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#tis a very pondered problem

hedgehog-moss · 3 months

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Look, friends.

Do you think this is a post about my adorable baby succulents? No. Look harder.

It's about the GIANT HOLE IN MY FENCE that I had to patch up with cardboard.

I can't blame Pampérigouste for this one; the brutish nature of the damage is not consistent with her usual modus operandi. Pampe outsmarts locks like Arsène Lupin; she doesn't charge at fences like a bull who saw a red cloth. This is Pampe Pondering A Fence Problem:

No, the damage to my fence looked a lot more mindless this time. Boorish. Boar-ish. I'm blaming a boar. A deer would have destroyed the whole thing rather than just the lower half. Note that there is not a single tuft of llama wool on the damaged wire mesh.

(Note no.2: the boar's smile was originally meant to be a tusk but it really just looks like a sardonic smile)

I brought some chicken wire to patch up the hole—but there wasn't enough of it. Then it started raining and I felt persecuted and decided to just cover the hole with cardboard and go have my morning coffee and get back to this later.

This is not an Innocent Pampe post; there is no such thing. My temporary cardboard solution lasted 8 to 10 minutes. I'm not sure exactly when she got out, but by the time I went back outside to repair the fence there was a Pampe-shaped hole in the cardboard.

(Not really; she just kind of lifted or ate a corner then wormed her way through the very small opening. I think.) (See, this is how you recognise a Pampe escape: you're not entirely clear on what went down, you just know there was a llama inside and now there is a llama outside.)

It was still raining and I didn't feel like going after her, plus it felt pointless to bring her back in her pasture before the fence was repaired, so I went in the barn to look for my tools and rummage through leftover pieces of previously-destroyed fences, hoping to find something the right size.

Then I heard Pampelune's hyena shriek, aka the llama alarm call. It was followed by:

horrified chicken screams and frantic feather noises; the soundtrack of a violent fox attack

infuriated barking from Pandolf

very loud panicked braying from Pirlouit

basically, chaos.

I ran outside just in time to see Pampe emerging from the woods at a full gallop, pursued by a bear. I didn't immediately identify the animal that was chasing her as the giant dog that he was, because he was running with a weird gait, with his legs going everywhere like he was frolicking at top speed (I now know that this dog is a puppy that has learnt to run just a few months ago, but that didn't occur to me at the time because this puppy is the size of a calf.)

Pampe was running towards the cardboard through which she had escaped and she managed to squeeze through her small corner hole again (I assume—there were trees blocking my line of sight and I only saw her again once she was in the pasture, running for her life along with the other 2 llamas + donkey.) Meanwhile, the dog didn't see the corner hole and tried to power through the cardboard much like a boar, or was carried away by his momentum and didn't brake in time; I don't know. In any case, when I reached him, he was stuck.

My large piece of cardboard was tied to the fence posts and still holding strong, but the middle was a bit soggy with rain and not too solid, so the dog's head went right through it. The rest of his body didn't.

He could have probably finished breaking the cardboard quite easily, but for some reason he instantly gave up. On life. By the time I got there the dog was half-in and half-out of the pasture and he looked defeated. Which made my piece of cardboard look like a mediaeval beheading apparatus with just a hole for the head.

I went to lock an angry Pandolf in the barn and checked on the chickens along the way (ruffled & offended but fine); I was hoping the dog would figure out how to extricate his head from the cardboard in the meantime. He did not. I tried to call him in a friendly tone (from behind) to encourage him to free his head by stepping back, but the concept of taking a couple of steps backwards in order to extract his head from the hole might as well have been advanced engineering. He clearly had no idea where his head was, where his body was, how to make the two a coherent whole again, and he started whining pitifully.

I untied the rope I had used to attach the cardboard to the fence posts, then wriggled the piece of cardboard a bit to try and free the dog's head. The dog was alarmed by the wriggling and took several steps back—but I didn't manage to hold on to the cardboard so it just moved with the dog. He clumsily ran away, taking the cardboard with him, wearing it around his neck like the world's largest cone of shame.

He immediately got stuck between two trees.

I was starting to find the situation hilarious, but the poor dog did not—he lay down and started making sad broken noises like a malfunctioning dog-robot. He didn't look very threatening but he was still a very big (and stressed) dog so I felt a bit wary of touching his head to help him, and decided to run home to get a box cutter. I figured I could easily rid him of most of the cardboard and leave him with just a soggy cardboard collar that would soon fall apart. I heard my landline phone ringing from afar and ran faster, and it was one of my nearest neighbours, the retired lady who lives on the plateau.

"I've been trying to reach you!! I saw your llama in my garden earlier, I was going to give her a little treat—" (she loves Pampe, for some reason) "—but then my dog saw her too."

I know this woman's dog—he's a tiny thing with fragile nerves who thinks the whole world is out to get him, so I asked anxiously, "Did Pampe scare your dog?" and she said "Oh no! Domino is here with me; but I have a new dog. His name is Texas."

I thought of the gigantic puppy currently sobbing in my woods, held prisoner by two trees, a self-inflicted cone of shame and his total lack of reasoning skills.

"Yes", I said. "I've met Texas."

The old lady asked worriedly if he'd scared Pampe ("Il est un peu zinzin" she said—he's a bit crazy. "I wanted to call him Rex, but then I met him and thought—Texas!!") I told her I was pleased with her dog for scaring Pampe, because she needs to learn that her pasture is her only hope for safety in this cold uncaring world and as soon as she steps out of it she returns to her lowly status as a prey animal. Then I ended the phone call because I was worried both about Texas and about the large hole in my fence. Thankfully all my animals were still terrified and hiding far, far away from Texas.

Texas actually managed to free himself before I attempted to cut the cardboard, but he still thought of me as his saviour and was very happy to follow me through the woods back to his owner's place. Before we left I propped up the cardboard against the damaged fence, and despite the hole in the middle no llamas escaped in my absence; I think the whole area still smelled like Texas and fear.

I'll admit I was initially tempted to leave Texas with his head stuck in the cardboard in a more permanent capacity in order to patch the hole in my fence with this amazing anti-Pampe Cerberus. Like this

(I know this artistic rendering makes my llamas look like frightened carrots and my donkey like a bunny but I will not be taking constructive criticism at this time)

#crawling along #llama drama #i spent an hour at his owner's place eating biscuits and being told all the reasons why texas is ''a bit zinzin''#for example he runs away to the nearest farm to steal the cow feed (pellets) at feeding time #he was caught red-pawed by the farmer and just. stole the entire plastic tub that contained the pellets #and ran back home. holding this very large tub in his mouth and sprinkling cow feed everywhere along the way #this time around his owner must have feared he would come home dragging a bag with pampe inside or something

3K notes · View notes

grugruel · 3 months

Text

Big Iron

Pairings:

bounty hunter!Arthur Morgan x outlaw!f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: She's escaped a robbery, and bounty hunters have been sent out after her. They'd made no problem so far– that said, the notorious Arthur Morgan set upon her trail.

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: Arthur Morgan, pinv sex, rough sex, soft sex ish, lap/bulge-riding, praise, petnames (girl, sweetheart, ma'am), creampie, overstimulation.

AN: 3rd person pov, trying it out. Not yet proofread!

The campfire blazed in the night, casting a warm glow over the small, temporary hideout as smouldering flakes of ash rose in swirls above her.

Her face lit up, the sizzling embers of spent coal entrancing her.

The soaring fires of a bright building shouldered It's way into her mind, stealing space from any other thoughts.

The trees around her rustled. She leaned back against the wall of the overhanging cliff. Sliding down into a sitting position and slanting her head in ponder, slipping deeper into the memory.

Money was all she had needed. But the simple, well practiced heist escalated. Attempted arson had suddenly been added to her list of offences, robbery another one among them. Which she could admit to, and proudly so.

But the fire. . . Now the fire, was not her fault.

And not only was the law after her, but they'd sent out money hungry, bounty hunters aswell. She'd already tied two of them down yesterday, big brutish men they were. All muscle and no brains. Still, they proved quite the nuisances, but wouldn't be a problem anymore. . .

. . .Unless they died of starvation, and then she would indeed be guilty of murder. Lovely! She gritted her teeth at the memory, rolling her eyes interanally.

But she doubted it, seeing as they were curently tied to the fence of the sheriff's office.

Which left only one real threat.

One man, one singular man; a notorious outlaw himself. He was the sheriff's most resent hire. Big, deadly, tall and muscled. From long days of hard work killing and robbing she imagined.

She'd actually seen him in person once, and she could admit, he looked dangerous, and devilishly handsome. The rumors had been right about that, she was only hoping that his volatile reputation along with the Van Der Lind gang's would turn out to be folly.

She shivered at the thought, shaking her to the very bones. If it were from the thought of him or the cool of the night, she did not know. She closed her arms around herself, stroking them for warmth as she pushed the unpleasant thoughts away, her gaze snapping to the treeline beyond. She was back to reality, and suddenly accutely aware of the black darkness that lingered between its stems, but her vision was good and she was quite hidden after all. No one would be sneaking up on her–

'Ma'am.'

From the shadows, a man appeared at the edge of the campfires domain, vaguely illuminated by its warmth. Broad and tall in frame, the deep night clung to his back. His sudden prescence was the only evidence of his arrival, he'd made no sound nor been seen before he'd needed to be.

Her eyes snapped in his direction, widening with recognition, the eerie sense divulged itself to her body. Like poison, it spread quickly, crawling into every blood vessel and turning them ice-cold along its journey.

'Mister' she greeted, doing her damndest to stay calm.

His hat covered his eyes, but the smile he gave her was unmistakable. 'Theres quite the bounty on you girl.' The drawl of his accent sunk into her skin like the warmth from the fire.

'There's no doubtin' that,' she nodded in admittal, slowly moving away from him, 'Although im only worth half of it, I assure you.'

She sat still, eyes meeting his as they poked out beneath his hat. He tilted his head to face hers, regarding her silently. Eyes flickering over her, the way her hair fell over her shoulders, and how her blouse revealed the hills of her chest. '. . . 'S that so?. . .' He took a step closer, the rope in his hands now excruciatingly evident to her.

She got to her feet in one swift motion, hesitantly gesturing for him to stay calm. 'Mister, I'm not a murderer. Crimes I did not commit have been written in my name. The sheriff framed me!' She took a few steps to the left, placing the fire between them.

'I belive ya' ma'am.' His hands pulled on the lasso, adjusting its length. Gripping it roughly from time to time, trigger fingers readying themselves for any sudden movement. 'But the law can be a crooked thing sometimes.' His eyes narrowed in on her, then shrugged nonchalantly. 'But a bounty 's still a bounty girl.'

The birds sang above them, and the world blurred around her, her knees suddenly week. And unfortunately for her, he would be there to catch her when she fell. In a sense too literal for her liking.

'And I can say the same for myself ma'am, I'm a bad man. . .' His voice imposed, yet, the gravely tone vibrated perfectly well in her ears.

Gulping her nervousity, she assessed her options. . . And then ran.

Trees rushed past in peripheral whirls as she made her way along the cliff wall. Rope flexed behind her, threads wringing against eachother as it was swung and thrown with a woosh.

The air caressed her cheeks, pulling tears from her eyes and whistling in her ears. She gave it all she had, but it wasn't enough to stop the lasso from capturing her with deadly accuracy. It fell over her shoulders and tightened around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides.

The rope pulled taunt– and the world stopped moving for a short second, with a yank, her body whipped forward and her feet was swept from under her– then just as sudden, it sped up again.

As a tree cut down for its timber, she fell. The ground rushing up to greet her face as she stumbled to the ground with a hard thud. She panted, smelling the earth and feeling the wet grass tickle her face as she struggled against her entanglement; wriggling and thrashing like a stranded fish.

Well-used leather chaps groaned behind her as he stalked closer, winding the rope up as he did. Its sound of hot friction against fabric made her stumache churn. She rolled onto her back to get a better layout of the situation. And there he stood. Just by her feet, looming over her. With his back to the fire it cast a glow around him, framing the big man as he filled her sight. Fear and desire fought for the helm, conflicting her mind terribly.

He crouched down, bending over her as he circled the rope around her, securing his bounty tightly. He grabbed the knot and pulled her up diagonally, pulling her flush against his body so he could level her head with his. '. . .And I've done bad things.' He whispered, lips brushing against her ear. A dull pulse appeared where there ought to be no pulse. She screwed her eyes shut, lust for this man was the last thing she should be feeling. But oh. . . How his breath raised goosebumps, having it spread over her skin like wildfire.

He straightened his legs and stood back, taking her with him while keeping her close to his chest.

Her breath fanned over his lips as they stood a mere inch apart, one bound and the other free. A smirk made its way onto his lips, his hands sliding along the tied rope until they were at her waist, and in one strong motion threw her over his shoulder.

She yelped, 'You brute!' kicking wildy in hopes of getting free. But one of his arms circled around her legs and gripped the back of her thigh to keep them still, while he laid the other on the small of her back to stop her from falling. 'You keep your hands to yourself Mister!' She shouted, struggling against his bullish strength.

'Yes, ma'am.' He assured as he began walking, not paying her futile thrashing much mind.

She cleared her throat and huffed, expecting more of a reaction. She didn't quite know what to do in this situation, she hadnt planned this far ahead. She didn't think she'd ever be properly cought. 'Well, good.' She said curtly, calming herself. Being a nuisance and making the situation worse would be a bad idea, and she'd not made any progress nonetheless, his grip was solid steel. She'd have to settle on feeling his strong back beneath her instead and revel in the feeling of his hand on her thigh.

He stomped out the campfire before moving to where he'd hidden his horse, 'Sittin' or layin'?' He asked, being nice enough to hand her to options of sharing his saddle or to be stored over his horses ass.

She huffed, 'What a gentleman, take a guess Mister.' She muttered.

He nodded, 'Sittin' with me it is.' his hands moved to her waist, easily transfering her from his shoulder to the saddle. She scoffed for the sake of scoffing, eyes narrowing as she looked down on him, and if it had the power to, her look would certainly have killed him. 'Quite presumtions of you.'

With a low chuckle and a shake of his head, he gripped the saddle before climbing on. Placing his hands on either side of it, on hand on the pommel and the other on the cantel. Which just so happened to be between her thighs, and just behind her ass. Almost grazing her on both sides as he braced himself against it, eyes meeting hers with a satisfied smirk, 'Much more attitude from ya' girl and I'll have to take meassures.'

Shock sprung itself on her, feeling dizzy all over again. The knuckle of his thumb was an inch away from brushing against her cunt. Her eyes widened at the fact, and the implications his words carried. Her loins burned, it took everything in her power to stop from rocking her hips forward. But she simply cleared her throat and neutralised her expression, 'Id like to see you try.' And faced away from him, turning her nose upward.

He climbed onto the horse, placing himself close intil her and leaned over her shoulder. 'I will if you let me ma'am.' He whispered in her ear, and then spurred his horse. Shivers shook her at that, her entire body vibrating with a dull sense of need.

They rode silently for a long while, and she wanted to sass him, she wanted it terribly. But was both afraid and hoping he'd take action, just as he'd stated. The miles wound on, oh it felt never ending. Especially with the man behind her, rutting his hips against her with every step of the horse. He was a blessing against the cold, but pure torture as his heat soaked into all the wrong spots of her body.

But finally, it came time to rest. They'd ridden nonstop from the morning of her capture to the next night. If that werent enough, a heatwave had been raging the entirety of the day aswell, and the setting of the sun had barely made a difference.

