#while some other time he's actually more rational than he would ever be with a soul

[esteemed-excellency]

Re: Hiram and the Judgements. Presently, his soulless condition is the only thing that keeps him from going ballistic. He firmly believes in everyone's right to break the Chain and corrupt the Laws (there's a reason why he's so aligned with hell), but right now he has no idea how much the existence of the Judgements actually bothers him. They're a big problem of course, but they're nothing that he can't deal with, he just needs to add more pieces to the cosmic puzzle in his brain, just a few more dots on his personal red string board. He approaches them with irrational hubris and rational curiosity. Just like a cosmic Rubik's cube that's somehow capable of playing 5D chess.

But the minute he regains a soul? He's nuking those bastards. No Laws no Chain no chess no rubik cube. He has all the power of hubris AND sheer hatred on his side. Unprecedented levels of being So Fucking Mad about the current state of the universe. The stars think they're so funny, well he's about to be hilarious. He's sooo ready for the sunless skies timeline.

[ladystoneboobs]

so, one aspect of catelyn which i think is underrated (certainly the biggest adaptation loss which nobody talks about) is her, let's say superstitiousness, or better yet, let's call it genre-savviness, being one of the few adult characters open to magic and the supernatural in this fantasy world. we first meet her in the godswood, home of gods which are not truly hers, yet she is still very aware of their power. when she and ned talk of the deserter he killed, he hopes he won't have to go with the nw to deal with mance rayder, but she has even more fear of that idea bc there are worse things beyond the wall than just wildlings. ned scoffs and says she's been listening to old nan too much, but she's right. we already know from the prologue that she's right! and here she is, understanding the genre of their world better than her husband, who was actually born and spent his earliest years in this northern land of deep magic, listening to old nan's stories. same with the direwolves, where she was uncomfortable with them at first, but later believed in them as guardians from the old gods even after robb had lost his own faith. and once again, we know she's right even if she doesn't know the evidence to back up her instincts, bc summer and shaggydog did not fail bran and rickon and robb was almost certainly a warg like his brothers. (perhaps making it more fitting that she's the one brought back as a fantasy vengeance monster, not ned and robb, the most unbelieving dead starks.) and in her 2nd agot chapter, everyone focuses on her ambition in wanting ned to agree to the hand job (pun intended) and sansa's betrothal, and while she does recognize the value of their daughter being a future queen more than ned does, that's only her stated argument bc she thinks it's rational enough for ned to listen to. (if ambitious matchmaking were as important to her as to her father she never would have made those frey betrothals fandom loves to blame her for.) in her own head there's a deeper urge driving her. she keeps thinking of the dead direwolf with antlers in its throat, an omen which filled her with dread from the first she heard of it, before robert's arrival, and thinking of it again is what makes her desperate to convince ned not to refuse robert. she had to make him see. and really, she's not wrong, as jon snow would say. the dead direwolf was an omen of ned and robert getting each other killed. it's just one of those misread portents, with no way of knowing the danger to ned was in his loyalty to robert, not conflict with him. BUT the next time she's dealing with baratheons, she knows exactly what she's talking about. it's catelyn, not brienne, who sees the shadow slaying renly, and explains that it was stannis who did that through some dark magic. with no way of knowing how it was achieved and no prior expectation that such a thing were ever possible, she realizes with no hestitation that stannis was guilty and that his red witch was capable of pulling this off somehow. really, the only instinct of the supernatural she's wholly wrong about is her insistence that varys gathered his knowledge through some dark enchantment. however, though that might offend varys, given his own personal experience with a sorcerer, i'd say it's a reasonable assumption without knowing the dude had children moving through walls everywhere like oversized rodents. and imo it just shows she had a healthy respect and awe for varys's power which most other characters lack.

oh, oh, and let's not forget that she also believed in the curse of harrenhal, from her own childhood and the stories old nan told her kids. "and every house that held Harrenhal since had come to misfortune. Strong it might be, but it was a dark place, and cursed. 'I would not have Robb fight a battle in the shadow of that keep,' Catelyn admitted." sure, that wasn't enough to save robb, but he did not die from the curse of harrenhal. that doom was meant for his enemies from tywin lannister to roose bolton.

[lilylovestowrite]

Could I request Dr Ratio with a lover who makes plushies? Reader makes plushies to sell and secretly made plushie versions of him to cuddle. Poor Ratio gets a little jealous because he loves cuddling them.

WHY NOT ME? ୨♡୧

PAIRING ୨♡୧ Veritas Ratio x Gn! Reader

WARNINGS ୨♡୧None

SYNOPSIS ୨♡୧ Veritas loves your hobby of making plushies, but you need to stop cuddling them when he’s literally right there. 

WORD COUNT ୨♡୧ 1.9k

A/N ୨♡୧ Thank you for the request! I actually make a few plushies myself! I’m a huge crochet girlie. Might post more on the crochet later <3

I thought it would be a rather funny part two to this fanfic! 

Divider by @/cafekitsune

Ah, yes. Just Dr. Veritas Ratio, his loving partner, and their six foot tall elongated cat plushie.

The dead, beady eyes stare back at him as you slumber in complete peace. The rise and fall of your body from your deep breaths irritates him: how can you be so cuddly and vulnerable with that thing rather than your boyfriend. He could try and pry it from your hands, but the death grip on the cat and your stubbornness are of equal strength. A terrifying feat, if he does say so himself. 

Veritas tries to be rational: you’ve been living alone for a while. Of course you have your habits that don’t really unstick. After your house was broken into, as your colleague, it was only natural that you move in with him since you can commute from the same place. It’s not like anything was going on. Well perhaps the tension between you two has always been more than tense, and there were a few makeout sessions in the faculty room. But your dating life truly began when moving in. 

You’ve been dating for three months now. He’s never really sought the domestic lifestyle of making breakfast together, getting ready, coming back and spending time together. Veritas has always been chasing knowledge, and love has been placed on the back burner. But seeing your drive to teach students and revive the dead Sigonian language, he can’t picture a future without the two of you debating on meaningless quantum physics theories, or historical interpretations of ancient text. It’s not logical: if the two of you drive each other to improve,  test each other’s knowledge, and most importantly love each other, doesn’t it make sense for you to be together? 

Ergo, doesn’t it make even more sense for you to be cuddling him? 

Veritas likes to think he runs purely on logic, but tonight, his pettiness gets to him. He rises from his place in your large four-poster bed and points at the cat plushie. “You bastard.” He hisses, and dives face-first into the silk pillows for some sleep. 

A little childish, sure. But wouldn’t you be if your rival in love is a six foot tall elongated CAT? 

Such a creature doesn’t exist. How ridiculous. He has to address this tomorrow.

“You’re getting upstaged by a cat, Doc?” 

Perhaps Veritas should not have called Aventurine for advice on this manner. The way you and him think are extremely similar: disorganised, chaotic, yet strangely fascinating. So naturally, he’ll get advice from someone similar to you, right?

Well now he thinks he’s messed up. He frowns and runs his hand through his hair whilst hearing Aventurine let out the most ugly laugh he’s ever heard in his life. “You know what they say, two’s a company, three’s a crowd!” He squeals with laughter.

“I don’t know why I took advice from you. You don’t even have a love life.” He snaps, and Aventurine wheezes even louder, descending into silent laughter. Veritas hangs up and buries his face in his hands. He wants to tell you to stop cuddling that cat, but you’re its creator. Is it a motherly instinct to protect your craft? He does understand it to an extent, his own hobbies such as making sculptures, and he will wipe them down wherever he sees the chance. Perhaps, to get the message across, he should cuddle a statue? He shakes his head.

‘Ridiculous idea, Veritas. Zero points.’ The man scolds himself before returning to the blackboard to lecture his class. 

You may or may not have a secret. Every night, you sleep with what seems like a six foot cat plushie, but right beside it, is a little plushie of your boyfriend: Veritas Ratio. It’s got his hair felted on, the lovely golden hairpiece he wears daily, and a lovely white wedding suit. Making plushies has become more of a hobby rather than a stress relief from your life as a Stellaron Academy Senior Professor, in fact, you’ve managed to make an online store and have sold some plushies to your colleagues. It’s a great hobby to have, the practicality and the feeling of satisfaction from completing a new project. But this one is… Slightly embarrassing. First of all, you’re not sure how he’ll feel about you making a doll of him. Will he think it’s like a voodoo doll, or think it’s creepy? Second of all, even though you’ve shoved your tongues down each other’s throats and lapped at each other like wild cats, for some stupid reason, you’re too shy to ask him to cuddle with you. Is Veritas Ratio a man who likes cuddles? Is he big spoon, little spoon, or too above showing affection? Will he stop sharing a bed with you right after? What if you snore in his face - then what? You’re not sure. You could ask, but even the idea of asking him makes you feel so weird, like, who asks if they want to cuddle? Are you a needy child? No. So you settle for a mini Veritas in hopes of not changing the dynamic between you two. Tonight, you settle in your bed, Claire de Lune playing faintly from Veritas’ phone as he reads to sleep. However, when you kiss his cheek goodnight, he glares at the cat plushie in your arms. It sends you into a mild panic: did he see mini Veritas hidden behind the cat? Worse, is he judging you for cuddling something to sleep? These thoughts plague your mind until you fall asleep, giving into your stress-induced fatigue. 

“Gambler, they kissed my cheek and dove straight under the covers. Like they were allergic to me. You are all about public relations, so riddle me this.” Ratio sighs over the phone, toned bicep leaning on his mahogany desk at work. “And be serious this time, or I will religiously remind you of your single status.” 

“Ouch, Doctor.” Aventurine’s buttery voice crackles from the phone. “Well, in order to know what people want, you sort them into what type of person they are. Sadly, you don’t work for the IPC, so you don’t get a file on your pretty little lover. But you’re not on a mission, just ask them what they want. No need to beat around the bush.” 

“What if they think I’m too clingy? Or that I disrespect their work.” 

“First of all, you’d be too clingy if they said ‘no’ and you still pestered them. Second of all, just tell them you love their plushies. You have them displayed all over your classroom, for Aeon’s sake. I think they know you love their handiwork.” 

Veritas nods: “For once, Gambler, you have given me sufficient advice. Thank you.” 

Now, he devises a plan. 

“Love.” Veritas’ voice pulls you out of your crocheting trance. You’re making a bunny plushie with black yarn, sitting next to Veritas in the lounge, who marks his student’s papers. The evening sunlight pools in the hollows of his exposed collarbones, white fluffy robe lined with golden embroidery flowers (your addition) adorns his body. 

“Yes, Veri?” You reply, looking up at him. You’re dressed in the same robe, and Veritas adores how much better white looks on you. Perhaps in the future, he would like to see you in a similar colour. 

‘Stupid, get to the point.’ He hisses at himself silently.  “About our sleeping arrangements…” 

You look up at him, going completely pale. Has he found your Veritas plushie? Oh shit, shit shit- 

“I was wondering if you would rather, well…” Veritas Ratio is a man of perhaps too many words, but for once, he seems to be tripping on his words. “...Cuddle me instead?”

You practically bounce out of your chair and corner him against the couch, “Really?” 

That visceral reaction earns a rather strangled “Yes” from him, and you sigh in relief. His amber eyes scan your face meticulously, trying to read what you’re thinking. 

“You know, I slept with a plushie of you instead, I was so nervous of asking-” You clap your hands over your mouth. You blabbed, like an idiot. And now he’s staring at you as if you were a fool. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“A plushie of me?” He asks, pointing a finger to himself, his baritone voice suddenly rising in pitch. “I thought you slept with that cat?” 

“I-It was behind the cat,” you feel heat rise up to your cheeks, “sorry, it’s really creepy. I can get rid of it-” 

“No, don’t.” He gently rests his hand on yours, unable to resist the grin. “You wanted to sleep with a copy of me? Why not ask me directly?” 

“I didn’t know if you were into cuddling, so I just assumed…” Your voice trails off, and you suddenly realise just how ridiculous you sound. “I was shy, I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologise, love. Now, show me this plushie, and let’s cuddle.” He chimes. Suddenly, a gust of wind lifts a student’s test paper from his desk and it lands on his face. “Perhaps after I finish marking this blasted test.” 

“Would you like me to mark the multiple choice papers?” His eyes glimmer, handing you a pen. 

“The answer key is in the first drawer, help yourself.”

“Damn, not even the slightest bit of hesitation.” You grin. “Must be really desperate for those to be marked, huh?” 

“Oh, hush.” He scolds you gently, tapping the tip of your nose with his red pen. 

Claire de Lune permeates throughout the room, Veritas leading you in with his hand in yours. The night lamps on either side of your bedside tables emit a warm, golden glow that illuminates the lines of his jaw and accentuates the length of his lashes. He cannot contain the wide smile from spreading onto his face when he cradles the little Veritas doll in his hands: “Am I in wedding attire, love?” 

Too shy to answer the question, you throw a pillow at him and he giggles. “He’s so cute. You should make a matching one of yourself, like a couple’s item.” He suggests, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling you closer. You entertain the idea, wrapping your own arms around him and resting both of your hands on his back, the blades of his shoulders emitting warmth. It’s not too bad at all, Veritas thinks, the smile unable to be wiped from his face when he sees how easily you melt into his arms. Even like this, intimacy seems more natural than your little routine of hugging plushie Veritas. The toy doesn’t breathe like him, isn’t warm, and doesn’t vibrate every time he speaks when you rest your face on his chest. Both of your heartbeats seem to slow to a normal rate as you speak about your day in more depth. Eventually, however, the scent of pinewood and light cologne mix to form a homely aroma, lulling the both of you to sleep halfway through a conversation about ancient history. 

A few mornings later, you find your Veritas plushie on his working desk at home. Right next to it is a small statue of the same height, but it’s of you in wedding attire too. “Veri? Did you make this?” You call out to him, and he emerges from the kitchen. Although a blush paints his cheeks, he raises a glass of coffee to the two plushies.  

“I just wanted to have a reference for when it happens in reality. It’s only logical, right?” 

[awearywritersworld]

the day of my execution

sukuna x reader summary: gojo, yuuji, and sukuna discuss what happened at the store. sukuna begins to consider your mortality like never before and takes care of you when you're sick. w/c: 2.7k tags/warnings: fluff. mentions of attempted kidnapping. banter. reader has the flu. aged up!yuuji. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. a/n: sorry for disappearing for so long, but here is the long awaited next chapter. i've put a second a/n at the end, so i hope you'll read it. please excuse me talking out of my ass trying to rationalize my application of jujutsu, but if gege does it, so can i. i hope it kind of makes sense though. series masterlist // masterlist

truthfully, yuuji expects his wednesday morning to be as uneventful as any other, but when he stands in front of the bathroom sink to brush his teeth, his eyes are not the only ones staring back at him.

"what d'ya want?" he groans. "it's too early for this."

"we need to talk."

sukuna doesn't give his vessel a chance to respond before he begins recounting the events of the previous night, a story which has yuuji's face cycling between surprise, worry, and dismay. "the man claimed someone sent him?"

"that's what i said," sukuna responds impatiently.

"why would anyone be after her? i don't understand."

"would it kill you to use your brain for once?" sukuna questions, having had the entirety of the night to ponder the situation. "think, idiot. who would be interested in using her in some ploy? against you. against... us."

yuuji's eyes widen. "the higher ups?

"no one else would be so brazen."

it strikes sukuna as ironic that just days after he relayed the cruelness he endured at the hands of jujutsu society's higher ups a millenia ago, you too almost became one of their victims. it's a reality that he despises.

"i should call gojo—"

"that is out of the question."

"do you want to keep her safe or not?"

sukuna scoffs. "this is how we keep her safe. if the higher ups are after her, we can't trust other sorcerers."

yuuji almost seems offended on gojo's behalf. after all, he's known him for the better part of a decade. "i'd trust gojo with my life."

