#I just feel like I can breathe for the first time in a few years and that’s so so very nice

[ashwhowrites]

Yay! Requests are open!!! Can I get a smutty Eddie fic, where the reader is pregnant and they have sex, and it ends up inducing her labor. I feel like after the initial panic of "it's happening! it's happening!" Eddie would be so smug about it lol

I love this. I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

No idea how the process of labor is so this might be very unrealistic

⚠️smut, daddy and momma nicknames

A bit of daddy's help

Y/N had been pregnant for a very long nine months. Her belly was huge and she could barely move around. At first she loved being pregnant, but now she wanted that baby out.

Eddie loved her pregnant glow, and he didn't want it to end. He loved helping her and being right beside her. He adored that she was growing their baby and he was happy it was with her.

He did feel bad for her. He knew how much it tore her body down, and how tired it made her. He did his best help. He rubbed her feet, he helped her walk, and he'd hold her stomach just to give her some relief. He'd do anything she asked.

~~~

"Still no baby," she grumbled as she wobbled out of the bathroom. "Spicy food? No go."

Eddie sat on the bed, with a sad smile.

"I'm sorry, baby." He said, she made her way on the bed. He held the blanket up as she slid in.

She sighed tiredly as the small movement sucked all the energy out of her. Eddie softly rubbed her stomach as he tried to soothe her.

"He'll come when he's ready" he said but her eyes snapped to him with a glare.

"He's on my time and I want him out now!" She growled.

Eddie tried to bite back his smile as he looked at her annoyed face.

"I know," he said, he leaned in and pecked her lips softly. He continued to rub her stomach, watching as her breathing calmed. "Was there anything else to try?" He asked. They have been through most of the list the doctor gave them but he wasn't sure what was left.

"There's one more thing," she said as she smiled. Her hand rested on top of his that was on her stomach.

"what's that?" Eddie asked

"Sex"

Eddie felt like his prayers were answered. A huge smile broke across his face.

"On it"

She laughed as he immediately stripped off his shirt. His tattooed chest came into sight as she felt herself already getting warm.

He leaned back down and held her face as he softly pressed his lips against hers. The kiss started sweet and gentle, but it didn't last long. Her hands were in his hair as he deepened the kiss. He kept one hand on her face as he slipped his tongue inside of her mouth. She moaned as she felt his tongue working against hers. He let his other hand wander down her body, slipping underneath her night tank top as he rubbed her belly.

The more he touched her, the more the kiss got hungry. Eddie having a huge pregnancy kink wasn't a shock to either of them. He waited years to fuck her without a condom, to fill her up with his cum. He craved to watch her belly grow and knowing it tied them together for life. He loved that anyone would see her on the street and know she was owned.

He pulled away for a few seconds before he kissed her again. Her left hand worked down his neck and down his back. He shivered as he felt her wedding ring tickle his skin, a reminder she was his for life.

He moaned as her tongue took charge of the kiss, and her right hand yanked on his hair as she pulled away.

"Ready to show me what you got, Daddy?" she purred

Eddie shivered at the name, his cock twitching in his boxers.

"Did you forget I'm the one responsible for the noise complaints? For filling you up so fucking good you got pregnant?" He challenged, a smirk on his face as he felt her body shudder.

He took his time to strip off her clothes. Removing her tank top and groaning at the sight of her swollen breasts and nipples. He reached forward, gently kissing the skin and flicking her nipples with his tongue. She moaned at the feeling, her hands in his hair. He moved down to her stomach, his big hands rubbing her bump as he kissed all around.

He didn't stay there long, removing his lips to strip the rest of her clothes, her hands losing the grip of his hair. He softly trailed up her legs, teasing her as he made it up to her thighs. He slowly trailed down her shorts. He enjoyed how she whimpered as she grew impatient. Then he tugged down her underwear, smiling at the sight of her puffy cunt.

"Gorgeous," he pissed as his lips softly kissed her clit. She jolted and her hands went back to his hair.

He didn't spend too much time between her legs. He knew both of them were so turned on that foreplay wasn't needed. But he still had to have a little taste. His mouth sucked on her clit as his fingers slipped inside of her.

Her head was thrown back as his skilled tongue and fingers worked together. She gripped at his hair and wanted to lift her hips but her body was too heavy. He made the most of it, his head twisting back and forth as he let his tongue touch everywhere.

She panted when he came back up for air. His chin soaked in her wetness, she clawed at his chest from the sight. He wiped his mouth and slammed his lips against hers, his fingers slipping out of her.

"Ready?" He breathed out, his body on top of her as he panted. His brown eyes look into hers for an honest answer.

"Yes," she said without a beat.

Eddie smiled and took off his boxers, lazily tossing them anywhere. He helped her turn on her side, then he went behind her. His lips were on her neck as he lifted her leg and placed it over his hip.

He listened to her sounds as he trailed his hand down and rubbed her swollen clit, she was so sensitive that she felt everything intensely. He rubbed her clit then slipped his pulsing cock inside of her.

He let out a loud moan as he continued to slip inside of her, her hands gripped the pillows as he sat fully inside of her. He was slow and soft at first, making sure she was comfortable. His left hand was under her head and his right played with her clit.

She loved feeling his hard chest against her back, the feeling of it slamming against her with each thrust. She could feel her eyes in the back of her head from feeling his hot breath against her neck. His growls and groans right into her ear.

"Love fucking you. Always feel so good wrapped around me," his words were hot in her ear as she shook. She whined at the compliments, her brain mush as she felt her body being taken care of in ways only her husband could.

"Just wanted Daddy's help to have a baby, huh?" He teased, he wished he had another hand available to rub her stomach. He was obsessed.

"Yes," she moaned, "yes, yes" her moans got louder as he went faster.

He could feel his heavy balls slamming against her. He didn't want to be too rough, clenching his jaw as he held himself back. This wasn't about him, it was to help her and help her have an orgasm.

"Need," she whimpered, her arm reaching back to touch him. She let her head wander until she felt his head. She gripped his hair as he growled louder.

"Need to cum?" He asked, his lips on her cheek

His fingers worked faster on her clit as she nodded. "Please,"

"Be daddy's good momma and cum all over me. Cum all over my fat cock,"

His words washed over like her orgasm. She felt that snap in her body as she gasped. The feeling went from head to toe as she came. Eddie fucked her through it, his fingers faster than ever against her clit as her leg shook on his hip.

When her moans turned to whines, he pulled his hand away. Softly thrusting inside of her, slowing down until his hips came to a full stop.

He slipped his soaked, still red and hard cock out of her.

"How was that?" Eddie panted as he moved her leg off of him and turned her on her back. His sweaty back against the mattress, he turned his head to look at her.

"Reminds me why I got pregnant in the first place," she laughed as she turned her head to look at him.

She squirmed as she took in his sweaty hair, his big smile with his perfect teeth, and the way his cheeks scrunched up. Her eyes moved down to his chest as it moved up and down quickly. Down his happy trail, following the line of hair, his dark curls and his thin hips peeked out from the sheet. The rest of his body was covered under the thin material.

"And that look reminds me why I got you pregnant," Eddie's chuckle turned into a moan as she turned her body and attached her lips to his neck.

"I don't feel anything, let's go again." She said against his skin

"Why don't we give it a second? We don't know how long it could take," Eddie explained through quiet groans as her hand began to travel down his chest. He could feel her cold wedding band against his hot skin, making him shiver.

He whined as she pulled her lips away, and her hand stopped right above his hard cock.

"I'm sorry. Are you saying you don't want to have sex again?" Her tone was accusing but she knew her husband. If sex was on the table, he was grabbing a chair.

"I just don't want to overdo it," he said softly

"Yeah I guess you're right," she sighed disappointed. She pulled herself away with a loud huff.

"We've been together for four years and married for one, and now you pick to listen to me?" Eddie asked in disbelief. "Come ride me, momma." He said with a smile as he tossed the sheet off of him.

She squealed with delight as she started to sit up, he helped her love gently and slowly. He eased her body on top of his, rubbing her thighs to soothe her as she got into the right position.

"I knew you wouldn't say no," she said with a smug smile, placing her hands on his hard chest.

"What's that saying?" he teased, his hot lips attaching to her neck. "Momma knows best?" she shuddered as he nipped at her skin.

He shuddered as she grabbed his cock, pumping it inside her hand before she lined his tip with her entrance.

His head fell against her chest as she sunk down on him, she took her hands off his chest. She leaned back and placed her palms on his thighs. The muscular and hairy skin underneath her hands.

He picked up his head as she softly began to move herself on top of him. He moved his left hand to hold her hip, softly encouraging her as she rolled her hips.

His right hand went straight for her bump. He softly rubbed her stomach as his eyes watched her body. Her eyes closed with bliss, the sweat on her hairline and the sweat that dripped down her chest.

Her body was a work of art and it always captivated him.

"So glad I married you," he smiled as he reached forward and cupped her face. Making her press her lips against him, her hands on his chest to balance. He felt her smile into the kiss.

He let her go back into her comfortable position, her hands back on his thighs. He clenched them as she gripped, her nails dug into the skin.

He reached forward and rubbed her clit.

The immediate touch was almost enough to make her cum. She panted hard as she lifted her hips as fast as she could to slam back down.

With a few more touches to her clit and Eddie bucking his hips up, had her cumming all over again.

But this time

She felt more than just cum soaking them, then he followed after. Moaning as he came inside of her.

"Is that?" Eddie asked, his eyes wide as he looked at the sheets.

"Stand me up!" She rushed out.

Eddie was quick to lift up her hips, his cum now adding to the mess below. He panicked as he slipped out from under her, he grabbed her hands and helped her off the bed.

As she stood, more liquid came out of her.

"It's happening!" She panicked, her eyes scared as she looked at her husband.

"Shh, it's okay! Let's get you dressed." He was quick to slip a shirt of his on her and some clean boxers.

He kissed her face, a big smile on his face.

"We're having a baby!" He said in awe

"NOT HERE! GET ME IN THE CAR!" she screamed.

He nodded and dressed himself as fast as he could. He grabbed all the bags and dropped them at the front door.

Then he grabbed her, helping her waddle to the car. He got her placed in the seat as a sharp pain went through her. She grabbed his hand and hissed through her teeth.

"Breath, baby, breathe," he said as he clenched his jaw. Her grip bruised his hand.

"I am BREATHING YOU BASTARD!"

"Where was that tone five minutes ago?" He teased, laughed at her glare, and kissed her nose. He ran back into the house and grabbed the bags.

Then he was off to the hospital

He reached over to let her hold his hand.

"I know you are terrified but I want you to know one thing," he said, his head turned to look at her.

She breathed as she looked over at him.

"I fucked you into labor," he said with a big smirk and wink sent her way.

"Oh shit, now that's all I'm gonna hear for the rest of my life." She said as she rolled her eyes.

~~~

"I can't believe you guys have a baby," Steve said softly as he looked at the small boy in Eddie's arms. Y/N slept in the bed beside them.

"I can't believe she allowed you to have sex with her," Robin laughed, her eyes on the little boy behind Steve

"Jealous?" Eddie snapped, a smirk on his face as she rolled her eyes.

"How did her water break? I want the whole story!" Nancy squealed excitedly.

The big smirk on Eddie's face got even more smug, which no one thought was possible.

"Well, we tried everything the doctor said, and the last thing on the list was all in my hands." The group looked at him confused as he continued to explain. "So, being the amazing husband I am. I turned her on her side and grabbed her left leg to put it on my hip. Then I slipped inside of her. Sweet and slow, she was so we-"

"WE GOT IT!" Dustin yelled as he covered his ears.

"You could have just said sex," Nancy said as she gagged.

"You wanted the whole story!" Eddie defended, "but the first time wasn't enough to induce the labor...or was enough for her." He gave a wink to Steve who rolled his eyes. "So we went at it again, like minutes later. She was all over me." Eddie bragged. "After her second orgasm, that was when she went into labor."

"Can't believe such a disgusting thing led to something beautiful," Dustin said, patiently waiting for his turn to hold the baby.

"Oh Dusty," Eddie laughed, "nothing about it was disgusting. Just you wait." Eddie said as he handed the baby off to Steve. Leaving his hands free to slam down on Dustin's shoulders.

"It'll be the best time of your life," he said as he walked over to her. He leaned down and kissed her forehead as she slept.

"You and him for the rest of my life."

Tags!

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[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

11: SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST

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Priya wants to have a pissing contest and you almost lose more than your best friend.

Word count 2.9k

Warnings: Priya and the Vrellnexians, canon level violence

Who knew that it only took one text message to ruin your day? You’d woken up that morning feeling a little lighter than the past week. Your departure from the compound had weighed heavily on your conscience, and every night as you closed your eyes in bed, you wondered if you had done the right thing by leaving. But this morning you felt different. It was the first day you would start at Coulson Academy. It was still a while before the start of the new school year, but May had decided that you might be more comfortable as a TA before leading your own classes. It would give you time to get to know the students and find your feet before being asked to swim in the deep end.

Spending the morning analyzing artifacts with Dr Benson was thrilling and gave you a warm nostalgic feeling which was rudely interrupted by your ringing phone. "Sorry," you muttered as Benson looked at you with a frown. He hated modern technology and their incessant distraction. 

"Just read it." He rolled his eyes.

You picked up your phone and unlocked it, eyebrows shooting up. The source of your correspondence was unexpected.

Priya << Hey, can we meet please? I want to talk to you.

>>>> When were you thinking?

Priya << I finish my shift at 1pm. I can come to the compound.

>>>> I’m at Coulson Academy today.

Priya << Fine, I’ll come there. Send me the address.

Her curtness and commanding tone made you roll your eyes, sending back the address of a coffee stand in a nearby park. You felt uncomfortable inviting her to your new haven.

"Trouble in paradise?"

"What?" you jump, surprised by Dr Benson’s attention.

"Relationship issues?"

"I don’t… I’m not in a relationship."

"That’s exactly how my husband used to look at me every time I pissed him off."

Your face softened when Benson mentioned his husband. You knew he had lost him a few years ago and blamed himself for his death. 

"My friend’s girlfriend wants to have a chat, apparently."

"Hmm… still sounds like trouble in paradise to me," he responded thoughtfully.

"Not my paradise," you shrugged.

"No," he smiled knowingly, saying nothing further.

*

You sat on a bench opposite the academy, waiting for Priya to arrive. Uncommon Ground was the name of the coffee stand, it usually made you chuckle, but today you felt too apprehensive and jittery. The large latte you’d ordered wasn’t doing anything for your nerves. There was something in the air that made your skin crawl, it was charged with anticipation and your nerves were on edge. But you chalked it all up to your anxiety about the topic of conversation that Priya was going to raise.

She arrived in a whirlwind of style and class. There was a reason she had been promoted at such a young age, she oozed confidence and charisma. And to top it all off, she was stunning. You could see why Bucky was attracted to her, she was elegance personified. Normally you didn't criticize yourself too harshly but your defenses were low and you found yourself feeling dowdy and drab in comparison.

Why would Bucky be with you when he had someone who looked like that? You thought mournfully.

"Hey, Priya," you greeted her with a forced smile.

"Hey, Cricket, thanks for meeting me," Priya replied, taking a seat beside you with her own cup of coffee.

"No problem, what’s up?" you asked, trying to sound casual.

Priya took a deep breath before speaking. "I wanted to talk to you about something that’s been on my mind for a while now."

Your heart sank. You knew what was coming. "Go ahead, Priya."

"I know this might be difficult to hear, but I’ve noticed that you have feelings for Bucky," Priya said, her voice gentle but firm.

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment and a hint of anger. "I-I don’t know what you’re talking about," you stammered, avoiding Priya’s gaze.

"Come on, Cricket, I’m not blind. I can see the way you look at him, the way you light up when he’s around. And I can tell that he means more to you than just a friend," Priya said, her eyes searching yours.

You swallowed hard, feeling exposed and vulnerable. "Look, Priya, I'm not trying to come between the two of you. You're right, I do love him, but nothing is going on between Bucky and I. But he is still my best friend. And what you did on his birthday, that was…" You couldn't find the words to express how hurtful it had been.

Priya sighed, she knew what she had done. "I appreciate your honesty, Cricket. But I need you to understand that Bucky’s my boyfriend. I love him, and I want to make things work between us."

Her response made you grit your teeth and bite your tongue. She was marking her territory and you hated it. "You don't need to make this a pissing contest, you've already won. You know that, right?" Your voice was flat and emotionless.

"What do you mean?"

"Bucky doesn't want to talk to me anymore. And I moved out of the compound. So he's all yours."

"I didn't want it to be like this, you know."

You scoffed.

"Why didn’t you tell him how you feel?" Priya’s question was unexpected. "I mean, you didn't suddenly develop your feelings overnight."

You were about to open your mouth to attempt an answer, when a loud thump caught your attention. Your head spun around to see a giant cockroach destroying the park. The sound you had heard was that of a tree crashing to the ground. You recognized the creature as a Vrellnexian, a ferocious species native to the planet Kitson. They had been bred for war and you’d seen them during your trip to the future in the Lighthouse. They were vicious and ruthless and hungry for blood. But what was this creature doing here and now?

Grabbing your phone, you found Steve on the list and pushed down the speaker. "STEVE! Alien attack! Vrellnexian! Need back up! Red Oaks Mill. Back up would be-" Your eyes went wide as the Vrellnexian turned its attention to you. "Shit," you muttered, your finger slipping off the mic and you pushed Priya out of the line of fire. The beast had decided to throw a trashcan in your direction.

"Take cover," you hissed in her ear, helping her up to her feet and pushing her in the direction of the coffee stand. You stood and turned to face the vicious alien, taking a few steps forwards to get its attention away from a group of terrified teens. "Hey, cockroach!"

It turned to you with a growl, raising its pincers menacingly. Taking a deep breath, you braced your nerves and took a few steps forward. The Vrellnexian was fast, faster than you remembered, attacking with speed and agility. It missed by mere millimeters as you dropped under him and rolled to a defensive position, eyes immediately back on the alien, which had twisted around towards you. You looked up at its face, trying to decipher its features, but there was an unmistakable sneer which made your fists clench with rage. You sprung up with a spinning kick that was aimed at its chest but it was able to grab your leg and used your momentum to fling you across the grassy open. 

You scrambled to your feet, desperately, launching an attack without waiting to recover. You pushed yourself into its middle, propelling yourself forwards and knocking it off balance. The Vrellnexian stumbled back and you pressed your advantage, launching yourself onto its shoulders and locking your legs around its neck in a triangular chokehold. Both of you crashed to the floor where you grabbed the dangerous pincers and wrestled with it.

A shout from someone nearby caught the creature’s ear for a brief second, and you put all your strength into your powers and pushed the alien off you. Flipping yourself off the floor, you put your concentration into forming a blade with your abilities, long and sharp, you forced it through the Vrellnexian’s chest as it recovered and charged towards you. It stumbled backwards as your weapon impaled its chest. Slowly, but surely, the beast twitched and weakened, sinking to the floor. You sank to your knees, gasping for breath, trying to recover your strength.

"Jamie!" Priya’s voice called out from behind you.

You turned in her direction and followed her gaze over to the parking lot where Bucky and Steve had jumped off their bikes.

"Better late than never," you mumbled, suddenly feeling anxious about coming face to face with Bucky, his presence was unexpected.

Priya rushed to your side, emboldened by the floored Vrellnaxian. "Jamie! Over here!" she called, falling to notice the way the fallen beast’s eyes opened.

You gasped as it reared up, pincers poised to strike. Without thinking, you grabbed Priya’s arms, pulling her away and shielding her body from the attack with your own. It was instinctive, you didn’t have time to ponder your actions, you just moved, moved right into the path of the sharp curved claw which ripped into your side. 

A scream didn’t even have time to leave your mouth before you’re on the floor, moaning and gasping for breath. Your vision felt blurred and a searing pain shot through your whole body. And as you stared up at the clear blue sky, you felt grateful for the people in your life, the experiences you'd had and relationships you'd forged. As you lay on the floor contemplating what you considered your inevitable death, time seemed to slow down. Your only real regret was the way things had ended with Bucky, and oh how you longed to see his face one more time. You would tell him how you felt. The moment your best friend came into your mind, his face appeared above you.

"Cricket! Cricket! Can you hear me?" Bucky's voice echoed in you ears 

A tiny smile crept across your face and you opened your mouth, but there was no sound. In fact, the sky didn't look as blue as it did a few moments ago. You were pretty sure that no storm had been predicted, but there was a gray cloud creeping in on you from all sides.

*

Bucky and Steve raced over to you, both of them screaming your name. Bucky all but ignoring Priya’s whimpering attempts to grab his attention. He fell to his knees and scooped you up into his arms, calling your name urgently. 

"Cricket! Look at me. It's Bucky, I'm here." He held you close to his chest, shaking you gently to get you to focus on him.

Your eyes were open but you were far away from him. He couldn't lose you, not now, not like this. Not when everything between you was left unsaid. Not when the last thing he had said to you had been so cold and dismissive.

"Cricket, please." He was begging, pleading for you to stay with him.

Steve was on his phone, calling for medical help. He had his phone in one hand and his other was clutching yours. He hated how cold and limp it felt. You were losing blood dangerously fast.

"James," Priya whispered from the side.

Bucky turned to her, finally acknowledging her presence. "Help her! Please! You're a doctor, help her. I need her. I need you to help her."

He looked at Priya with pure, unadulterated desperation, blue eyes beseeching. Priya looked back, her mind processing the events that had just unfolded before her. But fear seemed to have paralyzed her, her eyes flicking back and forth between Bucky and the conquered Vrellnexian.

"It's dead." He cried, referring to the alien. "Please don't let Cricket die. She saved your life. You can't let her die." Bucky tugged your listless body away from the dead alien. He grimaced as his actions left a smear of blood on the grass. "Please?"

Hesitantly, Priya knelt down beside you. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself and focus. There was nothing out of the ordinary, she told herself. It was just another day in the OR and you were just another patient. She stilled her racing mind and examined your wound, fingers probing the inside of your torso for the source of bleeding.

Bucky hadn't let go of you at all since the time he had arrived, holding you tightly to his chest, whispering words of encouragement in your ear. He had no idea if you could hear or understand him, but he was going to do everything he could to care for and comfort you until you were better. In his mind, there was no other alternative. He refused to believe that you would leave him all alone in the world.

"Cricket, I got your gift. It was so beautiful. Please wake up, I need to say thank you. Please, Doll."

If Priya heard his words, she didn't react, focusing on her only task: to save your life.

*

The paramedics had to pry you out of Bucky’s arms to take you to the nearest trauma center. Steve had steered him into the ambulance. He and Priya got into the car Natasha had arrived in, following to the hospital. The paramedics wheeled you into the ER looking incredibly irate, and it was obvious to Steve that his friend had been very obstructive during the journey.

Nat hovered by you closely as the surgeons assessed your injuries, stabilizing your vitals and prepping you for the OR. She sent a ream of messages to Steve's phone by way of updating him and Bucky.

"Bucky, let's get you cleaned up. There's a restroom right there. At least wash your hands." Steve pointed to a door a few feet from where they were sitting. 

Bucky scowled at this oldest friend before proceeding to wipe his blood stained hands on his jeans.

"James?" Bucky looked over at Priya. "Why don't we wash up a little. I'm sure that Cricket doesn't want to see you covered in blood when she wakes up." She took his hand and led him to the restroom, helping him get cleaned up.

Bucky watched as his girlfriend scrubbed your blood from her own hands, then his. She took a paper towel, ran it under the tap and wiped his face gently. He watched her tenderness, guilt burning inside him and feeling trapped. How had managed to get himself in a situation where he was going to hurt someone he cared about, regardless of the choice he made?

"You love her, don't you?" she asked.

"What?"

"Cricket."

Bucky blushed, not knowing how to answer.

"You know what I don't understand?" Priya went on, without waiting for a response. "Why you've been going out with me all this time?"

He swallowed hard, lost for words as to explain what he had been feeling. "I do like you."