He set her on the ground, binding her feet and hands before starting on the camp. Making quick work of the fire and tent as she sat down on a rock, silently watching the man work, and very much enjoying the show.

His skin was slick with sweat, much like herself. The cool light of the moon and the warmth of the fire made him glisten in every sense of the word, and oh. . . the way he toiled away.

He had removed his vest and chaps as he got to work, then rolled up the sleeves of his shirt which now stuck to his skin. A nuisance for him to be sure, but a dream for her, she could practically see the muscles of his chest rippling.

A drop of sweat trickled down her temple, tickling her skin and drawing focus away from the view. Her eyes widened as she realised how she stared at the stranger and shook her head, attempting to clear it.

God, focus. She needed to hatch a plan. Running would do her no good, he would be too fast. He wouldn't accept bribes either, and was very hard to persuade. No attempts had been succesful so far, he didnt even want the money she'd stashed away.

At that thought, unavoidably, abashedly her eyes snapped to him as he pulled his shirt off and reached for a new one in his saddlebag. She clenched her jaw to keep it from falling, his strong chest was adorned by hair, trailing down his abdomen and disappearing under. . . The waist of his pants. In that moment, she wanted nothing else then to see where that trail ended. She wanted to trace her fingers along it, or perhaps lick it, all the way down. . .

Her jaw began aching, she fought herself to tear her eyes away from him. Managing to direct her gaze at the ground instead, waiting for him to put a fresh shirt on.

After a short while, she dared to look up again. He'd pulled a log to opposite side of the fire and sat down, a cigarette placed between hid lips and was breathing in a long drag of it. Tilting his head back, he released the cloud of smoke with a sigh.

Her eyes followed his movements intently, studying them as she hoped that perhaps he'd notice her and offer one–

'Want one girl?' He nodded toward her, gesturing with the match box.

'I do, yes.' She answered expectantly, holding her hands out for him to untie.

But to her surprise, he scoffed, then stod and walked around the fire. He crouched on one knee infront of her, his arm bracing against the other. 'You'll have to do better than that.' He said, only a feets distance between them. Then picked the cigarette from his lips and offered it to her, holding it an inch from her mouth. She hesitated, observing him with disdain, 'Go on.' He nodded. But reluctant to follow his orders, she met his eyes, making sure he knew how unhappy she was about it, and then leaned in despite herself. Closing her lips around the cigarette, she sucked the toxic smoke smoke into her lungs like it were air, keeping her eyes locked on his. She swore something glint in his eyes as he studied her pouting lips. A plan struck her suddenly, but–

'Good girl.' He hummed.

Again, shock gripped her. The praise rose right to her head, sending waves of heat cascading through her body. Then she coughed, the smoke settling wrong in her airways. She pulled back, letting him retrieve his cigarette as she regained her composure. 'You alright there sweetheart?' He asked with a grin, and patted her back before replacing the cig between his lips.

'Fine.' She hissed, still reeling from. . . Everything. 'You got anything stronger? Whiskey, bourbon?'

He nodded, and pulled out and old bottle of bourbon from his bag, 'Could you?' She held her hands out to him again.

He studied her, stroking his stubbled jaw in thought. 'Got somethin' for me then?'

Insinuations led her down a path of all kinds of possibilities, but she instead opted for a simple, 'Please?' Instead, attempting it cheapishly.

His hands slipped down to his hip, pulling the knife from its hilt, 'Thats more like it.' He mumbeled with his cigarette clad lips.

And cut the rope around her hands and feet, stopping at the rope around her waist and met her eyes. 'Try anythin'. . .' He raised his eyebrows, and lowered his voice to a mocking tone '. . . run, hurt me' his eyes narrow as a corner of his lip tugs. 'And there'll be a steep price to be payed.'

Swallowing, she nodded enthusiastically, 'I just wan't a sliver of freedom before im locked up, you could understand that right?'

He nodded, 'S'pose so. . .' And began cutting, '. . . difference is girl' the rope snapped and slid down her sides, 'I'd never get caught.' He gathered the rope from her sides, his fingers accidentally brushing against her hips.

Her breath hitched, and her skin tingled desperatley for more of him as fluttering wingbeats set of in her stumache. Such a small thing, turning into such a big reaction.

He cleared his throat, handing her the bottle as he threw the rope into the fire. He sat down on another log, not as far away form her this time. Leaned back against the tree behind it and spread his legs wide. His bulge was enough to make her salivate, 'It's not easy you know, for a woman like me, when there's men like you Mr Morgan.'

Arthur quriked an eyebrow in question, 'You know me?'

'I know of you.' She corrected, taking a big swig of the fluid, then handed it back to him for him to do the same.

He nodded silently, a sigh escaping under his breath. 'All bad I guess.' He took another swallow, not to bothered by her statement. Probably used to hearing it by now.

She shook her head, taking the bottle and another gulp. 'Many of the ladies say you're handsome.'

At this he looked up at her, chuckling. 'Well, I don't know 'bout that.'

'It's true. . .' another sip, followed by a hiccup. 'They say you can be quite the gentleman too.'

His eyes bore into hers, his tone serious but expression joking as he humours her. 'Depends on the lady.' He reaches for the bottle, and she stands up to give it to him. Walking closer, she hands it over, fingers brushing against eachother in the motion.

His eyes meet hers, and she brushes her hand under his chin, 'You know what else they say Mr Morgan?'

'No, what do they say about me sweetheart?' A smirk tugged at his lip, the liquor starting to affect the both of them.

'That you're good in bed. . .' She steps between his thighs, her hand falling from his chin to his neck, scratching at the nape gently.

He hums appreciatively, then takes another sip of the bourbon and sets the bottle aside. His hands reach for her, coming to a rest on either side of her thighs, pulling her closer to him and squeezing them at his pleasure. 'They're only rumours girl.' He tilts his head backward against tree to get a better look at her, eyes fastening on her lips.

With her other hand, she hikes her skirt up, revealing her thighs as she step over his legs, one at a time, slowly sinking down onto his lap as his hands automatically slide to her hips.

She placed herself on top of his bulge, and he grunted from the pressure. The pulse within her began strumming at her nerves, turning them jittery.

'I doubt it Mr Morgan.' She whispered, 'Women do not lie to eachother of such things.' his bulge beneath her grew harder, luring a hidden smile from her, but she wills it from her lips so that it only reaches her eyes. 'They say you're rough, or gentle. Dependin' on your mood.' As she says that, she swears she detects the faintest red creep up his cheeks. Arthur Morgan. . . Blushing? Now, she couldnt help herself as the smile reaches her lips. Hes quite endearing.

The man cleared his throat, acting as if it had never happened. 'That's told of me in everythin' I do girl.' He smirks, the grip on her hips hardening, knuckles turning white.

'But you're always sweet 'n caring.' She continues, her own words were building the lust within her, making the pulse ever stronger. It was becoming hard to focus. She needed to release some of the pressure building inside her. Evaluating the consequences, she rocked her hips downward. Grinding into his bulge.

Simultaneously, she whimpered and he hissed. She leaned against him, her lips brushing against his ear as she nuzzles his cheek. 'Apparently, It's also true what they say 'bout ridin' cowboys–'

'Girl.' He interrupted with a chuckle, 'I know what you're doin'.' He breathes, 'Seducin' me.' With the tight grip on her hips, he helps rock her hips against him, the rough fabric of his pants grinding against her core.

With a gasp, one of her hands shoots out to burry itself in his hair. Then she leans into him, the other hand grabbing his shirt for support as she rests her head against his shoulder. He nuzzles his cheek against hers, and mutters, 'You use your sweet talkin', then get me drunk 'n run off, that your plan girl?'

Her eyebrows furrow, hips grinding down harder, her ruts becoming more frantic, needy. She screws her eyes shut from the copious amounts of pleasure washing over her. All she can do to answer him is hum in admittal as shes straining hard to even stay contious.

He chuckles. 'Easy girl. . .' His voice commanding, low and raspy as he slows her hips, but keeps the pace hard. 'Use your words.' He orders, loving the way shes falling apart for him.

She nods hastily, hoping it would satisfy his request. But he pinches her hip through the fabric of her skirt, and her eyebrows furrow in pain, however not having the energy to even make a sound. Her thoughts were a blur, she couldn't tell what to keep secret anymore, 'Yes– yes. . .' She sighs, the coil inside her tightening impossibly hard.

'Mmh, thought so.' He breathed, the words curt on his tongue, but lust evident in his voice. His hands leave her hips, one arm snaking around her waist, his hand placing itself at the small of her back to push her against him.

Then he stands, drawing a whine from her. She did not quite understand what was going on as the loss of movement gradually undid all the progress she'd made. 'Mr Morgan?' She inquires, hesitantly wrapping her legs around his hips.

He walks them to the tent, 'Arthur.' He corrects, carrying her with ease. He pushes the flap to the side and kneels, bending over her as he lays her on the ground.

'Arthur.' She smiles, worry seeping out as she realised he was making them more comfortable.

His knees slide apart, hooking her legs upon them as they spread. Her hands shoot up, grabbing onto the collar of his shirt to pull him closer, close enough for his lips to hover over hers. Their eyes meet, 'Please. . .' She whimpers, one hand sliding downward. '. . .Please.' She says again, fingertips trailing down his abdomen, suddenly grabbing hold of his bulge with a firm hand, his member rock hard. 'Outlaw or gentleman?' She asked, smiling a wicked smile.

He grunts, lips brushing over hers. 'Neither.' And grabs her wrist, pulling her hand away from his crotch, catching the other in the motion. His free hand reached over her head, and the hauntingly familiar groaning of strong rope sounded above her. She shook her head, 'Arthur, please. . .' Panic moved into her voice, the repeated words carrying a completley different meaning this time.

He held both wrists with one hand and tied them together with the other, the rope burning her skin in the motion.

She cried out unhappily.

But he chuckles, in a matter of factly kind of way. Stroking the burn gently as ge corrects her, 'Should've behaved.' And when done, he sits back. Observing her as she lies tied up, legs spread infront of her, circled around his hips. Much to his dismay, he wouldn't be enjoying the sight as much as he wanted to. 'It's late.' He grunts curtly, then stands and walks toward the flap.

'Arthur. . .' She pleads, trying one last time.

He turns his head just enough to see her in his peripheral, 'Get some sleep, you got a long day ahead of you tomorrow.' He flashes his eyebrows smugly, 'Night, sweetheart.' Then exits the tent without another word.

She huffed, unbelivable. Nuzzling herself into the bedroll.

Sweetheart. . . But how could she be annoyed when he calls her such a thing. She dreamed herself away, with imagines of a shirtless Arthur Morgan and the feeling of him inside her. But she'd not given up, make no mistake, he would fall asleep and she would leave. . .

The night carried on and the temperature finally began dropping, a shiver shook her pleasantly. It was a welcome change. Her body strained as she raised her neck to get a look of the outside. Through the flap she saw Arthur, sitting, snoring, hat covering his face as he leaned back against the tree he'd previously been sitting on.

Now, she needed to get rid of her restraints. Rolling over, she crawled toward the opening, her eyes never leaving Mr Morgans sheathed knife.

The fire had been reduced to embers at this point. Crackling and sizzling lowly as the cool moisture in the air riddled the grass with dewdrops, dampening her hands and skirt as she approached her goal. She sat on her knees, then moved to grab the knife carefully, gnelty sliding it out. The sound of it unlatching nearly had her yelp.

No movement in Arthur.

Shallow breaths, she exhales. Relief flooding through her begoee she began working the knife against her entangled wrists with her fingertips. Carefully regarding the vicious man for any signs of waking. But her thoughts slid, perhaps, if he caught her, he would be kind. Or would he be angry? She could truly not decide werther which reaction she'd most prefer–

The rope snapped, and exhilaration filled her. Gaze snapping between her free hands and the hunter, imagining her prospects. She stood quietly, holding her skirt tightly around her to keep the fabrics from rustling. Slowly, knife still in hand, she backed away. On careful tiptoed steps she faded into the night, the fire dwindling in the distance.

The darkness made it hard for her to see much of anything, at its height the tree-crowns silhouette were visible against the blue summer sky. Branches moved, leaves swished in the gentle wind. She grew paranoid, head snapping in every direction, reacting to every little noise around–

A branch broke behind her, she jumped, turning around so fast she almost ripped– a Buck. She froze, a god damned buck? She had expected it ro be Arthur, but she seemed to have ogtten the better of him. The animal looked at her, ears twitching as it chewed on grass– suddenly hopping away. She sighed and turned back.

Only to collide with something hard. Her thoughts raced, she knew, she knew. She looked up, eyes tracing along his body until they met his, half hidden under his hat. Reflexes prepared her to run, but before she had as much as taken a step back, a hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her back to him. Again, she thumped into his strong chest. Held against him with the familiar iron grip, she fought, as usual; but to no avail, as usual. He snaked an arm around her waist to hinder her from breaking free, yet she kicked and punched violently with her free limbs. But it made no dent in the man. He couldn't even spare her a reaction as he half carried, half dragged her back into the low light of the burnt out fire. He spun her around and pushed her up against the cliff wall, grabbing the wrist closest to him and pinning it above her head. 'I warned you, girl.' He snarled, the look in his eyes doing just as good a of job pinning her to the wall as his hands. He reaches for the second–

When something sharp digs into the soft flesh of his throat, he froze. His chest was the only thing moving between the two of them, heaving breaths of annoyance.

'Thrid times the charm.' She smirked.

He raised his eyebrows and chuckled, 'That so?' His voice mocking, and before she could comprehend what had happened, he'd captured both wrists with one hand and slammed them above her head and into the wall. And the knife had appeared in his free hand, she noticed this because it was now held against her own throat. 'Repeat that for me girl.'

Her lips struck a thin line as she attempted a neutral expression, although fuming on the inside. She shrugged her shoulders, 'No.' Was all she said, but stubborn in tone.

He nodded, looking her up and down, studying the buttons on her blouse. 'Ought to teach you a lesson sweetheart.'

She cleared her throat, deciding that to act nonchalant was her best option. 'Yeah? What ya' gunna do, huh? Ravage me?' She asked half joking, but still hoping there'd be some truth to it.

At this, the corner of his mouth turned up, a wicked grin developing on his lips. 'I just might.' He breathed, tracing the tip of the knife downward, along her collarbone and then along the front of her blouse, coming to a stop at the first button. She gulped, feeling the knife poke through the thin fabric against her chest, making goosebumps run amock in reaction and the pulse reheating in her core. He leaned forward, pushing his body against hers until there was no room left between them, his head hovering just above the crook of her neck. 'May I do with you as I please?'

This was it, the sweet balance between a hardened outlaw and a tender gentleman. 'Yes– yes, Arthur please.' Her voice near a cry, it took everything in her to control her tone–

Her blouse ripped, from top to bottom he cut it open, and she wasn't wearing a brasier. Her chest laid bare before him, and he groaned happily at the sight.

With her go-ahead he wasted no time, he let go of her hands and cut her skirt too. Cutting a slit as far as he reached with the knife then threw it to the side, and the tore the rest. She gasped, every nerve in her body on edge. In an instant, his lips were upon hers. Hungry, hungry lips devouvered her as hands roamed her body, groping and grabbing wherever they got purchase. Her own hands greedily searching for a steady hold in his hair, she grabbed a fistful and pulled gently. He moaned at the feeling, such a beautiful sound. His hands slid over her breasts, squeezing them, then pushed the remains of her blouse off of her shoulders.

