

You didn’t know that would be the last thing you’d hear from him.

You come home to silence.

At first, it doesn’t register.

Your suitcase wheels thud against the tile. You call out—twice—your voice echoing through the big, still house.

“Marshall?”

The dogs are gone. So is his truck.

At first you think—errand? studio?

But then you reach for your phone. Open your texts. The most recent ones are still there. A sleepy goodnight from two days ago. Your photo from the shoot that he responded to with a flame emoji. But the bubble you type into doesn’t turn blue.

And your call goes straight to voicemail.

You frown, confused. Hit it again. Straight to voicemail.

You try FaceTime. Blocked.

You sit down at the edge of the bed like someone knocked the air out of you.

Something’s wrong.

Your heart knows it before your head catches up.

You open Instagram, then Twitter. Then you see it.

A blurry paparazzi shot. A woman with your hair. Your body type. Your outfit, even—nearly identical to the dress you wore to the brand dinner. And a man you don’t know. His arm around her waist. A kiss.

EMINEM’S WIFE SPOTTED KISSING MYSTERY MAN IN L.A.

Your stomach flips. You zoom in. The lighting is low. The resolution grainy. But it’s not you. It’s not you.

It doesn’t matter.

You feel the blood drain from your face.

You fumble with your phone and call the only person who might know where he is.

Paul answers on the second ring.

“Hey—” you start, your voice cracking, “Paul, I—I don’t know what’s going on. I just got home and he’s not here and he’s not answering me and—”

Paul sighs. And it’s a heavy, Goddammit, Marshall kind of sigh.

“I know,” he says gently. “I know. But he’s pissed.”

Your throat closes. “He thinks that’s me—? Paul, I didn’t do anything, that’s not—”

“I know it’s not you.”

You shut your eyes. “Then why—”

“Because he saw it before he heard anything else. Before anyone could explain. Because some asshole sent it to him and he was already halfway out the door before I could call him back.”

You press your palm to your mouth.

Paul continues, steady but not unkind. “He’ll come home when he realizes he’s being stupid. I’m working on it.”

Your voice comes out small. “He blocked me.”

“I know. He’s not thinking straight. Give him space, alright?”

“He left,” you whisper. “Over a photo. Over something that’s not even real.”

“He’s scared,” Paul says quietly. “He’s not mad at you, not really. He’s scared.”

That’s somehow worse. You nod, even though he can’t see it. You hang up soon after, because you can’t keep your voice from shaking.

You sit alone in the bedroom you built together, still half-dressed from your flight. And when you look in the mirror—you realize how close the resemblance really is.

You look like her.

---

You’re still in the closet, sitting on the carpeted floor where you’d slid down an hour ago, your back against his dresser. One of his hoodies is balled up in your lap. It still smells like him.

You haven’t moved.

You can’t move.

Your phone buzzes again—persistent now—and you see the name flash across the screen.

Hailie 💛

Your stomach drops.

You swipe to answer and try to sound normal.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Mom,” she says instantly, and there’s confusion in her voice, worry creeping just behind it, “what’s going on?”

You sit up a little straighter. “What do you mean?”

“I just talked to Dad,” she says. “Or tried to. He’s at a hotel downtown. He wouldn’t say why, just said he needed space for a few days. What—did you guys fight? What happened?”

You can feel your voice trying to shake again, so you pinch the bridge of your nose and exhale. “No. I mean—yes. Kind of. But not really.”

“Okay, well… now I’m freaking out,” she says. “Is it something with the girls? With Stevie?”

“No, no,” you say quickly. “Everyone’s fine. It’s just—it’s a stupid misunderstanding. A bad one. A really… public one.”

You pause, then sigh. “You didn’t see the headlines yet?”

“I saw something dumb on Twitter but I thought it was fake. That woman wasn’t even you, was it? Like, obviously not, right?”

You can hear her frown through the phone.

“Right,” you say, your voice hollow. “It wasn’t. But your dad saw it, and… he blocked me before I could explain.”

“Oh my god.” She’s quiet for a beat. “Seriously? Dad thinks you’d cheat on him over a press dinner in L.A.?”

“No,” you say softly. “I don’t think he really thinks that. But he saw it before he could ask me. And then it was everywhere. I guess somebody forwarded it to him.”

“Jesus Christ,” Hailie mutters, then after a pause, “Do you want me to go over there? Talk to him?”

“No,” you say, too fast, too desperate. “No, please. Don’t make him feel cornered. Paul’s already trying to talk him down.”

She’s quiet for a long second.

Then, “He’s gonna feel so dumb when he realizes. I mean—Mom, this is you. You’ve been with him since you were what, nine? Ten? You literally built him into a human. He’s just being… Dad. Dramatic, moody, stubborn.”

You laugh, but it’s thin. Fractured.

“I’ll be fine,” you lie. “I just—thank you for calling.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m not picking sides or anything, but… I know he’s wrong this time. He’s gonna figure it out.”

You don’t trust your voice enough to respond, so you just hum softly.

“And hey?” she says before hanging up. “Try to get some sleep. He’ll come back. He always comes back to you.”

The line goes dead.

You stare at the floor.

He’s always come back before.

But this time, it’s not just a fight.

This time, it’s the whole world watching, waiting to see if the woman in the photo is you.

If you are what broke Eminem.

---

It’s been nineteen days.

Nineteen days of pretending everything is fine.

Nineteen days of smiling through it for the brands, for the comments, for the girls who don’t need to worry that their father still hasn’t come home. That he saw a lie and believed it before he believed you.

Paul calls every few days. Always the same updates.

“He’s still pissed.”

“He’s not talking to anyone except me and Hailie.”

“Yes, I told him it wasn’t you.”

“Yes, he knows now.”

“No, he hasn’t unblocked you.”

The worst part isn’t even the silence. It’s how well you’ve managed to hide it.

You still post your content. Still go to the gym. Still film your nighttime routine and tag the serums and the silk pillowcase brands. Still smile when people ask in the comments, Where’s your husband? like you didn’t wake up alone again that morning, heart aching like a fresh bruise.

You keep it light. Keep it together.

Until one afternoon, sitting in your car after Pilates, a thought creeps in and sticks.

You open Instagram.

Click his name.

Still not blocked.

Your breath catches.

He’s watching.

He didn’t block you there.

And that changes everything.

The next morning, you post a mirror selfie at the gym. Hair up, makeup subtle but exactly how he likes it. The caption is just a single drop of sweat emoji.

Twelve hours later, your DMs are full, but not from him.

So you keep going.

The next night: a calm, softly lit routine video—your face clean, skin glowing, bare legs curled under you on the edge of the bed as you tie your hair up in a clip. The camera catches the oversized black tee that hits your thighs.

His shirt. One of the ones he thought you “looked too good in to be wearing around other people.”

No caption.

But the comments eat it up.

You post again two days later. Golden hour. A simple, flowy sundress—the one he always said made you look like summer and sin.

The hem hits high on your thighs. You angle the shot just so, a breeze catching the fabric, your smile sly.

The caption reads: “Might keep this on tonight. Might not.”

You lose five followers. Gain almost a thousand.

No message from him.

But late that night, your story shows “Seen by marshallmathers.”

Your stomach drops.

He’s watching.

Good.

Let him.

Let him see what he gave up. What’s still waiting here, soft and wanting, even though you’re angry. Even though you’re hurting.

It’s almost 2:00 AM when you hear the door.

You sit up so fast you nearly knock your water glass off the nightstand.

Keys. A familiar, halting step. Hesitation. Like he’s afraid of what he’ll find on the other side of this.

You don’t say a word.

Don’t breathe.

The bedroom door opens.

And there he is.

Marshall.

Rough around the edges. Hoodie pulled up, baseball cap low. Eyes bloodshot. A duffel still slung over one shoulder like he doesn’t know if you’ll let him stay.

He looks at you like he’s not sure if he’s dreaming. Or if you’ll throw him out.

Your voice is small.

“You forgot I still have your location?”

His mouth twitches—guilt or maybe a ghost of a smile.

“I never blocked you there,” he murmurs. “Didn’t block you on Instagram either.”

“No,” you say, standing slowly. “You just blocked me everywhere else.”

He winces.

You step toward him. Stop a few feet away.

“You saw a picture of someone who looked like me. And you left.”

“I know,” he rasps, voice thick. “I fucked up.”

You’re trying to stay strong, trying not to cry. But he looks wrecked. Like the time away hurt him as much as it hurt you.

“Why didn’t you just ask me?” you whisper.

“I didn’t know how,” he breathes. “It hit me all at once and I just—I didn’t think. I couldn’t think. I saw that guy’s hands on her and all I could picture was—was—”

He breaks off.

You take another step. You’re close enough now to see the scruff on his jaw, the way his eyes are shining.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

“I missed you,” he says fiercely. “Missed you so much it made me stupid.”

He drops the bag and pulls you in like it’s the only thing holding him upright.

And finally, after almost three weeks of cold sheets and lonely nights, of pretending and performing and aching in silence—you’re home again.

In his arms.

Where you never should’ve had to leave.

You don’t make it to the bed.

You barely make it three steps backward before his mouth is on yours—starving, reckless, like he’s trying to erase every single day he spent without you. Like kissing you is the only way he knows how to beg for forgiveness.

You gasp into it, your fingers already in his hoodie, dragging it off, not gentle. Not soft.

You’re not interested in soft tonight.

He grunts low in his throat when your nails rake down his chest and you hear it in the way his breath shudders—he’s been waiting for this.

For you.

“I saw everything,” he growls against your mouth, one hand buried in your hair now, the other already cupping your ass like he’s claiming it again. “Every fuckin’ post. Every little tease.”

You smirk, breathless. “Good.”

He laughs—dark and dangerous—and in the next breath, he spins you around, shoving you up against the bedroom wall hard enough that it rattles.

“You mad at me, baby?” he asks, mouth brushing your ear, his voice low and gritty.

“I should be,” you say, but your thighs are already pressing together.

“You are,” he says, nipping at your jaw, “but you still want me so bad you wore my shirt to bed and posted it for millions to see. That sundress? You knew exactly what the fuck you were doing.”

You don’t deny it.

His hand slips under the hem of your sleep shirt—his shirt—and when he finds nothing underneath, he growls so deep you feel it in your chest.

“No fuckin’ panties?” His mouth curls into a snarl. “You been sleeping like this without me here?”

You moan when his fingers drag up your inner thigh. “Wasn’t sleeping.”

He curses.

His palm flattens to your belly, holding you there while he pushes the shirt up, exposing you to the cool air, to him. You whimper, legs shaking, and that’s all it takes—he turns you again and lifts you clean off the floor, wrapping your legs around his waist like they belong there.

And they do.

He walks you to the edge of the bed, not bothering to undress fully. Your shirt’s off in seconds, tossed somewhere. His sweats are shoved down just enough.

The moment your skin touches his, your mouth finds his neck.

“I missed you,” you murmur against his throat.

He groans, fists the sheets beside your hips.

“I haven’t touched anyone else,” you say, needy and angry and desperate to be forgiven. “Even when you left—I didn’t—”

His hips snap forward and he’s inside you in one rough, punishing thrust.

“Don’t say that,” he snarls, biting down against your shoulder, his voice half-gone. “Don’t you ever think I thought you did.”

“You did,” you gasp, nails clawing at his back. “You left.”

“I know,” he pants, forehead dropping to yours. “I know, baby. I fucked up so bad—”

You drag him in with your legs, your body already shaking around him.

“Then make it up to me,” you whisper. “Claim me.”

Something breaks in him.

His grip on your hips tightens. He thrusts into you harder, deeper, a filthy rhythm that has the headboard slamming, the mattress creaking under you.

“You’re mine,” he hisses, every word a thrust. “Say it.”

“I’m yours—”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours.”

He kisses you so hard it knocks the breath from your lungs, his fingers sliding between your bodies to find your clit, rubbing rough and tight until you’re writhing under him, crying out his name like it’s the only word you’ve ever known.

He doesn’t stop.

Not after the first orgasm. Not after the second.

He takes everything you offer him—your forgiveness, your body, your anger, your love—and gives it back threefold, raw and aching and real.

By the time you’re both limp and boneless in the tangle of ruined sheets, the silence is different.

It’s not cold.

It’s not distant.

It’s heavy with everything he couldn’t say before.

You feel his fingers brushing hair from your face.

You hear him whisper, “I don’t care how dumb I look—I saw that photo and thought I lost you, and it killed me.”

You press your forehead to his chest, lips brushing his skin.

“I wore that sundress for you,” you say, quietly. “I wore your shirt because I missed you more than I was mad.”

“I’ll never leave again,” he promises. “I don’t care what it looks like. I’ll ask next time. I’ll fucking listen.”

You hum against his chest. “Damn right you will.”

His hand slides back down to your hip.

“Also,” he murmurs, mouth curling, “that sundress still isn’t safe.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he says, already pulling you back beneath him. “You just reminded me why I like it best on the floor.”

---

He’s still inside you.

Still thick and hard and pulsing against your walls, both of you drenched in sweat, your bodies trembling with the aftershock of it all.

You feel him start to shift, like he’s about to pull out, and your body reacts before your mind can catch up—your legs lock around his waist tight, thighs clamping down, holding him right there.

His breath catches in his throat.

He freezes above you.

“No,” you whisper.

His eyes darken. “Baby…”

“No,” you repeat, firmer now, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t move. Don’t pull away.”

He stares down at you, searching your face.

You can see it in his expression—that look of a man who thought he lost everything and still doesn’t believe it’s real that you’re here, letting him touch you like this again. Letting him have you like this again.

You tug him closer by the hips, forcing him to stay deep inside, your lips brushing his ear.

“I don’t want space,” you whisper. “I want you. Still. Again. Until I forget how it felt not to have you.”

He groans—low, wounded—and drops his forehead to yours, his hands gripping the mattress tight like he’s holding himself back.

“I’m trying,” he says, breath shaking. “I’m trying to slow down, baby. I hurt you. I fucked everything up and I need to make it right.”

Your lips part.

Your voice softens but doesn’t lose its edge. “Then do. Don’t stop until you fix it.”

That breaks whatever restraint he had left.

His hand slides under your thigh and lifts it higher, folding you deeper against him as he starts to move again—slow at first, long strokes that grind his hips against yours, every thrust a promise, a penance, a plea.

You moan, eyes fluttering, and he watches you like he’s memorizing it. Like he’s making sure you feel it.

“You want me to fix it?” he rasps, kissing you hard. “Want me to fuck the memory of all that bullshit outta your head?”

You nod, lips swollen, fingers tight in his hair.

“I’ll do it,” he growls. “I’ll fuckin’ bury it. I’ll make sure you only remember this.”

His rhythm picks up. Your breath stutters.

“Say it again,” he demands, his voice thick. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp. “I’m yours. I never stopped being yours.”

His thrusts turn savage. Controlled, but bruising. Like he’s engraving it into you. Like every second he spent away from you is something he has to erase with his body.

You lose track of how long it lasts.

How many times you come.

How many times he shudders against you, forehead pressed to your neck, panting your name like a prayer he doesn’t deserve to say.

All you know is your body gives out before your heart does.

And still—you keep him close.

Even when he tries to roll off to give you space, you clutch at him again, dragging him with you, wrapping your arms and legs around him like you’ll never let him go again.

And this time?

He doesn’t fight it.

He just sinks into you, chest to chest, still joined, still inside you.

Silent. Breathing hard.

Only one word spoken in the dark between your tangled limbs:

“Mine.”

[flwrkid14]

The Tim Drake Heartthrob Conspiracy

It started as a slow, creeping suspicion. A few throwaway comments here, a couple of odd interactions there. At first, no one thought much of it.

One day, Dick was grabbing coffee near Wayne Enterprises when he overheard two interns chatting in line. “I saw Tim Drake today, and let me tell you, I think I’ve developed a new celebrity crush,” one of them said, giggling.

Dick nearly choked on his iced latte. Tim? Celebrity crush? He shook it off, chalking it up to the occasional corporate crush, nothing out of the ordinary for someone who runs a massive company. But then he heard it again the next week at a Titan’s briefing. Garfield leaned over to him during a meeting, nodding toward Tim across the room.

“Man, Tim’s really come into his own, huh? Guy’s kinda a looker now,” Gar commented.

Dick blinked, then frowned. “Wait, what?”

“Oh, come on, Nightwing,” Gar teased, “you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed! The quiet broody thing is working for him. I bet half of Gotham has a crush on him.”

By the time Dick got back to Gotham, the gears were turning in his head. Did half of Gotham have a crush on Tim?

Then it happened again. This time it was Damian’s turn.

He had been sparring with Jon in the Batcave, when their conversation drifted, as it often did. “You ever think about what it would be like to date someone like Tim?” Jon asked, completely out of the blue.

Damian froze, mid-punch. “What?”

“I mean, he’s smart, right? Responsible, kinda low-key. Would probably make a great boyfriend,” Jon continued, completely oblivious to the growing horror on Damian’s face.

“Grayson and Todd, are enough. I refuse to let another sibling of mine become Gotham’s romantic fascination!” Damian exclaimed later that night at the dinner table. The others laughed, assuming Damian was just being overly dramatic, as usual.

But the seed had been planted.

It didn’t take long for the other Batfamily members to start picking up on the signs.

Steph first noticed when she logged onto a Wayne Enterprises fan forum (because yes, those exist) and saw a thread that was simply titled, “Tim Drake’s Glow-Up Appreciation Post”. The page was filled with comments fawning over him—talking about his “sharp jawline,” his “dark, mysterious aura,” and how “charming” he was during interviews.

Naturally, Steph sent the link to Cass with a laughing emoji. “Look at our boy, growing up into Gotham’s next heartbreaker,” she joked.

But as more and more of these comments popped up in the oddest places, Steph’s joking tone faded. Was Tim really the next heartthrob?

The realization hit Jason last, as most things concerning Tim usually did. He was scrolling through his usual online haunts, browsing forums that discussed Gotham’s vigilantes, when he stumbled on something unusual.

A post titled: Top 10 Reasons Why Red Robin is the Best Looking Vigilante in Gotham.

Jason almost clicked out of it immediately, assuming it was some kind of joke. But no. There were paragraphs. Analysis. Photos that somehow made Tim look like a damn model, even in his ridiculous Red Robin cape.

Jason scrolled through in disbelief, not sure what he was more stunned by: the fact that people were thirsting after Tim, or that someone had gone to this much effort to explain why he was hot.

“That’s it. The internet is officially broken,” Jason muttered to himself, before sending a screenshot to the family group chat with the caption: Since when did Tim become a fashion icon?

The real kicker, though, was Alfred. After weeks of the Batfamily casually throwing around jokes about Tim’s newly discovered “status,” Alfred finally made his observation one morning over breakfast.

“Master Timothy has always had a certain quiet charm about him,” Alfred said as he served coffee, completely unbothered by the ensuing chaos.

Dick, nearly spilling his coffee: “Wait, you knew about this? Why didn’t you say something?”

Alfred raised a brow. “It hardly seemed necessary. I assumed you all were already aware of Master Timothy’s appeal.”

Appeal. Appeal.

Jason was laughing so hard he had to leave the room, while Steph and Cass exchanged glances that said everything: they needed to re-evaluate everything about their little brother.

The whole Batfamily was still coming to terms with it. They joked, they teased, but there was an undeniable shift. When they looked at Tim now, they saw what others had apparently been seeing for years—a quietly confident, strikingly intelligent young man who had somehow grown into one of Gotham’s most eligible bachelors.

Of course, the moment that really sealed the deal came when Tim rode into the Batcave one evening on his Red Bird bike, wearing hastily thrown on stylish outfit—a black leather jacket, perfectly fitted jeans, and a shirt that gave him a casual, yet effortlessly cool look. Running a hand through his still damp hair, a look of mild annoyance on his face.

“Sorry, I’m running late. Got a date.”

For a moment, the Batfamily just stared.

Holy. Shit.

And then, as if on cue, Dick, Steph, Cass, Duke, Jason, and even Damian had the same thought at the same time: Oh my God, Tim Drake is the Batfamily’s biggest heartthrob.

The realization was almost too much to handle.

[jobean12-blog]

Defenseless in Love

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 3.6K

Summary: You've been friends with Sam for a while and you've trained with him here and there but never really got to the point where you feel you could properly defend yourself and when you ask him to teach you self-defense his new job as Captain America makes him a little less available so he directs you to his friend Bucky.

Author's Note: I always loved the thought of Bucky teaching us to be badass and even though he's lethal he's gentle and patient and wonderful! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: lots of fluff and flirty things and tension and a minor (totally fine) injury, soft Bucky

 “Why me?”

“Why not you?” Sam raises a brow, setting his hands on his hips.

Bucky remains quiet with a shake of his head.

“She doesn’t want to take a class. Says it makes her uncomfortable and she would rather train one on one with someone she trusts.”