"well this isn't your life we're talking about. this is much more important."

yuuji chuckles. "i know. that's exactly why we need help."

before sukuna can protest, yuuji's dialing his old sensei and asking to meet somewhere they can speak privately.

that's how they end up at a small bakery on the outskirts of tokyo, sukuna relaying the story for the second time that morning.

once he finishes, gojo leans back in his chair and folds his hands behind his head. "well, i don't think you're wrong about the higher ups being involved."

"so what are we supposed to do?" yuuji asks. "they might use her to get to me, but you don't think the higher ups would actually put her life in danger, do you?"

though yuuji's question is directed toward gojo, it isn't him that answers.

"you're as naive as ever," sukuna scoffs. "they'll stop at nothing to achieve their own ends."

gojo grimaces, a silent agreement with the assertion. "i can do some poking around, see who ordered it to be done."

"and what exactly is that going to do? there's no reasoning with them."

"a fact i am well aware of," the white haired man narrows his eyes at the king of curses. "but there is leverage in power, something i happen to have more of than anybody—"

"almost anybody—"

"so as the strongest, i'll take care of this as soon as i can."

"hey, um, so as productive as all the dick measuring is," yuuji interrupts. "it doesn't keep her safe in the meantime."

"i have an idea in that regard," sukuna says. "it's an ancient practice, and while it doesn't offer any protective measures, it will allow me to find her if they make another attempt like last night."

gojo leans forward, clearly interested to hear more.

"i can imbue a talisman with a part of myself and if she wears it, it will act as a beacon for her location."

"with part of yourself? as in, your cursed energy?" yuuji speculates. "wouldn't that do more harm than good? attract cursed spirits and whatever?"

"no, i'm not a fool. it's not cursed energy."

sukuna is hesitant to clarify further. he'd done something similar when creating his fingers, but it was different then. it was a selfish endeavor to preserve his life long after it was his time to die. it was a dark sort of jujutsu, one meant only to bring destruction.

but intention is important in sorcery. it can change the very essence of the practice.

for the first time in his life, sukuna is acting selflessly, concerned only with your protection. it's a pure sort of jujutsu this time around, one that allows him to impart a piece of himself that isn't tainted by cursed energy.

and because of that, that part of him would be unprotected. it'd leave him uniquely vulnerable. it's a steep and dangerous measure. that's why the practice had been forgotten long before the modern age.

"then what could it possibly be?" it's quiet for a moment as yuuji's question hangs in the air.

"it's your soul, isn't it?" the disbelief lacing gojo's voice is quite plain, but he's heard whispers of such techniques. "you'd give her a piece of your soul."

sukuna's never been one for unfinished business, so it's no surprise when he finds himself on the couch, intent on finishing the stranger. besides, it had become clear he'd been focusing on the wrong aspects of the book when he first began reading it.

he's three chapters from the end when he hears a loud shatter from the kitchen, followed by a sharp gasp. the broken glass hasn't even finished sliding across the floor before he's at your side.

"what happened?" the alarm in his voice doesn't go unnoticed by you.

"nothing, nothing," you assure him. "i just dropped my cup."

crouching down, you reach for one of the bigger pieces before your hand is swiftly smacked away. "don't."

"it's fine. it's only a little glass."

when you reach for it again, he grabs your wrist. "you troublesome little thing. do you ever listen?"

"i don't make a habit of it."

"i know. the question was rhetorical."

sukuna's already noticed the shards of glass surrounding your bare feet, so he wastes no time in picking you up and placing you on the countertop.

"don't move." he says it in such a way that, for once, you don't even think about disobeying him.

he all but stomps out of the room, returning moments later with a broom and dust pan. there's a small smile playing on your lips as you watch him gather the larger pieces before sweeping up the rest.

and you know, it's really not fair. sukuna could even call it a cosmic injustice, the way he has to worry about broken glass and fragile fingertips.

but he likes you and he likes the pads of your fingers, particularly the way they feel against his skin and run through his hair, so he swallows his pride.

it's been consuming him lately— the fact that you are just as easily broken as the glass that littered the kitchen tile. he never considered just how many ways there are for a human to die until you were nearly taken from him.

so once he's done, he rests the broom and dustpan against the wall and stands in front of you, his hips situated between your knees.

reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a necklace and your mouth falls open in shock. a delicate chain is threaded around his fingers, while its ruby pendant dangles in the air. "i want you to have this."

"what.. what is it?"

he snorts. "you don't know what a necklace is?"

you let out a breath of a laugh. "of course i do. i'm just surprised."

you hold up your palm and he places the necklace there gently. inspecting the gem, you notice it bears a striking resemblance to the color of his eyes.

strangely, it's almost as if it's heavier than it should be— like it's weighed down by some importance beyond your comprehension.

"it's beautiful," you tell him honestly. "are you sure?"

"sure of what?"

"that i should have it."

he pauses before responding, taking in the way you're so gingerly holding it. he's scared you've realized what he's actually giving you. that you're repulsed by it.

he's hesitant when he asks, "why would you think otherwise?"

"i didn't do anything to deserve something like this."

sukuna breathes a sigh of relief. "you are ever the fool."

his hands find your hips, pulling you off the counter and onto your feet. he plucks the necklace from your hand, then shifts to stand behind you.

moving your hair to the side, his fingers brush lightly against your skin. "the necklace is undeserving of adorning your neck. not the other way around."

and he knows it's the truth. a piece of him, attached to a creature so lovely she should be out of his reach... well, that's just unseemly, isn't it?

"but promise me something anyway."

"anything," you say without delay.

he situates the chain around your neck, the pendant lying in the space where your collarbones meet, and fastens the clasp. when you turn to face him, you're met with an alarmingly grave expression.

"promise you won't ever take it off."

you fiddle with the ruby somewhat nervously, feeling as if you're missing some important piece of the puzzle.

you nod in response to his request, but it isn't enough for him.

"say it."

"i promise."

he can see that you're biting back questions, so he explains, "if you're wearing that, i'll always know where to find you."

it finally dawns on you, for the first time, how much the incident at the store truly affected him. it's not the way he ended those men that clued you in, nor is it the way he pleaded with you to forgive him.

it happens in this moment. it's the gentleness of his voice, despite his underlying desperation. it's the way he's watching you carefully, as if you're likely to disappear. it's the fact he wouldn't let you clean up a mess of your own making, because he can't stand the thought of seeing you bleed.

"i... i don't know what to say."

"well, that's a first."

"shut up," you punch his shoulder. "you're ruining the moment."

"right, my bad," he chuckles and glances down at the gemstone. "do you like it?"

you let out a breath. "of course. i love it."

he smiles at your words— soft and genuine— truly a rare sight. "good."

you notice that he's looking at you. really looking at you. his eyes shift away from yours and over to each of your temples. then down to your nose. your mouth. even your chin.

he takes in every detail and he feels like he's in your debt simply for gazing at your countenance.

you almost regret it when your hands curl around the collar of his shirt and pull his lips to yours. you should have savored his smile, spent time committing it to memory.

although, that's soon forgotten as you feel the curve of his mouth deepen while his lips move against yours.

it isn't until day three of your ceaseless coughing and sneezing that sukuna adds them to his list— broken glass, fragile fingertips, coughs, and sniffles.

his concern is clear from the way he dotes on you. he brings you cold cloths, makes you tea, massages your neck, runs you baths.

now he's on his way to a twenty four hour pharmacy to pick up more medicine to reduce your fever, and while it's only a block away, he's still doing it alone.

but not even for a moment does he consider running off to burn the world's largest city to the ground. the streets are crawling with people, but he finds himself avoiding them more than anything.

he has to get back to you after all.

the only thought on his mind other than you is the ending of the stranger. the main character, while awaiting his beheading from his prison cell, conveys his final words to readers:

for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, i opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. finding it so much like myself— so like a brother, really— i felt that i had been happy and that i was happy again. for everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, i had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators on the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate.

in sukuna's first life, perhaps this line would have resonated with him. it was a life where he had resolved himself to the idea that nothing really mattered, because the alternative was too painful. it didn't matter that jujutsu society betrayed him. it didn't matter that he stole people's lives out from under them. it didn't matter that he was alone.

and while he would have never surrendered himself to execution, if that had been his fate, he would have preferred to go out surrounded by living reminders of all he had accomplished. surrounded by all the people he had ruined.

however, when he imagines such an occurrence happening in his present life, there is only one face throughout the entire crowd and it belongs to you.

the very thought makes him sick with grief.

looking up, he realizes that there are no stars in tokyo anymore, that there is no feeling of indifference when it comes to you, and that there is no happiness to be had when you are not by his side.

he knows he'll never shed another drop of innocent blood if it means you'll always have that look of adoration in your eyes when your gaze falls on him.

so his trip to the pharmacy is short and hurried.

opening your apartment door, he's careful to be quiet in case you're sleeping, but he finds you peering at him from the couch.

your hair is disheveled. there's a sheen of sweat across your forehead. your eyes are beyond tired. your shirt is wrinkled.

you're still the most pleasing thing he's ever laid eyes on.

"you're back," you rasp.

"i'm back," he affirms, slipping off his shoes.

you sit up and quickly regret it, your hand coming to rest against your stomach. "god, i feel like i'm gonna puke."

"charming."

you use all your strength to throw a pillow at him, which he easily catches before tossing something small in your direction— a ginger chew to help with the nausea.

you unwrap it and pop it in your mouth. "thanks."

he hums in response, settling down in the spot beside you. once he pulls the medicine from the bag, it's followed by two bottles. "got you these, too."

recognizing them as your favorite drink, your exhausted and delirious brain makes your eyes well up with grateful tears. "you're so sweet."

"yeah, whatever. don't get used to it."

"but you are. you're sweet and kind, except i'm the only one who knows it," you pause before continuing, your head falling onto his shoulder. "why is that?"

he contemplates denying that he possesses any such quality, but decides against it. "you're the only one who's ever cared to know."

he can feel the heat of your temple through his shirt, so he opens the box of fever reducers and pops out two tablets before handing them to you. "take these. you're burning up."

you do as he says without protest. standing up and stretching your arms above your head, sukuna's eyes wander to where your shirt rides up and reveals your stomach.

"c'mon, let's go to bed," you yawn.

he follows after you wordlessly, carelessly pulling off his shirt and climbing into bed beside you. curling up against his side, your head comes to rest on his chest and it's quiet for a few passing moments.

"you can't see the stars from tokyo anymore."

"what?" you ask sleepily.

"the stars. there's too much light to see them from here."

"oh, yeah. we can take a trip to the mountains soon. you can see them pretty well from there."

"i'll hold you to that."

and so with the promise of a beautiful night sky, with the company of someone who means the world to him, and with the feeling of your body pressed against his— sukuna feels that he had been happy and that he was happy again.

a/n 2: hey! so i'm sorry again for stopping updates without really saying anything. i think i just needed to step away from tumblr and writing for a while because i was getting a bit overwhelmed. i was also a little unsure about the direction of this chapter. i was struggling to incorporate the necklace part without it seeming cheesy or weird. that being said, thanks as always to everyone for your support of this series. it's really heartwarming and much appreciated. if you have any feedback, i'd love to hear! i'm not sure when the next update will be, but i'll do my best to keep you guys posted. all my love - m<3

taglist: @96jnie @ay0nha @sad-darksoul @bbysatoruuu @luciiferian @risuola @lirasmoon @disaster-rose @archivist-ghoul606 @creative1writings @sloppyzengarden @omismicrowave @cecesharktales @tanyeonn @hiqhkey @ruixrei @yellowsubiesdance @thefallofruins @anything-and-everything-here69 @emzalot @elusivemoon @annoyingstrawberryballoon @miabiar @hyeon-yi @iluv-ace @wineyoungie @vduxx @inflatabledinosaurs19 @harrystylesfan2686 @silentmajesticfox @am-the-renegade @certainduckanchor @moons-reblog @scarletrosesposts @th3-audac1ty @darlink-xoxo @ayeputita @nanmiik @namjooningera @hermxssaa @annieleonhardtsbitch @nugget-eater123 @integers @thefunbanshee @thepup356 @browneyedgirl22 @lantsovheiress @luckypeacevoid @kiki17483 @ruttteerr @yourbelloved @heyohalie // users in bold could not be tagged. if i forgot to tag anyone, my apologies!! just give me a heads up.

[murdrdocs]

suggestive content; MDNI

feyd rautha is a vicious man.

he is heartless, ruthless, deemed psychotic by most.

and he is on his knees for you, sitting on his haunches, peering up at you with a copious amount of almost carefully hidden bashfulness beneath his protruding eyebrow bone.

you sit perched on the bed as if it is your throne.

the guest room is cold, creating a rigidness to your bones that even the berating of the reverend mother could not have created. beneath your bum and the layers of your garments, the bed is mostly firm with a certain softness to it, decorated in lavish cloths that you cannot wait to curl up under. but that must be saved for later. for after you have completed your gratefully awarded task.

you've been blessed with the opportunity to make the reverend mother and the bene gesserit proud. you've been blessed with the opportunity to fulfill a prophecy.

your reasoning for being here, in a room that feels more like a void than a sleeping quarters, rushes throughout your body and echoes in your ears along with the blood that dutifully pumps throughout you.

you can't help but wonder where feyd rautha's blood is rushing. from the way he slightly shifts the trousers of his outfit, you take the liberty of assuming that beneath the stiff grey fabric is a much more beneficial stiffness.

both to your own pleasure and the prophecy.

you watch feyd rautha's hand twitch and you reach down to take it in yours, trying not to appear startled at how cold he is, too. instead, you spread your legs, lifting your garments with your free hand, and bringing feyd rautha's hand to your inner thigh.

before arriving to geidi prime, you had been instructed to wear the shorter undergarments for easier access. some of the other lady's suggested even wearing none at all. but the thought seemed entirely too scandalous to even consider for more than a few moments so you let it fade off into the air.

now, watching the same vicious man you'd seen kill three others earlier into the day peel your undergarments off, you're glad that you chose to wear them. because it really is a sight. seeing this feared man, one you fear too, gently slide your undergarments off with a cautiousness that you can only rationally attribute to inexperience.

because once he starts to gain his bearings, the gentleness is gone, faded into the air the same way your previous thoughts were.

he forcibly grips your skin as he forces his head between your thighs. he nips and bites and sucks with a harshness you were foreign to. no one has ever devoured you like he does, and it's something you find yourself enjoying.

you're louder than you've ever been while feyd rautha digs his teeth into your inner thigh, bringing about a thin trickle that glides towards your most sensitive areas. he's quick to clean it up, soothing your burning skin with the comforting warmth from his textured tongue that rids your skin of the red inch by inch. he even goes as far as to kiss the spot after, keeping that heavy stare fixed on your face as he does so.

you've been holding your outer garments along your waist then, but by the time feyd rautha has made you unravel with just his tongue (a muscle that has explored places previously left unknown before you got with him), he rids them from your body.

there is one moment where he's being too rough, and his barbarous hands hold your deep purple dress too tightly, creating a rip that screams throughout the room. it is purely instinct whenever you wind your hand back and bring it down onto his cheek, creating a collision louder than that of the rip of your dress.

and it's that singular moment, where his head is turned, his cheek facing you and starting to bloom a gorgeous red over pale white, that you fear for your life. you fear that the hand to hand combat you had to undergo would actually be useful this once. you fear that you should have used the gom jabbar on him anyway, even if he did pass the test.

but then he turns towards you, and he's grinning, giving you sight of his black stained teeth just before he cements his mouth to yours.

[simpjaes]

As someone that agrees Jake would be around average..maybe even smaller, would you ever write something about degrading Jake for having a small dick but he enjoys it because he knows you actually love his little dick and wouldn’t want anyone else

wc: 1k WARNINGS: jake has a 4 inch dick, reader has big-dick aversion, mentions of sunoo getting sick, little dick humiliation, internally tho u kinda worship it. not proof read.

MDNI!

Are you one who typically cares about the size of the cock slamming into you? Well, yes. Though, it’s not what it looks like. It’s really, really, not what it looks like. 

