#I know it looks weird but they are holding the right hands

[verstappen-cult]

hiii idk if youre doing reqs rn but how about lestappen x reader where shes unused to being taken care of, having to succumb to the fact she needs help after an injury (nothing too graphic like maybe a sprained ankle or a broken wrist) and max and charles trying their best to make her understand that they *want* to help and that she has to let them and her yk kinda warming up to the idea idkkk😭 feel free to ignore it i js thought it was sweet✋️😔

You turn on the kitchen lights and Charles and Max are immediately pausing the game and turning around, surprised to see you supporting all your weight in your left leg, while keeping your balance by leaning against the wall.

Max is up in a blink of an eye. “What are you doing, sweetheart?” He helps you walk to one of the stools by the kitchen counter.

“I wanted something to eat.” You say, sitting down and trying not to show how relieved you are. Your ankle is still hurting but you don’t want to worry them.

“You could’ve just told us.” Charles joins you and Max in the kitchen. “What do you want?” He asks you while walking towards the fridge.

You wince, looking down at your hands. “I can prepare something. You’re busy.”

“We were just playing FIFA.” Max leans down to leave a kiss on your cheek. “We weren’t exactly busy.”

“Still,” You argue back, this time looking at your blonde haired boyfriend. “I can do it myself.”

“You’re supposed to be resting, or you’re not gonna get better.”

Charles is right.

And just because of that you accept his offer to make something to eat.

“I’d like some pasta, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Charles frowns as he takes all the ingredientes out of the fridge. “If it’s not too much trouble? Are you hearing yourself?”

Max gives him a disapproving look when he sees you look away.

“You sit here and we’re gonna take care of it, okay?” Max smiles before helping his boyfriend to avoid any incident like it always happens when Charles cooks. Or tries to.

While they’re occupied you think that is a good idea to take a shower to feel fresh and clean before dinner.

But the second you move to get up, Charles is by your side ready to help you.

It makes you feel a lot of things, some good and bad — especially some bad ones. Because the last thing you wanted was to cause trouble and have them running behind you to help with whatever you need, forcing them to cancel events to stay at home with you. Which is exactly what happened.

“What do you want?”

You groan, “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“I’ll run a bath for you.” Charles smiles brightly, forcing you to sit back down. But you don’t let him get away, grabbing his wrist.

“I can do it,” You feel stressed and a burden, and there are tears pricking your eyes. “You don’t need to do everything for me.”

Max stops chopping the vegetables to pay attention to you. “We know that,” He says with a weird expression on his face that you don’t really want to think about right now. “we’re trying to help you. You fell down and are in a lot of pain even if you want us to believe otherwise.”

You blush because you thought you were doing a pretty good job hiding how bad you actually feel.

“When we said that we want to take care of you, it was because we mean it. Nothing is more important than you.” Charles rubs his thumb over your knuckles, while you feel really small and scolded like a little kid.

“I just–,” You hide behind your hands, finally letting the tears fall freely down your face. “I don’t wanna be a burden.”

They stay silent for a few minutes. And then, you feel Max arms on your back while Charles lifts your chin up with his fingers. They look softly at you which only makes you cry harder.

“Oh, princess.” Max wipes the tears with the pad of his fingers. “We love you. Of course we want to take care of you and help with anything you need. You’re never gonna be a burden for us, okay?”

“I know you’d do the same for us.” Charles lets you rest your head against his chest as the both of them hold you in their arms. “Will you let us take care of you?”

You want to say no, but deep down you want to be taken care of. But you’re so used to doing everything by yourself, you never had someone worrying this much for you, never had someone who cared. And now you don’t have one but two people willing to drop everything just to take care of you.

You nod against Charles’ chest, tears still flowing down your face, and whisper, “Okay.” Even if you still want to fight against it and do everything by yourself.

Maybe things need to change a little.

#꒰꒰ 📁 ─ verstappen cult files ꒱꒱ #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #f1 imagine #lestappen x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #f1 x reader #max verstappen fluff

[fullonfandomindulgence]

please clic for larger images, tumblr compression made these look all blurry. id below the cut

here i am still making mp100 comics in april of 2024. its just such comfort food. im highly normal about mob and tomes friendship

ID: three pages of black and white comics about Mob and Tome from the anime Mob Psycho 100.

panel 1: a leg and an arm extend from out of panel so that the hand on the arm can tie the shoe on the leg. lying on the ground is the other shoe, a cell phone, a keyring, and a polka dot carrying case. on the carrying case rests a sphere with a strange pattern on it. in the top right it says "January."

panel 2: a figure (its tome) pulls on a jacket. visible in front of her are a cabinet and a wall-mounted rack, all messy.

panel 3: with a door in the background, a closeup of tomes hand on her flipphone. the screen says "dialing."

panel 4: tome shrugs on her jacket and, holding her phone against her ear with her shoulder, smiles and says, "Oy, Mob! It's Saturday! Let's go telepath-hunting!"

panel 5: ritsu and mob sit on a blanket on the floor in front of a bookshelf. a little "pause" label extends from off-panel. both of them are holding controllers. ritsu leans against his hand, looking bored, as mob holds his cellphone to say "Hi Tome. Didn't we already find a telepath?" tome responds, "Oh, right."

panel 6: tome and mob dont really know what to say next. they both look cartoony and stupid. "..."

panel 7: tome, looking pained, curls a hand in the air in front of her and says, "Do you want to... walk around the city? Pointlessly?" mob says, "Sure, I guess that's what we normally do."

panel 8: tome looks mad. "No! We walk pointedly! In the direction of telepaths!" she points, pointedly. mobs eyebrows go a little down as he scratches at his face. "It's pretty funny that you were looking for so long when Takenaka was right next to you. For months. And then he left because you were too weird."

panel 9: tome, opening her front door, says, "Y'know what, Mob, maybe I'll invite him instead." Mob says "That's a good idea. Let's see if he can come with us."

panel 10: now exiting onto the walkway in front of her apartment, tome says, looking excited, "Actually I have been investigating something new. We should look for a haunted house!" mob thinks to himself, "Sounds like work..."

panel 11: mob looks skeptical and asks, "In the city?" tome responds, "Yep." behind mob, ritsu unpauses the game (ssb brawl) and starts thrashing mob (ritsu mains lucas, mob mains kirby)

panel 12: tome walks down the stairs of her apartment building to a concrete sidewalk with a row of trashcans nearby. she says, "My first guess is that new shaved ice place on 5th street." mob responds, "Oh." tome says "It's an old building! I think it's haunted!"

panel 13: mob, contented, says, "Okay. I'll meet you at the train station." pleased, tome responds, "Excellent!" ritsu looks back at mob with a mean smile on. the tv screen says "GAME!"

panel 14: mob yells, "Ritsu! What the heck!" tome, at a stoplight, replies, "Sure, he can come too." she presses the walk signal button. "BIP."

End ID.

making this comic i learned that you cant just put masking tape over your mistakes and re-ink on top of it bc the masking tape looks too dark when its scanned in. i guess ill just have to warm up more and be more deliberate when i ink like some kinda loser. or i could become truly insane and start gluing on little pieces of bristol

#mp100 #mob psycho 100 #fan comic #tome kurata #mp100 fanart #mp100 mob #shigeo kageyama #mp100 tome #fanfic #mp100 fanfic #ritsu kageyama

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Daddy, I Love Him, He's The One 💌🫶

Fic based on "But Daddy I love him" by Taylor Swift.

Bits of angst, gossip and judgy neighbours and friends, fluff, minors shoo!

💌💞

Hawkins learned of the relationship between you and Eddie one sunny morning in April. Graduation was fast approaching and you and Eddie had been together for six months, six months in secret but that was soon to change.

Gossip flew through the halls quicker than you could blink and the minute Stacy Willows clocked you and Eddie holding hands and kissing while exiting his truck, the whole school knew you were an item.

Exactly like how you and Eddie wanted and like the two of you predicted, the sight of the two of you was followed by whispers and pointed stares, stunned disbelief for some students.

The good girl, the straight a student and Hawkins princess with Eddie "the freak" Munson? It was a scandal of epic proportions and everyone had something to say about it.

I'll tell you something right now, I'd rather burn my whole life down

Than listen to one more second of all this bitching and moaning.I'll tell you something about my good name, It's mine alone to disgrace.

I don't cater to all these vipers dressed in empaths clothing.

"What the hell are you doing wasting your time with someone like him?" April shrieks to you and you bristle at her tone.

"Someone like him?" your voice is low but dangerously so and April appears not to notice.

"You know, a loser. He's a freak and Jason says he's in that weird satanic cult" you roll your eyes and stop listening.

"Jason is an idiot and quite frankly I don't give a fuck about your opinion April" She gawks at you and Jessica who is beside her snorts, flips her hair over her shoulder and gives you a scornful look.

"Well if you want to ruin your reputation for that freak then that's up to you. It will sully you being with him" fuck. Did they ever get tired of being such judgemental bitches?

"We just want the best for you" April says kindly but you see the harshness in her eyes. How she didn't want the best for you, she wanted you to be a good girl and date the nice, boring guy and conform to her standards.

God saved the most judgmental creeps, who say they want what's best for me, Sanctimoniously performing soliloquies I'll never see.

"It's my rep to ruin, not yours. And you know what? He's worth it". You walk away from them and feel the anger pulsing through your veins.

Thinking it can change the beat of my heart when he touches me and counteract the chemistry and undo the destiny.

No one except the people closest to Eddie saw the sweet heart that he had. Didn't look past his status as Hawkins freak to see the amazing guy he was.

He was loyal, a gentleman, protective of who he loved and you loved him with all your heart.

When you got to know him properly starting six months ago, the ease you felt with him was instant. So many people said Eddie was unapproachable and weird but they were wrong.

From the minute the two of you properly started hanging out, Eddie was nothing like you were made to believe. A protective outer layer, a sharp tongue and hyped up, don't fuck with me demeanor was hiding a soft heart underneath it all.

Within weeks the two of you grew closer, the princess and Eddie the Brave, that's what Eddie nicknamed the two of you. He'd weave amazing stories, entertain you for hours with different voices and characters. His creative energy knew no bounds.

When you kissed for the first time it was flawless, perfection and the two of you had been falling for each other ever since. Sneaking around, stolen moments together until it wasn't enough.

From the first I love you, the two of you decided to go public and weather whatever storm came your way. Now that you had it was a relief, you never wanted to hide Eddie and Eddie didn't want to hide you.

"I'd shout from the rooftops that you're my girl, princess" he tells you and you know he's serious about it too.

You ain't gotta pray for me, Me and my wild boy, and all this wild joy. If all you want is grey for me, then it's just white noise, then it's just my choice

By the evening of you and Eddie's relationship going public your parents had heard everything from their friends, their friends who like April and Jessica expressed concern about you dating Eddie.

Your father sat you down and told you in no uncertain terms that you were to stop seeing Eddie.

The thought of not seeing Eddie, of his beautiful brown eyes filling with love and adoration when he saw you, not hearing his laugh and his jokes and rants about things he was passionate about. It was too much. You loved Eddie and wanted to be with him.

There was no way you were going to just stop being with him because your parents cared what their shitty friends and nosy neighbours thought.

"But Daddy I love him" the words burst from your mouth and your mother looks like she might faint. Your dad has this steely look in his eyes and shakes his head furiously.

"That boy will not set foot in this house and I won't have my only daughter sully her reputation with someone like that"

Hearing enough you stand up and meet his gaze.

"Everyone in this town judges but they don't look past their own assumptions to see the truth. Eddie is amazing and I'm not going to stop seeing him. I love him and I'm not throwing that away".

With that said you storm upstairs and pack a bag, then you head outside to find Eddie already waiting for you.

"I knew you would need the support princess. How did things go?" You burst into tears and he pulls you into his arms, presses a kiss to your forehead and whispers in your ear, "Everything will be okay sweetheart, you'll see"

💌💞

For the next few weeks you lived with Eddie and his Uncle Wayne in their trailer. You've been here so many times that it already feels like home, comforting and like a warm hug after a really bad day.

There's still glances from people in town when you and Eddie venture out on a date to the cinema or to dinner but you really don't care.

Classmates, your parents friends were given your biggest, fake smile if they stopped you in the streets, you could tell that they were just looking for gossip so they could indulge in whispering about you behind closed doors.

If people thought that the looks and being one of the things this small town discussed with feverish interest would split you and Eddie then they were wrong.

In fact it brought you closer, Eddie figured none of the gossipers had anything better to do with their time and you're sure he's right.

There's a lotta people in town that I bestow upon my fakest smiles Scandal does funny things to pride, but brings lovers closer.

Not everyone is fake or nosy about you and Eddie though, Dustin's mother is lovely as is Joyce who is Jonathan and Will's mom. Hopper doesn't seem to partake in any gossip either and seemed to have a soft spot for Eddie.

The kids tease you for being so "lovey dovey" and make kissy faces when you're around but they are sweet and obviously worship Eddie and the safe haven he's created for them with Hellfire Club.

We came back when the heat died down, went to my parents and they came around. All the wine moms are still holding out, but fuck ‘em, it's over

Despite their reservations about you and Eddie, you did miss your parents and Eddie went to them when he noticed how down you were one night and then next thing you knew your parents had invited you and Eddie for dinner.

It was a week after graduation and your mother went all out for dinner. Catching you in a tight hug and holding you close.

"We'll work something out baby, I promise" she assures you and you relax knowing that things would get better. Bit by bit.

Now I'm dancing in my dress in the Sun and even my daddy just loves him. I'm his lady and, oh, my God, you should see your faces.

Your daddy came round to Eddie first. Well after a long chat with a beer and grilling Eddie about his intentions with you, and threatening to cut off a certain appendage if he ever hurt you.

This carried on for a few weeks until he was satisfied that Eddie was genuine.

Eddie had proved his love to you throughout the chats your dad said and he knew that Eddie would never hurt you.

"Darling, that boy looks at you like you hung the moon, and he is pretty good on the guitar. Do you think he might give me a lesson or two?" You grin happily, kiss your dad on the cheek.

Your mother took a little longer but when she did come around it was shown in little gestures. She would bake extra cookies for Eddie and Wayne, invited Eddie and Wayne to Sunday dinner and that was special in itself because those invites didn't come often.

But when your mother accepted it then that was it, she wouldn't hear a bad word against you and Eddie, her viper friends and their bitchiness were soon left in the dust.