“Then you do it,” Bucky sighs.

“I can’t.”

Bucky pins Sam with an incredulous glare.

“I’m kinda busy at the moment,” Sam explains with a lopsided smirk. “You know…Captain America and all.”

Bucky’s jaw tightens and he mindlessly stirs the spoon in his coffee.

“How do you know I won’t make her uncomfortable?”

The words are quietly spoken, and Bucky’s eyes stay fixed on the dark liquid in front of him.

“Buck,” Sam says softly. “I told her I was going to ask you to do it and that I trust you completely.”

Bucky looks up to meet Sam’s eyes.

“She was fine with it. She said, ‘if you trust him then I do too.’”

He’s tall, with tousled dark hair and a strong jaw covered with dark stubble. He stands and waits, his arms crossed over his torso in a way that makes the muscles in his chest and forearms shift deliciously. And his eyes…his eyes are a shade of blue that rivals the ocean. They’re gorgeous-like the rest of him.

Taking a deep breath, you remove yourself from the hidden shadows just outside the gym door and grab the handle.

His head snaps in your direction, his gaze turning fully on you and making your heart skip a beat.

He says your name; his voice is low and gravelly, and it skates down your spine with a tingle. You nod and say hello.

“I was wondering how long you were going to stand out there.”

You suck in a breath and your lips remain parted.

“First lesson,” he continues, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly, “always be aware of your surroundings.”

“Right,” you manage to say as you step inside and let the door shut.

An hour later, after stretching and taking the time to talk through any jitters you’re standing in front of Bucky in your best defensive stance.

“That’s really the best you’ve got?” he says, his tone neither mocking or malicious.

“I’m more dangerous than you think,” you bluster.

The corners of his mouth rise into a challenging smirk.

You hate how beautiful he is. It’s a distraction and if you really want to learn you’re going to have to steel yourself against it.

He wiggles his fingers in your direction, and you pause.

“Shouldn’t you be attacking me first?” you ask. “Isn’t that why I need to learn to defend myself…you know self-defense.”

“I just want to see what I’m working with here,” he replies, keeping those perfect lips titled upward.

You let out a long exhale and rush toward him, barely able to register what happens before you’re wrapped in his arms, your back pressed tightly to his chest. You struggle in his grip, moving against him to try and loosen his hold.

He goes still and you swear he stops breathing for a heartbeat before he let’s you go.

You spin and face him again, breathing heavily and not from exertion. This time he moves toward you, and holy shit he’s fast. You try to swipe his feet out from under him in a move that he artfully dodges and captures your arm. The earth spins and you brace for the impact of your back smacking the mat but instead all you feel is the strength of his arms behind you as he holds you up and slowly lets you sink down. He leans down so his face is only inches from yours, “you’re strong,” he whispers, “but you’re gonna need more finesse.”

You huff in response, but he releases you and stands, offering you a hand. “We’re not done yet. We’ve barely gotten started.”

He tugs you to your feet, then twists your arm behind your back and yanks you against his hard chest, pinning your joined hands before you even catch your balance.

“Shit,” you snap, trying to steady your breathing.

He releases your hand and steps back and you whirl, going for a punch to his throat. He knocks your hand aside easily.

“Good,” he says with a smile, deflecting your next blow without even breaking a sweat. “Going for the throat is always a good option as long as it’s exposed.”

You kick out again, mostly from frustration, and he captures your leg, this time, holding it for a second before dropping it to the mat with a frown. “I expect you to learn from your mistakes.”

Your frustration turns to fury, and you glare at him, noting the way he stands there with loose arms, rocking back on his heels.

“You’re not even trying,” you grit out.

His lips curve into a smile and this time you don’t think, you just act, going low and kicking out the backs of his knees. He goes down hard, and you pounce, trying for a headlock. Doesn’t matter how big someone is- they still need to breathe.

Instead of going for your arms, he twists, grabbing a hold of the backs of your thighs so you lose your leverage and your bodies careen into a roll. Of course, he lands on top.

His forearm rests against your throat and his hips have you pinned; your legs useless on either side of his as he lies heavily between your thighs. Your body becomes so acutely aware of him that he’s all you can feel. Your breath catches and your body warms.

“Where did you learn that move?” he asks with an approving smile.

Your chin lifts. “Sam taught me a few things here and there.”

“If your opponent is bigger you need to stop going for moves that will expose you,” he explains, keeping you pressed to the mat with his weight. “A rib shot would work just fine.” He gently pulls your hand free and drags your fingertips down his side. Then he guides your hands around his back. “Kidneys are a good fit from this angle too.”

You swallow hard, refusing to let your mind wander to other things that are a good fit in this position.

He leads your hands to his waist and you’re sure you feel the muscles of his abdominals tense under your touch. “There’s weakness here too. Three easy places to strike.”

You stare at him, your fingers still pressed against his shirt and feeling the hardness beneath.

“You hear me doll?”

You nod.

“This looks promising,” Sam says with a mischievous tone.

You’re suddenly reminded of your surroundings and the realization of your current entanglement with Bucky makes your skin heat.

“Sam!” you say as you try and get out from under Bucky.

Bucky presses up from the mat a few inches and then slides your hand away from his side, slowly, inch by inch.

“That’s it?” you ask, surprised at the disappointment you feel.

“I hate to break it up, but I need Bucky,” Sam says.

Bucky pushes up all the way, removing his weight from your body and offering you another hand. You don’t take it this time and rise from the mat with ease. His approving smile makes you feel warm all the way down to your toes.

Sam’s smile is wide and knowing but you ignore it, focusing on Bucky.

“I’ll be right there Wilson,” Bucky says, the short dismissal enough to get Sam to give you two privacy.

“You did well,” Bucky says, filling the space in front of you.

Your head drops and you scoff, kicking at some invisible object on the mat. Warm, strong fingers press gently under your chin and raise your face until your eyes lock with ocean blue.

“You did,” he says again.

“Thanks,” you whisper, mourning the loss of his fingers when he drops his hand.

“I’ll be more organized next time…if you want to do this again.”

“I do,” you answer quickly. “I want to feel safe. And strong.”

Bucky nods. “You will doll.”

The next week you’re back at the gym, feeling more confident and even more comfortable. After your first session you and Bucky exchanged phone numbers, the text messages flowing easily between you the past few days. This time you open the door without hesitation and find Bucky leaning against the far wall, cutting the pieces off a plum with a knife. His eyes lift and lock with yours just as he opens his mouth to pop a bite in.

Your entire body tingles.

He didn’t lie when he said he’d be more prepared and organized for this session. He works you through some stretches and a warmup and then takes you through several take downs step by step, each one building on the next. You’re moving faster and even getting a few hits in here and there. The confidence fuels you and coupled with some adrenaline you really push yourself, pressing Bucky to work you harder.

He does but when you try something new, something he wasn’t anticipating, you end up ramming your ribs into his metal forearm. It’s completely by accident but knocks the wind out of you nonetheless and you fall to your knees to catch your breath.

“Shit doll,” Bucky says, falling down next to you and grabbing your shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”

You wheeze out an “I’m ok,” and when you look up to reassure him, the lines of worry etched into his features make it even harder to breathe.

“Let me see,” he says, the panic in his eyes softening your own before he looks down at your side.

“I’m fine,” you say.

His focus snaps back to your eyes. “Don’t lie to me.”

“It hurts,” you admit after a stuttered inhale.

“Let me see,” he says again.

“Is that a request or a demand?” you ask, trying to sound teasing.

“You pick as long as I can check to see how bad it is.”

You swallow, then nod, reaching for the hem of your shirt. He stops you with a soft hand and then with surprising gentleness his fingers skim your bare skin as he slowly lifts your shirt. You suppress a shiver, locking your muscles so you don’t melt against him.

“Sorry if my hands are cold,” he says, clearing his throat as more of your skin is exposed.

Your eyes meet and warmth flutters in your stomach. He drops his eyes and inspects your side, gentle fingers stroking your ribs before they prod carefully.

“You’re gonna have one hell of a bruise doll. I really am sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong and thanks for checking.”

He drags your shirt back down, letting his knuckles graze you skin in the process. He waits for you to stand, watching you closely and letting out a relieved exhale when he notices your breathing is more even.

Your eyes widen when he drops to his knees in front of you. “Your shoe is untied.”

“Oh.”

Your hands twitch at your sides, his long, soft strands of hair at the perfect level for you to run your fingers through.

“Thank you.”

He gives you a real smile, not a cocky smirk or a teasing tilt to his lips. A real, honest, heart-stopping smile that you’re anything but immune to.

“It’s the least I could do after…that.”

“Not your fault Bucky,” you assure him again. “It happened by complete accident.”

Bucky texts you at least forty-seven times over the next week, constantly checking in and asking about your ribs. But you’re still surprised when the day before you’re next session he calls, asking if you want to meet for breakfast beforehand.

“This place has the best coffee. And muffins. And scones,” he says as he holds the door open for you.

You laugh and walk through, instantly soothed by the smell of coffee beans and baked goods. “And you know this because you’ve tried them all of course.”

“Of course,” he says while rubbing his stomach.

Your eyes track the movement and you’re positive you can see ridges of muscles beneath his shirt. It takes all your concentration to tear your gaze away and focus on the menu. After ordering your drinks and two of everything baked you head for your seats.

You try it all and let Bucky eat the rest, marveling at how he packs it away and doesn’t even seem fazed.

“I wish I could eat like that and look like you.”

The comment comes out before you can stop it, and your eyes widen slightly when they meet his narrowed ones.

“You look perfect,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Eat whatever you want. You’re gonna need the energy today.”

He gives you one of his signature teasing smirks and you stand. “Bring it on Barnes!”

The walk to the gym is short but the weather is warm, and you can feel a light sheen of sweat coating the back of your neck. The hot coffee you’re drinking doesn’t help either but it’s too good to not finish.

He holds the door open for you and then walks in, sipping his coffee as he goes. You bend over to retrieve something from your bag, and he takes a misstep, his focus on your ass instead of where he’s going.

With a tumble forward his coffee follows suit, his momentum forcing the liquid out of the cup and onto his shirt. He catches himself before he looks like a complete fool, but the damage is done. His shirt is soaked through on the front with the last of his coffee.

“AH shit,” he sighs, pulling the wet material from his stomach.

“What happened?” you ask, your brows furrowed as you turn toward him. “Did you trip?”

“Um…yeah, something like that,” he says. “I have to change.”

He reaches behind his back and starts to lift his shirt, slowly revealing tanned skin that’s all sharp lines and barely restrained power. You’ve seen shirtless men before. Many times. But never Bucky Barnes. You’d start counting his ab muscles if the rest of him wasn’t just as good to look at. Your mouth waters when he turns around and you see the muscled expanse of his back. Even the gold and gray metal plates of his arm move beautifully as he searches for a new shirt.

“Sam usually keeps some stuff stashed in here,” Bucky says.

You think you heard what he said but you’re shamelessly wondering how his skin would feel under your fingertips, how your body would react to having every ounce of him on top of you, over you…in…”

The slam of the small storage door draws your attention downward, and you shake your head to snap out of it.

“Ready?” he asks, a new shirt securely in place.

You walk to the mat and wait.

“Are you sure you’re not still in any pain…?”

“Bucky,” you sigh. “I’m really ok. I have been for days. I appreciate your concern but I’m pretty sure I’m going to need to be able to work through pain sometimes. I don’t think anyone who attacks me will care if I’m injured…”

“You’re right,” he says, pride shining in his eyes. “Let’s go…but first…”

You watch with rapt admiration as he pulls several hidden knives free, his smile growing when he takes the last one out from his boot.

“I want you to learn how to use a weapon. You can carry it with you…just in case.”

He hands you the blade and you hold it in your open palm, noticing the weight of it and how the handle seems just right.

“Wow,” is all you can think to say.

“I had it made for you,” he explains. “Most blades are made for men…you know, big hands, long fingers.”

As if to drive his point home he splays his hand in front of you, showing off just how big and long they can be.

“Right,” you whisper. “I don’t know what to say…thank you Bucky.”

He smiles again. “Now let me teach you how to use it.”

Before you can prepare or react he has you on your back, his weight settled between your thighs. It takes all your willpower not to reach up and brush the stray lock of hair from his forehead.

“You didn’t even give me a heads up,” you whisper, leaning up slightly and letting your lips brush the shell of his ear.

He jerks up, and the heat in his gaze makes you all too aware of everywhere your bodies are touching.

“You know…” he says, his eyes glittering, “distraction is a great way to do some damage.”

His eyes drop to your mouth.

“Are you distracted?” you murmur.

Before he can answer you use a move he taught you and roll him on to his back.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you sing song.

His eyes meet yours under the fluorescent lights of the gym before dropping to your lips. His metal arm slides up your back, but not in a way to remove you, it’s slow and purposeful for a completely different reason. You can feel the warmth of his touch through your clothing, your skin unbearably hot.

When you shudder in his arms his smile is like a caress and his free hand moves to your cheek, brushing across your skin.

“You have incredibly soft skin,” he murmurs. “I’ve been aching to feel it again since I checked your ribs.”

The admission makes you suck in a breath, and he studies you with an intensity that makes you sway closer. His thumbs stroke along your cheekbones and his heated gaze moves to your mouth. Hands flexing, he draws you forward a few inches before he stops.

“I…” he starts, groaning when your tongue traces your lower lip.

“Bucky.” His name comes out like a whispered plea and it’s all he needs to close the distance. He was just out of reach and now his mouth is on yours, hot and insistent. He cradles the back of your head, trapping you against him as he lays on the mat and you feel every hard line of his body. You clutch the material of his shirt at his chest, parting your lips when he angles your head for a deeper kiss.

“Fuck baby,” he moans, and the sound makes you ravenous. Your hands lift to his hair and it’s just as soft as imagined, your nails scraping lightly over his scalp.

His hips tilt upward, and you gasp at the friction but it’s not enough and in a move that rivals all the others you’ve seen him do he flips you onto your back, the impact so soft you gasp into his mouth. You surrender completely, going pliant beneath him as he claims every line and curve of your mouth with a reckless edge that makes your body sing. He breaks the kiss, sliding his mouth across your jaw, your neck, whispering words of praise as he explores every inch of your skin his lips can find.

The sound of the gym door startles you enough to pull away, but your eyes never leave Bucky’s and when you hear Sam’s voice you let out a giggle.

“You look like you’re…defending yourself well,” Sam says from above you.

“Your timing sucks,” Bucky sighs. “And she could have totally handed me my ass right now if she wanted to.” He smiles down at you with a wink.

Sam pulls Bucky away once again but before he leaves he presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth then one to your lips, lingering until Sam starts shouting from the doorway. Later that night you get a text from Bucky-‘I can’t stop thinking about kissing you again.’

You read the words over and over again as your body continuously reminds you exactly what it feels like to have his mouth on yours. Your stomach flutters and you actually press a flattened palm against it, hoping to calm the eruption of butterflies.

After washing up and throwing on some pjs you’re just about to spend the rest of your night watching something streaming on Netflix when you hear a knock at your apartment door. You check the time. It’s late and you’re not expecting anyone…maybe it’s your neighbor?

Standing on your tippy toes you check the peep hole and barely stifle your gasp of surprise.

“I’m glad you checked to see who it was first,” Bucky says when you swing the door open. “That’s part of smart self-defense.”

You stare at his face, then the flowers in his hand, then back at his face.

“Is it too late? Were you asleep?”

His eyes fill with worry but before you let him fret too long you grab his free hand and drag him into your apartment, slamming the door shut and pushing him against it. Without a word you kiss him, softly at first, just a brush of your lips, but he instantly takes over, resting the flowers on the small table by the door and taking you in his arms, spinning you and caging you with your back to the door.

“You always get the upper hand,” you smile against his lips.

“Better get used to it,” he teases, resting his metal hand next to your head as he leans back in, letting his eyes do a warm sweep of your body from head to toe.

“You look magnificent,” he murmurs.

“I’m in my pajamas.” Your reply comes out breathless.

His fingers drops to your shoulder, tracing the soft curve before ghosting down your arm and sliding to where the hem of your tank sits just above your shorts.

“Magnificent,” he repeats, slipping one finger under the material to touch your skin. “And So. Fucking. Soft.”  

“Bucky,” you whisper.

“I know doll,” he says, “but I need to take my time…I want to get my hands and mouth on every inch of you.”

[girlyassumes]

Manifestation is always instantaneous

I’ve been learning about manifestation and LOA for about 8 months now. It has finally clicked for me what instant manifestation is, after all this time. I don’t feel like a lot of people clearly explain it…and I’m someone who sometimes needs things explained to me like I’m a 5-year-old lol. So, I’m gonna break it down for you as clearly as I can, in case you’ve had a hard time understanding it, too.

The word instant is usually defined as something happening right now; immediately; in this present moment. So, when we’re told “you can manifest [this thing] instantly,” we might expect the thing to happen or appear immediately. I know, for me, this is how I’ve wavered because I’m like, “hey, where’s it at?” when it doesn’t show up quickly or I feel as if I’m waiting. And, I’m sure that you’ve experienced this feeling, too.

But, it’s not the thing that appears or happens instantly, it’s the bridge of events that happens instantly. After you affirm, reality immediately starts moving you towards the thing you want. You’re put onto that bridge instantly. Everything that needs to happen in order to get you to what you’re manifesting is already starting to happen. Sometimes it’ll be one small thing - the tiniest blip - that’ll get you there, sometimes it’ll be multiple things happening and people involved that’ll get you there.

So, this is why you can’t worry about the how and view it as “waiting.” There are so many different ways that your thing can happen. Thinking of how it will or questioning how it’s possible is what can make you feel doubtful. Affirming that you have what you want puts you on that bridge instantly. It’s already happening; you aren’t waiting. It’s already yours - you’re just being lead to it.

The analogy of manifesting being like ordering food at a restaurant can be used to understand how it works instantly. You’re telling the waitress (putting it out there) that you want a certain meal (the thing you’re manifesting). The waitress now knows and she’s in the process of writing it down, then giving the kitchen staff the information, and then the whole restaurant staff does whatever it is they need to do to make your meal and get it to you ASAP. This is how manifesting works and why it’s instant.

Also keep in the title “waitress/waiter” in mind - they’re waiting on you. It’s their job. They aren’t trying to make you wait - in fact, they don’t want to hear you complain lol. They’re waiting on you to tell them what you want and then making sure it gets to you. This is the same as your desired reality (the one where you have what you want) waiting on you to affirm for it, not listening to you say, “hey, why aren’t you here? I don’t believe that you’re mine and that I have what I want.”

Can you imagine going to a restaurant and as the waitress is writing down what you ordered, you go, “hey, where’s it at?” and start looking around the restaurant for your food. Or you say, “I don’t think you’ll give me my food. That’s not possible.” No? Because that’s crazy. People don’t do that. This is why you affirm and don’t ask where it’s at and go searching for it. You trust that it’s already yours and is coming to you because guess what? It’s guaranteed you’ll get it since you asked for it. Your meal (your manifestation) is already in the works; it’s your order that you put through. You don’t have to worry about anything else. Just enjoy life in the present moment as your thing gets to you. The less you focus on the time and more you reassure yourself that it’s yours, instead of worrying, the quicker it’ll show up or show up when you least expect it to.

The only time your manifestation won’t show up is if you change what you’re manifesting. Let’s say you originally ordered chicken fingers but then you pull the waitress aside and tell her you want steak instead. Then you’re simply getting the other thing you asked for instead of what you originally ordered.

The only time your manifestation will be delayed is if you keep focusing on how long it’s taking or don’t trust that you’ll get it. If you’re at a restaurant and keep nervously focusing on the time, it’ll feel like you’re waiting and like it’s taking a long time for your food to arrive. Or, if you keep saying to the waitress that you don’t trust that you’ll get the food, you’ll just stress her and the rest of the kitchen staff out which won’t help speed up the process of the food being prepared (the bridge of events happening to get you to your manifestation), it’ll just slow it down.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Malefic Attachment.

Pairing: Yandere!Malleus x Reader (TWST)

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Platonic (At The Moment) Yandere Malleus, Manipulation, Deliberate Social Isolation, and Obsessive/Delusional Behavior.

The worst thing about you, Malleus had decided, was that you’d chosen to be his friend.

‘Chosen’, because you’d been the one to approach him, a dazzling smile painted across your lips and a dozen questions about his life as royalty in a faraway land on your tongue, and ‘worst’, because he couldn’t think of a single other thing about you that he despised so fervently, or for that matter, that he disliked at all. He couldn’t be sure when he came to such a grim conclusion, although it had most likely been some time between the fourth time you’d sought him out in the minutes between your classes and the seventh you apologized for having to cut your conversation so short, nor was he entirely certain why the thought of having any claim to you left him so unsettled, despite how innocent your relationship was.