You have an aversion to big dick. It’s painful, always has been, probably always will be. You’ve tried the size training, you’ve tried letting crushes and boyfriends do their best to no avail due to the size difference and the way it… just doesn’t slide the way you need it to.

Enter Sim Jaeyun, or Jake, as his friends call him. 

Upon seeing him at that party and gaining little to no interest due to the fact that as soon as he walked through the door, he slipped and tipped himself over onto an entire table filled with everyone’s fresh drinks? Yeah, it’s safe to say you avoided him that night so you didn’t end up sticky and sweet like everyone else who meets him. 

When you actually met him though, it felt like an immediate crush. He carried himself so well despite the clumsiness of the night you first saw him. Pouty lips and big pretty eyes, a mess of hair on his head, slender fingers that held your books to and from each end of campus. Yes. After the first real meeting, it’s like the two of you were stuck together at the hip. 

And unfortunately, you knew too well of your aversion to certain sized appendages on men so the crush you had…you didn’t really act on it aside from borderline flirting and letting him run around for you like an errand boy. 

Why? Because Jake just looks like he’s packing. There’s no way he doesn’t have a fat cock, truly. It pains you to think such things, and even makes you wanna maybe…try size training again. 

Shoot to the night Jake confesses his own feelings for you. Where the two of you are outside of Sunghoon’s house pretending you don’t hear Sunoo wailing out on the street because he feels like he’s going to throw up. 

Another party, of course. It’s normal while living the college life, and Jake is quite fond of attending to hang out with his friends, also quite fond of inviting you and not speaking with his friends at all.

You didn’t know how to tell him. Like, you couldn’t just bash your lashes and be like “I’d reciprocate except i think your cock might be too big for me.” 

Gotta think rationally. So, you just…didn’t tell him. Which led to him in your bed later that night, whipping out a nice little four incher that was clearly in need of some love. To your delight, you gave it. 

To his delight, you didn’t make fun of him for it. 

And all of that leads to now.

The pretty boy lying on your bed, messy sheets half covering his face where he wipes the tears away. You know it’s more from sensitivity than the humiliation he’s come to love. He only likes it because he knows you’d have him no other way too. Literally.

“Awh-” You mock him in a pout, tilting your head and gripping his weeping length easily with one hand. “Is your cute little cock too sore for more?” 

Jake whimpers out a moan in response, the heaviness in your hand twitching at your words. 

You smirk, squeezing him tighter, knowing that he’s near spent if the past forty five minutes of trying to let him gag you with it says anything. 

“Couldn’t even make me cry, couldn’t even make me gag.” You blink down at him adoringly, loving the way his lashes clump together when he squeezes his eyes shut in a blush. “Can you make me cum this time, Jake? You tried so hard last time.”

His eyes shoot open with a frantic nod, a small and broken whisper of the words, “Please, I promise.”

You release his cock now, watching him wince at the pain of the air in the room amplifying his sensitivity. Your finger shoots to your chin as you look up, as if you’re thinking hard. 

“You promise?” You look back down at him, now throwing one leg over his hip and straddling him harshly. Seating yourself directly on it, forcing his cock down and allowing your folds to smother it. “You think you’ll make it reach this time?”

Jake immediately shoots his hands to you, holding you still on him as he continues to try and convince you.

“Ah, you should be embarrassed, we both know you can’t fuck deep enough.” You comment this time. 

“I-” Jake swallows around his words in a gasp when you slide forward against his strength. “I’m not!” 

You tilt your head again, continuing to slide, relishing in the sweet sounds of your favorite boy beneath you. “Hm?”

“You like it.” Jake counters you in another moan, his confidence somehow always shining through the humiliation. “You know I can get you off, I always do.” 

“Hah–” You nod out, unable to lie about the truth he’s arguing for. “You’re so sure of yourself.”

There it is, that little flicker in his eye. 

Both of you know very well that every single time the two of you have been locked in a room together, Jake has done everything in his power to get you off before he does. No matter the sensitivity you force upon him, no matter the humiliation, the size– it doesn’t fucking matter when he’s so eager to please.

And it’s the best part, really. When he’s let you have your power and control of him. When the fun you’re having comes to an end and he takes over. The best fucking part.

The way he overpowers you now, using that same strength to knock you onto your back. His hips sliding whatever he has to offer straight into you. No pain, and just enough to make you clench around it. 

With Jake, it’s never “not enough.” It’s never “Almost there.” No. It’s always just right. 

His dick does reach where you need it, and half the time he doesn’t realize it. He slams his hips so hard in an effort to get you to feel something, anything. You’ve yet to tell him you feel all of it. 

He knows you get off though. He’s felt it on his tongue, on his fingers, and yes, on that perfect little cock too.

[lavenderchqn]

"MULTIPLICATION LENS"

synopsis — you have been stealing pantalone's glasses for a while now... so what happens when the lovely 9th harbinger is down to his last pair? pairing — pantalone x gn!reader warnings — implied murder, slightly suggestive at the end, possible wrong use of Dottore's actual name, overall chaos :D notes — this oneshot was inspired by a headcanon by @teabutmakeitazure on tumblr, as well as some of the comments under her post!

At first… It happened out of love. 

With Pantalone’s tendency to slave away at his desk, doing his work outside his working hours… You once found out that stealing his glasses was the only way to get him some rest. 

It worked amazingly… at first. 

His first attempt at stopping your antics was to have his glasses connected by a chain. Well, it worked great… until you found a workaround for it. 

Your solution was to stand directly behind him, sweet-talking him to have him lose focus… and when the moment came, you’d simply get the glasses with the chain attached and make a run for it. 

To be frank, Pantalone could easily reclaim his property. It was not only due to his office carrying more than enough pairs to not get concerned with one going missing, but also keeping you entertained. 

After all, if your spouse had to resort to stealing your tool for eyesight, there must’ve been a lack of affection on your part. Therefore, he simply did not pay as much attention to whatever you decided to do with his glasses from that point onwards. 

One by one, your racoon self managed to empty his once full drawer.

And yet, at some point, things managed to get even more chaotic. 

Pantalone was now left to his last pair of glasses — beautiful chain intact. 

It’s been months since you began to steal his glasses… and yet no matter what he did, he never managed to retrieve a single pair. Even though he would never suggest that you get involved with the Fatui, your skills have proven more efficient than most agents working under him. 

Thus, he forged a plan. 

From a singular glance, it was obvious that the last pair in his cabinet would be the most prized ones. Truly a trophy for your ever-rising collection. Gaining it would prove that your skills triumphed even over the 9th harbinger. 

Why not play a game of cat and mouse for it then? 

In all the years of you being married, Pantalone had learned your routine to perfection. 

You had the tendency to check on him at 6 PM every single day, aside from weekends. Saturday and Sunday were his strict no-work days, given that everyone — even workaholics of his calibre — should take breaks occasionally. 

There were days when you’d bring a cup of tea for him to enjoy, courtesy of many maids working at the estate. Other times you’d just come and spend some time to talk about your day, taking a seat on your dedicated armchair in his office. 

For those, where exhaustion made him fall asleep at his desk, you’d storm in with a blanket covering his body, usually staying long enough where he’d wake up from his nap. That would signify the end of said day’s work, the two of you spending the rest of it relaxing. 

Just… how did you know exactly what he was doing each day?

6 PM of today came around shortly, you didn't show up even once to check beforehand. 

His plan of motion was now finally being put into place. 

A soft knock on his door caught his attention, beginning his act of “napping”. Perhaps this was your means of figuring out what to do next. Rationally speaking, getting him a blanket after not showing signs of awareness would be obvious given the silence. 

Once you waited long enough, he could hear the sound of you walking away, most likely to get ahold of a comforter. 

You came back soon enough, opening the door slowly — to not startle him awake. 

“Let’s see…” You whispered to yourself, settling something behind his back before peering over his shoulder. “Zandik’s trying to get funding again? Man, he sure never stops.” 

Well, that was most certainly odd. No one used actual names to address other harbingers, let alone Dottore. 

Pantalone had to keep his composure, though… acting as if you’re sleeping was way more difficult than it seemed to be initially. 

Even if you caught his unnatural behaviour, you didn’t mention it — slowly tucking his hair behind his ear. How interesting. 

Pantalone thought you’d take the first possible chance to steal his glasses. Yet, here you were, organising his pens, sorting papers that fell to the floor… Acting like a dainty and adorable darling.  

Well, you did make your attempt soon enough. 

You’ve managed to sweep some dust, group papers based on importance and slowly yet swiftly, akin to a fox, you’ve made a move for his glasses. 

Hell, you would’ve even gotten away with it, if not for Pantalone’s equally fast reaction time. His hand locked around your wrist holding his frame, keeping it in a vice. 

“And what do we have here, Darling?” His coy voice putting a smug grin on your face.

“A loving and caring spouse, dearest Husband.” Despite your movement, you’ve managed to keep up the cheerful and loveable attitude. “Sleeping in glasses gives you headaches.” 

That was most absolutely correct… There were countless days and nights when you had to comfort your husband stuck in the misery of migraines. 

It’s been barely a minute of you stuck in this weird position. Your wrist starting to hurt a lot in the last few seconds, probably due to Pantalone’s nails digging into the skin.

“Could you unhand me?” You ask, gracing him with puppy-like eyes. “It’s starting to hurt.” 

Your husband lets go of you instantly, flashing a worried look and a whispered apology. Playing around was enjoyable at times, but causing you any pain — be it physical or emotional — was an enormous boundary of his. 

Unfortunately for Pantalone, you’re more than a simple spouse. With one last swift move, you grab his frames and make a run of it. 

Your master plan’s completion sets the estate into chaos. Well, it’s a simple commotion between two married people, yet maids can’t turn their eyes away from the situation they're witnessing.

A daring [Y/N] running away from her dear husband, his glasses in hand. To his credit, Pantalone is managing to keep up with your surprising speed. And Pierro has him reduced to a simple act of a Regrator? 

You have been doing your best to gain some speed advantage, just to get to your trophy cabinet as soon as possible… Why can’t Pantalone just give up and let you boast about your accomplishment...  

With how long of a game of cat and mouse this has been, you’re quickly losing steam. There is one last light of hope soon making itself known. 

The door to your study. 

You pull on the doorknob as precisely as possible, opening the door. Unfortunately for you, Pantalone managed to keep up and is just a step behind you.

 It seems playtime has now come to an end. 

“Darling, my glasses.” Based on his voice, he’s not even remotely tired after the chase that just happened. Well, neither are you, but the point still stands! 

“I have won them fair and square.” You go into the room, standing in front of a locked cabinet. 

Pantalone is beside you, his body language signalising he’s not as excited as you are. At the same time, he’s not trying to get his frames back by force… Maybe he now realises that there’s simply no use. 

“Beloved,” You open the cabinet. “Behold my collection.” 

There they are… all the other pairs that you had successfully stolen. Displayed alongside a tiny description, listing the date of the robbery. 

Pantalone sighs, extending his hand to ask again for his frames.

“I will give you them ‘back’ shortly,” He says, noticing your hesitance. “At least allow me to marvel at your accomplishment without having to squint.” 

There’s no harm in doing that, you think. Well, you close and lock the study’s door… just as an additional measure. 

With his glasses back on it’s rightful and yet wrong at the same time, place Pantalone is allowed to take in your past deeds. A collection spanning dates from almost a year, every pair presented with magnificence and beauty. 

However, just as Pantalone is about to comment, he notices something reflecting on one of the bottom shelves. 

“Treasure, what’s kept in that drawer?” He points to a drawer, unrecognisable at first glance. Made with tempered glass, there’s difficulty in trying to gauge its content.

You get visibly nervous at the sole thought of showing Pantalone your other… collection.

“Surely it cannot be that bad, Darling.” 

“Oh, you might divorce me once you see it…” 

“I’d rather work full-time with Tartaglia than divorce you, Love.” 

Filled with newfound confidence, you get the drawer open. Then follows the second and third one.

They’re filled to the brim with… Fatui insignias.

At a simple glance, there must be more than a thousand… from recruits to lieutenants, you have them all. 

Pantalone stares at them in utmost shock. Just, how did you manage to get your hands on so many? 

“Care… to elaborate, Darling?”

“Oh, I was just bored.” Your husband is floored at your answer. 

“This is not the time and place for jokes, Love.” 

“I mean, I was bored for like… two years straight?” 

Pantalone blinked, struggling to comprehend the magnitude of your confession. Two years? He couldn't fathom how, in his meticulously guarded world, you had managed such an astonishing feat without him noticing.

“Bored?” His voice, usually so composed, held an edge of incredulity. “Two years of boredom led to... this?” He gestured to the overflowing drawers of Fatui insignias, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief.

You shrugged, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Well, you were always busy with work, and I had to find something to keep myself entertained. It started as a little game—seeing how far I could go before anyone noticed. And then, it became a sort of... hobby.”

“A hobby,” Pantalone repeats, shaking his head as he examines one of the insignias more closely. “Do you realise how dangerous this could have been? How many agents must have been in a frenzy trying to find these?

“Well, they are probably not in the health… to look for them,” you reply with a wink, clearly unbothered by the potential ramifications. “Besides, not a singular harbinger has noticed. I made sure of it.”

He sighs, rubbing his temples as if trying to ease an impending headache. “You truly are something else, Darling. How many agents have you gotten killed?—and for what? A collection?”

“A very impressive collection,” you correct him, your grin widening. “And one that took a lot of effort and skill to amass, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh yeah, and the numbers are somewhere in the tens of thousands.”

Pantalone sighs, deciding not to pry any further. It’s for the best not to know the details of your spouse going on… murder sprees… on your employees.

With a slow move, he takes off his glasses, moving them into your palms. It’s followed by a slow dip, just so that he can be as close to you as possible. 

“Well then, Darling.” He whispers into your ear. “As the victor of our little game, how about I congratulate you in ways other than words.” 

date of posting — august 15th 2024

[sanemistar]

Hi! Would you write a one shot with Obanai x wife!reader but he sees her sparing with Sanemi and gets the wrong idea? He’s been watching them for a while, he thinks there’s something going on but he’s not sure (there’s not) but he finally snaps when Sanemi ends up on top of her (innocently) whilst sparring and she’s laughing so he confronts both of them. Turns out she was just talking with Sanemi so much to get closer to him because she knows how much obanai respects him. Flufff at the end pls and thank yoooou

one and only | obanai iguro

pairing: obanai x wife!reader

genre: fluff

wc: 1.2k+

warnings: heavy fluff lol, slightly suggestive at some part if you squint your eyes really hard but dw nothing too crazy

a/n: thank you for requesting <3 i had a lot of fun writing jealous obanai and i hope u enjoy it too !!

it was no secret to everyone in the demon slayer corps that obanai was overly jealous and overprotective of you, especially after your marriage. when it came down to you, his wife, he lost all his rationality, everyone knew that he was crazy over you from the moment you stepped foot into the corps. he’d hardly allow you to be near any other male, and would threaten them to stay away from you, he'd put a hand around your waist almost all the time, showing them that you had already been taken by him. you two had been married for quite a while, and his jealousy never really bothered you, actually, you felt happy whenever he expressed it.

the only exception to his jealousy was none other than the wind hashira, his best friend, sanemi, whom he trusted the most out of all the male hashiras. obanai introduced you to him on your wedding day and the two of you had become good friends ever since, although he didn't seem that friendly at first due to his angry face and harsh demeanor. you’d occasionally enjoy having small conversations with him here and there, most of them were about your husband, though. since he didn't talk much about himself, and you wanted to know more about him in hopes of getting even closer to him. you were fully aware of how much obanai respected him, so sanemi was your go to person.

obanai took notice of you spending more time with sanemi than he thought you would, and he noticed that you were always laughing and giggling around him more than you should, which wasn’t really to his liking. your beautiful smile should be reserved to him only, he knew that neither of you would never cross any lines, yet he had a slight suspension that there was something going on between the two of you. however, he kept his mouth shut and left things the way they were.

that was, until one day sanemi saw asked if you could spar with him for practice purposes, to which you agreed. he was getting ready for a long mission, so he wanted to be sure he was fully prepared to fight, and you were happy to help. you told your husband about it, and he felt hesitant at first. knowing how sanemi could be rough and harsh when it came to sparring with strong opponents no matter their gender, but eventually he agreed. it was going to be just a normal sparring session between two strong hashiras, nothing to worry about, or so he thought.

it was when he saw sanemi right on top of you, cornering your small body with his big arms. your faces and bodies were so alarmingly close, and you were giggling beneath him. the unpleasant sight made obanai’s stomach turn upside down as he was seething in sheer anger. that was his breaking point. he couldn’t take it anymore, he finally reached his limit. all the negative thoughts furiously raced inside his head, why were you laughing like that around sanemi and not him, what if you got tired of him, what if you no longer loved him and were planning to leave. his mind was going crazy.

the serpent hashira couldn't stand still and watch the two of you in this position any longer, so he automatically rushed to where you both were and had pushed sanemi on the soft grass before he grabbed your hand and pulled you back up with one swift move.