Time, doesn't it give some perspective? And no, you can't come to the wedding. I know it's crazy, but he's the one I love.

Time passed, season by season. Eddie proposed just before Christmas the following year and your mother was excitedly planning the wedding. The rest of Hellfire and your friends were happy to help and just as excited as your parents about the upcoming nuptials.

I'll tell you something right now. You ain't gotta pray for me. Me and my wild boy, and all of this wild joy

(It was chaos, it was revelry)

If all you want is gray for me. Then it's just white noise, it's my choice.

Of course there were more fake words and expressing worry that it was too soon and there must be some big reason why you and Eddie were getting married after just a year and a half.

Screamin': But, daddy, I love him!

I'm having his baby. No, I'm not but you should see your faces and, oh, my God, you should see your faces.

"She must be pregnant" you heard someone whisper at the grocery store as you and Eddie passed them. Eddie rolled his eyes and squeezed your hand.

"Yeah that's it. I'm having his baby" the gossiping duo look stunned.

"No I'm not but look at your faces, maybe worry about your own life instead of mine" you tell them and they walk away looking scandalised.

God forbid that two people got married because they were in love.

It was chaos, it was revelry.

To all the ones who said that you and Eddie wouldn't last, well you and Eddie proved them wrong with that and continued doing so for the rest of your lives.

💞

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic

[haikyu-mp4]

To feel seen

word count; 680 – f!reader who wears glasses

Tsukishima was reading a paleontological magazine he got from his brother, headphones on as he occasionally bopped his head the slightest bit as if he wasn’t sitting in his classroom during lunch period. Yamaguchi was sick today and left his best friend in his own company, which he really didn’t have a problem with.

What he did have a problem with was seeing how that guy from the class next door sauntered right through the door and over to you. Your seat was in front of Kei, and to put all formalities aside, he liked you. From afar. He would never admit to it, not to himself and not to anyone else, but the fact is that he did. So as he watched this guy approach you, he discreetly moved one side of his earphones back on his head, looking at the corner of what he was now just pretending to read.

“You look beautiful as ever, y/n,” he said, leaning one hand on your desk, which made you carefully lean back a bit and chuckle awkwardly. You adjusted your glasses and tried to be polite.

“Thank you, that’s very kind, but I am trying to have my lunch.” The corner of Tsukishima’s mouth lifted.

Unfortunately, this guy was persistent. It’s not the first time he was in there for you, but it’s the first time he brought you something. “I know, so I got you a strawberry soda.” he said, putting said beverage down on the desk and doing a little ‘tadaa’-like movement with his hands.

Tsukishima could not believe what he heard. What an idiot! She doesn’t like soda…

Why is it suddenly so silent? He slowly looked up from the magazine, and he could swear his heart did something weird when he saw your face was turned towards him and lips parted in what seemed like surprise. Both you and your admirer were looking at him because he said that aloud, he realised.

“How do you know that, Stinkyshima?” the guy said in an annoyed voice, and Tsukki could just hear from the tone that he must have overheard that nickname from Hinata. Somewhere down the hall, Tsukki hoped the tangerine could feel his curses in the form of a sneeze.

Tsukishima was about to try and excuse himself from the conversation, but then he looked at you again. Your shoulders were more relaxed and there was some kind of sparkle in your eyes he hadn’t seen before. “She says it all the time,” fell from his lips, and it made you feel so seen.

You cleared your throat, gathering some courage as Tsukishima initiated mission ‘avoid eye contact’. Turning back around to the front, you smiled kindly at the boy who had repeatedly tried to win your affection. You picked up the soda and held it up to him so he could take it back. “Thank you, but he’s right.”

At the end of the next school day, your friends tried to quickly pull you with them so you could all go to a karaoke place like you planned, but you told them you’d catch up and slowly turned to Tsukishima’s desk where he was putting everything away in his bag at his own pace. You bit your lip nervously as you stepped up beside him, and he startled a bit but hoped you didn’t notice.

“I saw this and it made me think of you,” you said and put something on his desk before turning around and promptly escaping to catch up with your friends before you could see his reaction. Tsukishima picked it up, hooking his finger through a keychain and holding it up so he could see it. Dangling from it was a small brachiosaurus balancing a volleyball on its head.

You bet that was hanging from his bag from that day forward, and anyone who dared make fun of it would get his ugliest glare along with whatever insult he could muster up.

Soon, maybe the two of you would do everyone a favour and stop admiring each other from afar.

masterlist

#haikyu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu #hq x reader #fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #hq #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x you #haikyu fluff #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukki

[iliverae]

00. THE COOLEST IN THE WHOLE ENTIRE WORLD

SYNOPSIS — You don't know anything about soccer, but you do know Sae Itoshi. He's pretty cool. His brother thinks so you're pretty cool too.

note: first post!!! hi guys im iliverae bel !!! omg !!! anyways i miss the itoshi siblings so much hguuhu why wont they be happy

wc ; 2.2 k

"Mama... I don't want to." With your mother's larger hand gripped tightly in your own, tinier one, you tug on her pointer finger with a chubby pout. She looks down at you, age 5, with a smile, pinching your palm lightly.

"It'll do you good to have some friends, baby. Just spend some time with him."

You look down, cheeks puffed out and feeling frustration well up in your small, childish mind. You didn't want to! You wanted to go home and play with your dolls, not spend time with a stupid, probably stinky boy.

Your other friend, who was a nice girl, told you that guys have a weird sickness that makes everything they touch stinky, so you were a little scared.

You stand in front of the door, a little over triple the size you were, behind your mother's legs and still holding tightly onto her hand. Your tiny heart races in your chest when the door suddenly swings open, and there stands another woman. She's the same giant height as your mom, with pretty teal eyes and dark hair.

The thing that catches your eyes, however, is the thing standing behind her. Around your height—maybe a little smaller, Sae was always a small kid—and holding onto a weird checkered ball tightly in his arms. He didn't look the least bit embarrassed to see you, only looking up at the conversation the adults were taking part in and pretending to listen.

"Right!" The other woman smiles and her hand falls on top of the red head of hair. "Sae really wanted somebody to play with, since little Rin is far too small to even think about holding a soccer ball, haha. It'll be nice to sit down for a while and chat instead of running around outside kicking a ball around."

"Oh no, I get that," Your mom laughs, and you step out from behind the wall of her legs and tug her shorts when she speaks again, hand atop your hair, "Our tea parties are very eventful, but maybe some sport wouldn't do too badly."

Sport? Tea parties? You wanted to have a tea party, but not with this weird boy, who was now kicking that ball up and down leisurely.

"Sae!" The call of that name—it's probably his—catches the boy's attention, and he looks up at his mom, big eyes blinking. She looks down at him fondly, "Will you take [name] outside? Be nice to her, and don't play too rough. If she doesn't want to play soccer, don't force her."

He blinks silently a little longer, before he looks down—at you—and then back to his mother and he nods. She smiles, patting his head before bending down and smooching a kiss on his forehead, "Thank you."

He scrunches his little nose up and starts wiping the place where his mother kissed with pink cheeks, face all puffed up and chubby-and you giggle.

You didn't smell anything too bad. Actually, his house smelt like lavender and jasmine. It was nice. Maybe your friend was wrong.

Your little fit of giggles catches Sae's attention, and he looks over at you—where you were moving away from your mother with a little bit of encouragement from her—you stand in front of Sae, clad in your pink stripey dress with white stockings-you smile at him, toothy and cute.

"Go on," his mother steps out of the doorway, and Sae turns around, looking over his shoulder at you.

"Follow me." He says, speaking for the first time you've ever heard. His voice sounds much different from those of your girlfriends, but it's not deep by any means. It's actually squeaky. You comply and as he rushes down the hallway with pitter-patter steps, you, in your tiny Mary Jane's, follow.

You don't even glance back at your mother as she smiles when you're rushing behind the smaller Sae Itoshi.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

You follow the redhead, right up until he leads you outside (with much struggle opening the screen door—he was about to burst into tears until his mother rushed over and opened it for him), where you two stand in the warm sunlight.

You two rush past some garden beds filled with all sorts of vibrant flowers, various pots and gnomes, and even an outdoor lounge set until you're both on a large, green field. Two goalposts on either side were already set up—tiny goalposts, fit for somebody of your size.

"What's soccer?" You ask with your head tilted and tiny pigtails on either side of your head moving with you.

Sae furrows his little, red brows and his teal eyes squint angrily, "How do you not know what soccer is?! It's the best sport in the whole wide world!" With his brash tone and squished up, frustrated little face—it would've been more believable if you'd just told him he was a "poopy-head" rather than this.

"I don't play sport," You frown, shuffling your feet on the grass. "I like playing with my dolls."

"Dolls are boring," He kicks the soccer ball up and balances it on his toes. You're impressed by this show, but you can't let him see (lest his pouty expression grow coy), only turning your head and glancing subtly.

"Nuh-uh! They're so fun! I bet soccer is super boring!" You stick your tongue out at him. He huffs, catching the soccer ball and holding it under his arm. Sae seems to take heavy offence to your statement, cheeks puffed out, baby fat accentuating his cute, child-like features.

"That's not true!" His voice makes you jump a little, and he moves closer to you, looking directly into your eyes. "If you play it, you'll totally see it's not boring at all!"

"I dun' wanna." You shake your head, crossing your arms. "You said dolls were boring."

Sae frowns, looking down. He grabs his chubby hands together and fiddles with his fingers. "Fine... Dolls aren't that boring. I'll play dolls with you later if you play soccer wit' me now."

Your eyes light up and you smile wide, toothy and excited, "Okay! You have to promise to do a tea party with me!"

Sae looks embarrassed at the prospect, turning around and rushing after the soccer ball as he calls out, "Fine! But you needa play with me!"

"Okay!" You rush over to where he stands, in the middle of the field with the soccer ball on a white circle. "What do I do?!"

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

Your little foot misses the ball completely, and you slip, falling onto your butt on the grass. You let out a shrill scream of frustration, eyes narrowing at the ball and you glare, "Soccer sucks!"

Sae glares at you from where he stands in front of the goal, on the small field, he runs over quickly to where you planted yourself on the grass, "Hey! You're just bad at it!"

You huff, folding your arms over your chest and shuffle around with your legs so you're not facing him, "No! This game is just the worst!"

"No, look." He runs over to the goal you're facing, the ball in tow in front of him, and he kicks it with the side of his shoe, and it flies into the goal. You watch with wide, starry eyes at his goal—you're sure it is the most amazing thing you have ever seen.

"Woah... cool..."

He turns around, hands on his hips proudly and chest puffed up, cheeks pink with your praise, "Cool, right?! Soccer is super cool. You're just not cool enough for it yet."

You stand up, tiny hands balled into fists in front of you while you defend yourself, "What?! I'm cool!"

"Then you should get good at soccer, cuz then, you'll be the coolest." He pokes his nose up in the air, eyes shut closed. "Like me."

Sae Itoshi is undeniably cocky and perhaps, even at the ripe age of 5, he is too egotistical for his own good. You are completely and utterly aware of this fact. Even so, when you stare at him, you can't seem to pull your little eyes away.

You look at where the sun shines from behind his head—even though he's wearing a stupid Transformers t-shirt, and his bangs are choppy and frankly, really ugly, you look at his chubby face, and you believe him.

Your eyes sparkle, and your cheeks grow pink.

That was the day you realised Sae Itoshi was the coolest in the whole entire world.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

From the safe cradle of his mother's arms, Rin wordlessly and mindlessly wakes up from his nap, eyes opening slowly. He's yawning, and the two mothers are fawning over his cuteness. It's not every day Rin gets to sit in his mother's grasp like this, because of how Sae is always stealing her away to play some sport with him, but it's not like Rin holds any contempt towards his older brother for it.

He loves his older brother—and that's why he wonders what's so different about today. Sae spends every waking moment playing this sport, soccer, and every chance he gets, he asks their parents to play with him. When his father was home, he would ask him. When he wasn't, he would ask their mom.

Their father was at work right now—so why hadn't Sae come running up to ask? This is what makes Rin start squirming in his mom's grasp and reaching his hands out in the direction of the screen door, crawling across the couch towards it when she lets him go.

"Do you wanna go outside, Rinnie?" His mother asks him sweetly, looking down at her two-year-old son. "You can play with your big brother if you ask him nicely."

Rin can talk, easily, but all he does is make a muffled "mm" sound (you know the one that babies make) before getting up off his knees and rushing outside, feet only clad in socks as he runs on the concrete.

He only stops when he's right on the edge—a step forward would plant him on green grass. He looks up and sees his older brother rushing after a girl, who he has never seen before. With frilly socks and black leather shoes, a flowy pink dress and a pretty ribbon in your hair—the way you twinkle in the sunlight—Rin thinks you must be the prettiest thing he's ever seen.

You slam the tip of your shoe into the ball, and it goes flying into the goal before Sae even has a chance to stop it—and you cheer. You raise your fists into the air and giggle, jumping up and down with excitement. Your hair flutters alongside you with your movements, "Sae! Sae! Look! I did it! I got the ball in! I'm so cool!"

He pouts, crossing his arms and looking away, "It wasn't that cool..." But with his tone—it's easy to sense the jealousy. Rin sees you wrap your arms around his older brother in a tight hug from the side—you only giggle when he tries to push your face back, away from his.

You both look excited... Rin wants to celebrate with you two as well. He ignores the prickle of grass under his grey socks and rushes over—tiny steps making a little pitter-patter sound until he stands in front of you and Sae. He looks up, eyes wide and sparkly, and the laughing in your mouth dies down at the sight of the little child in front of you.

Your arms are still wrapped around Sae's shoulders—you look at him and ask, "Is this your brother?"

Sae groans, obviously annoyed and he looks away, "Ugh... Rin, get off the field."

Not understanding Sae's words, he keeps blinking wordlessly up at you two. Rin tilts his head to the side and clutches the bottom of his blue hoodie. Sae keeps glaring at him, arms crossed. "Rin, go away. You can't play with us."

You remove yourself from Sae and give him a look—especially when the words start sinking into Rin and his eyes grow glassy and wobble, "Hey! Why not?!"

"Cuz he's a baby! I dun wanna play with babies," Sae huffs, turning his head away. Rin starts wailing at his words, tears running down his cheeks and dripping onto the grass below. The elder Itoshi rolls his eyes and turns away, stomping towards the forgotten ball. "See, he's crying!"