Except for her undergarments, she stood completley exposed for him. She could practically feel him salivating when he cupped her clothed mound, and finding her clit with expertise and rub it through the fabric.

She tore herself free from his kisses, she had to breathe. A deep gasp brought oxygen to ger lungs once again, allowing her to whimperand moan in equal measure as he worked her clit. The pressure made her knees week, she wriggled, attempting to rut against his hand. But she was too unsteady to make progress. Noticing her difficulties, his other hand slid behind her back and held her steady. Allowing her to chase her pleasure. And left with no lips to kiss, he latched onto her neck instead, to suck at her sweet spot.

She hummed appreciatively, unable to keep a big smile from her lips as pulses of pleasure washed through her. She slid her hands from his hair and unbuttoned his shirt, running her fingers along his strong chest and abdomen, gingerly feeling all of him as her hands worked themselves lower. Finally unbuttoning his pants. She did no longer have to wonder were his happy trail dissapeared too, she bit her lip. He was huge. She stuck her hand into his pants and stroked him eagerly. 'Need ya' Arthur, please.' She panted.

He let out a strained grunt against her shoulder, and his hand left her clit. She whined, but didn't have to stay displeased for long.

Both his hands slid down her sides, and she tried to breathe steadily, but it proved hard. The feeling of his calloused hands on her skin was too heavenly. Suddenly, he lifted her. Pinning her against the cliff wall with his arms and the weight of his body, allowing her to wrap her arms and legs around him. She hadn't known, but he had wordlessly obided her request. He pulled her garments to the side, and line himself up with her entrance. 'Sure about this?' He asked, a final reassurance.

'Yes.' She purred, no hesitation in her answer.

And so he pushed inside her, the sheer size of him was making her want to scream–

'Good girl.' He moaned, and directed his eyes to hers. She repressed a moan, biting her lip hard to hinder it as heat flashed through her. It was two words, yet she could've come undone from them alone, when said by him alone.

He gazed upon her softly, one of his hands left her thigh to gently stroke a strand of hair from her face. She smiled, and so did he. He was just giving her time to adjust, but her heart soared at the simple gesture.

God how could she feel so strongly for a stranger?

Her hands retangled in his hair as Arthur slid out of her, she furrowed her brows– but in a rough, quick thrust. He shoved himself back inside of her, filling her to the brim. He set a cruelly pleasurable, unrelenting pace. Any trace of gentleness gone.

She felt the pressure tightening within her, building snd building until she was on the verge of coming once again. Her hands sunk to his back, clawing and scratching because she did not know what else to do, he was too much, too good, too big. He overstimulated her with his mere prescence. And he knew when her walls tightened around him, adding extra pressure onto his already throbbing member. 'You close girl?' He grunted, his gruff voice breathed against her ear and his hand squeezing her thigh roughly beneath her. God it was sublime.

'Mhm. . . So- close.' She murmurs, her words coming out jagged as her body rocks with Arthurs thrusts. Pushed closer to her release with each thrust, once again, she shut her eyes and spots speckled her eyelids. Breathing turns frantic, she could no longer tell who was who as they mixed, moans and curses spilling from them both.

With a flash of pleasure, searing hot it soured through her, making her whimper uncontrollably. His thrusts slow, holding her securely, caressing her face and kissing her lips as she rides out her high. 'You're alright girl.' He breathes reassuringly, 'Well done Sweetheart.'

Overstimulated tears roll from her eyes, 'Oh Arthur, you sweet, sweet man.' She sighs happily, and he comes a mere second later. His seed filling her and oozing out.

They'd clean themselves tomorrow, since tiredness plagued them currently. He backed away from the wall and she clung to him, desperatley not wanting to part with him.

He carried her back to the tent, this time not bothering to tie her up as they laid down facing eachother. Arthur, grabbed her chin between his index and forefinger. Studying her thuroughly before they finally succumbed to sleep. She could escape if she wanted to, he wouldn't stop her this time. Her plan had worked, they both knew it. But they felt something else too, and they both knew it.

Hooded eyes blinked, blushing at Arthurs intent eyes and searching gaze. Her eyelids weighed down by exhaustion, It'd been a long few days, and before she knew it–

The light dawns, rays of dusty sunlight shone through the flap of their tent as the morning wakes. Bringing warmer tempratures and calm birdsong.

He opens his eyes, and immediately meet hers. She'd just been admiring him. 'Surprised?' She asked, biting her lip and stopping herself from reaching out to touch him.

He smiles, 'Naw, I was hopin' I'd wake up to you girl.'

#arthur murgan #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan imagine #rdr2 #rdr2 smut #rdr2 arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 smut #rdr2 fanfic #rdr smut #red dead redemption #arthur morgan fanfic

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autisticlancemcclain · 9 months

Text

parts one two

———

Lance is feeling remarkably better at dinner. Coran wasn’t sure about the plan, at first, but Lance was very convincing, so he relented. It helped that Coran also is not fond of needless animal murder, which is why he’s Lance’s favourite.

(Well, currently. Usually everyone is tied for his favourite, but no one else had his back today at the meeting, so they’re all currently tied for second-favourite. But they’ll have a chance to redeem themselves after this mission is over.)

He and Coran are the last to arrive to dinner, predictably, so Lance doesn’t waste a second.

“I am now on your side,” he announces as soon as he walks through the door. “You’re all correct, we should get this alliance at all cost, and murder the beast in cold blood. I am completely on board with your plan and happy with all the innocent blood about to be on my hands.”

The team, also predictably, stare at him in shocked silence. Lance sits primly in his chair, accidentally-on-purpose elbowing Mullet in the head, and immediately shoves food goo in his mouth so no one can ask any follow-up questions.

Also predictably, that does not work.

“…There were a lot of contradicting words in that announcement,” Mullet says. (Lance is currently very mad at him and as such he has been demoted from fond nicknames and even his regular name so he will be Mullet until Lance wants to bite him — angrily, angrily, not the way he usually wants to bite him — less.)

“Ooooh, SAT word,” Lance responds, just to be a jackass.

(It works. Keith reaches over to attempt to flick him, but unluckily for him Lance is very used to that reaction to his particular brand of annoying, and so Mullet falls off his chair due to Lance kicking it out from under him before his flick lands).

“So,” Lance says, as Mullet curses at him from the floor, “does anyone else have any comments or concerns?”

There is a very heavy, loaded silence, before Shiro, Allura, and Hunk sigh in tandem.

“Yeah, you’re not going to be leaving my sight,” Hunk says.

“Agreed,” Shiro mutters, head in his hands. “Sorry, buddy, but at the moment I can’t trust you not to go rogue. I was going to let you stay on the castle with Coran, but I no longer think that’s viable. You’ll have to stay with me for the mission.”

“That’s fine,” Lance says, working very hard to shove the smugness out of his voice. He thinks he does a pretty decent job. “You’re all dead to me anyways, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Christ,” Pidge mumbles into her goo.

Allura pinches the bridge of her nose. Lance hears her muttering ‘I signed up for this’ over and over under her breath.

The rest of the meal passes in tense silence. When Lance finishes, he stands up abruptly, tucking his chair back in with enough force that he might as well have thrown it, and washes his dishes with such vigour that he actually has to slow down so they don’t break. He then stalks to the door, pauses, and faces the team (except Coran, who is visibly fighting back a smile and avoiding eye contact — hehe, Lance knew he’d get him fully on board eventually).

“I am going to go to bed, for my final night as a man with a soul,” he says. “I’m sure the rest of you soulless individuals will have no problem going right to sleep tonight, but I will be tossing and turning for the whole time, as I ponder how many of my moral codes I will be breaking tomorrow, so I’m going to get an early start so I can squeeze out as much rest as possible. Have a wonderful rest of your evening.”

He walks calmly out of the room until he’s out of eyesight, then sprints full speed to Coran’s room, resisting the heavy urge to jump on the man’s bed to expel some nervous energy. Instead, he meticulously reorganizes the advisor’s bookshelf. (He gets pretty into it, honestly. Coran has a veritable rainbow of colours decorating the covers of his collection, and Lance loves to go ham with the colour coding. That’s the best part of the ‘tism, he reckons.)

“I had those ordered in a specific way, you know.”

Lance practically jumps to his feet at the teasing remark, turning to face Coran so fast he makes himself a little dizzy.

“Did it work?! Are they suspicious?! Are they ready to velcro me to one of them so I can’t run off?!”

“It did work, you evil mastermind. They’re all convinced you need to be under constant surveillance. They’ve even created shifts so you’re always being watched.”

Lance cheers.

See, his plan is really quite simple. No matter what he says or does, the team is never going to fully trust him with this mission. And understandably so — Lance has made his position quite clear. It would be foolish of them to think that Lance wouldn’t try anything. No matter what, they’re going to be wary of what Lance is doing.

But Lance was counting on that, you see.

He fully expected to be under watch. He also knew that they expected him to fight them, tooth and nail, the whole way. But if he subverted their expectations, just a little — if he said he was on board with the plan while making it very clear that he had no intention of following anyone’s orders — well, now they’re paranoid.

And if there’s one thing paranoia does, it’s make you sloppy.

Tomorrow, they’ll be so focused on watching Lance, so focused on thwarting whatever potential mutiny that they think he has cooked up, that they’ll be forgiving if Lance’s mannerisms are a bit… off. They’ll expect it, even. And they’ll spend so much energy on watching Lance and planning for his acting out that they won’t notice if Coran, up in the castle, isn’t sending a constant barrage of cheery check-ins on the comms.

And, most importantly, they will not be investigating the beast very closely at all.

The actual plan is very simple, with all that information in mind. All Lance has to do tonight is record and set up some of Coran’s regular check-ins to sound off during the day. Then Coran is going to exercise his shapeshifting ability — he’s going to turn into Lance for the day, as shifty and suspicious as possible.

And Lance? Lance is going to sneak out the castle after everyone’s already gone, find the beast before they do, and solve the problem his own damn self.

After all, that’s what the stupid dignitary wanted.

If you wish to sign an alliance, the paladin must handle the problem himself, the dignitary had said. Lance smirks to himself.

That’s not a problem.

Not a problem at all.

———

part four

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maybeitsalivescribbles · 2 months

Text

VH - Divide And Conquer

(Tw: attempted torture)

“I can't believe we finally have caught the legendary Vampire Hero”, said Villain.

The two Heroes glanced at each other and shrugged. The taller one frowned.

“Legendary ?” he repeated.

Villain looked at him with interest.

“Oh yes,” he said. “Many have fallen before your might, Vampire Hero. At least two or three of my opponents are behind the bars because of you.”

“Two or three and you call that legendary ? You're easy to impress.”

The other Hero was nervously following the exchange. Compared to his companion, he seemed much younger and frailer. His eyes were shinier and shinier with tears that did not quite fall. When at least it looked like he couldn't take it anymore, he stepped between the two, saying:

“Stop ! It's my fault ! It's all my fault if we got caught. Hurt me, not him!”

Villain gave the young Hero an amused look:

“Why is that little thing with you, Vampire Hero ?”

His interlocutor shrugged:

“You know. He's new. I'm supposed to show him the ropes or something. You have to teach them some way or some other. ”

“Is that so.”

Villain lift the smaller Hero's chin with a finger:

“My dear little one, how can I hurt him ? Many have tried and many have failed. I'll just make him have a nice little sunbath so he's neutralized. But since you've asked so nicely, I will take care of you.”

“Surely there must be another way ! I'm sure you can do better. I-I'm sure that deep inside, you're a little pure of heart.”

“ You heard your protector, you need to learn.”

He grabbed Hero by the arm, who turned his head toward the man who accompanied him. The latter just shrugged.

“Do you think he cares ?” simpered Villain to his ear. “Oh, he doesn't. He might be on your side, but Vampire Hero is evil. You're better off with me.”

Hero whimpered but didn't resist as he was dragged into the stairs.

“There are seventeen steps. Do you hear the sound they make ? There's an echo, so the prisoners down there can hear me coming. It’s all in the anticipation.”

In a sweet voice, he kept describing their surroundings while they were both descending into his torture room. During all the way, the small one didn’t dare fight back. He soon found himself tied up to a chair, helplessly squirming, his eyes giving a pleading look more than ever.

“So, young Hero,” purred Villain, “as it is your first time, I will make you a favor.”

“R-Really ?”

“Yes. Do you see all these instruments in the shelf in front of you ?”

Hero looked at the whips, the canes and the nails, and shuddered so violently it almost looked fake.

“I'm going to let you choose one among them. If not, I will choose, and you won't like it very much if I do.”

“You don't have to do this ! I-You just will make Vampire Hero angry and you don't want to !”

“You think he will rescue you?”

“I know he will.”

“How touching. But for now you're mine. So make your choice, before I get impatient.”

Hero pondered for a few seconds, then whispered:

“Um – the taser ? Yes – the taser, please.”

“If you ask so nicely.”

Villain delicately took the black rectangular shape in his hand and switched it on.

“Why, if I might ask ? Do you think it will hurt less than the others ? Let me prove you wrong.”

The half-hour that happened then looked much more pleasant for Villain than for Hero. And yet, as time passed, Villain felt somewhat uneasy. That had nothing to do with torturing a man, of course. He liked the thrashing, he liked the begging, he liked the naive faith of the innocent who was certain that he could be saved. Maybe that had something to do with the other Hero. While Villain was amusing himself, Vampire Hero was out of his sight. He might have been careless. He glanced at his watch, but Hero making a rather unconvincing whimper forced him to turn his head.

Perhaps that was the problem. Villain was used to the sounds of pain – the gasps, the moans, the howls, the cries and the pleas. He loved all of them without distinction, and of course he knew that they were a little different with each person. It was a familiar melody that Hero was singing, but thinking about it, it was slightly out of tune, and it got progressively worse. It was getting on his nerves. These rookies these days – they didn't even now how to scream right.

“Let's have a break,” he said.

“Oh well, I guess I’ve held that long.”

Villain raised an eyebrow, amused:

“Getting defiant, are we ? Careful, you sound like you’re disappointed.”

He stared into his prisoner’s eyes, hoping to get a look of terror, but all he got was a frown. Hero...genuinely looked displeased.

“Sorta”, he said. “In my time I didn’t have this kind of toys to play with. I guess having a little blue spark in your hand looks fun, but that doesn’t look like it does that much damage.”

“In your time ? What are you talking ab- wait.”

Hero tilted his head. For a moment he sounded impassible, but he broke soon enough. A loud, loud laugh resonated in the room, while the prisoner was squirming in his chair for a very different reason than before. His way of moving betrayed no pain at all.

“Are you shitting me,” said Villain, whose voice was now icy.

Hero grinned:

“You tell me, pal. I can’t believe you swallowed my “pure of heart” bullshit. I was laying it on so thick.”

Villain glared at him.

“Not that you were especially subtle either”, Hero added. “Oooh, the anticipation !” Do that again?”

Villain stood up and went to the door as fast as self-respect allowed. There was no one left under the sunlight. The guards were on the ground, unconscious.

“How -”

He turned back. Hero was now standing up, neglectfully throwing away the remnants of the straps that held him a moment before. He dramatically exclaimed, a hand on his heart:

“Oh no, he got away ! My, my. Poor little me. Tell you what, though. If Vampire Hero were so legendary, you should have bothered to know what he looks like. I didn’t mean to pass for someone else, but you’ve so graciously given me the opportunity.”

“It can’t be ! How could the – the other have escaped then ?”

“I hate to break it to you, but they are several heroes with super strength.”