"But you love her."

"I thought… I didn't think she…" Bucky let out a frustrated sigh. How could he explain his actions? 

"Did you even try telling her how you felt?"

Bucky's face betrayed his embarrassment, making Priya scoff. 

"No, of course not. I've been fighting a losing battle for the last six months."

"What?"

"You only started dating me because you didn’t think she liked you back."

Priya’s words hit Bucky like a ton of bricks. He had been so caught up in his own feelings of insecurity and fear of rejection that he hadn’t even considered the possibility that you might feel the same way about him.

"I messed up, Priya," Bucky finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I hurt her, and I hurt you. I don’t know how to fix this."

Priya reached out and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You can start by being honest with her, Bucky. Tell her how you feel. She deserves to know the truth."

"Why’re you helping me?"

"Because I did something I’m not proud of." "My birthday gift?" Bucky asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah, I overhead Cricket telling Steve what she got for you and… I’m sorry."

He clenched his fists, hearing her admission. But what right did he have to be angry? He had been the one to put Priya in that position, to feel that she had to compete for his affections. He had no one to blame but himself. "But why?" he asked.

"That day I found you guys were sleeping together-"

"We didn’t have-

"I know! But that intimacy you guys have… that’s what I felt like I needed to fight for," Priya admitted. "She saved my life today." 

"Thank you for helping her."

"I took an oath," Priya shrugged.

The previously happy couple stood awkwardly in the public restroom, trying to figure out what to say to each other.

"I guess we should go back out," Bucky pointed at the door with this thumb. "Just in case."

"I think that… it should be you."

"Me?"

"You should be the one who’s there when she wakes up."

"What… what does that mean for… for us?"

"That’s up to you, James. Do you love her?"

"Yes." Bucky answered firmly, he had never been more sure of anything else in his life.

"Then I think you have your answer." Priya sighed. "Goodbye, James."

Priya pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving a dumbfounded Bucky alone leaning against the basin to process what had just happened. His sadness and regret was replaced by hope and the thought of you. He gasped, he needed to go back out and find out what was happening to you.

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fan fiction #my best friend's girl

[hai7ani]

familiar / haitani rindou

Haitani Rindou turns 32, gets married, and he silently wonders why people are so nice to him now.

the old retired ladies promoting milk powders and selling fresh fruits in the grocery store rushes up to him at any chance they get. one time when browsing for milk formulas one of them had tapped him on the shoulder, pointed at a brand she was not promoting for but thought was amazing when her own grandchild had tried it, and then placed a bunch of other stuff in his cart that she thinks his wife would need. an example would be containers of freshly cut mixed fruits that her colleague had just prepared. you remember him telling you that her tone was a lot more different than the average grocery store promoter trying to sell you a product ー it was almost as if she was talking to her own son.

when shopping for flowers just like he does every Sunday suddenly the part-timer who is usually silent, does her job and only responds to customers' needs had stepped up to him and pointed out a few selections that she believes are lovely for expecting parents. she was even smiling when doing so. and you remember he came home to you that day with two bouquets of fresh flowers ー chrysanthemum and baby's breath ー one in each hand.

today when taking you out for dinner in the local family-owned restaurant the daughter had served you a warm bowl of beef bone soup. neither of you had ordered it for yourselves, and you were about to tell her that, but her mother speaks before you can. "drink it, love. the soup is good for you." she yells a little from where she sits at the cashier with a grin. when Rindou stands to pay after finishing up her husband then refuses to take your bill for the night. "it's okay, son. dinner's on the house this time." he pats his shoulder and pushes you both out the door. "take care, you two. the next time you come i'll cook tofu for you, alright?" it was directed to you and you'd laughed, a little embarrassed but feeling warm and fuzzy nonetheless.

and now you are listening to your own husband ramble on and on about his new mysteries while he massages your feet on the couch.

"i seriously don't get it. i've been going to these places for years now and they were never this nice to us. i mean, they are nice, but never this nice, you know? it's the first time we've ever gotten a free meal from Kobayashi's."

we. us.

you brush his hair back, admiring the light wrinkles that have started to form on his skin. "that's exactly it, don't you think?" you bring it up and he hums in confusion.

"perhaps the reason why they've been so nice lately is exactly because you've been going to these places for years now. they know you."

"huh?"

"if you think about it, they've watched you go from an ordinary man to a husband, then a father. watched you bring a girl they've never seen before to these places more often and suddenly we go together all the time, you have a ring on your finger and i am pregnant. perhaps it is why. a sense of familiarity, maybe?"

Rindou looks at you as if you are love and warmth and everything pink and red and blue and purple and-

you are right, actually. you'd went from a girl he met at a bar to becoming the love of his life, the woman who is now carrying the love you both share. and the ladies at the grocery store, the Kobayashi's, the part timer who's been around even after graduating university years ago? they've all watched him grow.

when Rindou was 17 and had gotten ambushed by a rival gang alone, it was madam Kobayashi who'd ushered him into their store way past the last call and offered to cook him a nice meal, had her medical student son patch him up, her husband to chase away the remaining guys who were waiting for Rindou to come back out. her daughter had been about Rindou's age then, hiding behind the cashier and watching as he ate in silence with a cut to his lip, another on his eyebrow. (to this day still no one except for you, her, and him, knows that the reason he'd gotten ambushed that day was because he'd stood up for miss Kobayashi when she was getting bullied by one of the delinquents. she still thanks him for what he'd done whenever you both finish up your meal and get ready to leave.) Rindou was 17 when he'd first discovered what it was like to care for people; to be a human before anything else.

the two ladies from the grocery store wasn't yet retired and working this job back then. the promoter lady used to be the janitor who was working in the office building of his first job. she'd watched him gone through periods of unknowing, confusion, stress, to become a solid man of status today. the lady who is selling fruits used to work as a professional tutor and had been the one to tutor Rindou and his brother on Mathematics. although she is mute and can't respond in words when her students have confusing questions to ask, the brothers still thought of her as a good teacher because of the way she taught, which is why they'd stuck around and refused to switch teachers despite their parents' disapproval. because she is mute, she can only count on her colleague to dump containers of freshly cut fruits into his cart while motioning for her to tell him things that she actually wants to say to him whenever he visits the store.

the part timer at the florist is a lot younger than he is, but she have been working there for a very long time. watched him when he was still an inexperienced bachelor pacing around the store wondering which flower would be good on a first date to buying the same flowers every Sunday because you'd liked the lilies that she recommended.

it'd be heartwarming for anyone to see the boy you watch grow around love, into love, finding love, to marrying her and becoming a father.

"...yeah. maybe."

#寫作 #rindou x reader #rindou haitani x reader #haitani rindou x reader #rindou haitani #haitani rindou #tokyo revengers #tokrev #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #tokrev x reader #tr x reader #tokyo revengers fluff

[carland0]

Star Crossed | D. Ricciardo

Summary: You are attending the Met Gala. You've been several times before, but this year Anna Wintour has invited you to perform. You meet Daniel Ricciardo on the red carpet, and you spend the evening getting to know eachother.

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x singer!reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.3k

A/N This is my first time writing in a really long time so pls go easy on me, and let me know if you want part 2! This part is more of a prologue, it will get spicier as it develops in future parts

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Part 1

It's the first Monday in May; Met Gala day. I've been before, and it's always been one of my favourite events of the year, but this year is different. This year, I'm performing.

I shouldn't be nervous, I've performed in front of thousands of people worldwide, but as I pull up to the red carpet, I can't remember the last time I felt this nervous. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, trying to shut out the conversations of my team around me.

"Y/n, it's time to go", my assistant calls, jolting me from my thoughts. My stylist fusses with my hair, and I stand to step out of the car. As I step onto the carpet, the flash of cameras illuminate the night, and I can't help but feel a rush of excitement.

I smooth down the delicate fabric of my gown, a 2001 Karl Lagerfeld dress, and begin to navigate my way towards the cameras. The flashes are almost blinding, and the paparazzi start shouting directions at me, telling me where to look. At first, red carpets and paparazzi were overwhelming, but it's become second nature to me by now.

I make my way across the carpet and up the steps, pausing every now and then for photos and to say hi to a few industry friends before making my way into the opulent halls of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

After catching up with an old friend, I hear an Australian voice calling my name. Glancing around, my eyes land on a familiar face, but one that I've only seen on television screens and in the pages of magazines.

Daniel Ricciardo.

He stands tall, making his way towards me. Despite attending a few races, I've never met him, and his easy smile draws me in like a magnet. I knew he was good-looking, but up close...

"Hi, I'm Daniel," he says, interrupting me from my thoughts and extending his right hand. I reach out and shake his hand, trying to ignore the shivers crawling up my arm at his touch.

"I'm a huge fan," he adds with a grin.

"Oh, you don't need to introduce yourself to me," I say, smiling back at him. "I'm a fan, too. Is this your first Met?"

"It is. Pretty crazy out there, right?" Daniel responds, gesturing towards the crowd outside.

"Sure is." I agree, nodding.

"I was just ahead of you on the carpet, you made it look easy," he says, beaming his signature grin again.

"Thank you," I chuckle. "It hasn't always come naturally, but y'know, it comes with the job. You must be used to it too, especially now you're a Netflix star."

"You watched Drive to Survive?" he asks, seeming surprised.

"Of course, like I said, I'm a fan too. It's great to meet you."

Our conversation flows effortlessly, spanning topics from our favourite tracks to travel adventures. Despite the glitz and glamour surrounding us, our interaction feels genuine, as if we've known each other for far longer than just a few minutes.

"So, what's it like performing in front of thousands of people?" Daniel asks, eyes sparkling with curiosity as we make our way around the exhibits.

"It's exhilarating," I reply, trying to mask the nerves that flutter in my stomach at the thought of tonight's performance. "But it can also be nerve-wracking. Tonight's no exception."

"I can imagine," he muses, leaning in slightly as if hanging on to my every word. "But I have no doubt you'll kill it out there."

His words offer a comforting reassurance, and I can't help but smile gratefully. "Thanks, Daniel. That means a lot." I say, as I see my assistant approaching from the corner of my eye. "That's my cue. It was great to meet you, Daniel." I say, not quite ready for the conversation to be over.

As I start to walk away, Daniel catches my arm gently, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through me. "Hey, if you need a distraction from the nerves, I'll be right here."

I chuckle nervously, grateful for his offer. "Thanks, I might take you up on that." With a final wave, I disappear into the backstage chaos, my mind buzzing with anticipation for the performance ahead.

As I take the stage, the bright lights momentarily blind me, but as my eyes adjust, I scan the crowd for familiar faces. And there, in the sea of Hollywood stars and models, I spot Daniel, his encouraging smile a beacon of support amidst the sea of faces.

Our eyes lock for a brief moment, and in that instant, I feel a surge of confidence wash over me. With his silent encouragement, I dive into the performance, pouring my heart and soul into each lyric. After my performance, I head back into the crowd to watch the other performers and catch up with a few friends, but I can't escape the disappointment in the back of my mind that I haven't bumped into Daniel again.

Later in the night, as I'm beginning to get bored of forced conversations, our paths cross again. Daniel's presence is like a magnet, drawing me in with his infectious energy and easy charm. We find ourselves laughing and sharing stories, the rest of the gala fading into the background as we lose ourselves in each other's company.

"So, what's next for you after tonight?" Daniel asks. I smile, feeling a rush of warmth at his interest. "Well, this was my last performance for a little while. I'm taking a break for a bit before heading to the studio to work on new music. What about you?"

Daniel shrugs casually. "Oh, same old. Just doing some promo stuff for Red Bull. I'm desperate to get back on the track."

Instinctively, I reach out and gently touch his arm. "I have no doubt you'll get there, you're a talented driver."

Before I can say anything else, Daniel reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. "Hey, would you mind if I got your number?" he asks, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

My heart skips a beat at his request, and I nod, trying to contain my excitement. "Of course," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady as I take the phone from his hands and enter my number.

"Thanks," Daniel says with a grateful smile as he takes his phone back. "I'd love to stay in touch."

The warmth in his voice sends a thrill through me, and I can't help but smile back. "Me too," I reply, my heart fluttering with anticipation.

As the night begins to wind down, the energy of the gala mellows into a gentle hum of conversation and soft music. Daniel and I linger for a while longer, savouring the final moments of the evening.

I glance at the time on my phone and realise that it's time for me to leave. "I hate to cut this short, but I should probably head out. Mind if we take a quick picture before I go?"

"Of course," he says warmly, leaning in as I snap a picture of the two of us at our table. "It's been an amazing night, thank you for making me feel welcome at my first Met."

"The pleasure was all mine. See you again soon?" I say, trying to hide the sadness creeping into my voice at the thought of saying goodbye.

"I hope so," he smiles, opening his arms and pulling me in to a gentle embrace. I reluctantly tear myself away, the lingering scent of his cologne leaving a bittersweet reminder of our evening together.

Settling into the backseat of my car, the picture of Daniel and I burns brightly on my phone screen. I decide to share the moment to my Instagram story, tagging Daniel alongside the honey and badger emojis. I place my phone in my bag to avoid the notifications that are sure to start rolling in, and rest my head against the window, shutting my eyes to replay the night in my head, wondering when I'll see Daniel again.

#daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #Daniel Ricciardo imagine #f1 fluff #f1 fic #Daniel Ricciardo fanfic #formula one imagine #🍯🦡 #Daniel Ricciardo fluff #lando norris #carlos s #carlando #lando norris x reader #Daniel Ricciardo x you #Charles Leclerc x reader #Carlos Sainz x reader #Carlos Sainz x you

[sturniolo-simp4life]

Nobody- Chris sturniolo

warnings- confession, kissing, slight crying

summary- when y/n stays at Chris’s house for the night, unforgettable events happen.

not proof read!

You went to the triplets house for movie.

you had always been close friends with them- since middle school.

but your best friend was Chris. He was the one you met first, when he accidentally knocked your over, because he was late for practice.

you had always been very close with him, but around the 9th grade was when you started having feelings for him.

At first, it would just be butterflies whenever he was around you.

but you eventually fell in love with him. You loved the way he laughed, the way he smiled, just everything about him.

so when he got his first girlfriend, it hurt. A lot. You figured it would be better to be friends with him while he was in a relationship than to tell him your feelings and mess everything up.

It still hurt, to pretend to be happy for him and put up a fake smile whenever she was around.

this went on for about a year, until they finally broke up. As much as you hated to admit it, it made you really happy.

unfortunately for you, you still never got the guts to tell him how you really felt. You had talked to Matt and nick about it.

they told you that you should tell him whenever you were ready, but that was the thing. You wanted to be ready.

you really really did. But you could never find the words or courage to do so. Even when you thought you found the words, negative thoughts would flood your mind.

what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if he was disgusted by the fact? What if he could never see us being friends again?

those specific thoughts always clouded your mind, so you could never bring yourself to tell him.

right now, you were standing out on their porch, looking at the sunset. You loved sunsets.

you loved how the clouds always looked so fluffy, like pillows. You loved the mixes of colors- the oranges, the pinks, the yellow.

you loved how colors so different could still paint a breathing-taking picture, like they were meant to be together.

even with the view in front of you, you mind still lingered on Chris. Maybe it was about time you told him.

you had been holding in your feelings for years now, and you thought you might burst if you didn’t tell him.

but part of you was still saying no. He won’t like you back, they would say to you. You’ll ruin the friendship you have.

you sighed, not even realizing that Chris had come out to the porch. He had just been watching you- admiring the way your hair flew in the breeze, and the way you watched the sun set.

he walked to the rail, standing next to you. “What’s on your mind?” He asked. That seemed to snap you out of your trance.

“hey,” you breathed, looking at him. You loved looking at his face. The sun hitting just the right spots making his face glow. “I didn’t see you there.”

he smiled at you, sending a wave of butterflies through your body. “Penny for your thoughts?”

you chuckled you put out you hand. “Where’s my penny?” Chris rolled his eyes. “Seriously though,” he continued. “You looked like you were deep in thought.”

you sighed. “Yeah, it was nothing. Let’s go back inside,” you replied. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” Chris said, before you made it to the door.

you froze in place. Should I tell him now? You sighed and walked back to the edge, admiring the sunset for a few moments.

after what seemed to be a lifetime, you finally spoke up.

“remember homecoming in 9th grade?” Chris smiled at the memory. “Yeah. You didn’t want to dance with anyone. You were just sitting in the corner for a while.”

you smiled remembering how stubborn you where. “I didn’t dance with anyone because I wanted to dance with you. I was so jealous of that girl you were dancing with.”

you also smiled at the memory. “I turned everyone down hoping you would ask me but you never did.”

you turned to face him. “Look Chris. The point I’m trying to make right now is that I like you. I have for a while now.”

you took a breath and kept going. “I don’t want to be just your best friend Chris. I want to be more. I want to get married and have kids and I want us to grow old together. As cringey as it sounds, all of it is true.”

Chris just stared at you, wide eyed. “Please say something,” you mumbled, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

after a moment of silence, a tear slipped down your cheek. “I’ll take that as a ‘you don’t feel the same way’ answer,” you mumbled.

you started to walk to the door, but Chris grabbed your wrist and pulled you back.

he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. He rubbed you back softly as you hugged him tighter.

“listen,” he said. “I love you too y/n. So much. I was so afraid to tell you because I thought I wasn’t good enough for you. You’re a funny, sweet, pretty, amazing girl and you deserve the world.” He sighed.

“I just didn’t think I could give it to you. I mean, you had all these guys drooling over you, and I thought, one day you would just pick them over me, y’ know?”

he took a deep breath, staring straight into your eyes. “That’s why I always had girlfriend after girlfriend. I thought have that would make me forget about the feelings I have for you but they never worked.”

“I want us to live together and have kids together too. I want to wake up next to you and kiss your forehead, and I want to fall asleep next to you at night. I want to take you on cute little dates and I want to hold your hand and kiss you.”

he let go of the hug, still softly holding your shoulders. You were crying now, his words going straight to your heart.

“don’t cry,” he said softly as he wiped your tears away. He rested his forehead against yours, looking down at your lips, then up to your eyes again. “Is this okay?”

you smiled at him. “more than okay.” He looked at your lips again, desire filling his eyes. “Can I kiss you?” He whispered, still looking at your lips.

You nodded your head, and soon enough, his lips were connected to yours. The kiss was sweet and tender, filled with love. Your arm made its way to his neck, playing with the soft curls of hair.

when both of you released, he turned around so that you back was resting in the rail. “You know, I've loved nobody but you,” he whispered into your ear.

he then went to kiss you again, but the this time needy and passionate. He bit at your lower lip making you moan. He took the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth.

it wasn’t a fight for dominance. Your tongues danced together. He tasted like cherry. His hands made their way to your waist, and he started kissing your neck softly.

you gasped at the sudden contact, your hands tangling in his hair. His face made it back to yours as he kissed you again.

“well it’s about time,” a voice said behind you. Chris pulled off of you so fast, flustered. You were blushing furiously as Matt and nick smirked at you.

“if you guys are done making out, can we watching the movie now?” Matt asked. “Y-yeah,” Chris mumbled, clearly embarrassed.

you bit your lip as you walked inside. Chris linked his hand with yours, giving it a small kiss.

once you made it to the living room, Chris stood up on the couch. “I have an announcement to make!” He yelled, gaining everyone’s attention.

he looked at you before continuing. “It official,” he finally said. “Y/n is my girlfriend.” Your eyes widened as a blush crept up your face. Nick squealed with excitement and Matt smiled.

“Oh my god, it’s about time,” nick said. “You don’t know how much me and Matt had to bare because both of you would just yap about each other all the. Damn. Time.”

you laughed at nick. “I think you’re overreacting nick,” you giggled. “Trust me, I’m not.”

“all i have to say is if i hear you two fucking each other all the damn time, expect to get kicked out,” Matt said, making your face turn 10 shades of red, same with Chris’s.

“Matt!”

“hey, I’m just saying.”

a/n- this is one of my personal favorites ❤️

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo x you #chris smut #chris x reader #chris sturniolo x you #matt x reader #matthew x reader #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo imagine #matthew sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo imagine #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fluff

[glorious-spoon]

17 and/or 28?

hello nonnie! i went with 28: surprising them with their favorite treat. love is stored in the kitchen, etc.

-

"No, no, I'm not doing it for you," Abuela says, swatting his arm lightly with her dishtowel in that way that makes Eddie feel like he's taken a step backward through time, back to the sunny little kitchen in the house she sold three years ago to move back to Texas, back to being eight years old again and hanging around while she baked, even though he was supposed to be too old for all that by then. She's frailer now, but her eyes are just as sharp as she folds Eddie's fingers back around the egg he's trying to hand to her. "You're never going to learn if I do it for you."

"We're going to run out of eggs before I get it right at this point," he complains. They've gone through three already, the yolks broken and bleeding into the whites and therefore useless.

"You can use them to make a frittata. Or an omelet. Something. They won't go to waste."

He squints at her. "Was that a metaphor?"

"Come on, come on. Josephina is picking me up in an hour, if you want this cake to happen it's got to happen now."

"I could just buy one," Eddie says halfheartedly, like this whole enterprise wasn't his idea in the first place. God knows why. He's managed to drag himself a good few steps above boxed mac and cheese in the cooking department, but baking remains an intimidating mystery. It's not like he couldn't just buy one. It's Los Angeles. Plenty of places local to find tres leches cake, even if it won't be his abuela's recipe.

She probably would have made him one herself if he asked. Almost definitely would have. But once he got the idea in his head it felt—important, like Buck's laborious perfecting of the lasagna he's planning to make for them tomorrow, like Bobby's home-cooked meals at the station. Something about doing it himself.

Something about home-cooked meals, and about love, that it's definitely too early to say to Buck, at least in so many words. But he kind of wants to say it all the same.

He cracks the egg—gently, this time. The glistening yellow yolk remains intact, cradled in one half of the shell as the white slides away into the bowl beneath. Eddie holds his breath, holding his hand still until the separation is complete, feeling more than a little bit like he's defusing a bomb here. Then he finally drops the yolk into its own separate bowl with a feeling of absurd triumph.

Abuela squeezes him with a startling amount of strength for a woman who's more than a few years past eighty, but her voice is very gentle. "Perfect, Eddito. Now we just need four more like that."

Eddie breathes out a shaky laugh and reaches for another egg.

-

By six o'clock, Pepa is on her way over and the cake is cooling in the refrigerator, waiting for the leches mixture—the counter wiped clean, Abuela installed in a dining room chair sipping a cafecito from one of the little red cups that she bequeathed to Eddie when she moved away. They talk about inconsequential things: Christopher, his dad's retirement, his parents' tentative plans for a cruise, which makes Eddie wince and bite his tongue. Christopher again. Buck's name comes up, because of course it does, it always has. For years he's been so entwined with their lives that there's no way to talk about Eddie and Christopher for any length of time without mentioning Buck.

It feels more revealing now. Or maybe that's just that now Eddie knows there's something to reveal.

He's not trying to hide it. It's new, but he's never felt so sure about something in his life. He just doesn't know quite how to go about saying it; any of the words he can come up with feel too clumsy, too inadequate.

It's not until Pepa's car pulls in the driveway that she leans over to pat his hand where it's resting on the table. "He's going to love it. Tu novio, he'll be so happy you baked that just for him."

"That's assuming I don't mess anything else up," Eddie says, and then registers the rest of that sentence. Your boyfriend. His heart stutters for a moment, but settles fast. She's still smiling at him.

"You won't," she says.

He breathes out; laughs a little, breathless. "How did you know?"

"I'm old and wise," she says puckishly. Then, gentler, "You talk about him like you're in love."

Outside, the car door opens and shuts. Pepa starts up the walk. Eddie takes another breath, and nods. He feels a little flayed open, but it's a good feeling, to be seen like this. A little raw, but good. "I am. I—really am."

Abuela slides out of her chair and holds out her arms; Eddie folds into them like he's not a head taller than her these days. They're still standing like that, swaying a little, when Pepa comes in.