"He's crying cuz you're mean!" You glare at the older brother, then look down towards Rin, who's still sobbing, but quietly now. He looks so much like your younger cousin, who you spend so much time with at family get-togethers, that you can't help but lean down and wrap your arms around him. "Dun worry... Sae's a big fat jerkface. He's a huge meanie pants."

Your voice is a low whisper, and Rin grips the back of your dress with even tinier hands. Rin sniffles and the tears slowly stop pouring down his cheeks at your comfort. His lips tremble and he looks up at you, tears clumping his long lashes together and glittering in the sun, "R... really?"

"Yeah!" You pull away, taking your comfort with you—you don't see how Rin makes a gurgled baby noise and grabby hands at you—and place your hands on your hips. "I bet you could be a really cool soccer player too! Like me! I'mma convince Sae to let you play, promise!"

You giggle, jotting your thumb towards yourself.

Rin looks up at you, big blue eyes sparkling from the sunlight that you emit, and the way your hair flutters behind you in the soft wind. His cheeks are puffed out and his hands are clutching the ends of his blue hoodie when he stares.

His eyes are sparkling, and his cheeks grow pink.

That was the day Rin Itoshi realised that you were the coolest in the whole entire world.

#blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi rin #rin itoshi #itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #itoshi sae #sae itoshi #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #sae x reader #blue lock fluff #bllk fluff #blue lock x you #bllk x you #*ೃ༄ bel's notes !

[imnameimswrld]

. . . ⵌ ׄ ۪ 𝐒𝐍𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐋 ¹ ׄ ⑅ MV1 ‌˖ ֺ ᰮ

— DESCRIPTION ੭ in short, you're done standing back when mr verstappen thinks he can push around your boyfriend like he wants.

— PAIRING ੭ max verstappen x gf!reader.

— FILE ੭ imagine.

— DISCLAIMERS ੭ 🔞 mdni, suggestive content, language, light mention of verbal abuse, max's parents are still together and he's dad's a total ass, also (currently) unedited.

❪ main masterlist | f1 masterlist | max verstappen masterlist ❫

━━━━━━━━━━❪ 🖤 ❫━━━━━━━━━━

Dinner was going so perfectly; aside from the lovely food, you too indulged in all the hilarious and adorable stories Mrs Verstappen had been so vibrantly been dishing out for you. Max was red in the face with embarrassment, your hand comfortable in his as he caresses it in his lap.

His siblings would join in on the conversation whenever they saw the opportune moment to shut down whatever lie their brother concocted on the spot to try and get himself out of a playful scolding from his mom, and it all just warmed your heart to see how happy he seemed in the moment.

But then, someone just had to speak up from his quiet spot at the head of the table and piss all over his content mood.

"Max, meet me outside for a drink. I'd like to talk to you."

To the ears of a stranger Mr Verstappen's words would sound like a simple request, to which Max could easily decline and just continue sitting in the comfortability of his family. However, you've been around for long enough to recognize that tone; it's no request.

It's an order.

His father stands, wine glass in hand, and steps away without another word as he leaves towards the back door. Once he's gone, a shivering silence settles over the table. His siblings look everywhere but their brother, Mrs Verstappen all but sighs softly and starts to clean up the table, and Max stares done at your hand in his.

"Max," you start, tightening your grip. "Just, stay here," you try, and when he looks up with a small smile that does nothing but claw at your heart, you try another tactic. "Or let's just go home. We can have some ice-cream, watch that weird documentary you're you're obsessed with, I can even-"

"I'll be only a few minutes schatjie, then we can leave, okay ?" he rubs over your hand, probably hoping it would ease your racing your heart.

It doesn't.

"Max," you begin again, hesitant eyes watching as he rises from his chair beside you and gently places your hands in your own lap.

"Help mom clean up, will you please ? I'll be back in a minute love." you want to protest yet again, but nothing comes out of you parted lips when he places a kiss to the crown of your head, before walking away, softly shutting the sliding door to the backyard behind him.

Taking a breath, you try to calm yourself as you stand to help Mrs Verstappen with clearing the table. You try your best to focus on anything else, but knowing that all his father is doing right now is being mean and belittling his son is gnawing at your insides in a way that has molten hot anger simmering in your gut.

Everyone in Max's family are such lovely, kind people – and then you get his poor excuse of a father.

You don't even realise you have the ends of the table cloth balled up in your molded right fists until there's a sharp poke in your ribs. Turning, you gaze meets eyes that so closely resemble Max's, it almost always makes you smile.

"Go." Victoria nods her head towards the back door, and you momentarily look back, before meeting his eyes that match the worry you feel inside.

It's just one word, but it holds all the emotions she's feeling and with hos strong they are, it gives you the green light. With a short nod, you turn on your heel and take long, determined strides towards the glass door.

When you open it, it seems your disrupt the conversion at just the right moment.

"She's going to become a distraction, Max. All you've worked for and currently working towards, is going to be for nothing."

"I sorely disagree, sir."

The two men's heads whirl at the sudden entrance of your voice, and the confidence that colours your face has Max weak in his knees, feeling as if he's falling in love with you all over again.

His father's spine straightens at the sight of you as you join Max by his side, his arm instinctively coming up to rest his hand at the small of your back.

"This conversation does not concern you, Ms L/N."

You hum once with a bitter smile. "From what I heard, Mr Verstappen, it seems as it does."

He locks his jaw, hand tightening around his wine glass so harshly you think it's just seconds from shattering in his hand.

"Max, I've told you to keep this one in check before she-"

"Do not speak of her as if she's not right in front of you, Jos," Max's gaze darkens to the blue of the bottom of the ocean, and it has your insides curling in pride.

He only ever truly gets upset when his father disrespect you, otherwise he just stands quietly to entertain the nonsense coming out of his mouth, knowing he'll soon leave and enjoy all the true love you shower him I'm everyday later.

"And quite frankly, I like my girlfriend exactly how she is," he smirks, fingers massaging the revealing skin of your back from the cropped shirt you were wearing. "Snippy tongue and all."

It's true, you smile; he especially loves it when you have that same tongue down his throat, or wrapped around his cock.

It seems Max has that same thought in mind, because despite his father's furious gaze staring down at him, he can't seem to rid the naughty smirk from hid face, his hand now sliding down to fall into your back pocket.

He squeezes once, and you bite down on your tongue to keep the moan back.

"Now, if you're done trying to convince me what a failed son I am, I'm going to head home with my snippy-tongued girlfriend." he pats your jean-clad ass one softly, before pulling his hand to wrap his arm around your waist.

"Dag Jos. Ik hoop dat ik je blijf irriteren, het is mijn favoriete spel ( Bye Jos. I hope I continue to piss you off, it's my favouritesport !) !" you wave your fingers in an obnoxious manner, smile so sweet you hope it rots every damned tooth in his shitty mouth.

Max's deep, honey-draped chuckle rings in your ear, his voice low in the most pussy-wetting manner. "You know what you speaking Dutch does to me, schatjie."

Batting your eyelashes, you smile. "Oh, ik weet het (Oh, I know)."

A gravely groan resonates from his throat, his bany blues trained down on your glossy lips. "Ik kan niet wachten om je te neuken (I can't wait to fuck you)."

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✍: I might be writing a part 2, but that one will contain smut soooo if you're not into reading that, don't ! ♡ ... but if you arrreeeeee, hehe, stay tuned 🎀.

#f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen f1 #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #mv1 x reader #mv1 imagine #mv1 fic #mv1 x you #mv1

[sleepingdead96]

Prepared for Anything Part Two

Gotham was a terrible place to live.

It was great.

People weren’t overly friendly or familiar with people they didn’t know, meaning they paid Danny no mind. No one mentioned he had fangs. No one commented on his slightly pointed ears. And no one questioned his strange ability to ward off muggers and would be criminals without even having to speak to them. His ghost aura came in handy sometimes.

It also mean that rent was dirt cheap. Especially in Crime Alley where Danny had taken up residence. It was made even cheaper by the fact that Danny didn't need heating with his ghostly physiology. It cut a lot down on bills. Not that it really mattered much. As Ghost King, he had an abundance of funds that he wasn’t sure he could dry it up within fifty lifetimes, let alone his one. However immortal it was.

The downside was the old wiring. Leaving him here. Eating Mac and cheese out of the pot he’d been cooking up as he watched the fire flicker and smoke plume out the windows.

Now, Danny hadn’t been planning to flee his apartment, it’s not like he woulda been in any danger, but his neighbour, some guy named Jason, had gone door to door, ensuring everyone was following the fire drills that children learned in elementary school which were ultimately incredibly flawed. Who really believed that an entire school of children would stay calm and collected during an actual fire?

Jason was nowhere to be seen now, though. Danny wondered if he was okay, but that guy currently helping a family out onto a fire escape, Red Bird. . .Red Helmet or something, would probably make sure he was. He was apparently a crime lord, but a good one?. . . .

. . .

Gotham was weird.

Just as the red guy and the family reached the ground, a scream for help called from the second top floor. They sounded young. Danny looked up to see a little girl at a window and flames raging too close for her to go anywhere.

Well. . . that was concerning. Who had left such a young kid unattended? 

Red Dude was dashing out to the front of the building to get his bearings, looking for a way up. He wouldn’t be able to reach the girl using the fire escape. Danny took another bite of his Mac and Cheese, watching as the man’s grapple gun jammed.

Danny heaved a deep sigh. 

He supposed he would have to get involved.

Leaving the crowd of tenants that had huddled on the sidewalk, Danny trudged back across the street and into an alley. He went far enough that no one would see him and opened a portal. With one hand, he reached in, found purchase on his quarry, and turned away to drag the ladder out and behind him.

Danny found Trigger-Happy-Dude starting to scale the building. Danny interrupted him before he got too far.

He belatedly wondered where the fire-fighters and cops were.

“Oh, hey, look what I randomly found in that alley.”

Red Dude paused to look at him. Looked at the ladder trailing behind Danny.

“It’s a ladder.” Danny raised it slightly from his lazy hold, noting how much he felt like he was giving an infomercial right now. “Pretty long, huh? Long enough to reach that floor, I bet.” Danny added helpfully with an encouraging nod. “How fortuitous.”

The Red Dude was quick to drop down and take it from him, but stared at Danny the whole time as if was abnormally weird.

Which was rude. Danny was just abnormal, thank you very much.

“Uhh. . .good work.” Red Dude said, setting up the ladder with Danny’s help. The vigilante tested it for stability. 

Danny scoffed. As if he would purposefully tamper with it.

Which wasn’t too far-fetched in this city.

Red Dude deemed it acceptable. “Hold it steady for me, would ya?”

Danny nodded.

The man climbed up and Danny held both sides, pouting down at his pot of Mac and Cheese he’d had to set aside for the moment.

Ah, the sacrifices he makes.

Across the street, there were a multitude of cheers as Red Dude reached the little girl and settled her on his front like a backwards piggy-back hold.

Danny stepped aside when Red reached the bottom to pick his pot back up.

Sirens cut into the roar of flames above their heads and the loud call of the tenants that had lasted rather short, a few half-hearted cheers dying on the wind.

It was the middle of the night. Everyone was tired.

The mother of the little girl ran up to take her child and flagged down the first paramedic to arrive on the scene.

Danny returned his gaze to Red Dude who equally eyed him. Or at least, Danny assumed. His head was facing him.

“You’re that guy who punched out Joker.”

Danny paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. He slowly brought it the rest of the way. “How’d you know about that?”

“Cameras.” Hood tapped his helmet with a finger. “I saw RR and Robin’s video feed.”

Danny hummed, nodding along as he chewed. He wasn’t terribly concerned. Danny was just a random guy that happened to punch another random guy. It probably happened all the time in a place like Gotham. There was no need for further investigation into who Danny was. The vigilantes had probably forgotten all about him until this instant.

Red Dude looked at his pot. “That’s what you’re eating?” He said, somehow conveying judgement through the modulator.

“Yep.” Danny took another bite. After a moment of contemplation, he left the fork in his mouth to produce another from his hoodie pocket. He held it out to Red Dude. “Mac and Cheese?”

The dude leaned back slightly and his crossed arms gave the impression he was offended. “You just carry forks around in your pockets?”

Danny shrugged. “Ah, ya know, never leave home without a back-up fork.”

Red Dude considered him for another moment and Danny thought he’d decline. But then, he shrugged, his stance relaxing somewhat. “Sure.” He accepted the fork.

#Danny #danny phantom #Danny fenton #Red Hood #jason todd #dpxdc fanfic #crossover fic #dimension travel #I'm having fun #this fic is nonsense and I don't care

[dbnightingale24]

I'll Wait For Your Love

A StevexReaderxBucky Messy Triangle

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Everyone thank my husband because he fixed the wifi! This is only a bit of the final installation of 'My Little Decoy'. You can read the full version here. I didn't finish this as quickly as I wanted to, but it still got done a lot faster than I thought it would (yay anxiety!).

Thank you @fuckingbye for always putting up with my shit, and always making me amazing moodboards because I'm lame as shit. I love you and I can't wait to tackle you with a hug <3.

As always, please heed the warnings and I hope you enjoy it! Here we go!

Word Count: 35,290 (it's called growth)

Warnings: SMUT!! (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI), Slight Infidelity, Arguments, Drinking, Smoking, Angst, Swearing, Self Loathing, Fluff, Heartbreak, Lying (by omission), Daddy Kink, Uhh...I think that's it?

Song(s) That Inspired This Chapter: You Cling To Your Papers and Pens, Wait Until You Like Me Again

Summary: When two major parts of your past come back and ask for another chance, do you stand your ground and stay with the life you've created for yourself, or do you decide to test the water after all this time and see if it's worth the leap of faith?

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I do not give consent/permission for my works/stories to get posted elsewhere. I do not condone this type of behavior, this is for entertainment purposes only.

~~

~~

It’s weird. You had made peace with never seeing either man again, yet for the past hour, the three of you have been in your kitchen arguing. Bucky snaps at you, Steve defends you, you snap at Bucky, Steve gets you to calm down, Bucky snaps at him, and you threaten to kick him out. Honestly, for the most part, Steve is the mediator. You’re assuming that they have some level of friendship again, or he just doesn’t want to pile anymore guilt and pressure onto you.