Villain blushed and stayed quiet, his lips pursed. Hero picked up the taser, looked at it with curiosity, and switched it on. With a smile – a very worrying smile - he got closer.

“Hey, I warned you. I told you that Vampire Hero was going to rescue me.”

Vampire Hero is a recurring character. His job is to troll current villains. Check the Vampire Hero Masterlist or Tag for more snippets with him.

Or back to Hero x Villain Masterlist.

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ginnsbaker · 7 months

Text

what comes of telling the truth (or even part of it)

Summary: The guilt, more than anything, is what Yelena wishes she could wash away. She wishes she could stop the cycle, stop using Kate as a balm for her wounds. She wishes she could face her head-on, with honesty. But in this very moment, all she can do is rinse, lather, and hope that someday, she finds the strength to break free from her own destructive patterns.

Word count: 10.7K+ | Pairing: Yelena x Kate, Past Yelena x Reader | Tags: Light angst, fluff-ish

A/N: This is for all of my ILGOSS readers. Requested by anon:

Wait may I ask for a short story or one-shot on how Yelena and Kate ended up together? I'm still kinda curious tbh lol. Kate's patience is applaudable, but I can't help but think what if Kate is just a rebound

I had fun writing this oneshot because I have a soft spot for the sex-first-feelings-later trope :P

Masterlist

It's not stalking if you just happen to be in the same row of seats at the same event. Even if, for instance, you're based in New York and the event is in Chicago, and attending isn't exactly obligatory.

Right?

Kate Bishop insists it's not. She's read numerous discussions on Reddit about stalking, and none seemed to describe a situation like hers.

The thing is, she didn't exactly think it all through. Just like any rich girl prone to making impulsive decisions when money isn't an issue, she snagged the first flight to Chicago upon hearing about a chance to see Yelena again.

She didn't factor in that Yelena had upped and left with only a text as a goodbye. She didn't ponder over the fact that Yelena seldom replied to her messages since moving to a different state, if she even did at all. Had Kate truly heeded these signs, she wouldn't be anywhere near the front row where Yelena sits, nonchalant with a passive countenance. She wouldn't have spent the last half hour or so ruminating on how to approach her. Instead, she'd be back in the Hamptons, sipping on Piña Coladas without a concern, because that's what Bishops customarily do on their weekends.

Except, reading the situation has never been her strong suit. She's always been forthright with her feelings and actions. It's what Yelena claimed to like about her, so here she is, simply being herself.

Kate glances towards Yelena from the corner of her eye, trying to discern any signs of emotion. For anyone else in the room, Yelena appears unmoved, but Kate, with her intimate knowledge of the girl, can see the minute shift in her posture, the almost imperceptible crease in her brow. She's always been good at noticing the subtleties in people, especially when it came to Yelena. But perhaps this is where the problem began.

They never labeled what they had. It started off as casual. Friends with benefits, they'd joked in the beginning, no strings attached. Yet Kate, somewhere along the way, had tied a rope around her own heart. Her mistake was entering the arrangement already having fallen for the girl. And it didn't even begin when they started sleeping together. It happened way before Kate got to know the taste of her skin, the way a smile would sneak onto her lips with a contented sigh after she climaxed, or the way she'd clutch at Kate's shirt when Kate did something just right—too right.

Kate had believed she was okay with it, that she could handle being just a detour in Yelena’s life. But then she saw it—the way Yelena's walls crumbled when you came into the picture. It was a poignant twist of irony, watching Yelena fall unapologetically in love when she’d always been so cautious, so guarded around Kate. The woman who had so adamantly refused to be ensnared by love was openly enthralled by it when it came from someone else. Kate would listen, forcing a smile, as Yelena talked about you, and it would eat away at her insides. She tried to be supportive. But that didn't work out either. In the end, Kate still lost her.

And now, sitting mere feet away yet worlds apart, Kate grapples with truths that are lodged in her throat. She wonders if Yelena will ever see her as more than just a diversion, a temporary harbor. It's a cruel thought, and one that Kate can't shake off. But she knows herself. She won't run from the situation. Instead, she'll face it, no matter how much it tears at her. Because, for better or worse, that's just who she is.

She only gathers enough courage by the end of the seminar.

When the final speaker steps off the stage, and the flurry of applause begins to die down, Kate takes a steadying breath. She tells herself it's just Yelena—even though everything has changed. Her heart pummels against her ribs, a restless plea, as she forces her legs to move in Yelena’s direction.

“Yelena,” she calls out softly when she's a few steps behind her.

Yelena turns, and for a moment, there’s no recognition in her eyes. Then, something flickers—surprise, confusion, a touch of alarm.

“Kate?”

Kate nods, her palms sweaty. “Yeah, hey. It's been a while.”

Yelena’s eyes scrutinize her, searching for something. Perhaps a reason for why Kate would be here, in Chicago, after all this time and after everything that's happened.

“What are you doing here?” The question isn’t accusatory or harsh. Just curious.

“I…uh, I wanted to see you,” Kate admits, more to herself than to Yelena. “I mean, I was already here for this convention, saw you walk by, and thought I'd drop in to say hi.”

Yelena’s smile is a little too tight for Kate’s liking. This isn't unfolding anywhere near how she had hoped.

“Hi,” Yelena utters nonchalantly, her gaze skimming over Kate's shoulder to whatever holds her attention beyond.

Kate swallows the lump in her throat, trying to push past the frosty reception. “I was going to ask if you wanted to grab coffee or something, you know, catch up,” Kate says, offering a lopsided smile that she hopes might charm Yelena into agreeing.

But Yelena merely offers a tepid one in return, her eyes hard and unyielding. “I appreciate it, but I have plans,” she replies.

“Oh, okay,” Kate responds, doing her best to conceal the sting of rejection that pierces through her. She fumbles for a moment before managing to continue, “Well, if you ever change your mind, I’m staying at the Evergreen Hotel for a couple more days. I'm on the 32nd floor, room 3206. Not that...uh, you need to know...but just in case.”

Yelena’s green eyes remain inscrutable. “It was nice seeing you, Kate,” she finally murmurs. “Enjoy your time in Chicago.”

And just like that, she's walking away, leaving Kate standing amidst the dissipating crowd, trying to make sense of the chasm that has seemingly formed between them.

Someone rings her hotel room at 11:45 in the evening.

Kate, snug in her pajamas and reading a brochure about the local Chicago sights, isn't expecting visitors. She moves to the peephole and is caught off guard when she recognizes the eyes staring back. Yelena's pupils are dilated, clearly indicating she's made several stops before her feet brought her here.

Opening the door hesitantly, Kate takes in Yelena's entire demeanor: the set of her jaw, the tightness in her posture, the fiery look in her eyes that seems to oscillate between anger and something that immediately shoots a jolt of desire down her core. “Yelena?” she whispers, a hint of trepidation in her voice. “What are you doing here?”

Yelena doesn’t answer. Her breathing is ragged and uneven, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on Kate's.

“Look,” Kate says, her voice shaky, “if you could just give me a moment to change out of my pajamas, maybe we can get coffee in the hotel lobby or—”

“Why did you tell me you were staying here?” Yelena questions, her voice dangerously low.

Taken aback, Kate blinks a few times, panic bubbling up in her throat. “I-I don't—”

Without a word, Yelena steps forward, closing the distance between them. Her hands cradle Kate’s face, and she crashes into her in a kiss that’s hard and desperate. Kate is momentarily stunned, her thoughts obliterated by the sudden onslaught of lips and tongue. But then she reacts, wrapping her arms around Yelena’s waist and nearly lifting her as they move deeper into the living room. She uses her foot to kick the door shut behind them as Yelena takes command of the kiss, pushing into Kate with an urgency.

It’s been too long. But still—

But still, it feels instinctual, the way Kate's lips gravitate to that spot just below Yelena's ear, applying just the right amount of pressure to elicit that familiar sigh from her. Yelena's hand finds its way to the nape of Kate's neck, fingers intertwining with her hair before pulling roughly to break the kiss.

“Yelena…”

But Yelena pins her with a look, a surprisingly vulnerable one. “No talking, please,” she breathes. “No talking.”

Yelena's never begged her before. To Kate's embarrassment, it's usually been the other way around. It's only hitting Kate now that their months of estrangement have deeper repercussions than she initially realized.

But before she can process the thought further, Yelena’s fingers are impatient as they fumble with the buttons of Kate's shirt, all while her lips never leave Kate's, each kiss deepening in urgency. Kate's hands, equally fervent, roam over Yelena's back, gripping at her shirt and pulling her even closer. They maneuver around the space, half-stumbling, half-guiding each other towards the bedroom. With a soft thud, Kate is gently pushed back onto the plush mattress, Yelena hovering above her.

The ritual is as familiar to Kate as the back of her hand, yet a feeling stirs within her that this time might stand apart from the rest—perhaps the moment when her dreams finally bleed into reality.

So she gives Yelena everything she has to offer—and then some.

When it's all done and Kate is lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, with Yelena softly snoring beside her, a thin sheet loosely covering her bare torso, Kate's mind spins erratically.

Yelena’s proximity, so desperately craved for months, now feels like an intrusion into a grief that she’s scarcely begun to comprehend. She acknowledges that her sudden appearance in Chicago, after everything that transpired, may now seem more self-serving than she'd intended.

She hadn't fully grasped the depth of Yelena's pain—pain so consuming that Yelena felt the need to flee to another state just to find a semblance of peace.

Morning light seeps through the curtains as Kate busies herself in the hotel kitchenette. She tries to make breakfast, aiming for familiarity in a situation that's anything but. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla fills the hotel room as she meticulously flips pieces of golden-brown french toast, trying to keep herself focused on the task.

Then, the muted sound of a door draws her attention. Yelena steps out of the bedroom, dressed and seemingly ready for the day. Her appearance, so sudden and unexpected, makes Kate's heart race. She becomes acutely aware of her own state: clad in nothing but an oversized shirt that barely reaches her thighs, exposing her legs and the curve of her panties.

“Breakfast is almost ready,” Kate offers meekly.

Yelena gives a slight nod. “Thanks, but I think I'm going to head out.”

Her eyes momentarily drop to the floor. Then, with deliberate steps, she closes the distance between them. Leaning in, she places an awkward kiss on Kate's cheek, then sidesteps her and makes her way to the door.

Kate remains still, eyes locked on the french toast that's now charring at the edges. With a sigh, she turns off the stove and contemplates what other sights Chicago might offer beyond the iconic bean.

Kate has her dinner early in the evening and waits by the door, just in case Yelena decides to show up again.

She doesn’t.

After spending another 48 hours sequestered in her hotel room, she packs her bags to head back to New York.

As soon as Yelena arrives at her apartment after her night with Kate, she heads directly to the shower.

The hot water cascades over her, but it does little to soothe the turmoil roiling inside her. Each droplet feels like a sting of reality, a reminder of the choices she’s made. She rubs the soap with more force than necessary, the lather not just cleansing her skin but also representing her desperate attempt to wash away the guilt.

It's not Kate she's trying to forget. It's her own actions, her own reasons for going to that hotel room. She’s aware she’s used Kate’s affection for her own comfort far too many times, each encounter chipping away at what little integrity she feels she has left. She hates herself for it. For taking refuge in Kate's warmth, for using her time and time again, and then leaving her in the cold morning light.

The guilt, more than anything, is what Yelena wishes she could wash away. She wishes she could stop the cycle, stop using Kate as a balm for her wounds. She wishes she could face her head-on, with honesty. But in this very moment, all she can do is rinse, lather, and hope that someday, she finds the strength to break free from her own destructive patterns.

Months pass without them seeing each other until Yelena returns to New York. Her media company sent her back for training, placing her under the guidance of someone who, in Yelena’s opinion, was a “complete unknown”. It's only a matter of time before she runs into Kate Bishop.

That happens sooner than Yelena expected when three days after her arrival, they bump into each other at a more upscale gathering. Yelena's attendance was mandated even before her first official workday, with the primary goal of extensive networking. She wears a sleek black strapless gown that reveals a fair amount of cleavage, but even that doesn't catch Kate’s attention. Instead, Kate's focus is clearly on the date accompanying her, arm-in-arm. Yelena’s hand is clutching the arm of another man, but he's just a work friend of hers who, coincidentally, is also gay. Clearly, she's not the one with the upper hand in this situation. Not that she—

Yelena is taken by surprise, not noticing Kate's approach until she's almost beside her. “Yelena, hi,” Kate says softly, standing just centimeters away. She looks stunning in her three-piece suit, her hair pulled back with a few curly waves framing her oceanic eyes.

Yelena manages a, “Kate,” in reply, before turning to her companion and saying, “You said you wanted to talk to the chief?” Her friend appears confused for a brief moment but then nods in eager agreement. She excuses herself quickly, not catching the brief, tight smile that graces Kate’s lips.

“Chief? Really?” her friend teases as soon as they're safely distant from her current source of distress.

Yelena rolls her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitch upwards. “I needed a quick exit strategy.”

Chuckling, her friend replies, “From Kate Bishop? Come on, Yel. You two have history. Ducking away like she's the plague isn't the mature way to handle things.”

Yelena lets out a sigh, her shoulders slumping. “I know, I know. It's just... the last time we met, the morning after was... less than ideal.”

“The morning after?” His eyes widen in realization. “You slept with her again?”

Yelena bites her lower lip and nods. His gaze sweeps the room, likely searching for Kate, before settling on her attempting to subtly look in their direction. “Well, that complicates things,” he muses.

“Tell me about it,” Yelena mutters, taking a sip from her champagne glass.

“Why don’t you just talk to her. Set things straight—”

She arches an eyebrow, “You think one casual chat is going to fix things?”

“Reminding her that you don’t have feelings for her and never will might just do the trick,” he says with an amused grin. “You don’t have feelings for her right?”

Yelena hesitates for just a moment, her eyes not meeting his, “Of course not,” she replies, her voice not as steady as she'd hoped.

He studies her, a knowing look in his eyes. Just as he's about to comment on her poor lying skills, Kate approaches again, this time without her date.

Kate's eyes are fixed on Yelena as she draws closer. “Mind if I steal her for a second?” she asks, not really waiting for an answer as her hand gently wraps around Yelena's elbow. Her touch sends a chill through Yelena, an electrifying jolt that she’s been trying to forget for months.

He simply nods, giving Yelena a sympathetic glance before prancing towards the bar.

Kate guides Yelena slightly away from the crowd, not to a secluded corner but just a few steps away to offer a modicum of privacy. Yelena finally extricates her arm from Kate's grip, building a wall with her posture. “What do you want, Kate?”

“I want to talk,” Kate simply says.

Yelena lets out a sigh, her jawline tensing. “Go on.”

Kate takes a moment, ensuring her words would be precise, “I'm not here to rekindle anything or chase after you. I'm not that naive anymore. You don't have to avoid me or disappear when I'm around. I'm over you. And I just... I want us to be able to coexist, especially in circles like these.”

Yelena's lips slightly part in surprise, the slightest quiver of something akin to pain shadowing her features upon absorbing Kate's frank words. Kate, with her perpetual, unfiltered candor, always did have a way of stripping a situation down to its stark, naked truth. But isn’t this precisely what Yelena wanted? To be free of the guilt, of the heavy, choking shroud that's been her constant companion since she left that hotel room months ago? Kate doesn't want her anymore. This should ease things, shouldn't it?

Yet, why does a peculiar tightness settle in her chest, a subtle ache that she dare not explore? Yelena swallows hard, facing the blunt force of Kate's liberation with a brittle nod.