“care to explain what happened here? and how you two ended up like that?” obanai confronted both of you, his tone was firm and demanding for answers as his gaze on both you and sanemi fell sharp, so sharp that it made your heart clench painfully, your heart was beating so fast you felt as if it was about to jump out of your ribcage, and words stuck in your throat as if they were forming a big lump that kept you from talking. you were used to his jealousy by now, but this time was different.

on the other hand, sanemi felt a little frantic. he never wanted obanai to get the wrong idea when all you two had been doing was just friendly sparring and it was all an accident on his part, so he quickly began explaining what happened in detail to your angry husband.

"we were sparrin' as usual when i lost my balance and fell on top of y/n. i'm tellin' the truth, i swear!" obanai knew sanemi was never one to lie, but he still couldn't help get rid of that irritating feeling in his chest. he turned his gaze from sanemi and solely focused it on you, waiting to hear your side of the story. you took a deep breath and began to explain.

"yes, what shinazugawa-kun was true. we were just sparring. nothing more, nothing less." you confirmed sanemi's statement, and you felt him begin to cool off a little as the tense look on his face became more relaxed, but a part of you felt like that wasn't the end of it.

"and what about all the laughing and talking with shinazugawa, hm? what the hell do you talk about that makes you spend so much time with him?" you had a feeling obanai was going to bring this topic up eventually. in fact, you were surprised he managed to stay quiet about it for that long. you wanted to clear the tension in the air, so you decided to mess around with him a little.

"hmm.. we do talk about a very interesting person, who happens to also be my husband.” you playfully teased the serpent hashira with a silly grin spread across your face as you placed a hand around his arm.

"what the heck? you really thought there was somethin' going on between me and your wife? dude, she's head over heels for you." you couldn't help but blush upon hearing sanemi's announcement out loud, as it came very unexpectedly.

you weren't the only one blushing though, obanai was also blushing and it was so obvious that you could see it underneath his mask. he hated to admit, but he was so jealous of sanemi at that very particular moment, but thankfully that turned out to be just a misunderstanding.

you were very happy that the issue was solved quickly and began to giggle loudly, the sound of your laughter rang in the serpent hashira's ears like a sweet melody. making him entirely forget about his anger from earlier, he smiled softly while admiring your beautiful face.

"i love you, obanai-kun." you softly whispered in his ears, and now the top of his ears were burning red thanks to your sudden love confession.

"i love you too, my dear." obanai replied and took your hand, placing gentle kisses onto it. you felt your heart melting the moment his lips met your skin, it was as if you were falling for him all over again. the two of you were all lovey-dovey with each other, almost completely forgetting that sanemi was still standing there.

"go get a room, yeah?" sanemi suggested sarcastically which had earned him a smack from obanai before he disappeared from your line of sight, leaving you and your husband all alone.

"you heard shinazugawa, shall we go home and pick up from where we left?" his words took you by surprise and now you were completely flustered, but no objections were heard from you. you could never say no to some quality time with your husband. obanai grabbed your hand and the two of you walked away, heading back to his estate.

your husband's jealousy was strong and fierce, but you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world, he was the one and only one for you.

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [5] - Unyielding

A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Certain arguments can’t wait.

Word Count: 3600

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, drinking. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

For a couple of seconds, you could do nothing but stare at him with wide eyes, frozen in your seat.

“Excuse me?”

“Just hear me out before you grab your gun, it would—” he started but you scoffed and stood up from the lounge chair, the familiar anger rushing through you so fast that it almost made your head spin.

“Do you think this is funny?”

He shook his head fervently. “I’m completely serious.”

A dry laugh spilled from your lips. “Oh really?”

“Charm…”

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but my stupid little crush on you went away years and years ago,” you growled, glaring daggers at him. “You made sure of that, so if you dare assume for even a moment—”

“Oh my God, that was the wildest bachelorette I’ve ever been to!” Becca’s voice cut you off as she pushed open the door and stepped into the rooftop. “Also I’m pretty sure I’m in love now, so…” she stopped when her eyes fell on you two. “Uh, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you said after a beat and threw your shoulders back. “Did you just say you’re in love?”

“Yeah!”

Bucky stole a look at Becca. “Who did you fall in love with?”

“That’s a long story. What’s going on in here?”

You pursed your lips together, your heart still beating in your ears as you tried to focus through the fury, then cleared your throat.

“We were—”

“Y/N, we’re leaving!” you heard Ian’s voice and your head whipped around, then you cleared your throat.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” you said, pressing a kiss on her cheek in a rush. “Let’s get coffee at the usual place?”

“Uh, sure?” she said slowly and you walked out of the rooftop like someone was chasing you, without sparing Bucky so much as a glance.

The road back home was considerably quiet but it did nothing to silence the chaos in your mind. You had excused yourself to your room as soon as you got home, but after an hour of tossing and turning in the bed, you huffed out and kicked the covers off of you, sitting up in the bed.

This was nonsense.

There was no scenario in which you’d marry Bucky. You weren’t even sure you could spend more than half an hour together without being at each other’s throats, let alone being an actual couple—

Not that you had thought about it.

Much.

Fine, back when you were younger and Bucky hadn’t ripped your heart out yet, you used to spend a lot of time thinking about you and him ending up together. He was your best friend’s cool older brother and you were both heirs to your families’ empires, so your little crush let your imagination run wild.

And then he had broken your heart but after everything, even now, your imagination still liked to conjure him up in your dreams some nights.

But unlike before, you weren’t an idiot. You knew what kind of an asshole he was, so there was no way you could even entertain that stupid proposal, no matter what kind of a promise of power it held.

You rubbed at your eyes and got up from the bed, then padded your way down the hallway, then went down the spiral stairs. You stretched out your arms over your head as you followed the hallway to the kitchen where the light was coming from, as you knew it would, then peeked your head in.

Oh good.

It was just Jennifer, your genius chef who was now busy with making a sandwich on the counter while Ryan sat on one of the chairs, his hands clasped together, his back completely straight. Ryan was Ian’s right hand, -ex military, as much as you knew- but unlike Ian, he was much calmer and rational. He was tall and very muscular and didn’t like to talk much, and that added more to the air of mystery he held, considering no one seemed to know much about his past, or his personal life.

“Hey,” you knocked on the door, making both of them turn their heads. “Is this a bad time?”

“Not at all!” Jennifer said as Ryan stood up from his chair.

“Ma’am.”

“Oh don’t!” you motioned at him. “Please don’t stand up, I just…I couldn’t sleep so I figured—”

“Warm milk with honey and cinnamon?” Jennifer finished your sentence for you, making you smile and nod your head.

“Yes please,” you said and pulled yourself a chair, resting your elbows on the counter. Ryan eyed you, then sat down as well.

“There you go!” Jennifer said, putting the plate in front of him, then smiled at him. “Chef’s special sandwich.”

“Thanks Jen,” Ryan said, his voice gruff and Jennifer turned to you.

“Would you like one as well?”

“Ah no, thank you,” you said and heaved a sigh. Jennifer stole a look at you.

“Are you alright?”

“Too many thoughts,” you muttered, leaning your chin on your fist. “Ryan, are you married?”

Ryan’s head shot up as he chewed on his bite, then cleared his throat.

“No ma’am.”

“Any partner?”

“No ma’am.”

“He’s single,” Jennifer said with a grin. “And all my friends are very eager to change that.”

Ryan offered her an almost abashed smile and shifted his weight on the chair as if he was uncomfortable with the sudden attention while Jennifer put your glass of honeyed milk with cinnamon in front of you with a couple of cookies on the plate.

“Thank you so much,” you said as you took a sip, then bit on the cookie.

“Jen, you’re married and in love, right?”

“And I’m also the luckiest woman in the world in addition to all that,” she said, making you smile.

“Do you think people could get married to people they hate?”

“Why would anyone get married to someone they hate?” she asked and Ryan took a huge bite of his sandwich, looking between you.

“Common interests,” you said. “I don’t know, I had this strange thought…”

Jennifer tilted her head. “What?”

You heaved a sigh, then shook your head.

“Nothing,” you said. “Don’t mind me. Just some late-night thoughts, that’s all.”

                                                 *

By the time you met up with Becca, you still couldn’t stop thinking about last night and Bucky’s proposal, if you could even call it that. It was nonsense, you knew it was, but considering Becca was your best friend, the mere thought of keeping it from her was simply absurd.

“He proposed?” Becca asked, gawking at you. “He actually proposed?”

“Well it was technically a business proposal.”

“And a marriage proposal at the same time?”

You shrugged your shoulders while the waiter filled your coffee cup.

“You know…” Becca trailed off. “Hypothetically speaking—”

“You cannot tell me this is a good idea.”

“I’m not but think about it,” she insisted. “You and Buck already hate each other kinda, so you’re technically already married. You just skipped like ten years into it and got to the resentment part.”

“Becca!”

“You fight like a married couple.”

“If some married couple is fighting like me and Bucky, they should get a divorce,” you pointed out, leaning back in your seat. “I blocked his number, and just…ugh the nerve of the guy, can you believe him?!”

“Mm hm.” Becca said, sipping her matcha before checking her phone. “Oh thank God!”

“What?”

“Sarah is coming to the club this weekend,” she said and pointed at you. “So are you, right?”

“Yeah, me and Ethan.”

“What?”

“I’m bringing Ethan with me,” you explained. “I had to ditch him today, we were supposed to meet for lunch but as you can tell, this couldn’t wait.”

“My brother asking you to marry him even if you hate his guts? Yeah, that beats lunch with the cute ex.”

“And you know, since we’ve been texting a lot, I figured…”

“Yeah yeah, bring him over!” Becca said. “It’ll be fun—oh my God, so my brother’s audacity and ego aside, I need to tell you about the girl I met last night.”

“Yeah, I was going to ask you!” you said. “You said you were in love?”

“I am!” she said with a smile. “You know, I was thinking I could invite her and some friends as well, but now that I think about it, maybe I could just take a page from Bucky’s book and open with a marriage proposal.”

“Becca!”

“I’m just saying, we can just skip to the happily married part, flirting is a waste of time at this point and—”

“You’re not doing that!”

Becca let out a laugh.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Just because it didn’t work for him doesn’t mean it wouldn’t work for me.”

“It wouldn’t work for anyone, Becca,” you told her and she hummed.

“I’ll just say one thing about this, then I’ll talk about the love of my life, alright?”

“Alright,” you said and she turned her cup in the saucer, then clicked her tongue.

“You and Bucky being married is an absurd idea yes,” she said. “But he did have a point.”

“How is that?”

“Well, I’ll ask you the same thing my aunt asked me when I took my civilian boyfriend to my cousin’s wedding, and I have a feeling your answer will be different than mine.”

“Which is?”

She smiled at you mischievously.

“Do you want love poems, or do you want power?”

Your eyes shot up to hers before you shifted your weight, then motioned at her with your hand.

“Come on,” you said. “Enough about that. Tell me about the love of your life.”

                                                     *

You and Becca ended up spending the whole day together, and by the time you decided you would go back home, it was already dark outside. Watching outside as the driver drove you home, you leaned your head on the window, then felt your phone buzzing in your purse so you grabbed it, smiling slightly at the name before answering it.

“Hey there.”

“Hi,” Ethan’s voice reached you, and you could tell he was smiling as well. “How was your day?”

“It was good,” you said. “Full of romance.”

“Romance?”

“Becca is in love,” you said and he let out a whistle.

“Your best friend Becca?”  

“Oh yeah,” you said. “I had to talk her out of looking at bridal shops, but we still went cake tasting.”

“Does this person know they’re getting married to Becca?”

“That’s just a small detail,” you joked, making him chuckle. “She invited her to the club for the weekend, I’m pretty excited to meet her. How about you?”

“Do you find data analyzing romantic?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then it was less romantic than your day.”

“And the hospital?” you asked and he took a deep breath.

“Oh everything is fine. Should be free of the bandages next week.”

You bit inside your cheek. “I still feel responsible—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off. “Seriously. The incident had nothing to do with you.”

“Mm hm.”

“Besides, you can’t really blame the rollercoaster if someone gets hurt on one.”

“No one is supposed to get hurt on a rollercoaster,” you pointed out and he thought for a moment.

“Okay in hindsight, it wasn’t the best analogy…”

You pulled your brows together. “Wait, am I the rollercoaster?”

“No! No, you’re sitting next to me on the rollercoaster,” Ethan explained. “We’re both riding it.”

“That’s not—” you started but a black sports car wheezed past yours and sharply drifted sideways as soon as it got in front of your car so that yours would have to stop.

“I’ll call you back Ethan,” you said and hung up the phone, your heart skipping a beat as you grabbed the gun from underneath the seat, looking to your right to see your bodyguards’ car stopping as well. The driver lowered the partition as the bodyguards stepped out of the car.

“It’s Mr. Barnes’ personal car, ma’am,” he said. “I know the plate.”

“Oh Jesus Christ…” you murmured as you put the gun back to where it was and opened your door, then stepped outside at the same time Bucky left his car. Your bodyguards hesitated as soon as they saw him, looking between you and you waved a hand in the air.

“It’s fine guys,” you said and turned to Bucky. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Bucky shrugged his shoulders as if nothing was wrong.

“You blocked my number,” he said. “It’s not like I can text you.”

“And what, it wasn’t enough of a clue?” you asked tersely and Bucky nodded in the direction of his car.

“Come on, get in. We’re going to talk.”

You crossed your arms. “Nope.”

“Charm for fuck’s sake…”

“I’m not going to talk to you, and I’m certainly not getting in your car.”

“You seriously want to do this right here on the road?”

You threw your hands up in frustration. “You are the one who’s blocking the road, motherfucker!”

You could see the petrified expressions on your bodyguards’ faces before one of them gazed up at the sky while the other one put his hands into his pockets and kicked at a tiny pebble on the road, both desperately trying to look like they weren’t hearing you two.

“Listen—”

“I will not,” you retorted. “What is your deal, seriously?”

“We need to talk about last night,” Bucky said and out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the bodyguards exchanging glances, so you gritted your teeth and grabbed Bucky’s arm to pull him to the other side of the car in an attempt to get more privacy.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you said through your teeth and Bucky ran a hand over his face.

“No I’d say there’s plenty to talk about,” he said. “I mean you didn’t even give me an answer—”

“That poor excuse of a joke doesn’t deserve an answer.”

“It wasn’t a joke to me.”

“Well, it was to me.”

He shook his head slightly.

“Just—” he said. “Why not?”

You raised your brows, gawking at him in disbelief and a look of realization dawned on his face before he heaved a sigh.

“Charm…”

You shot him a mocking smile, crossing your arms.

You and Becca sneaking into nightclubs wasn’t a new thing, and now that you were leaving for college in a month, you were trying to spend as much time together as possible. Becca threw her arm over your shoulder as you walked through the crowd to the bar.

“Two martinis please,” she told the bartender and he took a look at you two, but before he could say anything the other bartender muttered something into his ear, then motioned at you.

“Coming right up,” he ended up saying as you turned to Becca.

“So you were saying?”