It was clear to you that he hadn’t expected Bucky to follow him and, if he hadn’t been so focused on seeing you, he would’ve noticed Bucky’s car. Apparently, with Maria being pregnant, Steve assumed that Bucky hadn’t even noticed his erratic behavior.

He should’ve been right.

“James, I don’t know what you want me to say,” you sigh for what feels like the millionth time as you stir the white sauce on the stove. “I can only apologize so many times, but it’s not like you were in the dark. You saw the connection between Steve and I, and you decided to pursue me anyway. I didn’t start cheating until long after you had-”

“You being in love with Steve was already cheating!” he shouts at you, and you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Are you ever capable of holding yourself accountable? Or is it only when you know you’re in danger of losing me? You never apologized for cheating and you still won’t fess up to it, you never actually apologized for your behavior when we found out I couldn’t get pregnant, and even now, you’re just throwing it in my face that I cheated on you after you cheated on me. Is that what you came all the way here for? To yell at me and make me feel small in my own home? Because, if it is, you can get the fuck out right now. I don’t need this shit from you, James. I didn’t need it then and I sure as shit don’t need it now,” you say firmly as you finally turn to face him.

You don’t miss the small smile that comes to Steve’s face, before he takes a sip from his beer bottle. 

Bucky lets out a frustrated sigh before he ran a hand through his hair, “no, that’s not why I came out here.” “Then what did you come here for?”

“I wanted to see you,” he confesses softly.

You turn and open the oven to check on the salmon, “she’s pregnant, James. That’s what you wanted-” “I wanted it with you and you know that.”

“You cheated with her, James. You cheated with her because you knew it would hurt me the most, you fucked her at work, in our house, and went out with her after work very publicly to make me look like a fool. Then, you denied the whole thing to try and make me feel crazy, like I couldn’t see the lipstick stains on my pillow-”

“You hurt me!”

“Because I couldn’t have a fucking kid? You think that was a fun thing for me to find out?!”

“It wasn’t just the baby! You never loved me in the way that you love Steve, and I tried and tried-”

“Then why not just let me go?!”

“Cause I loved you. I love you.”

“Well, you got married to her a year after I left, and now she’s gonna have your child. Looks like you’re doing just fine.” “Don’t be fucking callous,” he scoffs.

“James, you followed Steve to my home to berate me, and you’re gonna sit there and tell me not to be callous? You went out of your way to have this argument, and for what? Because you couldn’t trap me into being in love with you? Go fuck yourself and die on that fucking cross you’re so desperate to hang yourself from!”

“Darlin’,” Steve snaps and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“I’m sorry, but fuck that. You want me to feel so bad for something I tried to ignore, and that’s not fair! What I did was wrong, but I tried. I defended you, I looked the other way, and never held anything over your head. You constantly went out of your way to hurt me, and I’m supposed to feel bad for finally following my heart? I’m supposed to feel bad because I wouldn’t let you trap me and make me hate myself anymore? Fuck that. I never played you for a fool, you did that shit to yourself, and I refuse to pay penance for it anymore,” you snap as you pour the bow ties into the boiling water. “God, where does your pregnant wife even think you are?”

“I just told her I needed to get out for a while.” “You’re such an asshole. I don’t even like the bitch and I think it’s a low blow. You leave your pregnant wife to tell your ex-wife that you still love her? What the fuck did you think was going to happen? What did you think I was gonna say? You thought I’d see the light and wanna take you back? You married her out of spite, James.”

“I do love her-”

“Well, clearly not enough,” you scoff, “this feels a lot like the pot calling the kettle black, because you love her, but you’re still pining over me? That’s fucking rich, I gotta say. You’re a real piece of work,” you chuckle dryly as you pour yourself another glass. 

“I wanted to see you...make sure you’re okay. Nat and Meg won’t tell anyone anything, Meg won’t even talk to me-”

“Well, what the hell did you think was going to happen, James? I’ve been her best friend since we were six. Yeah, she’s not too fucking fond of you after everything that’s happened.”

“So what? You just hate me now?”

“I don’t hate you, you self centered asshole! I should, I have every fucking right to after the last year we spent together, and I wish I did, but I don’t! You’ve been attacking me! I’m sorry that you decided to pursue the one person your best friend was in love with, and I’m sorry that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t love you the way I’ve always loved Steve. I’m sorry that I cheated on you with Steve and it broke your heart even more. However, a lot of this shit could’ve been avoided if you would’ve just stayed away! I’m not your fucking scapegoat anymore, James. You’re finally getting what you want, and you’re still not happy-” “I don’t have you! I don’t have what I want-”

“You had me and then decided to treat me like an object! I can’t do anything about the fact that you treated me like total fucking trash, James! That’s on you, not me,” you state as the timer goes off.

As you turn off the stove top, Charlotte makes her way into the kitchen and sits patiently.

“You know better little miss,” you laugh softly, “go lay down.”

She huffs, but gets up and walks back to her bed nonetheless, and your heart flutters at Steve’s soft chuckle. 

“So, that’s it?” Bucky huffs.

“I honestly don’t know what else you expect. I don’t know what more you want to know. Everything you’ve asked, I’ve been honest about, everything you deserve an apology for, I’ve apologized for...what else is there to say? What else is there to do?” you ask as his phone goes off.

Pulling it out (rather aggressively), he mutters, “what the fuck now?” before getting up and storming out, slamming the door shut behind him.

“If he breaks my house, I’ll break his neck,” you mutter, checking on the broccoli, before taking another sip from your glass.

“It’s Maria. She’s been on edge lately. She’s due in two months and she feels like Bucky’s attention is elsewhere.”

“I wonder why,” you scoff. “What about you? Are you gonna rake me over the coals too?”

“You know better than that, honey,” he sighs heavily. “We don’t have to-”

“You might as well, Steve. It’s why you’re here-”

“I’m here because I’ve missed you like crazy, and I wanted to see you. We’ve already gotten farther than I expected us too.”

“Why?”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d wanna see me or not.”

“I was never angry with you, Steve. Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I still cry over it,” you scoff, rubbing your forehead. 

“Then why-”

“I couldn’t do that to you, Steve. I loved you. I love you. Breaking up your friendship with Bucky? Stealing you from the Avengers-”

“I told you I’d go with you-”

“But you would’ve felt guilty. Yeah, you’d still love me, and you’d be happy to make a life with me anywhere, but you’d feel guilty. You and Bucky? I knew it could get resolved once I was out of the picture, and for the most part, I was right.”

“You didn’t give me a chance-”

“Because you wouldn’t have been logical about it, babe. Neither of us are ever exactly smart when it comes to each other,” you smile softly and he chuckles with a slight nod. “Please understand that it wasn’t something I did lightly, or that I didn’t think about how much it would hurt you. It seems like I’m always hurting you one way or another, and I’ve never wanted that.”

“We always find ways to hurt each other, darlin’. We can’t seem to get this dance right,” he sighs.

“No, we can’t.”

“Whatever you’re making smells amazing,” he smiles weakly.

“One of the many perks of no longer being an Avenger, I get to work on my cooking skills.”

“You’ve always been the best cook, babe,” he compliments as he gets up and makes his way over to you.

Having him so close to you still makes your brain so foggy, even after all this time.

“I’ll leave after dinner-”

“You don’t have to,” you quickly interrupt. “Neither one of you do. I have spare bedrooms...” “You’re comfortable with us staying here?”

“I mean, I’m already feeding the both of you and I don’t want you to spend the money, when there’s no need.”

“Still the most thoughtful person I know,” he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and you lean into his touch. “There is something I have to tell you though.”

“Oh God.”

“They know.”

“They who?” “Everyone. I told Tony I’d be gone for a few days, because no matter what happened today, I knew I was gonna need time to recover, and he kept saying that he needs me to train the new recruits. So, I just folded and told him where I was going.”

“Shit.”

“I’m sorry, I really am, but I needed to see you, darlin’. I had no right and it’s your privacy, but I knew he wouldn’t let me go if I didn’t tell him.”

“No, it’s alright. I’m the one that left the way that I did...”

“He wants to see you, they all do.”

“Steve-”

“I didn’t promise them anything, I just told them I’d let you know.”

“I guess I owe it to everyone, don’t I?”

“That’s for you to decide,” he smirks as his eyes study your face. “You smell like vanilla and strawberries.”

“It’s my soap,” you giggle.

“I feel like I should be angry with you. You looked me in the eyes and lied to me.”

“To be fair, you did the same thing, Rogers. For years.”

“That’s true,” he sighs, backing up and leaning against the kitchen island.

Your confusion is short lived when you hear Bucky come storming back in.

“Are you staying over or not?” you ask as the second timer goes off. 

He glares looking from you to Steve, “do you even want me here?”

“Whether I do or don’t isn’t the point. I’ve already made dinner, it’s getting late, and there’s no reason for you to spend money if you don’t have to. If you don’t have to go back tonight, I prefer you to stay where I know you’re safe. The last thing I need is for you to get into an accident on an almost five hour ride home, because you were sulking and not paying attention,” you mutter, dumping the bow ties into a strainer before transfer them to a bowl.

He looks taken aback (in a good way) , before responding with, “thank you,” and grabbing another beer.

“Ya know, I know you two can’t get drunk off of anything I have, but I do have stronger drinks.”

“This is fine, doll. Thank you.”

Well, at least he’s being nicer.

Soon enough, you’re taking the salmon out of the oven and breaking it up, before cutting up the broccoli and adding both to the bow ties. After adding in your homemade white sauce, you add just a bit of lemon juice and mixing it all in together. You can’t lie, it’s nice to cook for someone besides yourself for a change, even if the situation is extremely awkward.

“Uh, darlin’?” Steve asks softly as you take three plates out of your upper cabinet.

“Hmm?”

“Not to be creepy or nosey, but your phone keeps vibrating,” he laughs.

“Ah shit!”

You completely forget to answer the chat between you, Meg, Nat.

“Take as much as you want,” you tell them before sprinting up the steps.

Grabbing it off of the nightstand, you let out a small groan as you see the string of missed texts in the ‘Three Crazies’ chat.

Ms. Widow: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

Rock n’ Roll Queen: What happened???

Ms. Widow: Steve heard me on the phone with Y/N, and hes taking a few days off go and see her.

Rock n’ Roll Queen: Oh shit! Oh SHIT!

Ms. Window: I think Buck is going too, or something, cause he took a few days off too. Maria found out and she’s freaking the fuck out. 

Rock n’ Roll Queen: Fuck.

Ms. Widow: The whole fucking compound is buzzing, and Bruce is more than upset with me. Y/N, I’m really so sorry.

Rock n’ Roll Queen: Has anyone said anything to you?

Ms. Widow: No, Tony’s been pacing all day and the team is kind of dumbfounded. No one knew where she was, now, both Steve and Bucky are off to see her. No one knows why the divorce happened...no one knows anything.

Rock n’ Roll Queen: Babe, has anyone said anything? Has anyone showed up?

Ms. Widow: Oh God, please answer.

Rock n’ Roll Queen: Starting to get worried here, babe.

Ms. Widow: Please don’t hate me. I’m so damn sorry. I didn’t know Steve was even around.

Y/N: They’re here now, both of them are downstairs eating dinner, and they’re staying over tonight. I’ll talk more after dinner when I’m getting ready for bed. I could never hate you, Nat. You should know that by now.

You place your phone in your back back pocket and run a stressed hand through your hair, pacing before you remember they can both hear you and just stand in the middle of your bedroom. How was everything spiraling so fast? How the fuck were you supposed to explain things without saying too much? Oh God, how the fuck were you gonna deal with Maria?

All of these thoughts were giving you a headache, and you’re growing hungrier by the second. Racing back downstairs, you walk right by the two sets of inquisitive eyes, and make yourself a large helping of the pasta dish into a bowl before showering it with a generous helping of Parmesan cheese.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” Steve is first to ask, but the look on Bucky’s face lets you know he’s just as worried. 

“Everything is fine, just having a day,” you mutter, grabbing a fork and your drink before making your into your living room, and curling up on the couch.

You honestly aren’t even mad at them, but you’re now trying to navigate how all of this is going to work. You’d closed that chapter of your life, and had dealt with things in your own way, but now? Now, everyone knows and for as much as you hate to admit it, they deserve an explanation. It doesn’t matter that you technically did everything by the book (turning in all your weapons and any sensitive and classified details you had), you still abandoned your friends. The family you got to create. All they want is to see you and know that you’re okay, and who are you to say no? None of them did anything to deserve that.

God, you hope they don’t think you’ll stay. You have no desire for that life anymore, nor do you feel like seeing Maria’s smug fucking face anymore. No, you’re life isn’t exactly quiet now, but it’s a lot more calm and a lot more stable. You have your job, your fur baby, your home-

“Darlin’,” Steve sighs as he sits at the other end of the sofa.

You hadn’t even noticed that Charlotte had sensed your anxiety and stress, and curled up by your toes. 

“I’m sorry, this is my fault-”

“I’m the one who walked away like I did, Steve.”

“Be that as it may, I-we disrupted your privacy. No, I didn’t expect Bucky to follow me, but I...I just needed to see you and didn’t think about anything else. I haven’t seen much of your life out here, but I can tell it’s quiet, you’re happy, and you’re finally at peace. Now, you have a million questions to answer and people to answer to. I’m really sorry, honey.”

“It’s...it’s fine,” you sob, not even understanding why you’re crying.

All at once, all of these emotions just overwhelm you, and you feel as if you’re drowning.

“Darlin’?!”

“What the hell did you do to her?!” you hear Bucky faintly yell.

Everything seems to fade around you and all sound is lost. Your family, friends, past...you have to face them all. Everything you’ve tricked yourself into thinking you’ve healed from is all of a sudden back in your life at once; the scabs all feel torn off and bleed again. Without warning, no easing back into it, and you have no idea what to expect. What if everyone hates you? What if no one even wants to see you? Is Maria the favorite now? Is she in your old office? You faintly feel someone wrap their arms around you, and you honestly don’t care which one of them it is, you just cling to them in a weak attempt to bring yourself back down.

“Darlin’, you’re okay, it’s all okay. Buck and I are right here,” Steve promises with worry laced in every word as he softly rubs your back.

He pulls you close and you can tell he��s trying to regulate your breathing with his own.

“I need you to breathe for me, pretty girl. Deep breaths,” he coos softly.

“M...Meg! Please call Meg,” you sob.

“Call Meg!” he repeats harshly towards Bucky, and you hate yourself for how worried they both are.