“If that’s what you want,” Yelena manages to say.

Kate tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as they scrutinize Yelena's face, seeking, probing. A ghost of a smile curls on her lips, devoid of genuine mirth as she observes the other woman’s discomfort, palpable even amidst the high-society glitter surrounding them.

“What I want?” she echoes, voice imbued with a tempered steeliness, “Yelena, I'm handing you exactly what you've shown you want.”

Yelena’s eyes flutter away from Kate’s, uneasy, yet a stony facade refuses to let her susceptibility bleed into view.

“You’ve always made it abundantly clear where I stand,” Kate murmurs. “And I’ve been nothing but annoyingly stubborn about it.”

“Kate, I never intended to—”

“It’s okay,” Kate interrupts softly. “I kept coming to you with these expectations, but you were clear from the start. You said it was just about sex—nothing more. I just hoped... maybe that could change with time.”

Yelena's throat constricts, the words she needs to say lodged firmly behind a barrier of guilt and self-reproach. “I’m sorry,” Kate adds, her voice thin and fragile, yet it reverberates loudly in Yelena’s ears.

“I—” Yelena begins, but the words falter, the apology sticking in her throat. It was her who owed Kate apologies—a sea of them, for every late-night encounter, every hurried departure in the dawn light.

She inhales sharply, fingers twitching at her side. “Kate, if there's anyone who should be apologizing, it’s me,” she finally says. “I’ve been selfish and unfair, and I took advantage of your feelings because it was convenient for me, and it allowed me to ignore my own.”

“I'm not blameless here either,” Kate says.

“It's not the same," Yelena persists, “I knew what I was doing each time I—”

“But so did I, Yelena,” Kate breaks in, her steadiness unwavering. “Every time I came to you, I knew what it was and what it wasn't. I chose to stay, each time. That’s on me.”

It feels like they’ve reached an impasse, neither knowing what comes after telling the truth—or even a part of it.

“So, what do we do now?” Yelena murmurs.

Before Kate can muster an answer, the sound of footsteps draws their attention. Kate's date slides smoothly into view, holding two glasses filled with a bubbling amber liquid. Upon seeing her for the second time, Yelena notices that she's an incredibly attractive woman who carries an air of elegance about her with effortless grace.

“There you are!” she exclaims to Kate with a smile. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Kate, her eyes still lingering on Yelena, slowly pivots towards her, an almost imperceptible sigh escaping her lips. She gives her date a brief smile before glancing back at Yelena one last time.

“It was nice seeing you, Yelena,” she says, mirroring the same words Yelena had used months ago, before turning away to enjoy the rest of the night with someone else.

As the noise of the event surrounds them, Yelena's friend returns, looking between her and the departing figure of Kate and her beautiful date.

“Is it over?” he asks cautiously.

Yelena's gaze is distant, her eyes unfocused, but she finally blinks, pulling herself back to the present.

Her voice is a little shaky when she replies, “I need a drink.”

Kate was the first person she felt a connection to when she first came back to New York. The city's crowded streets and glaring lights felt foreign, like a twisted mockery of a place she once called home. The skyscrapers towered, the taxis honked, and the people bustled about, but none of that felt familiar to her—as if the welcome banner had been replaced with a glaring message that this was not the same place she had left eight years ago.

The airport had been a blur of faces, each one more indifferent to her existence than the last. She half-expected, perhaps even hoped, to see her sister's familiar face waiting for her among the crowd, but all she was met with were strangers hurrying past, engrossed in their own worlds. Natasha was continents away, in places she couldn’t know about, shouldn’t know about.

And then there was you—the only other person she considered family, the only other face she yearned to see upon her return. Yelena could've called you if she wanted. Natasha handed her your number, with the faint hope that Yelena might muster the will to congratulate you over the phone. But she never did, aware that she wouldn't genuinely mean it if she said she was happy for you.

Her fingers itched to grab her phone and dial your number, knowing you'd come to pick her up. Not necessarily because you missed her in the same way, but because you were always the kind of person who'd pick up a friend from the airport—and it wouldn’t matter to you that you hadn’t spoken a word to each other in years.

Yet, as much as Yelena yearned to see you, your image was interwoven with the pain of unattainable desire. She didn't want to see your face, so happy and fulfilled without her in it. Because the memories would flood back: your smile, the scent of your skin, the way your voice would tenderly wrap around her name. You were married—have been married for quite some time now. And that simple fact was a barrier, insurmountable and cruel.

“Need a ride?”

Yelena quickly turned to her left, where a woman about her age stood with dark hair and soft blue eyes.

“Cabs are pretty scarce around this time,” the woman explained, adjusting the strap of her leather bag on her shoulder. “I mean, you could try booking one, but…”

Yelena's cheeks flushed. It was one thing to come back to a city after so long and feel lost; it was another entirely to admit it. She hesitated, wrestling with the unfamiliar interface of the rideshare app on her phone. “ll just wait,” she said defensively, trying to hide her discomfort.

The woman gave her a skeptical look but seemed more amused than annoyed. “I'm Kate,” she said, extending her hand with a warm smile. “Kate Bishop.”

Yelena took a moment before she accepted it. “Yelena.”

“Well, now that we're not strangers, how about that ride? My car's right outside.”

Yelena paused, studying Kate. The offer was tempting. There was something disarmingly genuine about Kate, and Yelena couldn't detect any malice or ulterior motives in her eyes. Still, she was guarded, her defenses up.

“Why would you offer me—a stranger—a ride?” Yelena asked.

“You're not entirely a stranger, Yelena,” Kate replied with a chuckle.

Their eyes locked, and in that brief moment, Yelena felt an odd sense of kinship. A sigh escaped her lips. “Okay, fine,” she conceded, “But just to Manhattan.”

Kate's smile grew, reaching her eyes. “Just to Manhattan.”

Yelena steps into the high-rise building, an architectural masterpiece of glass and steel, shimmering under the vibrant New York sun. It’s her first day on this temporary assignment, and her stomach churns with a blend of anticipation and anxiety.

She catches snippets of dialogue as she goes: project timelines, deadlines, and weekend plans. Yelena keeps her gaze forward, absorbing the understated opulence of the work environment. It’s a world she recognizes with every fiber of her being, and she’s ready to play her part.

As she steps into the elevator, ascending towards the upper levels of the corporate tower, Yelena takes a deep breath, bracing herself for the introductions, handshakes, and the performative exchange of pleasantries. The first day in a new environment is always a bit disconcerting, but she’s not new to adapting, to molding herself into whatever shape a situation requires.

“Yelena, right?”

The elevator door opens to reveal a woman Yelena recognizes from the previous night. It's not just any woman she encountered during her diligent networking; it's the very woman who was on Kate's arm, that Yelena begrudgingly recalls she paraded around like some kind of trophy throughout the evening.

Yelena nods, maintaining a neutral expression, as she exits the elevator and the woman steps in, effectively switching places.

“I'd love to chat more when I return. Just need my coffee fix,” the woman says, winking at Yelena just before the elevator doors close between them.

Yelena lets out an exasperated sigh as she searches for her cubicle. She doesn't anticipate having that chat and silently hopes that today's encounter is the last time she'll see that woman, or if possible, for the duration of her time in this office.

The next several moments don't go the way Yelena expected. Especially the part where she discovers Kate's date is her new boss.

Yelena feels a slight pressure in her temples as she hears the name. “Georgia Thompson.” The friendly demeanor and confident handshake of the woman in front of her sharply contrasts the casual, almost indifferent demeanor she exhibited at the gala.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Thompson,” she replies, trying to sound as composed as possible.

Georgia offers a polite smile, her eyes assessing Yelena for a moment longer than she’s comfortable with. “Likewise. And please, call me Georgia.” It's only now that she picks up on the accent and realizes she's British.

Blonde, British, her boss, and apparently Kate’s new girlfriend. Just great. The universe couldn't be clearer about how much it enjoys playing tricks on her.

Yelena nods, pushing down the nerves bubbling inside her. She mentally kicks herself for not doing a thorough background check on her new employers, but how was she supposed to foresee this twist?

“I've heard great things about your work, Yelena. I'm looking forward to seeing what you can bring to our team,” Georgia says.

“Thank you. I'll do my best.”

Georgia leans back in her chair, the slight quirk of her eyebrow revealing she’s perhaps more perceptive than Yelena initially gave her credit for. “I hope you find the environment here conducive to your work. Everyone is very supportive, and we like to think of ourselves as a family.”

Yelena wonders if the emphasis is deliberate, a subtle hint at the glaring elephant in the room. Neither has acknowledged their encounter from the other night.

“Thank you, I appreciate that,” Yelena responds, trying to steer the conversation back to professional matters. “I've already been given some assignments, and I'm eager to delve into them.”

Georgia nods approvingly. “Good. If you have any questions or need any support, don't hesitate to ask.”

Are you aware of my history with Kate? Do you plan on making my life a living hell for the next several months?

None of these questions escape her lips. Like every job, this one comes with complexities and trade-offs that she has no choice but to endure. She believes she can manage. After all, enduring seems to be all she's doing these days.

Kate eventually drops by the office one evening. It's just a week later, and with everyone gone, Yelena is saddled with another article destined for the fluff column for the following day.

Kate's unexpected entrance startles Yelena, her fingers slipping from the keyboard and sending a disjointed string of characters cascading across her screen, a stark contrast to the meticulously formulated words she had previously been weaving together. A sigh escapes Yelena as she straightens in her chair, muscles tensing, her gaze fixating on the other woman’s reflection in the darkened computer screen next to hers.

Thankfully, it’s who Kate speaks up first. “Working late?”

“Deadlines,” Yelena mutters, rubbing her forehead and trying not to sound as exasperated as she feels. “And what brings you here?”

“Was in the neighborhood and thought I'd surprise Georgia,” Kate replies with a nonchalant shrug, though her eyes are searching Yelena's for any reaction. “But I guess she left already.”

“Seems so. You just missed her by maybe half an hour.”

Kate hums, letting her gaze wander around the mostly empty office. “This place hasn't changed much since I interned here,” she muses.

“You interned here?” Yelena's eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Yeah. Before everything,” Kate says with a faint smile. “Feels like a lifetime ago.”

Her eyes roam the open workspace before settling on Yelena's and the stack of papers next to her. “Looks like you’ve made yourself at home quickly.”

Yelena shrugs, fingers lightly drumming against the edge of her desk. “Work doesn't do itself.”

The semblance of casual conversation can't veil the tension that simmers just beneath the surface. Kate’s next words are a soft, cautious probe, “How have things been with Georgia?”

She’s testing the waters, Yelena observes.

“Professional,” Yelena replies curtly.

A small, almost rueful smile grazes Kate’s lips. “She’s good at what she does. Keeps things running smoothly.”

“She seems to,” Yelena agrees, resisting the urge to delve into whatever Kate is aiming at. “Is there something you needed, Kate? I'm on a tight deadline here.”

Kate’s eyes, instead of responding immediately, drop to the takeout bag in her hands, then flick back to Yelena’s face. It's as if she’s doing a calculus of how far to press, of how much of Yelena's abruptness to overlook.

“Actually,” she starts, her tone light and easy, “I came bearing food. It's way too much for one person.” She tilts her head, hoisting up a slightly crumpled brown bag. “Care to join me?”

Yelena is on the verge of formulating a polite refusal when her stomach, as if on cue, betrays her with a telling growl. She winces, slightly mortified, realizing her last meal was hours ago.

“Sounds like someone's hungry,” Kate teases, her grin infectious.

Yelena considers the offer, her resolve wobbling precariously on the edge between pragmatic hunger and the need to maintain an emotional distance.

“I don't think—” she starts, but Kate, undeterred, strides closer, placing the bag on a nearby empty desk.

“No strings, Yelena,” she says, an undertone of sincerity seeping through. “Just dinner. It’s been a long day, and it looks like you haven’t moved from this spot for hours.”

A small fortress of skepticism still guards Yelena’s expression, but she doesn’t stop Kate as she begins unpacking the containers from the bag. The rich, fragrant scents of stir-fried noodles and spicy broth waft through the air, momentarily making the whole room feel a bit warmer, a bit friendlier. It reminds her of the countless nights they shared meals at the office, back when they worked for the same company, a time when their friendship flourished alongside their physical hunger for one another.

Silently, Yelena concedes, rolling her chair over to join Kate, who’s already begun dividing the food into two portions. They eat in relative silence for a few moments, when Yelena then, prompted by a momentary surge of curiosity, asks, “Where did you guys meet?”

“We were seated next to each other on my flight back to New York,” Kate says after a thoughtful pause. “From Chicago. When I… when we attended that convention.”

She's torn between laughing or pressing her lips together upon learning that Kate met her new love on a plane, at an airport, echoing their own initial encounter.

“Does Georgia know about…”

Kate raises her eyebrows inquisitively. Yelena just motions between the two of them, drawing a soft chuckle from Kate.

“Right. Yes, she's aware. I told her the moment she said you’d be working under her,” Kate says.

Yelena's heart pulses an erratic rhythm at Kate's words. She fiddles with her fork, twirling it aimlessly between her fingers.

“And she was okay with it?” Yelena asks.

“Georgia is...different. She believes in leaving the past where it belongs,” Kate says. Yelena knows she probably doesn’t mean anything by it, yet it subtly pricks at her own propensity to keep one foot persistently anchored in the past.

“I'm glad,” Yelena finally murmurs. “I just... I didn't want it to be a problem.”

Kate reaches across the table, placing a reassuring hand over Yelena's for a fleeting second. “It won't be. We're all adults here. Just... make sure you're okay, alright?”

Yelena nods slowly, taking a deep breath. It's obvious to her now, more than ever, that some bridges aren't burned but simply left to weather the passage of time.

Yelena tries to get back into the dating scene. She registers on three distinct dating apps, uniformly using the same profile photo and an unvarnished bio that reads: Female. Twenty-nine. Single.

Her inbox becomes a conveyor belt of recycled greetings: “Hey”, “You're cute”, and “What are you doing tonight?” It's an endless cascade of faces and screen names, none of which pierce through the monotony of singledom.

She swipes through profiles, a sea of faces belonging to people she will never meet, let alone speak to. There’s the overly chiseled man with a bio that hints at a penchant for arrogance. The vivacious woman with wild curls, a quote from Virginia Woolf emblazoned on her profile. The musician, shrouded in a cloud of recreational smoke, guitar in hand, always accompanied by a loyal puppy—because, of course, there's always that magnetism of a puppy. And then there's the corporate maven, every strand of hair in place, an entire life airbrushed into LinkedIn perfection.

But Yelena is searching for something else—though what exactly, she is not certain. Yelena’s fingers hover over her phone, frozen mid-swipe, as Georgia and Kate emerge from the former’s office. Dressed less formally than usual, with Kate in a chic blazer and jeans combo and Georgia in a strikingly simple dress, it’s evident that the office is not their final destination for the evening.

Yelena inadvertently becomes a secret spectator to their private moment, and she ducks her head back down, suddenly intensely interested in the glowing screen before her. But her attention strays, her ears fine-tuning to the whisper of their voices as they linger by the office door.

“...really looking forward to tonight,” Georgia is saying, her slightly husky with an intimate inflection.

“Me too,” Kate replies.

Yelena feels an involuntary lump form in her throat, and she realizes she’s holding her breath. Why the sight of them, so blissfully unaware of her prying eyes, should stir this maelstrom within her, she isn’t quite sure. It’s not jealousy, she tries to reassure herself. But what is it then? Resignation? Loneliness?