-

Buck is over the next night for dinner, a frequent if irregular occurrence whenever they both have the same evening off. They don't actually cook together, because Buck is kind of a control freak in the kitchen, but Eddie sets the table with Chris's sullen adolescent assistance, and puts on some music, and he remembers as he does it those evenings when he'd see his grandparents dancing together in the kitchen after dinner, the easy sway of their bodies. He's half-tempted to try and pull Buck into a dance, but right now Buck is frazzled and wearing an apron splattered with béchamel as he swears under his breath at the lasagna, so Eddie can wait.

It all comes out perfectly, because of course it does, and Eddie kisses him after he sets it down on the table, ignoring Chris's disgruntled noise. Buck smiles against his lips and kisses him back.

"Smells amazing," Eddie offers.

"It only took me five tries to get it right."

"Well, I appreciate you not burning my kitchen down."

"You're not funny," Buck pouts, but he leans in for another kiss.

"I'm starving," Chris says pointedly, and they break apart, laughing.

"You forget how to serve yourself, mijo?"

"No," Chris says, but he's smirking a little as he dishes himself a generous helping of lasagna and passes the spatula over to Eddie.

It's not that different, all told, from any of the other meals they've had together over the years. That's something that keeps tripping Eddie up: how little has actually changed. Other than the part where he's allowed to touch Buck as much as he wants now; other than the fact that he lets himself notice how much he wants.

For Chris's sake, he's discreet about it, but he curls his hand over Buck's knee under the table once they're all served. Buck ducks his head and smiles, a pretty flush dusting his cheeks, and Eddie leaves his hand there for the rest of the meal.

They clean up together, and Buck insists on helping even when Eddie tries to shoo him out of the kitchen, though he honestly doesn't try that hard. Chris escapes into the dining room when Buck pulls Eddie into a shuffling, impromptu dance to some Taylor Swift song on the radio—he must have stealthily changed the station when Eddie wasn't paying attention—but he ducks his head back in a few minutes later to ask if they're going to eat the cake.

"There's cake?" Buck asks, bemused.

"Tres leches," Eddie admits, and now he's blushing. "Abuela's recipe."

"You got Isabel to make me tres leches?" Buck asks, looking delighted.

"Okay, okay, it's not just for you—"

"Dad made it," interjects Chris, the traitor. "Can we please eat it now?"

Now Buck's expression has gone all soft, so sparkling and warm that Eddie can barely look directly at it. "You made me a cake?"

"You cooked dinner," Eddie counters, crossing over to open the fridge and pull the covered pan out. The whipped cream isn't in those graceful swirls that his abuela always did, but he's pretty sure it'll taste okay. It all looks okay, anyway. "Don't worry, I had supervision. It's probably edible."

"It looks amazing," Buck says, but he's not looking at the cake; he's looking at Eddie. Eddie tries to duck his head, and Buck catches his chin before he can manage it, and kisses him. It lingers sweetly for a moment, and then he grins and pulls away. "You made me a cake."

"Yeah, yeah," Eddie says, and thinks, I love you, I love you.

He doesn't say it out loud, not yet. But by the way Buck is beaming at him, Eddie thinks maybe he got it all the same.

#911 #911 fic #buddie #buddie fic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #isabel diaz #christopher diaz #prompt fic #my fic

[tonysbed]

Butterfly | MV1

Max Verstappen x fem!reader

!Triggering content! Part of the mental health series

Warnings: mention of relapse, razor blades, blood

mental health masterlist | main masterlist

Summary: Max comes home earlier than expected..

Max was relived he was able to come home early. He had missed you and simply being home. He didn’t tell you because he knew otherwise you’d stay up waiting for him.

You didn’t hear the key in the door or the shuffling from max in the hallway. You were way to focused on your bloody arms. Tears blurring your vision and another sob shaking your body.

Max freezed in front of the door. Were you crying? He opened the door and his blood went cold at the sight on the bed.

Blood stained tissues around you, you holding your wrists and crying.

You hadn’t even noticed him “Lifje?” You head snapped up, wide eyes staring at you.

Your eyes locked for a few moments before he started to move towards you “What-I-“ His eyes were filled with worry.

Max slowly pushed aside the tissues and sat beside you. He pulled your hand your wrist and replaced it with his.

“Oh baby” He pulled you into his lap.

“I’m sorry-I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“ He cut you off “It’s okay. Hey, breath baby. It’s okay. No need to apologise” His arm tightened around you while his other hand kept pressure on the new cuts.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurting, hm? Could’ve done something to distract you from your thoughts” He whispered. You just leaned more into his chest.

“Didn’t wanna bother you” You hiccup “You’re never a bother to me. You’re my everything okay? I need to know what’s going on with you. I’m not gonna be mad okay? I just wanna help you”

You nod into his chest “Good. Now tell me, what happened?” His voice was so soothing to you “Bad day”

He hummed”Why?” You stayed quiet for a moment but eventually told him what happened. He kissed your head.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” He moves you effortlessly into the bathroom, sitting you down on the closed toilet.

He pulled out the first aid kit and kneeled in front of you. His eyes fixated on your cuts. You hiss when the alcohol mets your wound “Sorry, my love.”

You bit your tongue through the rest of the procedure, just wanting to be back in his arms. He slowly put the things back into the kit and looked at you.

“I’m sorry, maxie” He shook his head “Don’t want an apology baby.I know it’s hard okay? Come on” He held out his hand to you and leads you back to the bedroom.

You got changed into pyjamas and sat on the bed while max was getting undressed. He kept his shirt off, knowing you preferred the heat of his body directly.

He pulled you onto his chest “Please tell me before it gets this bad again my love. I want to help. I pinky promise I won’t ever be mad. I will make time for you, okay? You mean the word to me and I can’t lose you” His voice slightly breaks.

You nod “I promise” Max pulled you in for a kiss “Good. Now let’s rest, okay?”

It’s been a year since then. With Max’s help you barley relapsed, and when you did, he was there to hold you, clean you up and promise you the world.

You had made him draw a butterfly, just for fun you said. Little did he know that you got it tattooed right over your now slowly fading scars.

A/n: Hello my loves! If you ever feel like this please reach out. I know you’ve probably heard this a million times but you can’t get better unless you want it:( I love you, take care of yourself as good as you can and remember, I’m proud of you! 🤍

Not proofread btw

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen angst #self h@rm #triggering content #sh trigger

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

LET’S GO HOME

Pairing - Tommy Shelby - fem!reader

Summary - Tommy was your most loyal client. But his proposition made you run. But you can only run so far from The Peaky Devil.

Warnings - Dubcon, abduction, oral! m receiving, intimidating Tommy.

Word count - 1.3k

Notes - I think I'm going through a Tommy phase, no I am not okay.

A small congested sniffle here and there were the only sounds in the Bently as the engine roared on the empty dirt road. Tugging at your nightdress, your eyes dared to look over to Tommy as he drove, his eyes firmly on the road ahead and knuckles white around the wheel. 

It was freezing at the time of dusk, the orange sun blurred behind the clouds peeking out from the horizon. As you pressed your shivering body against the door, his dark eyes finally gazed over to you. 

“Come over here my darling… We still have about an hour ahead of us, come and keep us warm” Tommy’s voice was cold yet soothing. 

As badly as you didn’t want to, the thinness of your dress demanded otherwise. Sitting in this condition for the past few hours has left you desperate for warmth. Slowly, you slid across the seating and snuggled up to him, your teeth chattering. Tommy breathed out as he pulled the car over to the side and parked the car. Your eyes filled with fear, but Tommy merely slid off his coat and wrapped it around your fragile body. 

When he pressed on the pedal again with another lit cigarette between his lips, you let out a rough breath and rubbed your forehead against his pec. 

Tommy Shelby was your most loyal client back in London. Being a businessman, he dropped by here and there. But always requested you to satisfy his needs whenever he was in town. Surprisingly, he was the only man that was able to satisfy your needs as well despite being a prostitute. 

He paid high amounts to see you, to keep you all to himself in that cheap bed all day. Over time, the sex became less frequent as a lot of your time together was spent talking. All while being held in his arms. 

He told you he loved you time and time again. But Tommy was just high on desire and opium. So you played along in this fantasy of his, a man like him could never be in love with a woman like you. It was only ever infatuation, desire, ownership. 

Every time he’d ask you to stop seeing others, and every time you told him you would. Even though his payment was always large, your boss took a larger cut. So you couldn’t solely depend on him in a city like London. 

But you were naive on how dangerous of a man Mr Shelby was. Some girls praised you for bewitching a man like him, others deemed you to be cursed. Yes you knew he was a gangster, a leader of an underground empire. But you never dared yourself to learn the extent of his profession. 

Then, on one of the most beautiful days of the year, all the other men steered clear of you, nobody wanted you. At first you wondered why, got overwhelmed as your cash was running short and you hadn’t seen Tommy in weeks. But when you observed a man in a peaked cap slip your boss a hefty amount of money, you had a sick feeling in your gut that Tommy was up to something. 

That night Tommy finally visited you again. Right before he left, just after he slipped on his coat, he made a proposition that not many would refuse. Tommy put forward that you quit your position at the brothel and worked for him full time, living with him in his grand home. You freaked mentally but put on a facade to be in compliance. 

Tommy wanted you to believe that you were coming on your free will. He cleverly orchestrated for you to submit yourself completely to him. Which was surprising, since he was a man known for taking whatever he wanted. The uncertainty of being completely underneath him frightening you. The warnings the other girls gave you pulsated from the back of your mind. 

As Tommy left, he gave you a stern expression, you knew he was trying to read you. So you gave him a gentle kiss on the lips to reassure him. Tommy informed you that he would come for you after he had settled some business and gave you your last official payment. 

You caught the first train out in the morning. Through your rush of adrenaline, you didn’t even check where it was taking you. You only wanted to get out, run as far as you could. Where you ended up in a small town far from the city. He couldn’t find you here, for he was still only a man. 

For months, you had been working as a maid at a small estate. It felt like you had reached the end of a rainbow to be able to get this lucky. The pay was decent and the owners were kinder than most. Every night you had a comfortable bed to sleep in. 

Until this night, where you woke up to a pistol pressed against your jaw. Your heart immediately raced. It bolted from the starting point to not realize that there was no endpoint. You began to blubber as the moonlight illuminated his familiar features underneath his peaked cap. Those blue eyes seemed to sparkle. Tommy teased the barrel over your soft skin. 

“Hush my darling, hush. We do not want to wake anyone, do we?” Tommy whispered, a wicked grin on his lips as he pressed the gun to your temple. 

You choked on your whine as you shook your head to him. Tommy sighed as he sat on the bed beside you, his hand rubbing over your hidden thighs. 

“Come on, let’s go home” he spoke smoothly as he slid the gun back into his holster. 

Your hands stroked his abdomen as he rested his chin on your head. By the way his hips were constantly shifting, you knew he was hard. The natural urge inside of you demanded that you satisfied him. Whilst the reasoning inside of you pushed you to be good, for you knew what he was capable of. 

Because how was it even possible for him to find you? You thought you were gone without a trace. Never had he shown you his ruthlessness, his cruelness. Never have you seen the pure evil that ran through his bloodstream. The sickening gut feeling told you that he would show you that side for betraying him. 

“Darling… I knew you missed me” Tommy exhaled in satisfaction as you squeezed his bulge. Gradually the pressure of your strokes grew. As you undid his belt, you pulled out his large size and gulped.  “Don’t think this gets you off the hook” Tommy groaned as you took him inside of your mouth eagerly. 

All you could do was hum in compliance. Tommy breathed out, his neck tilting back slightly as you took him inside of your mouth more and more. Your cheeks hollowed as one of your hands fondled his balls. 

“Fuck darling… I’ve missed you so much” he confessed as his foot pressed harder on the accelerator.

His hand pressed on your head to keep his cock poking against the back of your throat. You gagged out and attempted to push him off, too afraid to try to be more forceful for he was the one with his hand on the wheel. 

“Gonna stay buried in you for days… Weeks even…” Tommy stated as his hips flexed up, tears swelled in your eyes as you struggled not to bite down. “Your cunt is going to feel so fucking warm” he noted, jaw wide open and watering at the thought of your sweet nectar tree. 

Your legs squirmed across the seating as you squeezed his thigh in surrender. But it was all pointless, this was merely a lesson on how he was never going to be letting you go. So you might as well just suck it up, literally. 

“Keep on going darling, almost there…” Tommy encouraged you, a wicked smirk on his lips.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #dark smut #smut #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders

[imagine-darksiders]

Eden's Heir, chapter 4 - The Jump.

I can't believe it's been almost a year since I updated this. A lot has happened recently, not all of it good, but I'm still here, and will continue to be by hook or by crook! I've had to cut it into two chapters because the final fight between the Slag Demon and the Horsemen is taking way too long to write. Good news though, there'll be two chapters in [hopefully] quick succession. Hooray! Hope you like this one, guys, thank you all so much for standing by me and waiting so patiently.. I don't know where I'd be without your support. <3 <3 <3

Summary:

As you grapple with the horrifying, new reality you've found yourself in, Strife continues to torment you in the misguided hope that somehow, you'll spontaneously start to like him. His jokes are terrible. It's just a shame you have a weakness for terrible jokes. War, meanwhile, can't stop his eyes from wandering to your fresh, undeserved scar...

You suppose that when Strife said this would be ‘fun,’ he was only factoring himself into the equation. Because for you, there’s nothing very fun about having your particles ripped apart and rocketed through a portal which, according to modern science, should not and does not exist.

Well, modern science owes you a formal apology.

As it turns out, portals very much do exist, and they’re a lot less fun than the media has led you to believe.

The experience - though you hesitate to give it such a mundane moniker - isn’t… painful, per se, mostly because the whole process is over and done with so quickly that your brain and body aren’t given the time to notice that they’ve been squished through one end of a worm hole, reassembled atom by atom, and then spat out on the other side.

Perhaps more disconcertingly than the feeling itself is the fact that when you’re hanging for that split-second moment in a space outside of existence itself, you notice that the temperature around you inexplicably skyrockets.

And frankly, you’re not sure which is worse… The stale, unwelcoming chill of the Void, or the absolute blistering inferno that greets you within less than a second of leaving it.

Before you can even open your mouth to scream at the unnatural process your very human body is being subjected to, the space around you solidifies and stabilises again, and an unexpected jolt shoots straight through you when Strife’s metal boots collide with a hard, stone surface, jarring your stomach painfully against his shoulder pauldron.

At the same time, a wave of hot, dry air sweeps over you from head to toe, cloaking you in uncomfortable and immediate warmth that’s downright oppressive, thick and inescapable, as if you’ve just been tossed onto the fiery surface of the sun and left to sizzle.

Actually, now that you’ve experienced both extremes, perhaps you are sure which is worse. At least that sinister demon’s Void didn’t make you want to peel yourself out of your own skin.

Groaning miserably, you pick your hazy head up and suck in a breath that goes down about as well as spoiled meat, and then nearly retch at the unpleasant texture of heat sliding down the walls of your oesophagus like something squirming and alive.

Even the metal chain on your bag begins to grow warm against the skin of your neck, dangling down below your head near the Horseman’s holsters.

“Hot damn,” Strife announces, concisely putting a voice to your thoughts.

Your lashes are sticky from leftover tears, clumping together when you squeeze your eyes shut and attempt to pry them apart again. It takes a few arduous blinks before your blurry surroundings bleed into focus.

You rather wish you’d just kept your head down and your eyes firmly shut.

If there were any doubts left in your mind that teleportation really is possible, they swiftly fly out of the proverbial window when you catch your first, proper glimpse of the surroundings.

Wherever you are, it definitely isn’t the same place you were in barely ten seconds ago.

Bracing a palm against Strife’s solidly armoured back, you lever your torso up slightly to give yourself a better view of the world around you.

It seems that the portal – your brain starts to ache as it tries to accept the existence of those – has spat you out underneath the roof of an absolutely gargantuan cavern.

Roving your gaze back and forth, mouth ajar, you notice the walls, floor and ceiling are made entirely of dark, igneous rock, and yet all around you, you start to spot signs of… Well, perhaps not civilisation exactly, but definitely an external presence that gives you the impression that this is a keep of some kind, dug by hand rather than time or nature.

Two, immense pillars stand proudly at the far corners of the enormous chamber, large enough to prop up the roof of a veritable mountain.

Craning your neck back until it twinges, you squint through a haze of simmering air at the ceiling far above you, feeling a trickle of dread creep down into the pit of your stomach.

Bolted into the rock between the stalactites, there are numerous, gigantic chains hanging like eerie sentinel over your heads, so large and heavy that it doesn’t look as though anything short of gale-force winds could cause them to sway. You don’t dare to imagine what purpose they might serve.

Pale, unreachable light trickles lazily down from above, dappling little patches of the grey stone underneath Strife’s boots.

With your heart wedged in your throat, you swallow another curl of heat and let your gaze wander over to the side of the keep to where the ground falls away in a sheer drop several feet from the walls. It’s from the resulting pit that a vivid, orange glow rises, carrying with it the distinct sound of cracking, like glass windows slowly splintering apart, or a lake of ice breaking under a heavily placed boot. And below that sound, a deep, subterranean rumble serves as the background noise to this stifling place, constant and oozing.

Coupled with the acrid stench permeating your nostrils and the sweltering heat, you’re suddenly struck by the very disconcerting but plausible notion that you might have found yourself in the heart a volcano.

As if your day wasn’t horrendous enough.

All of a sudden, your ears are pricked by a low grunt from somewhere just a little too close to you, reminding you of your larger tormentor’s presence with a nauseating pang to the stomach. Consequentially, the unsightly welt on your forearm gives an insistent twinge.

Twisting your head to the left, you nearly jump out of your skin to find War has appeared out of thin air beside you, straightening to his full domineering height that easily clears his brother, and subsequently, you. The hooded behemoth only spares you a disinterested glance before his pale, blue eyes dart away again just as quickly and he stomps around to Strife’s front, out of view.

A breath you didn’t know you were keeping behind your teeth shakes itself loose.

You have to peel your tongue from the roof of your bone-dry mouth like a strip of velcro before you’re able to form a small, hesitant question in a voice baked hoarse and thin. “What is this place?”

No sooner has your meek question faded below the rumble of the cavern’s ambiance than an entirely new and harrowing sound punctures the otherwise quiet air.

Howling along the cavern walls comes a piercing, anguished scream, stemming from a place much deeper than you’ve already seen. It’s a raw sound, broken and terrified and primal, like a man with his humanity stripped and skewed just enough that he can’t quite be called human any longer. It prompts a sharp gasp out of you as the sound ricochets off the rocks, curdling your blood and raising the finer hairs on the back of your neck.

As if he’s entirely unconcerned with such a horrifying occurrence, Strife plants his free hand squarely on a hip and draws in a deep, obnoxious breath through his nose before he sighs it all out again, casting a casual glance around with all the air of a man surveying a pleasant sunrise.

“Ahh~ Screams of suffering, chains hanging from the ceiling, no sign of an exit…” he sighs wistfully, clapping the back of your thigh with his palm and announcing, “Yep! We’re definitely in a dungeon.”

He seems oblivious to your apprehension as you dart your eyes to every darkened corner of the cavern as if you might find the source of the tormented scream, curling your legs up under your dress until your knees bump against the Horseman’s chest. “A-a dungeon!?” you gulp, kneading your fingers between the gaps of Strife’s armoured spine, “A dungeon for what?”

Distracted for a fleeting moment by the foreign sensation of fingertips pressing against his leather under-armour, the Horseman almost forgets to respond.

It isn’t until he notices War’s expectant glare burning a hole into the side of his visor that he gives his head a shake and promptly shrugs his massive shoulders, swinging himself around to face away from his brother, and in doing do, bringing you almost nose to chest with the surly giant.

“Beats me,” he hums, utterly heedless of the fearsome stare-down currently happening just behind his head, “Probably for the poor bastard we just heard screaming... And a few others, to boot.”

Angling your head up, you have to gulp past a rather thick lump in your throat as you peer meekly up at War, who in turn, glares right back down at you, his eyes glinting ominously from within the shadow of his hood.

Reluctant to drop your gaze or even breathe for fear of provoking him by committing some unknowable slight, you shrink against Strife and duck your head, peeping up at him through your lashes as you tap your forefinger against one of the silver armour pieces interlocking across your captor’s back.

“Um,” you start, hearing Strife’s helm brush against your dress when he turns to listen, “C-can you, uh, put me down now…” Then, following a notable stretch of deafening silence, you squeakily tack on a hurried, “Please?”

There’s no guarantee that being on the ground will be any better for you than dangling over an uncomfortable, metal shoulder, but you’re at least willing to entertain the illusion that you’ll be safer on your feet without Strife dictating your every move. A modicum of control is better than none at all.

And truthfully, you’d just like to end the humiliation of being carried around like a sack of distraught potatoes.

Yet for some, inane reason, the armour-clad Horseman doesn’t seem as eager to relinquish you as you are to be relinquished.

“Aw, what’s the matter?” he drawls, bumping his shoulder up and down playfully, no doubt to pull a rise out of you which you frustratingly give him in the form of a gasp before he continues, “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

Still glaring down at you, unimpressed, War gives an exasperated huff, blasting a jet of warm air onto the crown of your head.

“Put her down,” he states firmly, lifting his gaze from you at last, “You will need both hands free if we run into trouble.”

Knocking his head back over a shoulder to address you, Strife grins beneath his helm and murmurs, “Ha. You’d be amazed what I can pull off one-handed.”

Trying your best to ignore his boast, you roll your eyes and start to squirm, wriggling around under the weight of his arm. “Ugh,” you complain, “Will you please just put me down?”

“Mmm…” Humming obnoxiously, Strife sucks his teeth and replies, “Depends. You gonna try and run away again?”

That, at least, gives you something to consider. Are you going to try and run again? They certainly haven’t given you much of a reason not to.

The scar War gave you still burns when you bend your arm a certain way and the flesh pulls and stretches beyond the limits of the tissue.

More to the point, how do you really know any of what they’ve told you is true?

How do you know you’re not on Earth right now, somewhere remote, yes, but escapable. Because they told you you’re not?

You don’t know these giants from Adam.

You can’t trust anything they say. You don’t trust anything they say. And while you’ve undeniably found yourself smack-dab in the middle of some seriously unnatural goings on, that doesn’t mean you have to accept everything at face value.

Reality might be breaking apart around you, but you don’t have to join it, tempting though it may be to curl up into a ball and sob until the problem sorts itself out.

Desperate, your brain falls into a tailspin as it tries to rationalise such irrational circumstances.

Outwardly however, you’re aware he’s waiting for a response, so, sweeping your tongue nervously over your bottom lip, you finally croak out a hesitant, “No?”

The silence that follows is damn near chilling.

Twisting your neck up and back over your shoulder, you catch the shine in one of Strife’s luminous eyes peering at you, narrow and thin with obvious scepticism.

 “Huh,” he says, clicking his tongue, “That didn’t sound very convincing. I’m not very convinced.” Casting a look over at his brother, he adds, “War, are you very convinced?”

Predictably, War’s only response is to glower down at the shorter Horseman and grumble impatiently at the back of his throat.

Nonplussed, Strife returns his attention to you. “I don’t think he’s very convinced.”

You have to press your lips into a firm, immoveable line and swallow back the vulgar words you’d just love to spew all over his shoulder…. Instead, you heave in a hot, arduous breath and slowly reiterate, “No. I won’t try to run away.” Then for added measure… “Again.”

You loathe that you can feel the scrutiny of not one, but two apocalyptic beings boring into the side of your head with suspicious, calculating glares.

Just as you’re beginning to consider whether pulling his hair will get him to drop you or kill you, Strife suddenly perks up, his sinister doubt disappearing as he raises his chin to pipe, “A’right. Good enough for me.”

Taken wildly aback, you let your mouth hang open whilst Strife simply raises his arms and lays two oversized hands on your hips, causing your jaw to snap shut before you can emit an embarrassing squeak of fright.