You pray that they don’t start arguing, because you don’t know what the hell you’ll do, and you can faintly hear Charlotte whining and feel her little paws on your lap. You haven’t had a panic attack since your second night there, and she’s never seen you have one.

~~

This is only a bit of the final installation of 'My Little Decoy'. You can read the full version here.

#fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic #fanfiction #a03 fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #Patreon #patreon artist #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fluff #steve rodgers x reader #steve rogers #chris evans character x reader #chris evans characters #chris evans character fanfiction #Seba #sebastian stan characters #Steve #stevexreaderxbucky #steven grant rogers x reader #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x f!reader #Steve Rogers x

[nico-di-genova]

Post Shanghai Strollonso

A/N: I am coping well, in case you couldn’t tell :)

“Fuck!” Lance yells once he’s back in the safety of his drivers room, letting out the expletive with a breath he’s been holding since he first climbed out of the car and was cast familiar looks by staff. Not the pity, or the mildly impressed arch of an eyebrow that had come last year, when he’d had to use all of his willpower to pull himself out of the car with his wrists on fire and tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. But instead it was the usual cool indifference, the barely hidden smirk, the look that told him he should probably just avoid social media for the next few days - prepare for the meeting with his team where statements, and image, and body language were the terms of the day.

“Fuck!”

His race suit is low on his hips, sleeves brushing the floor because he’s too lazy to bother tying them around his waist, but it still feels too hot. Still feels like he can’t breathe. Even with the AC in the room blasting, even with the damp towel he’s got wrapped around his neck. He knows it’s not the heat at all, but he still fights to strip off the fireproof undershirt that’s clinging to his skin anyway.

He pulls at the neck of it, rubs at his Adam’s apple, the soft spot under his jaw, until the buzzing in his ears subsides enough that he can peel the sweat soaked nomex off of him with desperate fingers.

“Fuck!” He yells again, because the shape of the word feels nice on his tongue and the sound of it in the quiet space makes the ache in his chest hurt a little less.

His skin is red, flushed with heat and his own frustration, his fingers leave white flashes of colorless indentions when he presses them to his chest and tries to still the quickening beat of his own heart. Post race adrenaline, he tells himself, even as he knows the truth of it.

‘That weird incident’ comes the journalists voice playing on repeat in his head, along with the whir of the AC and the rapid pace of his own heart.

His front wing going up the ass of Riccardo’s visa-cashapp-Red-Bull-toro-rosso-whatever-the-fuck. Him looking away for one fucking millisecond at the apex and then turning back to find himself sending Daniel into the air.

Idiot.

He’s not sure if he means himself or Daniel anymore, is certain he knows who the internet will be directing the term at. Despite the fact that he’d tried to brake, slammed on the pedal so fast that his body had jerked with force of it. Hadn’t mattered in the end because he’d made contact anyway and that would be enough to cement the barrage of comments he’s sure will be flooding the Aston Martin Instagram any second now. At least there’s dependability in that.

The pressure in his chest isn’t fading, it’s spreading and making a home in the pit of his stomach. He presses a hand to his abdomen, the other to his collarbone, tries to breathe slowly even if it catches in his throat. In through his nose, out through his mouth, choke on the taste of it and start over again.

Sometimes he thinks it would be easier just to let himself vomit, hyperventilate until he’s dry heaving over the toilet, his body seizing with the force of it. Press his forehead to the cool porcelain to maybe ease some of the heat roiling off his body, sit there until someone came to pull him to the debrief and he’s forced to pack it all back away.

But right now he’s not sure if he’d even make it to the bathroom, knows it’s not vomit that would come up anyway, just his own bitter disappointment. He’s not sick, he’s just a screwup. There’s no amount of surgery or PT or encouraging words that are going to fix that.

His breath catches in his throat again. Loud, weak.

“Fuck,” he cries, this time feels the sting of tears that accompanies it.

He presses harder on his collarbone, moves to the soft skin of his neck, digs his fingernails in until there’s the pinprick warning of pain and then collapses down onto the couch behind him with enough force that it forces air back into his lungs. He keeps a hand to his neck, trails his thumb along his carotid.

It helps, gives him something to focus on other than the rattling feeling of his teeth clacking together when he’d hit Daniel.

The knock on his door, when it comes, is almost expected. Quiet, unsure, followed by Fernando saying his name.

“I’m here,” Lance forces out around the lump in his throat, hates how pathetic he sounds.

“Coming in,” Fernando warns before he’s opening the door, sliding through the crack big enough for his lithe frame, and then closing it behind him just as fast. It’s not the first time someone from the team would see him slinking in. Fernando doesn’t care, he only cares that they don’t see Lance. Pathetic and miserable as he must look.

He’s not crying yet, which feels like a plus. But he knows from how Fernando looks at him he must not appear entirely put together either.

“You are okay?” And he means the crash, it is always the first thing he asks, because the one time he didn’t Lance was hiding bruised ribs that were already turning his skin a dark purple.

“Yeah,” Lance breathes, tries to, grimaces when the word comes out strangled by his own incompetence. “It was small.”

Fernando would have seen the footage by now, playing on repeat in the media pen similar to the loop in Lance’s head. He would be able to assess that his inability to breathe properly stemmed not from the pain, but from the noise in his own head.

Lance presses harder at the soft skin of his neck, tries to stop the rising tide of static that is building in his ears so he can focus on the way Fernando sighs his name. He likes how he says his name, likes that it doesn’t come with any sort of expectation, or disappointment.

“Come here,” Fernando commands, grabs Lance’s hand that had been rubbing absentmindedly at his stomach, tracing patterns over bare skin, and pulls until Lance is sitting up on the couch.

“It is okay,” he promises as he inserts himself between Lance’s knees, holds the back of Lance’s head as it slumps forward to rest against Fernando’s abdomen.

Lance swallows, tries, blinks back tears.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. At this point the word has become as familiar to him as the expletives he’s fond of shouting in his empty drivers room. It comes easy in the space between them, hidden in the comfort of Fernando’s embrace. Easier here, where he knows it cannot be used against him, than to the microphones that had been demanding it.

Fernando doesn’t acknowledge the apology, instead he just presses his palm to the nape of Lance’s neck until the warmth of his touch forces Lance to feel something other than his own crushing ineptitude. His fingers are rough, calloused, where they find the soft skin and baby hairs, Lance pushes himself further back against them.

He’s got his arms wrapped around his body, hands tucked under his biceps, one protectively covering the tattoo at his ribs, the raw spot aching with the ghost of a needle and teenage nativity. His stomach still hurts, his chest is still tight. Like he’s got the full effect of g-forces still pressing on him and he can’t quite get the air into his lungs. The tears haven’t fallen yet, but he can feel them beading on his lashes when he tries to blink them away.

“Just breathe,” Fernando demands, thumb finding the hollow spot behind his ear, where his jaw gave way to muscle and vein, and pressing.

Lance stutters in a breath, swallows again, nods his head so Fernando knows he’s listening. That he’s trying.

“It is over.”

Lance wishes that were true, wishes he could close his eyes without seeing Daniel’s rear wheels come off the track. Wishes he could take back his own impulsive radio message because it will be nothing but fuel to the fire. Wishes Daniel would text him back, or hit him, anything to snap him out of this muddled headspace he’s found himself in.

“It’s over, Lance. In the past.”

“I tried to stop,” he hates how small his voice sounds, whiney, strangled. Nothing like Fernando’s and nothing like the usual indifference he shoots for. It makes him feel small. His hands wrap more tightly around his sides, his knees pull closer to his chest as he curls tighter in on himself.

“No, tesoro, come on.”

Fernando follows him, kneels until he can take either side of Lance’s neck in his hands and hold him up enough that Lance has no choice but to meet his steady gaze. There’s grey in his eyebrows, in his beard, age in the lines of his face that make Lance feel even smaller.

“I fucked up,” he cries, and this time the tears do fall, trail down his cheeks until Fernando wipes them away with the pad of his thumb.

“This race, yes. So you go to the next one.”

“I’ll just fuck that up too.”

“Maybe not. Maybe you win.”

The laugh that Lance lets out is stifled only by his own sob.

Fernando’s lips quirk up, “No? You don’t think so?”

“Not unless half the grid gets appendicitis.”

“Or food poisoning,” Fernando says suggestively, light in his eyes, mischief in his smile.

Lance laughs again, feels the rumble of it when Fernando’s hands cradle his neck tighter. But then he thinks about how Daniel has left him on read and the laughter dies in his throat. He thinks of future awkward FaceTime calls with Scotty and a cold shoulder from his sister and something icy twists inside him. His stomach hurts all over again.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles again.

Fernando’s smile shifts to something smaller, “is okay,” he promises before leaning forward to rest his forehead against Lance’s.

Not for the first time, Lance finds himself yearning for Bahrain. Not this year, but last. The way that when he’d come sixth it may as well have been a podium with how the team reacted. How they smiled at him and it felt like the closest he’d come to tasting champagne in a while. How Fernando had praised him and it felt like winning the championship. He never could tell if it was the pain meds or his own euphoria that made everything seem brighter that night. By the time he woke up the next morning his wrists were so sore it felt like he’d snapped them all over again and so Bahrain had become nothing more than a sweet taste at the back of his throat that he would forever remember the aftertaste of but never the full flavor.

“Should break my wrists again, maybe then we’d get a podium” he says, before he can think to keep that inside his own head, knowing it’s the wrong thing to say when Fernando tenses.

“Sorry. Joke. My bad.”

“Not funny.”

Lance isn’t really sure he meant it to be funny at all. Instead, he’s thinking about how easy it would be to replicate the accident. Take Fernando’s stupid little scooter and trip it over a crack in the pavement, let himself fall and land at the same angle. He’s thinking about the singleminded focus that had come with trying to keep his car under his control with pain killers in his system and fire in his veins. How there had been an almost startling clarity to it.

“Could be your hero again,” he teases, even as a small part of him means it, misses Fernando’s praise even if it’s still something he gets freely.

Fernando scowls, “You still are.”

“I wasn’t looking when I hit him. I was looking at the stupid apex.”

“And? You are both okay, yes? So it is over.”

But it isn’t, because Lance has been here countless times before, keeps landing here. In Singapore when he’d split the car in two. In Jeddah when he’d clipped the wall then been asked to bring his lifeless car back to the pit. Narrowly avoided it all in Suzuka. Either the universe has it out for him or theres something wrong with him. Lance is beginning to lean toward the latter, beginning to believe some of the toxic shit he’s managed to catch glimpses of online before the functioning part of his brain has enough sense to close out of Twitter.

Fernando wipes away the fresh wave of tears, but it isn’t enough. Lance is hungry, desperate to rid himself of the ache in his gut and the pain in his chest and the hole in his heart that searches for that last bit of champagne in a bottle that’s run long dry. He’s tired too. Wants it all to end. Wants to sink into Fernando’s arms and be told that he’s doing a good job and for it to not be a lie.

Stupid fucking apex, stupid fucking breaks, stupid fucking safety car.

Fernando pulls him closer and Lance goes, lets himself be guided to the crook of Fernando’s neck and held there while he sobs. Both of them ending up curled up on the floor, Fernando’s fingers trailing a path up and down the notches of his spine.

Fernando twists enough to press a kiss to Lance’s temple and he sobs harder. The softness of it all, kindness from a man who owes him none, makes him sick all over again. He wants to be hit, but Fernando only holds him like he is worth holding and it’s cracking something inside Lance.

Something in him has maybe broken, more than his wrists.

“It will be okay.” Fernando keeps promising.

Lance wants so badly to believe him. He thinks Fernando would keep repeating it until he does. Both of them stubborn, both of them unyielding. Lance fears it will eventually land them both in the wall, fears he’ll be the one to send them there. He hates that he’s old enough to have fears now.

Everything is so much easier when you’re seventeen.

“What do I do?” He cries against Fernando’s neck, the warmth of him, the strong scent of him that Lance has smelled in sheets and pillows and the hoodies he sometimes stretches out to force his way into. Like a panther that’s confused itself with a kitten, or a pampered lapdog the size of a Great Dane. Fernando’s been buying larger sizes out of expectation that Lance will eventually ferret the clothing away from him.

“Right now you just breathe. We deal with the rest later.”

“Danny hasn’t texted me back,” he maybe won’t ever, floor damage and a dnf might have been the final thing to sever whatever feeble string kept them on speaking terms.

Fernando keeps trailing a hand up and down Lance’s back, pauses at the nape of his neck to soothe at the skin there, waits until Lance relaxes marginally before he resumes his slow track back down Lance’s spine. The pattern, repetitive in its nature, is helping.

“Just breathe, Lance. For now, this is all.”

He breathes, it hurts to do so, but he manages. He’s become good at that, managing. His expectations, his emotions, everything but his view of himself and the way that everything he manages comes crumbling down the second he messes up. So maybe he isn’t actually managing at all.

“Lance,” Fernando says, hard-edged when he hears Lance’s breathing stutter again.

“Sorry.”

“No more sorry. No more thinking, yes? Just you and me.”

Lance finds the fabric of Fernando’s undershirt, grabs fistfuls of it so the world can maybe become a little more real, his head a little less floaty. Fernando makes a pleased sound.

“I am here,” Fernando promises.

He feels just as real as Lance’s hands on the wheel had, just as solid as the barrier, as Daniel’s silent, steely, anger. Lance’s grip tightens, keeps tightening until Fernando becomes more real than anything else. Until he can feel the floor of the driver’s room pressing hard against his knees and has enough sense to complain about it.

Until he can breathe and Fernando’s hand at the nape of his neck becomes a grounding point.

Later, in the debrief, he wears Fernando’s hoodie. Aston Martin green and tight on his shoulders. He pulls at the hem of it, breathes in the scent of it, thinks about Miami. He’s told to stay off of socials. And his chest tightens, until Fernando’s hand finds his under the table. A thumb tracing the ridges of his knuckles.

“I’m not the TikTok guy anyway,” he jokes, tries to anyway.

Fernando smiles, “Too old for it?”

“Nah, not cool enough.”

And what he maybe means is never enough. Means that Fernando is good at pleasing a crowd, drawing an audience, doing all the things Lance just can’t seem to get right. But Fernando knows that, which is why he squeezes Lance’s hand tighter- why he doesn’t let go.

“I think you are.”

Lance supposes that’s enough.