Regret?

They depart, leaving behind Yelena’s questions unanswered. A notification pings—a message from a woman whose profile Yelena doesn’t remember viewing. She clicks on it in a semi-distracted state, reads a greeting that is refreshingly devoid of clichés or overtly sexual overtones, and something, just something, flickers within her.

Twenty minutes over their agreed time, and her date is nowhere in sight. She had replayed their messages in her head, made certain she got the place and time right. Had even arrived a little early to ensure she wouldn’t keep her date waiting. But as the minutes tick by, Yelena’s optimism dwindles.

Her hand flutters to the hem of her dress, pulling it down nervously. She had chosen it with such care earlier, wanting to make the right impression. Now, she just feels stupid for even trying.

Yelena glances out, her mood sinking further as she realizes she's been stood up, and now she's trapped by the rain without an umbrella. Taking a deep breath, Yelena signals the waiter, requesting her bill with a tilt of her head and a brief but curt nod. Just as she's slipping her phone back into her purse, her focus inadvertently drifts towards the entrance of the restaurant.

And there you are.

How could she not notice you? She could pick you out from any crowd. Your jaw, sharply defined, always gave way to the tender curvatures of your facial features in a manner that she found endlessly fascinating. Your ear, peculiarly unique in its shape, partially covered by wet strands that have escaped your messy ponytail.

She watches, a strange tightness forming in her chest, as you speak to the bartender, presumably ordering something to alleviate the chill from your damp clothes. Yelena’s voice, when it finds its way out, bears a semblance of leniency that was lacking the last time they saw each other.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes hesitantly veer towards her, interlacing surprise and something else she can’t quite discern. There’s a beat of silence where you simply regard each other, before you navigate through the tight arrangement of tables and subdued chatter to join her.

“Hi,” you murmur, a tentative smile on your lips as you hover near her table, waiting for an invitation to sit across from her.

She nods, eyes minutely tracing the droplets of rain as they adhere to your eyelashes, “You’re soaked.”

You glance down, surveying the damage of the moody weather this afternoon. “It seems so.”

Before she can think about whether she'll regret this later or not, Yelena motions, inviting you to take a seat across from her.

Later that night, as she walks back to her apartment, she comes to two realizations.

First, that she’s no longer in love with you. When she asked you about Wanda, she detected a shift in your expression, a subtle hardening of your features. You had explained, sipping on that hastily ordered whiskey, that you and Wanda spent a year apart, and you didn't return to her on the day you had promised to reunite. You’d been in Montauk for the better part of a year, caring for your ailing mother. It's a noble thing, to put one's life on hold and step up for family. It’s endearing and also a bit tragic. Your brief time today in Manhattan was to check in on Wanda, having boarded a three and a half hour train just for a mere five seconds of her.

She remembers your slight smile, a tad rueful, when you mentioned passing by the café. “Wanted a glimpse of her, you know? Just to see how she's doing. Then, the rain,” you'd said, rolling your eyes at the unexpected twist nature had thrown your way.

The irony wasn’t lost on her, that this could have been her third chance, her third window to potentially be with you. You were there, and you were single, and you were still the person she used to love. But there was no stirring of old romantic sentiments, no lit flame of rekindling feelings. She was touched, not tempted, by your vulnerable predicament.

Like a raging inferno that had burned brightly, fiercely, and then reduced to warm, comforting embers. It wasn’t gone, and she knew it never truly would be, but it had transformed into something else. She thinks love works in that way; never diminishing, but perhaps always changing. Her memories with you, sharp and painful, have softened around the edges, allowing her to accept things as they are, not as they could have been.

Her keys jingle in hand as she unlocks her apartment door, step inside, and decides that she is ready to take the next step with you and be your friend.

As she closes the door behind her, Yelena is hit with a second insight: she longs to fall in love again. She realizes she's kept her heart guarded for a long time ever since you took up residence there and then left.

With a slow exhale, she leans back against the door, allowing the coolness of the wood to seep through her blouse, grounding her in the present moment. She allows a laugh, letting it envelop her to her heart’s content. She's weary of being the Yelena that left you, the one that wasn’t chosen by you. More than anything, she wants to be reborn. To become a Yelena who no longer clings to the misguided notion that love, to be real, must come with an undercurrent of hurt.

Her hand presses against her heart, feeling its steady beat beneath her palm, affirming her presence, her life, her capacity to heal and be whole again. Yelena realizes that she wants to fall in love where it does not require her to fragment herself, to withhold pieces in safeguard against an inevitable heartache. Love should be able to exist, she thinks, without the persistent ache of sacrifice, without the constant dread of its impermanence looming overhead.

Finally, as Yelena drifts into the embrace of her bed, she imagines that future, feels the potential of it thrumming in the space around her. A face lingers in her thoughts—perhaps, if circumstances change and she offers Yelena a second chance to reciprocate all she's given, that face might belong to the future she yearns for.

Yelena's documents fly everywhere as Georgia slams them down onto her desk.

“This is not up to our standards, Yelena. You can do better,” Georgia snaps.

Taken aback, Yelena tries to form a response, but is cut off. “I need this revised and on my desk by the end of the day,” Georgia orders.

Throughout the day, it doesn't get any better. Every time their paths cross, Georgia finds something to pick at, each criticism more biting than the last.

Desperate for a semblance of understanding, Yelena decides to shoot Kate a text during her lunch break. With a forced lightness, she types, What did you put in my boss’ coffee today? 😂 She's tearing through everything I submit!

Send.

The little ‘delivered’ sign morphs into ‘read’, yet the response she half-hopes for, half-dreads never comes. Yelena stares at her phone, then back to her computer screen, the cursor blinking accusingly at her. A deep sigh unfurls from her as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and refocuses on the draft. She can't help but be bothered that Kate leaves her on read, especially since Kate used to reply to Yelena immediately before.

This inattention is, paradoxically, an attention to the details Yelena wishes she could ignore. She had wanted to step out of this, out of feeling sidelined, unimportant.

However, Yelena squares her shoulders.

If Georgia desires perfection, Yelena will morph her work into an epitome of immaculate journalism, and she will do it without riding on Kate’s coattails. Biting down gently on her lower lip, Yelena delves back into the article, rephrasing and refining. But even then, as she polishes each sentence, part of her is attentive, waiting for the buzz of her phone, indicating Kate has replied. Yet, the only sound accompanying her through the ensuing hours is the rhythmic clack of her keyboard.

She doesn't hear from Kate for the rest of the day.

Two days later, the entire atmosphere of the office seems to have undergone a transformation. This is especially evident with the heady scent of lilies and roses filling the open space. Yelena, having arrived early, watches from her cubicle as coworkers trickle in, all casting appreciative or curious glances toward the opulent floral arrangement in Georgia’s office.

When her boss arrives, she’s an entirely different persona from the tempest of the day before. There's a different air about her today—lighter, tender, almost apologetic.

Georgia, making her way to Yelena’s desk, clears her throat, a barely-perceptible flush gracing her cheeks.

As Yelena makes her way to her workstation, Georgia calls out to her. “Yelena, a moment?”

Cautiously, Yelena approaches her desk. “Yes, Georgia?”

Georgia stands up, her posture relaxed and her face apologetic. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday. It wasn't professional or warranted. I had a lot on my mind, and it was wrong to take it out on you.”

Yelena nods, her relief merely presented as a tight smile on her lips. “Thank you for saying that, Georgia.”

Georgia smiles faintly. “It's the least I can do.”

Late in the afternoon, Yelena hears the unmistakable sound of Kate's voice, its playful timbre unmistakable even from her desk. She's arrived to pick up her girlfriend. She’s greeted by Georgia's lit-up face, and they exchange a quick, affectionate kiss which Yelena pretends not to notice, even though it plays at the edges of her peripheral vision.

But then, Georgia pauses, pulling her phone from her bag with a look of mild annoyance. “Damn, I forgot about this call. Give me a minute, okay?”

Kate nods, shooting Georgia an understanding smile. “Take your time.”

Kate nods, a small but genuine smile playing on her lips as Georgia steps away, phone already at her ear. Yelena, sensing an opportunity, doesn’t let herself overthink it. She rises from her desk and approaches Kate with measured steps, her heart pulsing a bit harder in her chest.

“Hey,” Yelena begins nervously, hands slipping into her back pockets, unsure why she feels this way. “How’s it going?” Small talk doesn’t come naturally to her, but she hasn’t heard from Kate, and a small voice in her head is screaming that she probably did something wrong.

Kate, slightly startled, turns to face Yelena, her expression neutral. “Yelena.”

The exchange is awkward, stilted, but Yelena is not giving up just yet. “The flowers look beautiful. You picked perfectly,” she says genuinely.

For a fraction of a second, Kate's demeanor seems to soften, but it's fleeting. “Georgia likes lilies,” she states flatly.

Yelena swallows, pressing on despite the stonewall response. “Kate, is everything alright?”

“Fine,” Kate responds, the single word sharp and clipped, her gaze darting elsewhere, anywhere but Yelena.

Yelena's patience wears thin, and she scoffs, “Clearly, it's not.” Taking a deep breath, she admits, “Look, if I did something wrong, I'm sorry.”

“It’s not you,” Kate cuts her off, voice cold, eyes finally meeting Yelena’s with a veiled hardness. “It’s not about you.”

Yelena, taken aback by the frigidity in Kate’s words, hesitates but doesn’t back down. “Then what is it about? We can talk—”

“No,” Kate retorts, an unsettling firmness in her voice. “We can’t.”

But before Yelena can argue, before she can claw at the barriers Kate's erected, Georgia re-emerges from her office. She has finished her call and strides over, her arm sliding through Kate's with an intimacy that seems second nature.

“Oh! Yelena, you’re still here. Working late again?” Georgia asks.

Kate, without offering Yelena another glance, merely nods in Georgia's direction. “Ready to go?”

Georgia beams at Kate. “Yes, let’s.” Then she turns her attention back to Yelena. “Good night, Yelena. And thank you for the hard work. I’ll see your draft on my desk first thing tomorrow?”

Yelena nods, though her focus is still on Kate. “Of course, Georgia. Good night,” she murmurs, stepping aside to let the pair pass by her.

She clenches the Broadway ticket in her hand, the one she had intended to give Kate if she'd been allowed to apologize for... well, for whatever she evidently did wrong. Because to Yelena, that distant demeanor doesn’t resemble 'nothing' at all. Kate has never shut her out like this, not even when Yelena repeatedly broke her heart.

She can't remember the last time she and Natasha hung out alone together. Oh, actually, she does remember. The memory just makes her cringe now, to the point where she wishes she could crawl into a cave and never come out. It was at Natasha's apartment, the morning she decided she was leaving you, with only enough clothes for the night.

Yelena plays with the olive in her martini, stirring it idly. Her sister smirks behind her own drink—the usual on the rocks—and says, “You're doing that thing again.”

Her reference is obvious, even without the specifics. But still, Yelena looks up, an innocent look on her face, the corners of her lips quirking in a half-smile. “What thing?”

“That deep-in-thought look. The same one you wore when you first came home, trying hard not to ask about her.”

Yelena sighs, her gaze dropping to her drink. “Is it that obvious?”

“To me? Always.” Natasha gives a knowing smile.

Rubbing her forehead, Yelena nods slowly. “I ran into Y/N the other week. And then there’s this awkward situation with Kate and her girlfriend... who also happens to be my boss.”

Natasha’s eyebrows lift subtly at the mention of Kate—at how Yelena said her name. “I see,” she says cautiously.

“And Y/N…” Yelena’s voice trails off as she momentarily loses herself in thought, the stirred feelings forming a tight ball in her stomach.

After a pause, Natasha gently prompts, “What about Y/N?”

Yelena sighs, fiddling with the stem of her glass. “I miss her. I partly blame myself for, sort of, pushing her to be in a relationship with me—”

“You didn't, Yelena. You can't force anyone to do anything.”

“Perhaps,” Yelena interjects, raising a finger. “But I'm not going to ignore my own faults in everything that transpired between us. She wasn’t ready to be with anyone, and I should have been a better friend instead of stepping into the role of a girlfriend.”

“Alright, alright,” Natasha says, leaning back, trying not to roll her eyes. “So what happened next?”

“And we talked about her current situation with Wanda. Did you know about that?”

Natasha nods. “It’s complicated.”

Yelena snorts, “When is it not?” Taking a pause, she adds, “But that’s not why I brought her up. I had an epiphany.”

“Oh?”

“I finally moved on. Like, truly moved on from her.”

Natasha smiles. “Yelena, that’s… I’m happy for you.”

Yelena takes a breath, preparing herself for what she’s going to say next. “And that revelation led to another—”

But Natasha smoothly beats her to it. “You’re in love with Kate.”

Yelena's laughter is louder than she expects, as she quickly responds, “No, I’m not.”

“Okay, maybe you’re not in love with her. But I’m pretty sure you more than like her.”

Yelena's grin fades a bit. She sips on her martini, trying to buy herself some time. “What makes you say that?”

“That slightly panicked look you have right now? Classic.”

“It’s not…” Yelena starts, then stops, searching for the right words. “It’s not like that. We're friends. Good friends. And it's complicated.”

“Nothing worth having ever comes easy, you know?” Natasha says, signaling the bartender for another drink.

Worth having. Kate has always been worth it, Yelena realizes now. What she isn't sure of is whether she's worthy of Kate. But it shouldn’t matter if she is right?

Kate has Georgia.

Natasha reaches over, placing her hand over Yelena's, like she can read every thought that’s going inside Yelena’s head right now. “You won’t know until you try. And whatever you decide, remember that it’s okay to be happy. It’s also okay to have wishes and regrets. We’re all human, after all.”

Maybe time is yet to be on Yelena’s side. Still, she silently bargains with the universe, or whoever might be listening, for another chance to try.

Yelena walks through the low-lit ambiance of the pub. A corner has been reserved for the surprise party. Colorful balloons float above tables and a banner reading, Happy Birthday, Georgia! is draped across the exposed brick wall. She struggles a little to carry the collective gift from the office on a reserved table, her eyes scanning the room before landing on Kate. The brunette is across the room, arranging last-minute decorations. She recalls her own birthdays this very woman made special for her, from surprise parties to intimate evenings with just wine, cake, and conversations that stretched till sunrise.

Taking a deep breath, Yelena approaches her, hoping to clear the air between them.

“Hey,” she says, holding up the gift. “I brought the present from everyone.”

Kate looks up, her eyes cold and distant. “You can put it on the table.”

The curt response irks Yelena, and she finally lets out her frustration. “What's your deal?”

Kate looks around, seemingly trying to avoid the confrontation, but Yelena’s gaze stubbornly follows her every move, keeping her grounded. “I saw you,” Kate finally admits with a sigh. “With Y/N.”

Yelena sets her jaw at the mention of your name. She hadn’t realized Kate knew about that. How did she know? Albeit defensively, she responds, “So? We're friends.”

“Why is it so easy for you to be friends with her?” Kate's voice notches higher, catching the glances of a few restaurant staff nearby. “To make an effort to be in her life? Why do you make it so hard for me to stay in yours? Why do you push me away?”

She should’ve anticipated that Kate wouldn’t beat around the bush when confronted, but it still didn’t prepare her for how hard Kate’s words hit her. In a split second, Yelena grabs Kate's arm, gently yet with urgency, pulling her towards the restroom. Inside, she locks the door behind them, making sure they wouldn't be disturbed. But even as they are locked away from the prying eyes of the outside world, Yelena tightly holds onto Kate's wrist, her heart pounding against her ribcage. But Kate retreats from her personal space and leans against the cold tiled wall, her breaths uneven.