Briefly, he’d considered keeping you at a distance, telling his retainers to make sure you stayed at arm’s length, but he hated the thought of inconveniencing Silver and Sebek, and he hated the thought of having no claim to you at all even more. He’d never hurt you, nor was he possessive by nature. Most days, the only thing he craved was to sit by your side and—

“Malleus?” He felt a shoulder nudge into his side, a glanced down to find you, of course – staring up at him, smiling as if you already knew he’d been too lost in his own thoughts to listen properly. Immediately, it was all he could do to settle into place and smile back.

Most days, the only thing he wanted was to sit by your side and be with you, and it would’ve been a shame to squander such a golden opportunity to do just that.

He moved to apologize, to explain himself, but there was no need. You were already rolling your eyes and returning to your previous posture; curled into yourself, your legs folded against your chest, chin resting on your knees. It was strange – what lengths such a small creature would take to make itself even smaller. Malleus couldn’t help but find it endearing, the way he might’ve found a plush toy endearing, or a particularly charming prey animal. “I just don’t understand what’s going on,” you sighed, slumping further into yourself. Instantly, Malleus knew that whatever the cause of your distress was, it would not survive much longer than that night.

Still, he listened intently, as you went on. “I mean, I have to be the problem, right? I’m the only common factor – well, me and NRC, but it’s not like people are avoiding school.” Another sigh. This time, when you buried your face in your knees, it remained there. “They’re just avoiding me. I must’ve done something wrong.”

“Never,” he said, because it was true. Because you were infallible, save for your poor taste in companionship. “I can’t imagine what would lead you to believe such a terrible thing. Did someone tell you that?”

There was no real point to asking. He would’ve known if someone had planted such a vile thought in your head; would’ve dealt with it on the spot. Despite his reservations, Malleus made a hobby out of your safekeeping. If something were to happen to you, a human brazen enough to share his company so often, it would’ve reflected poorly on him.

(It’d occurred to him that you were not the first human to ever approach him, nor would you be the last, but Malleus opted against lingering on such technicalities. You were the only human to enjoy the spoils of his protection, and that was enough to make you wholly unique.)

You didn’t answer, not at first. Instead, your attention drifted from him to the view you two so often enjoyed together. It’d been difficult to convince you to join him here – on the roof of Diasomnia’s tallest tower, where one could make out mile after mile of dark, inviting forest in every direction and the dark colors of your dorm uniform blended into those of the night sky – but it’d been even more difficult to convince Vil to let you slip out after curfew. While Malleus knew he had no right to question the nature of your soul, he did often wonder why you had to be placed into Pomefiore, of all possible dorms. Schoenheit was one of the stricter house wardens, outmatched only by Rosehearts. It was difficult to steal a student of his dorm away at the best of times, and Malleus rarely wanted to see you at the best of times. If you’d belonged to Savannahclaw or, should he be so lucky, Diasomnia, there would be no need to rely on Schoenheit’s sparse charity after he’d already gone to the lengths necessary to seek you out.

But you were precious to Malleus, and there were few things he wouldn’t do to ensure your happiness. He cared about you – irrationally so. “My lab partner,” you admitted, eventually. Malleus felt something deep within his chest lose its shape, and yet his smile could only seem to widen. “I don’t know him that well, so it’s not like I have any right to feel… betrayed, I guess, but—”

“You have every right to feel exactly how you feel,” he interjected. “What did he say?”

Malleus already knew. He wanted to hear from your lips, though.

“It’s a little hard to remember.” And yet, you didn’t hesitate to go on. “I think… I think he might’ve said it was too dangerous to be around me. That I was a hazard to have in class, or something.”

That was only half-true, although he doubted you were lying deliberately. Just ‘a hazard to be around’ would’ve been more accurate, on its own. “Is that all?” He moved closer, draping an arm over your shoulders. Automatically, you melted into his side – your body slotting perfectly against his. “You have to know how untrue that is. You’re an excellent mage, and a pleasure to—”

“He’s not the only one, though.” It was the first time he heard your voice so pitiful, so distorted. Malleus couldn’t help but find it endearing. It would’ve been better for both of you, if you allowed yourself to be more reliant on him. “My roommate – that’s someone you have to share a room with when your dorm doesn’t unanimously decide to worship the ground you walk on, I know you’re probably not familiar with the concept – requested to move last week, and—” Your voice caught in your throat, your gazing turning downward. Malleus felt his fangs sharpen behind his lips, but repressed the urge to act on his less wholesome instincts. “There’s this boy in my third hour – from Ignihyde, I think. I swear, I’ve never even talked to him, but last time we had class together, he just came up to me, and—” You paused, shrunk into yourself. You attempted to pull away from Malleus, but he only drew you in tighter, and your resolve gave away far faster than his patience. “He called me a freak.”

Ah.

Malleus had wondered what’d come of his brief conversation with your classmate. It was a tamer offense than what he’d expected, although you were having a much stronger reaction than he would’ve hoped.

You weren’t wrong, for what it was worth. You hadn’t spoken to that particular classmate, but you could have. He’d planned to confess to you during your shared period, although he hadn’t thought to phrase it quite so romantically. Sebek had overheard him building up his courage, and it’d only taken a few words from Malleus to dissuade him from doing anything so foolish. Not that it was foolish to want to be around you – if that was true, he would be the biggest fool of them all. It was only foolish to think that someone so insignificant, someone so unimportant had any more right to be around you than Malleus did.

He couldn’t help but notice, as time went on, that all of the people you may’ve once considered friends were rather weak-willed. It was a tragedy, really. Malleus was aware that he had a reputation among the mortal portion of NRC’s student body, but that was no excuse to act the way your ‘friends’ always seemed to – sniveling and shaking, brought to tears by even the implication of a threat. He worried, at first, that they’d go running to you, spout off something awful and exaggerated that painted his protective habits in an unflattering light, but as far as he could tell, it was unfounded fear – an easily dealt with one, at that. Should anyone ever try to put anything but distance between you and themselves, he’d—

Well, he couldn’t hurt them. You wouldn’t care for him as much as you did, if he tried to.

That was, if you ever found out.

Again, his mind drifted back to Schoenheit; all narrowed eyes and pursed lips and disapproving scowls every time Malleus mentioned your name. It didn’t make him angry – he’d never been quick to anger, and it would only be childish to change that now – but he didn’t care for the way he felt when he was apart from you, when he couldn’t find an excuse to do away with the flimsy barriers that separated you from him. He didn’t enjoy the tightness in his chest, the dryness in the back of his throat, the way every little inconvenience left him on the brink of violence. No, he didn’t care for the way he behaved when you weren’t with him.

Yet again, his mind turned to Vil.

Perhaps he was more prone to anger than believed himself to be.

“Mortals,” He was talking before he realized he’d wanted to. His gaze flickered from you, still despondent and curled against his side, to the landscape, all-but pitch black under the thick veil of night. “are fickle creatures. They tend not to trust what they don’t control. Humans, especially.”

Another jab to his side, albeit not as forceful as the first. “Keep in mind that you’re talking to a human right now, Mal.”

“How could I forget?” This time, it was Malleus who detached from you, pushing himself to his feet and offering you a hand to help you do the same. With a huff, you followed him, mimicking exasperation as you let him guide you. “I only meant to say that you might not be entirely understood by such short-lived creatures. I mean, you’ve seen how they act around me.” He squeezed your hand, and bashfully, you looked away. “You agree, don’t you, (Y/n)?”

It took a moment, but with a small sigh and slight smile, you nodded. “…yeah, I guess. It’s not like teenagers are supposed to be nice or anything.”

“You agree, then. They’ve been treating you cruelly.”

Your smile wavered. Malleus considered that it may have been your fragility that’d endeared you to him. Or your inability to hide it, at least. “Well, I wouldn’t call them cruel, but…”

“But?”

“They can be mean, sometimes, I guess. The people in my dorm, especially.” You forced an airy laugh, turning away from him entirely. “I… I think Vil might’ve told them to keep an eye on me. They’ve been acting like I’m under house arrest, lately.”

“You must know how unfair that is.” Almost as unfair as Schoenheit’s attempts to keep you away from him. “And I’m sure you must know that you’d be much happier in a dorm with more open-minded students.”

Immediately, your expression dropped. You tried to pull your hands out of his, but he only tightened his grip. It pained him to exert any amount of control over you, but some pains were necessary. Those that kept you within the scope of his protection, especially. “I… I don’t really like where this is going, Malleus.”

“You haven’t even given me a chance to explain myself.” He didn’t realize his hold had tightened into something bruising until your lips quirked downward, eyes narrowing as you struggled to choke down a fractured whimper. Reluctantly, he released you, but his hands soon found their way to your shoulders. You couldn’t run, not on a rooftop, not very far, but there was no reason to give you the chance to. “I only think that you should consider how happy you could be if you—”

“Malleus,” you interjected. “I really don’t—”

“If you belonged to Diasomnia,” he finished, despite your protests. Impressively, you managed to bite your tongue long enough for him to explain himself properly. “Our students are much less territorial, and the majority are still human. If you’re afraid you’ll be an outcast, don’t be. You’ll still be among your own kind, just a less hostile breed.” When you failed to move, he gave himself the luxury of a less restricting form of affection – bring one hand up to cup your cheek. “I’m only trying to suggest that you seek out a more suitable place for yourself. It’s not as if staying where you are will make you any happier.”

“…I like Pomefiore, though. And it’s not like everyone’s avoiding me.” A lie, albeit one plausible enough to send a bolt of white, searing fear from the deepest hollow of Malleus’ chest to the back of his throat. He flinched, but caught himself before his pointed nails could harm your delicate skin. If you had any friends left (aside from himself, of course), he would tear them apart. He would carve their hearts from their bodies. He would—

He would change that.

There was no need to be so gruesome about it. Not yet, at least.

“You care for it more than you care for me?” He made sure to keep his tone light, teasing, only letting it dip into something more serious when you bit the inside of your cheek and looked away. “Please, don’t tell me that you still think they’re worth your time.”

“They’re not all bad.” You still weren’t looking at him. Malleus might’ve been more annoyed if he thought you had anything beyond him to pay attention to. “Vil’s a really good house warden, and—and, we have these skincare nights once a week, which might not sound very fun to you, but—Well, I haven’t been invited recently, but—”

To your credit, you didn’t need him to say anything. All it took was a sympathetic look, his palm slotted tenderly against your cheek, and you cracked before he had the chance to say a word.

“…but, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.” You shook your head, shrugged, as if it wasn’t a matter of true concern. As if you wouldn’t give anything to be as near to him as possible. “It’s not like I can just decide to change the nature of my soul. That’s between the dark mirror and…” Another chirping laugh, like windchimes and birdsong and silver bells. Malleus could only hope he’d hear it again sometime soon, in a more celebratory context. “…itself, I think.”

“Normally,” he admitted, running his thumb over your cheek. “Save for when you have another extremely competent house warden to petition the headmaster on your behalf.”

Even in the dim light, he could make out your cheeks flush. Good. He wanted to have an effect on you – any effect at all. “Malleus, I—I really can’t ask you to do that. You’re already so busy, and I really don’t mind—”

“(Y/n).” Immediately, you went quiet. He rarely used your name, and you knew to pay attention, when he did. “If you can tell me, honestly, that you do not believe you’d be happier in Diasomnia than you currently are, I’ll drop the matter entirely.”

You pursed your lips, your eyes meeting his own for the first time since he’d broached the topic. “…and if I couldn’t say that?”

Biting back his grin would’ve been impossible. He could only hope you mistook his delight for relief. “Then consider it done.”

You really were a delicate creature. A few seconds of quiet anticipation, a gentle squeeze to your arm, and he all-but watched you fold into yourself, crumpling under the weight of your own isolation. A small, unsteady smile spread over your lips as you pulled away from him altogether, only to throw yourself into his chest; your arms winding around his neck as you pulled him into a lung flattening hug. After a startled beat, he returned the gesture, pulling you that much closer as you buried your face in the leather of his coat. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you,” you stuttered, speaking quickly enough for each word to slur into the next. “I—I just haven’t had anyone to talk to, but you’ve been so patient, and so nice to me, and I… I really don’t know what I’d do without you.” You pulled back, looking up at him. Your smile was brighter than he’d ever seen it, and Malleus took a moment to savor that he’d been the one to draw it out of you. “You’re the best, Malleus.”

“Think nothing of it.” He was tempted to pull you back, to hold you for just a few seconds longer, but you were already tearing yourself away from him, clapping your hands together as you rambled excitedly about how much fun it would be to stay in the same dorm, how much more time you could get to spend with him and Lilia, how excited you were to get to know Silver and Sebek and all the other underclassmen who liked to, in your own words, ‘bite at his ankles’. It was only when you took an over-eager step towards the rooftop’s ledge that he took you by the arm, pulling you back with an airy chuckle. “It’s gotten late,” he explained, snapping his fingers. In the blink of an eye, the two of you were standing in his dorm room, the rooftop and the night sky’s expanse left behind entirely. “Why don’t you spend the night in one of our spare rooms? I’ll make more appropriate arrangements in the morning.”

You agreed without a second thought, and as he walked you through the shadowed halls of your soon-to-be home, he decided that he’d been wrong, initially. The worst thing about you wasn’t that you’d chosen to be with him. Really, your closeness wasn’t a bad thing at all.

The worst thing about you, undeniably, was that you could still choose to be close to people who weren’t Malleus.

Thankfully, he was already taking measures to fix that.

[lovegreenie]

Love, Copycat | NSH Riki | 西村 力

synopsis. 3 times you wonder why Riki likes copying you, and the 1 time you realize why

pairing. bsf! riki x fem! reader

tags. fluff, reader is oblivious, college! au, extremely self-indulgent, reader is a bit of a nerd, Riki indulges her nerdiness… a little too much, childhood friends to almost lovers (they’re getting there), attempt at comedic narration

essie's ✉️. “Soft Spot” by Keshi inspired this (I was possessed by it while writing this actually) Also please tell me someone has this as their love language too like it’s got such a special place in my heart:( And thank you to bestie @sweethoneyjays for beta reading !!

wc. 2.9k

Copycat.

It’s what you’ve always called Riki.

It’s his contact name on your phone, it’s the name you use whenever you talk about him, and it’s the name you call out whenever any minor inconvenience graces you with its presence.

Like right now.

“Mm?” He hummed in response when you groaned out your little nickname for him, his eyes never leaving the switch in his hands as he lay sprawled across your bed. 

All you could do in that moment was let out a sigh as you went slack against the backrest of your desk chair, your head hanging from its edge while you stared at the ceiling.

“I thought I’d love it, I truly did. It's a mystery, has secret societies, a commentary on classism and misogyny; everything I love in a book,” you said as you picked up the one on your desk and looked at it with contempt, “so why can’t I get through this one? It’s barely 500 pages.” 

Riki paused his game to walk over and sit on the ottoman you keep by your desk. You handed over the book for him to check out, and he mumbled as he read the title on the cover.

“Can’t you just do your assignment on ‘Babel’? It’s the same genre, has a secret society, explores the same problems, and it’s dark academia like this one, no?” He handed the book back to you after he finished reading the synopsis.

You blinked at him.

“You’ve read… ‘Babel’? As in… 1830s Oxford, the power of translation, daddy-issues-Robin ‘Babel’?”

There was a hint of confusion and amusement behind your surprised look, and a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You never took Riki to be a book-worm in the nine years you’ve been friends, never once saw him pick up a book if it wasn’t for school.

At this point, you were less upset with your professor’s poor literary choice for your first assignment of the term, and more so delighted by the fact that your best friend had read what is probably your all-time-favorite book by your all-time-favorite author.

Unprompted.

Riki huffed out a little laugh as he got up and plopped back onto your bed, not before annoying you with a hair ruffle though.

“Yeah well it’s the only book you’ve been carrying around since last year. You’ve even filled it up with tabs and annotations” He resumed his game as he continued to talk.

“If it was good enough for you to keep around that long after finishing it, I figured I’d give it a shot.”

You didn’t know how to respond.

A comforting silence blanketed the both of you like it usually did when you guys would hang out, the sound of his game being the only thing filling in the space between the two of you.

All you did was stare at the switch-occupied boy on your bed, thinking his answer would make sense if you did.

You stared, and you stared, and you stared,

but to no avail.

You sat up properly and turned back to face your desk, opening the book to the page you left your bookmark on, and started to read like you weren’t just complaining about it a minute ago.

“Copycat…” You murmured to yourself, your reddened cheek pressed against the palm of your hand, elbow settled down on your desk.

Riki explained himself like that was the most normal course of action ever… and you know what? Maybe it is.

For him at least.

It’s then that you realize that you really shouldn’t be surprised at this point, not when it’s happened so many times before.

It is how he earned his nickname after all.

The birth of “Copycat” happened about two years into your friendship, some time in between grades 9 and 10, with your 9th grade second semester English finals being the catalyst of it all.

You were working on your paper during lunch break, stationed in front of one of the library computers as you scribbled down notes and did your research.

“I didn’t realize watching cartoons was considered data gathering.”

You pulled out your earphones and paused the show that was playing on the monitor. The sight of Riki and his teasing smile greeted you when you turned around in your seat.

“We’re tasked to do a literary analysis, Riks,” you gestured towards the computer screen while hitting him with a deadpan look, “and this cartoon is literature.”

Your retort didn’t wipe the playful grin off his face, instead it only served to widen it. Riki sat himself in front of the computer next to yours, setting his bag down on the floor as he switched on the CPU.

“What’re you in the library for?” You asked as you put your earphones back in.

“‘M also doing my English paper.”

“On?”

“‘Weathering With You’.”

“And yet you have the audacity to come at me for watching a cartoon for my finals,” you quipped and shook your head disapprovingly, earning a soft chuckle from him. “Tsk tsk tsk.”

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just call ‘Weathering With You’ a cartoon for the sake of our friendship,” Riki feigned offense, to which you fondly rolled your eyes.

“What’s…” He leaned towards your screen for a second to get a better look, “What’s ‘Voltron’ about anyway?”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, opened a whole can of worms.

You went on a tangent about how you have a love-hate relationship with the show, about how poorly the writers treated the plot and the individual arcs of two characters, and about how the main romance was bullshitted and didn’t even make sense—a tangent that lasted 10 minutes at the very least.

You were hit with a belated sense of embarrassment by the end of your little spiel, realizing that you just kept rambling on about the what-should-have-beens of a space lion cartoon.

You were about to either apologize or thank Riki for sitting through all of that, but he did you one better by asking;

“Is it cool if I watch with you?”

You were slightly taken aback; you weren’t expecting him to ask if he could watch your silly little show with him.

That’s how you two ended up spending the rest of that day’s lunch period in the library, sharing your earphones as the rest of Voltron’s season 3 played on the computer screen, Riki’s own research for his finals be damned.

Now, how exactly did this little library watch party serve as the catalyst for “Copycat”?

Well a week later, he came up to you saying that he watched the rest of the show. You didn’t think much of it besides being happy that Riki picked up one of your interests, now getting to geek out about the show with him; but then you noticed he started doing that with every other interest you’d mention from then on out.

You found out on a random Tuesday that Riki started liking a band that you absolutely love but only mentioned in passing; you were hanging out in your house, in the middle of Just Dance, when Riki brought up getting into that one movie series you talked about the week prior; and you were walking side by side one afternoon, Bisco in between both of you, when Riki told you that he picked up a hobby of yours.

“Copycat,” you muttered for the first time, right after he told you he tried that egg tart you really like from the bakery near your high school.

It was summer break. The both of you had just gone for a couple of rides around your neighborhood on your bikes, and now you guys were sitting curbside, cooling off with popsicles.

“What? You don’t like that I like what you like?” Riki asked as he took a bite out of his tangy ice lolly, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“No no, I never said that; I’m happy you’ve been refining your taste,” you quipped back with a smirk as you licked your own treat, “but that doesn’t make you any less of a copycat.”

The humming of cicadas filled the silence between the two of you, and for a while you simply appreciated the way the trees swayed and the way speckled sunlight hit the pavement you were sitting on. 

You didn’t think about how the both of you would still carry that silly off-handed nickname years later, well into your sophomore year of uni.

You never stopped to wonder why.

Why Riki kept copying you, to be specific.

It’s not like you minded, far from that actually—though you’d never admit to that and give up the fondly annoyed front you put up with him.

You were simply curious.

And so were Jake and Sunoo, apparently.

“No, because you’d have to strap Riki to a chair if you want him to actually watch something.” Sunoo explained, exasperation laced in his voice.

“That isn’t an exaggeration, by the way,” Jake chimed in, “we had to hold him down just so he’d watch ‘Love, Rosie’ with us.”

“You’re serious?” You laughed at the thought of Riki being held down exorcist-style just for a movie.