#strollonso #strollonso fic #my fic #is this even anything? #idk I’m still just trying to get out my feelings #written in my notes app in like a 2 hour time span so ignore the typos

[bitethedevil]

The Devil's Dinner Party (Raphael x Tav)

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 (Finished)

Summary: Tav accepts Raphael’s invitation to a dinner party after she had handed him the Crown of Karsus. None of her companions show up, so it is just her, Raphael, and a bunch of Raphael’s favored clients. Raphael is suspiciously kind to her, but everything might not be as perfect as it seems. (This is only the first chapter, it’s going to be a longer thing)

(AN: This isn’t super edited and it’s the first fic that I’ve ever posted, so bear with me. English isn’t my first language either, so there might be some odd words or weird grammar some places. I am an English major though, so hopefully it shouldn’t be too bad. This fic has just been gnawing on my mind since I started it yesterday. There will be more chapters.)

Tav took a deep breath to calm her nerves and adjusted her dress before stepping into the portal. She arrived in the foyer of the House of Hope in a swirl of embers and smoke. A tiefling servant greeted her politely when she appeared. Tav was ushered into the area where Raphael had brought them in the beginning of their adventure all that time ago. It looked the same, except the table in the center of the room had been switched out with a larger one.

She looked around the room in search of a familiar face. She cursed her companions internally when she noticed that she was the only one of them who had accepted Raphael’s invitation. She had thought that at least Astarion would have jumped at the chance to attend such a fancy event.

However, she was not the only person there. There were at least fifteen other people present who she had no idea who was. None of them devils. At least not as far as Tav could tell. Most likely, they were also favored clients of Raphael.

All the people around her were dressed in opulent clothing and jewelry. Tav felt grateful that she had decided on buying new clothes for the occasion, despite her almost attending in an old dress she had found in the back of her closet.

A drink was placed in her hand by one of the servants. She took a long sip to calm her nerves. She looked around for the one familiar face that she knew for certain would be attending, but the devil she knew was nowhere to be seen. Most likely he was somewhere waiting for the perfect moment for his dramatic entrance. Tav rolled her eyes at the thought and took yet another sip of her drink.

She suddenly noticed that a few of the other guests started looking in her direction. She jumped when she felt a hand being gently placed on her back.

“My, what have we here?” a familiar voice purred.

Raphael came up beside her. He was wearing his usual smug smile and even fancier clothes than she was used to seeing him in.

“I’m glad you came,” he said with a slight bow. “It shows that you have better manners than your dear friends, it seems.”

“So it seems…” Tav said, still feeling slightly bitter about the fact that they did had not shown up. “I apologize on their behalf. I’m sure they had good reasons.”

“I’m sure…” Raphael said with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “But no matter. You are here. The guest of honor whose name went on the contract that ensured me the crown. Without you, there would be no celebration tonight.”

“Mm…right…” Tav said quietly while absentmindedly swirling the contents of the glass she was holding.

There it was again. That nauseous feeling of guilt and anxiety that she had also felt when she had handed the Crown of Karsus to him. It had been her name on the contract. It had been her who handed him an artifact that potentially could destroy worlds and gods know what else.

It had been the whole reason that she could not decline his invitation as her friends had. Most of her companions had wanted to turn a blind eye to the idiotic actions of their leader and forget about it. Tav needed to see. Her attendance was a desperate attempt to gain some semblance of control over the situation.

“And if I may be so bold…” Raphael said in a hushed voice, shaking her from her train of thought. “What a precious sight. To see you in proper clothes instead of that ragged armor you wore when we first met. You look wonderful, my dear.”

Tav blinked as she wrestled herself away from the anxious thoughts in her head to return to reality. She dumbly looked down at her dress and then back at Raphael.

“Oh, thank you,” she said and forced a polite smile. “You look nice as well.”

Raphael gave her a smile and briefly squeezed her shoulder before walking to the center of the room to properly welcome his guests and invite them to sit down.

The dinner itself was as one could expect when dining in the House of Hope. There was every kind of food that you could possibly imagine. There were also expensive wines from all corners of the realms. The servants constantly ran back and forth to make sure that no one lacked anything.

To Tav’s great relief, she had been seated beside a talkative stranger, so she did not have to sit through the dinner in silence. The stranger was a young half-elf, who introduced himself as Rolim. Tav could gather that he was a merchant of some sort. He was quite handsome with his sharp elvish features. He had blonde hair, brown eyes, and a bright smile when he talked.

Tav barely got a word in while he was talking, but she found that she did not mind. He talked excitedly about the success of his business and the new mansion he had recently acquired. No doubt with the help of a certain devil, Tav suspected.

The few times Tav turned her attention away from the young man, she noticed Raphael unashamedly studying her from the other end of the table. He did not eat, but simply drank wine while he looked as if he was barely listening to the two people on either side of him who were eagerly speaking to him.

“…Don’t you agree?” Rolim asked her and pulled her attention away from Raphael’s gaze.

“Hm?” she said, having no idea what he was asking her.

“That Baldur’s Gate might be a promising place to expand my business to. That is where you said you were from, yes?” Rolim said with a smile.

“Oh yes, it is,” Tav said with a polite smile. “Certainly. Although I have to admit that I don’t know a whole lot about how it is to run a business in the Gate.”

“I think it could be promising,” Rolim continued cheerfully. “Perhaps I could visit sometime, and you could show me around the city?”

Oh. He was flirting with her, Tav realized.

“Hm, yes,” she said with a forced smile. “Perhaps…May I ask you something, Rolim?”

“Of course!” he said.

Tav leaned a bit closer to him and lowered her voice so that no one else would eavesdrop.

“I hope it’s not rude to ask, but why is it that you were invited here exactly?” she asked.

“Oh,” he spoke in an almost exaggerated hushed voice to match Tav’s. “I can’t really tell you the specifics, but I am a client of Raph’s.”

Tav suppressed a giggle. ‘Raph’? No doubt Raphael hated that.

“Right,” she said. “I thought as much. Just curious.”

Their talk was interrupted by a clinging on glass. Raphael got up from his chair to hold a speech. He started out by thanking those who had attended. Then it turned into a predictably dramatic and theatrical speech about his desire for the crown and his eventual success. He then, surprisingly, also credited the person who had brought him the crown. He spoke warmly of Tav exclusively, completely disregarding her fellow adventurers, much to her discomfort since everyone was staring at her while he did. She forced a smile until it was over.  

She was beyond relieved when it was finally over, and the other guests had stopped staring at her like she was a monkey in a zoo.

“It was you?” Rolim asked once the moment was over. “You defeated the elderbrain? Why didn’t you say? You’re the hero of Baldur’s Gate!”

“It wasn’t just me,” she said a bit too harshly. It annoyed her that her companions had not been credited in Raphael’s speech. “It was me and a whole lot of other people that I could not have done it without.”

“Still, you did it!” Rolim said excitedly. “I’ve heard the bards sing of it even in my corner of Faerûn.”

To Tav’s luck, people were beginning to leave the table. She saw her opportunity to escape the conversation and did not hesitate to take it.

“I’m going to get some air,” she said hurriedly. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Alright, but when you get back, I want to hear all about it!” Rolim called after her.

She walked through the house, desperate to get away from all the noise and curious looks for a moment. She found a balcony. She leaned up against the railing and closed her eyes for a moment while taking deep breaths.

All of it was just too much. She hated it. She shouldn’t have gone. She wasn’t a hero. A hero would not have handed the crown to a bloody devil. Baldur’s Gate might have been saved, but who could say what destruction the future might have in store with such powers in Raphael’s hands?

There was a reason why she had isolated herself after the defeat of the elderbrain. She never attended the events that she had been invited to by the city, because she could not look any of the people there in the eyes while they celebrated her. Her companions. Her friends. They were the real heroes. They had all suffered and overcome so much, even before the whole tadpole business. She might have wasted all of it by making one stupid decision.

She took another deep, shaky breath to calm her nerves and stop the tears that were threatening to fall. The view of the hellscape of Avernus did nothing to calm her. It was disorientating. It was night, but still it looked like it was day over the jagged and desolate red landscape.

“Enjoying the view?”

She jumped and turned around to find Raphael sitting down on one of the chairs behind her.

“You have got to stop scaring the shit out of me,” she said. “It’s getting old, Raphael.”

Raphael chuckled.

“Language,” he chided. “It’s hardly my fault that you are such a nervous little thing.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I’m sure your guests miss you,” she said. “I will be back in a moment. I just needed some air. I’m not going to snoop around in your house or anything.”

“I know you wouldn’t dare,” Raphael said smoothly while studying her with a tilted head. “My guests will be fine. No doubt they can fill each other’s ears with mindless chatter instead of mine. Sit.”

He gestured to the chair on the opposite side of the small table beside him.

“It’s fine, really,” she said. “I just needed a moment.”

“Sit,” he ordered again. “Something is clearly on your mind, dear.”

She could hear from his tone that he would not let it go, so she sat down.

Raphael snapped his fingers and a hookah appeared on the table. Tav raised an eyebrow and looked from the hookah to Raphael. They sat in silence for a moment as Raphael prepared it. Despite her restless mind, she could not help being slightly amused at the odd gesture.  

Raphael placed the mouthpiece at the end of the hose between his lips, took a long drag and exhaled the smoke smoothly. Then he offered it to Tav.

“For those pesky nerves of yours.”

“Oh,” Tav said and waved her hand dismissively at the gesture. “I’ve never smoked before.”

“There’s a first for everything, no?” he said. “Indulging once won’t kill you.”

Tav sighed slightly and took the hose of the hookah from his hand. She placed the mouthpiece between her lips and cautiously inhaled the smoke. She started coughing hard as she exhaled.

“Or perhaps it will,” Raphael chuckled as he took it back from her to take another drag.

As her coughing fit subsided, she felt light-headed. However, just as Raphael said, it did also make her feel somewhat more relaxed.

“Now,” Raphael said. “Tell me what it is that troubles you.”

“It’s nothing,” Tav said and shook her head.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said calmly. “I can see it in your eyes. I have my suspicions as to what could be bothering you, of course. Tell me and I promise you, I will not take offense.”

She looked at him. She did not know if was the effect of the wine, the hookah or the almost kind tone of Raphael’s voice that made her want to tell him everything. She wanted to tell him all those things that she had kept to herself and that had eaten away at her insides for months after the defeat of the elderbrain.

“I feel like a failure,” she said, her voice almost breaking at the confession. “We went through so much. Saved so many people back then. And for what? For me to hand over the crown to you. That was my decision…”

There was not as much as a trace of anger on Raphael’s face as she explained. He even looked somewhat sympathetic. He listened attentively while occasionally taking drags from the hookah.

“I saw it in their eyes, you know? I still do,” she said looking out over the balcony with an empty stare. “They didn’t say anything about it, but I know they were disappointed with my decision. I don’t blame them.”

“You are entirely too hard on yourself, mouse,” Raphael said. “You did what you had to do, as a good leader should. They are in no position to judge you.”

“No, they should. They should judge me,” she countered. “The defeat of the elderbrain was a product of their hard work as well. I robbed them of having a say in the final decision. I would never have gotten that far if it had not been for them, and I still spat in their face, and stupidly chose an option that might one day destroy all we fought to save.”

“Do not speak so low of yourself,” Raphael said in an almost angry tone. “It was your right to make that decision. You say that you would not have gotten that far without them, but that is where you are wrong. They would never have gotten that far without you. You made the difficult choices. You took on responsibility when no one else stepped forward.”

“But– “

“No, Tav,” Raphael interrupted.  “I will not stand listening to you speak ill of yourself in such a manner, when you only did what none of your companions had the sense of responsibility to do. They closed their eyes and handed the reins to you when things became unsavory, did they not? Is that not why none of them are present tonight?”

Tav hated what he was saying, but he did have a point. They had once again looked away and left the mess to her. She would also have been lying if she said that it had not been something that had irked her even back then. How they would leave the decisions to her, but still complain about it when they disagreed. She did offer them plenty of opportunities to take her place, but none of them ever stepped forward.

Raphael knew that he had hit a nerve and softened his tone.

“They don’t deserve you,” he said. “I meant what I said in the speech, when I said that you were the one to defeat the elderbrain. Without you, they would have gotten themselves killed long before they could even reach Baldur’s Gate.”

Raphael took one last drag and got up from his seat. He stood in front of her.

“As for my plans with the crown…” he said and extended a hand to her. “Come. I want to show you something.”

She took it and got up from her seat as well.

“You really ought to get back to your guests, Raphael,” she said as she held the crook of his arm as he brought her through the house.

“And neglect my very favorite guest? Nonsense,” he said with a charming smile.

He brought her to his archive. Artifacts were beautifully displayed on pedestals. Raphael brought her to the pedestal in the middle of the archive. She squinted at the paper displayed on the pedestal.

“Is that...?”

“Your contract, yes,” he said. “It still is one of my most precious possessions.”

She looked at her own signature at the bottom of the document. Then she read the sign beside it: ‘A most-cherished client.’  

It was sweet, in a way, that he would display it in such a manner, Tav thought for a brief moment. Then she immediately shook the thought away. This was Raphael, after all. She immediately became aware that she was still holding his arm even though they had stopped. She instinctively let go of it.

“Why are you showing me this?” she asked with curiosity.

“To remind you of our deal, of course,” he said. “You never did read it, did you?”

“It’s in Infernal,” she said with a shrug.

“Perceptive as ever,” Raphael chuckled. “Yes, it is. Though, had you asked, I would gladly have translated it…Would you like me to read it to you?”

She hesitated for a moment. Perhaps, it was better to not know. There was nothing that she could do about it now, after all. Still…she was curious.

“Please,” she said and gestured to it.

Raphael smiled at her before he started reading the first clause in Infernal. It shook her slightly to hear him speak in another language. Infernal being such a harsh and guttural language. Raphael spoke it with ease. Tav found it oddly attractive, which was no doubt an intentional effect that Raphael was well-aware of.

He went through each clause, first in Infernal and then in the common tongue. Tav found herself, not for the first time, lost in the way he spoke and that velvety voice of his. Especially because he made a show of looking at her while he did it. Impressively, he could recite most of the contract by memory.

When he was done, Tav surprisingly found herself more reassured than worried. It did contain all the things that they had agreed on. Raphael would not use the crown to dominate mortals and the crown would stay in the Hells.