“You need to start from the beginning,” Yelena says firmly. “How did you know I saw Y/N?”

Kate’s gaze drops, “I was nearby that day, getting a gift for Georgia. I saw you two together.”

Yelena, feeling cornered, repeats, “We're just friends. Can't I have friends?”

“It's not about you having friends. With Y/N, it seems effortless. But with me? It feels like pulling teeth,” Kate's voice cracks.

“What—I don’t know what you’re—”

“Don't, Yelena. Don’t pretend you don’t know why this is happening,” Kate huffs. “I talked myself into being okay with how easily you coast through our friendship, as if we didn’t sleep together in Chicago and you didn’t avoid me for months.”

Yelena blinks rapidly, memories of that trip to Chicago flooding her mind. The hotel room, the smell of the cologne Kate wore, the way Kate's lips had felt against hers. The guilt she felt afterwards, causing her to distance herself. Her chest constricts, eyes welling up as Kate's words cut through her defenses. Chicago was a sore spot, a turning point that she hadn’t allowed herself to examine closely since it happened.

“I can’t justify my actions after Chicago,” Yelena whispers, even if the slightest hitch in her breath can be heard in the small confines of the bathroom. “And I can’t even begin to explain why I did what I did. Just that…” She sighs, grappling with the words. “I felt horrible. Not just about Chicago, but about feeling like I used you for a long time.”

“I have never resented you for not returning my feelings,” Kate says with a small, sad smile. She's never overtly asked Yelena for more, even though it was clear she wanted it. Yet, it still hurts her how easily Yelena seems to let her go when things get tough between them.

“T-That's just it, Kate. With Y/N, it’s s-safe. Safe in a way I knew what to expect. I knew she could hurt me, and I knew I could handle it, survive it. But with you...” Yelena hesitates, turning to grip the edge of a sink. “With you, it’s not safe. It’s terrifying because you could break me so easily.”

Kate's eyes soften even as her chin trembles. “I would never want to break you, Yelena,” she says just when the image of her girlfriend comes to mind—her girlfriend who’s arriving in half an hour to celebrate her birthday, the very one she organized. “Georgia... she was there. She wanted to be with me and didn’t make me feel like I was hard to love.”

“I never thought you were hard to love,” she confesses quietly, “I just—I wasn’t—”

“What?” Kate all but screams.

Yelena closes her eyes as she allows the words to finally fall from her trembling lips. “I just thought I wasn't good enough to love you.”

Kate steps closer, her smile edged with a hint of madness, her eyes glistening as they catch every veiled truth in Yelena’s carefully shielded confession. “What the hell are you talking about? You were always enough, Yelena. You were always more than enough.”

In that split-second, Yelena closes the distance between them, lips angling towards Kate's, driven by a longing that has simmered below the surface for too long. But just as their lips are about to meet, Kate abruptly pulls back.

Clearing her throat and breaking eye contact, Kate mutters, “I-I need to check if Georgia's already on her way here.”

Yelena feels as if a bucket of ice-cold water has been dumped over her. She feels her cheeks warming with shame. She takes a step back, forcing herself to breathe steadily.

“I... I'm sorry,” she says. “I shouldn't have done that.”

Kate runs a hand through her hair, looking just as frazzled.

“Go,” Yelena urges softly. “You should go see her.”

For a moment, Kate seems torn, caught between staying and leaving. But then, she nods slowly and exits the bathroom, leaving Yelena still reeling from the almost kiss.

The door clicks softly behind Kate, and Yelena lets out a long-held breath. She turns the tap on, letting the cold water run over her fingers before she splashes water onto her face, the coolness of it a brief respite from the burning behind her eyes.

Minutes feel like hours, but eventually, Yelena gathers the courage to exit the bathroom. The room outside is livelier now. Among the new arrivals, Georgia stands out, her laughter echoing as she wraps her arms around Kate from behind. Some people wave at Yelena in greeting. She musters a weak smile in return, but her focus is on leaving.

Without looking back, she immerses herself into the evening, letting the city lights guide her away.

She's not masochistic enough to complete her temporary assignment in New York, enduring the sight of Kate with Georgia at least three times a week, and hands in her resignation the following Monday.

On her last day, Georgia squeezes her hand as she thanks Yelena for all her hard work. When she offhandedly asks Yelena about her future plans, Yelena simply shakes her head, replying, “Back to Chicago, but beyond that, I'm not sure.”

She thinks about what’s next for her the entire plane ride back to Chicago. But mostly, she thinks about Kate, about what-ifs and once-weres. She wonders how long this person will haunt her, just as you once did.

However, she's blindsided when she discovers Kate sitting on the floor next to her apartment door.

Yelena freezes, keys in hand, as her gaze settles on Kate. The hallway lighting softly caresses Kate's face, highlighting the weariness in her eyes and the strands of hair that fall out of place. She's cradling a coffee cup, and her coat is wrapped tightly around her, but Yelena can still see the trembling in her hands.

“K-Kate?” Yelena blinks several times, attempting to make sense of Kate here in Chicago, right outside of her apartment. “How long have you been sitting here?”

“A few... hours,” Kate says, stifling a yawn.

“Why didn't you call or text me?”

Kate shakes her head, a faint, melancholy smile touching her lips. “Then it wouldn’t have been a surprise.”

Confusion clouds Yelena's features. “A surprise?”

Kate sighs, looking down at the coffee cup she's clutching, “I mean... a romantic surprise.”

Yelena feels her heart skip a beat. “What are you saying?”

“Georgia and I... we're over.”

“Since when?”

“Since the morning after her birthday party,” Kate reveals grimly, not with regret but with sadness. It’s quiet for a while, neither of them saying anything until Kate looks up, and her eyes aren’t sad anymore, just hopeful. “I realized I had to end it the moment I felt how strongly I wanted to reach out and kiss you that day in the bathroom. When you tried... I couldn't ignore what that meant for me.”

Yelena takes a moment before she slowly lowers herself to sit beside Kate on the cold floor. The two of them side by side, shoulders nearly touching.

“So, you've been camped outside my door for hours because of... feelings?” Yelena teases, barely restraining a foolish grin, still acclimating to the sensation of allowing herself to be happy.

Kate leans back, her head hitting the wall with a rather loud thud and Yelena can no longer hold back a chuckle from escaping her. “When you put it like that, it sounds rather silly, doesn't it?”

“A bit,” Yelena teases, but her eyes are kind. “You could've just called.”

“I didn’t want to call,” Kate murmurs. “I needed to see you.”

“And where have you been this past month, after breaking up with Georgia?”

“Waiting for you to finish your stint working under her.”

Yelena quirks an eyebrow.

Kate grins and tenderly tucks a strand of Yelena’s hair behind her ear. “I want to do everything right with you.”

Yelena covers Kate's hand with her own, holding it in her lap. “I’m sorry about Georgia,” she says.

Kate narrows her eyes and half-smiles. “You’re not, but thanks.”

Yelena lets out a breathy laugh, her thumb tracing circles on Kate's hand. “I’m sincere about that,” she says. “I thought she was good for you, and I am truly sorry if I ruined things for you.”

“No, Yelena, you didn’t complicate things. You just...” Kate pauses, swallowing dryly, “It's always been you I've wanted. I’m not used to lying to myself. I couldn't be with someone else knowing there was even a sliver of hope you might feel the same.”

“Kate, I—”

Kate tilts her head, waiting, a hopeful expectancy hanging in the air.

“I feel the same,” Yelena breathes out, so softly that Kate leans in to catch every syllable.

Kate's lips curl into a smile, and it grows and grows to its brightest, and Yelena thinks about how she wants to be the one to cause it, over and over again.

“You do?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry it took me this long to realize it, to admit it. I'm not used to...this.”

“To what?” Kate asks.

“To being loved first,” Yelena confesses with a shrug. “I’m always the one who cares more, the one who waits, who tries harder. I didn't recognize it when it was given to me without having to fight for it.”

Kate cups Yelena's cheek, her thumb brushing against her skin tenderly. “Well,” she whispers. “You better get used to it then.”

Tears form in Yelena's eyes, but she brushes them away quickly. “It's going to take some time,” she admits. “To trust, to believe that this is real and not just another heartbreak waiting to happen.”

“I promise to be patient,” Kate says, and Yelena finds it so easy and natural to believe her every word. “So, what happens now?”

“Dinner,” Yelena says, nodding towards her apartment. “And then we figure it out together.”

With a nod, Kate leans in and Yelena meets her half way.

They kiss for the first time after laying all their cards on the table.

#yelena belova x reader #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova x you #yelena belova #yelena belova fanfiction #marvel #marvel wlw #my fics #my writing #ILGOSS #yelena x reader #yelena x female reader #ilgoss oneshot #yelena x kate #yelena belova x kate bishop #kate bishop #natasha romanoff

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shanksbaby · 3 months

Text

Kuzan x reader - Kidnapping (pt 2)

pt 1 here

Ever since you found out about Kuzan and the kidnapping of the sixteen-year-old you decided that you needed answers, and you would demand them from your ex-lover. Kuzan has always been a mysterious guy, and that has always fascinated you, but right now…you needed answer, so you wouldn't accept any mysterious answer.

the problem was understanding how to meet him: you certainly couldn't show up on Blackbeard's island, they would have made you prisoner… and done who knows what (especially knowing that there were two members who loved rape young innocent women). You had gotten stronger over the years but not that strong to defeat a yonko and his crew alone.

and then Kuzan would have been less willing to talk in the presence of his other crewmates.

you started to find out about his movements, where possible (he was still a pirate, and the navy is not able to follow step by step). You had even asked around to other pirates if they had seen him without success. On the other hand, what could you expect? That they would say it risking the skin of a marine like you?

but you were still determined to see him to ask for explanations. So I approach you to one of the usual bars frequented mostly by pirates in disguise, hoping that no one recognizes you. As you are about to enter at a certain point you feel someone's hand grab your wrist and before you could understand what was happening, the person whose hand belonged to knock you out.

you wake up later in a dimly lit cabin, and judging by the background noises you hear not very far from the bar. You are not tied up but you are lying on an uncomfortable bed, and before you can focus on the other details you hear a deep voice, and you recognize it immediately: it is that of your former lover.

"I hear you're looking for me. Don't do it." he tells you taking two steps towards you, allowing you to see half your face illuminated by the candle placed on the bedside table near the bed you're on.

“Stop,” you tell him, grabbing his hand as he walks away. Oh god …. how you missed his touch of him … his warm body of him despite his devil fruit of him. But now you can't be distracted by it, you are here for questions "You know why I'm looking for you. Kuzan, I have-"

"It's not something that concerns you" Kuzan replies interrupting you with his classic lazy voice. He hasn't changed at all in this matter of remaining mysterious, huh? But that doesn't stop you. You need answers.

"It concerns me since I…" 'I still love you' but you trail off since you are embarrassed to admit that you still love your ex, especially since he has completely abandoned you "I wanna know why you are with that low life! You said you were still the same, but your previous self would never have joined pirates, much less Blackbeard and his men who rape, enslave and kill civilians" you almost yell, but tries to refrain to raise the voice further.

Kuzan says nothing, but doesn't walk away. He remains still with his back towards you, he is probably pondering whether to answer you or what to do, he has always been a thoughtful type after all. "As I already told Smoker, i am still the same. Who I ally with doesn't change that" he then speaks.

"Of course it changes! You're allying yourself with people who raped and killed. And you kidnapped a sixteen-year-old, Kuzan. Don't make fun of me. You changed" you at this yell, and with your hand you force him to turn towards you, then with one hand you grab his shirt "You betrayed yourself and you betrayed me.." you say this last part in a faint voice.

he doesn't say anything, he just watches you but you can't see the look because of his stupid glasses, but you still feel scrutinized inside, as if he's analyzing you. As if he was evaluating the situation, he was evaluating what to say or not tell you. Given his silence, you decide to continue talking, but just before opening your mouth he interrupts you (again)

"i didn't betray myself, i am still the same, i just don't fit in the idea you built." he gently grabs your hand that is still clinging to his shirt and moves it away from it "And I haven't betrayed you, we are not together anymore, we are nothing now. We are not lovers, we are not friends and we are not superior and subordinate. I left you, and I'd rather be left alone by you, I don't love you" he says in a voice hard and then walk away from you, leaving you petrified, knowing that the man you loved who until the day before he announced your breakup had always shown himself to be in love in turn, was breakhearting.

don't worry i will write a part three <3

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0yuri-chan0 · 1 year

Text

|| 100 - 1 Challenge ||

Sorry i haven't been active I had family problems here and there but i hope you guys enjoy!

Paring - Scaramouche x Top! Gn Reader

Warnings - Jerking off, Tied up, Blow job

Genre - Nsfw

"Tch It would take 2 millio- Hell not even a 2 million! 2 trillions years to make me agree to something as lewd and disgraceful as that." His finger swiftly flicked your forehead trying to make a point. As you open your mouth to speak he spoke first with his index finger to your lips "Sometimes you make me think that i neglect you, do you really thin-" you cut him off before he give you another lecture "And here i am still pondering why you act like you don't want to fulfill my request." He sighed leading closer towards your body savoring your sweet smell. "You better make this count [Y/n]" "Of course my love~, would I ever forsake you?"

"Of course I can count to 100 idiot, How old do you think I am 4!?" He would have lightly hit you on the head but seeing how his hands are tie beautifully behind his back with a pretty red bow, each of his legs tied gratifyingly to each of the legs on the chair he was siting fully on display for you "You know the rules, Scara?" He tugs on his restraints harshly "Yes, yes i know!.." Scaramouche rolls his eyes for the 5th time now. Even though his words are laced with sarcasm his cherry tip cock is standing at full attention, you wrap your hands around his base moving slowly as Scara starts counting, "100, 99... 98, 97...." purposefully picking up speed as he starts counting down "This is stupid, really"

His snarky tone made you slap his cock harshly pulling a loud groan from your helpless boyfriend. "Instead of throwing oh so very harsh comments start counting down" His head falling backwards, while biting his cheek trying to stifle his whimpers. Continuing to jerk your boyfriend off, squelching noises start to form in the background as Scara starts counting where he left off "Tsk..74, 73, 72 Mh- Ah!~" His body jerked up when you kissed his tip lightly, moving you attention to his thighs your right hand never leaving his cock. Red and purple marks appear over his light pale skin as you suck on them, reminding him who he belonged to. "S-Shit! Mh-m!" Letting out a chocked moan.

Scaramouche thrusting upwards trying to match your speed but it wasn't enough. Noticing that he stopped counting you slowed your pace on his cock only going halfway up his cock. "H-Ha why d-did you fucking slow down?" That shit-eating grin appeared on your face "Why did you stop counting, my love?~" Stopping all movement only toying with his cherry red tip. "F-Fuck, w-what M-Mhm number Sh-IT!"

You chuckle making Scara shiver "Well weren't you supposed to keep track, no?" His hands grip the ribbon that bonded them together, "Shut Ngh!~ f-fuck up and tell H-Ha! the number" Resting your left hand on this thigh while the other flicks his cock hard, leaving Scara mouth agape "42 my love, the number is 42" you purred "43, 44..." removing your hand and stroking his cock faster making him sputter out in bliss "You're supposed to be counting down, Now start back from 50."