The three of you had been doing uni work in a cafe for about two hours at that point, hunched over your laptops and lecture notes while sipping on watered down iced coffee. Your much needed study break came in the form of Riki slander.

“I honestly don’t know how you do it.” Sunoo sighed as he closed his laptop.

“Hmm?” You hummed in response, not quite sure what he was referring to.

“You know, getting Riki to do the things you like with you.”

“Yeah whenever he gets into something new or recommends something to us, we ask him how he found out about it and he’d say ‘She likes it, so I thought I’d give it a shot too.” Jake added.

“Oh-”

You didn’t really know how to answer that, because you never had to ask Riki in the first place.

“Well if I’m being completely honest, I don’t. He just…” You vaguely gestured to nothing, “does it himself lol.”

The apples of your cheeks went pink and you tried to play it off coolly by pretending to write notes down, but it was too late because Sunoo already had a knowing smile on his face.

Jake was about to ask Sunoo why he was grinning from ear-to-ear when Riki arrived, immediately sitting next to you and greeting you with a pinch on your cheek. You pretended to swat it away but made no real effort to get him off you.

“Copycat,” You greeted with a blank tone, acknowledging his arrival without having to look at him, not with your face all red.

“Hello, Shortie.” Riki greeted back with a fond smile before he turned to face the two other boys at the table, “My dear hyungs.”

Jake went in for a dap, and Sunoo just rolled his eyes.

“Why’re you late? We’ve been here for two hours already.” Sunoo scolded, though there wasn’t any real bite to his words.

“Sorry, should’ve texted you guys; Sola needed help with homework, and my older sister needed a ride to her part-time.” Riki explained as he set down a box in the middle of the table.

“I also took a detour and bought snacks for you guys.” He added as he opened the lid. You looked at the box and sure enough, it was from that bakery you mentioned to him all those years ago. The sight of the egg tarts’ golden caps and the smell of their buttery crust felt like a hug from a dear old memory.

Jake immediately grabbed a tart, and Sunoo did a little happy dance before thanking Riki (he even threw in a “you should be late all the time if you’re gonna buy us snacks like this~”)

“Oh my God these are amazing.” Sunoo groaned as soon as he took a bite, face crumpling in what looked like anger from how good the tart was.

“Where did you buy these?” Jake asked, equally as impressed by the little pastry in his hands.

“A bake shop near our old high school,” Riki answered simply.

He pulled out a tart from the box and handed it over to you, a soft smile on his lips as he glanced your way. “These tarts are her favorite, and the bakery was en route to here so…”

Riki didn’t finish his sentence, instead opting to dig into an egg tart himself as he opened up his notes and started to work.

You were too surprised by his last statement that you forgot to take a bite out of the treat in your hands.

It tasted a lot sweeter and felt a lot warmer since you’ve last eaten it. And no, it’s not because the bakery switched up their recipe.

You started to understand why; why Riki kept copying you, for that matter.

And it only took one last push in the right direction for you to fully come to your senses.

“You’re not getting anything?” Riki asked. He followed closely behind you as you browsed the shelves of the music shop you guys were in.

“Not today at least,” You answered, eyes still focused on the jewel cases in front of you, “I just wanted to check the place out to see if they’ve got any of the albums I’m looking for.”

“I saw Big Thief and The Marias back there.” Riki mentioned.

“Yeah, I did too.” You smiled.

“They’re definitely on my list; I just need a little more time to save up so I can buy a few of the CDs I want in one go.” You explained as you placed back a Sade album on the shelf. “I kinda want to have more than one album on hand with me; more variety, y’know?”

The both of you left the music shop empty-handed that day.

On a bus ride home from uni about two weeks later, Riki asks you if you’ve saved up enough to buy the albums you want.

“Not yet, almost there though,” You answer simply before sporting a cheeky smirk, “Why? Want to buy them for me instead?”

“Please, if I had that kind of money, it’d go straight to my Steam wishlist.” Riki mused.

“Ahhh yeah, Hades 2…” You sucked in a breath.

“Exactly.”

There’s a momentary silence between you two, filled up by the humming of the AC unit and the thrumming of the engine.

“Why’d you ask anyway?” You asked, looking out the window.

“Hmm? Oh- uhhh…” Riki stammered for a bit as he rummaged through his bag. He pulled out a CD before handing it over to you.

You looked at the jewel case in Riki’s hand and then at him.

“What’s this?” You asked as you slowly took it from him and scanned the front cover. 

It read, “Love, Copycat,” with a drawing of you below it.

Before he could even answer, you realised what it was.

“I uh… made you a playlist,” Riki said in a hushed and bashful tone, a contrast to his usual confident and playful demeanor. “I thought I’d make you one while you saved up for the albums you want. You seemed pretty excited about using that CD player.”

You felt a pang in your heart when you looked up to see the sincerity in Riki’s eyes and in his shy smile.

“I added all your favorites—Clairo, The Japanese House, Adrienne Lenker.” He tapped the case in your hands, and his timid grin made way for a little pride to shine through, “I even drew a little portrait of you for the cover.”

You couldn’t stop looking at Riki. You were consumed by the thought of him going through the effort of buying the blank CD and jewel case, curating the playlist, downloading the songs, burning them into the disc, and making a custom cover—a hand-drawn portrait of you.

And then it hit you, all in one go.

Oh.

I’m stupid.

All those shows he watched, those hobbies he tried, those songs he listened to—all those interests he wouldn’t have been within a 10-foot radius of if it wasn’t for you;

He wasn’t copying you.

Riki did all that for you.

To say that he tugged at your heartstrings would be the understatement of the century—he straight up yanked at them. You only realized then that Riki had your heart in the gentlest of  chokeholds, and you wished he’d never let go.

Thwack.

A flick to your forehead.

…Okay maybe you did wish he’d let go, just this once.

You rubbed the spot Riki struck as you stared daggers into him, “WHAT THE HELL MAN?”

“WHAT??? You were zoned out for ages,” Riki laughed, “had to make sure you were still alive.”

You shook your head and scoffed before your eyes landed on the jewel case in your hand, another wave of silence—this time bubbling with tension—washing over the both of you.

You hesitated for a moment, but for once everything was clear to you—how you feel, what you should do.

So you threw all caution to the wind and rested your head on Riki’s shoulder, a quiet “thanks” making its way past your lips.

Though you might’ve not seen it,  Riki bit back a smile in hopes that it would quell the pounding in his chest. Slowly, he reached for your hand and gently intertwined your fingers together.

Riki’s voice was barely above a whisper, it was only for you to hear the smile in his words.

“Took you long enough.”

[nekonaps0]

Little rival

✦fem!reader

✦characters: Kageyama, Nishinoya, Oikawa, Kuroo, Atsumu

✦A little kid walking up and innocently telling their girlfriend, “When I grow up, I wanna marry you!”

Kageyama Tobio

You and Kageyama are walking together when a chubby-cheeked kid tugs on your sleeve and boldly declares,

“You’re really pretty! When I grow up, I’m gonna marry you!”

Kageyama freezes. Like, full on system error. He blinks. Once. Twice. And then slowly turns to look at the kid like he’s a new challenger entering the match.

“…Hah?” he mutters, so confused he might actually think the kid is serious. “You’re, like, five.”

When you start laughing, Kageyama frowns, crossing his arms. “Why are you laughing? He just proposed to you. That’s not funny. He said he’s gonna marry you! Isn’t he too young for that?!”

You try to explain it was cute and harmless, but Kageyama is now in serious mode. “You are my girlfriend. This isn’t a competition…” he mumbles.

Later that day, he’s quieter than usual. Eventually, he mutters, “I can’t believe I got jealous of a five-year-old…” he covers his embarrassed face with his hands.

Nishinoya Yuu

The moment the kid says, “I’m gonna marry you when I grow up,” Nishinoya gasps so loud it’s theatrical.

He immediately drops into a squat so he’s eye level with the kid, hands on his knees, expression serious.

“Whoa, WHOA, buddy. Bold move.” He grins, but there's a twitch in his eyebrow. “But you gotta earn her heart. This isn’t just a fairy tale, my dude.”

Then he turns to you, gripping your hand dramatically.

“Babe. He wants to steal you from me.” He acts like he’s been betrayed by fate itself.

You’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe, while Noya is now giving the kid a motivational speech about love. “When you’re older, you’re gonna meet someone awesome. But this goddess right here? Sorry, already taken. And I would rather DIE than let anyone take her!”

Please stop him before he traumatizes the little boy…

Oikawa Tooru

The second the kid says it, Oikawa puts on the fakest, most plastic smile of his life.

“Awww, that’s soooo sweet of you,” he says through gritted teeth.

Then he crouches next to the kid, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Listen, little man… she’s already dating the most gorgeous, talented, and charming person alive—me. And, well… you’ve got a long way to go before you can compete.”

He throws you a wink, but you can tell he’s definitely sulking. “You like her smile, huh? Yeah, me too. It’s mine. Now move on.” You have to slap him on the back of his head to stop him before he makes the kid cry…

Later, as you’re walking away, he whispers, “You still think I’m cuter than him, right? Right?! Say it.”

And if you tease him even a little by saying, “I mean, he was kind of charming,” Oikawa gets offended. Like you just offended his whole bloodline. “I’m being replaced by a toddler! Is this the end?!”

Kuroo Tetsurou

The kid walks up confidently and says, “I think you’re really pretty, and I’m gonna marry you someday.”

Kuroo arches a brow and glances down at the kid, fighting a smirk. “Oh? That so?”

He slings an arm around your shoulder casually. “You’ve got good taste, kid. But unfortunately, you’re about ten years too early, and about one girlfriend short of a chance.”

You giggle and play along with the kid, who pouts when he realizes you're already taken. Kuroo kneels down, smirking just enough to tease but not scare him.

“Tell you what,” he says. “If you still feel this way some years later, look me up. Until then… hands off.” Then he winks and tousles the kid’s hair.

Later, he teases you about it. “I’m gonna have to keep an eye on you, huh? Even the kindergarteners are after you.”

Atsumu Miya

The second the kid says he wants to marry you, Atsumu’s jaw drops.

“Huh?? Did I just get challenged by a toddler?!”

He steps between you and the kid like he’s defending his title as your boyfriend.

“First of all, she’s mine, ‘kay? Second of all, you’re, like, in preschool. You even brush your own teeth yet?”

The kid just blinks at him while you try not to die laughing.

Atsumu scoffs. “Listen, lil’ man. I get it. She’s amazing. But I buy her clothes, bring her snacks, giving her massage. Can you do all that? Didn’t think so.”

You eventually pull him away before he starts arguing about taxes with the kid.

Later, he sulks with his head in your lap, mumbling, “Tch… can’t believe I got cock-blocked by a baby…”

You laughed so hard how childish he is but you give him a kiss and tell him he’s your #1 forever, and he immediately lights back up like the sun.

“Damn right I am.”

..............................................................................................................................

[star-girl69]

In A Good Way

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!AphroditeCabin!Reader

—-

sypnosis: basically episode two but if clarisse had a gf (so what should have been canon pretty much)

a/n: sorry dior is so fine i had to get the thoughts out this is kinda shitty also but anyways i hope you all enjoy!!

In A Good Way - Faye Webster

warnings: some violence, swearing, soft and ooc clarisse but only bc i wholeheartedly believe she is soft only for her gf and i love soft clarisse, also protective!clarisse my weakness, i’m insane, cringe, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

You watch Clarisse bump into the poor boy.

You’re sitting with your siblings, Tyla and Jackie, but your eyes were drawn to her even across the courtyard. Your eyes are always drawn to her.

She shoulders him hard, then immediately turns around and pushes him straight to the ground. Tyla gasps next to you as he crashes sharply into the dirt.

“Your girlfriend is a literal menace, Y/N,” Jackie scoffs.

“How do you think I feel having to deal with her?”

You really do feel bad for the boy, Percy, you think. Regardless of whether or not he really killed the Minotaur (Clar spent the entire night talking your ear off about how it simply can’t be true) it’s his first day at camp. He’s helpless, to say the least.

Feeling less than your whole life and then finally coming to a place where everyone else is like you, finally getting answers- it’s a shock.

You always feel bad for every new camper. Especially the young and tiny ones like him. Besides, you like his cute blonde hair.

“Oh, haha,” Jackie rolls her eyes. “You love her.”

You start to get up, faking a dramatic sigh, “I do.”

Tyla giggles as you walk away and come into earshot.

“Hey. Knock it off, Clarisse. It’s like his first day, come on.” Luke seems as unimpressed as he always does, slightly apathetic, as another Hermes cabin member tugs Percy up.

“Wait, so, this is the kid who killed the Minotaur. Is that right?” she takes a step forward, a misleading smile on her face.

“Yeah,” Percy says, awkwardly looking around.

“I’ll bet,” she smiles, her eyes lighting up in prospect of someone new to torture. “Look, you want attention around here, dummy? You better be ready for it when it comes.”

Her eyes meet yours.

“Clarisse!” you say in a sing-song voice, walking up to her and placing your hand on her shoulder. “He’s, like, twelve.”

“Oh, but he’s strong enough to kill a Minotaur?”

Your eyes lock, her hand brushes your hip, and you get those same cliche butterflies in your stomach you always do when you look at her.

You smile.

You see her eyes soften.

She turns back to Percy after a moment, faking forward, and he flinches so hard he almost falls back.

Her and her Ares siblings laugh, you roll your eyes, and push her away. She walks away, her siblings in tow, and you turn back to Luke.

On Luke, Thalia, and Annabeth’s last stretch to camp, they came across you. Your satyr protector had been killed by a monster protecting you, and Luke had held your hand and promised that all of you were going to make it to camp.

You’ll always have that bond with Luke, even though Clar hates his guts and his best swordsman in camp title.

You place your arm on his shoulder, he slings a loose arm around your waist.

Luke is pretty much the only person who can get away with touching you like this, or else they’ll receive a nice message from Clarisse in the form of a dagger barely missing their face.

“Ares kids,” Luke explains to Percy. “They come by it honestly. You got lucky today. If Y/N hadn’t come around, you probably would have gotten knocked over again.”

“Hi,” you say, sticking out your hand. “I’m Y/N.” Percy shakes your hand, smiling awkwardly.

“She’s Clarisse’s girlfriend and the only thing that stands between the camp and total destruction.”

“Oh,” Percy says, not quite able to hide his surprise and slight disgust. “She seems… nice.”

“Well, if you look like me, she’ll love you. But… I don’t think that’ll happen.”

Percy chuckles a bit.

“Why don’t they bother you?” he asks Luke.

“Ah, they know better,” he says, squeezing you closer to him.

“Yeah, Luke’s the best swordsman in camp,” one of Luke’s siblings says. You can see something in Percy’s eyes, a light that reminds you a bit of Clar.

“So, they stay away from you because, glory? So, if I get glory, Clarisse wouldn’t mess with me either?”

“Exactly,” Luke affirms. You look at him out of the corner of your eye. What the Hades is he teaching him?

“And people think I’m a big deal?”

“Well, sorta-”

“And my dad’s got no choice but to claim me.”

Oh. Your heart squeezes for him.

“You… you can’t force the Gods to do anything,” Luke says, trying not to hurt Percy too much.

“Well, yeah, but… it would make it a lot harder for him to pretend I don’t exist, right?”

“Maybe,” Luke concedes.

“Great. Where do we start?”

You laugh. “Ooh, I like the way you think.” You slip away from Luke, smiling at Percy. “Come find me if you wanna try your hand at some Aphrodite skills.”

—-

You find Clarisse sitting outside her cabin at a picnic table, polishing her spear, her favorite activity.

You sit down next to her.

“Hey, baby,” she murmurs, a bit too entranced with the gift from her father.

“I only have a few minutes before I go to archery, but… I think you’ll enjoy this.” She looks over at you for a second, then right back to the spear. “Don’t make me charmspeak you, La Rue.”

“Okay. Okay, sorry, what?” she sets the spear down in her lap, staring up at you with a smile as if she hadn’t been ignoring you a second ago.

“Percy Jackson wants to find glory so you’ll stop bothering him,” she snorts, “and so his father will have to claim him.”

She hums.

“Well, I like him. I think he’s cute.”

She shoots you a bored look.

“Don’t say horrible things like that.”

You play with a curl hanging over her shoulder. “We both know I’ll say whatever I want.”

“Oh, I know.”

—-

“What happened to you?”

You turn to look at Clarisse’s smirking face.

“What?”

She rolls her eyes. “C’mere,”

You lean forward, across the space between the Aphrodite cabin and the Ares cabin tables. Clarisse puts her hand to your face, thumb tracing along your cheekbone. She pulls back, and you stare at her dirt covered thumb.

“You’re covered in dirt, gorgeous.”

You hurriedly raise your hand up to your face, groaning when your palm does in fact come away covered in dirt.

“Percy is definitely not a child of Apollo,” you mutter.

“What d’you mean?” Clarisse asks, handing you a few extra napkins as you begin to wipe off your face, a spot on your shirt you had noticed.

“Luke’s taking him around, trying to figure out what he’s got a talent for. It was funny, actually, he shot the arrow over all of us on the side and we all went crashing into the ground.”

She doesn’t seem to find it as funny as you do.

“It was an accident, Clar!” you say, all sing-song again.

“Oh, I’m sure it was. Exactly why I don’t believe he killed that Minotaur.”

“Adrenaline makes even mortals do crazy things.”

“You don’t kill a Minotaur with adrenaline,” she hisses.

—-

Capture the Flag is held the next day. Clarisse and two of her siblings have been particularly pissed off all morning, and no matter how much you bug her, she only says “you’ll see” in this horribly nerve-wracking tone.

You have the same job you do every game. Sit in front of the flag, and charmspeak anyone who tries to come near it.

You’re decent with a bow, okay with a sword, but this is one area where you really shine, where you can really help.

After the first game, the blue team has learned to wear ear plugs when they come near you. But you’re like a siren, you come around and take out their ear plugs anyways. They’re scared to touch you, because one of the Ares kids will run right off to Clarisse, and she tells you all the time that she’d rather lose dessert privileges for a month then see you with one scratch.

Chiron stands imposingly on the large rock at the start of the small river that divides the two halves of the woods.

“The first team to retrieve the opposing flag and return it across the river shall be the victor.”

You know these rules by heart.

Ever since your first Game, the day you met Clarisse, you’ve loved them. You’re not the most violent person, nothing near Clar and her insatiable thirst for competition, but there’s just something about the game.

She walks forward through the sea of red-marked armor, digging her spear into the ground and glaring at what you can only assume to be Percy Jackson.

“Any magical items you may possess are permitted as well. Every camper who is not injured has to play. Prisoners may be disarmed, but may not be bound or gagged.”

You suppress a laugh at that rule. That one was only implemented a few games ago, right after the one where you had been taken prisoner and tied with vines to a tree. When Clar had heard, she actually almost murdered a few kids and maimed some more.

Although it made keeping prisoners a little awkward, Chiron had proclaimed it was in everyone’s best interests.

“Let the games begin!” he shouts, the conch blows, and the entire team screams in a terrifying war cry.

The blue team bangs their shields and weapons together, and now you have 20 minutes before game on.

Clarisse is the captain of your team, of course. She marches around barking orders to everyone, as if their positions aren’t already drilled into their heads.

“Hey Clar,” you say. You’re surrounded by a few Ares kids, a few other good fighters, ready to protect the flag and by extension you- with their lives.

Capture the flag games are taken seriously.

She looks at the red flag in your hands, smiling in that smug way she always does. She doesn’t smile this way when it’s just you and her, but you can still see the softness in her eyes even now. With Clarisse, her emotions are all about the eyes.

“You all know what you’re doing?” she asks. All the kids behind you nod. “Good,” she smirks, starting to walk away.

“Are you hunting in your usual woods today?” you ask, heading in the same direction as her.

She smiles, a full toothy grin.

“Oh, baby, I have something even better planned.”

Clarisse is not one to change the strategy.

You can’t get it out of your head what she’s been saying about Percy.

“If you kill someone, I’m killing you.”

She just smiles.

—-

One of the kids holds the flag from up on a rock, acting like a lookout. You lean against that rock, your armor digging into your thighs at the awkward angle, waiting for someone to come. Everyone else surrounds you in the flag, in battle stances.

The conch blew about 20 minutes ago, and you should be seeing someone soon.

“I think Luke’s coming,” Corey, the Apollo kid lookout says.

“Of course he is,” you mutter. He’s always in charge of getting the flag, because he’s not afraid to touch you. Clarisse knows he’s just your friend, or else he probably would have been dead by now. They emerge from the woods, not bothering to try for stealth, all in defensive positions.

Everyone lets you take the lead. You understand why Clarisse loves power. It’s addicting, it’s like lightening in your veins.

“Hi, Luke,” you smile.

He can’t hear you, but he returns the smile.

“You’re all going to turn around and walk 300 feet in the other direction.”