With far too much ease, the Horseman lifts you up and off his shoulder.

The moment you lose the stability of his armour under your stomach, you begin to tilt forwards. Choking on a gasp, you throw your hands up and brace them on each of his forearms.

“Don’t worry, I gotcha,” he chuckles brightly, to your immense dismay.

It’s a disconcerting sight. From the tips of your fingers to the heels of your palms, your hands don’t even wrap halfway around his armoured wrists.

Gawking down at your appendages, they seem so lost against the enormity of the arms that lower you gently to the ground.

As soon as the soles of your shoes touch a solid surface again, you waste no time in ripping your hands away from him and staggering backwards, trying but failing to extract yourself from his sturdy grasp.

Before you can get very far at all, fingers of solid steel bury themselves into your dress at the hip and you jerk to an immediate halt for fear of tearing the fabric by struggling. Arms held aloft to avoid touching his own again, you throw a wary look up at Strife’s visor, reluctantly meeting those sharp, alien eyes and finding they’ve narrowed to thin lines of gold, gleaming brightly against the shadows cast by his helm.

“You’re gonna have to get used to sticking close to one of us, kid,” he warns, his tone brooking no argument and devoid of any previous jocularity, “Cause as nasty as you think we are, I guarantee there’re things in here that are a thousand times worse.”

The well you typically draw your courage from ran dry long ago, long before you came here, long before you quietly agreed to marry Cain. So, you aren’t sure where you find the nerve to jut out your chin and bitterly remark, “Worse than trying to slice off my limbs?”

Sudden movement freezes you in your shoes as War emerges from behind his brother, moving to stand at his side and swallowing you up in the egregious shadow he casts across the ground.

Ignoring his approach, the gunslinger continues to hold you still.

“Yeah,” he replies simply, “A lot worse.”

Squeezing your lips into a tight, anxious pout, you swallow, unnerved by the way his gaze instantly dips to watch your throat bob around the undulating motion.

Gradually, you lower your head, losing the defiance of a jutting chin to instead tuck it timidly away against your chest, consumed by the sudden and unwarranted ideas that start to flash in your mind’s eye, showing you gruesome fates that could await you just around the corner.

If two gigantic maniacs wielding guns and a sword aren’t the worst you could face…

Just what the Hell have you walked into?

Regarding you closely for a few more moments, Strife eventually gives his head a satisfied bob, deeming that you’ve read him loud and clear.

Gingerly, he starts to peel his fingers from your dress, wincing when the gaps in his gauntlets pinch the delicate fabric as he returns his hands to his sides. Regardless, all of his muscles remain bunched, ready to spring into action at the first sign that you might go back on your word and attempt to flee after all.

He’s almost more caught off guard when you don’t move.

Instead, you murmur a soft, “Thank you,” which just about smacks the jaw clean off his face. Staring down at you, his lips parted by a fraction, he watches you fiddle with a jewelled band of gold sitting at the base of one of your fingers for several seconds before he remembers to blink.

Indifferent, and admittedly ignorant of his sudden bout of silence, you try to distract yourself by absently brushing the palms of your hands over your dress, tutting softly at the creases and rumples in the tulle.

It’s all you can think to do now that you’ve got a little freedom back.

Nearby, War shifts his immense weight to stand even closer to Strife’s flank, and together, the brothers share a sidelong glance before returning their attention to the fussy, little human in front of them.

Even with the helm obscuring most of Strife’s angular features, War only needs to take one glance at his profile to catch the distinct and unmistakable gleam of fascination bleeding through the cracks in his armour.

Typical Strife, he scoffs to himself. The minute something new and shiny comes along, it’s all he seems to be able to think about. And there are very few things newer and shinier than a lost human dressed from head to toe in sparkling, white garb.

Hauling his eyes up towards the cavernous ceiling, War lets out an exasperated sigh and brusquely elbows Strife aside, sweeping him backwards with the palm of his prosthetic gauntlet, much to his brother’s belligerence.

“Hey!” he barks, though he goes entirely ignored.

Stepping sideways into the spot Strife had once occupied, War places his back to the smaller Nephilim and clears his throat, curious at the way you quickly stiffen like a prey animal and gradually lift your head.

He stands so close that you have to tip it all the way back before you’re even able to meet his eye, reminding him of how much smaller humans are. Smaller, and weaker…

The colossal Horseman almost can’t quite believe that for a member of a species so vulnerable, you don’t seem to possess any weapons. Natural or otherwise.

His eyes drift down to the long, pink line he’d marked you with. You hadn’t tried to claw or bite or do much of anything to stop him, not that it would have made an iota of difference. You were helpless… And he…

A pair of snowy white brows twitch microscopically inwards.

“Do you know how to fight?” he utters at last, lifting his gaze to meet your otherworldly stare. He doesn’t miss how you seem to be fixated on something behind his crimson hood, and if he has to hazard a guess, you’re staring directly at Chaoseater’s hilt.

Pulling a face, you look back at him and croak, “I… I-I’m sorry?”

Briefly wondering why in the nine Hells you’re apologising, he presses, “Have you any weapons training?” When all he receives it a blank stare, he casts his mind about for something primitive you’ll have heard of and adds, “Swords? Axes…? Bows?”

“Guns?” Strife eagerly pipes up from somewhere behind him.

Heaving an irritated sigh, War half turns his head over a shoulder and snaps, “She is a human. She doesn’t know what guns are.”

“I… What?” you peep, wrenched from your stupor by the absurdity of his declaration, “Uh… Yes, I do.”

Bemused, War raises his brow at you and retorts, “No, you do not.”

For a moment, you’re so dumbstruck by his apparent ignorance that you forget how much larger and more dangerous he is, enough that you pluck up the gall to scoff at him and insist, “Uh. I’m pretty sure I do? Humans have been using guns for centuries.”

Raising your hands, you start to knock a list off your fingers, unaware of the behemoth’s eyes growing wide.

“Shotguns, rifles, pistols-“ you state, pausing to throw a hand out and gesture at the guns in Strife’s leather holsters.  “Revolvers-!”

You’re unprepared for War to suddenly move forwards, instantly cutting off your rambling list and sending your glimmer of nerve scurrying back down your throat as he leans towards you, filling your field of view with his indomitable, ferocious scowl.

On a reflex, you tilt backwards with a hand on your chest, blinking owlishly up into the depths of his hood.

“How could you possibly know about firearms?” he demands, the sigil on his forehead burning with fiery heat as his temper flares.

Shaking your head rapidly, you stammer out, “I.. I don’t, I’m not-“

“-Hey,” Strife tries to interject, “C’mon, War. You’re scarin’ her.”

Disregarding his brother, the Horseman raises his voice and growls, “Who has been supplying you?! Speak!”

Your hands wring together as you try to form an answer, struggling in the face of someone who has proven they have no qualms about hurting you. But all you can produce is another pitiable whimper. “Nobody! We just-“

Before you can utter another sound, a large, silver hand suddenly appears over War’s shoulder, grabbing the metal pauldron that’s been forged in the likeness of a snarling face and tugging him away from you.

“War!” Strife barks, trying to wrench his brother around to face him, “I said back off.”

Savagely tearing his arm out of his grasp, War rounds on him, nostrils flaring like a raging bull. Flinging his arm out towards you indicatively, he bellows, “If humans are being supplied with weapons-!”

“-Then why’re you takin’ it out on her, and not the asshole trying to arm her species?”

War’s teeth click shut, his shoulders heaving with every breath he pulls into his train carriage chest.

Letting out a sigh, Strife sends a sideways glance at you, lowering his voice to add, “Come on. Look at who you’re trying to intimidate.”

Begrudgingly, War follows his brother’s line of sight.

You’re well aware you aren’t exactly giving humanity a good name right now, shivering like a wet leaf and holding your injured arm guardedly against your chest, all the while stifling a sob and eyeing War as if he’ll draw his sword and run you through at any moment.

For several, terrible seconds, the Horseman’s sneer remains locked in place, rigid and threatening, but as he watches you cower away from him, something in War’s almighty resolve shudders…

And yields.

Slowly, at a pace that would make a glacier yawn, his hard snarl recedes.

“See,” Strife points out, “You just look like a dick.”

The furious expression is back on War’s face in the blink of an eye, but at least this time, he aims it at his brother, opening his mouth to suck down a sharp breath, ready to berate him…

Rocks skitter across the ground somewhere too close for comfort, snatching the attention of your unlikely troop.

As one unit, Strife and War spin towards the far end of the chamber where the noise had come from, reaching for their weapons and placing their broad, armoured backs to you.

It would be the perfect opportunity to make a break for it, if you weren’t frozen solid by the prospect of running into whatever made these juggernauts so jumpy.

The former Horseman draws both of his guns from their holsters so quickly, your eyes can barely keep track of the movement. War, in the meantime, takes a gigantic step backwards as he swings his accursed sword over his shoulder, crowding you into a clumsy retreat to avoid having your toes stepped on.

Frantic, you try to peer through the gap between the titans, scanning the chamber walls for any sign of life.

“What the hell was that?” you can’t help but whisper-shout, hardly daring to breathe.

Neither of them replies for a time, not even Strife, who has his revolvers aimed out at the room, his arms still as statues as if he isn’t even vaguely affected by the weight of his guns.

Seconds tick by at an agonising pace, and the three of you wait, and wait, straining your ears to try and pick up another sound. But aside from the crackle of lava cooling as it hits the air, everything remains perfectly still and silent once more.  

After another minute, War grunts, lowering his sword and casting a dark look up at the ceiling. “We’ve lingered here for too long,” he remarks, half turning to peer down at you again, his eyes skimming over you from head to toe.

“So,” he starts, “You’ve handled guns?”

Shaking your head, you hold your hands out helplessly and say, “No, I mean, I know about them, but I-I’ve never actually shot one.”

“I could teach you,” Strife pipes up, thrusting the revolvers back into their holsters with casual ease.

“Now is hardly the time, brother,” War snaps, still eyeing you pensively.

Something very strange has been hovering about you like a miasma ever since you crashed into his brother in the Void. Something unplaceable that he can’t quite put his finger on. You are human, that much is confirmed, but you’re not like any human he’s ever heard of. It’s a troubling notion, that some unseen force might be trying to arm your species. If that’s the case, they’ll need to figure out who. Then why.

But in the meantime, he and Strife have a job to do, here and now.

First thing’s first…

“… Never handled a weapon,” he murmurs aloud.

It makes sense, he concedes. Humans aren’t a war-faring species, so it’s little wonder that you don’t know how to use weapons… For War, however, a Nephilim who has been holding a blade since the day he was risen from dust, the concept seems so alien, not to mention disconcerting.

Inclining his head, he gives you another once-over before turning away, stating matter-of-factly, “You will be a liability.”

It’s such a blasé statement, accusing, as if you’re culpable of something you’ve had no control over thus far. It actually makes you recoil as you draw your head back to fix him with an incredulous frown, lips parted, and your brows furrowed heavily above your eyes.

Despite every fibre of your being telling you that there’s a terrible idea forming at the back of your mind, you take a step away, lean your weight on your heel, and start to size him up.

Now, you’ve picked some battles before, tried to stand up to people you had no business standing up to. Cain and Delilah nipped that streak in the bud back when you thought asserting your opinion on matters of marriage should make a difference. Those battles were wildly different from this one, and you lost, every time, worn down and beaten back from the woman you used to be by wills stronger and more tempered than yours. You used to think you could face the world bravely, and all it took were a few people to show you that you weren’t as strong as you liked to think you were. It humbled you, and over time, you learned an easier life was synonymous with a passive life.

But you’ve been passive a lot lately.

Maybe you’ve been running on cold feet for too long. Maybe this whole, nightmarish interruption to your routine is finally catching up to you and numbing you to sense and logic, but truth be told?

You really don’t like hearing that this is somehow your fault.

Balling your hands into fists, you swallow thickly, and steady yourself with a noisy breath, wondering if this will be the moment you get to learn if there’s a Heaven as well as a Hell.

“Hey! I didn’t ask you to bring me with you, okay?” you say in a wobbly voice, staring at a spot just past his left arm to avoid his glare lest your words fail you completely, “Maybe, if I’m such a liability, you should just leave me to find my own way home!”

His head snaps properly in your direction with such velocity, you let out a gasp, flinching backwards and shrinking in on yourself again, your eyes darting to his lips that curl just the slightest in one corner, and the little bit of gall sitting on your tongue shrivels up and dies at the back of your throat.

Oh well. It was nice to have your guts back while it lasted. Just a pity they’re probably about to get ripped out of you for raising your voice.

For a number of unpleasant seconds, War merely regards you like you’ve just completely thrown him for a loop, neither raising his sword nor his fist to send you spinning off your mortal coil into the aether.

Finally, just as you’re beginning to fidget under his inspection, he quirks his brow at you and slowly states, “If you leave… you will die.”

You were expecting him to lose his temper again, to shout you down or put you down, not remark on your chances of survival.

“Oh, as if you give a shit about that,” you huff guardedly, curling a palm over your marred forearm and eyeing the Horseman like he’ll tear you in half for daring to call attention to the injury he caused.

War’s stance and expression don’t change in the slightest. He only continues to observe you coolly from inside his hood, ignoring the frequent looks Strife keeps flicking between the pair of you.

After a further spell of silence in which you seem to grow impossibly smaller, he at last gives an appraising hum and straightens his shoulders, jerking his head towards his brother and declaring, “You will stay close to Strife.”

Wait… You will?

“I will?” you say aloud, sending the other Horseman a distrustful glance. Strife, for his part, looks conversely pleased with the verdict, his head tipping coltishly to one side as he gives you a little wave.

… Well, you suppose if you have to choose between the two, the less time you spend near War the better. You assume he feels the same about having to be close to you, at least until he adds, “If we run into trouble, his guns allow him range. He will not let anything to get close to you.”

“They’re welcome to try,” his brother says cheerfully, thumbing the stock of a revolver.

Wilting like a helpless flower plucked from its patch of earth, you weakly ask, “Do I have a choice?”

Giving a hearty chuckle, Strife takes an exaggerated step closer to your side and pivots on his heel to face the same direction, cheerfully replying, “Ah, c’mon. Don’t be like that. I thought you humans were social. Safety in numbers, and all that?”

Disconcerted by his proximity, you lean away from him, cupping your elbows. “That’s not true for all of us,” you mumble.

You hear his intake of breath and prepare yourself for yet more inane chatter, but at that moment, you jump as another howl – distant but hair-raising – comes drifting into the chamber from some unknown offshoot deeper in the keep’s depths.

“Fucking hell,” you quake, your voice shaking like glass on the verge of shattering.

At your side, Strife mutters, “My sentiments exactly.”

Raising his head to catch War’s eye, he swings his chin towards the only visible exit; the apex of a wide, stone staircase that winds down away from the chamber, disappearing into a tunnel below. “You wanna take point?”

War’s response is a rich, throaty hum, accompanied by a decisive nod. “Indeed, we have wasted more than enough time here. Let us find Vulgrim’s troubling demon and pry the artifact from its cold, dead hands.”

“Ohho-okay!” Strife grins, suddenly gleeful as he claps his hands together, “Now you’re getting me excited.”

Rolling his eyes, War turns away and makes for the stairs, swinging his arm up to clip Chaoseater into its usual place on his back. Blankly watching him leave, you give a start when something metal and solid nudges at the small of your back, prodding you to stumble forwards awkwardly until Strife’s knuckles drop and he falls into step beside you, one stride for every two and a half of yours.

 “I love it when he gets like this,” he remarks.

 Begrudgingly, you resign yourself to trail after his brother and ask, “What? Murderous?”

“Oh yeah. Even he can be fun.” Tilting his head to the side in thought, he adds, “On occasion.”

Sweat has been steadily gathering on your forehead, and as you finally begin to move, a tiny droplet breaks free of your brow and trickles slowly down the side of your face. Of all the days to get swept up in a Universe-spanning caper, it would be the day you elected to wear one of the most awkward and cumbersome dresses known to man.

“So far none of this has been fun,” you huff, reaching up to flick the sweat drop away with a finger.

Strife’s boots hit the top step and he twists his helm sideways to shoot you a mock-offended smirk, “Not even me?”

You don’t bother to respond to that, instead throwing nervous glances around the room as you lift the front of your skirts and start to descend the staircase, your heels clacking noisily against the hard stone underfoot and echoing off the high walls. Somewhere nearby, you can hear liquid lava squeaking and splintering as it hits the marginally cooler air, though the heat only seems to grow more stifling the further you venture.

Absently, you wonder if you remembered to put your setting spray in the bag.

The staircase spirals down into the depths of a tunnel, twisting out of view and giving you no concept of what might lay ahead. To your left, you note the presence of tall, metal spikes jutting from a pit that runs alongside the stairs, like a wrought-iron fence whose purpose has been retrofitted into an inefficient and hostile railing. From the corner of an eye, you spot something round and ivory impaled halfway down one of those spikes. A single glimpse is all you need before you immediately avert your gaze to the stairs ahead, heart thumping in your chest. Behind you, a pair of dark, unseeing eye sockets seem to sear into your back as you continue your descent.

As you move lower, more signs start to appear that you aren’t the only visitors to this keep. Sconces line the wall, roaring with open flames that cast the path ahead in an orange glow. Two, iron firepits stand on either side of the staircase at its base, and it’s here that War has paused. It strikes you that in spite of his size, he’s slightly more camouflaged in this place than he was in the void, his scarlet cloak and dark grey armour blending well with the rock and heat around him.

As you and Strife come to a stop behind War, you lean sideways and find yourself peering tentatively into the space beyond his bulk.

The tunnel has opened up into another spacious chamber, and the path beyond the stairs has opened up too, into a vast, circular area with no walls or boundaries, nothing but another deep pit that sweeps around it, carrying a river of flowing, basaltic lava to somewhere further into the - as Strife had called it -‘dungeon.’

Maybe you really are in some kind of volcano. The urge to find a way out of here increases dramatically, but with Strife watching your back a little too closely and War cutting off an escape from the front, your options, at the moment, are quite limited.

At last, War takes a step out onto the level ground, then another and another, stalking forwards with his head on a constant swivel, vigilant. Strife, in the meantime, walks out with a confident swagger, ensuring to walk slightly behind you to keep you moving up in front.

Tearing your eyes off the pit, you focus instead on the behemoth stomping ahead of you. He’s already on the other side by the time you and Strife make it halfway across. For a split second, you almost let yourself feel a pinch of guilt for wearing such inappropriate shoes and slowing the Horsemen down, but you’re just as quick to take the feeling and grind it up under said heels, curling your lip distastefully. You weren’t exactly given a chance to pack for this ‘excursion.’

“Y’know,” Strife says abruptly, breaking you from your thoughts, and just in time too. You glance down and see the lip of the platform’s edge rise up to meet you. It likely would have tripped you if you’d remained lost in your head. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Death will be pleased to hear it,” War remarks from up ahead.

The back of his hood receives a simmering glare, but Strife is quick to brush the dig aside and continue, “If Lucifer is as dangerous as the Council says he is, why’d they send just the two of us?”

If the uneven ground didn’t manage to trip you up, his comment definitely does. Stumbling on the heel of your foot, you hurriedly try to right yourself, swatting irritably at Strife’s hand that reaches out to steady you. There’s that name again. Lucifer. Would it be naïve of you to hope that their ‘mission’ doesn’t somehow involve the Biblical Devil? You’ve managed to survive for the better part of an hour, but you don’t like how the odds are quickly stacking up against you with every step you take.

“Death and Fury attend to other matters,” War responds simply, “It is not our place to question the will of the Council.”

Apparently unable to let his brother’s earlier tease slide after all, Strife rolls his eyes and quips, “It’s not my place to question your wardrobe, but I still think your armour could use some more creepy faces on it.”

You’re not sure how much you like trailing in between the sizeable men, especially when the more sizeable of the two slows his gait to aim a vicious snarl over his shoulder. “Must everything be a joke to you?” War snaps, “The Council-!”

“-Ugh!” Cutting his brother off with a pompous groan, Strife throws his helm back. “You really need to lighten up.” Then, lowering his voice to a deeper pitch, apparently for the sole purpose of mocking the far scarier Horseman, he taunts, “The Council this, and The Council that! You wanna hear an actual joke?”

Facing forwards again, War responds with a firm, flat, “No.”

Strife, of course, doesn’t seem to have the same reservations as you do about antagonising someone with the name ‘War.’

In fact, you carry yourself so rigidly in fear of being caught in the middle of a scrap that you almost have the wind knocked out of you quite literally when Strife chimes in with a phrase so familiar to you, you just about choke on your own spit.

“Knock knock…”

The classic setup, so universally understood that you almost wonder if humans are born with an inbuilt recognition system designed to identify two simple, unassuming words.

The three of you pass beneath an open portcullis, but you barely notice the jagged bars of iron looming above you because you’re so busy trying to pick your jaw up off the ground.

You can’t see Strife’s face, and you don’t dare turn around to gape at him in case you end up taking a painful tumble. Instead, numbly, you continue to stare ahead with unblinking eyes, vaguely taking in the narrow path ahead of you, and the apparent end of it fast approaching.

War makes a dismissive sound, an irked mutter of something too low for you to make out.

Clearing his throat when he doesn’t receive a response, Strife prompts, “You’re supposed to say, ‘who’s there?”

You can’t quite believe you’re hearing this. Perhaps the idea that you’ve been drugged isn’t so unlikely after all because this isn’t something you could ever come up with sober.

Ahead of you, the stone pathway falls away in an abrupt drop, and the ceiling of the tunnel disappears, both opening out into yet another cavern, this one more spacious than the first two.

Or, you continue to muse to yourself, maybe you really did die in that church graveyard, and the chemicals released in your brain have conjured a hallucination of this pair of giants to serve as some unconvincing reapers who will guide you into the afterlife.

War comes to a stop at the edge of the escarpment, and unseen by you or Strife, his expression scrunches up in confusion and he asks, “Why would I give away my location? I would simply smash through the door and face my assailant.”

Oh. Wow. That’s…

“Ugh, you’re hopeless,” Strife complains as he draws to a halt just behind you and his brother on the rocky ledge. For a second, he’s distracted with casting his keen eye over the chamber, so he doesn’t notice you lower your face to the floor, your lips pursed like you’re trying to keep a cough in.

He does, however, notice straight away when, instead of escaping through your mouth, the sound you’re desperately trying to hold in finds its escape through your nose instead, and out jumps a sharp, unbecoming ‘snort!’

It’s unexpected. So much so that you’re just as surprised to hear it as the Horsemen. At once, you slap a palm over the lower half of your face in horror, a cold rush of dread trickling down into your stomach.

Eyes blown wide open, you stare at the ground, only too aware of the heavy silence that settles over you like a blanket, thicker than the heat pressing in all around you. You’re not even willing to raise your head because you can feel two sets of eyes watching you from above.

For too long, all you can hear is the ringing in your ears and your own pulse throbbing just beneath the skin of your temples. The silence swells, tuning up like an orchestra, deafening you to every sound save for that accursed, high-pitched ringing caused by the crushing grit of your teeth.

“Did…?” Strife’s voice cuts through the atmosphere like a headsman’s axe, “Did you just… laugh?”

Your jaw eases apart, and the ringing fades.

The telltale ‘clunk’ of War’s boots alert you to him turning from the ledge, pointing himself in your direction instead.

Suddenly and appropriately alarmed that you just snorted at someone nearly three times your size, you instantly shift from freeze to flight and throw your head up, only to find yourself blinking apprehensively into War’s face, etched with his signature frown.

“I-I wasn’t laughing at you,” you rush out, backing away from the scowling Horseman a little too far and ending up colliding right into Strife’s torso.

With a tiny yelp, you leap forwards again, tossing glances back and forth between them whilst they continue to stare you down. “It’s just-! I haven’t heard a knock-knock joke in so long, it… It just surprised me.”