“Yeah like, he keeps saying he’s too busy but I’m not buying it—ugh, you gotta be kidding me!”

You frowned, then followed her line of sight to see Bucky and Steve stepping outside from the other exit that led to the back alley behind the club, your heart starting to beat faster.

“Where are they going?”

“They’re probably gonna beat someone up, who cares?” Becca said with a shrug of her shoulders. “He’s in such a mood nowadays, I’m not even gonna let him know I’m here. Arrogant asshole.”

You tilted your head. “…Oh?”

“He and daddy had a huge fight the other night,” she said as she took the drink from the bartender while he put the other one in front of you. “Like my mom had to step in because they were at each other’s throats, that kind of a fight.”

“Why?”

Becca shrugged again. “It’s probably about business. The golden heir made a mistake I guess.”

You took a sip of your drink. “Interesting.”

“Yeah and then he went and broke up with Laura.”

Your head shot up. “They broke up?”

“Yeah!” Becca said. “Which, I’m not sorry at all because she was so annoying, but no girl in the world deserves to get dumped by Bucky so I have mixed feelings about the situation.”

You could feel the small glimmer of hope warming your chest and you pursed your lips together, then cleared your throat.

“I just—I forgot I was gonna call my dad, he gets so mad when I don’t let him know,” you said. “I gotta step outside for a moment, I’ll be right back.”

“Okay!” Becca said and you made your way through the dance floor before reaching the second exit, but before you could open the door, Steve had already beaten you to it.

“Y/N,” he said when he saw you. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you smiled at him. “Um—have you seen Bucky?”

Steve looked over his shoulder, then turned to you with an apologetic smile.

“He’s not…” he trailed off. “He’s not in the best mood.”

“Oh that’s okay,” you said and pushed the door open before he could say anything else, then stepped outside, holding your phone for the sake of appearance. When you saw him, Bucky’s bodyguards were dragging a nearly unconscious man out of the alley while he wiped the blood off his knuckles with a tissue, then lit a cigarette.

You could feel your heart beating in your ears, but you bit down on your lip, fixing your dress before clearing your throat.

“Bucky?”

He turned his head when he heard his name, then exhaled the smoke.

“Hey Charm,” he greeted you, making your heart skip a beat. “Is Becca here too?”

You bit inside your cheek, trying not to get discouraged by that, then nodded your head.

“Um, yeah we just got here.”

“Great,” he murmured. “Tell her not to drink too much, will you?”

You nodded again and smiled at him, your hand shaky a little as you fixed your dress again, desperately hoping it looked good on you.

“I didn’t know you would be here.”

“Yeah well, here I am,” he said, taking a drag of his cigarette, leaning back to the brick wall and you licked your lips.

“And are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Oh, just...” you stammered. “Becca mentioned you and Laura.”

Bucky shrugged his shoulders. “Happens. I’m fine, it was my call.”

Dear God, he was so handsome that you could just stare at him for hours.  

“Are you going to that gala thing as well?” you asked, nervousness pulsing through your system. “My dad is basically dragging me there, is George doing the same?”

His jaw clenched at the mention of his father, and he nodded quietly, exhaling the smoke.

Your voice was trembling a little, your throat incredibly dry because of the nervousness mixed with anticipation, but you still managed to get the words out.

“So I was thinking, do you—um—do you wanna go together?”

That managed to get his attention and he pulled his brows together, then let out a dry laugh.

“Jesus Christ…” he muttered. “What, you rushed here as soon as you heard about me and Laura? Seriously?”

You pulled back slightly, your stomach doing a flip and you shook your head.

“No, I just—”you stammered, tears stinging the back of your eyes already. “I was just thinking—”

“Listen, I know you don’t see it right now, but this little crush of yours is just…” he trailed off with a small chuckle, motioning between you. “It’s kind of adorable, but it’s not going to happen. If I go to that gala with you, you’ll get your hopes up, so will everyone else around us and I’ll end up trapped in something serious—which is out of question. I can’t trust you with the business, not when you’d probably report everything back to your own family and I can’t afford a mistake, not right now.”

You tried to blink back the tears, staring at him as he threw the cigarette butt on the ground, then put his hands in his pockets and shrugged.

“Not to mention,” he said. “I don’t go for daddy’s spoiled whiny princess type, and you’d be better off with a nicer guy anyway.”

You could feel the sobs threatening to climb up your chest, so you sniffled and turned around to rush back into the club, leaving him there before he could say anything else.

“Don’t tell me that’s the reason,” Bucky’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you arched a brow.

“I said nothing.”

“It was what, almost ten years ago?” he asked. “I was an idiot—”

“I am really not interested in whatever this bullshit is,” you told him. “And I’m going to be late for dinner, so…”

“Just hear me out first—”

You looked over your shoulder and motioned at the driver.  “Turn the car around please!”

The driver did as you asked but before you could step away from Bucky, he grabbed your arm.

“Charm, I can help you get the power you want,” he insisted as you rolled your eyes. “You might hate me right now, but you know I can do that. Just let me get you that crown.”

“We’re done here.” You yanked your arm out of his grip and walked to the car but stopped when you reached it, turning your head to look at him.

“I’m not going to marry you Bucky,” you called out, fully aware that the bodyguards could hear you, and the mere thought gave you a strange sense of satisfaction. “I would never marry you. I don’t go for the arrogant asshole type, and you’d be better off with a nicer girl anyway.”

 With that you got in the car, and the driver started driving as soon as you slammed the door shut, the car gliding down the road smoothly.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered to yourself and leaned your head back, closing your eyes. “The fucking audacity.”

Chapter 6

[missmarveledsblog]

Odd one out ( logan howlett x reader)

summary : logan's adjusting to new life , new friends only thing he can't put his finger on is wade's friend Y/n , he knows she hiding something and he right but he is so wrong too

warnings : fluffy , goofy , no major deadpool and wolverine spoilers , violence , wade wilson , grumpy logan , grammatical errors (sorry in advance )

Adjusting  to a whole new world , universe where everything was the same but different .  Knowing someone and yet learning to know them all over again , like he was re familiarizing himself with ghosts from his past in one place and creating a new future in another. Adjusting to the one fucker who had him here in the first place was hard too , wade wilson was a strange one , hard to tell where the smart sarcastic ball of undiagnosed ADHD  started and ended . yet he had this wonderful and strange group of people around him , they all stuck out and fit in somehow , not that he would admit it out loud ever . (“ i knew it he loves me!” wade wink to the reader) .  but the dickward (“ harsh” the merc gasped.)  well he grew on him.  He wasn’t too bad not all the time those few seconds of silence truly when logan howlett  actually would consider him a friend then his mouth started it usually nonsensical rambles and well he changed his mind again . 

The friends he didn’t mind being around the lot they all had their own quirks , their own little nicknames or insults for wade and they all took logan in no matter what even when wade explain their whole adventure even the dark past that followed logan around even to this day . one friend he couldn’t get a read on , one for some reason stood out more than the others was Y/N  or as wade tended to call her princess sparkle maybe it had to do with the midnight black glitter case she had her laptop in . the other made sense in a way all either mutants or coming from some sort of background, but well Y/N was different . apparently, when she was a kid she used to drink her apple juice while sitting in the corner of the notorious sister margarets helping mercs of all kinds find their targets for a fee of course . Her bond with wade was helping him locate some chick or atleast logan was sure it was giving francis was the name but in that whole thing she was the one that helped wade find them all using that laptop ln the black sparkle case . Giving she was youngster of the group and just well ordinary no powers the others we’re protective but something about her well logan couldn’t put his finger on it and it was driving him nuts what was her secret .  

“ you know if you keep staring at her peanut well your going to give off a certain i got candy and white van sort of vibe” logan could feel wade once again too close giving the asshole breathe was in his ear . 

“ it’s not like that , she hiding something i mean she not so social , closed off a little and well she barely talks about herself” logan scoffed yet his eyes never once left her form . 

“ ok baby girl you probably know this phrase given you're so old you were there when they invented it but pot meet kettle”  the merc gestured between the two . “ he is butt nuts into her it’s so obvious right?” he looked to the reader . 

“ who are tal… nevermind i am not into her i don’t trust here plus she too young for me” he rationalized . 

“ she’s an old soul i mean not american civil war old but get what i’m throwing down” wade winked .

 “ hey i’m heading out i wanna grab books and coffee before the shop closes” she called rushing out before anyone could offer to walk with her. Logan didn’t even say anything just followed after.

“ he totally wants her right” wades looking at you reader. 

“ wade who you taking to?” 

“ the… nevermind hey did i ever tell you  about my future prince , king god of thunder buddy thor” he asked heading toward his friend . 

………

She hated it , lying to her friends not telling them she wasn’t as smart as they thought she was or how the sight of wades new roommate topless made her brain not function therefore caused her life to be now in danger. She been looking into her past , more so the men who had left her with no childhood nor a family resulting her sneaking into a seedy bar and helping hitmen and vigilantes find their targets .  she wanted to make sure they weren’t still doing it and when she began to see multiple account of money she could use to well give back to the world well she got herself caught. She wanted to tell wade but she didn’t want to bother him too much it wasn’t even a year after his whole TVA  incident and well saving the world so she decided she could handle it alone which that wasn’t the lie , she totally could it was just dealing with it in silence. Plus giving the said hot roommate hatred for her , she didn’t want to give that man any more ammo against her. It was a mystery to why he hated her so much , at first she thought maybe he knew a version of her in his universe that done him dirty but he was quite easily able to tell her she wasn’t anything thing to him , he didn’t know her there which was only good part of that place. Thankfully she grew up the way she did or else it would of hurt a lot more than it did , ok it still stung but she got used to it . she love their group like a family so instead of being interrogated or scared away by logan she avoided him kept her space from the man , ignore how he looked like he was going to rip her apart and not in the 50 shades of gray more like national geographic lions and a giselle sort of way . 

She was so lost in her thought she didn’t notice logan following her or the group of agent sprawled out ready to pounce. Scanning the shelves for the next read she felt the metal barrel pushing at her side . 

“Act natural or else” the voice smiled so she did she couldn’t cause a scene or react too many civilians and a lot of them were children.

She shrugged and let the man follow at her side as she stood at the counter pulling out the metal reusable cup . 

“ the regular you know three pumps of caramel” she winked . “ oh this is my cousin franny” she smiled as the man looked at her before smiling to the barista . 

“ oh free book today with each coffee so enjoy”  the barista smiled handing her the scalding cup but she bit her tongue and kept walking “ somebody call wade” she whispered back at the staff. 

Logan stood grinning , he  had his moment of being right seeing her all smiles with a clearly shady prick , he was about to confront her for his big gotcha moment only he stalled when he heard them as if they were saying it to him . 

“ in position we got her , subject will be brought back to containment “ that threw him off well that was til she walked out with the man throwing the coffee she had  in his face and a gun he didn’t notice before falling to the ground as she told the civilians to get somewhere safe. First time in his life or a decade he stood shocked at scene before him . agent clearly not the good guys with this octopus looking things on their tactical gear rushing towards her.  One man went to grab her only for him to fall to the ground convulsing and yet  logan couldn’t see the taser she clearly had to off used .  his jaw dropped as her skin began to glow almost a whitish blue all over her body and what looked like sparks floating around her. Not once did she looked scared or even phased  at the situation , she took them on one by one almost like a dance in her movement as she sent them to the ground . when they did get a hit on her like the mere touch sent them to the ground convulsing . he honestly stood conflicted he knew he was way off but also who the hell was this girl really . he wanted to help but she didn’t need it even when they ganged up on her she  held her own . when last man  fell she returned back to normal  skin back to color , the sparks disappeared like a mist and she leaned over slightly panting . 

“ call the authorities tell them to get shield here or fbi” she stood only for one to sneak out and hit her head hard sending her to the ground unconscious . thats when he snapped into action how dare that man touch her like that , what a cheap shot too  logan knocked man out ignoring the lady who yelled she called the cops and he brought her back to wades. 

The moment he walked into the apartment with her in his arms out cold the room went silent .  he growled at  shatterstar and colossus making them instantly move from the couch as he placed her gently on it.  Vanessa ran to check her over as logan explained what  happened . 

“ she was fucking glowing like a night light or some shit …. You don’t look surprised so you already knew , why did no one tell me ” he looked to see not one of them looked shocked to know she was a mutant. they all nodded giving him a sympathetic smile.

“ why do you think i call her princess sparkles , the coffee place rang” wade called heading to his room before returning . “ you saving her ass like a knight in tight yellow spandex , i knew you liked her kitten” he winked as he placed the adventure time comforter over her sleeping form .

[the-monkeies-girl]

The Apes realizing that they want to actually actively court you and it’s not inherently romantic because this shit happens at the most random of moments? Yeah.

Caesar.

Literally happens at the most opportune time. He had taken you to a council meeting to discuss something regarding Humans, and the Ape King wanted another position of opinion, even though he does know that Koba will fight back. Well, the moment the Bonobo chooses to say something as a slight towards you, instead of Caesar bringing himself into the argument that he knew would happen between you and Koba, you start to vehemently defend yourself with the use of broken sign language and your words. Koba growls at you but you just bared your teeth back and barked as if you were an Ape, telling him to leave you alone and that his hatred for Humans was not justified towards yourself, that he had no reason to hate you other than being a Human. Koba is looking between you and Caesar, hoping to garner at least some support from his closest friend, but the King is absolutely shocked that you were taking action, so coarse and concise and it leaves Koba in a loud huff as he storms away, defeated and most likely embarrassed. Caesar's green and gold eyes just watch as your shoulders rise and fall predominantly, hands falling back to your side as you watch the Bonobo leave with heated eyes, your body sliding itself back into its slotted position around the council, next to Caesar while Rocket was on the other side.

Everyone is looking at you for actually tearing into Koba, for actually speaking for the Colony's interests outside of just your own Human ones. Maurice gives Caesar a look that is returned. A mutual understanding, Blue Eyes is signing at you in mild admiration for your bravery.

Then. That moment, Caesar slides his eyes against your profile as you looked at the fire, the gleam so captivating against your features that he has to tell himself to look away, to start another conversation with his thick hands. But the way that you're trying to collect yourself back to rationality is so intense that Caesar wants to take it all in. It's that moment right there that he decides that he wants to take things a step further.

Noa.

Happens at the moment that you adversely accept his culture and by proxy, you accept him. You had been spending the afternoon with Dar, her words so wise and inflicting that you feel a small bit of guilt resting in your stomach that you had ever thought of the Apes as anything but incredibly civilized.

Noa had been working on something at his bench, near where you and his Mother were and by hour, his lushed green eyes are looking up at the sun keeping time for how long you were invested in conversation with her. He can hear the fleeting questions you had about the Eagles. About how they were used for hunting, how they were used to find lands outside of the Clan itself, how they benefited everyone and even going into details about the Eagle Egg Ceremony itself.

The beam on your face as you place your fingers delicately against Dar's Eagle, Eagle Sun himself sitting near Noa with acute interest at the fact that you were showing affection to another one. Noa stops his hands from moving once you ask a very interesting question. "I'm not an Ape, but do you think... I'll ever have one myself?" Dar herself is unsure of how to answer that, looking over at Noa with a curious brow raise and he just looks into the eyes that mirrored his own, mouth resting in its usual ajar position, but with a bit more perplexity as he looked over at you, your eyes so focused on Dar's bird that you hadn't noticed the Mother/Son interaction. Noa says nothing, does nothing as he sees Dar turn back towards you, a reassuring hand resting on your shoulder as she tells you, "Soon. You... Are almost ready." That moment, and the subsequent actions of going to take you on the Climb to get your Egg. Those are the moments that Noa solidifies in himself that there's going to be more and he's going to prusue you.

Blue Eyes.

Happens as he watches you doing something incredibly Human. He did not understand what you were using to eat. Something with four prongs in it, you used it to dig into a berry and brought it up to your mouth, scraping it off and smiling at the wicker bowl in your life.