Luke sighs as one of the kids actually turns and walks away, heeding your command. Everyone else has their earplugs in tight, but it always gets one or two of them.

You roll your eyes. “You always make this so difficult, Luke.”

You walk towards him, maybe you can surprise him and rip the ear plugs out of your ear, but he suddenly springs his leg out so you trip, slamming into the ground and getting a face full of dirt.

“Bitch,” you mumble, ready to get up. Suddenly, a Hermes girl throws herself on top of you, slapping a hand over your mouth.

As soon as you hit the ground, the fight erupts around you.

“You can’t do this, Luke, it’s against the rules!” you screech, but it’s muffled through the girls thick leather gloves.

Matty, one of Clar’s siblings sighs heavily. “Fuckin’ hate this dude,” he mumbles. “Marjorie, go get Clarisse.”

The girl runs off, and Matty adjusts his helmet.

“Don’t know why you do this to yourself, man.”

Luke kneels down in front of you while you scream obscenities next to his name. He makes a big show of taking out his earplugs before ruffling your hair.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

He whips around and his sword immediately clashes with Matty’s, and they’re locked in a flurry of metal clashing and glinting in the sunlight. Matty is really good, probably bested only by Clarisse, but Luke is still the best swordsman in camp.

He puts up a valiant fight, but Luke disarms him.

Your back is really, really starting to hurt like this.

It’s whirlwind, but there were more blue team then red team, and sometimes sheer number beats out even the best of the Ares cabin.

They grab the flag and run for the beach.

The girl waits for another moment until one of the Ares kids points his sword at her.

“You’re really gonna want to let her go,” Matty says. She stands up and books it, following her team.

“Eat dirt!” you scream as she runs away, but she still has her earplugs in.

Matty helps you up.

“Clarisse’s gonna kill us all.”

“I hate Luke Castellan. I hate him, I hate him, I wish him nothing but pain and suffering.”

Matty claps your shoulder.

“Hey, at least we all get to watch Clarisse beat up the Hermes cabin at sword practice tomorrow.”

And you do like seeing Clar fight, the way she’s so focused and truly in her element, sweat making her skin glisten in the sunlight…

“That will be fun,” you concede. Matty laughs, and you all make your way down to the beach.

—-

The scream scares you.

All the kids around you jump up with their swords, thinking a monster had somehow made its way near camp, but you recognize that voice.

“Clarisse,” you mumble, feeling frozen.

“What?” Matty asks, his eyes scanning the forest. “What’d you say?”

“Clarisse,” you repeat, breaking off into a run towards the sound of it, towards the beach.

“Clar- wait, Y/N!”

But you’re already long gone.

—-

You make it to the beach a minute after the conch sounded, the blue team having won, making it just in time to see the blue trident appear over Percy’s head. You can barely even register the fact that he’s a forbidden child, your eyes immediately finding Clar’s siblings, the ones she was supposed to be hunting with today.

“Hey, hey,” you breathe out, almost slamming into one of them. “W-where’s Clarisse? I heard her scream-”

You love her so much it’s like your heart will break if you even think about her being hurt. It always seems like Clar is the one who loves you more, only because of her proud and overprotective nature, but really you love her just as much.

You just never have the opportunity to threaten to kill someone like she does for you. She does that all on her own.

“Oh, uh, she went that way,” he points in the direction of a barely there path, heading into the woods and back to camp.

“Great, thanks!” you shout, already running after her.

You catch up with her after a minute, your gaze landing on her practically stomping through the woods. She’s angry. She’s angry, why?

“Clar!” you shout, and she whips around, standing still while you sprint over to her. “Clarisse, Clarisse, are you hurt? I-I heard you scream-”

You run your hands up and down her arms, and after a tense second of her staring at the ground, she puts her hands on your hips.

“I’m not hurt, I’m fine.”

She looks like she’s about to cry. But you know she won’t ever let herself cry, won’t ever let herself be perceived as weak.

You wrap your arms and let her put her face in your neck. She’s almost shaking with how angry she is, her fingers digging into your hips, and she stops herself and lets go before she can hurt you.

“Oh, baby,” you murmur. You’re not sure what happened. But she screamed like that, not like she was scared, but like she had just lost something. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” She says into your neck, simple, and you respect it.

“Okay, well, let’s go back to your cabin. You’re not gonna believe the day I had. Will it make you happy to know I give you permission to beat up Luke?”

She looks up at you with skeptical eyes. You both ignore the tears staining her cheeks. “Really?” she asks, slightly hopeful, even through all her anger and sadness.

“Come on,” you smile, letting go of her and sliding you hand into hers. She meets your pace and wraps her arm around your waist. She doesn’t tell you she loves you, but you know.

—-

You flop down onto Clar’s bed. As the head counselor, she gets the best bunk. On the second floor loft, where there’s only enough space for single beds, meaning she doesn’t have to deal with bunk beds, all the way in the corner for a little privacy.

She stands in front of you, slipping off her shoes, and your reach forward to work at the knots of her breastplate.

She stares at you until the armor is lose around her, and she lifts it up over her head and leaves it haphazardly on the ground.

You lay flat, stretching your aching back, and Clar leans over you to help you take off your armor. You probably don’t even need armor, but Clarisse is overprotective by nature, by blood. It makes her feel better, and it really doesn’t bother you much. She lifts it over your head, letting the metal crash into the floor before laying down next to you.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I’m supposed to be here for you but I’m so tired, and my back hurts so bad…”

She laughs. You smile, and it falls into comfortable silence.

“Can I really beat up Luke?” she says after a second.

You open your eyes and she’s laying on her side, propped up her arm and staring at you.

“Oh, you can.”

“Why?” she asks, still not quite believing you.

“Okay, so, Luke comes over, right. And you know, I try to charmspeak them but only one of them goes. I walk over to Luke and he fucking trips me! It was so embarrassing, baby, I literally ate shit.”

She smiles and puts her arm around your waist, tugging you closer to her.

“Then, some girl tackles me before I can get up, and puts her hand over my mouth so I can’t do anything. Which first of all, is completely against the rules, and second of all, it really hurt my back! Then, then, Luke has the audacity to say ‘Oh, thanks Y/N!’ and ruffles my hair, like? I swear to Gods, I just want him to… well, I don’t know. Suffer.”

“Don’t worry, gorgeous,” she mutters into the top of your head. “I’ll make sure he’s unrecognizable.”

You smile. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Clarisse. Who would defend my honor and fight my battles?”

She seems sort of placid, tired, like she’s just a still lake reacting to your body wading in deeper. It’s almost like she’s gonna fall asleep, and she’s always tired after capture the flag, so it’s not unusual.

“I’d be there,” she mutters, her eyes closed.

You’re both silent for a few more minutes, just the two of you together, her strong arm around you, the way it’s always meant to be.

“He’s a son of Poseidon. Did you see?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “I saw.”

“It’s not fair,” she says, like the child she never got to be. “I spend so much time, so much time trying to make him proud- it took months for him to claim me and he gets claimed on, what, his third day?”

Her head lands on your chest, your hands smoothing down her hair.

She touches the necklace she gave you months ago, bringing it out from under your shirt, the simple chain with the pretty charm that looks like a spear. More so an arrow, but it’s supposed to be her spear.

“He broke it,” she whispers.

“Broke what?”

She sits up a little higher, her hands reaching behind you and undoing the clasp on your necklace. You haven’t even taken it off since she put it on you, so of course she would be the one to take it off.

“He broke my spear.”

“Oh, Clarisse…” she stares at the necklace before folding it up tightly in her palm. She breathes out as she lays back down on your chest, her legs entwining with yours, your hand back in her curls.

“The Hephaestus kids can fix it, but it won’t be electrical anymore.”

You don’t say anything. Most people would say “it’s better than nothing” but you’re demigods with absent divine parents.

Clarisse didn’t tell you it was better than nothing to at least be claimed by Aphrodite when one of your siblings got a magic item from her. She didn’t try and tell you “maybe someday” when you cried in her arms.

Because more often then not, you’ll die before your godly parent even claims you. More kids die on their way to Camp Half-Blood then Chiron would like to admit.

And what would the Gods do? Nothing. They would do nothing about it, because they don’t care.

Clarisse doesn’t cry, but you know she wants to, and you let her know that she can cry if she wants to. She can, if she has to. You’d never turn her away.

If she hasn’t realized already, you’re in this for the long run.

—-

Clarisse fell asleep in your arms, then pulled you back when you tried to go back to your own cabin, and you figured Chiron wouldn’t mind this once.

She finally let you go after you screamed that she couldn’t kiss you before you brushed your teeth, mumbling about how you’re depriving her.

When you meet up with her again, she has her sword in hand and her armor strapped tight to her body.

It was just a great big coincidence that the Hermes, Aphrodite, Ares and Demeter cabins all had sword practice at the same times. Clarisse looked all too happy at being able to get out some anger from yesterday, because sparring is the only way Clar has to work out the intense feelings she inherited from her father.

“So, who should I metaphorically kill?”

“Ooh, big word,” you tease. She grabs your chin, making you look at her, but she’s smiling too much for it to be a threat.

“C’mon, baby, who?”

“Luke. And…” you point, “That’s the girl who tackled me. Oh, and that’s the boy who fought Corey and got the flag. I don’t know his name.”

“‘Cause he’s irrelevant,” she says. You hum. “You just wait right here, gorgeous, enjoy the show.” She winks before sauntering off in the girls direction, smiling in that misleading way, asking her if she wants to spar.

You beckon Jackie and Tyla over to you, who both seem unimpressed.

“Please don’t tell me you put Clarisse up to attacking the Hermes cabin,” Tyla sighs.

“I didn’t put her up to anything. She did it all on her own.”

“Oh, sure she did,” Jackie rolls her eyes.

“Don’t act like you all aren’t gonna enjoy it.”

Tyla meets your eyes, then Jackie’s.

“Sorry, Jacks, it’s, like, really entertaining!”

You all laugh as Clar leads the girl into the circle, laughing even harder when she disarms her after a minute. The boy who took the flag barely lasts 45 seconds.

When Luke walks up to her, she throws her sword down and tackles him. You give her a minute before you pull her off.

—-

clarisse, about to beat up percy

y/n: oh no no no no you don’t

clarisse: ok i won’t kill him rn 😍😍😍😍

—-

y/n: yeah like idk what i would do without you who would protect me and fight my battles

clarisse “i would be there” la rue: bitch our love transcends the laws of physics I WOULD BE THERE

—-

y/n giggling and kicking her feet watching clarisse beat up luke

—-

[loulou-land]

8x10 coda

bucktommy fix-it (sort of), emotional hurt/comfort, hopeful ending | cw: angst, dissociation, mild descriptions of a panic attack | 1.5k words

(Buck’s face at the end of that episode got me in the feels and I had to get these words out of me. Thank you @fuselsstuff for making me feel better about my writing and my endings 😘❤️)

As Buck watches Eddie drive away, something inside him crumbles, another piece lost to the wreckage that has come to be his life. He stands frozen in front of what used to be Eddie’s house—his house now, technically—but the words don't sit right. 

His house.

They feel foreign, misplaced. Like a title handed to someone else by mistake. He knows he chose it, knows the reason why he did it, yet what seemed like a good idea at first now feels like a crushing weight around his shoulders. 

He doesn’t know how long he stands there. Staring at nothing. His head filled with static noise. All feeling draining out of him, until emptiness is all that surrounds him. Distantly he’s aware of his clothes progressively getting soaked as the gentle drizzle grows into a steady downpour. But he can’t seem to make himself move, staying rooted to the spot. 

Eventually, however, the cold seeps so deep into his bones that it forces him into movement. Buck turns, steps inside and shuts the door behind him. And is promptly at a loss. He feels like he took a wrong turn somewhere and forgot where home was. It’s a disconcerting feeling. 

Buck makes his way to the bathroom, peels his wet clothes off and steps into the shower, turning the heat up as high as it’ll go. It skalds his skin, but even then, he’s still cold. It’s like it’s burrowed deep inside and refuses to let go. He pulls on a hoodie, refusing to think about whose it is and why he picked that particular one. 

By the time he stumbles into bed, his limbs feel heavy, weighted down by something vast and shapeless. His mind is scarily blank. Whatever thoughts flicker into his mind are gone too fast to take hold of. Maddie almost died. Eddie’s gone. And, why won’t they listen to me? Why can’t they see I’m drowning? Everyone has something, someone. And what do I have? What am I left with? 

Nothing. It’s always nothing.

I am nothing. 

For once, the thought doesn’t hurt. It barely registers at all. It’s just a fact—objective and empty. He notes the detachment like he’s reading about someone else’s life. It should scare him, but he doesn’t feel much of anything right now. I don’t like this, Buck thinks distantly, I don’t like this at all. 

He sees his hands move as though from far away, outside his body. His fingers close around his phone. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to focus, to process the screen in front of him. He scrolls through his contacts, searching for Dr. Copeland. That’s who he meant to call. That was the hazy plan he’d formed in his head. 

But somehow, Tommy’s name is the one he presses. 

The phone rings. One. Two. Three times. 

The sound should make his heart pound with anxiety. Instead, he finds himself being soothed by the repetitive sound. His mind latches onto the rhythm, following it like a thread in the dark. The longer it rings, he starts to fill each pause with a thought. Of course. He won’t pick up. You don’t matter to anyone. He didn’t want you. 

And then—

“Evan?” 

A pause, a quiet breath. Then softer, “you okay?” 

It shatters something in Buck. The numbness that had settled in him disappears. The concern, the familiarity, the way Tommy has never been anything but honest with him—hearing it now, when everything else has started unraveling In him, it’s too much. 

His breath is knocked out of his chest. His throat closes up. He feels a tingling in his hands as his heart rate picks up. He wants to speak, to explain, to say something, but all that makes it out is a choked, heart-wrenching sob that feels like it’s been ripped right out of him. 

“Sweetheart,” Tommy says, instantly alert. “Evan. Talk to me. What’s wrong? Where are you?” 

Buck tries to breathe, tries to push the words out, but they’re trapped behind his lips. He can’t speak and that drags him deeper into desperation. He clutches his shirt, as though if he grips it tightly enough, he’ll be able to keep himself together and he’ll remember how to use his words again.

His whole body shakes with the force of it, and it’s humiliating, it’s embarrassing, it’s—

“Okay, okay. I’m on my way,” Tommy says, voice steady but urgent beneath it. Buck hears the sound of an engine turning on, the rush of movement on the other end. “Just breathe for me, baby.” 

“Eddie’s,” Buck finally manages to croak out. 

“What?” Tommy asks, slightly distracted. Buck hears car horns and the shift of gears. 

“I’m at Eddie’s.” 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” The words come quick, sure, no hesitation. 

And Buck appreciates that Tommy doesn’t ask any more questions. He just keeps talking, filling the silence with warmth. You’re okay. I’m here. Breathe for me, sweetheart. Just like that. You’re doing good. You’re so good. Just hold on, I’m almost there.  

Buck clings to every word like a lifeline, tucks them inside himself. He tries to believe them. After all, Tommy doesn’t lie to him. 

His sobbing has slowed, but now something worse is creeping in—the weight of reality pressing back down. He called Tommy. He’s on the phone with him right now. He’s crying like a fucking baby. 

“I’m sorry.” Buck rasps, voice raw. “I—I shouldn’t have called you. Shit. I’m sorry.” 

“Evan.” Tommy says his name like it’s a prayer, like it’s something precious. Like it means more than Buck ever let himself believe. Like it means love. 

Buck inhales sharply, stomach twisting in knots. He’d missed that. God, he’d missed hearing his name spilling from Tommy’s mouth. 

Tommy’s voice softens. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. It’s okay. Whatever it is…I’m here for you.” 

He can’t accept that. “No—no, I…you were probably busy.” Buck’s voice cracks. “I didn’t mean to pull you away from anything important.” 

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Tommy says, simple and reassuring. Then, quieter, “And, even if I was…I’d still come.” 

Buck should feel comforted. Instead, it makes something ugly rise in his chest. A sick, gnawing pit of self-hatred. Sharp and precise. 

Why does he always do this? Always need too much? He feels everything so loudly, and then drags people into the mess of him, makes them carry it when they shouldn’t have to. 

He lets out a dry, broken laugh. “There I go again,” he mutters, bitter. “Bucking it up. Making it all about me.”

Tommy exhales roughly through the line. And then, firm but gentle, “Evan. I don’t know what’s going on, but it's okay to feel things. And you’re more than allowed to be upset and want to talk about it. It’s okay to need people.”  

Buck closes his eyes. His whole body hurts. He wants to argue. He wants to tell Tommy he’s wrong. That everyone else thinks he’s too much. That Buck’s needs  are a burden. 

But before he can—

“I’m here. Can you open the door for me, sweetheart? 

Buck manages to drag himself out of bed and down the hall. His breath hitches once he reaches the front door, hands trembling slightly, his mind still caught between panic and exhaustion. 

He opens the door. 

And there’s Tommy. 

Standing on the other side, rain-damp and breathless. There’s concern written into every tense line of his body. His shoulders are squared, his jaw set, like he’s ready to take on every single one of Buck’s battles without hesitation. 

Buck swallows hard. “Tommy.” 

So much weight in a name, in a single word. 

Tommy doesn’t say anything. He just opens his arms. 

And Buck simply falls into them. No second-guessing or uncertainty. He clings to Tommy like he’s a safe haven, fists gripping at the fabric of his hoodie, pressing in close until there’s no space left between them. And still, Buck wishes he could crawl inside Tommy, just to be even closer. His mind quiets, the storm inside him calms into a single thought, repeated over and over again. 

Tommy. Tommy. Tommy. 

He breaths him in, the familiar scent anchoring him. Slowly, he matches his breathing to Tommy’s. And, in that moment Buck is entirely convinced their hearts are beating in sync. As one. 

Tommy holds him just as tightly, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other cradled protectively against his spine. He starts to run soothing circles up and down Buck’s back, murmuring lowly in his ear. 

“Shh, I got you. I’m here.” 

Then, gently, hesitantly, Tommy presses a kiss to the side of Buck’s head. Soft. Careful. Like he’s afraid he’s not allowed to touch Buck like that, but still feels compelled to, needs to do it. 

Buck lets out a shaky sigh, melting further into his arms. 

He knows eventually they’ll have to talk. About the break up, about them. About what had set Buck off.

He’ll have to untangle the mess inside him, sort through everything he’s buried deep. There will be therapy. There will be hard conversations. 

But not right now. 

Right now, he lets himself believe Tommy—that he’s here, that he means it—and decides to go from there. 

“Can I come in?” 

“Will you stay?” 

They speak at the same time. 

And then—

Yes. 

For the first time that day, Buck feels a genuine smile break across his face. 

It won’t be easy.

But he thinks that maybe—just maybe— things will be okay. 

[aventurineswife]

👀 how about we do sahsrau again, but this is different, this is something normal like the acolyte not obsessed with creator! Reader.

I wonder what amphoreus character's reaction will be, when we came to their planet, start with the scene when phainon appear and slash dan heng's spear into two. At first phainon didn't know that we are a creator but when dan heng and caelus always calling us 'your grace' he is curious and start ask both astral express crew about it and boom! He know that we are a creator and maybe apologize for not calling us 'your grace' and then after for a few days they spent at amphoreus planet, there's a rumor there's a creator in their planet. I heard that Anaxa is not believe in creator but, will his belief change or not after he meet us 🤔? .

I guess I can't escape this au...

Anyways! 💖

This is a really interesting idea! A non-obsessive "Creator!Reader" dynamic in SAHSRAU sounds refreshing, especially since Amphoreus is already a fascinating place with its own belief systems.

So, if we start with Phainon slashing Dan Heng's spear in two, that already sets the tone—he's not here to play around. He probably sees the Astral Express crew as intruders or at least as people who shouldn't be interfering. But then, when he keeps hearing Dan Heng and Caelus refer to you as "Your Grace," he gets curious. I imagine Phainon as someone who doesn’t blindly believe things, so at first, he might think it’s just some fancy title or a strange custom.

Once he realizes they’re serious, and that they genuinely believe you are the Creator, he probably takes a moment to process it. Maybe he even scoffs a little at first, like, "You expect me to believe this?" But after watching you, the way the Astral Express crew defers to you, the way things seem to subtly shift around you—maybe he starts to reconsider. Not in an obsessive way, but in a logical way. Like, "There’s something different about you."

Now, as for Anaxa? That’s tricky. We know he’s a skeptic, which means even if rumors start spreading, he’s not going to just accept them. If he does meet you, I think he’d be polite but firm in his beliefs. He might even challenge you a bit, ask for proof, or question why a "Creator" would travel with the Express instead of ruling over worlds. Maybe he’d see you as just another powerful being, not a divine one.