A pause ensues, and then quietly – eagerly – Strife asks, “You know what knock-knock jokes are?”

Wondering why that’s his first question, you offer him a timid nod. And then you’re immediately flinching away from him when he barks out an abrupt, disbelieving laugh and straightens up, his chest swelling proudly.

“No kidding. Y’know, not to brag,” he brags, jabbing a thumb into his sternum, “But I practically invented knock-knock jokes.”

Well, who are you to argue with the man carrying two guns? “O-oh?”

“Brother,” War complains, “We do not have time for your-“

“-Here! Here, try this one,” Strife rushes out, leaning towards you a little too fast for your liking, “Knock knock.”

You start to get the impression he’s been waiting for an opportunity like this to come along for quite some time. Sparing his brother a nervous glance, you wet your lips and tentatively indulge him, “Uh, okay, who’s there?”

Taking a breath as if he means to brace himself, Strife says, “The interrupting War.”

Oh… Oh, for God’s sake...

You try to steady the muscles in your cheeks, sending another wary look over at the juggernaut clenching his fists by the ledge.

Still, with Strife waiting for an answer, you slowly and dutifully sigh, “The interrupting War wh-“

You knew it was coming. You knew the gist of the punchline if not the punchline itself, but you’re still wholly unprepared when Strife cuts you off by crossing his arms over his chest and letting out a loud, resounding growl.

 “Grr! The Council~!”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you immediately purse your lips, your cheeks aching with the effort of keeping a straight face. You wonder if this is the start of another emotional breakdown because the joke isn’t even particularly funny, but there’s just a familiarity to the formula that almost comes as a welcome relief, like Earth isn’t so far away after all.

A brother teasing his sibling… There’s something almost human about it, abating just the tiniest modicum of terror bubbling away inside your stomach.

Clearing your throat, you keep your lips puckered and inhale deeply through your nostrils in an attempt to compose yourself. Perhaps its Strife’s enthusiasm that lends itself to the humour of the situation, or perhaps it’s simply the absurdity of such a large and formidable brute doing something as innocuous as telling you a knock-knock joke at the expense of his brother, but whatever the case may be, when you open your mouth to tell him it wasn’t that funny, your lips spring up at their corners, contradicting you immediately.

“Think it needs some work,” you say, your voice wobbling.

“Needs work?” he parrots, his own mouth quirking into a grin as he clocks your expression, “Then why are you smiling?”

It takes no small amount of effort to wrestle your face back under control. “I’m not smiling,” you insist, “That isn’t how humans smile.”

Strife, naturally, isn’t fooled at all.

“Ah ha! It is! She’s smiling!” he gloats, jabbing his thumbs at his own mask, “I’m funny! And you-!” Swivelling his head up to War, he pokes a finger at his brother’s face and declares, “You were wrong.”

You make the mistake of glimpsing underneath the stoic Horseman’s hood, wincing when you find him sporting an expression of absolute thunder. He glowers down at you as if to say, ‘Now look at what you’ve started.’

Outwardly, he flattens his brows and exhales slowly through his nose, “Yes, you must be very proud that you’ve found the one, sole creature in the Universe who finds you almost as funny as you find yourself.”

Flapping a hand dismissively at his brother’s words, Strife blows a snort through his lips and tuts, “Ah, you’re just jealous she likes me better.”

You decide not to chime in with the fact that you don’t, in fact, particularly like either of them.

Besides, if War is at all concerned with his new ranking, he certainly doesn’t bother to let you know.

“If you are quite finished cheapening our reputation…” he growls, whirling away from Strife and stepping up to the very edge of the platform.

“Oh, I haven’t even gotten started.”

Before you can protest, the masked Horseman lays a hand on your back and nudges you forwards until you’re standing next to his brother, then takes up his own lookout on the escarpment to your left.

Snugly sandwiched between them, you squash your arms into your sides, grimacing at the sharp angles of their armour that threaten to snag your dress as you try to shuffle backwards, but you don’t manage to retreat further than a few inches before you happen to cast a cursory look out at the view ahead and promptly freeze in your tracks.

Eyes bulging, your jaw falls open and you let out a soft, incredulous breath, your brain racing to take stock of what it’s seeing.

“Oh god.”

The path ends abruptly, falling away just a few paces from the toes of your shoes. And waiting beyond the precipice is a rock-walled cavern of absolutely phenomenal scale, far larger than those you’ve already come through. At its centre, rising from a chasm down below, there’s a rocky platform large enough to fit your house within its dimensions several times over. From what you can see, there isn’t any conceivable way to cross over to it, save for sprouting wings and flying. You’re not even confident you could pitch a tennis ball across the gap and have it land on the other side.

Scalding heat prickles your brow, and when you glance down to see where it stems from, you give an audible gasp as you look past the toes of your shoes and over the pathway’s crumbling edge.

Far, far below you, a stomach-churning drop lays in wait.

Thirty… forty-something feet of shimmering air is all that stands between you and a vast lake of red-hot lava.

“Hey, look down there,” Strife’s voice twitches your ear.

At your side, he raises an arm to point at the platform and says, “See that grate?”

With no small effort, you wrench your eyes off the pit of death and lift it to the level of raised stone, blinking your eyes hard to moisten them again after staring at the lava.

At once, you spot what he’s indicating.

Right at the centre of the platform, set into the stone floor itself, is a large, circular grate, vaguely reminiscent of the bars of a prison cell.

From the darkness below it, you can just make out a faint, pink glow seeping through the metal gridiron.

War answers his brother with a hum that vibrates in your chest.

“What’d you think?” Strife prods, “Reckon that’s where they’ve stashed Vulgrim’s artefact?”

Studying it for a few seconds, War eventually nods. “Something is definitely down there…” he murmurs, “No doubt that grate is heavily fortified.”

Shooting him a sly look, the smaller Horseman adds, “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem for you to pick the lock though, right?”

It’s disconcerting to see War with any expression other than a scowl, so to witness him return a smirk over the top of your head sends a veritable shiver right up your spine.

Lifting his arms, he slams his fist into the palm of his gauntlet with a resounding ‘thwack.’

Amused, Strife turns to thrust his chin at the gut-wrenching gap between the path you’re standing on and the edge of the central platform.

“What about that? Think you can make that jump?”

“J-jump!?” you blurt out, whipping your head up to stare at him like he’s lost his mind.

Hell, maybe he has.

Briefly, War’s eyes flit down to you before he returns his gaze to his fellow Horseman, scoffing, “Is that a serious question?”

And without another word, he begins taking several steps backwards, away from the ledge.

“Wait,” you sputter, shooting him an incredulous look as he continues to back up along the path, “You’re not really going to-“

You don’t even get to finish your sentence.

Before you can blink, War pushes off on his back foot and lurches forwards, his boots pounding against the stone hard enough to send powerful quakes all along the path as he charges straight for the edge.

You think you let out an alarmed yelp, but there’s not much else you can do except helplessly gawk as the Horseman, laden down by his heavy, clanking armour, plants his boot centimetres from the crumbling edge of the path and unceremoniously launches himself, his sword, and all of his bulk off solid ground, soaring out over the lava-drowned chasm below.

With a comically loud gasp, you slap your palms over your eyes, yet you can’t resist peeking through splayed fingers to watch.

Why the Hell would he do that!? There’s no way he’ll make it, you tell yourself, not with all that weight dragging him down.

You wanted to get away from him, yes but… shit. You didn’t want him to get himself killed doing it!

It’s as if you’re staring at a runaway train, waiting in morbid fascination for it to derail. Something in the nature of a disaster unfolding keeps you rooted to the spot, unable to tear your attention away from it.  

There’s power and grace in the way War sails over the gap, an impossible feat, further than any Olympic gold medallist would ever hope to achieve. And then, to your utmost astonishment, he makes it.

Metal boots hit the stone platform with an almighty ‘clang’ on the other side, and he dips his knees as he lands to absorb the impact.

You’re almost certain you can see the whole structure quiver from the force.

For several moments, you merely stand there with your mouth hanging ajar whilst War rises to his full height again and turns around, tipping his face up to see you staring back at him, your eyes wide with unconcealed awe.

“How. The fuck…?” you say emphatically, blowing out a disbelieving little whistle. You might not trust the man, but even you can appreciate a good stunt when you see one. Giving your head a shake, you briefly forget you’re supposed to be their kidnappee and gush, “That was incredible!”

Your voice carries easily across the sizeable gap and reaches the Horseman’s ears, erasing the hard line between his brows. Taken aback, War blinks, pressing his lips together bashfully in lieu of a response. ‘Perhaps it was rather impressive,’ he privately concedes, ‘from a human’s perspective…’

Back on the escarpment, Strife’s keen gaze makes out the befuddled expression warping his brother’s typically impassive face, and he sends several glances between you and War, pursing his lips at the glimmer lighting up your eyes.

“Oh yeah?” he huffs, “You think that was impressive?”

A loud clap rings out across the cavern, causing you to jump as Strife smacks his palms together. “Okay, little miss,” he announces behind you, “Your turn.”

Just like that, the colour promptly drains from your face. “My what?”

You don’t have time to spin around and face him, for not a second later, a powerful arm scoops your legs out from underneath you whilst the other snakes around the back of your shoulders, hauling you clean off the floor and pressing you to a hard, armoured chest.

“Oh for-! Stop grabbing me!” you complain, planting your hands on his clavicle and shoving yourself away as best you can, “Are you insane!? I am not jumping over that!”

Cocking his helm at you, he spares you an innocent blink. “You’re not?”

You don’t like how much levity is lacing his tone.

“NO!” you squawk, aghast, “Absolutely not! Let me go!”

One of the Horseman’s eyes narrows to squint at you before he angles his helm very pointedly towards the platform. “You sure?”

Something about his question gives you pause.

Hesitating, you snap your head in the same direction and follow his line of sight. It doesn’t take you more than a second to glean the bastard’s intent.

Now you really don’t like the way he’s looking at you, his upturned eyelids the clearest indication that he’s smiling quite broadly underneath his visor.

Your stomach gives an unpleasant lurch.

“Oh, if you dare…” you hiss.

Daringly, he raises his sizeable shoulders in a shrug and chirps, “Lesson one; Don’t ever dare a Horseman, kid. You’re always bound to lose.”

He wouldn’t…

Flashing you a golden wink, Strife turns his body sideways and swings you to the right, like a rugby player readying a forward pass.

It finally occurs to you that, oh, good god, he would.

“Wait-! WA-WAIT! STRIFE!” Issuing a high-pitched, wordless scream, you start to flail, but his ironclad grip on your legs and shoulders keeps you from launching yourself out of his arms.

Somewhere across the chasm, War’s voice drifts up to you, though you hardly hear it above your undignified shrieks. “Brother?”

The muscles around you bunch up, solidifying as hard as the stone underfoot.

“See you on the other side!” is all the cheery warning you get.

“Don’t you DA---AAAAARRRGGHHH!”

He’s moving before you can think to adhere yourself to his arm.

Sidestepping into a purposeful bound, the Horseman flings his arms to the left, with you in tow, and when they get to the zenith of his reach, they disappear out from under you, letting you go hurtling spine first out over the chasm like a screaming, thrashing blimp, dress and all.

You have several phobias that you were aware of before you fell into this godforsaken place. Phobias that, for the most part, have been quite avoidable in your day-to-day life.

Finding yourself suspended in the air over a pit without a safety net underneath you… add some lava to break your fall, and you suddenly realise as you’re flying through empty space that you’ve just discovered an entirely new phobia to add to the list.

Sailing in a none-too graceful arch, you stare in disbelief back at the silver Horseman on the ledge, your dress billows out behind you and the scorching air whips your veil over your face, tugging at your hair where the grips are heroically keeping it situated. Likewise, some subconscious part of you instructs your toes to grip like vices on the insoles of your heels, valiantly trying to stop them from plummeting off your feet.

Inevitably, as is the case with the laws of physics, you reach the height of your curve, and that’s when gravity seizes you by the heart and starts to drag you back down, sending your stomach crashing up into your diaphragm.

Time seems to slow as you descend, reaching back for Strife as if he could somehow stretch across the gap and catch you. You can’t see behind yourself, and it’s all you can do to hope that you pass out on the way down, so you don’t have to feel your body melt into a puddle in the hungry maw of the lava below.

It hurts your chest something fierce to think that the last anyone will see of you is your terror-stricken face and your raised hand closing into a fist, bar one choicely extended finger.

The hot wind screams past your ears and you screw your eyes shut tight, squeezing out the last tears you’re ever going to cry. Your father’s face flashes in your mind’s eye, and you wonder what you did to set off this chain of events.

Strife said he wouldn’t hurt you…

What a joke.

‘WHAM!’

Your mouth jerks open, wheezing out a gasp as something suddenly slams into you from behind, knocking the air violently from your lungs. Or rather, you crash into something with the force of a white, ruffled meteorite and nearly lose your heart through your open mouth.

At first, you assume you must have smacked into the hard side of the platform, but then the Something you’ve collided with grunts, and you hurriedly wrench your eyes open, coming to focus on a monstrous, metal gauntlet that’s secured itself under your knees, crushing your dress between prodigious fingers whilst something equally large presses across your shoulder blades.

With a kick in the guts, you realise you’re being held aloft in much the same way Strife had been holding you mere moments ago.

He caught you… War caught you.

Finally, you remember to gulp in a noisy breath to refill your desperate lungs.

You’re not dead.

But you are, in fact, shaking.

And as the revelation that you’re still alive sets in, your limbs start to wobble in earnest.

“STRIFE!” You visibly flinch when War’s terrible, wonderful, abrasive, beautiful voice booms like a claxon right above your head. “You fool!”

Even through layers of solid metal and leather padding, the Horseman can feel you trembling under his palms. Propping your neck in the crook of his elbow, he lifts his head to level a snarl up at where Strife still stands on the escarpment whilst you unclench your fists from your lap, heaving air in and out of your lungs in hysterical little bursts.

“What were you thinking!?” he bellows.

Leaning over the side to look down at you and your unwitting saviour, Strife throws his arms out wide and argues, “She said to let her go!”

“You knew what she meant!” A deep thrum rolls around in his chest, spreading up his throat and spilling out in another growl so deep it rattles the teeth in your skull. “You could have damaged her!”

“Oh relax, I wouldn’t have tossed her if I didn’t think you’d catch her.”

War slides his lips back to reveal his inhumanly sharp canines, but at that moment, something tugs very lightly at the fabric of his cowl.

Faltering, he angles his chin down and nearly gives a start.

Tiny hands have wandered towards him, found the scarlet material hanging from around his neck and latched onto it with possessive intent, fingers twisting themselves into his cowl and getting lost amongst the folds, as if you fully expect him to toss you over the side as well. The strange, white veneer lays draped across your face, so he can’t see your expression when you unexpectedly twist about in his arms and pull yourself a little closer to his chest.

Caught off guard, War remains stock-still, seriously contemplating whether or not he should drop you right then and there to spare himself from Strife’s potential teasing.

His bulging arms give a twitch, which in turn causes you to cringe, letting out a quiet bleat and further entangling your fingers around his cowl.

This, War decides, was not in the job description when the Charred Council made him a Horseman. Still, whatever he might think of you, he can’t bring himself to drop you in a heap on the ground.

For once, he might be out of his depth.

As soon as the notion occurs to him, he brusquely flicks it away with a toss of his head.

Taking a large step back, he slowly ambles himself about until he’s facing away from Strife and the platform’s edge, then stomps several paces towards the central grate, only stopping once he hears the loud clang of metallic boots hitting the stone behind him as his fellow Horseman leaps to the lower level.

Gingerly, almost as though he expects you to shatter if he moves too quickly, War bends down until he’s almost on a knee and starts to withdraw the arm that’s wrapped around your legs, a stoic frown tugging his brows towards the centre of his forehead when you refuse to let go of his hood.

Grumbling, he lowers you until your shoes click on the stone floor, and then he slips his hand out from under your knees, moving it up and taking both of your wrists between his gauntlet’s fingertips and thumb, mindful of the delicate limbs he’s handling.

He can still recall how you’d nearly crumpled to your knees when he got a little heavy handed trying to apply the poultice to your arm. He truly thought he had been correct in gauging the pressure he needed to apply to your flesh to draw blood. He’d only meant to take a little. Just enough to prove the validity of your claim. What an idea that had turned out to be. If War were being honest with himself, he’d been outright startled when your skin peeled open so readily to admit Chaoseater’s blade.

So, if he’s a little more careful in prying your hands off his cowl than he ought to be, well, that’s his own business.

It doesn’t take much coaxing before you seem to come back into yourself.

With a sudden jolt, you wrench your hands away from his hood and start to struggle valiantly with the veil on your face, flipping it back over your head and choking on a sob as your knees start to buckle.

Planting both of his palms on your shoulders, War hauls you upright again.

“Steady,” he murmurs as if he’s addressing a wounded soldier, not a frightened human, “On your feet.”

The sound of clanking boots drifts closer, approaching from his rear.

War bristles, but he’s not the only one who heard Strife’s footsteps.

“You okay, kid?” the gunslinger’s voice drifts over to you, and War watches your jaw cinch shut, the hands at your sides curling into fists as you attempt to stop them from shaking.

Whirling around, you tear yourself from the Horseman’s gauntlets, your dress twirling gracefully around your ankles to find Strife standing a few paces behind you, paused halfway between one step and the next.

Blurting out a delirious laugh, you shoot him a bloodshot stare, half tempted to rip your bag off and lob it at his head.

“Am I okay?!” you echo, “Have you completely lost your mind!?”

Peering down at you appraisingly, War makes a sound that might be affirming, and even his brother lifts a hand to tilt it back and forth in a ‘so-so’ motion.

Breathing hard, you resist the urge to scream and instead lower your head, massaging at your throbbing temples.

Slowly, through gritted teeth, you seethe, “I am trapped… inside a volcano… with two of the scariest people I’ve ever met…”

Strife shares a look with War, the former’s frame wilting as if he’s put out, while the latter, by contrast, almost seems proud of the achievement.

“I,” you continue, a humourless grin straining at your lips, “Just found out that demons exist! I also found out that Lucifer is apparently real…! It is my fucking wedding day!” Vitriol drips from your teeth like venom, and with each passing word, your voice grows louder and louder. “And! I just got chucked! Like a…  like a fucking pigskin over a river! Of LAVA!”

All around you, the cavern echoes with the throes of your furious shout, bouncing off the rock walls and coming back to you ten times over before it fades into an uneasy silence.

Lungs heaving with the effort of raising your voice, you stop to breathe, finding, to your dismay, that tears are spilling onto your cheeks, only to start evaporating on your skin in the smouldering heat.

Clearing your throat, you sweep a few fingertips delicately beneath your eyes and wipe away the lingering evidence of moisture cutting tracks through your blusher. “So, no,” you sniffle, “For your information, I am not o-fucking-kay… I think I’m about as far from okay as it gets.”

It’s almost satisfying that the gung-ho Horseman can in fact be made to shut up.

Fidgeting idly with the gauntlet on his left hand, Strife shoots several glances at War, but finds no source of assistance in his fellow Nephilim’s cold, critical glare.

“Uh,” he starts, clenching his hands into fists and opening them again, “I mean… it was kind of funny, right?” He lets out a chuckle that falls painfully flat. “You should’ve seen your face.”

Your jaw begins to ache from grinding your teeth together like you’re trying to crush coal into diamonds.

“Knock-knock jokes are funny,” you say stiffly, turning away from him to scowl at the ground, “People don’t get hurt.”

Draping a hand over his hip, Strife lowers his voice and asks, “Come on, you really thought I’d let you get hurt?”

“OF COURSE I DID!” you suddenly bellow so loudly your voice cracks, “You threw me over a lava pit!”

“War caught you, didn’t he?”

“What if he hadn’t!?”

Strife doesn’t even hesitate before he offers his palms to the ceiling and says, “Then I wouldn’t’ve done it.”

“Why the hell would you-!? Why even take the risk!?”

“There never was any risk,” he shrugs far too nonchalantly, sending his brother a knowing look, “Besides, this is a good thing, right? Now you know you can trust War to keep you alive.”

Pulling a face, you allow a spiteful scoff to burst out of your mouth, arms folding sternly across your chest. “Oh, so that was all so you could prove some point to me, was it? Jesus, what is wrong with you?!”

“Now there’s a door best left unopened,” War chimes in.

At last recognising that there’s some, invisible line he’s crossed, Strife holds his hands up placatingly. “Look,” he concedes, scratching at the back of his head and disturbing the thick spines of ebony hair growing behind his helm, “After what happened back in the Void, I just thought, if we proved we could keep you safe, you’d… maybe start to trust us a little more, y’know?”

You have to take a moment to stare at him, waiting for his words to sink in for you, and hopefully for him as well. “So… you thought you’d show me you can keep me safe by… launching me over a lava pit, and expecting me to know your brother would catch me?”

The Horseman doesn’t speak for several seconds. When he eventually does, he crosses his arms over his chest and huffs, “I mean, if you’re only gonna focus on the first part, sure the plan had holes.”

“Well,” you say haughtily, “No offence, but I trust you two about as far as I could throw you. Which, you’ll be shocked to hear, isn’t very far at all. And unlike you-“ Here, you jab a finger up at his silver visor. “- I’m not strong enough to go around throwing people off the edge of cliffs!”

Once again, Strife remains silent, rapping his fingertips on a metal bicep. Soon enough however, he lowers his head and peers up at you from beneath the lip of his helm’s sockets, prodding, “It was a pretty good throw though, huh?”

“It was a very good throw!” you agree sharply, blowing out a rough exhale as your heartbeat finally begins to ease off the throttle, “Neither of you even had a run up. You two are like something straight out of a comic book… Except without the charisma… and altruism...”

“Comic…?” War asks, frowning, “Then… you are amused?”

“No, not comic like-…” You inhale. You exhale. “Never mind. Weren’t you guys supposed to be looking for something?”

Just like that, the pair of titans straighten up with a start, and you wonder if their ‘mission’ really had slipped their minds for a while.

Rolling his shoulders back, War just grumbles something inaudible and begins moving purposefully towards the grate.

You stand back to let him pass, chewing thoughtfully on your bottom lip as you mull over what you’re about to say.

“Hey, big guy?”

At once, War stops and swivels his head sideways, silver hair spilling out from underneath his hood.

Shuffling awkwardly on your feet, you avoid the pale, unblinking eye that’s trained on your face and call, “Thanks…. For catching me.”

You won’t thank him for healing your arm when he was the one who cut it in the first place. But this? You can swallow your grudge for this. At least for a little while.

Several seconds tick by without a response, and the only sound you can hear is the heavy clanking of boots on stone as Strife ventures up behind you.

And then at last, War’s head falls and rises in an almost imperceptible nod.

When he turns away, you suddenly feel like you can breathe again.

How can one man be so intimidating just by standing still and saying nothing?

You’ve already deduced that the two Horsemen are like chalk and cheese, with one half of the duo serving as the strong, silent type, and the other, a smart-mouthed chatterbox.

… Speaking of whom.

Just as you start to trail after War towards the centre of the platform, an enormous shape sidles up next to you, easily keeping pace with your diminutive gait.

“Hey…” Strife tries, actually sounding hesitant for a change, “Knock-knock.”

Ah. There it is.

“Strife…” His name still sounds foreign on your tongue. “I’m… look, I’m not in the mood, okay?”

“…”

Scoffing quietly, you give your head a defeated shake and sigh, “Fine… Who’s there?”

“Eyes wear.”

… Okay?

“…Eyes wear who?” you venture, hesitant.

Swivelling his helm towards you, Strife bends his neck down, chasing after your face even as you try to ignore him by staring straight ahead.

“Eyes wear to… never throw you across any more chasms,” he offers, tipping his helm upright again, “Lava filled or otherwise. How’s that sound?”

Your lips quiver. “Wow,” you drawl, “I think that was even worse than the last one.”

“Oh yeah?” he replies coyly, “Then why’re you smiling?”