You were by yourself, Blue Eyes having just gotten back from a day expedition with River and Ash and you were sitting near the fire, your jacket zipped up in disappointment to the Prince as he had no visual on your beating jugular but he was so captivated in watching you use a utensil to eat as Blue Eyes signed a rather pre-occupied goodbye to his friends and found himself trailing towards you, carefully, his hands and feet were light and he found it difficult to keep himself standing at all when you noticed him and flashed him a rather berry induced grin. 

Blue Eyes was entranced as you pulled the utensil away with a hard swallow and you offered it to him, "It's called a fork," Carefully, he grasps it from you and feels a shatter of confusion around his heart when you graze fingertips with the action. "We..." Your voice gets quiet and he recognizes it as embarrassment, "Humans use it to eat... so our hands don't get dirty."

Blue Eyes looked at it and pricked his fingertip with it and yelped when he used too much force out of curiosity. Quickly, you grabbed it back from him and grasped his hand without reserve and looked at it, "They're also really, really good at jabbing people with," His eyes are ample as you looked at his digit, the pad of your finger rubbing it once as you brought it to your face carefully to inspect, "Like a spear."

That moment. Your patience to explain a human object. The care you had with his hand, despite having to know that his skin was much more durable than your own and he yelped out of the pressure and not pain, you telling him that he was fine but to be more careful if he wanted to use it in the future and that it wasn't fun to poke your tongue with.

Blue Eyes, whether he knows it or not as he sits beside you, shoulder displacing some of his scent against you, he's chosen to make something more out of the budding relationship.

Anaya.

Would you be surprised if I told you it revolved around a mango? More often than not, he's got you in his sight when you're out together with Soona and Noa. His green and golden eyes beamed against the sun, his darkened fur glistening in excitement at the sound of your laughter from a meter to his left. Echo found strange things amusing, Anaya thought to himself and looked over at where he had heard you but... To his surprise, you were not there. A wash of panic shivers down his spine and out of instinct, the fur of his shoulders rises in case you had been snatched from under him. Unlikely considering you were out with three of them, but certainly not impossible. Anaya can see Noa and Soona in front of him, talking about a bush and whether it was poisonous or not. You were not there--- Suddenly, the Chimp is whacked on the neck by a falling object. Hissing defensively, he raised his hand and rubbed the taut muscle there and turned around only to get a mouthful again of your laughing. "Echo?" You're washed in front of him, upside down and dangling from a tree by your knees. In your hands, a few mangoes and Anaya quickly put it together that you had tossed one right at him, probably harder than you intended as you gave him a smile, "Sorry."

The Ape breathes out dramatically, reaching up with his long arms to help you down from the tree itself, the branch not very far off the ground and with Anaya's strength, you teeter against him onto your feet, almost flushed against his chest save for the mangoes. "I-I went up like you showed me to get us some fo-for a snack!" You grinned, looking at your cradled arms before handing him one.

Hesitantly for once, Anaya takes it into his hand, bringing it to his chest protectively and just watches as you race over to Noa and Soona to show them what you foraged by yourself and shared the fruit with them. That moment. Seeing you do something so daring, so brave for just an Echo and then radiating with pride as you shared. Anaya wants more. Anaya realizes that he wants more and he puts it into the forefront of his mind to make it happen.

Koba.

There’s never quite a moment where he decides to court you, that implies that it’s something that you’re aware is happening. Koba would rather gouge his other eye out than admit that you two were ever in that sort of entanglement, so the moment he feels that prickle of instinct rising against the back of his mind, he’s adamant to shove it down. Koba does not like the way that your delicate and blunted teeth were tearing apart the Elk meat you were having for dinner, he did not like the way that you chewed, so slowly and savoring the flavor of the game. Koba feels oddly satisfied watching you eat it though, knowing that it was himself who caught it for the communal dinner. A provider of sorts, something that was great to display for a mate.

He feels bile rising in the back of his throat, resting uncomfortably as you look over at River and Lake whom you were eating with, a boisterous laugh tickling at his ears and he huffs roughly, looking down at his wickered bowl of food and suddenly having very little interest in it. Sure, the other Apes of the Colony were enjoying their meals with chatter and jokes, but the audacity you had to presume that you were equal to them, able to make your own jokes, was outrageous. 

Koba was not willing to subside his hatred for Humans, but watching you from the graze of the bonfire as you sign at the other two Apes, choppy in the language but well enough for them to understand, he feels a slight pull to keep you near him because there was disgusting fascination in how you acted. Licking your lips, you can feel his set of eyes on you, one good, one milky staring daggers right into your skull. Turning slowly, you look at him and flash a brief smile for the Bonobo who brought you nothing but antagonistic behavior, empathy running in your expression. 

Koba hates that. The empathy. The desire you had to talk to him or be near him, or even look at him as he was fast to pick his bowl up and trail to a different, more secluded area to watch you eat. He hates it, but he refuses to stop because the hatred has turned into a minor codependency of the most aggravated toleration, maybe more if Koba wanted to be honest with himself. Which, once again, he refused.

[moodymisty]

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: Brain rot brain rot brain rot

Summary: Sanguinus pins for someone he knows he cannot have; Horus’ lover.

Relationships: Onesided Sanguinius/Fem!Reader, Horus Lupercal/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Pining, Guilty wank, Masturbation, Sanguinius is in love with Horus' beloved and he's so torn about it, Does yanking one out to the thought of fucking your pseudo-brother's future wife qualify as a warning?

The door to Sanguinius' private chambers closes behind him with a heavy slam that shakes the wall, sending the Blood Angels outside to high alert. Sanguinius winces at how much he threw the door in his anger. Now they all know he's irritated. They’ll surely ask about it later, and he’ll have to brush it off or come up with some sort of excuse to keep his captains and commanders from worrying.

Rarely does Sanguinius let his gentle facade crack, but he couldn't help it. Not this time.

Sanguinius smiled as Horus approached him, a wide smile on the Warmaster's face. His expression was warm, pleased to see him.

"My brother! How are you?"

Horus came in close and raised his left hand, clapping Sanguinius' right shoulder and holding it there. Within moments the angel's face had faltered, as the sweet scent covering Horus' hand hit his nose.

It's you.

He smelled the gentle flowers of your perfume, the salt of your sweat, and overwhelming it all was the saccharine sweet scent of your cunt on his fingers.

Horus had pleasured you so recently, the bastard might have just done so and came to talk to him, while you were still panting in another room.

Sanguinius struggled to maintain his composure- as anger, loathing and jealously all heated to a boil within him. He had tried to ignore the obvious fact for months that Horus could touch you so intimately, unlike him. But to have it shoved in his face, to flaunt what he can't have, Sanguinius wanted to do nothing more than rip away his hand and shove Horus away from him.

Out of all of them, Horus was one of the few who actually seemed to enjoy the chatter, the parties and the diplomacy. At least outwardly; Horus has always been very good at hiding how he actually feels. So of course he would be the one out of all of them to find someone. You were the daughter of a lord, owning one of the galaxy's largest trading ports. Some of the materials needed to make rations for the astartes comes from your homeworld. It worked perfectly; Horus had closer command over the ability to feed his ever growing legion, and you both had fallen for each other like star crossed lovers.

If his relationship with you was purely transactional, diplomatic, Sanguinius could feel less guilt slipping between to steal a moment of your time. But he's barely spoken to you without Horus around. You smile at him politely and given him the proper respect; He's heard you utter his titles with only respect and reverence. All the while you stay latched to Horus' arm, the two of you deeply in love; And you none the wiser that an angel pins for you.

Why does he need you so badly? Is it because he knows he can't have you? Or because you speak so sweetly, and he sees the way you look at Horus and he wants that for himself. He’s wanted it since the first time Horus introduced you.

Sanguinius will never forget the day Horus proclaimed you his beloved, and he realized he was too late.

Sanguinus throws his weight down on the edge of his bed with a thud, it creaking and complaining under his abuse. The fabric of his clothing wrinkles underneath him, bunching upward. He puts his head in his hands, elbows digging into his thighs.

He sits in silence, the feathers of his wings tight and pulled close to his body, until he shifts his legs and groans at the feeling.

He's been avoiding thinking about it. Hoping it would go away. He can feel how hard he is against his thigh, the smell of you had triggered something deep within him that was uncontrollable.

It wouldn't be the first time.

Almost angrily Sanguinius pulls at his clothing to free his cock, and groans angrily at the way he'd already leaked against his thigh. His one hand still supports his head as he wraps the other around his shaft, with little gentleness or care. Unlike what he would imagine you would do- with the soft, delicate fingers of your own hands.

He would be so gentle with you; His hands would never bruise you, his fangs would never scar you. Unless you wanted those things, to have him treat you roughly. Then he would of course oblige.

His fist tightly slides along his cock, other hand pushing a chunk of hair from his face. His leaned posture makes a pocket of hot air in front of his face, flushing his skin. His hips nudge forward, trying to drive himself deeper into the warmth of own hand. His thumb brushes over the head of his cock, his slit, and he bites the inside of his bottom lip.

If he had done differently, would you be with him instead? He remembers shortly before you’d met Horus mentioning he needed to speak with planetary governors and Sanguinius had gave a pitying laugh; If he'd joined Horus, would things have changed? Would you be wearing gold and red instead of green?

Sanguinius groans, feeling his cock throb in his hand. It's working, he feels himself getting closer and closer stomach getting tighter, but it isn't what he wants. It will work, but he knows well that it won't leave him satisfied. if anything he'll feel more empty than he was before, until it eventually fades for more pressing matters.

But stars, if he closes his eyes tight enough, clenches his hand enough, he can just maybe imagine what it would feel like if it was you. It isn't warm enough, tight enough, wet enough, but he can just barely trick himself. The feeling of you underneath him, of him slowly trying to push his cock into you; It would barely fit but he's sure if he went slow, you could take it. Your legs would struggle to fit his hips between them, but you would try to open your legs as wide as possible just to fit him.

You would sound enchanting the entire time, he's sure of it. Your voice is so soft and sweet in comparison to the booming voices he's used to, he'd struggle not to be overwhelmed by your soft cries as he fucked you and pushed you to your limit. He knows you would already be so tight, but to feel your cunt tighten around him as you came he's sure he'd barely be able to handle it; His hand moving quicker over his cock as he loses himself in his own imagination.

He would fill you to the absolute brim until you mewled helplessly, stuffed full of his own cum and forced open by his cock. Afterwards you'd look up at him- only him. Maybe you'd beg him for more, asking your angel to fuck you again and again and again until you could barely walking without feeling his cum leak down your thighs, dripping from your sore little cunt.

Or maybe you'd raise a hand up, tuck a piece of hair behind his ear as his crown braids unraveled, before you hand gently brushed along the soft feathers of his wings. You'd smile again, maybe laugh, and speak his name. He's only heard you say it twice, every other time you've always called him Lord Primarch, and he has that moment seared into his memory.

"Thank you, Sanguinius."

The angel swears, biting the inside of his cheek until he tastes the bitter iron of his own blood. His cock throbs and pulses as he finally cums on and over his hand, letting out an uncharacteristic moan at the feeling of overwhelming release as his hand continues to slide up and down his own cock to milk himself dry. He hadn't realized how long it had been since the last time he'd done this; He'd never felt much desire to until you.

Finally he dispels himself from his own memory and opens his eyes, instantly coming face to face with mess on the floor and staining his boots.

Sanguinius sighs. He is quite the angel.

He knows he should return to the Red Tear; They are due to depart and return to Baal. And you'll return with Horus to the Vengeful Spirit, laying in Horus' bed as the Warmaster kisses your skin, and not him.

Getting up he rustles his wings to right his feathers, adjusting his clothes. He finds something to clean the evidence of his shame away and then once he's done, he leaves his quarters to go pretend he is happy for Horus once more.

[starwrighter]

Dude, get a restraining order

(Masterpost) (Ao3 link) (Previous) (Next)

(Chappy #4)

The incompetence he bore witness to today rivaled that of which you’d see at an underfunded public school. This is a private school funded to the highest caliber! Damian hadn’t missed the dramatic increase in budget around the time Father enrolled him in the school. He’d been there when the press hounded him about it! The point was, that he knew for a fact that the school had the resources to accommodate a single transfer student!

With how poorly Daniel had been equipped to traverse the halls, one could only question if it were intentional. There was sure to be the inevitable mix-up with a student actually showing up for the transfer program. Usually, all they got was an announcement over the PA that all the potential transfers had not so politely declined the invitation. No rational parent would send their child to Gotham alone unless they were truly desperate, ignorant, or neglectful. 

Nothing could ever excuse what he’d seen today. You don’t hand a half-blind student a schedule with braille so radically different from the actual print by accident. It was a bat burger menu for gods sake! Someone had to have noticed when they handed it to him. In lieu of a recent spike of impairments involving vision and or hearing, every schedule had braille on it! Both sign language and braille had become their own optional after-school courses that upon completion, awarded a more than generous amount of extra credit. One didn’t even have to complete the course, all you had to do was pass multiple fluency tests, and then you were finished.

Most teachers knew either Braille or some form of sign language, and they all damn well would’ve known that the map was outdated! Fifty years outdated, you’d have to be a moron to hand that out by mistake. Though with what he was seeing now, he’s not quite sure the facility wasn’t primarily composed of scrambling idiots.

Mr. Rivers, ever the annoyance, had taken to only approaching Daniel from his blind side. It became more and more infuriating as class ticked by. The teacher shoved his body between the two of them, violating any semblance of personal space for the sole purpose of inconveniencing Daniel. Every time Mr. Rivers encroached on their personal space, Damian sharpened his pencil. Every time he made the other boy flinch, the idea of launching the pencil like one of his throwing knives became more and more appealing. No harm would’ve come to the teacher, the sight of a wooden pencil embedding itself in the wall mere inches away from his left eye would be more than enough to frighten the man. 

He’d face detention or possibly even suspension, but he’d take the punishment with pride. A smirk played on his lips as he tapped his pencil against his desk.

His smirk soon shifted into a scowl as yet another work packet was piled onto his desk. It was irritating, everything about this class was irritating. Daniel let out a dramatic groan beside him, the other boy slumping back in his chair. Worksheets were piled high on the boy's desk, some completed while most remained unfinished.

A ruler snapped down onto Daniel’s desk, a loud thwack! Startling the boy into sitting up straight.

“I guess I deserved that one,” Daniel shrugged.

“No you didn’t,” Damian replied flatly, but Daniel just shrugged it off. Most of the school facility were what most Gothamites would consider normal. Mr. River just had a generally detestable personality.

The man hated teenagers, often spewing complaints of their “rowdy behavior” and “lack of dedication,”. Damian might’ve agreed with those statements if it weren’t for the blatant lies in every word the man said. His classmates were…noisy and rather unpleasant for him to mingle with, but they were far from the “Lazy entitled brats” Mr. Rivers had painted them as. It’d be hypocritical for him of all people to judge the teacher based on being “mean” but the two of them couldn’t be farther apart.

 Damian was a hostile presence in the classroom, but he didn’t go out of his way to target and harass people for things they couldn’t control. People could choose to stay out of his personal space, and they could choose to not say dumb shit to his face. A mental or physical condition wasn’t something they could change, nor were they things that verbal and physical abuse would fix. This should've been common sense to anyone with two brain cells to strike together, but apparently, Darwinism had failed once again.

Mr. Rivers targeted Daniel based on his visual impairment. Every question was targeted at Daniel regardless if his had been raised or not. The man punctuated each sentence with a loud headache-inducing smack to his desk. He always struck on the boy’s blindside, never where he could see the ruler come down. Aside from the occasional flinch, Daniel took the abhorrent behavior in stride.

Concerning… It was one word he could use to describe Daniel's indifference. Completely unbothered, like this was just a typical Monday in class for him. Maybe his previous statement rang true, and he soulfully had experienced worse. That in itself was a concerning statement but made sense considering the context to that worse was engraved on his face. Everything the teacher did just seemed to roll off the other boy’s shoulders like water off a swan's back. A muttered comment of “his school counselor being worse than this teacher ever could be,” only serving to exasperate his concerns.