But would his belief change? I think it depends on what happens. If something undeniable happens—something that aligns with the legends or something he can’t explain—he might start doubting his disbelief. Not a complete turnaround, but maybe he’d consider the possibility. And that could be an interesting dynamic: someone who doesn’t want to believe but slowly realizes they might not have a choice.

Again this might be ooc since I have never played HSR and have no knowledge about the Amphoreus quest... I'm too lazy to watch hours of a yt video so yeah 🧍‍♀️

[yokumirumerafan]

since it's 1st April Fools, it's time for you to join the shrimp army 🦐‼️‼️ (yes this is you, I drew you :3) ALSO I HAVE A REQUEST‼️🤯 What's the KNY characters reaction when a children went up to Y/N and KNY characters and says "can you two be my parents?" looking at them with big wide innocent eyes HAPPY APRIL FOOLS AND HOPE YOUR HAVING FUN POOK‼️‼️‼️🦐🦐💯💯

OMG! I love the art, like I don't get it how are people so talented <33 Thanks a lot, have a nice day/night as well!

POST INFO: 📌 Title: "Can You Two Be My Parents?" – KNY Characters React! 📌 Characters: Muzan, Upper Moons, Hashira, Main Trio (Tanjiro, Zenitsu, Inosuke) + Genya 📌 Requested by: 🦐Shrimp Army General (HAPPY APRIL FOOLS! 🎭) 💬 Summary: Imagine you’re just chilling with your favorite Demon Slayer (or demon 👀) when a random child tugs on your sleeve and asks "Can you two be my parents?" with big, innocent puppy eyes. 💀 HOW DO THEY REACT?! ⚔️ What to Expect: Muzan running for his life. Doma saying “YES!” way too fast. Sanemi MALFUNCTIONING. Obanai CHOKING on air. Zenitsu already planning baby names. Tengen considering adding a 4th wife?! Absolute CHAOS. 👹 UPPER MOONS + MUZAN 👹

🔴 Muzan Kibutsuji – “Excuse me??” 💀

Straight-up disappears in mist form before the kid can finish the sentence.

Hates children. Hates this even more.

If Y/N looks at him expectantly, he glares and says, “I would rather burn in the sun.”

🩷 Doma – “Of course, my dear~! Come to Daddy~” 😘

Picks the kid up instantly and spins them around.

He’s loving this, completely ignoring Y/N’s reaction.

Probably tries to adopt the entire orphanage.

💙 Akaza – “…Tch. I don’t have time for this.” 😤

Awkward. So awkward. He’s not built for parenting.

Crosses his arms and looks away, face heating up.

If Y/N says, “Aww, Akaza, look! They want you as a dad!”

Akaza.exe has stopped working.

🟣 Kokushibo – “…You mistake me for someone who has such attachments.” 😐

Acts cold, distant, like he doesn’t care.

But deep inside?? He lowkey considers it.

Stares at Y/N like “Are we… a family now?”

🟡 Hantengu – “G-GAAAAAH! WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT!?” 😱

Runs away crying.

The clones all react differently:

Sekido: "Hell no."

Karaku: "LMAO sure why not."

Urogi: "Can you fly? No? Lame."

Aizetsu: "This is... depressing."

🟢 Gyokko – “A disgusting brat! BEGONE!” 😡

Throws a tantrum.

If Y/N scolds him, he dramatically cries like, “HOW COULD YOU CHOOSE A CHILD OVER ME?!”

⚔️ HASHIRA ⚔️

🔥 Rengoku Kyojuro – “HOHO! A CHILD WHO SEES OUR GREATNESS!” 😆

Accepts IMMEDIATELY. No hesitation.

Starts lecturing the kid about honor and discipline.

Y/N has to stop him before he starts training the child.

🌬️ Sanemi Shinazugawa – “WH— WHOSE BRAT IS THIS!?” 😡

Panics. Hard.

Looks at Y/N like "EXPLAIN??"

"Go find your real parents, kid!!"

If the kid tears up, he SOBS INTERNALLY.

🌊 Giyuu Tomioka – “…Why me?” 🧍‍♂️

Stares. Blinks. Stares again.

He does not know what to do.

Just silently accepts because he doesn’t want to make them cry.

💎 Gyomei Himejima – “Oh, dear one… If you are without a home, I shall protect you.” 😭

Immediately adopts the child.

Crying. Already planning their future.

Y/N is just there like “WTF JUST HAPPENED?!”

🐍 Obanai Iguro – “…I think you’re mistaken.” 😐

Immediately uncomfortable.

Looks at Y/N like "Why are you laughing?!"

Tries to leave, but the kid clings to him.

💜 Shinobu Kocho – “Oh my! How adorable~” 🥰

Teases Y/N SO MUCH.

“My, my, Y/N, I didn’t know we looked so married~”

If Y/N plays along, she gets super flustered.

👦 MAIN TRIO + GENYA 👦

🟠 Zenitsu Agatsuma – “OH GOD— WAIT— DID Y/N AND I GET MARRIED?!” 😱

Absolute meltdown.

Too dramatic. Starts planning baby names.

Will pretend to be a dad just to impress Y/N.

💚 Inosuke Hashibira – “PARENT?! ME?! HAH?!?!” 🤯

"I AM LORD INOSUKE! I DON’T RAISE KIDS!!"

Five minutes later? He’s teaching the kid how to headbutt.

❤️ Tanjiro Kamado – “Oh! That’s so sweet! Of course, we’ll take care of you!” 😊

WHYYY IS HE SO PURE.

Y/N can’t even tease him because he’s so wholesome.

Would actually raise the child.

💀 Genya Shinazugawa – “…Huh?” 😳

Blushes instantly.

Looks at Y/N like “D-Did you hear what they just said?!”

Doesn’t know how to respond. Probably just pats the kid’s head awkwardly.

[mysticpearl]

HIIII I JUST READ YOUR BOOTHILL IDEA ABOUT PREGNANCY AND I AM WELL FED 😭 i love how angsty it is. oh boy i'm sure struggles a lot during his s/o's pregnancy. like...it has lots of cry and self-conflict because he may thinking that he isn't helping his s/o. there gonna be small arguments and misunderstandings. it's hard for the both of them and the baby. 🥹

ohhhh yes. yup. decided to take a real angsty route with this one. I added some mentions of his actual backstory here, bc my og one was written before his backstory was released lols

Boothill definitely cries during your whole entire pregnancy. He also has a lot of bad thoughts about himself during it, too. 

At first, he tries to hide it, and either subtly cry, or just simply wait until you’re no longer in the room or the house. He doesn’t want you to know that he’s not happy because of the state he’s in. 

He used to be human, he used to be flesh, and most importantly, he once had a daughter of his own, and that's what crushes him the most. He fears so much that he’s almost going to replace her, even though he knows deep down in his heart that it most definitely wouldn’t be able to happen. 

He also feels so bad about not being able to do normal human things for your during your pregnancy :(((( he knows how much you want to be able to be soft and intimate, to take baths and be able to have a cozy massage and just a cozy person around in general, and he’s the exact opposite of that. He doesn’t even think he deserves the husband title anymore.

He literally once asked you why you’re still with him and not someone else. You explained that you loved him and you wanted to be with him, and even then he never really expressed the way he felt about himself to you but you could sort of see it in his eyes. He didn’t like the way he was and the fact that he can’t be what he refers to as a “proper dad” to his kid. 

He knows it’s hard on you, too, and he also knows that you’re catching onto his harsh thoughts, and you’re catching on fast. It caused an argument a few times, on how you’re hurt that he’s not expressing his emotions, he doesn’t want to, it turns into a “do you not trust me or something?” conflict on your end, and a “I just don’t know what to say without hurting you” conflict on his end. Misunderstanding that likely won’t just dissipate. 

There was one argument that you both had when you were nearing pretty close to your due date, and he decided he was going to walk out midway through and not come back for about a week. For some reason, he chose a petty route, leaving you anxious and super betrayed, considering he refused to answer his phone, too.

The argument was over something that seemed incredibly stupid, if you both must say so yourselves. He was, once again, insecure, and he wouldn’t tell you why. That was what bothered you- did he not trust you enough? Did he seriously not want to be a part of this baby's life? Why else would he just walk out?

To say it made you super anxious, scared, and lonely was an understatement. You were left with the thought that you’d have to give birth alone, and go back to your original game plan that you already mentally set up. You thought he genuinely left you.

That was, until he walked back into the house on a random afternoon that next week. He ran up to you and apologized, allowing you to cry it out in his steel arms. He felt so horrible, and he vowed to you to never, ever do that again.

He tries to start letting you in on his troubles from that point on, but there still seems to him like there's a barrier blocking his words from coming out. Sometimes, he just blames it on his synesthesia beacon, which seems to work for now. 

He also lets you see him cry more often, but that stops when you give birth. He doesn’t need you to be more overwhelmed than you already will end up being.

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 17: Hate Sex - Sirius Black x Slytherin!Reader

Summary: You were in Slytherin, it was in your blood to hate Sirius Orion Black, so why can’t you stop thinking about his stupid, handsome face?

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, hate sex, arguing, mocking, teasing, sexual tension, enemies with benefits, alcohol, size difference, praise kink, choking, dom/sub, slight degrading, rough sex, edging,

masterlist 📚 

kinktober masterlist😈 

AO3 Link 

“Fuck my life; why the hell is he in here?” you exclaim as Sirius Black saunters into the library with all the swagger and arrogance of someone ready to cause a riot.

“Here we go”, another student mutters under their breath from across the room. You weren’t sure who, but you glared in the general direction of whoever had said it.

It was infamous that you absolutely loathed Sirius, and he, in return, hated you with just as much passion. You were natural enemies; he was in prideful Gryffindor, and you a cunning Slytherin, but the hatred delved deeper than just this. You thought he was a pompous, arrogant prick who bullied Slytherins - mostly you - and seemed to always get away with it every single time. He had directed his pranks towards you more times than you’d care to count. You were constantly on high alert, paranoid that another attack was coming from the Gryffindors. Seeing any shade of red filled your heart with dread every single day.

Today, you were having a relatively good morning, mostly spent revising in the library with a towering pile of books beside you. It was a warm summer’s day, so most students were outside, which was always your favourite time to study, not having to fight with the others for specific books or for an area of the library to work.

Another reason you preferred to stay in the castle was that the Marauders were likelier to be out, causing havoc where the crowds were formed. You cursed loudly at seeing them in the library, instantly ruining your calm day.

“Well, well, look what dirt turned up in the library. I’m surprised you even know how to read, Sunshine”, Sirius taunts as he immediately struts over to your table, picking up one of the books in your pile and idly flicking through it whilst leaning his weight against the table.

You sigh heavily through your nose at the nickname, loathing it more than any other pet name that he decided to call you, mainly as it originated from a prank in your first year where he’d stained your hair bright luminous yellow and thus, Sunshine was his favourite taunt. “Please fuck off, I’m only going to warn you the once Black, and give me the book back!”

“Why would I leave? These books all seem highly intelligent for your silly little mind. Maybe I should help read to you, see here, this is what they call the ‘title’, it means what the book is called-”

“Sirius, I swear to Merlin, if you don’t shut the fuck up-”

“What’s going on here?” the librarian rushes over, interrupting your seething threat with her stern face, glancing between you and Sirius, who was grinning, ready to woo the teacher.

“Oh, nothing at all, Professor. I was just asking if I could borrow this book when she started to shout at me”, Sirius explained with surprisingly good acting skills that had your eyes widening and mouth gaping open with anger.

Before you could even begin to justify Sirius’ lies, the librarian turned to you, her lips pursed and eyes sharp. “Please leave the library. I won’t have you causing a commotion like this”.

She leaves before you can stand up for yourself, your cheeks flooding with heat as your blood boils with anger. Especially as your enemy begins to laugh tauntingly, head tipping back as he obnoxiously laughs, throwing the book back onto your pile.

“Thank god for that; I might be able to concentrate without a slithering snake like you here”.

You stand abruptly, wand in your shaking hand as you rage angrily, “I fucking hate you!”

He steps closer, invading your personal space as he smirks down at you, “The feeling is mutual, Sunshine. Now, do you want me to help you pack up your crap, or can you manage that all by yourself?”

Before you can answer, you’re both interrupted by a calm voice, “Sirius, leave her alone, will you?” Remus tried to convince his friend to step away. With Sirius distracted, you start roughly shoving your items into your school bag before turning back to them both, especially Sirius.

“I hope you choke”. With one last glare, you purposefully bashed your shoulder into Sirius, knocking his balance slightly as you stormed off.

However, as you passed a couple of Hufflepuffs, you overheard one whispering to another, “They probably just need to fuck, and they’d get over this stupid tension”.

“What the fuck did you just say?!” you demand, stopping in front of them, looking between them as their heads dropped to hide their faces. “That’s disgusting. How dare you even say something like that-” you begin to chastise, your wand returning to your hand as a reflex to defend yourself.

“Excuse me!” the Librarian returns to your side, which only makes you more frustrated as you’re stopped from doing what you really want.

“I’M LEAVING!” you scream, gathering the attention of everyone; you promptly scowl at them all, specifically Sirius, who you expected to see grinning at you getting into trouble, but instead, he was only a step behind you with an odd, wondering expression on his face.

You don’t stay to ponder what he was looking at as you grip your bag closer to your body and storm off. How could someone even think something so disgusting!? You and Sirius fucking?! Absolutely not. You’d rather walk around Hogwarts naked than go anywhere near Sirius fucking Black.

A few hours later, you’d found your friend lounging beside the lake, where you promptly joined her with a huff. “Oh no, what did Sirius do now?” she says, knowing your sour mood could only be caused by one person.

You explain with increasing agitation, “And then, you’ll never guess what some Hufflepuffs said! They said that me and Sirius Black,” You shiver for emphasis, “Need to shag, and we’d stop arguing! I mean, can you believe it? That’s disgusting; I can’t think of anything worse!” You’d expected your friend to look disgusted, just like how you felt, but instead, she raised one eyebrow with an unphased expression. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Well, I mean… He’s not that bad to look at, and from what I’ve heard, he’s very much a people-pleaser in the bedroom. Anyway, you know what they say,  if you’re being teased by someone it’s most likely because they have a crush on them and I must say… You’re both always teasing each other”.

Even though your friend grins and mocks you, you still find it offensive that she would even say such a thing. “Are you kissing me? Sirius Black is a self-centred, arrogant asshole who only thinks about himself. There is no way I would ever go anywhere near him!”

“Yeah, but you can’t deny that he’s handsome. Even though he’s a Gryffindor, he's from the Black lineage, with his long hair, dreamy eyes, and stunning smile. There’s also the fact that he plays quidditch, so I bet those thighs of his are scrummy”.

Shaking your head at her words, you sigh, “That doesn't matter, he’s still-”

“So you admit it?” She cuts you off with a knowing smile.

“Admit what?” you question innocently.

“That you think he’s handsome”, she states confidently with a shit-eating grin.

“I’m not saying that, I mean- Uh… I don’t know!” You throw your hands into the air, exacerbated, “I guess he’s handsome, but that doesn’t change what an asshole he is”.

Your friend shrugs, “I don’t know. Maybe this answers all the tension. The two of you need to fuck, and maybe all the arguments will stop”.

“If you ever say that again, I promise I’ll curse you. Right, I’m changing the subject. I don’t want to think about him anymore. Are you still going to the party later in the Ravenclaw's common room?”

“Definitely! I can’t wait. Are you going?”

“Yes! I need a drink after today”.

As the moon came out to play, so did all of the older students throughout Hogwarts, as it seemed everyone was going to the party. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you sighed in frustration as you couldn’t style your hair correctly, too distracted thinking about that good-for-nothing, long-haired, handsome idiot.

There was that word again. Handsome. ‘Was he handsome?’ you thought to yourself. Of course, he was, with his grey sparkling eyes, he was one of the tallest in the year, lean from all of his quidditch playing, and his hair was always clean and effortlessly styled, and his clothes were always smart and expensive looking, the only part of him that you could tell was from his pure-blood status.

You hated that you couldn’t stop thinking about him. Undoubtedly, you hated him, but would it be the worst to shag him? You shivered at the thought, internally demanding that the idea needed to leave your mind immediately, ignoring the pulsing between your legs as an image flashed into your head of his face between your legs.

You shouted in frustration, giving up with your hair and deciding that it would have to do. At least your dress was beautiful, a Slytherin-green floor-length gown with silky smooth material accentuating your body and a long slit up the right side revealing your thigh. It was lavish and probably over the top for a common room party, but it was so rare that you could dress up, so you seized the opportunity. You’d applied a generous amount of make-up and silver high heels to match the dress, adding a couple of inches to your height.

The problematic part was sneaking up to the Ravenclaw common room, but thankfully, there was a system of students on the watch to lead the way there. Once inside, you poured yourself a drink of whatever was in the cauldron and found a couple of your friends already there.

Ten glorious minutes of happiness passed before it all came crashing down around you as James Potter shouted, “The party has arrived!” Not only him but the other Gryffindors had entered, making you roll your eyes and drink a hefty glug of the alcohol in your cup, savouring the burn as it rushed down your throat.

You couldn’t see him immediately, and you hate that you searched the crowd looking for him; you pretended that it was because you wanted to be prepared if he walked over to you and no other reasons whatsoever. There he was, standing with his back to you as he poured his drink with Remus.

‘Fuck’, you cursed to yourself, quickly looking away as your cheeks warmed. Why did he have to look so good? It seemed his surname was his favourite colour today as he wore all-black, well-worn combat boots paired with baggy black jeans and a tight t-shirt that seemed to stretch over the well-toned muscles of his arms and shoulders. It wasn’t just this that had your thighs clenching together to try and relieve some building tension. Still, for once, he’d decided to tie his hair up in a loose bun, some strays of hair already loosening, but for some reason, that only made him more attractive, and did he always have an earring?

You finished the rest of your drink as you realised just how much attention you gave Sirius. You need to get him out of your head, so dancing with your friends would be the best distraction for now, but you fully anticipated that he would come over and ruin your night sometime soon.

However, Sirius stayed on the other side of the party, which even your friends commented was odd, considering he always loved making your life miserable. You continued to shrug it off, saying you were having a great time because of it; however, your eyes wandered over to him occasionally, and it seemed he always had the same idea as you would catch each other's eye and then quickly look away embarrassed.

The night continued, the music increasing in volume, and now that you weren’t worried about Sirius interrupting, you slowed down with the alcohol, not wanting a hangover in the morning.

“SOMEONE SNITCHED TO FILCH, HE’S GETTING THE PROFESSORS! EVERYONE RUN!” A second later, the entire party was shoving and pushing each other to get out of the door, running in different directions.

Some teachers were already in the corridors, catching students, giving them detentions and taking away house points. You followed a small crowd, struggling to keep up with your heels, which you now severely regretted; however, it was a small blessing when Professor McGonagall caught the group at the end of the corridor, so you quickly turned down a deserted corridor, breathing heavily and beginning to sweat from the exercise and fear.

Just as you turned down a corridor dimly lit by fires on the wall, someone from behind grabbed your arm, forcefully pulling you in another direction. Before you can comprehend what is happening, you’re engulfed in darkness, and a broad hand is shoved over your mouth as you’re pushed against the door to the store cupboard you were just pulled into.

“Shhh, someone was behind us, " Sirius whispered from the darkness; even though you couldn’t see him, you knew his face was in front of yours because you could feel the warmth of his breath on your face.

Your instinct was to try and shove him off, but then there were echoing footsteps in the corridor outside. You both freeze, not even daring to breathe in case you’re caught. Both of you listened intently until there was only silence on the other side of the door as you slammed your elbow into his stomach.

His hand drops from your mouth, allowing you to whisper, “Get the fuck off me, don’t ever touch me again”.

Now that you had a moment to calm down, as he moved back into a space, you could see a slither of him from the gap around the door that allowed the light to seep in. Sirius chuckles lowly, rubbing his stomach from where you’d elbowed him. The deep laugh seemed to affect you straight between the legs as, for some reason, you found the noise mildly erotic.

“Why? You never know; you might like it when I touch you”, Sirius taunted, his voice soft and yet husky at the same time.

Your entire body seemed to buzz with anticipation and excitement at his words because there was no way Sirius Black had just flirted with you in some capacity.

“Shut up”, you say bashfully, folding your arms over your middle.

In the crack of light seeping in, Sirius' head tilted to the side, “What, no comeback, oh my witty little snake, have you lost your tongue?”

It seemed you had no air left in your body at his words, but you forced yourself to move away from the door, turning with the intention of leaving. However, he hears something you don’t as he’s pushing you flush against the door; even with your heels, he’s towering over you.

Before you could question what he was doing, he rested his index finger across your lips and whispered into your ear, “There’s someone outside the door”.