“So, as you can see,” he said and gestured to the contract. “There is nothing to worry your pretty head over.”

She glanced at the contract again. She did feel less worried, but she also still felt like there could be something that she was missing.  

“I have never lied to you, Tav,” Raphael said as if he had just read her thoughts. “And I have always dealt fairly with you, have I not?”

“That’s debatable,” Tav said and looked at him. “We did exchange an insanely powerful artifact for a bloody hammer.”

Raphael laughed.

“An insanely powerful artifact that none of you would ever be able to harness the power of, in exchange for a ‘bloody hammer’ that your very survival depended on.”

“Hm,” Tav huffed stubbornly.

“Hm,” Raphael teased and mimicked her huff with an amused smile. “Come. Let us get back to those guests of mine that you seem to be so worried about.”

Raphael gently put his arm around her shoulders to guide her out of the archive. His little touches and his gentleness with her did not go unnoticed by Tav, but she found that she did not mind. Even though she knew better. She should be suspicious. She knew she should, but it was hard when the man was so damn charming about it.

#writing #raphael the cambion #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

[2jisungs]

OPPOSITES ATTRACT - CHAP. 1O

SALMA’S NOTES; omg.. another written chapter.. 😱😱

PREVIOUS - NEXT - MASTERLIST

TAGGING; @mellowdyverse

heejin spent the rest of the day (well, evening) laying down on her bed, patiently waiting for jisung to call back, but, to her dismay, he never did. she never really realized just how much she depended on jisung and how he either makes or breaks her day all the time, but strangely enough, she doesn’t mind as much since it’s him. “god damn, i really am in love with jisung..”

heejin got up and stretched, looking at the clock; 8:09 AM, it read. “i fell asleep? that’s weird..”

she suddenly heard a knock at the door, and hurriedly got up from her bed and headed towards the door. there, on her doormat, was a packet of nerds gummy clusters and a bouquet of roses. heejin smiled and picked up the items, finding a sticky note on the packet of candy. it read; “sorry for not calling u back :(( i got busyy -ji”. she looked up and saw jisung hurrying down the stairs from her peripheral vision. “cute.” she thought to herself.

“man, now i feel bad..” heejin said to herself, trying to find a way to pay him back for the gifts, when she suddenly had an idea. “since we both love jujutsu kaisen, what if i give him some of my merch? i don’t know who his favourite character is though.. i’ll just go ask yuta!”

she knocked on the door right next to hers, yuta quickly opening the door for her. “oh, hey heejin. do you need anything?”

“yea, actually! do you know who jisung’s favourite jujutsu kaisen character is? he sent me some stuff and i want to repay the favour.” she told him, holding up the candy and roses for him to see.

yuta grinned and nodded. “jisung LOVES nanami. he has a whole shrine thing for him in his room. just get him whatever and he’ll appreciate you until the day you die. oh, and by the way, jisung isn’t in his dorm right now, he just went over to jaemin’s to spend the day. johnny’s probably smoking at jisung’s though.”

“thank you so much!” heejin thanked him and ran back into her dorm. she beelined for her room, trying to find something she thought he would like, until she found the perfect thing to give him — a nanami figurine and a funko pop. “he would definetly like this, right?”

she took a plastic bag from her nightstand and shoved the things inside. heejin ran over to the door, quickly slipping on her shoes and heading out, almost forgetting to close the door. “he told me he lives in dorm 5738 once.. so that’s 3 flights of stairs. god, why does DBI have so many dorms? do that many people even live here?”

heejin reluctantly walked all the way up the stairs, finally getting to his dorm room, which was all the way at the end of the hallway, making her feet hurt even more. she knocked on the door, johnny opening it for her.

“oh, it’s jisung’s girlfriend. he isn’t home right now by the way.” he said, obviously high off his mind. his eyes were bloodshot, and he looked like he hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in forever.

“we’re not dating, first of all. and second, i’m just here for you to put these in his room for him. it’s a gift from me.” heejin told him, handing him the plastic bag.

“not yet.” johnny chuckled, looking in the bag heejin gave him. “oh, is this an addition to the nanami shrine? he’s gonna love this.”

“he doesn’t even like me like that, i can tell.” heejin said, looking down at the floor.

“that’s what you think. he’s liked you since freshman year, back in WPG.” johnny replied. “but that didn’t come from me. oh, and don’t tell anyone i’m smoking in here! i will seriously kill you.”

“hm.. okay, sure. bye now, johnny. say hi to sunyoung for me.” heejin told johnny.

“will do.” he grinned.

#nct #nct dream #nct 127 #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct x reader #nct fanfic #nct yuta #nct mark #nct johnny #nct scenarios #nct smau #nct drabbles #nct u #nct wish #nct jeong jaehyun #nct jung jaehyun #nct jisung #nct jaemin #nct jaehyun #nct social au #nct social media au

[friendlylocalwhumper]

“Yes.” | “Kneel.” | Best of Three | Correspondence | Appraisal | Collapse

This, uh… owner? Isn’t all that bad. Could be a whole lot worse.

The hand sliding down his back isn’t welcome, but Major doesn’t fight it. He knows better. He knows better.

Shoulders angled down toward the floor an inch below them, dejected gray eyes locked onto a piece of dust just out of focus on the carpet, Major keeps from shaking off the touch. It’s not as creepy as it could be. Just seems to be, like… feeling along his spine as if checking for bruising on the piece of fruit he’s considering at the supermarket. Or checking out the ridges and valleys of his scars, but there’s no lingering fondles across the thick burn-ruined skin.

The smell of the guy’s breath hits him before the sound of his voice. Major holds his ground, only shifting to press his forehead to the floor as he listens. “I paid for one that leans into it. I won’t be all that hands-on, but still. I did pay for it.”

If he was in his right mind, Major would buck against that. Try to break the guy’s nose, maybe beat him for a while before killing him. But the warning, as polite as it might’ve been, hits like ice to his teeth. The training, with the gun and the consequences a split-second after each test… Major barely survived. He isn’t gonna fuck it up now. Especially not when he’s alone, bent down over his own knees, in some guy’s house.

The hand comes in for another swipe down his back, and this time Major arches up against it. Just slightly. It might not have been enough, he might be fucking up, there could be a gun held above his head where he can’t see it but he’ll hear the click of it, and… oh. He’s rewarded as if he was an eager purring cat, by an approving hum from above.

Disgust rises as goosebumps across his skin. But Major sinks down and feels his heartbeat thrumming in his temple after the terror of nearly disappointing the guy who… custom ordered a pissy, stubborn prisoner freshly trained to obey.

His mind goes blank, suddenly, when the guy ruffles his hair. Major doesn’t even fully register the condescending gesture, just lets his head be rocked back and forth with the rough petting to fried hair.

The voice, airy in a weird way, comes from higher above than Major was expecting. Thought the buyer would be leaning down close, but he’s up on one knee to rise, maybe. “Come on. Since you’re doing good enough. Got something to show you.”

The guy’s walking, and Major isn’t sure what to do. He’s scrambling up to follow, but a fog of stress locks his knees so he can’t stand. Is he… fuck, allowed to stand? To walk? Frozen by worry but spurred on by the fear of falling behind and breaking some unspoken rule, Major lurches forward on his hands and knees. No more goosebumps, no self-loathing curled tight in his stomach. The room feels cold when he goes numb and compliant.

The guy slows to a stop. When he turns to stare down at Major in bewilderment, it’s the first time Major sees him in full. He’s not… big. Slick black hair buzzed down on the sides and in the back. Tattoos across his face in swirling font that Major can’t read, a piercing in his nose. Which all would look tough, except there’s no real muscle on him, and even if there was it would be hard to see because the guy’s in a big sweater with a dress shirt poking out from under the sleeves and neckline.

Major swallows, trying to decide if the guy looks tough, or weak, or cool or lame. He’s distracted by a judgy scoff that sets his jaw clenching.

“What are you doing?” It’s not as mean as it could be, not cutting. Just too amused. “Crap, I didn’t think they were giving me one that thinks it’s a dog. Just walk.”

The words sting, through the numb distance he’d built up, and it’s more frustrating than it is humiliating. Major shoves himself upward and sways onto his feet, blinking against the odd waves of adrenaline and exhaustion.

“Just walk, we’re not… oh fu-... frick.” The buyer doubles back, hands raised and hurried. Major flinches back, eyes widening against the black fuzz swallowing his vision. He falls rapidly sideways, or upward, maybe… the world is spinning and he can’t figure out which way is down. He’ll be killed. He’s getting grabbed, fingers digging into his arms, he’s gonna die!

The room goes black, as pain erupts in his skull, and all sensations fade away.

#whump #drabble #mine #major #dehumanization #well we don't know this guy's motives yet but i mean he isn't setting major FREE so #that means i must also tag as #slavery #captivity #conditioning #obedience

[jazztag]

An Encounter in the Snow VII

The Captain finds Weapon as he left him, seated on the floor and fidgeting with the dust. His prisoner looks up when hearing him step inside. He grins a little bit and then, as if remembering the last time, he retreats from his place and steps as far as his chains would let him, hiding in the shadows and away from the dim light on the ceiling. Knowing Hero may be mad at him, he turns his back toward the Captain and tries to look inconspicuous while doing so, hyperfocused on the wall.

Hero scoffs.

His prisoner remains facing the wall, but something is different. While Hero stops, hands in pockets, he observes Weapon getting more and more unrested. His prisoner seems to be smelling the air, as if something has changed.

“I brought you something,” says Hero, and Weapon turns around at last, still sniffing the air like a dog. The Captain reveals the old blanket, something that can merely cover Weapon’s skinny body but thick enough to look comfortable.

Hero waits for his reaction, but Weapon is frozen in place, caught between an expression of confusion and agitation. So he decides to try something he has been rummaging about for the last few hours.

“Come here,” orders Hero. Weapon doesn’t move at first, but when he sees Hero signaling for him to approach, the prisoner complies. He stands up, still with his back ached and head down, and gets in front of Hero.

The Captain scrutinizes him for the first time since the prisoner arrived. From head to toe, he finds it funny that the two of them may be of the same height, or at least it may seem so if Weapon stood straight. His prisoner keeps looking at the ground, suddenly docile and weirdly calm. He still has his grin plastered on his face, but his expression is more sober.

Hero observes how he still clutches at his side and pays attention to his bony wrists, ankles. His skin, calloused and burned from severe exposure to the sun. His hair, which falls onto his eyes, only letting his smile shine from under the messy dark waves. He lacks some fingernails, both on each hand and foot. It may have been because of torture, who knows. Lots of bullet wounds, cuts. His hips bend at a weird angle, and his underwear, clearly old and not once washed, just adds to his overall pitiful state. And the way he twitches. Now that’s scary, adverts Hero. He grins constantly, and his fingers seem to grab something invisible in the air from time to time. Signs of PTSD. There’s one twitch that specifically puts him on edge. The index finger on his left hand, which curls inward subtly. As if pressing the trigger of his firearm, shooting, and killing as a first instinct.

He’s absolutely and utterly a machine made to kill. Hero looks down at his prisoner, trying to see underneath the other’s matted hair. Two gray eyes return his gaze. He steps back again and decides to try something with the blanket.

“Now, eyes on me, you dog,” signs Hero. Weapon looks up toward him, and his hair falls back a bit, framing his face. He has huge eyebags, and he looks tired. He always does.

“Is this yours?” asks him Hero, showing him the folded blanket. Weapon looks briefly at the item and then pouts. He looks as if he’d like to tear it out from his hand but can’t. As if now, Hero has the upper hand, at least for the first time.

“If you want it back, you’ll follow what I say,” tells him Hero. The Captain is still feeling a little bit skeptical about the whole ordeal. Weapon furrows his brows but doesn’t move from his place. He is now listening. “Ok, it seems I have your attention. Now, put your right hand up.”

Weapon seems to have heard him, but grinning a bit, he looks like he doesn’t understand what is going on. Hero, with the hand which isn’t holding the blanket, puts it up, palm open and toward Weapon. “Here,” motions. And Weapon ends up copying him as well, pulling his right arm out and opening his palm toward Hero a bit. His fingers are long and bony, and the skin on his knuckles is red and raw. His hand trembles. Actually, all of him seems to subtly tremble. Hero waits a bit. The chains dingle.

“Ok,” says Hero, lowering his arm. Weapon copies him as well. Hero then says, “now the other hand,” while pulling up the very same hand as before… Just as the Captain thought, Weapon raises again the same right hand, mirroring him again.

Hero repeats himself using a monotonous voice, “no, the other. Left.” He doesn’t move, though, keeping his hand still up. Weapon doesn’t hesitate to change sides; he keeps his right hand up in the air.

The Captain finally pulls his arm down, and Weapon copies him again. “So I was right,” mutters Hero to himself. “You don’t really understand me.”

Weapon smiles again, looking absentmindedly at his blanket, still in Hero’s grasp. His arms gravitate towards it, but Hero pulls away from his grab.

“Before that, one more thing.” Weapon looks at him again. ‘He seems to get the tone of my voice,’ notes Hero. He signals down to the floor.

“Sit down.” Weapon looks at his index and then at the floor, and without a word complies, crouching down. He lets his hands rest on his knees, fidgeting again with his fingers. The chains on his arms and feet rattle quietly.

Hero crouches down to his level as well. He makes a mental note to clean him up when possible, and with caution, reveals a key from the inside of his coat inner pocket. Weapon watches closely as Hero grabs one of his chained wrists and unlocks the link between the handcuff and chain. Silently, Hero does the same with his other wrist and ankles, releasing him from them all except the one on his neck, still bolted to the floor. His prisoner doesn’t move at all. He looks around meanwhile, lost in thought and not quite there. Finally, Hero grabs the blanket again and unfolds it on him. Weapon doesn’t move while getting covered with the soft fabric, and when the Captain gets up again on his feet, the prisoner caresses absentmindedly his item.

He sniffs the cloth, and there’s a peak of weirdness in his eyes. Weapon looks up at Hero, questioning.

“I had to wash it, you dog; it was disgusting,” tells him Hero. The Captain kicks away the detached chains to the back of the room, away from Weapon’s reach. Last time it was a pair of tweezers stabbed onto a Colonel’s leg, who knows what Weapon would be capable of with those.

Hero stands in front of his prisoner again. It’s useless to talk to Weapon. He won’t understand a word, and he doesn’t seem too eager to acknowledge even his tone. But talking to him has proved from time to time to calm Hero’s thoughts, maybe as a way to free them off his mind.