It was distracting… Every time Daniel gave him a reassuring smile, his heart pounded like hummingbird wings. Blood rushed to his cheeks, warming them like he’d just sat in front of a fireplace. As big of a deal as his siblings made of his apparent social ineptitude, Damian wasn’t an idiot.

How was he supposed to read people if he didn’t understand the emotions that drove their behavior? He’s a vigilante! He couldn’t be walking around uninformed about the basic spectrum of human emotion!

This was obviously what people would call a crush.

Grayson had been the one to attempt explaining crushes and relationships to him. It was a painfully awkward conversation to sit through. His brother spoke of love like a romcom, both cheesy and highly unrealistic. It was by sheer dumb luck Grayson had entered any form of relationship before, and a miracle any of them had lasted more than a week. Anyone with a dash of common sense could tell Grayson’s advice wasn’t a viable source of information. The number of times he’d been pulled aside by someone within earshot of conversation was enough for him to conclude his brother's brain was diluted by hallmark specials and fairytales.

Regardless of his elder brother's delusion, the conversation itself had been unnecessary. Romantic feelings had been explained to him from a very young age. From learning how these emotions could affect one's behavior to understanding not all people felt those feelings, and that was normal too. It was crucial for detective work to recognize the entire range of human emotions. 

Damian didn’t believe in love at first sight. He believed one could feel physical attraction for a person minutes or merely seconds after meeting, but love? How could you love someone you’ve only spent a minute with. Rushing in with that mindset was how you ended up courting someone you’d despise in the end. Outward appearances could tell you plenty about a person, but it wasn’t often you could read out someone’s entire character by reading their shirt. It could happen, but this wasn’t one of those cases.

He hadn’t even had a proper conversation with his seatmate yet. Rushing in at the first sign of attraction was an idiotic way to hurt himself emotionally. He’d need to tread through this carefully, learn more about Daniel, and proceed accordingly with the information he received. 

Glancing up at the clock, he scowled. Students discreetly packed their bags, fidgeting in their seats as they waited for the bell. Nobody liked being in Mr. Rivers's class. He was the type of teacher to pile a month's worth of homework onto any student unfortunate enough to have gotten their work done in a timely matter. Needless to say, Damian found himself with a thick stack of worksheets on his desk every class. Maybe if he were a little less spiteful, he would slack and draw out the original worksheet like everyone else did, but that would imply Mr. Rivers had gotten under his skin. 

Daniel tapped a thick stack of papers on his desk. His name scrawled shakily in graphite on each sheet. Much to his surprise, Daniel had completed every single worksheet their teacher had thrown at him. How he’d managed to do so in such a short amount of time was a mystery, but Damian was delighted nonetheless. 

The boy grinned, pride and a dash of spite written clear on his face. Damian had watched, enraptured at the subtle wilting of Mr.River’s face with every sheet he completed. The teacher had been far too dull to print out random worksheets for Daniel like he had with Damian. No, every single one of those pages was a part of the required curriculum assigned to transfer students. Work required to be graded and submitted no more than a week after submission. 

“Impressive,” Damian commented.

Daniel beamed, foxlike and giddy as he neatened the pile of paper. 

“If all that doesn’t go in the grade book, I’m starting a riot,” Daniel muttered. Damian didn’t doubt him. Tomorrow, Daniel would likely be piled with the same worksheets Damian was stuck with, papers that weren’t graded outside the original worksheet. 

“I’ll join you,” Planning a riot together would be the perfect activity for him to get to know Daniel more. One's true self tended to be clearer in times of war. 

“Hell yeah! Nothing like a less than peaceful protest to bring people together,” Daniel laughed, the bell rang and Daniel’s expression shifted to one of dread.

“I can walk you to your next class if you’d like,” He offered.

"That would be helpful,” A nervous but exasperated smile had wormed it’s way onto Daniel’s face, the other boy subconsciously running a hand through locks of black hair. "I don't think my map would've been all that helpful," He laughed.

Damian inspected their schedules. They shared lunch and a fourth-hour history class, but that was it. Daniel had earth science third hour while he had an art class. A disappointment, but an expected one. 

“Since you don’t have a valid map, I’ll come to pick you up around lunchtime,” He proclaimed as they rounded the corner.

“Sounds good,” With that they parted ways, Daniel giving him a quick wave paired with a smile that made his heart thrum before he stepped into the classroom.

With a sigh, Damian headed down to the first floor. Vibrant paintings and impossibly detailed pencil drawings lined the halls surrounding the art rooms. A giant mural around twelve feet across was the art students' prized project. Massive mountains and towering trees for everyone to see. An outdoor landscape painted with warm colors shifted to the cold colors of city skyscrapers and roads dimly illuminated by street lights. The mural itself took up almost the entire hallway. Not an inch of the remaining space remained bare. Overall, the first floor had more color than all the other floors combined.

Stepping into class, the smell of paint filled his nostrils. Watercolor stained the wooden tables, cracking paint and charcoal smears scattered across the workspace. Conversations from the previous classes were scrawled onto tables. A collaborative drawing between several students having been scribbled over with a conglomerate of charcoal and colored pencils.

The seats were the only part of the table that was mostly bare. Only a few pencil scribbles and scratches. Too many students' uniforms had been stained with dusty patches of charcoal and paint before drawing on the chairs was prohibited, and tarps were placed over them. 

Art was the one class students were mostly left to their own devices. Given full access to the entire range of supplies, with a vague instruction of showing off their progress at the end of class. A giant bookshelf was set up next to a metal wire shelf carrying baskets of various types of paper. The bookshelf was filled to the brim with any and all books art-related. From beginner to expert, sculpting to painting, realism to cartoonism, a book was there to teach you about it. It was against the rules to draw inside any of the books, but post-it notes were stuck to every page of every book. 

Students filtered in like blood slowly oozing from a paper cut. Quiet chatter filled the room, their teacher sitting calmly at his desk. Damian sat with his new sketchbook, staring daggers at the plethora of empty pages. Sounds of cabinets opening and paintbrushes clinking against glass mugs were his background noise. Pencils scratched against paper, soft searching lines filling a blank page, slowly shaping Daniels's features.

From his sharpened canines to the dimples on his cheeks. To the messy way he swept his hair to the side to the light freckles dusted across his face. Drawing Daniel’s scarring proved to be quite difficult. Intricate branches of scar tissue never seemed to look right when he had them on paper, and it frustrated him to no end. When he finally got it right, he could’ve collapsed right there. It was far from the perfection he was aiming for, but he’d have a reference photo by the end of the day to solve that plight. 

This drawing would be more than enough if Daniel turned out to be an… unpleasant individual.

[darylas]

Chapter 2 - It’s Only a Paper Moon

John “Bucky” Egan x singer!fem!reader previous ♫ next ♫ ao3

Bucky is realizing that your performance doesn't end when you leave the stage, but he's determined to see what lies under the mask.

1.8k words

Warnings: Language, Smoking, Bucky being a little shit

Disclaimer: Most of the characters mentioned are based on the dramatic portrayal featured in the Masters of the Air limited series, not the actual historical figures they represent.

You stood outside the officers' club, slouching against the back wall and using one hand to massage your cheeks. Before joining the American Red Cross and moving overseas, you’d never realized just how sore one’s face could get from smiling all day long. How tired one could become of the sound of their own false laughter. Never appreciated just how valuable a quiet moment alone could really be. 

Your days at Thorpe Abbotts had quickly grown monotonous, though you supposed that rehearsing and performing with the band multiple days a week made your experience a bit more unique than the other volunteers’. 

For you, the most difficult part of the job was not waking up before dawn to prepare doughnuts and coffee for the airmen, though you were counting down the days until your next morning off.

It also wasn’t the fact that you and your fellow ARC girls were nothing less than amateur psychiatrists, offering a comforting and listening ear to soldiers who were fresh out of combat to process their violent experiences. You felt that you had become quite adept at keeping your attitude from being too bright, thus seeming uncaring, or too sympathetic, which might evoke even darker emotions from the soldier. Thanks to these revealing conversations, you came to know a lot more than you anticipated about the horrors of war.

It certainly wasn’t performing in front of large crowds; you had always been good at that. 

No, for you the most draining aspect of your job was moments like this one, the moments between musical numbers. Making small talk, smiling at all times, laughing at the same joke you’d already been told at least thirty times as if it were the funniest thing you’d ever heard. Truthfully, it felt like a much grander performance than anything you’d ever done on stage. Ever since you were a child, you cherished your alone time and preferred genuine, intellectual conversation to what felt like pointless small talk. At this point, the mask you wore during these moments seemed to be plastered to your face at all times. You would never reveal this to the men, of course. This was why you were here, to give these brave men a piece of home and to raise morale. 

Of course, while ARC girls were expected to attend parties and socialize, they were not required to accept every invitation. While most of the men were harmless and polite, there were some who you would prefer to avoid interaction with altogether. Major Egan being one of them. 

You had always been one to trust your instincts about a person, and something about the major kept you at a distance. For one, he was full of himself, or at least he seemed to be. You supposed that was not uncommon in young officers with higher ranks. For another thing, word spread among the women fast enough for you to know that a dance with John Egan often didn’t end once the music stopped. You had no interest in being anyone’s conquest of the month. 

Right now, you knew you had a few minutes before your next number. You had been able to sneak out for a moment with the rather poor excuse of needing some fresh air to boost your lung volume and vocal control. You took out your sad little lighter and a cigarette from one of the packs of four rationed to each soldier. This pack was gifted to you by a young private who said he didn’t smoke. Fresh air, indeed. 

You flipped open the lid and thumbed the wheel once, twice, three times with no flame. You kept trying, but the damn thing still wouldn’t light. “Oh for crying out loud, you goddamn son of a b-”

“Need a light?”

═════ ♫ ═════

Bucky watched you transform before his eyes. Your posture went from slouched to straight-backed; your expression from one of annoyance and frustration to unnervingly neutral. You could certainly teach a thing or two about standing at attention to many of the airmen under his command. He had to stop himself from saying “At ease, soldier.” While it was impressive, it was not the reception he had been hoping for. 

“Major Egan,” you said. “I’m sorry, I thought I was alone out here.” 

“Yeah, I gathered that,” he replied, pulling his Zippo out of his pocket. “And you can call me Bucky.” He ignited the lighter. 

You glanced at the flame and then back at him gratefully before lighting your cigarette. “Thank you for the light, but if you don’t mind I would prefer to continue addressing you professionally.” 

“Oh, well in that case, you can call me John. Mind if I have a smoke with you?” he asked, already taking out a cigarette and putting it in his mouth. 

Bucky noticed a slight pause before you replied, “Of course not, but wouldn’t you rather join everyone else in the club? From what I gather, you’re often the life of the party.” You looked toward the door. 

Bucky grinned. “I don’t know about that. Since you started singing here, I’d say you’ve earned that title yourself.” He leaned against the wall next to you, though you were now standing straight. “‘Sides, I see too much of those guys as it is. Trust me, you’re much better company.” He winked. 

You exhaled a cloud of smoke and said “You’re too kind,” then gave him a close-mouthed smile. You looked away and tapped your foot absent-mindedly to the muted sound of the lively music coming from inside. Bucky took a drag of his own cigarette. You remained quiet, the tapping of your foot on the gravel and the muted jazz tune being the only sounds for several seconds. Bucky frowned. Every other Red Cross girl he interacted with made small talk, asking him questions about his home town, listening excitedly as he talked about baseball. Hell, you had more to say to your dead lighter than you did to him. 

It appeared that flattery was not the key to unlocking your clearly well-protected personality. It didn’t convince you to dance with him the other night, and it certainly wasn’t working now. He scoffed to himself. Buck would smirk and say that he should’ve asked Bubbles for advice before making another attempt with you. 

He could give up. Accept the fact that you clearly didn’t like him, go inside, and have a drink with the boys. 

Or he could try something else. Something Buck would call him a loony for even thinking.

Looking straight ahead, he said, “Don’t, uh, don’t they interview you Red Cross girls? Before you can come overseas? I thought the ones that got sent over here had to have killer personalities or somethin’.” He glanced toward you while taking another drag. 

Your brow furrowed and you turned your head toward him. “I beg your pardon?”

There you are.

“Aww, you don’t gotta beg me, sweetheart. It’s okay, I get that not everybody is cut out for this.” He gestured with the hand holding his cigarette. “I just find it odd that you made the cut. I was under the impression that the competition to get this position was pretty fierce, but maybe there are fewer girls gunnin’ for it than I thought.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, keeping a serious expression on his face.

You narrowed your eyes and slightly cocked your head to the side. “I expect you to apologize for that, Major.” 

Bucky nodded quickly and tossed his cigarette on the ground before crushing the butt beneath his heel. “You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry about that.” He leaned against the wall once again, this time facing you. “I’m sure you’re doing the best you can. You do seem a little tired.” He looked at you sympathetically, then glanced down to watch you bite your bottom lip. Miraculously, he was able to tear his gaze away to look you in the eyes again, not wanting to miss your reaction.

After a few more seconds of tense silence, you looked away and disposed of your cigarette. “Thank you again for the light. I’m going inside.” You walked toward the door. 

What the hell was that?

He must have inadvertently spoken the question aloud, because you abruptly turned around and raised an eyebrow at him. He started to apologize for cursing at you, but instead he said, “You’re not gonna say anything? Not a ‘how dare you?’ Not gonna call me a goddamn son of a bitch? Or do you just save that fire for your lighter?” You continued to watch him silently. “I guess you also save all the laughs and dances for every other guy here.” He pointed hard with both index fingers to his chest. “But me? Oh, lucky me, I get nothin’.” He stopped talking and looked at you with anticipation, both of his brows raised.

You finally shrugged and said, “I suppose I’m just too tired,” then started again for the door. Bucky forced himself to unclench his jaw and pry his feet from their current spot. He hurried to beat you to the door and hold it open for you. 

You muttered a quiet “thank you” as you walked through, but before you could get far into the crowded room, Bucky was once again by your side. 

“You know, I got a theory,” he said, his voice a little brighter than it had been just moments ago.

Whether you had meant for him to or not, he heard you let out a huff from your nose. “Oh, please,” you said under your breath.

“I told you, you don’t have to beg me, sweetheart.” He continued. “I think you know that if you dance with me, you’ll realize I’m not such a bad guy,” he said, leaning in quite close to you but giving you enough space to back away. You didn’t. “I think you’re scared you’ll like it.” 

You didn’t blush or move away. Instead, you maintained eye contact as the band began playing It’s Only a Paper Moon. You responded with that polite, cryptic smile that was beginning to drive him nuts, and said softly, “I guess we’ll never know.” 

You didn’t wait for him to reply before making your way toward the microphone. The crowd cheered eagerly as they saw you approach. You beamed at the crowd and began to sing. 

Say it’s only a paper moon

Sailing over a cardboard sea

You motioned to the crowd to sing along with you for the next line, a silent command that everyone except Bucky obeyed wholeheartedly. For once, he was the only person in the room not singing. 

But it wouldn’t be make-believe

If you believed in me

As the band played a brief interlude, you said into the microphone, “Wow, you all sound fabulous. I’m not sure why they’ve got me up here. Heck, they aren’t even paying me.” The crowd laughed and remained enraptured with your performance. As burnt up as he was feeling, Bucky couldn’t help hanging onto every note. As he watched you sing and smile and joke, he had one thought run continuously through his mind.

Just who the hell is this woman?

A/N: This one's for my fellow masking introverts. Yeah so Bucky decided to use kindergarten tactics on reader. Next chapter, he pushes her off the swings. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!

[byuno-o]

ASTRO OBSERVATIONS I'VE OBSERVED (mostly about moon placements)

NOTE: PERSONAL OBSERVATIONS. HENCE, MIGHT NOT BE APPLICABLE FOR EVERYONE. ONLY FOR ENTERTAINMENT. HENCE, DISCRETION IS ADVISED. DO PROVIDE FEEDBACKS, I LOVE IT. :)

I have seen people with strong emotional responses having strong mars and debilitated moon placements. For example, one having strong Mars placements or degrees, in Mars ruled houses such as Scorpio mars and Aquarius moon might end up expressing their anger in a scathing way, you know: the kind of people who just know what to say to hurt you, or pull tricks which might be fatal for everyone surrounding them?