You can’t hear that, though, as there’s only the pounding of your heart rattling in your ears with how close he is to you. He was inhumanly warm, and this close, you could smell his addicting aftershave that reminded you of citrus and oak, but lingering in the background was vanilla from his shampoo as a couple of strands of his hair fell into your face. In this position, you couldn’t see him; even as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you had to rely on your other senses. 

You swallow audibly, causing your lips to press harder against his finger until the cool metal of his ring is indented into your chin. His breath is just as warm as his chest against yours, and this close, you could smell that he’d been drinking fire whiskey.

The pressure on your lips lightens as whoever is inspecting the corridor disappears again. Sirius doesn’t remove himself, though; instead, he allows his finger to do its exploration in the darkness, skimming across your cheek, over the shell of your ear, which causes you to shiver and your nipples to harden beneath the dress however the fabric was so thin that Sirius could feel them against his chest.

His finger continues to move down your jaw until it is at the point of your chin, pushing it up so you're forced to tip your head back further against the door.

“Sirius”, you whisper in a pleading tone, and he moves, fast and brutal as his mouth connects with yours. The kiss was fiery, full of passion and need. The hand under your chin desperately moves into your hair to hold your head in place while the other grips your hip, pulling your body closer to his. Your hands were just as grabby as one reached for his shirt, feeling the hard muscle beneath, and another moved to his jaw, feeling the softness of his recently shaved face.

You both moved as one, tilting your heads to the side to deepen the kiss further, mouths opening to allow the exploration of your tongues, tasting and wanting more. You weren’t thinking clearly, and neither was he but damn with the consequences.

Sirius bit into your bottom lip gently, tugging it back until it was snapping back to normal, but he didn’t stop there as his mouth began to move down your throat as he moved your head back. Open mouth, hot kisses were pushed into your skin until your toes curled in your high-heeled shoes.

You needed more of him, all of him, feeling so pathetically desperate that sweet little whines kept spilling from your lips as he sucked just below your ear like he knew that was your special spot.

Reaching behind his head, you roughly pulled the hairband out of his hair so, at long last, you could run your fingers through his soft locks. Sirius seemed to enjoy the touch as his hips thrust into yours, and you could feel the evidence of his arousal, rock hard in his jeans. Your arousal was currently ruining your underwear, clit throbbing and pussy begging to be touched in some way.

This could be a sign to stop and reason that this was your enemy. It had been since day one at Hogwarts, and now you’re ready to rip each other's clothes off.

As Sirius’ mouth moved lower, teeth scraping over your collar bones, you decided to be brave and lift your right leg, wrapping it around his hip to hold him closer. Sirius instantly gripped your thigh, groaning to himself when he was met with bare skin as he’d forgotten this was the side with the slit in the material.

“This god-damns dress”, he praised against your skin, which made you laugh lightly at how desperate he sounded. The heat of his palm against your naked thigh only made you want to feel him closer as he kissed you again. Higher and higher, his hand creepy, gripping your thigh until he pushed the silky material further up your body until you could feel your underwear was on show. This only encouraged you to pull his hips closer with your heel until his jean-covered cock was pressing against your panty-covered cunt.

Sirius shuddered, his hands tightening on your thigh and in your hair, as his tongue devoured your mouth, capturing every little moan you released as his hips thrust forward. It was your turn to tremble as the roughness of his jeans was felt through your thin underwear, nudging your clit and causing more moisture to gather in your underwear.

Everywhere felt like it was burning: your skin, core, and head. Everywhere that Sirius touched left a scolding mark as you couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t fathom waiting a moment longer.

Pulling your face away from his, with a harsh pull on his hair to snap his head back, you roughly demanded, “Just fuck me already, Sirius”.

He grinned in the darkness as he rutted his hips harder against yours, knowing what you truly wanted. Sirius’ mouth returned to your through as he darkly said, “Say please”.

It was an effort not to roll your eyes, but you did huff as you, in turn, pressed your pussy against his crotch. “I’m not saying-”

Any sassy remark you were thinking of saying was cut off by the giant hand now wrapped around your throat, not hard enough that you couldn’t breathe but enough to draw your attention as his mouth hovered over yours. You could feel from the shape of his lips that he was smirking as he repeated with more emphasis and slowing of the words, “Say. Please”.

Your mouth dried of any saliva at the tone of his voice, instantly falling into submission as you quietly asked, “Please fuck me, Sirius”.

“Good girl”, he praises against your lips, making your knees buckle slightly, having never been praised like this before.

A hand wrapped around your ankle as he moved it back to the floor, and suddenly, you were holding onto the door as his body dropped to his knees, and you didn’t realise until now just how much you were relying on his body to keep you upright.

Sirius’ hands were underneath your dress, grasping the edges of your underwear and sliding them down your thighs. As you stepped out of them, he moved your dress back again, your bare pussy on display to him, and even though it was too dark for him to see, you could still feel the warmth of the flush on your face.

“We haven’t got time for that, just fuck me already”, you snapped at him. Of course, you would love for your earlier thought of his face between your legs to be a reality, but right now, you needed his cock inside you before you combusted on the spot.

Thankfully, Sirius didn’t argue or get you to beg for his cock any more as he stood back up, towering over you again as the rustle of his belt being undone was like music to your ears. “Always so fucking demanding”, he scolded light-heartedly under his breath.

Reaching for his waist in the darkness, you were planning on helping him undo his jeans to free his cock, and you wanted to feel what you were dealing with. Like every other time you’d known him, Sirius had other plans.

Your hands were pushed away as he grabbed your hips instead, but only so that he could turn you around. Your face was unglamourlessly shoved against the wooden door as Sirius rushed to gather the material of your dress until it was bunched around your waist. Clinging onto what he had planned, you pushed your arse out from him and were greeted with the pleasant sensation of something hot and hard against your cheeks.

“Spit”, Sirius demanded into your ear as he pressed his fingers into your chin. It felt filthy and slightly degrading to spit into his hand, but as you could hear him wiping the slickness onto his cock, you didn’t care anymore. In fact, it only added more eroticism to your thoughts.

Neither of you said a word as he adjusted the height of his hips, pressing into your arse cheeks to spread them slightly as suddenly something knocked against your hole. Sirius helped to guide his cock as he slid it into your pussy, your walls burning from the stretch of the sheer size of him. 

“Fuck! You could have warned me you’re so big!” you chastised him. Inch after inch opened you up wider until his hips were flush with yours, and his hand rested back in your hair, pulling your head back against his shoulder.

“Sorry, Sunshine”, he chuckled, kissing your cheek with a hint of sarcasm in his tone. You couldn’t help but hear that stupid nickname in his sultry deep voice, and with his entire dick pressed into your cunt, you couldn’t help but squeeze him tighter. Sirius ground his hips in harder, smiling against your face, “I fucking knew you liked it when I called you that”.

You wanted to retort back to him, hating when he had the upper hand, but as he began to withdraw his cock, any coherent thought disappeared from your mind entirely. As he pushed back in, you couldn’t help but rise to your tiptoes, following the lead of his body fucking into you.

Sirius made sure you were accustomed to his size before beginning to properly fuck you. All the tension, the bullying back and forth, the teasing and times of losing your mind at the idiot that was Sirius Black had all been worth it as he fucked you unlike anyone before. He was toweringly tall when you were face to face, but when his chest brushed over your back, you felt much smaller as he seemed to crowd around you everywhere.

He breathed heavily into your ear, occasionally biting your lobe or sloppily kissing the junction between your shoulder and neck. However, it was the pounding of his cock that had you completely and utterly at his mercy. His strokes were deep and long, his entire length disappearing into your sopping-wet hole. It felt so unbelievably good that you didn’t even care that you were near enough to scream out your moans for anyone in the corridor to hear.

Your hand reached behind your head to find him, your fingers slipping into his hair again to hold them. Harder and harder, he pushed the two of you into the door; it was a surprise that the barricade didn’t break with the force he was putting into fucking you.

Then you felt the deep coiling in your core, like everything inside of you was tightening, all pleasure amplifying as your orgasm teetered on the very edge. It seemed Sirius could feel this too, with how tightly your spongey walls were suffocating him as he grunted louder into your neck.

“Wait, don’t cum yet; I’m so close, don’t cum”, you begged, not entirely wanting it to end just yet. Sirius gasped, his mouth opening wide as his eyes did the opposite as they clenched shut as he concentrated on fucking you and not orgasming.

It doesn’t take long to feel the first flutterings of that eye-wateringly beautiful sensation between your legs as you quickly stammer, “I’m cumming! Fuck- You can cum, please cum with me”. Sirius’ legs nearly gave out underneath him, hearing your sweet words.

As your pussy contracted in wet bursts around him, Sirius released every drop of cum inside of his body, deep into your walls so that you could feel yourself becoming full and it beginning to drip out as it became too much. His thrusts slowed to a stop as you both slumped against the door, catching your breath for a moment, the tiny store cupboard now becoming suffocating.

The after-orgasm guilt hit you like a tonne. What had you done? You’d just fucked your worst enemy, and his cock was still inside you.

You couldn’t help yourself; you needed to ruin the moment, need to get free and cry into your pillow over what an idiot you are, so with hate and distaste, you turned your head further over your shoulder. “This changes nothing between us”.

Sirius took a moment to process the words before his mouth was hovering over your ear, his breath tickling your skin, “Not at all, Sunshine, I still hate you”.

Good, you think. That’s what you’d hoped because you still hated him too… right?

With a grunt, you elbow his stomach again but with less force, just needing him to back away from you. Thankfully he did without any arguments, his softening cock slipping out of you and globs of his cum following this.

With trembling knees, you shoved your dress back down. Reaching around in the darkness, you found the door handle and turned, neither of you saying another word as you walked out of the door, hair a mess, make-up running down your cheeks, dress creased, lips swollen and cum still dripping down your thighs.

You walk with as much confidence as possible, keeping your head high as you try not to turn around and see if he is watching you walk away. It was only as you turned the corner that you realised you’d left your underwear in there with him; cursing to yourself, you turned back, not wanting another student or someone to find them. You weren’t sure if you were happy or sad when you returned to the cupboard to find Sirius gone, but not only that, but your underwear was too.

[musingsofheaven]

GIRLS LIKE GIRLS.

summary: she’s your best friend. she has always been around you, or you are always around her. you call it girlhood like that explains why you’re constantly touching her and sleeping in her bed and staring at her mouth mid-sentence like want to kiss it and tashi’s so fucking tired of that word like she want to erase the existence of that word.

pairings: closeted best friend!tashi duncan × afab best friend!reader

warnings: 3.2k words. emotional themes. homoerotic undertones. emotional repression. internalized homophobia. compulsory heterosexuality. unspoken wlw tension. queerness denial / closeting. blurred boundaries. read gently.

note: reposted because i hate tumblr ! i’m sorry for writing this during pride month (i am not really planning on writing about this) 😔 but i couldn’t get it out of my head. last night. i was supposed to write about artrick.. but unfortunately… i lived through the exact horrors of homoerotic friendship (and so tashi suddenly came into my mind) and couldn’t keep pretending i was fine. this piece is personal (not in a way it reflects what happened in mine, but it reflect the feelings, yes) in the way that makes you stare at the wall for a bit after writing. i hope it makes someone feel a little more seen. happy pride month, my babies. 🫶

You’ve always been like this.

Too loud when you’re excited. She can practically predict that you’ll do those mannerisms when you experience certain things that excite you. You’re too soft when you’re tired. You like sleeping, and sometimes you rest. The kind of girl who clings to people without realizing she’s doing it. You want to hold people when you’re comfortable with them. Especially their arms. When you are out and you’re getting anxious? You’ll hold the fabric of their top. When you’re happy, you will squeeze them. You are kind who says “I love you” like it’s thank you, sorry, and nothing at all. You can easily say it like a candy being handed to kids. You cry when you’re angry. Or sometimes you get quiet. You laugh when you’re nervous. The awkward laugh. Jesus, you do that to make people think you’re so brave or smug. You don’t hide anything, and Tashi’s never decided if that makes you brave or reckless.

But you picked her. Somehow. At some point.

Out of everyone in that place, you look at her and decide, “Okay, I’m going to talk to her.” You looked at her like she was safe. Like she was obvious. You held her wrist once, years ago, and said, “You’re stuck with me now,” and she didn’t even blink. You don’t even let her breathe. You look like you won’t accept no as an answer. Just nodded. Just said, “Okay.”

That’s what it’s always been with you. No hesitation. No distance. You love with your whole chest and body all at once. And you act like everyone else does, too. Like that’s normal.

It isn’t. Not really, in her eyes, it isn’t.

Tashi always loses her mind when it comes to you. The worst part is that she has never met anyone else like you. But you calm her down despite driving her insane. You call her your best friend. Say it like a title. Like a crown. She lets you. Even if some days, it feels more like a leash because you call it girlhood.

She can’t count how many times you used that words. To Tashi, that’s your word for everything. When you braid or brush her hair, when your fingers are intertwined in public, when you whisper I love you in her ear like you are telling that to your boyfriend. You say it with that dreamy little laugh of yours. Your smile will be so big, and you‘ll tilt your head. It’s like you’re both sixteen and living inside a coming-of-age playlist.

Girlhood. Yeah girlhood. Sometimes she wants to curse that word out. Or erase it from the dictionary. Or make people forget about it. Tashi doesn’t say anything when you do it. When you call the things you do to her girlhood, she’ll just shut up. Don’t say that, as always. She never does. She smiles, nods, and lets you have your softness, like she isn’t dying a little bit every time you wrap it in glitter and innocence.

You say things like, “She’s my soulmate but like, not in a gay way,” and expect her to laugh. She will look at you disgustedly as if she’s disgusted by the affection. No, he isn’t, but she appreciates the gesture. But the implication. Yeah. So sometimes she laughs at it. Sometimes she wants to take your face and ask what the hell you think this is. Or slap you.

Because what is that?

Best friends don’t look at each other like that across rooms. Not with the lingering eyes, no. They don’t get quiet or send daggers with their eyes when one of them is flirting with someone else. They don’t fall asleep on each other’s stomachs while looking up or maybe face down on the stomach and hand on thighs, or they don’t cuddle, and their hands will caress you.

And they don’t say I love you and sweet things like it means more than friendship, like you want her to take it differently.

But you do.

You say it all the time. Sometimes casually, when you feel emotional, or about it, constantly. You don’t even hear yourself anymore.

Sometimes Tashi wonders if you know. If you think that actions might be beyond friendship already, or you’re just that dumb. Not on the surface, maybe. Not in a way you’d admit out loud. But deep down, where it sits quietly and stays on your mind, it will whisper to you about it and warm your stomach. Maybe a part of you knows exactly what you’re doing. That‘s what you do. That speak and say, “girl, shut the fuck up that’s not so platonic.” That leans in too close. That holds on too long.

Maybe that part of you is in love with her. Not love that you can give to everybody. Not in a way that you feel with your boyfriend, who never stays long. Not in a way that you are supposed to love your best friend.

And maybe that’s the part you keep drowning with lip gloss and throwaway phrases like girlhood. You probably hide behind those little phrases because you don’t know how to justify them.

Because how can you even get jealous like it’s her fault? No, she’s not talking about the jealousy towards her. It’s the jealousy you’ll feel about others. You might not notice it, but it’s always the same. The minute Tashi mentions another girl, maybe someone from the university, someone she got drinks with once, someone she plays tennis with, someone who complimented her, someone who texted her late, you change.

Not obviously. Not dramatically. Not in a way people in relationships do. Well, maybe it’s the same, but you go quiet. Mouth shut. How can you even shut it when you always seem to say something when you’re with her? You blink a little too long. You find something to fuss or distract yourself with. She noticed it. You do it with your sleeve, cup, and shirt hem; you get touchy with things and say something soft and stupid like, “Oh… cool.”

Then, a few minutes later, you lean into her. So fucking close that you might want to eat her space. To get her in your system. Your hands can’t even calm down. You’ll touch her arm. Rest your chin on her shoulder like you’re trying to remind her where she belongs. Sometimes you’ll rest your forehead instead and stay like that.

You never say it’s jealousy. You say it’s best friend stuff. Fuck that. best friend stuff. Yeah, best friend. You say, “I don’t like people trying to steal you.” You say, “You’re my person. You’re my best friend. You’re my soulmate. You’re not allowed to replace me.”

And Tashi, who has spent her whole life trying not to look at you the way she does, laughs. Plays along. Because what can she do? Complain? No. She’s not dumb. She won’t do anything that will keep you away from her. So she’ll brush your hair back from your face and says, “As if I could.” No, she really can’t replace you. Maybe she can. But you’ll always haunt her. You’ll always be behind her mind, whispers the what-ifs.

Tashi doesn’t ask what you mean by it. Your words. Doesn’t call you out when your mood shifts for the rest of the night. When you cling too tightly. As if she’s someone you need to hold on to. When you look at her like she’s slipping through your fingers, you don’t know why that bothers you.

You’re not gay. She’s heard you say it. Sometimes she got disgusted with it. How proud you are. Or how you deny doing things that can be considered queer in other people’s eyes. You need to assure people about it. You say it with so much certainty that it almost sounds true.

But then you pull her a little closer. So close that it might suffocate you. You squeeze her hand tighter while you steal glances at her. You ask who texted her at midnight, as if it’s small talk. You ask things like you’re just curious, not because you are bothered and want to pry about it. And you act like this is normal. Like this is what girls do.

Tashi doesn’t correct you. Just smiles. Just nods. Just squeezes your hand back. She lets you have it. Whatever this is. You do everything together.

People don’t think twice about things until they see how you touch her because you are best friends and are so proud. The way you sit is too close. The way people won’t question it because “they are just friends, get used to it.” Your eyes follow her mouth when she talks, like you’re unaware.

You call it “just us stuff.” Meaning the stuff you only do to each other. You can’t do stuff with other people because it’s your thing. Sometimes you paint her nails while straddling her thigh on the couch. You even pick a color for her, and she always lets you. That made you so giggly because Tashi is not hard to paint nails for; she’s still watching your face while you do it because you’re so focused, and you won’t even notice how she looks at you. You do her makeup while your fingers linger too long under her chin, smiling and telling her she looks so pretty. You lie across her lap when you’re tired and ask her to scratch your back, whining when she pauses like she owes you her hands.

Once, she tucked your hair behind your ear, and your breath hitched. You rolled your eyes, and you laughed. Said, “God, this is so gay. Good thing I’m not.” She almost laughed, too. Almost. But she doesn’t because she wanted to stab herself after hearing that.

You share things. Share drinks. Especially food. You’ll try whatever she’s having, tell her “I want to see what you got,” while pouting. Share beds. You kiss her cheek when you’re proud of her. You’ll even scrunch your nose after that and giggle before giving her more praise. You grip her waist when you’re drunk, whisper “you’re so pretty it’s disgusting,” when she’s getting ready for a party she didn’t even invite you to.

You bite her shoulder when you’re laughing too hard. You tuck your face into her neck like it’s nothing. You say she’s so comfortable and soft, you‘re always in her space.

You tell her things no one else knows. The stuff you get embarrassed about. Your weird things that she can only understand. Your fears will haunt you. Your dreams that you’re so eager to get in the grip of your hands. The intrusive thoughts that don’t make sense or are too disturbing until she nods and says, “I get it.”

You once took a photo of her while she was sleeping. You sent it to her and told her she looked peaceful. Beautiful. You always take candid photos of her as if you are taking pictures of her through the lenses of your eyes. Or in the way you see her.

You don’t think it means anything. You’re just close. That’s all. You’re her best friend.

And that’s the word you always use when she makes you feel something you don’t want to name. You say that when you’re too sweet to her. “I love you, you know that? I couldn’t pick another best friend than you.”

You also talk about boys as if they don‘t matter. It’s never about how they made you feel. It’s always what they didn’t do. They didn’t text the right way. They didn’t listen. They don’t compliment you. They wear too much cologne. They don’t match outfits with you. They don’t carry your purses. They don’t get goofy with you. They didn’t remember the little things. They didn’t get you.

Tashi hears it every time. The silent comparison. “He was nice,” you say one night, your head resting on her thigh as you scroll through your phone. “But not funny. Not like you.” What the fuck that supposed to mean?

Tashi hums, barely. Of course she does. Of course, she’ll validate the comparison. It made the boys you date look like nothing when she stood beside them. Her fingers hover above your hair, aching to touch you, but she doesn’t move.

“He ordered for me without asking,” you add, tossing your phone aside. “Who does that?” your voice irritated before you look at her.

She gives a soft laugh. “And you didn’t leave right then?” she asks. Always asks if you leave immediately, or don’t let people do the bare minimum.

“I should have. I don’t know.” You sigh. “It’s always something. They talk too much. They don’t care enough. They try hard to impress me and still get it all wrong.” You shift a little, pressing closer like you always do when frustrated. You have that face when you’re annoyed. Tashi lets you.