“I’ve seen your eh… room, the one back at your last base,” speaks Hero. His tone is harsh, authoritarian. Weapon looks up, not really understanding a word from a language he hasn’t been trained to understand. “Seems to me you are considered useless if not owned and directed. At least that’s what they say in your homeland.”

Hero starts pacing around the room, hands behind his back. Weapon, seated on the floor and caressing his blanket, smiles devilishly at the Captain. Who knows what might be he thinking about. He sits, cross-legged, fiddling with the cloth but without taking his attention off Hero. ‘He’s waiting,’ realizes the Captain.

Hero stops again right in front of his prisoner. Weapon looks up, defiantly. They stare at each other.

“I know you don’t understand a word I’m saying,” tells him Hero. “But I don’t fucking care.” He crosses his arms, looking down at the other severely. “You are now under my orders. You rest when I tell you, you eat what I’ll give you, and you, in no circumstance, move a finger without me knowing it beforehand.”

Weapon says nothing, as usual. His smug smile widens under his matted hair.

“I,” repeats Hero, pointing at himself, “own you,” and follows by pointing at Weapon. Weapon looks at his finger and licks his lips. Hero’s not too sure the other is getting the idea. He then crouches on one knee and gets really close to the enemy. Weapon doesn’t mind the sudden movements of the other. He watches defiantly how Hero grabs at the only chain still binding him to the cell floor, the one around his neck. The Captain pulls it up toward himself, obliging the other to face him, unable to resist the restraints around his neck.

“You are now my dog,” tells him Hero, and suddenly, it appears to dawn on Weapon what those strange words he can’t identify mean. He loosens his smile, and his gaze becomes darker.

Hero lets go of the chain, and Weapon sits back again, still looking him in the eye.

“Hope we can get to an agreement,” says Hero. Still kneeling on the floor, he slips out from his inner pocket a metal canteen, full of water. The Captain unscrews the cap carefully, watching Weapon’s eyes following the action. His prisoner’s mouth opens slightly, his gaze now pierced onto the bottle. He stops fidgeting with the blanket, leaving it aside, and starts to crawl toward the canteen.

“Ah, ah. Stop there.” Hero motions for Weapon to stop dead in his tracks, and the monster complies, looking thirstier by the minute. The Captain leaves the bottle right in front of Weapon and crosses his arms. He waits patiently, observing how Weapon grows more restless from the sight of water.

“I heard you weapons could stand almost a week without taking a drink. But looks like even you have limits when bound.” Weapon grows more nervous each second that he isn’t permitted to get his hands on the canteen. He starts struggling with breathing, and he starts to scratch at his left arm, drawing red lines onto the dry skin. The Captain observes the sight, finally taking some pity on his new pet.

“Ok, stop scratching. Drink already,” he finally allows. Weapon looks up to him, trying to understand if that was a yes. Hero motions toward the water and points at his prisoner. “Go on.”

His prisoner grabs the bottle as if there was no tomorrow and in practically seconds gulps down the entire contents. Hero motions for him to return the water flask, and Weapon complies when finished. He looks more relaxed and docile after that, and so, Hero stands up on his feet again.

“Good boy. Surely we can manage to understand each other.” Weapon dries his mouth on his arm, and the Captain looks absentmindedly at his still fresh bullet wound on his chest, alongside all the other scars and older bruises on his skin.

“I’ll take a look again at that if you let me,” and starting to head toward the cell door, adds, “Now rest.” Weapon looks at him from his spot on the floor. Hugs his blanket and falls on his side, closing his eyes and rolling until finding a comfortable spot on the concrete. Hero watches him for a bit before locking again the door. He can’t keep away the thought, though. This cell looks as sad as the one Weapon inhabited before.

Taglist: @whump-blog @bitchaknso @pumpkinsncoffee @scrumpledumple (comment to get added/removed from the list!)

#promptfactory #writing prompt #prompt #whump #whump prompt #hero x villain #villain x hero #whump scenario #whumpee x caretaker #my ocs #biologically nonhuman #living weapon whumpee #tropes #ww2 whump #biological weapon #militar whump #anencounterinthesnow

[brainddeadd]

fluff

thinking about how being in love with soonyoung would be so chaotic.

picture this:

you're friends, you're in love with him and he's in love with you. neither of you knows it. it's a story so overdone but it's your life.

~~

"I think I've been possessed by a demon." Minghao's head snaps over to you, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Wordlessly, you point towards Soonyoung.

"I know he's weird but I fail to see why that means you are possessed by the demon."

"Because I'm in love with him." You could swear you can hear a pin drop in another country.

Seungcheol's hand is paused in mid-air, food hanging from his chopsticks. Chan's jaw is almost touching the floor.

Minghao's looking at you like you've finally figured your shit out.

Soonyoung's staring at you like he can't believe what he just heard. He probably can't.

"Say that again."

"I'm in love with you. Always have been."

"But, we're just friends." Minghao's head bangs on the table, making Chan jump.

“I don’t wanna be ‘just friends’. Cause if we’re just friends then I can’t just randomly go grocery shopping with you, just because I want to and I can’t just pick you up and take out out just because I want to. If we’re just friends, then I can’t stop random girls from asking you out, and I don’t have a reason to stop guys from asking me out. And yeah, I can randomly hold your hand anytime I want, but it’s not going to be in the way I want. And sure, you’ll let me hug you and hold you whenever I want, but it won’t be right! It’ll just be you holding my hand or hugging me as a friend, and I want more than that. So I don’t want to be just friends with you. I can’t be just friends with you. Not anymore. I want to be able to love you publicly, boldly, unapologetically.”

Soonyoung stares at you for a moment before moving faster than you've ever seen before, crossing the room and coming to a stop in front of you.

"I should ask you out, but I'm going to kiss you first."

#soonyoung x reader #kwon soonyoung x reader #hoshi x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen fluff

[f0xgl0v3]

How does one Elias Bouchard hold his Pipe/The overall murder scene

Tw this like entire post is about the proper way to hold a pipe if you wanna effectively hit someone with it several times repeatedly :3 also spoilers for MAG 80

Guys I am simply a writer and this is just for writing and thought experiment purposes, none of this shall or should be applied to real life and it’s just for the haha extended sounds of brutal pipe murder-

What has come to my life-? I’m talking about Elias Bouchard and how he holds the Pipe to murder people- I, there will be actual Percy Jackson stuff soon. Maybe talking about Camp Jupiter and armor and gear and stuff or something however,

Everyone draws Elias with really weird hand positions on the pipe-? That’s a weird thing to say and the art is fantastic but if your beating someone with a Pipe then there seems to be a way I always thought in my head-

Let’s, for the sake that I’m halfway through season 4 consider the only Pipe murder I am currently aware of would be Jurgen Leitner’s, we can work with this. Elias is standing over him at the other side of a desk while Jurgen is seated I believe-? There are a couple ways we can go about this,

1) Elias hits him while they both are in the neutral position at the desk

2) Elias walks over to Jurgen’s side during the conversation and hits him then

3) Jurgen stands up from his chair and then Elias hits him.

I have had to listen to the sound clip so many times for this- I- okay. So, the beginning of the murder still is Jurgen talking, I think audibly a bit worried. I’d like to make the assumption that while Elias is like “bird stuff always a risk about death” that is when the pipe is revealed, Jurgen is taking the moment to try and reason with him and I think 2 and 3 are the most viable due to the sound they use. In 1’s scenario Elias wouldn’t get enough strength in that first swing (due to the desk being in the way, and Elias most likely having to lean over the desk to try and get a strong strike.

Then, the sound- I believe Elias initially hits Jurgen from the side of the head, think like the same ‘row’ that your temples are on, that vague side of the head. Jurgen is heard with a grunt by the first hit; we don’t hear him fall or anything (which makes me suspect it could be a situation of Elias walking over to the other side of the table) and it doesn’t really sound like Elias moves where he hits very much- continuing to strike that original spot; otherwise we’d likely hear the crunch of bone. Am I making the assumption that the sound design would include the crunch and that I would know what hitting a skull with a metal pipe is, oh yeah totally.

Now, that settles how I think this entire thing played out, Elias revealing the pipe as he walks over to the side, Jurgen looks up in old sad man still seated and is trying to reason with Elias, maybe he even attempts to get up and that is when Elias strikes in the right side of his head (just what makes sense to me, it could be the left either it wouldn’t matter much) and repeatedly hits there 11 times (yes I counted the strikes we hear, no I don’t have anything better to do with my time because I’m putting off writing a script) before like dipping or whatever.

Now, the pipe posture if you will. I see so many drawings of Elias’s hands like this,

Raised, and for all intents and purposes from an art sense it’s rad. It’s a dynamic pose and stuff, and of course this is not a critique on artists (who are way better than me) and how they want to draw this fictional man hold his pipe. However this is my brainrot talking on the ‘hey I think this is how he’d get the most effective swing’ because I’ve listened to two seasons back to back and I no longer have a brain.

But; Elias Bouchard wants the most bang for his buck so to speak. I think holding the Pipe like the tried and true baseball bat would provide this. Elias holding it like in my very bad diagram is good if he’d want to poke or stab someone with the pipe, but it’s really effective if you can get that swing in. So yeah, baseball style; hands together near the end of the pipe and over a shoulder or even over his head if you want to be silly with his posing.

Uh, haha okay. I’m sorry but the rot is all consuming and I’ve been thinking about him a lot, also like Peter Lukas and a bunch of the other sillies but this kinda- forced itself out while I was looking at art of the scene. I, uh, :3 that’s all. I like thinking about the mapping and layout and planning of scenes like these and how the visuals might’ve looked if there were visuals. I promise I probably won’t make any more posts like this for a solid while (however, talking about Bryce Lawerence and my thing in SoN are-imagining that he was the one to kill Gwen… maybe.)

#hehe :3 #idk how to tag this #the magnus archives #tmagp spoilers #tma podcast #tmagp theory #this is really stupid #ridiculous even #I’m sorry if you just want to see the funny pjo stuff I post- #elias bouchard #love that sick little rat man #sorry #okay bye

[a-living-canvas]

Wildflowers

Whumpee was laying on the couch. They were busy scrolling down through Pinterest. Their eyes flickered to the door for a moment, wondering who's the one that had been making noise outside their house since just now. 

Before they could do anything, Caretaker rushed out to the front and opened the door. They smiled at the delivery guy before signing their name on the paper and brought inside a large box to the living room. Whumpee eyes widen, that's—

"This is mine…!" Whumpee said firmly at Caretaker. They snatched the box away from Caretaker before they could open it and peered inside. Caretaker was slightly taken aback by Whumpee's sudden behaviour.

"You don't need to get so mad at me though…what did you buy anyway?" 

Caretaker asked, leaning closer to Whumpee. Whumpee tightened their hold on the box. "Nothing."

Caretaker chuckled, "It can't be nothing, Sweetheart—"

"I said, it's nothing…!" Whumpee insisted. They slowly made their way upstairs, leaving Caretaker wondering alone.

~

That night, Whumpee climbed on their bed along with the box. They took a deep breath before cutting open the box and pulled out the content inside. 

"Finally…!"

They beamed up, felt slightly relieved seeing the chains and the handcuff back after 2 months escaping from Whumper. These things give them comfort, no matter how weird that would sound to Caretaker.

Whumpee put the restraint on their body the same way Whumper would. They grazed lightly on their neck, missing the feeling of the collar around it. Maybe they should buy one too, at least they could choose the colour and design.

"Okay, ready to sleep…!"

Whumpee said as their hands neatly handcuffed with their body chained to the bed. They sighed softly as their lips curled up. They missed this feeling. 

"Whumpee…?"

Oh no, that's Caretaker. Knocking on their door. Should they pretend to be asleep? Would that make Caretaker give up and leave them alone? But, it's not nice to be lying to them like this…

"Yes…Caretaker?" 

Caretaker smiled hearing Whumpee's voice. "Can I enter your room?"

"Um…I don't know…!"

"...you don't know?"

Whumpee panicked. They couldn't even move right now and it would take time to undo all the restraint. Caretaker would be suspicious then.

"I…kind of naked, right now…" 

Whumpee laughed nervously. What a dumb reason. Caretaker must have seen right through them. Because who would be naked at a time like this?

"...Can you put on some clothes so we can talk for a moment?"

Ah, dammit. Whumpee sighed heavily. There's no way out of this. They waited for a moment before speaking again,

"Okay, I'm done."

Caretaker unlocked the door before gently pushing it open. Their eyes widen at the sight of Whumpee being chained up on the bed. Whumpee's face flushed red in embarrassment, how could they let anyone see them in this state?

"Oh, Whumpee…" Caretaker started, they were smirking as they sat at the edge of the bed. 

"I never knew you are into this?"

Whumpee's face turned even more red. "I-I'm not! Seriously!" They said, trying to convince Caretaker. They knew how ridiculous they looked like right now. 

Caretaker chuckled, pinching Whumpee's cheek lightly. "Then, what's with all these restraints, hm?" 

Whumpee looked down, fingers fidgeting with each other. "It just…feels more comfortable like this…you know? I just don't like that I could move freely when I sleep. I need something to hold me down…"

Caretaker's gaze softened, they stroked Whumpee's hair gently. 

"I-I know how messed up that sounds like! That Whumper still—"

"Shh…it's okay, Sweetheart. I understand, it's not your fault."

Whumpee's eyes widened in disbelief. "It's…not? You won't look down at me?"

Caretaker shook their head, they squeezed Whumpee's hands lightly. "I won't. It's not your fault that Whumper made you like this. In fact, I don't think you need these restraints at all."

Caretaker started undoing all the restraint on Whumpee's body. They put the chain and the handcuff back inside the box. Whumpee looked at them curiously.

But before they could ask, Caretaker pulled them into a tight hug. A very very tight hug that Whumpee couldn't even move even if they wanted to. Caretaker chuckled, "Is this tight enough for you? Would you go to sleep now?"

Whumpee smiled. They nodded as they returned the hug as tightly back to Caretaker. It feels so much more safer like this…

"I will go to sleep now…goodnight, Caretaker."

Caretaker smiled as they kissed the crown of Whumpee's head. 

"Goodnight, Whumpee."

#whump community #whump writing #caretaker #whumpee #drabble #whumplr #whump ideas #caretaker and whumpee