You jerk to a halt mid stride, taking stock of your expression.

Damnit. You are smiling.

You’re a little too slow to force the corners of your lips back down into a straight line, and of course, Strife sees it, tipping his chin back to peer at you triumphantly. You may not be able to see his mouth beneath the visor but judging by the upturned curve of his golden eyes, you just know the smug son of a bitch is grinning from ear to ear.

“I was not smiling,” you insist.

Quick as a whip, he retorts, “Well now you’re lying.”

Stuffing your teeth into your bottom lip, you kick yourself into gear and speed up, marching up to where War has stopped by the grate. “I am not lying, I’m leaving.”

The Horseman’s chuckle haunts you all the way across the platform.

#darksiders #darksiders genesis #strife x reader #war x reader #bride reader #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #Strife being Strife #Fear #Bad Knock knock jokes #Reader has had enough

[minniesmutt]

☾ ━━━━━━ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐭 𝟑

☾ ━━━ PAIRING: SEUNGMIN X READER ☾ ━━━ CONTENT: MENTION OF NIGHTMARES, THERAPY MENTIONS, TRAUMA MENTIONS, FOOD MENTIONS, MENTION OF LOVE-BOMBING, MENTION KIDNAPPING, TEASING, ABORTION MENTION, PROTECTED SEX, ORAL (F. REC), FINGERING, SCAR MENTIONS, DIRTY TALK, EXHIBITIONISM (?) ☾ ━━━ WC: 4.1K ☾ ━━━ PART ONE PART TWO ☾ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog

     Y/n hated the nightmares. She hated that her mind kept replaying what happened with her psycho ex or making it worse. Making up scenarios of what would've happened if she hadn’t sent the text message. 

     She’d awake after another nightmare. Chest filled with anxiety as she tried remembering where she was. Home. Home with Chan and Changbin down the hall. Her rooms before hers. If anything were to happen, they would hear it first. 

     She laid back and took some deep breaths. Recollecting herself and her thoughts. She turned in bed, holding her blankets close to her. Attempting to try and sleep again but nothing. Staring into the dark seemed to make it worse. 

     Y/n grabbed her phone from the bedside table and dialed the only person who could understand what she was going through. 

     “Hey,” Seungmin’s voice came through the speaker 

     “Hey,” Y/n replied 

     “Have another nightmare?”

     Since they both had talked about the situation, they’d been helping each other. Late-night calls when neither of them could sleep were common. Just two friends that were trying to heal together. No matter how weird that word sounds when it comes to Seungmin. 

     “Yeah. Why are you awake?”

     “Can’t sleep either.”

     Y/n hummed, “How was your appointment today?”

     “Alright. My ribs are pretty much healed now which is great. The doctor still wants me to wait a few weeks before I do anything strenuous or return to work.”

     “Have you talked to your old job?”

     “Yeah. Unfortunately, they’re fully staffed but there’s another office hiring that’s actually a little closer so I need to just reinterview there. They let the manager know my situation but it’s basically mine.”

     “That’s good. I’m happy for you.”

     “Thanks. I’m just getting a little stir-crazy at Minho’s now.”

     “Mm. I feel the same. One of the guys is always here so I’m not alone which is nice but they’re starting to suffocate me.”

     “You’re like their little sister. They’re just worried. But I can get where it gets annoying. Do you work tomorrow?”

     “No. Off for the next two days. Just have therapy in the morning.”

     “What time?”

     “Ten.”

     “Do you wanna go get brunch after? I can pick you up and take you too.” 

     “I’d like that,” Y/n smiled, even though he couldn’t see her.

     “You’re smiling, aren’t you.”

     “No, I’m not.”

     “You forget we were dating for three years.”

     “I didn’t forget.”

     “So you know I know when you’re smiling or what to do when you’re sad and need cheering up.”

     “You’re too observant sometimes.” 

     “Sometimes not enough.”

     “Stop it.”

     “What?”

     “Blaming yourself.”

     “Sorry. I was thinking about it earlier again.”

     “I don’t blame you, Min. You know that, right?”

     “Yeah. Just kind of blame myself a bit still…”

     “I know how you feel…”

     “Can I be honest with you?”

     “Of course.”

     “When he first had me locked up, I kept hoping you would reach out to me. Get worried about me not responding. Then the security footage started. And it broke my heart but I still hoped that you would still choose me…”

     “Min…”

     “Sorry. I didn’t mean to unload that…”

     “You know, when I met him, I was trying to forget about our break up. I wasn’t looking for a new relationship but he was so convincing and I know now he was just love-bombing me the whole time. I was heartbroken after our breakup because I only ever saw you as who I would spend the rest of my life with.”

     “What would you say if I asked for another chance?”

     “It’s always yes, Min.”

     “I’ll keep that in mind”

     The two talked until they somehow both ended up falling asleep. She woke up a few hours later with the call still running. Both got a bit of peace for once in their dreams. 

     Seungmin told her he’d pick her up for her appointment and left the call to get ready. Y/n let her roommates know Seungmin was picking her up and the two were going to brunch after. Chan and Changbin both smiled and said nothing Letting her get ready for her day.

     Seungmin was at the door not long after she finished getting ready. She let the two know she was leaving. Seungmin was standing out the door and smiled at her. She swore she saw him rethinking leaning in to kiss her like he used to greet her.

     “Ready?” He asked her.

     “Yeah.”

     The two walked back to the car and Seungmin opened the door for her before he walked to the other side and got in the car. She gave him directions to her therapist’s office while they discussed their plans for after. Walking up together once they got in. 

     “I’ll wait for you in the waiting room, okay?” Seungmin said once she was called into the office

     “Okay,” Y/n nodded. 

     Y/n walked back into the office, sat down, and started her session. Telling her therapist about the nightmares. Talking through them and mentioning Seungmin. 

     “Seungmin is your ex, correct?”

     “Yeah. He got kidnapped by Jeongin.”

     “So both of you have gone through the same trauma in a sense?”

     “Yeah. We’ve both talked to each other about what we went through separately.”

     “Sometimes it does help to talk with someone who has gone through something similar.”

     The session only lasted another fifteen minutes before Y/n walked out of the office. Seungmin was sitting in the waiting room waiting for her, just like he said. 

     “Ready?” He asked as she walked over to him.

     “Yeah,” Y/n smiled 

     Seungmin stood and led her back to the car. Getting her in the car before him then driving off to a small restaurant. It wasn’t too busy at the moment and they quickly got seated. 

     Y/n really did miss Seungmin. In the quiet moments when she wasn’t being suffocated by Jeongin, she’d think about him. She was grateful Jeongin kept him alive. Even if it was painful for Seungmin. 

     “What are you looking at?” Seungmin asked 

     “Sorry,” Y/n said and looked down at her menu. 

     “What is it?” Seungmin asked again. 

     “It’s nothing. Just…”

     “Just what?”

     “I’m glad he kept you alive,” Y/n said, looking up at him again 

     “I hate you sometimes,” Seungmin groaned 

     “Sorry….”

     “No. Not for that,” Seungmin quickly said. Reaching over the table to her and grabbing the menu from her hands, “I… I hate that you still get me flustered. And I know I’m bad at expressing my emotions and I don’t want to overwhelm you by saying what I actually want to say.”

    “Didn’t you ask me for a second chance last night?” Y/n smiled, knowing what he was trying to say.

     “I was sleep deprived,” Seungmin glared at her

     “Whatever you say.”

     Y/n smiled at him and kissed his knuckles before dropping his hands. The waiter came over a few minutes later and took their order. Leaving them alone after. 

     “You make it hard to kiss you right now,” Seungmin said as soon as the waiter was gone 

     “I haven’t done anything!” Y/n defended herself, her face getting warmer

     Seungmin just smiled and reached across the table for her hands again. Raising them to his lips and kissing each of her knuckles. Taking a little longer on her left ring finger before setting her hands back on the table. Y/n looked at him as he smiled.

     He teased her a little more throughout their brunch. Making her flustered just for her to fluster him back. Even their walk back to the car and the drive back to hers was a game for them. Up until he walked her up to the door.

     “Thank you for today, by the way,” Y/n said as she turned to him

     “Anytime,” Seungmin smiled

     Y/n didn’t make any move to leave. Neither did Seungmin. 

     “Can I kiss you?” 

     “I’ll be a little mad if you don’t.”

     Seungmin leaned in and pecked her lips. Quick but enough for them. 

     “I’m glad we’re alive,” Seungmin said 

     “Me too.”

     “You know you two can have this conversation in Y/n’s room.” Changbin’s voice came from the video doorbell 

     Y/n unlocked the front door and opened it, “Seo Changbin!”

     “I’m just saying!” He called from the living room

     Y/n stormed in and grabbed a throw pillow. Attacking her friend with it as Seungmin followed her in, shutting the door behind him as he watched. Eventually, Changbin got the pillow away from her and got her off him. 

     “Finally beat Changbin,” Seungmin laughed 

     “You two are on thin ice,” Changbin warned 

     The two laughed before going up to Y/n’s room. “Looks different,” Seungmin said 

     “I got rid of all my old stuff. Decided to just start fresh. Couldn’t stomach the thought of looking at everything again after what happened,” Y/n replied as she hung up her bag

     “I don’t blame you,” Seungmin said, taking a seat in her desk chair. “Should we talk about us?”

     “I think we should just forget the last two years,” Y/n joked 

     “Seems like a good idea,” Seungmin replied as she sat on her bed. He scooted the chair over to her. “How about we take it slow? Slowly get back to where we were while we’re still healing a bit?”

     “I like that idea.”

     “Okay.” Seungmin leaned in and kissed her lips again.

     Normalcy. That’s what Seungmin was to her. Her little bit of normalcy in the middle of the chaos around her. Even though they agreed to go slow, a little over a month later they were back to where they were before. Sitting on the couch at Minho’s having a movie night while he was out with Jisung. Seungmin had his arm wrapped around her as she fed him popcorn. A rom-com Netflix recommended playing on the TV. 

     “Getting tired?” Seungmin asked, noticing her movements slowing down a bit

     “No,” Y/n lied. She’d had a presentation over Zoom before coming over and she spent the night before making sure it was perfect.

     “Liar,” Seungmin chuckled as he took the popcorn bowl from her and turned off the TV. “Come on.”

     Seungmin helped her up off the couch and got her to his room. Y/n followed behind him groggily. He pulled back the covers for her and helped her into the bed.

     “Sleep with me?” Y/n asked as he went to pull them up over her body

     “You sure?”

     Y/n nodded, “Let me lock up the house real quick and text Minho.” Seungmin kissed the top of her head and walked out of the room. 

     He came back a few moments later with both their phones— she assumed he was texting Minho on his about the house being locked up when he came in for the night. He set both their phones on the nightstand, and then Seungmin climbed into bed with her. Covering them both with the blankets and loosely laying his arm over her waist.

     Y/n turned in his arms and put her face in his chest. “I knew you were tired.” he laughed

     “Mm.” Y/n huffed as he kissed her head again.

     “I love you.”

     “I love you too.” Y/n drifted off into sleep and it was probably the best sleep she’d gotten in a while. For once, no nightmares haunted her. She felt safe again.

     She woke up the next morning still in Seungmin’s arms. He was still fast asleep so she got to take the chance to admire her boyfriend up close for once. She remembered when he was released from the hospital he had the worst dark circles and multiple bruises on his face. They’d all healed and the dark circles were slowly going away.

     “Why are you staring?” Seungmin’s voice said

     Y/n smiled as he opened his eyes to her, “Because I can.”

     “Mhm,” Seungmin groaned as he leaned in and kissed her lips, “Stop it.”

     “No,” Y/n said

     “Brat,” Seungmin smiled before leaning back to lips. Kissing her again as his hand lay on the middle of her back. Y/n moaned into his mouth before both of their phones started ringing. Seungmin pulled away and sat up, grabbing her phone and answering the call, seeing it was from her lawyer, and looked at his, seeing the same.

     “Good morning Ms. L/n.” Y/n heard from the other end     “Good morning,” Y/n replied

     “I’m sorry if I woke you, but would you mind hopping on a conference call with Mr. Kim and his lawyer?” 

     “No, I’m actually with Mr. Kim right now.”

     “Oh, perfect! How about we end this call and you listen in on his phone?”

     “That works perfectly.”

     Y/n hung up the call and Seungmin placed his phone on speaker.

     “We’ll keep this short so you two can finally put this behind us and move on with your lives.”  Seungmin’s lawyer said

     “Mr. Yang has taken the plea deal.”     “He did?!” Y/n said

     “Yes. In pleading guilty to two counts of kidnapping, one of aggravated assault, and sexual assault, he is serving life in prison without the possibility of parole. He will not be getting out of prison.”

     “Thank you. That means a lot to us.” Seungmin said as he hugged his girlfriend from the side.

     “Of course. And the judge has granted you both restraining orders against him so he is legally not allowed to contact either of you.”

     Y/n thanked the team of lawyers over and over again before Seungmin ended the call and turned to her. Kissing her again as she cupped his cheeks. “He’s out of our lives.” Y/n cried

     “He’s locked up now,” Seungmin smiled and whipped her tears.

     Y/n giggled as he kissed her nose before he got out of bed. Y/n watched him walk over to his closet and grab something, sitting back next to her.

     “To a new beginning, I guess,” Seungmin said, handing her a black velvet box.

     Y/n looked at him as she hesitantly took it. Seungmin smiled as she opened it and caught sight of the engagement ring. “Min.”

     “I say we forget those two years now and just pick up where we left off now,” Seungmin smiled wide as he took the ring out of its box.

     “Yes,” Y/n smiled 

     Seungmin grabbed her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. Y/n squealed and tackled him in a hug onto his back. The sound prompted a knock on the door from Minho and Jisung.

     “You guys okay?” Minho asked as he opened the door.

     “Couldn’t be better.” Seungmin smiled 

     “He took the plea deal. He’s behind bars for the rest of his life,” Y/n explained

     “Thank god. I don’t know what I would do if you guys had to sit in a courtroom with him.” Jisung sighed in relief

     “Yeah. I don’t want to see a courtroom until wedding day.” Seungmin said

     “Wedding?!” Jisung yelled

     “Look!” Y/n smiled, showing the two the engagement ring.

     “Have fun celebrating,” Minho said as he shut the door.

     Y/n smiled at her fiancé and pressed her lips to his again. Pecking kisses all over his face as he laughed at her. “Hey,” Seungmin chuckled before her lips were on his again

     “I love you,” Y/n mumbled against his lips

     “I love you too,” Seungmin mumbled back and wrapped his arms around her.

     Seungmin rolled her onto her back so he was on top of her, pulling back to look at his fiancée, “You okay?” He asked

     “Why wouldn’t I be?”

     “We haven’t done anything since we both got out and I know you had the abortion. I know it all took an emotional toll on you.”

     “And having you by my side helped me heal,” Y/n reassured him. “I know you’re not him either. I trust you, Min.”

     “Let me check if I even have condoms.” Seungmin got off her and checked his bedside drawers.

     Y/n got up and sat on the edge of the bed just as he found a box and set it on the nightstand. “Feeling lucky?” Y/n teased

     “When have you ever known me not to prepare for something?”

     “Do you want me to answer that?” Y/n teased as he laid her back, his turn to smother her with kisses. 

     “Those two years don’t exist, remember?” he reminded her 

     Seungmin pressed his lips to hers. Grabbing her hands and lacing their fingers together. Laying them against the mattress and pressing his body to hers. Y/n smiled as her lips moved in sync with his. 

     Seungmin moved one hand to hold her side as she hooked her legs around his hips. Pulling his hips closer to her, feeling his half-hard dick against her. 

     “Tell me to stop if you get uncomfortable,” Seungmin breathed as his lips moved down to her neck

     “You’re too good for me,” Y/n giggled

     “I’m perfect for you.” 

     Y/n blushed as he moved his hands up her shirt. Warm skin holding her sides and not going up anymore, not sure if he should as he lightly kissed her neck. Y/n grabbed the back of his shirt as his lips ghosted a certain spot on her neck.

     “There’s my favorite spot,” Seungmin mumbled as he rolled his hips against her.

     “Min,” Y/n moaned

     “I’m right here. Never going anywhere again.” He told her

     “Need you, Min, please,” Y/n moaned

     “Tell me what you want pretty.”

     “Mouth.”

     “Where do you want my mouth, love?”

     “Eat me out, please.”

     Seungmin pulled away from her and stood up. He pulled down her pajama pants, checking over her reaction as he did before he kneeled between her legs. The fabric on the floor next to him. Y/n sat up a bit on her elbows, looking down at him as he put her legs over his shoulders. He placed a kiss over her clothed clit as he looked up at her. Y/n smiled at him as his fingers curled over the waistband of the fabric and pulled it away. Adding it to the starting pile on the ground of clothes. Y/n grabbed a pillow from the bed and placed it behind her back for support as his lips wrapped around her clit.

     Y/n laced her fingers through his hair as he lightly sucked on the bud. A moan left her lips as he wrapped his arms around her thighs. Holding them tightly around his head as he switched between sucking on the clit and licking with his tongue. Eyes locked onto her, watching her reactions. 

     Watching her head roll back from the pleasure as she gripped his hair. Y/n moaned as he pressed a kiss to her clit, tongue moving through her folds. Head knocked forward to watch him as his tongue dipped into her. 

     “Min,” Y/n moaned as he moved his hand down. Lips wrapped around her clit again as a finger slid into her. 

     Y/n laid back against the mattress as she tightened her grip on his head. Seungmin smiled as he worked on her clit. Finger slowly moving in and out of her. “More. Please min!” Y/n begged 

     “My baby needs another finger in her?” Seungmin teased 

     “Yes. Please,” Y/n moaned 

     Seungmin gently slipped a second finger into her. Fingers stretched her out as he sucked a little harder on her clit. Hips jolted against him as he pushed his face closer. Moaning into her— he missed being here.

     Her moans were unfortunately muffled to him with her thigh pressing against his ears. But he would gladly live with that to be where he is now. His fingers spreading her open as she gripped his hair. Barley hearing her warning that she was close or his name falling from her lips like a mantra.

     He felt her high coat his fingers as Y/n arched off the bed. Seungmin switched his fingers for his tongue. Cleaning her up with his tongue as he wrapped his arms around her legs. Smothering himself into her while she rode out her high. Only pulling away when he felt her push him away from the sensitivity.

     “Alright still?” He asked, kissing the inside of her thighs before standing up.

     “Yeah,” Y/n breathed as he pecked her lips then cheeks

     “We don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to.”

     “Do you want to keep going?” Y/n asked, snaking her hands under his shirt

     “I do but just want to make sure you’re okay.” 

     “Seungmin, if you’re dick isn’t in me soon I’m going to combust.”

     Seungmin laughed at her and pulled his shirt off over his head. Both of them stripping away the last bit of their clothing. Y/n noticed the healed scars littering his skin as he turned and grabbed a condom. She caught his attention when she ran her hands over the scars.

     “You look sexy with the scars,” Y/n said as she looked up at him

     “I wasn’t sexy before?” Seungmin asked as he tore open the foil and rolled the rubber onto his length

     “You were. The scars just add a little more to it,” Y/n smiled as he leaned down.

     “Glad you think so,” Seungmin smiled, lining his tip up with her entrance. Slowly, he pushed inside her. Y/n wrapped her legs around his hips. Seungmin grabbed her hands and kissed her engagement rings. Slowly sinking into her as he kissed down her arm to distract her. Ending up over her again and pressing his lips to hers. Y/n wrapped her arms around him, smiling into the kiss as he pulled his hips back. Gently rocking into her.

     “Fuck, I missed this,” Seungmin groaned

     “Good thing we’ve got forever now,” Y/n moaned, lacing her fingers through his dark hair.

     “Not letting go of you ever again.”

     Gradually, Seungmin picked up his pace. Mostly when she would beg him to go faster. Her walls slightly pulsing around him from her previous orgasm. His lips trailed down from her lips to her chest. Kissing the top of her breasts as his hips gently knocked into hers.

     Her limbs tightened around him as his tip hit a specific spot inside her. A gasp leaving her and Seungmin knew. She felt his smiled against her skin as he brought a hand between their bodies. Thumb rolling along her clit as a loud moan escaped her. He angled his hips to hit that spot again and again. Y/n tried covering her moans, suddenly remember there were two other people in the house.

     “Let them hear baby. Not like they don’t already know,” Seungmin teased, “Let our friends know only I get to fuck you like this for the rest of our lives.”

     “‘M close,” Y/n moaned

     “Just needed a little dirty talk to get you there? Huh?” Seungmin asked

     “Please Minnie.”

     “Missed teasing you. Always riled up to quickly when I did. Obviously you still do too.” Seungmin nipped at her skin as her legs shook around him as her walls got tighter around him, “Gonna cum for me baby?”

     “Yes!” Y/n cried just before her orgasm came crashing down.

     Seungmin kept his pace as she rode out her high. Waiting for her limps to loosen arond him and her body go limp against the bed just a bit before he came in the condom. Slowing his thrusts till he was full inside her and let the rubber fill while he came down.

     Both of them taking a minute to catch their breaths again. Seungmin wrapped his arms around her waist and laid his head in her neck for a moment. “I love you. So much.” Seungmin mumbled

     “I love you too,” Y/n kissed the side of his head as she held him close.

     “Bath?” Seungmin asked

     “Yes please,” Y/n agreed

     Seungmin stood straight and pulled out of her. He took of the rubber and made she it didn’t break before tying it off and tossing it. He gave her a t-shirt as he threw on a pair of boxers before bringing her to the bathroom. He ran them a bath and let her do her little thing while he grabbed more clothes for them. Y/n took care of the bath till he came back in and took over. Pulling her in with him once it was ready. Seungmin wrapped his arms around her as the  warm water surrounded them.

     “I know I just proposed but, what do you think about moving in together?” Seungmin asked

     “I think that’s a great idea,” Y/n smiled and kissed his arms

     “Start looking after a nap?” He asked

     “You read my mind.”

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#☾━━━━ [𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒] #stray kids x reader #stray kids #skz x reader #stray kids x reader smut #skz x reader smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader smut #seungmin smut #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin smut #kim seungmin x reader smut

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

I HAVE A THOUGHT ABOUT TAN AND I CAN'T GET IT OUT OF MY HEAD

Imagine brothers best friend Tan, who you haven't seen since high school. Imagine running into him on the train, and he recognises you but you don't recognise him. Imagine him telling Lemon about you, because he liked you back then, and someone overhearing and using you as leverage to get tan to hand over the briefcase

imagine tan giving them the briefcase, getting you out the way and then shooting them before turning back to you and reminding you of who he is. Imagine both of you realising that feelings are still there for each other. Imagine him getting your number and calling you to arrange a date once he got of the train. Imagine tan being fine, and actually calling you and coming for you.