“I just want someone who gets me,” you murmur. “Someone who knows what I mean even when I don’t say it. Someone I can… exist with.”

You don’t even look at her. You don’t have to. The weight of your words lands all the same. Tashi doesn’t say a thing. She wants to choke herself while hearing your words.

And then- God, then- you laugh. Bright and thoughtless. “I swear,” you say, nudging her knee with yours, “If you were a guy, I’d be so in love with you.” Classic. It guts her. Instantly. Who said that? Who said you can say that? Who allowed you? You grin like you haven’t just knocked the air out of her.

“I mean, think about it. We already do everything together. You know me better than anyone. You’re smart, you’re hot, you listen- like, what else could I ask for?” Tashi smiles because that’s what she’s supposed to do. Because that’s all she can do. She cannot say, “Yeah, I would date you right now.” But something behind her ribs is aching. And you don’t even notice.

You don’t always notice. You touch her like it means nothing after you said that. Or in daily occurrences, you’ll feel like it’s automatic. Like she belongs to you.

You drag her into dressing rooms under the excuse of “just help me pick,” and then make her stand there while you change in front of her, shirt off, bra on, asking if the color washes you out. Ask those questions that are in her little overthinking mind, like you need her approval for your clothes. You’ll twirl, look over your shoulder, ask if it makes your ass look flat. And then laugh when you catch her staring. “Don’t look at me like that, perv.”

She never is. Not the way you think. She’s just admiring you. In a way like… “You’re so pretty, I want to kiss you,” but she doesn’t say that. Not openly. Not in a way that would give her away. But you don’t know that. You don’t know anything.

Sometimes, your hand lingers at her waist for too long. You’ll grip it absentmindedly at parties, in lines, when you’re trying to get her attention. You’ll lean in close, murmur against her ear, and then stay there, breath warm, smile soft.

You slap her ass when she walks past you in a crop top and call her a whore- joking, always joking- and follow it with “I’m so jealous of your body. It’s unfair.”

You once cupped her tits in a pool and claimed it was because “your bikini looks so good.”

Tashi didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. She just laughed- because what else could she do? Thank fuck you guys in the water that time so her blushing cheeks are not that obvious.

You’ve asked her to shower with you more than once. You’ll say, “I don’t want to be late.” Yeah. Or when there’s an emergency, like there’s only one shower. “You’ve seen me naked like a thousand times, who cares?” You say it all so easily. So convincingly. Like you mean nothing by it. And maybe you don’t. Perhaps it’s just friendship to you. Girlhood. Closeness.

But to her, It’s torture. Every casual brush of your fingers, every thoughtless press of your body to hers, every moment you strip down without flinching- it all adds up. A hundred quiet wounds with your name on them.

Still, she never stops you. She never will because she’d rather have too much of you, in all the wrong ways, than not have you at all. She wants you, and she’ll take anything you can give her. Anything she’ll eat that up like a goddamn dog.

And you… You can’t just stop. You keep dating men. It‘s like it’s a habit you can’t quite break. Some of them are sweet. Some of them are forgettable. None of them lasts long. And every time one slips away, you come back to her. Like you always do. Because you need her, you need your best friend. You show up at her door with a tired laugh and something cheap in a paper bag, claiming you’re over it, that it was nothing, that he was never that deep in your life anyway. But you always talk about him just a little too long. You always make her sit through it and be forced to listen. You always sigh like there’s something stuck in your chest that you don’t have the words for.

Tashi listens. She always listens. She holds your wine and your weight and your moods. She lets you get drunk. She gets drunk with you, too. She enables you to lean into her like it’s your right. She lets you hold her because you need comfort. She tells you you’re fine and’ll find someone better, even though you’re not asking. You never ask. Not directly.

But you still watch her face when you talk about new boys. God. God. God. Why is there always a new guy? She’s not even over about the last guy you dated, as if she’s the one moving on.

You still say things like, “You’ll like him, he kind of reminds me of you,” or “We have your kind of banter,” or “I think this might be different, but I want to see what you think.”

You bring them up like you’re waiting for her reaction. You told her first about which guy you are talking like you need her approval, who you’ll date. You try to make her laugh with your texts. You compare how they hug you, how they listen, how they don’t.

And after every breakup, like it always does, you come back again. You end up in her bed, curled around a pillow like it means nothing. You curl into her space like it’s yours. You don’t say much. You don’t have to. But sometimes you mutter, half-asleep, that you don’t know why nothing ever works.

Tashi doesn’t tell you why. She listens. Let you stay. She brushes your hair out of your face and holds you in silence, eyes on the ceiling, and your heart somewhere far from sleep.

Outside, the world keeps moving.

Inside, she wonders how long she can keep being almost everything.

And whether almost will ever be enough.

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[withwritersblock]

F.Y.B.F pt. 2

~F.Y.B.F goodies remix by MC BXB~ Author's Note: requested a few times so here you goooo Summary: Jack and Y/n get together after months of Jack being the rebound guy Warnings: none Word Count: 1,709 Jack Hughes x fm!reader Part 1

She laid down on the couch, sprawling her legs over his lap. Her gaze remained on the Devils game on the screen. They were down by two goals but they still had most of the second period and the third period to turn it around. 

Noah ran his hands up and down her legs as he was staring towards her skin instead of the game on the screen. “They’re losing why can’t we turn it off?” Noah offered as his hands were climbing higher and higher on her legs. 

“Because I’ll be a fake fan, what if I miss an amazing goal?” she offered meeting his gaze for only a brief second before she looked back towards the screen. Jack was shouting at the ref about something, nothing new. 

“Then watch the highlight reel,” he said as squeezed her leg slightly.

“Not as fun as watching it when it happens,” she continued to stare towards the screen. He sighed as he titled his head back against the top of the couch. He pouted his lips slightly as he was clenching his jaw. 

After a few minutes, Jack gets his second goal of the game. “Yes!” she cheered sitting up slightly. She stared towards the screen, a wide grin on her lips as she saw Jack laughing about something. Noah watched the genuine smile on her lips.

“You’re really into this hockey stuff? Like this isn’t some act to try and impress me?” he asked. She shifted her gaze towards him, her eyes wide.

“Why would I pretend to like anything to impress you? Especially something you don’t care about?” she said, pulling her legs off of his frame.

“Because what girl actually like these things?” he said while laughing. She stood up, staring towards him.

“Girls aren’t allowed to like sports?” she asked accusingly. He laughed again while shaking his head. 

“I didn’t say that but what girl gets into the game like that if they’re not trying to impress someone,” he said, trying to defend himself. In an awful way. 

“Okay with that being said you can go ahead and leave. Lose my number and my address while you’re at it,” she offered, forcing a grin to her lips as she walked towards her door. She rested her hand on the door handle. He stared towards her dumbfounded. “I’m serious, go,” she said jiggling the door handle.

“What because I’m shocked that you like hockey?” he said as he stood up, he threw his hands up in the air. 

“No, it’s because of the sexist views you have about it. Joking or not, it’s not okay. Now please leave,” she explained this time pulling the door open. He slowly walked towards the door, stopping short in front of her. Furrowing his eyebrows while clenching his jaw. 

“You know what? Good. I don’t need to be with someone who’s so fucking sensitive,” he let out while walking out of the apartment. She huffed with a small grin on her lips as she shut the door behind him. She locked it as she walked back towards her couch. She sat back down just in time for Jack to tie the game with a hat trick. 

She threw her hands up in the air, cheering loudly by herself. 

~~~

The game ended an hour and a half ago and he was sitting at his dining table eating dinner with Luke. “You seeing Y/N tonight?” Luke asked as he stabbed his fork into his steak. Jack pursed his lips forward while shaking his head. Luke’s lips slowly curled up into a small smirk as he kept his gaze onto the food in front of him.

“What?” Jack asked laughing slightly before he shoved a bite of food into his mouth.

“You just gonna keep waiting for her?” he asked teasingly.

“Shut up, Lukey,” Jack said with a mouthful of food.

“I’m serious,” he said while laughing.

“Me too,” Jack shot back while laughing. He finished his bite of food before he took a deep breath. “I like knowing I’m the first thing she thinks about when she’s done with those assholes,” he explained while staring towards his younger brother.

“You don’t like it when she’s with those guys, you’re miserable,” Luke expressed.

“I am not miserable,” he countered as he tilted his head to the side.

“You are so miserable!” Luke said while laughing. “You go to practice, games, and home, that’s it,”

“It’s because I’m being responsible,” he said confidently before he shoved a bite of food into his mouth. Luke busted out laughing and Jack started laughing too. “Alright, we’re done talking about it,” he said with a mouth full of food. 

“So if she texts you to come over, you won’t go,” Luke teased. Jack rolled his eyes as he subconsciously looked down towards his phone to check for a text. There was none. Jack rolled his eyes as he kept his gaze on his food.

“Whatever,” he mumbled as he took a deep breath. Luke smiled as he stood up from the dining table with his empty plate towards the kitchen. 

Suddenly, there was a knock on the front door. Luke perked up excitedly, smirking as he walked towards the door. “I got it,” Luke teased. Jack took in a deep breath, a smirk toying to his lips. 

Luke dramatically pulled the door open, revealing Y/N standing outside the door. “No, shit,” Luke said while laughing, “Y/N, we we’re just talking about you!” Luke teased. She forced a tight lip smile. Jack stared towards her, his eyes wide as he felt his heart jump into his throat. “Why don’t you come in, and I’ll go to my room,” Luke contiued as he dramatically held out his hand guiding Y/N inside. 

She chuckled as she stepped inside, Luke smirked towards Jack as he walked towards his bedroom. She stood just in front of the door staring towards Jack, she had a small smile on her lips. Jack leaned back into his seat meeting her gaze, he smirked.

“You were talking about me?” she asked softly while she took a small step towards him. 

“Shut up,” he said while laughing. He stood up from his chair, taking a hold of his plate and dropping it into the sink. “C’mon,” he mumbled towards her before he walked towards his bedroom. She slowly followed after him, a small smile on her lips. He held the door open, a smirk on his lips as he watched her walk towards him. She stopped right at the door, meeting his gaze. They stood only a few inches apart. 

“I broke up with Noah,” she said simply as she scanned his features. He licked his lips as he squinted his eyes slightly. 

“Figured,” he let out. She rolled her eyes playfully as she walked into his room, jumping onto his bed. She laid onto her back, propping herself up on her elbows. He slowly shut the door behind him, he smiled widely as he turned the lock. “That didn’t last long,” he offered, keeping his back pressed against the door. 

“He turned out to be an asshole,” she mumbled keeping her gaze on his. He laughed dryly as he tilted his head back against the door.

“Isn’t that your type?” he teased. She huffed as she collapsed flatly onto her back.

“Are you going to come kiss me or not?” she let out dramatically. He laughed as he pursed his lips forward. She lifted her head up, meeting his gaze. She watched him shake his head. Her lips fell into a pout, “Why not,” she whined out. 

He shook his head, “I’m not letting you do this again,” he said simply. She furrowed her eyebrows harshly as she completely sat up. She dangled her feet off the bed. “We’re not going to mess around. I’m not your rebound anymore,” he explained. 

“Jack,” she let out quietly. 

“This is either the start of something or we’re hanging out as friends,” Jack explained crossing his arms over his chest.

“Jack, what-”

“I’m tired, Y/N. Aren’t you tired of this cat and mouse game we've been playing?” he said softly. She rolled her eyes. 

“We’re not good at relationships, we would be awful together, Jack, you know that,” she said shaking her head. Jack walked towards her, stopping in front of her. 

“Maybe we’re so bad at relationships because we aren’t together,” he offered as he delicately took a hold of her chin. 

“Jack,” she let out before she pressed her lips together.

“What did I tell you a few weeks back?” he asked as he slowly glided his hand from her chin, towards he jaw. His thumb grazing her skin so delicately. “You always come back to me,” he whispered as he slowly leaned towards her. 

“Jack,” she mumbled out, her gaze lingering on his lips.

“Just stay this time,” he whispered into her ear. She tilted her head back, taking in a small breath as she lifted her gaze to meet his eye. “You want this, stop denying it,” he whispered again.

“Who am I supposed to run to when we break up?” she asked teasingly. He chuckled as he pulled away, meeting her gaze. “It was always nice to know you were waiting for me,” she mumbled as she reached her hand up, caressing his cheek. 

“Well, I’m not waiting for you anymore,” he leaned towards her kissing her lips softly, “Either you want this or we’re done,” he mumbled against her lips. Her lips slowly curled up into a grin as she leaned towards him kissing him urgently. He giggled against her lips as he slowly pushed her back onto the bed. He climbed on top of her, excitedly tugging at her shirt.

She tilted her head back, watching Jack open his eyes slowly. “I always did come back to you but what if I ruin this. I ruin every relationship I have ever been in. What if I ruin us?” she asked softly. He leaned towards her, pecking her lips for a few seconds.

“I won’t let that happen,” he whispered before he began to kiss her lips slowly. She giggled softly as she ran her fingers through his hair.

[andromeda-nova-writing]

Forgetting For a Moment

Summary: Moving on can take a minute, where sometimes the only thing that can help is to throw yourself further into work.

Words: 1,686

AN: @milkstore is always giving ideas. Is anyone surprised this is another fic inspired by one of those ideas? This is very much a prequel for the other Wriothesley fics I've written. Beta read by @painom

“Could you do me a favor?” Navia asked after poking her half of the slice of cake with a fork.

“Depends on the day.” Y/N’s half of the cake was untouched. Her tea was sipped once. The lipstick mark that normally would be left on the cup wasn’t there. Navia had considered it a miracle that she got Y/N out of her mother’s house. Since she broke off the engagement, it had been just work and home for her. It was sad to see her this down on herself.

“Next Monday, if you are free.” Her favor was just a ploy to get her out of the house more.

“Can’t. I signed up to assist the Fortress of Meripode. I start that day.”

“You signed up for more work?”

“I bought a wedding dress that I won't wear! I almost bought a house. I spent so much money, excited to build a new life.” Her voice had already started to crack with the fresh wound. “I wish I could have seen everything coming.”

Navia was quick to rub her back. “I know, but you shouldn’t overwork yourself.”

“Work has been the one thing I’ve enjoyed.” Mostly because it kept her from feeling sorry for herself. “I at least feel like I deserve being called smart at work.”

“I wish you would quit blaming what happened on yourself.”

“All the signs were there. I was supposed to be getting married this weekend in that dress I paid so much money for. I didn’t even like that gown. You’re supposed to feel special in your wedding dress.”

“You’ll find someone who makes you feel special no matter what you wear.”

“I don’t want that right now. I just want to make it through the day. I really thought he was the one you know.”

“Don’t think about that guy. He doesn’t deserve the energy it even takes to think his name. Tell me about why you wanted to work at the Fortress.” Navia changed the topic. It would be a while till her mood changed, but the least she could do was make sure her mind focused elsewhere.

-

The Fortress was imposing. The first few shifts there, she was assisted by a guard who showed her where to go and how to get around. Sigewinne, the Melusine who worked in the Fortress, was a sweetie. It was hard to believe she worked there for as long as she did. But then again, she knew so much that Y/N shouldn’t have been surprised. 

It was clear that Sigewinne loved stickers, placing them on anything and anyone. There were even some rumors that the Duke who ran the Fortress was a sticker target as well, which had to be false. Everything else she heard about the man was that he used to be sentenced here as well, and how inmates were scared of him. 

A mysterious duke with questionable morals. No need to go out of her way to talk to him. She dealt with men with titles enough. Her mother was right when she said that it’s fine to take money from them when you are hired, but there is no need to be close. Horrible that she had waited so long before fully understanding her mother’s thoughts.

“How was your lunch?” Sigewinne asked, breaking the silence of the infirmary. 

“Quiet. No one showed up except for one lady picking up a prescription.” Y/N explained. The lunch she had taken out to eat was barely touched. It has been almost an hour since Sigewinne's return. Perhaps she just wasn’t all that hungry.

“That’s good.” Sigewinne saw Y/N’s lunch sitting on the table in the same position as when she left. “Did you get distracted by something then?”

“I’m just not as hungry as I thought I would be. It’s nothing to worry about. It’s just my mother tends to make a large breakfast and has been packing quite a lot for lunch for me.” She held up a note with a drawing on it. “Even writing about how much she loves me like I’m a little kid again.”

“She sounds nice.”

“She is one of the sweetest people I know.”

Sigewinne could tell how something heavy weighed on Y/N’s mind. It wasn’t her place to pry but there was comfort in knowing that she had a good support system in place. “At least you had time to rest. If you need to take a break to eat, please do so.”

“I will. I managed to drink all of my water, at least.”

“At least someone here understands how important that is.” A complaint framed as a compliment?

“What do you mean?”

“His Grace has a tea addiction. He is currently suffering the effects of too much caffeine at the moment.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Idiot.” Even with her engagement called off, causing emotion to cloud her, she knew to pay attention to her body. “How bad?”

“Resting finally… I hope.”

“He sounds like a handful.” More reason to avoid meeting him as long as possible. 

“He was worse as a teen.” The way Sigewinne reminisced looked an awful lot like her own mother thinking of her childhood. Best not to question it. Melusines were old creatures anyway.

“I take it you two are close.”

“Yes. I think he has grown up quite nicely. He could do better about how much tea he consumes, though.”

“If he is suffering the effects of too much caffeine, he probably needs to cut back quite a lot. He should notice before it becomes an issue. He's the warden. Him being out due to an issue he caused like that could easily cause issues in the Fortress.” That probably came off harsh. Oh well. He's still a Duke. Probably spoiled to some degree.

Maybe it was good that they hadn't met yet.

-

Y/N worked on organizing medical files for some of the new inmates who had come in. Quiet, peaceful, mindless work that she could easily get done while still continuing to pity herself. Loud footsteps against the metal floor entering the infirmary broke up her pity party.

“I’m fine! It’s just a small cut! I can clean this by myself.” A man’s voice argued. 

“Nope! Last time, you didn’t even bandage it properly. You were supposed to dress a wound, not wrap your hand for boxing.” Sigewinne argued.

“Ehhhh, it’s the same wrapping style.”

Y/N turned away from the desk, looking at Sigewinne and the mystery man entering the room. “No, it’s not. I would advise you to listen to a medical professional. 

Sigewinne nodded yes as she dragged the large man over to one of the beds. “Y/N, you haven’t dealt with many patients as of yet. I think this should be an easy one.” She looked the man directly in the eyes. “As long as he listens. I would hate to have to tell Monsieur Neuvillette that you are refusing medical care. It would be such a bad precedent to set for staff and inmates.”

So the mystery man was high up in the staff to have that type of influence over everyone.

“How many times are you gonna use that threat against me?”

“Until I have to tell him. Sit down already. Y/N, come over here too.” Sigewinne ordered.

Y/N got up from the desk. “You said it was just a cut. Let me go clean up before I can examine it.” It didn’t take long to wash her hands and put on gloves. Sigewinne had already brought over the necessary supplies in that short time.

“Could I have your name so we can add this to your medical record afterwards?” It was a habit that was forming off of advice from Sigewinne.

“Wriothesley.” He was being a good sport about it for Sigewinne.

“Wrytheslee?” She attempted to repeat back. Sigewinne was already laughing like she expected that to happen.

“Not quite. Wriothesley.” He spoke again with a smile tugging at his lips. “I could say it slower.”

“Wrothelsye.” She tried again. 

He spoke his name again, slower this time.

“Wirotsheyle. We are saying the same thing.” Frustration already took over.

“Sigewinne can handle that. She knows where my file is. Just call me Your Grace, everyone else down here calls me that anyway.”

“Wait, you’re the Duke? You don’t even look like one.” It was the most lively she had been since coming down to the Fortress for her shifts.

Sigewinne kept laughing.

“I get that a lot. Must be my love of darker colors. I’ve been told there aren’t a lot of people in high society who get piercings.” He went on, avoiding the obvious of the scars that littered his body. “I’ve been told my hair is unruly, but I think I style it nicely.”

Y/N kept a straight face or at least tried to. “Most Dukes try to look the part and would usually start by introducing themselves as a Duke. Not by their extremely difficult-to-pronounce name.” “I’m still getting used to it. Effects of not being brought up in high society. I am a little curious how you would know how a Duke is supposed to act. Sigewinne said you were a pharmacist in the overworld.”

“I still am one. And you don’t need to know how I would know.”

He put his hands up in a surrender. “I won’t ask about it then.” He took an interest with the back of his right hand. There were no wraps on it like his left. “It closed up already. Told you it was nothing.”

Sigewinne shook her head. “This was more about going through the motions anyway. At least the two of you finally had a chance to meet.” She went up to Wriothesley and placed a sticker on his tie. “For being a good sport.”

The pout on his face is what made Y/N finally break into laughter. It was the first laugh she had all month. It had also been one of the few times she was able to forget about her failed engagement, even if it was for a moment.