As much as I love my fellow Pisces, I just need to put this out: you need to put into the work in order to actually manifest what you want. You cannot just sit and wish for good things to come to you while you don't work on yourself.

Also, my friends with Pisces moons have a tendency to avoid the problems plaguing them, but they seem to become the biggest helpers when it comes to solving other people's problems. I often wonder if I should laugh for having such cool friends in times or need or cry for having friends who could careless for their own problems which in turn become the reason for their sufferings.

4) My Mom is have Taurus mars, and boy when they tell you that people with Taurus mars are the most chillest people you'll ever meet until you cross them the wrong way.

5) My father and I share the same moon sign, and I think he's the evolved version of Leo moon. I have this theory that a person's emotional evolvement is often related to their moon sign's sister sign. For example, my father has a Leo moon, but he rationalizes his emotions like an Aquarius moon would, keep things bottled up, and when he really has to speak, he'd speak about his emotions in a practical way--and often talk about the root causes as if he's delivering a motivational speech on self improvement.

6) on the other hand, my brother (youngest one) has Aquarius moon, and he is very dramatic, takes every word as a jab and has a very regal aura to him. Another example would be my two guy friends who have capricorn moon and cancer moon, and weirdly enough, the capricorn one is more emotionally charged than the cancer one, who is very mature when it comes to handing his emotions. The capricorn one is very sneaky, and is very petty to the ones who hurt him (I find it funny most of the time that he act like he is unfazed only to go to his social media and post shit about the person) It gives 'very mindful. But the cancer one is very nurturing, very motherly and respectful--even to the ones who disagree to him (he often debates a lot and often end up in verbal brawls) Although he can be scathing too.

7) Also, regarding the moon signs, I can see the changes forming within me these days. My solar return for this year has aquarius moon in my fourth house, and I have mellowed down, and feel very emotionally connected to my mother specially.

8) People with harsh aspects between their moon signs and saturn constantly fights against their own emotions, it's often like the fight between their mind and their heart. Hence they might try to be practical, but often end up expressing themselves in an opposite way.

9) I often imagine people with Libra moon with having a heart of gold, the 'very demure, very mindful' types. If they were to have their dark sides, I would think manipulations, and twisting words would be it. Do lemme know your thoughts on this.

10) With all my friends studying with me: we're in a creative field, I have noticed a pattern, their art preferences, and their dislikes regarding some aspects of art, are closely related to their moon signs. I have seen the ones having Sag moons gravitate towards creating pieces with many greens and purples, you know? Ecobrutalism but with a dash of futurism too? The most original ones in my opinions are the ones with pisces, leo and scorpio moons. my friends with those moon signs happened to always bring something new to the table. The most consistent ones with a very definitive art style are IMO, capricorn moon and cancer moon and aquarius moon. They'll make it happen, however.

THAT'S IT FOR TODAY. I HAVE BEEN AWAY FOR TOO LONG THAT THE OBSERVATIONS I HAD MADE (MOST OF 'EM) HAVE BEEN LOST. I NEED TO KEEP A NOTEBOOK OR SOMETHING. HEHEHEHE. DO LET ME YOUR THOUGHTS ON THIS, AND YEAH, I WHOLEHEARTEDLY WANT TO HAVE DISCUSSIONS COS BOY I NEED TO IMPROVE.

[shitouttabuck]

i'm a thigh girlie but i'm also a squishy kind of guy so if either 18 or 52 take your fancy for the prompts 👉👈

some sleepy stuff <3

touch prompts: 18 squishing the others cheek + 52 gripping thigh

might as well be drunk in love

Buck might be the most responsible Maid of Honour to have ever existed in the history of Maids of Honour. He told himself that half an hour ago when Ravi crowed FOMO, motherfucker at him post-Chim and Maddie’s rehearsal dinner, after Buck had sensibly and maturely taken his leave from the wedding party’s continued celebrations to get in a solid seven hours of shuteye—he’s the only one who has to be up at basically the crack of dawn to start getting things in order for the actual wedding at noon.

He tells himself that now as he pulls the thick comforter up to his neck, stretching his toes against the footboard and sighing. The empty double bed across from his own just seems to mock him, though, a reminder that Eddie’s probably knocking back the white wine Karen’s got him enjoying lately, almost certainly pink-cheeked and loose-hipped and laughing prettier than any music, only three floors below Buck right this very minute. FOMO, motherfucker indeed.

It's fine, Buck reasons, only somewhat grumpily. He’d be much more upset with himself for being too tired to be on top of things for Maddie’s big day tomorrow than he is for missing out on drinking with his friends and staring moonily at his best friend as covertly as alcohol will allow. Besides, he’s going to do just that tomorrow night anyway, with the added bonus of no pre-wedding stress. This was a good decision, the right decision, Buck is rational and correct and will have no sympathy for anyone nursing hangovers and sleep deprivation when they’re supposed to be setting out chairs and place cards at the reception tomorrow.

Somewhere between one grumbled thought and the next, he must fall asleep. It’s only a while later that the creak of the hotel room door cuts through his fuzzy dreamscape. He stays half-submerged, but Eddie trips over something and swears under his breath, and Buck swims groggily to the surface of consciousness.

He doesn’t bother cracking open an eye, listening instead to the gentle thumps and bumps of Eddie getting undressed and ready for bed. He’s almost lulled back to sleep by the sounds of it: the quiet snick of the toothpaste cap opened and shut, the whoosh of the tap running, the click as Eddie switches off the bathroom light, the rustle of sheets as he climbs into—Buck’s bed?

Buck forces one eye open then, but it’s moot since yes, Eddie does seem to be getting into Buck’s bed, except from behind Buck, so all that Buck is aware of is the sudden gust of cool air against the backs of his calves as Eddie lifts the duvet, and then the mattress is dipping and Buck’s warm again, because—because Eddie’s plastered along his back.

It’s not an accidental mix-up of beds either, because Eddie wastes no time slinging an arm around Buck’s waist, his hold loose but—there. Very much there.

“Uh. Eddie?” Buck whispers, voice rough from sleep. He clears his throat gently, pausing and straining to listen when Eddie mumbles something unintelligible. How drunk is he? Does he think Buck’s someone else? That’s—if that’s true… He broke up with Ana nearly two years ago, and there hasn’t been anyone serious since, not the scattered dates here and there, so—if it’s any of them Eddie thinks he’s getting into bed with? That would… suck.

But then Eddie says, “What, Buck,” muffled and sleepy into Buck’s shoulder.

The warmth that instantly blooms in his chest takes Buck by surprise, a little, and he feels his body automatically relax against Eddie, unaware he’d been holding it tight in the first place. Still, the confusion lingers.

“Oh. You’re—uh.” Should he—say something? Why would he say something, though. Just because this isn’t something they do… Eddie’s clearly fine with this, initiating this, and Buck—there’s never a time Buck doesn’t want this, want this bad. So why would he say you have a bed right there and come off as a dick when they’re both perfectly fine with this.

Or, worse in ways that are both hysterical and heartbreaking, come off as vaguely homophobic or make Eddie uncomfortable about the way he’s currently spooning Buck like he’s been doing it all his life.

He settles for a lighthearted, “Are you drunk?”

Eddie sighs sleepily, breath tickling Buck’s neck. “Yeah. Kinda.”

Okay. That’s fine. Their friendship is no stranger to physical touch, casual shoulder bumps and easy hip checks and full-body hugs. Eddie doesn’t need a reason to be looser with his affection, obviously, especially not where Buck is concerned, but if he did? What better combination than too many drinks and being at a wedding for their friends and family? Buck’s all too familiar with the love having to go somewhere, and if this is where Eddie wants to put it tonight? Buck’ll take it gladly and be a little moonier about it than planned tomorrow.

Eddie worms a hand under Buck’s sleep shirt, tracing his abdomen with his fingertips. Buck shivers. Okay, so not entirely platonic, but Eddie’s drunk. That blurs the lines of a good cuddle. Buck will resign his sorry ass to a night of his best friend being lovingly handsy in the spirit of friendship and lovesickness.

Eddie’s palm moves higher, ghosting across Buck’s sternum. His thumb catches against Buck’s nipple, and they both still for a second, Buck holding his breath. Then Eddie does it again, a lazy rub against it that has Buck swallowing and shifting his hips. Entirely not platonic, actually, any way you look at it.

Then, as sudden as his treacle-slow movements can be, Eddie’s hand ceases its exploratory tracing and taps once, twice, over Buck’s heart as he presses himself more firmly against Buck’s back, a lazy, languid stretch.

“Eddie,” Buck says. “What’s—are you—I’m—”

There’s a pause, and then Eddie relaxes his body away from Buck. “Hey,” he mumbles. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Buck replies without thinking, immediately reaching back for Eddie, hand stretched to pull him back close. “But—what’s—why right now?”

“Why not right now,” Eddie grumbles, sinking back into his place along Buck’s body with an ease that makes Buck screw his eyes shut tight again for a second. “Should’ve been right now many nows ago.”

“What?” Buck asks, genuinely a little lost as he throttles the rising bubble of hope inside him, squeezing just enough to still it without popping.

Eddie exhales heavily and with feeling, making sure Buck hears the exact amount of put out he is to be having this conversation when they could be sleeping, and Buck loves every disgruntled cell in his body.

“Your maid-of-honour speech,” Eddie yawns. “You said—you said you once had a conversation wi’ Maddie about—about love. About how it should be—you’re at your worst and they are too and still—you don’t give up. On each other. On… what you have. You try again.”

Buck hums. “Think they’ve had more worsts than a lot of people. Love that you fight for in the face of all that—or helps you through the face of all that? That’s. Yeah.”

“Chim showed me his vows. About—how he wishes there wasn’t hurt behind th’ reason f’r it, but he loved getting t’ be Maddie’s friend first, you know?” Eddie’s voice is a sleepy slur, murmured almost directly into Buck’s ear with the way he’s holding him. “Even when he wasn’t sure they were ever gonna be anything but. Someth’n—something about trust like that—I dunno. It’s easier when you’re friends.”

“Eddie—”

“My worst, Buck. And you walk right through the door and stay. And, and friends do that, but—I’m not imaginin’ this. Karen told me I’m not and she’s wise. She’s a lesbian. And a rocket scientist. In that order.”

The hope-bubble slips out of the grasp he has on it with a cheerful blown-raspberry sound, rising and rising inside him. Eddie’s hand is hot against his bare chest, and Eddie is comparing Chimney’s wedding vows to how he sees Buck in his own life, and Eddie’s drunk but Buck doesn’t think there’s much room for misinterpretation.

Buck’s not said anything, and before he can speak to assuage any presumably already-minimal doubts Eddie has, Eddie sighs loudly.

“Okay, this is not working. Turn over.” He tugs on Buck’s arm as he rolls over himself.

Buck shifts onto his other side slowly, carefully, a crescent around Eddie’s curled body. Close, but not touching.

“Buck,” Eddie huffs, flailing a hand back to grab his thigh, fingers digging into the meat of it. He yanks it forward, hitching it over his own hip so Buck’s flush against him from the ass-upwards.

When Buck doesn’t automatically hold him, Eddie twists his head to glare blearily over his shoulder. It’s the first time they’ve made eye contact since he entered the room, and his eyes are glassy when they meet Buck’s.

“Hello,” he says. “What’s a guy gotta do to get some cuddling around here.”

Buck laughs, surprised, and Eddie smiles, smug as he turns away and settles in again, like that was his only intention. And Buck gets it, he desperately wants this to just be—to just be it, you know, to have this be the way it happens, to wrap his arms around Eddie and wake up tangled together, to not second guess anymore, but it’s late and Eddie’s been drinking and they’re at a wedding with all the wedding emotions in the air—

His leg hiked over Eddie’s means his crotch is mashed into Eddie’s ass, and Eddie’s wriggling back in an attempt to snuggle into him and—

“Eddie,” he says. “Maybe this isn’t—”

“Ugh,” Eddie says. He turns around to grab Buck’s cheek, squeezing gently. Buck winces, all for show, before his face goes completely slack because Eddie’s planting a sloppy kiss that really only lands on forty percent of Buck’s mouth, hot and minty and lifechanging.

“Right,” Buck says, strained. He takes a deep breath, eyes squeezed shut, before opening them and placing a soft kiss on Eddie’s forehead, brushing his hairline. “It’s just—you’re drunk—I don’t want you to—”

He’s cut off by Eddie rolling his eyes and flipping back around into little spoon position.

“Yeah, well, that’s kind of the thing, Buck,” he sighs, grunting as he shifts to get comfortable. He manoeuvres Buck’s arm around his waist, pulls it up against his own chest, grip firm but still with a relaxed certainty to it. “I loved you this morning when I was undercaffeinated and being bullied into redoing flower arrangements, and I loved you this evening when I thought I had indigestion from those cheese puffs, and I love you right now when I’m drunk, and I’ll love you tomorrow when I’m hungover and miserable about it. I’m in the prime of my life, I shouldn’t be facing these kinda drinkin’ consequences at thirty-three, Jesus.”

Buck shelves the kneejerk comment about Jesus probably being the biggest advocate for getting wine-drunk in your early thirties even though focusing on any of the other words Eddie’s just said might result in his own spontaneous combustion and instead says, “Oh.”

“’Oh’,” Eddie mimics, half-asleep but no less bitchy for it. “Yeah, oh. I’ll do the—the sobriety test for you in the morning if you still want, but can we go to sleep now?”

They can, and they do, and when Buck’s alarm goes off at six am, they blink awake with Eddie curled against Buck’s chest, hand once again stuck up his shirt.

“Mmmh,” he insists, bearing down when he feels Buck try to get up.

“Eddie, I gotta go set up.”

“Gotta—no, thanks,” Eddie replies, clinging harder.

Buck huffs a laugh, any trepidation he had about Eddie’s wants upon waking easing away. “Maid-of-honour duties wait for no one.”

“Maid-of-honour, schmaid-of-honour,” Eddie tells him, muffled into his chest. “What about your loving me duties. It’s a full-time job, you know.”

“Can do that with my eyes closed,” Buck says, “and I’m great at multi-tasking this maid-of-honour stuff, but I need my eyes open for the rest of it.”

Eddie ducks his head, as if to hide his smile, but Buck feels it where it’s pressed into his chest anyway. “Fine.”

There’s a beat, and then he’s propping his chin up to peer at Buck. “Also—for sobriety test’s sake. Hi. Also, I didn’t really let you get a word in last night…”

He doesn’t look nervous or unsure, just kind of sheepish. His hair is sticking up in fluffy clumps and there’s a crease along his right cheek and Buck can love him with his eyes closed but he’s so very glad they’re open, because this is a million times better.

“You really didn’t, huh. How the tables turn—ow, Eddie,” he breaks off as Eddie digs his fingers into his ribs. “For sobriety’s sake—” He hauls Eddie up, and Eddie goes with an oof that’s sighed right into Buck’s mouth. His lips are soft and chapped against Buck’s, much more coordinated but just as purposeful as they were last night when they move against him.

The kissing is lazy, early morning stuff, gentle and easy. When Eddie yawns into it, Buck pulls away, running his hands down Eddie’s sides.

“I really gotta go,” Buck tells him, trying to extricate himself. “Go back to sleep.”

“Yes boss,” Eddie finally allows, rolling over to mash his face into a pillow.

He finds Buck setting out the flower arrangements only an hour later, though, and he’s got with him a kiss and a coffee and, true to his word, a love that persists through hangovers and weddings and drunkenness that’s not his own. Through every wildly outrageous and terribly boring moment of the rest of their lives, actually; the best and the worst and everything in between. A love that stays, and stays, and stays.

(read on ao3)