Can't get it out of my poor fluff ridden brain and I just cannot please please help me

K thx byeeeee <3333

love your blog btw ur works are so good and I feel like if anyone can write this it's youuu :D

love LOVE this!! here is my elaboration 💌

all a big ramble, hope it makes sense

PAST BROTHERS BEST FRIEND.

that is just the sweetest???

and bc of the whole thing about him being your brother's friend, neither one of you could express your feelings. and then years go by and you push off those feelings etc etc

and then he sees you on the train in present time and he feels like he got shot back into the time of when he was a teenager and he realises he never actually really, truly got over you. maybe he walked past you and like a few seconds after he's like "wait. no fucking way" but maybe he can't go back to see you bc lem is waving tan over through the doors. so then he's talking to lem about how you're on the train and how he hasn't seen you in years

and he's kinda gushing about you (he was infatuated with you in his teens) so he's just reliving it a little bit (tan and lem have temporarily switched rolls in the chatter department)

they forget where they are (also they have no regard for the rules of the quiet car) so someone overhears and wants to use you as a trap to lure the twins into giving over the case

maybe you're held by the someone with their arm around your neck and you see tan in front of you for the first time since you were also a teen (you were infatuated with him too) and he looks pissed and has his gun pointed at the someone. and maybe the someone threatens him with you and he's just getting more and more pissed so he kicks the case over and when they bend to pick it up, he shoots them in the head. you run over to him and hug him (he's a familiar face and you kinda need some comfort after that)

and he's checking you're okay and has his hands on the side of your face looking you over etc etc. he tells you to get off at the next stop bc shit is going down (he doesn't want you getting hurt) and he can't leave the train til the jobs done. he says how you should give him your number so he can check you make it away safely ;) but he's kinda playful with it, kinda flirty

and when the train 'stops' more like crashes in that little town. the first thing he does is call you. he's wedged between chairs and he's on the floor all twisted and immediately reaches into his pocket for his phone. he's all like "just checking in on you" and bc he's all out of breath and panting a tad (bc the train crash) you're asking if he's okay. and he doesn't want to be a worry, he's all like "yeah, the train just crashed. no biggie" 

then he untangles himself and stands, he's like "don't suppose you got a few spare hours. would be nice to catch up" and he's being so smoothly casual about asking you out as he hobbles off the train

and then now bc the past relationship dynamic confusion thing (maybe your brother and tan are no longer friends) you want to actually refeel those feelings you did all those years ago. so you say no and ask if dinner tonight is better, and make a witty comment about how it gives him time to clean up and get patched up

and he just chuckles and he says how he'll pick you up from your hotel at 7 and to wear something casual. maybe he has an idea of a date he would've done years ago if was allowed to ask you out (you were off limits)

#tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine headcanon

[local-critter]

Angst alphabet for Asra please.

Which latters? D! And anything else you'd like to do for Asra.

Aside from D for Death, I want them all as Asra, but also know that's way too many. So D.

I'm a little overachiever at times so I did the whole alphabet LMAO

Asra Alnazar Angst Alphabet

A - Austere (what makes them feel uncomfortable and unwanted?)

Being ignored or straight up ghosted; Asra doesn’t like being perceived too much but you’re his whole world, he wants to savor every moment with you to make up for lost time and he feels so shitty when you don’t return the sentiment

B - Bad Habits

Ironically, ghosting. They’ll forget to tell you about a trip until the last minute, or maybe forget to tell you altogether, leading to them just up and disappearing for sometimes days at a time. It’s common when they’re upset or really stressed

C - Crying (do they cry easily? What causes them to crack? How do they cry?)

Asra kinda hates acknowledging most emotions he perceives as negative, so it takes a lot for him to cry. If it’s just because maybe things have been building up for too long but not one specific thing that set him off, just silent tears running down his face. If it is one specific thing he can’t run from, like your death, he just breaks down; it’s messy, there are tears and snot everywhere, his shoulders are shaking violently from the force of his sobs, his breathing is fast and shallow and when he’s done he has a headache from hell and he feels completely hollowed out; he’ll be walking around in a numb daze for a few days afterward, because he just released all the emotions that have been building up for months, maybe years. The first type of cry is a little stream and the second is a raging river; there is no in-between

D - Death (how do they handle the topic? What would they do if their s/o died?)

They don’t handle death well; Asra, post (upright) route holds their loved ones as close to their heart as they can; the thought of any of their loved ones dying can send them straight into a downward spiral of anxiety and dread. Conformation of death sends them straight into either dissociation and denial or a week-long breakdown and then dissociation and denial for a little before they start looking into necromancy with a frantic look in their eyes and terrifying determination. If their significant other died though? Oh boy

They were bad enough the first time but the second, it kills them. Their grief would actually kill them if they lost you again; they would not survive knowing you’re gone and there’s nothing they can do about it because they know they can’t make another deal.

E - Emotion (an emotion they try to suppress)

Anger; he tries so hard to never get angry. He allows himself annoyance, irritation, but never ever anger. Asra is not an angry person in general, there are few times he’s been truly angry at someone, most often Lucio, so he’s come to associate his anger to the former count

F - fights (how do they argue? How quickly do they start an argument? Are they patient with their s/o’s feelings?)

Asra has seemingly endless patience; especially when it comes to you. They were your caretaker for at least a year, probably more, so they’re familiar with your moods and act accordingly. Typically, they let you yell for as long as you need to then when they see you’re done they’ll try and soothe you or give you space, depending on what you need. But when they actually fight back, shit gets real ugly real fast.

You know Asra better than most people in their life; you know Asra better than their parents, you’re second only to Muriel. But Asra knows you too, knows you better than you know yourself sometimes, which means that when you’re both aiming to hurt, it’s all too easy to hit where it hurts for the both of you

G - Guilt (do they feel guilty over something? How do they handle that feeling?)

He’s still guilty for leaving you behind when he left Vesuvia during the plague; he will carry the guilt of your death with him for the rest of his life

H - heartbroken (have they had their heart broken before? Does their S/O have the power to break them?)

Absolutely yes to both. The first time they were heartbroken was the ‘deaths’ of his parents, then when Muriel was in the coliseum, then when you died. And yes, you absolutely have the power to break them; again, you know them better than practically everyone because they’ve never allowed anyone else to truly know them. They’ve given you so much power over them and they’re aware of it, but they gave it to you in the first place because they trust you won’t hurt them.

I - Insecurities

I honestly don’t think Asra is very insecure to be honest; I think he has his moments, like anyone else, but those are few and far between. I think he’d be insecure of leaving you behind and what happened, and afraid you’d leave him for his need to travel. He left you behind and you died; he’s terrified you think he’d leave you to suffer a similar fate again.

J - Jaded (how easily do they become jaded? How do they attempt to get out of that?)

Asra has been jaded for almost their whole life; orphaned and growing up with Vesuvia’s forgotten doesn’t lead to having the happiest outlook on life. Especially since they’ve seen firsthand how cruel the world can be with the Coliseum fights and how Muriel has been treated his entire life

K - killed (what have they killed? Figuratively or literally)

I don’t think Asra has ever killed someone literally. Hurt people before? Absolutely, a gang was after them as a child, so they were forced to be well-versed in self-defense, but never took a life. They definitely killed their morals when you were dead though; they crossed several lines they never wanted to cross before nor again to bring you back

L - lies (what lies do they tell their s/o? Are they a good liar?)

Asra is the best liar you’ll ever meet, but he absolutely hates lying to you. The lies he’d tell you were during your recovery, whenever you’d ask about your past or your memories; he lied only to protect you. After you prove you can finally handle your memories and your past, Asra stops the lies; if there's ever something he doesn’t want to tell you he either tells you he doesn't want to talk about it or deflects and changes the subject

M - mono (do they ever feel alone?)

Not post upright route, not anymore; they know by then that they have a lot of people in their corner, a lot of people in their life; more than they ever thought they’d have. They’re only alone when they want to be because they know they have plenty of people they can seek out if they feel lonely; you’re at the top of that list, of course

N - nightmare (what’s their worst fear?)

Death of a loved one

O - Obstacles (what things have they overcome? How much does it still affect them?)

He’s overcome a lot in his life. The loss of his parents, growing up a homeless orphan, teaching himself and Muriel magic, Count Lucio, the plague, losing you, beating the Devil; Asra has always been a survivor through and through. Of course some of that affects him still; he has nightmares, he has trust issues, he has issues expressing some emotions, but he has people wish shared experiences there and it helps

P - panic (do they panic easily? What instincts do they have? (fight flight, freeze, or fawn))

Asra is typically calm and collected damn near all times, so no, they don't panic very easily but when they do, their first instinct is flight. They avoid conflict whenever possible

Q - quiet (secrets they have)

I don't think Asra would like keeping secrets from his partner, especially after knowing you for almost a decade. I think Asra has things he hasn't told you yet, most likely pertaining to his childhood as one of Vesuvia’s orphaned children, but most likely it's because he doesn't want to acknowledge just how rough his childhood actually was or maybe the right moment to bring it up just hasn't happened

R - rejection (how do they handle rejection of any sort? Have they had a big moment of rejection?)

Asra handles rejection pretty well; they travel a lot so they meet plenty of new people but that also means that if they get rejected they can just leave lmao. If the rejection happens in Vesuvia, they’ll be a good sport about it and won’t make anything awkward, they know they’re not gonna be everyone’s cup of tea and they’re cool with it. They appreciate the honesty too

S - separation (how would they react to a S/O breaking up with them? What would it take for them to break up with their s/o?

If you broke up with him, Asra would be absolutely crushed; he'd respect your decision, maybe try to ask if he'd done something to warrant the breakup, but if you tell him it's because you fell out of love or something he'd never recover; you would deadass never hear from Asra again. He loves you so much still that he can't be part of your life anymore, he can't just be a friend or someone you see every once in a while, it would destroy him; he'd leave Vesuvia all together and probably take Muriel.

I can't really see Asra breaking up with you; he loves you so much, it would take a lot to get him to consider ending it, but I can't think of anything specific

T - trust (how do they break their s/o’s trust? How easily is their trust earned/broken? How would they react to being betrayed?)

Asra's trust takes a long time to earn, so I think it's pretty hard to break. But once it's broken, Asra would never be able to trust you fully again. After the first time there's always going to be lingering doubt about you, I think. They may not even be entirely conscious of their wariness, but it's there all the same.

If you betrayed them, it would destroy them; just crush them completely. It depends on the betrayal itself, of course, but Asra would definitely run. Depending on what you did, they might come back, but it's entirely possible they won't.

Asra would treat your trust like it's fucking frost; the most delicate thing ever. They'd never ever willingly break it, not if they could help it; you mean too much to them for them to ever willingly hurt you

U - urges (what’s something they want but cannot have? Or something they lost and can’t get back)

Asra will always miss the person you used to be; the version of you he left behind. He loves the version of you he has now, he loves you more than he will ever be able to say, but some small part of him will always miss who you used to be, and some part of him will always grieve the love you had/could have had back then

V - volatile (how quickly do they anger? What do they act like when they’re angry?)

Asra doesn’t often get angry; it takes a lot to push them to that point, typically. If you want to them angry fast, bring them to Lucio; he’s practically the only one who can piss them off by merely being near them. Otherwise, it’s incredibly difficult, especially if it’s you that’s angering them. You, Murial, Nadia, and maybe Salim and Aisha are the ones they find it the hardest to get mad at; they love you too much.

But because it takes so much to anger them, when they finally let it out it’s very…explosive, but it’s their magic mainly that’s lashing out. Asra will shout a little, pace around aggressively, but will never really do more than that, and especially won’t get close to you when they’re mad.

W - weak (what makes them feel weak?)

Lucio, typically. He lied to him about his parents so easily, he blackmailed both Asra and Muriel without batting an eye, he killed thousands, you included, without even trying. And Asra couldn’t really do anything about it because, powerful magician he may be, he had no political power while Lucio was the Count. Lucio has hurt almost all of the people Asra cares about and he feels like he wasn’t able to do anything about it

X - X-ray (how readable are their emotions? How good are they at reading their s/o?)

Asra reads you like you’re a picture book tbh because to them, you might as well be. They knew you for several years before you lost your memories, you had to relearn practically everything and Asra was there for every single mood, they saw your new tells and expressions develop, so they know you practically better than you know yourself, meanwhile Asra themself is very difficult to read unless they’ve actively trying to display their emotions. They learned a lot on the streets and few of those lessons were kind.

Y - youth (what kind of childhood did they have? At home and at school)

At home, before the ‘deaths’ of his parents, Asra had a happy life; two loving parents and a home. Afterwards, he had no one and almost nothing, until he met Muriel. Safe to say the majority of his childhood and teenage years were really rough

Z - zero (what would they do if they lost everything)

I truly do not think Asra would survive that; losing everything, they could probably come back from, but losing their loved ones, all of them, would actually kill them.

#the arcana hc #the arcana headcanons #please send requests #the arcana game #asra alnazar #new writer #no use of y/n #angst alphabet #asra the arcana #asra alnazar the arcana #the arcana #asra the magician

[kallie-den]

Your Type

Paige, a trans woman, goes on a date with a reality-warping lesbian who is determined to mold her into ‘her type’

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“So,” Paige said, watching her date carefully over her wine glass as she took a sip. The bar’s house white - good, but a touch dry for her palate. “What’s your type?”

Sophia, the woman sitting opposite her, laughed, amused. “Quite a question, for a first date. It really puts me on the spot.”

“Does it?” Paige challenged playfully.

She was having a good time. Paige had been skeptical - when you were a trans lesbian, dates with strangers could be risky. But she’d decided to take a chance and, fortunately, Sophia was making a good first impression. The woman her friend had set her up with was dressed smart, in a white, satin dress that matched nicely with her fair skin and platinum hair. She was pretty, too, and seemed professional - a good match for a career woman like Paige. Yes, it was strange that she was wearing darkened sunglasses inside a bar, but Paige was happy to overlook a small affectation.

“Well,” Sophia mused, stroking the rim of her glass, “if I tell you that you’re my type, it sounds like nothing more than boorish flattery. But if I describe anything else, then I’m offending you. I’m in a bind.”

Paige laughed too. She was pleased her date could enjoy a little verbal sparring. The atmosphere was perfect for it. The bar was classy - quiet but not dead - and the two of them were tucked away in a private corner so they could talk. Paige had come straight from work but she’d still been able to steal some time to freshen up, and she knew she looked good in her tailored suit, with her long, brunette hair up in a nice ponytail and her nails newly-manicured.

“It’s actually something I ask on all my first dates,” Paige explained. “The answer tells you a lot about someone.”

“And what are you looking to hear?” Sophia shot back, smiling.

“The truth.” Paige shrugged. “Look, I’m not expecting to be exactly your type. That would be one in a million. I just want to see if we have a real shot. I turned thirty a few years ago, I don’t feel like playing games anymore. I’m in your strike range? Wonderful, and we can make sure the mismatches aren’t deal-breakers. If I’m not? We make this just a drink, maybe a night of fun, and go our separate ways.”

Paige knew exactly how that sounded. In fact, it was part of the test. If Sophia got spooked by Paige’s no-bullshit way of doing things, it wasn’t going to work out. Better to find out now than in two months’ time. Fortunately, Sophia was still smiling. The other woman raised an eyebrow as she sat back to sip her wine.

“You’re a woman who knows what she wants,” Sophia noted. “I like that.”

Paige nodded appreciatively. “Oh, and I’m not afraid to put my cards on the table first. You are definitely my type.”

Sophia giggled. “Well, thank you. I’m happy to share, really - I love games, and this is a delightful one. So, let’s get very clear on something first, shall we?”

“What’s that?”

Suddenly, Sophia leaned forward and reached up to lower her sunglasses. She fixed Paige with a devastatingly sharp gaze.

“You are going to be my type. In fact, you need to be. You’re desperate to be.”

For a moment, as Sophia spoke, Paige stopped breathing. It wasn’t Sophia’s words. It was her eyes. Her irises. Paige had never seen anything like them. It was impossible. They were moving, shifting, a hundred times a second, endlessly; an infinite fractal-pattern of shapes, sharp and round and spiraling all at once. And the colors! Every color was in those eyes. In those patterns. A rainbow, kaleidoscopic, but more than that, too. Colors Paige had never seen before. Impossible colors. Maddening colors.

Staring into Sophia’s eyes was like looking into a glitch in reality. And the longer she looked, the more she felt like that unstable glitching was spilling out. Enveloping her. Engulfing her. Paige felt the very fiber of her being as it was unwritten and rewritten - and all just because she’d seen those eyes. It made the skin of her own existence feel so perilously thin, and her very reality feel dizzyingly malleable.

But then Sophia pushed her sunglasses back up over her eyes, and it was all gone. And then the words caught back up with Paige.

“I’m going to…” Paige repeated dumbly. “I need… desperate…?”

She looked at Sophia, in urgent need of clarity. Sophia just nodded.

“That’s right, Paige. You’re going to be my type. You need to be my type. It’s probably why you’re so keen to ask me about it.”

Paige’s mind was racing with a million questions. The big ones - what was wrong with Sophia’s eyes? What was that feeling that had washed over her? - were far too great to fit into words. Perhaps that was why, instead, she found herself latching onto the small incongruities.

“N-no,” Paige said slowly. “No, that’s not right. That’s not why I ask. Like I just told you, it’s because I think-“

Paige stopped talking. She froze because she was realizing that somehow, impossibly, she was wrong, and Sophia was right.

She needed to be Sophia’s type. She was desperate to be. And she was going to be.

Paige barely understood what that meant, but all the same, she was filled with a breathless eagerness. She felt like a butterfly about to burst from its cocoon, ready to taste the world in newly metamorphosed lungs - but to experience that plunge, that freedom, she needed an answer. She needed the answer that only Sophia could speak. Suddenly, Paige’s need for it was agonizing. She was trembling. Craving it, like an addict for a fix. She needed to know what Sophia’s type was.

But clearly, there was something more important than that going on. Paige suppressed the new urge and gripped the edge of her seat, knuckles white, to steady her nerves.

“What did you do?” she demanded, shocked.

“Hm?” Sophia seemed faintly surprised. “Oh, yeah, you’re probably a little distracted, aren’t you? Let me explain, although I won’t get technical on you.” She reached up and tapped the corner of her sunglasses with a fingertip. “With these eyes, I’ve got reality wrapped around my little finger. Past, present, future. Body, mind, soul. All of it.”

“You… you can just… change reality?” Paige was dumbfounded. It sounded impossible, but the urge welling up inside her was all the evidence she needed. Was the woman sitting across from her a superhero? A goddess? “How is that even possible?”

“Tsk.” Sophia shook her head. “This always happens. Sorry babe, but we’re supposed to be on a date. I’m gonna need you to focus on me here. So…”

Once again, she reached up and lowered her sunglasses. As soon as Paige realized what was happening, she tried to look away - but it was too late. The very first glimpse of those impossible, reality-glitch eyes had her captivated. And there it was again: the gnawing, discomforting awareness of her own malleability. As she stared, entranced and powerless, Paige felt like nothing more than an origami doll. Her existence was as thin as paper - and here was a woman who could bend and fold her into new shapes.

“Just don’t worry about it,” Sophia told her.

Paige blinked back to life as those eyes once again disappeared behind the sunglasses. As the existential unease faded, Paige expected her intense concern about the nature of Sophia’s abilities to return - but it didn’t. It just didn’t. Somehow, Paige couldn’t seem to muster up any particular feelings about what Sophia could do, or what she was doing to her. It simply didn’t seem important.

She wasn’t worried about it.

“Oh…” Paige said faintly, as that dawned on her. “OK.”

Perhaps not worrying should have itself worried her, but she proved to be equally cut off from that. Instead, as momentous as Sophia’s power seemed, it quickly became unremarkable to Paige. She wasn’t worried about it. Her date with Sophia was far, far more important.

And Paige’s new need came roaring to the forefront of her mind.

“So, um,” Paige said restlessly. She took a sip of wine to try and calm herself. It didn’t help. “What’s your type? I really need to know.”

“You do, do you?” Sophia's thin smile widened. She sat back again, clearly pondering. “Let’s see… what’s my type today?”

Paige was hanging on her next words. She could sense they would mean everything to her.

“You know,” Sophia said eventually, with an air of frivolity that was entirely at odds with how Paige felt about the pronouncement, “I think my type is girls with short hair.”

A pang of disappointment made Paige inhale sharply as, for the first time ever, she regretted her commitment to growing her hair out. But it faded just as suddenly as it had appeared, when Paige realized there was no problem whatsoever.

She had short hair.

Paige had to reach up and check, which was funny, because having short hair was perfectly normal for her. That was just the kind of girl she was. Sure enough, instead of a ponytail - why had she expected a ponytail? - her fingertips touched the ends of her short bob. That seemed wrong - but only for the briefest of moments.

“I… I have short hair?” Paige said dumbly. She wasn’t sure why it came out like a question.

She had short hair. Of course she did.

But why? That fact seemed oddly incongruous. After all, long hair had always been so important to Paige. It was a symbol of her transition. Of her femininity. She’d always hated the thought of getting it cut. So, why would she have short hair? The more she dwelt on the incongruity, the more it became an insisting, throbbing ache at her temples. She needed to make it make sense.

And then it did.

Paige felt herself plunged into an unfamiliar memory. Herself, rushing to a salon the morning after a sobbing breakdown, voice trembling as she asked the stylist to cut her hair off. It had felt so freeing. Her long hair had become a prison of expectations. Cutting it off had been a ritual. An affirmation.

She didn’t need long hair to be a woman. To be feminine. She simply was. Paige could look the way she’d always wanted. Peering further back, to those miserable college days before her egg had cracked, her memories of her transition goals were shifting. Sigourney Weaver in Alien. Winona Ryder in Girl, Interrupted. Of course. Of course Paige had ended up with short hair. It made perfect sense.

Soon enough, her memories lost that unfamiliar flavor. They had always been like that. She had always been like this. Paige had short hair.

“Wow,” she giggled, “I’m off to a lucky start. Looks like I’m your type.”

Right away, the fact of her short hair became euphoric. She had short hair. She was Sophia’s type. That was wonderful. Amazing. It was the best news she’d heard in months. It was what she needed.

“Indeed.” Something twinkled in Sophia’s eyes. “You’re rocking the look.”

“Thank you.” Paige reached up and touched her hair. She did that a lot. It made her happy. Short hair didn’t take a lot of effort to keep neat and sleek, but still, it was nice to be complimented for it. “I’m glad you like it.”

She was. She was unbearably glad. Paige just had to hope her grin wasn’t too off-puttingly eager. Knowing she was Sophia’s type made her so happy.

Only, surely Sophia’s type went beyond just hair. The gnawing craving in Paige’s chest itched at her anew. It wasn’t even close to sated.

“And…” Paige pressed. “What else? Tell me more. What’s your type?”

She had to strain to keep her voice measured. Paige didn’t want to make this creepy. But she couldn’t help sounding a little urgent. This was so important.

“Hmm…” Sophia mused. It was plain that she was enjoying the way Paige was sitting forward, shoulders tense, desperate for an answer. “Now that you mention it, I’ve always felt like girls who are all about pink are my type. Know what I mean?”

“P… pink?” Paige said plaintively.

She tried to reason with herself over it. Paige liked pink. She liked it as much as the next girl, anyway. Didn’t that count? In her heart, she knew it didn’t. Sophia’s type was girls who were all about pink, and Paige had always felt faintly at odds with the color. Pink clothes, pink lipstick, pink accessories - they all made her feel like she was stereotyping herself a little. Girls didn’t need to wear pink all the time.

But Paige did.

It hit her like a roaring wind. The infatuation. The obsession. Paige loved pink. It was a touch stereotypical, yes, but that was exactly why Paige adored it so much. There was something indulgent about surrounding herself with it. It was something she could rest her identity on. Blue was for boys, but pink? Pink was for girls. Girls liked pink.

“Pink,” Paige sighed happily, reverently, as the story of her life flailed and twisted out behind her like a serpent’s tail.

When she’d started her transition, pink had felt like coming home. Everything pink she’d bought had become a source of joy. It was funny, though, because Paige remembered feeling a little tokenized whenever someone - a family member, a friend - had given her something pink to clumsily signal their acceptance. Then, a moment later, she remembered more. She remembered overcoming that little hang-up. All of a sudden, her unwillingness to embrace pink was recast as early-transition blues; as holding back, as instinctive repression.

She’d overcome it, of course. And now Paige was all about pink.

Paige looked down. Her suit was pink. Of course it was. She owned a black suit, sure, for somber occasions, but mostly it was consigned to the black of her closet to gather dust. Paige always wore pink suits to work. It turned heads, naturally, but she didn’t mind - not as long as when people looked at her, they saw ‘pink’. Plus, she rationalized - and as she rationalized, it became her truth - it was a nice way to make sure her short hair didn’t mislead people into thinking she was aiming to be androgynous.

“I’m all about pink!” The words burst out of Paige; a cry of joy, a plea for attention. She was Sophia’s type, and she needed Sophia to know.

“So you are,” Sophia giggled. “You’re quite the Barbie.”

The comment made Paige shockingly euphoric. But why wouldn’t it? She was all about pink, and what was pinker than Barbie? Paige remembered seeing the movie posters, and the ads, and- no, no, suddenly she remembered seeing the movie itself. Making time on opening night, despite the pressures of work.

It had been so worth it. So much pink.

“Thanks,” Paige replied, still glowing with the pleasure of being Sophia’s type. “I know it’s getting a little much, at my age, but I just can’t help-“

“At your age?” Sophia seized on that gleefully. “That’s another thing. My type is younger girls, actually.”

“Younger girls?” Paige was immediately crestfallen, but she could already feel the explosive energy of change welling inside her. Already, lines were disappearing from her face. She was caught between despair and hope. “Younger than… you?” She wasn’t sure how old Sophia was, exactly. Suddenly she was hoping for late thirties. Perhaps even pushing forty. “H-how young?”

“Oh, you know.” Sophia seemed to be deciding. She made a little show of counting down on her fingers. “Early twenties, say.”

“Fuck,” Paige breathed - both out of regret, and out of awe at the reality shift that was starting to take her.

This one was different. It made her head throb like nothing else. It felt like her skull was going to implode. Paige could feel her past not just changing, but contracting. Memories gone. Birthdays snuffed out. Suddenly, the nineties she’d grown up in was nothing more than a set of images on TV; a set of anecdotes recounted by older coworkers.

Growing up without the internet? It was a crazy thought, suddenly. Paige found that, even in her last moments of remembering it, she couldn’t seem to comprehend it.

The process was terrifying - or it should have been. But Paige wasn’t worried about it. Couldn’t worry about it. Instead, her eagerness to please, to be Sophia’s type, forced its way through her confusion.

“T-that’s good,” Paige struggled to say. “I’m y-younger.” And she was so pleased about it, too. “I’m… I’m…”

It was a little alarming to realize that she didn’t know quite how old she was. Paige’s age was still in flux. It was like Schroedinger’s cat. She’d yet to settle on it. Paige found herself torn. How young was ‘younger’? Part of her wanted to push her luck. To save what could still be saved of her past. Twenty-four? That could still be ‘early twenties’, right? It was younger than twenty-five, at least.

But what if it wasn’t good enough? That was the other thought, and it soon carried the day. Above all, Paige needed to be Sophia’s type. It was so important.

“I-I’m twenty-one!” Paige sang out, in a voice that was suddenly just that bit fresher and higher.

Twenty-one. Of course she was twenty-one. It had only been last month - her birthday, that little ritual, going to a bar, buying a drink with her real ID as her friends cheered and the bartender winked. As moments passed, that memory became more and more solid and concrete in Paige’s head. It was real, undoubtedly. Far more real than the ten or so years she’d just lost, all of that life and time metaphysically shredded into nothing more than hypothetical abstraction.

“Twenty-one?” Sophia cocked an eyebrow playfully. “That’s kind of hot.”

Paige tittered and blushed. That was so naughty. There was something thrilling about going on a date with an older woman - why did that thought taste so new? It wasn’t. Paige was sure of that. At least, she thought she was. She’d been giddy with anticipation ever since her friend had, with a knowing wink, proposed setting her up with Sophia.

Paige had a thing for older women. She must. Why else would she be on a date with Sophia? Her attraction to Sophia took on a new flavor.

“Twenty-one,” Paige repeated. The thought was settling. “Yeah. Um. Yeah.”

Twenty-one. She was twenty-one. Fuck. She was younger than Sophia.

She was still dizzy from the change. So much of her life had been put into flux. Only slowly was it falling into place. Paige struggled to make sense of it all, grasping at possible solutions that turned to stone - to reality - as soon as she latched onto them. Her transition moved backward, to her teenage years. The miserable, closeted portion of her life was high school now, not college. College - that felt like just yesterday. Paige had only just graduated. She was so young!

But of course she was. She was twenty-one.

It changed everything. Only the bare outline remained fixed. Suddenly, instead of Sigourney Weaver and Winona Ryder, Paige had been showing her hair stylist pictures of Miley Cyrus. Kristen Stewart. Those were her idols now - at least, in some ways. Neither of them was quite pink enough for Paige’s liking.

2010s pop culture was pouring into her head, replacing what she’d lost. It was a wild experience. And somehow, it felt like it had always been there.

And then there was her job. Paige was a successful career professional. She worked in management. A twenty-one-year-old manager? Wasn’t that absurd? Paige tried her hardest to cling to that one thing. She was so proud of it, after all. Mercifully, the thread of reality she was pulling on didn’t quite snap.

Right. Yes. She remembered now. She was a twenty-one-year-old manager. Paige had started interning in college, and she’d made a big impression at the company she’d worked for. They’d been willing to take a chance on her and hire her into a senior role right out of college. She was a rising star. It was rough sometimes, of course, having so many subordinates who were younger. It was a fight to get them to take her seriously. Especially given all the pink she wore. But Paige couldn’t be stopped. The pink became a statement. Young women - young trans women - of her generation could do anything. She was a girlboss. The world was her oyster.

And a thousand other things about her reality shifted. Big changes and small ones, spreading out along implications and possibilities like cracks in ice. With the strange power Sophia had infused into her, Paige was rewriting her entire being - and all of it, just to be Sophia’s type.

“How old are you?” Paige asked. She just wanted to hear it.

“Old enough,” Sophia replied rakishly. “The waitress probably thinks we’re mother and daughter.”

Paige shivered rapturously. It wasn’t the age gap, not really - although, yes, she found that hot, now. Frankly, working in management was a little distracting in that department. So many hot, older women were Paige’s coworkers. It was the kind of thing a young lesbian could get worked up over. But what mattered far, far more than that was that she was Sophia’s type.

“So… I’m perfect, right?” Paige was desperate to be. It was written into the fiber of her being now. “Perfect for you?”

“You’re getting there,” Sophia offered. Just hearing that was intoxicating. “But… oh, I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t say it.”

“What?” Paige’s heart skipped a beat. The mere possibility of a mismatch between herself and Sophia’s ideal was panic-inducing. “No. No, tell me.”

She needed to know. She needed to know, so that she could become.

“It might be a big ask,” Sophia warned. The smile on her face was more than a little cruel. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes!” Paige answered at once. Her apprehension was swept away effortlessly by gnawing desperation. “Please.”

“If you insist,” Sophia replied. Her manner was painfully unhurried. “The thing is, my type happens to be girls who are… well… dumb.”

“W-what?” Paige whimpered. “That… that’s…”

It was awful. Sophia’s type was dumb girls, and Paige had always prided herself on her intelligence. But as much as she feared losing her brains, the inexorable pull towards becoming Sophia’s ideal was stronger. Paige could already feel it, taking her into its flow, draining hard-won knowledge out of her head.

“I’m dumb,” Paige pleaded, half-sincerely, searching desperately for an angle to shoot for. “At least… um… m-maybe a little forgetful? My friends are always saying-“

She froze. Saying what? Paige could feel reality shifting beneath her feet as the memories came back to her.

Ditzy. Airheaded. That’s what her friends always called her, wasn’t it? After all, she’d always been the slow one in the friend group. Even in college, someone had to be the dumbest. Of course, in Paige’s case, they even joked it was a miracle she’d been able to graduate. Paige could feel it, even now. Her head getting a little foggier. Her thoughts, a little simpler and cruder. As soon as she felt it, it became familiar.

“Oh, no,” Sophia said, dashing her hopes. “I’m afraid it goes a little beyond that. I’m talking about really dumb girls. That’s my type.”

Paige’s head throbbed painfully as she absorbed that, and reconfigured herself again. College? No way. She’d tried, sure - middle-class family expectations - but Paige had ended up dropping out in her first year. She simply couldn’t follow along in lectures.

“I’m… I’m really dumb,” Paige confessed bashfully. It was kind of embarrassing, coming right out with it on a first date - but hey, it was better than a new lover dumping her after three months once she realized Paige couldn’t hold an intellectual conversation.

Not that she had to worry about that with Sophia, of course. Dumb girls were Sophia’s type, and that alone made it something to be proud of. For the first time ever, Paige was truly, wholeheartedly glad of what a total ditz she was.

"That’s really cute, honestly,” Sophia told her, any predatory glint in her eyes concealed behind those dark sunglasses. “Adorable.”

Her approval was like a red rag to a bull. “When I first got my job, everyone was, like, so surprised!” Paige gushed. “I mean, me? Working in management? That was… was… um… I-I mean, that wouldn’t even make…”

A fresh wave of dizziness hit Paige as the total incongruity of her career dawned on her. It didn’t make sense. A twenty-one-year-old working in senior management was already pushing it. Only exceptional aptitude could possibly justify that. Now that she was dumb - which, of course, she’d always been - that particular thread of reality was finally snapping. It gave way, plunging Paige into another pit of uncertainty.

What was her job again?

There was only one real answer, as embarrassing as it seemed. Paige was a secretary. Not a manager. A secretary. Why had it ever seemed like she’d been anything else? Secretary work was the only kind of office job Paige could handle.

“When I first got my job,” Paige said slowly, trying to pick up the anecdote, “people joked that I might not be cut out for all that, like, reading and typing. Sometimes I kinda need help with some of the more, um, technical documents.”

It was true, she realized a moment after. Paige could now remember hearing workplace rumors about how she’d only been hired because her pink outfits really brightened up the office. She looked down. Her legs felt a little chilly all of a sudden - only, it wasn’t sudden. Paige had been wearing a cute little pink pencil skirt all day. Not pants. A pantsuit was a little much, for a secretary.

“I guess I’m kind of a bimbo,” Paige giggled self-consciously, as she joined the dots between her ditziness and her obsession with all things pink.

And she was. She really was. Maybe that was why she was so confused. Maybe that was why she kept half-remembering another Paige - a Paige that was older, and smart, and successful, and serious. But that wasn’t her. Not anymore. No, not ever. That Paige wasn’t real.

She was becoming less real by the moment, as the waves of this latest change rippled back into her past. Her high-school grades retroactively plummeted. When she’d first started transitioning, there had been more than a few sexist little jokes about being girly and pink suited her better than trying to be smart and serious and masculine. The dizziness started to recede as, more and more, Paige’s life started to make sense again. Once again, the implications went deep. Everything about Paige was malleable. The only fixed points were the things Sophia liked.

Paige wasn’t worried by that, of course.

“A real girly girl,” Paige added, as her reality settled. “You… you like that. Right?”

“You know?” Sophia mused. “Now that I’m seeing it, I’m not so sure. It’s a little, well, cliché.”

“Cliché?” Paige echoed, in a wounded voice. “Is that, like, bad?”

It certainly sounded like a reprimand, but Paige had to be sure. Already, she felt her existence becoming fluid again. The sensation was like nothing else; a dizziness, a fuzziness around her thoughts, around her memories, especially, as they blurred, ready to change.

“I suppose what I had in mind was something a little… rougher?” Sophia continued. “Punk? Is that the word I’m looking for? You know what I mean. A little bit of that blue-collar charm. Dumb, strong, rough.”

“B-blue… collar?” Paige panted. “Punk?”

The headache was like thunder inside her skull. Gale winds, too, blowing away the Paige she’d been steadily coming to terms with. There was no fighting it. At once, Paige’s head was flooded with stereotypes. Punk girls. Working-class girls. She dredged up every impression she’d ever had of them to fuel her transformation. A transformation that tore her life story to shreds.

College? Fuck no. Her family had never had a lot of money. They couldn’t afford to waste it paying tuition for a girl with rocks for brains. Paige had struggled to graduate high school, let alone get a degree. What would have been the point? You didn’t need book smarts to haul ass on a construction crew.

Right. Construction. That was where Paige worked. Suddenly, the idea of herself as a secretary seemed preposterous. Lame. Paige would take fitting joints and carrying pipes over some stuffy office any way of the week. Hers was a good, respectable, union job. Those ran in the family, didn’t they?

Yes. Yes, of course.

Paige was good at it, too. Strong. Sophia had mentioned strong, hadn’t she? Paige was sure of it. Her self-confidence was bolstered back a little. Everyone wanted a strong girl like Paige on a construction site. Even a trans girl. Oh, sure, she’d heard plenty of shitty comments about that. But Paige didn’t take them lying down. She wasn’t that kind of girl. She could stand up for herself. She was rough.

Paige smirked at Sophia. She let her legs fall apart as she slipped into her natural, girlspreading stance. For some reason, wearing a pencil skirt crossed her mind. She wrinkled her nose at the thought. That sounded so needlessly restrictive compared to her loose-fitting pink jeans. The glass in her hand wasn’t wine anymore. Beer.

“Good news, miss,” Paige said, and her accent sounded classless and coarse to her until it didn’t, because she’d always talked that way. “Looks like I’m your type, right down to a fucking T.”

Sophia giggled. Paige lapped up her approval. It felt wonderful. Being Sophia’s type was all-important. Now, though, she was used to girls giggling at her that way. What kind of lesbian didn’t love a tough, strong, working-class dyke?

“You sure are,” Sophia cooed. “You look really punk.”

Paige really did, she realized. In fact, she was a little out of place at a classy bar like this, with her studded choker, heavy boots, and her battle jacket - blue, but covered in pink patches and pins, of course. She’d always dressed that way. Ever since… when? Paige soon supplied the answer. Ever since she’d come out as trans. Her transition goals shifted again. Siouxie Sioux. Joan Jett. The goddesses of punk rock.

For a moment, the fact that Paige liked pink so much bothered her, but her warping mind soon resolved the contradiction. Pink was punk. That was now - always - Paige’s defiant battle cry every time someone questioned her punk cred. In a world that hated women and denied trans women at every turn, pink was punk.

Paige’s music taste, having lurched violently away from pop, started coarse-correcting back. She was punk, for sure, and she loved the classics, but she had to admit that pop punk was a guilty pleasure. Avril Lavigne was so hot. She really got it. Pink was punk.

"So. Anything else?” Paige asked. In this new reality, she was cockier and more confident than ever - but she couldn’t help being insecure about exactly one thing. “Or am I completely your type?”

“You know,” Sophia said slowly, looking Paige up and down as she weighed her up. “I think you’re exactly what I was feeling today. Yeah. You’re my dream girl.”

Paige grinned. Her whole body was thrumming with the delicious pleasure of affirmation. It was like a gnawing emptiness inside her had just been filled. And now she felt so good, there was only one thing on her mind.

“In that case,” Paige said, sitting forward, “how about we get out of here and I show you exactly how good I am at laying pipe?”

She laughed at her crude double entendre - by her standards, an impressively witty joke. A classy, older woman like Sophia was out of her league in at least three different ways, and Paige would hate to blow her shot by moving too fast, but this kind of bar really wasn’t her scene, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up in conversation. Besides, she knew Sophia liked her rough edges. She was Sophia’s type, and she couldn’t wait to have her moaning all over Paige’s bed.

Paige had undergone a head-splitting number of metaphysical changes throughout her date. But one thing that had remained constant throughout was that Paige was a top - and a damn good one.

But Sophia didn’t seem to agree. “Actually, maybe you’re not my type after all,” she said, with an air of particular malice.

Paige was immediately heartbroken. “W-what?” she gasped, shocked. There were tears in her eyes.

“Sorry.” Sophia didn’t sound sorry at all. “It’s just, I’m not that interested in the kind of girls who lay pipe. Bottoms are really my type.”

Paige head started throbbing dangerously again. “I…” she pleaded. “I could… I can bottom.”

And she could, Paige realized as it became true. She called herself a top, sure, but that was just part of the game. Paige could feel her orientations and preferences shifting beneath her feet.

“Really?” Sophia replied idly.

“Yeah!” Paige panted, eager to convince. “I-I love to bottom!” A secret thrill entered her voice. Oh god, she really did. It went against her vibe, her style, her demeanor - but that was part of why it felt so fucking good. “ I’m, y’know, v-… um… I’m… vers?”

It just didn’t taste right in her mouth. Paige wanted to say it - wanted to keep that part of herself within her grasp - but she soon realized why she couldn’t. Sophia had said she wasn’t interested in girls who top. Even being vers was out of the question. Paige felt a sorrowful pang as that part of herself vanished into abstraction - but then the sorrow vanished too, because this was just who she was.

A complete and total bottom.

“Are you now?” Sophia queried.

“No,” Paige admitted. She blushed and leaned in, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I just… god, if word got around, I’d never hear the end of it, OK? Big, tough Paige? But I’m… um… yeah. A bottom. Totally.”

Still the rough kind, of course. Paige wasn’t the type to go down without a fight. She needed to be overpowered. To be dominated. To be shown who was boss. A punk brat. That was her, she decided. It was a little frustrating people always mistook her for a top. What did they think all the pink was about? Couldn’t they take a hint?

Sophia giggled, and said in a teasing voice, “A punk bottom. Now that’s fun.”

Paige stiffened briefly at being mocked, before that, too, was folded into her sexuality, and she squirmed in her seat. Sophia liked bottoms, so she had to be a top, right? Paige loved getting teased by tops. It was so hot.

“It’s kinda embarrassing,” Paige offered, eager to please. “I get these subby girls coming on to me all the time, but… god, I just wouldn’t even know what to do with them in the bedroom.” Her blush deepened, but she made sure to flash Sophia a defiant look that she hoped would stoke her interest. “But… I don’t know if I believe you’re the kind of woman who knows what to do with me.”

Prove me wrong, she was begging with her eyes.

Sophia didn’t rise to the taunt. At least, not directly. “You wouldn’t know what to do with them?” she repeated curiously. “That’s pretty cute. So would you say you’re a pillow princess?”

Paige bit her lip. She could feel it inside her again. The empty, gnawing need that was the furnace of her transformations. “Would… you like it if I was a pillow princess?”

“Oh yes.” Sophia laughed at her. “Definitely. That’s my type, for sure.”

“Fuck!” Paige whimpered, as she was rewritten once more.

She was so pleased. An older woman who liked pillow princesses? Paige had hit the jackpot. She couldn’t let herself fumble this. She just needed to stop pretending to be something she wasn’t.

Bratting? Giving a top some attitude? She’d tried it once, sure. It had seemed a little more dignified, somehow. A little more like what people expected from a punk girl like her. But it hadn’t felt right. Paige was the kind of girl who blew over in a stiff breeze.

She loved the way Sophia was toying with her. Playing with her expectations. Making her change to match them. Paige could feel herself getting hard under her jeans. She’d never been so turned on. And the best part was, she could sense that she could count on Sophia to understand that just because she had a cock, it didn’t mean she was interested in using it.

“That’s better,” Sophia purred approvingly, as she watched Paige whimper and squirm. “Yes, that was just the finishing touch you needed. Now you’re perfect.”

“T-thank you,” Paige whined instinctively. God. She knew how absurd it was for a rough-and-tumble punk like her to sound so meek and submissive. She hoped Sophia was going to bully her about it. “So, um. Maybe, if you wanted, w-we could… get out of here now? Please?”

It was pitiful to beg, but Paige couldn’t help it. She was burning with need. Being around Sophia made her feel even stupider and more tongue-tied than she always was.

Sophia just stared straight at her. Paige could sense those ineffable, eldritch eyes burning behind her sunglasses. “Please what?”

Paige let out a low moan. “P-please, mistress.”

“Good girl,” Sophia told her. Paige moaned again. She could feel herself making a mess of her panties. “Very well.”

Paige shot to her feet with embarrassing eagerness. “Thank you! Um. God. Thank you. I-I’m just really excited, you know? I really got lucky here.”

“Don’t mention it,” Sophia replied kindly, as she rose to her feet. “Besides, I’m the lucky one.”

“You really think so?” Paige asked timidly.

It was hard to believe. A young, dumb punk with a construction job? Paige knew she wasn’t much of a catch for a lady like Sophia. Compared to her classy outfit, Paige’s pink, punk style and short hair were more than a little garish. And she couldn’t even top.

“Of course,” Sophia giggled, leading Paige towards the door of the bar. “How often do I get to meet a girl who’s exactly my type?”

---

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#story

[gracechasitysleftshoe]

I really wish people with public presences were given more space to be ambiguous and/or come out in their own time, or to just be private! Like yes we've seen some things, yes there is a good chance we will at some point or another see Angela come out as some flavour(s) of queer but if she does it should be on her own terms.

Like rpf is one thing, key word being fiction and remaining grounded in it being just that. Do I have my own private thoughts and feelings about it? Yeah. Just like I did before Kristen Stewart and Elliot Page came out, the first time (which maybe makes me sound ancient in Internet years, I've been around this block a few times, I've known I'm queer for 13 years, and I think about this a lot.) And like many it's because I look up to these people, I see myself in them or find them attractive. It makes it easy to project, especially when I myself have found so much freedom and empowerment in being very open and vocal about my queerness. But I have to imagine that feeling aware of external assumptions and pressures coming from the internet would really undercut that sense of freedom and empowerment.

Let's just ground ourselves in the fact that no matter how public someone makes their personality, they're still a normal vulnerable person like the rest of us. Just remember how private and vulnerable your own experiences in coming to terms with your own identity were. How it did or would've felt to have others assumptions added to the mix on top of your own processing. Like be excited when she does gay roles or what have you, but that can be done without placing labels, also a deep breath and just a little chill goes a long way. If she comes out that'll be the time to shower her with support, and I know we will good and well, but in the meantime, patience.

Honestly I could write a whole essay on this in a broader sense but it's Angela on my mind and this is a smosh/starkid blog

#angela giarratana #Smosh #starkid

[clingylilhoneybee]

Life finally feels like it’s falling into place 🥰

#confirmed that a PhD is likely not possible #bc I can’t afford to live off half my current income #which is a big ass bummer #but I’m coping well with it #I’m in a job I love #that’s letting me pursue my passions as much as I’m able to #I’m incredibly in love #and finding a way to navigate the difficulties of long distance #without staying hung up on the struggles #I have a best friend! #and for the first time since I was little I’m also their best friend #I’ve been limiting contact with my abusive parent #and getting closer to my siblings #and finally sorting out my cats health issue #I just feel like I can breathe for the first time in a few years and that’s so so very nice

[jessamine-rose]

/obey me! vent/

#jessamine rambles #before i start. pls keep in mind that this is fully subjective and could just be a 'me' problem. i just want to get this off my chest #ngl i've been contemplating on whether i want to stop playing obey me. both the og game and nightbringer #idk i've been playing the game since its first month and while it's given me a lot of joy + memories + chances to befriend other ppl. i'm #pretty burned out. not to mention TIRED of my consistent disappointment with the game #the main story.....where do i start?? i actually enjoyed s1-s3 despite my qualms with the fillers and pacing but s4 disappointed me. i was #rlly looking forward to simeon's storyline and the new characters but ultimately. the devs tried to squeeze too many things into one season #not to mention that there is a notable difference in how the characters are written. i.e. beel's hunger and asmo's beauty #being watered down to running gags instead of the complexities explored in the old dg stories and chara songs #gameplay-wise. i was there when the devs raised the rewards price of the event urs and removed the demon ssrs completely #but nightbringer was the last straw for me. the amount of time it takes to grind for two games. knowing that the og app has essentially bee #abandoned by the devs?? not to mention that while the plot is interesting. i haven't touched the main story ever since the coma arc #i will give credit to the devs for improving the event stories by choosing to focus on 1-2 demons. but it has always felt like a quantity > #quality situation. esp if i were to compare it to my other fandoms #it also doesn't help that i'm currently at a point of my life where i'm questioning if i could use my time on obm for better things #seeing how the game is giving me less reasons to believe it is worth my time #idk this may also be a short-term phase since i DID get back into twst after a long hiatus and i recently got into whb #which btw has felt like a breath of fresh air despite my frustrations with the bugs and current gacha #but yeahhhh........as much as i love the obm characters and fanfics. i'm just tired #at this point i feel like the only reason why i still play the game is due to the nostalgia and so i don't waste the years of grinding #aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #this is what i get for being the type of player who only plays a few games so they can rlly dedicate their time and passion to it #that's all