"Your a M-Mhm!.. f-fucking H-Ha~.. m-menace" Being a good boy he did as you told him, More pre cum leaking down his shaft and starts dripping on his balls indicating that hes reaching his climax. A satisfied hum left your lips as Scara's legs start shaking "H-Hold on Mh- slooe AH!~" stuffing his dick into your warm and wet mouth pulling a loud moan from him. "shit shit Mhm sh-" rolling your tongue around his tip making Scaramouche a sputtering mess not able to understand what hes babbling on about. Jerking his hips trying to mouth fuck you with that little movement he can make. His hot seed finally shoved down your throat while you swallowed it.

"Good job you don't mind if we go another round, No?"

I hope you enjoyed this little fanfic ill be working on more in the near future! Have a nice rest of your day. - Love Yuri <3

#genshin impact #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x Gn reader #genshin smut #genshin wanderer #genshin impacted x reader #genshin x reader

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carnivorousyandeere · 1 year

Note

me, holding up my completed homework while looking erik directly in the eye and tearing it up into paper scraps: oops, guess i completely forgot to do that one, sorry prof.

Eager for Punishment

( MDNI )

CW: smut, sadism and masochism both physical and emotional, impact play, implied oral

Alright alright, I suppose this is what the people wanted. Thank you anons (and Moodie💕) 😂

Erik watches each bit of paper fall to the ground like autumn leaves, lips pursed and eyes thoughtful. The last flutters from your hand and settles next to the small pile in front of you.

You gaze at him expectantly, hoping he’ll meet your eyes with that anger you’re so desperately hoping for. But he doesn’t.

Erik just sighs, pushing themself up from their seat and leaving the room. The door shuts with a soft click.

You wait a minute, then two, then three— hoping he’ll come back and give more of a reaction. They don’t. Hope deflating, you pick up the pieces and throw them away.

Frustrated, confused, dejected, angry— what must you be feeling now? Erik ponders your actions in his office earlier. The way you’d so desperately tried to piss him off plays in his mind over and over. If you’re so desperate for a punishment, he thinks, the corners of his lips quirking up, walking out like that was probably a good start.

But Erik can’t deny their soft spot for you… if you really want a punishment, they’ve got an idea they wanted to try. His content smile only grows as they lean back against the headboard of your shared bed, losing himself in an old novel.

It doesn’t feel like very long to them— although, perhaps it was; he had been incredibly engrossed in the story he was reading— before you finally come home, standing in the doorway of his room with eyes turned down.

Erik carefully slips a bookmark between the pages of their book and sets it onto the nightstand. They look at you over the rim of their reading glasses. “Something the matter, Dear?”

You look up, eyes defiant. “Nope, not at all.”

Erik stands up, humming a bit to himself. “I see. So I assume all of that paper is still piled up in my office?”

“…No.”

“Good,” Erik smiles, walking closer to you, hands folded behind his back.

They raise an eyebrow at your expression— how is it that you have the utter, unmitigated gall to look frustrated, when you’re the one causing problems? He says as much out loud, watching that expression morph into something excited, something hungry.

Erik grits his teeth a little, temper flaring up. You’re always like this, always so infuriating. Pushing buttons and testing boundaries… over and over and over again. Getting a rise out of him for your own satisfaction.

But Erik couldn’t deny the satisfaction they got out of this as well.

Stepping back from you, he shows you what he’d had behind their back— a sleek, black riding crop. Erik slides the crop across his hand, testing it on their own palm and biting his lip at the sting, not missing the way you stiffen at the noise.

He orders you to strip. Whether or not you obey, you end up naked and facedown on the bed, hands tied behind your back.

Erik makes you count every crack of the riding crop against your increasingly sensitive skin, one for each piece of paper he counted you tearing off the assignment.

You’re left teary-eyed and weak, moaning at the soft touch of Erik’s hand on your stinging ass once the spanks are over.

Well, maybe… he gives you a few more with his bare hand for your insolence, smiling ever so slightly at the keening moans you let out in response.

And then, finally, they’re done with the punishment, but they don’t untie you— just roll you over. You shiver weakly as Erik leans in to kiss you, and kisses down your body, calloused hands holding your hips still as he nears your core.

He may have finished the punishments for the night, but he wasn’t quite done with you for the night.

#mail 📬#my thoughts #yandere #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere cw #oc erik #mdni #nsft #yandere smut

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fieldofdaisiies · 1 month

Text

paring: Tamlin x OC | type: angst | words: 2,6k | warnings: none | masterlist

The young male meets his gaze in the mirror, dark, crescent-shaped splotches line his eyes. Tamlin’s lower lip is split. It quavers lightly when he brushes his index finger over it, slowly healing the tiny wound, sealing it. Using more of his magic, he also tends to the bruises around his eyes.

His shoulders lift, chest heaving as another ragged sob leaves him.

His father lashed out again the previous night. Tamlin doesn’t even know the reason why, only that he once again became a victim to his anger.

Most of the injuries have healed overnight, safe for the really deep ones that are still visible on his skin. They, too, will be gone soon. Only the wounds deep within him, the gashes adorning his heart and soul, will never fully heal. Will never fade.

Tamlin splashes water into his face when his lip once again looks clean. He blows his nose, then straightens his posture and lastly, he smooths back his long blond waves, then ties them into a loose braid, securing them at the bottom with a thin leather strap.

The previous night might have been miserable, but today is a good day. Or hopefully it will be. For one, he will meet Rhysand again and they will hang out. Rhysand, heir to the Night Court, is very likely to be his only friend and Tamlin loves spending time with him, chatting and laughing, sharing court news. It is a wonderful distraction to all the mess in his own court (his possible marriage to Amarantha from Hybern or the constant bullying of his brothers. )

Today, Rhys will bring a guest, the High Lord’s heir has told him and Tamlin ponders who it might be.

When the Spring Court male walks back into his bedroom, he looses a long, almost long-suffering sigh. Hopefully Cassian isn’t the special guest because then this day won’t be as good. Cassian likes to mock him, and make jokes the Spring Court male doesn’t understand and disrupts their conversations with his sneezing. He’d rather spend time with Rhysand alone.

Once dressed, having donned breeches and a fine green jacket over his white shirt, Tamlin heads out, not paying much attention to the sentries hurtling through the corridors or Adair, his older brother, so loudly complaining in the dining room about his breakfast; Tamlin can even hear him through the closed door but decides to ignore him.

The moment the sun’s warm rays fall upon his skin, his soul starts to come alive, the floral scent of the nearby rose garden seeping into his nostrils, the birds joyful chirping, making a smile bloom on his lips.

He inhales a few deep breaths, filling his lungs with the crisp air that carries a floral scent.He loves the Spring Court. It most definitely is the most beautiful court in all of Prythian despite the person ruling over it.

Tamlin slides his hands into the pockets of his pants and then sets out, heading for the secret meeting spot he has arranged with Rhys.

He can easily walk out of the manor without anyone asking where he is going — no one is paying attention to him. He isn’t really important to…anyone. He won’t be the next High Lord, he is much younger than his oh-so-amazing brothers, and he mostly spends his time with music or in the war camps anyway.When he is here, apart from his mother, no one truly pays any attention to him and so he can wander freely, without being questioned where he goes or why he leaves.

When he arrives at their arranged place, he realises he is a bit too early, but that is no problem. Being out here is much better than spending a second longer in Rosehall — it often feels like a dungeon, a place where happiness can’t flourish, where any kind of joy will slowly dissipate into nothingness.

He wanders around aimlessly for a moment, picking up culms of grass and flicking them away again until–

His breath catches, arms slacking to his sides and everything within him comes to a standstill, eyes opening wide when they land on—

────── ⋆⋅ꕤ⋅⋆ ───��──

“Achoo!”

With a chuckle leaving his mouth, the heir to the Night Court looks at his sister. “You are just like Cassian.”

Reverie bristles and with a frown on her face, turns to her older brother. “I‘m nothing like Cassian.” She brushes a hand through her long, onyx waves, clearing her face of a few stray strands.

Rhys only chuckles again, then says, “Well…the pollen says something else. And now be calm, you are actually not supposed to be here, Re.” Rhys flashes her a tight smile and in an instant her hand lifts and she shows him a vulgar gesture.

“Dumba—” She wants to insult him, but in an instant everything stops, and the word is cut off. Her breath catches and for a moment she even forgets how to walk. Or talk. Or breathe.

Everything, the colourful, blooming Spring Court with its luxurious palace in the distance, fades into insignificance when her eyes land on a young male of outstanding beauty. They are still a short distance away from one another, but she can perfectly see Tamlin, standing between two large trees, full of lush green leaves.

The High Lord‘s son, one of them, the youngest. He is tall, strongly built with broad shoulders, and a sculpted chest, not like the Illyrian but still his defined muscles are visible through his white shirt and the green tunic atop it. His blond hair is tied back into a low ponytail and his eyes of green meet hers, her heart skips a beat and their gazes lock.

This is Tamlin? This is Tamlin. This is Tamlin and he is…

Don‘t even think about it. Rhys snarl ripples through her mind, and Reverie turns to her older brother with her eyes wide open.

“I wasn’t—” She shuts her mouth and with it her mental shields. She totally was staring. She has never seen a male of such beauty before. She has never seen a male glow so radiantly before. The expression he is wearing is priceless – full of shock and surprise, but in his eyes, of the colour of a green obsidian, there is admiration and silent wonder.

She smiles at him, peeking around her older brother’s body. Rhys is moving a bit faster now, in front of her, blocking her sight. Rude, she thinks.

“I wasn’t checking him out,” Reverie snaps, also walking faster now, bumping her shoulder against her brother’s.

Rhysand throws her withering glare. “I could hear your thoughts.”

Dumbass. “I hope you heard that now.” She fights the urge to poke out her tongue, but knows it wouldn’t be so proper to do it in front of another prince. Or anyone.

“And now, as I told you: stay calm. After all, you shouldn’t be here, dear sister. This is top secret.”

Reverie understands. Rhysand is risking a lot for her right now. But she is just so tired of always staying in the Night Court, she wants to explore and travel like her older brother. So, very secretly and hopefully without their parents finding out, she’s joined Rhysand on his little trip to the Spring Court.

“Thank you,” she whispers, reaching for her brother and sliding her hand around his elbow. “That you allowed me to join.”

“This is not about me allowing to join.” He turns to her again. They have nearly reached Tamlin now. “This is about me wanting you to experience everything I do. I want you to have a good time. A free life. I have no right to allow or not allow you things.”

She has no time to answer because Rhysand stops, and then greets his friend from the Spring Court with a tight handshake that makes her let go of his arm. “Hello, my friend,” her brother says in a calm voice. A smile appears on his face.

“Rhysand,” Tamlin says, his gaze ping-ponging between the Night Court prince and his sister. He looks a little nervous, just the slightest bit, but his eyes are full of light, of anticipation and joy. Slowly Tamlin turns his whole attention to her and draws in a deep inhale.

“And you a–” “You must b–”

A giggle leaves both of them, Reverie’s cheeks immediately heating up.

He takes a step towards her, and has to admit the width of his strong shoulders is impressive.

Slowly he reaches out his hand, then bows his head. “You first,” he whispers, holding her gaze, deep violet clashing with bright green.

“Reverie,” she attempts to say in an equally calm voice. It comes out breathy instead. Her cheeks feel so warm they have definitely taken on the colour of beetroot red by now.

His palm slides against hers and sparks explode where their skin touches. Their breath catches, both throats suddenly equally tight, eyes wide with surprise and shock.

“Tamlin, pleasure to meet you.” The Spring Court prince’s voice sounds the tiniest bit raspy, but he hopes neither sibling will notice.

Reverie squeezes his hand tightly. “It’s my pleasure.” Her gaze searches his, but he has a hard time holding eye-contact. Nevertheless her gaze lingers on his handsome face, and that’s when she sees it. Glamoured by magic, but it is definitely there. It makes her heart squeeze. Blueish hues adorn the skin beneath his eyes…bruises, most definitely.

She can‘t address it, obviously, although she would love to offer him a chance to talk to her if he ever needed someone. But it wouldn’t be proper. They don’t know each other, and Rhys is present, maybe Tamlin wouldn’t like talking about it in front of her brother. Maybe he wouldn’t like to share it with her - they don’t even know each other yet...

The Spring Court prince cuts her string of thoughts short, not letting her ponder and worry any longer.

“Did you have a good journey?” Tamlin asks, gaze momentarily moving to Rhysand before quickly jumping back to the princess of the Night Court.

She is stunning — no female he has ever seen before could ever compare to her. Reverie isn‘t a short female, but she also isn’t too tall. Her body is graced by delicate curves, the Illyrian leathers she is wearing leaving nothing to imagination and making a lump appear in Tamlin‘s throat that makes it hard for him to swallow. Long, blueish-black hair cascades down her back, a few strands flowing down her chest. She is breathtaking, so beautiful it renders him speechless.

“We winnowed here, Tam, as usual,” Rhysand chuckles, a little curious gaze on his face. Tamlin worries for a moment that Rhysand might have caught him marvelling at his little sister. He could never let him find out about that, his sister is most definitely taboo and he shouldn’t even been thinking about how beautiful she is. Tamlin quickly shuts down his thoughts, and shakes his head, when Rhysand adds, “Not much of a journey for us..”

They set out to walk a little, always hidden, always secretly.

“Right.” Tamlin wants to smack his palm against his forehead, but he stops himself.

Rhysand chuckles and reaches out his hand, squeezing his friend‘s shoulder, then patting it. “Any news from Hybern? Is Amarantha still here?”

Tamlin makes a sound that resembles a long-suffering male sigh, then shakes his head. “She left three days ago; unfortunately she will return in two weeks.”

“Who is Amarantha?”

Rhys has never mentioned her before, so Reverie is more than a little curious about the mystery female. But it is known that curiosity kills the cat. And it almost feels like a teeny-tiny part of her heart dies when her brother says, “Tamlin‘s betrothed.”

“Not yet!” Tamlin snaps, throwing Rhys a death-glare. “Never, if possible. I will find a way out of it.”

“You will—” Rhys starts but his sister cuts him off, casually sliding between Tamlin and her brother.

“You don’t like her?” she asks, glimpsing up at him with her big violet eyes.

Tamlin turns to her with a grimace on his face, eyes trailing over her face. “I despise her. She is awful, always stuck to my side, always trying to get me alone, always—touching me.” He shakes his head in disgust. “Thinks Mortals are worthless, and wants nothing but power.”

Reverie wants to ask more questions. She wants to ask everything about him, get to know him, but much to her dismay, her brother actually has court business on his mind and so he pulls Tamlin into a conversation where there is no escaping from.

It frustrates her more than it should, but she has to keep cool, trotting after them again, kicking some branches and petals out of the way to keep herself entertained. She can always admire Tamlin, or his wonderful hair, his broad shoulders, his beautiful eyes that glow whenever he turns to steal a glance at her.

────── ⋆⋅ꕤ⋅⋆ ──────

In the days that follow their first meeting Reverie often finds herself daydreaming about the young Spring Court prince, replaying their first meeting in her mind, smiling at the sheer thought of his smile.

He is charming, the most beautiful male she has ever met (and living in Illyria for half of her life, she has met many males so far.) Something about him has captured her immediately and she can’t stop thinking about him.

It is not uncommon for one of her three brothers, or all of them together catching her when she is trapped (not unpleasantly) within one of these reveries, daydreaming about him for hours on end.

“You made them for us, didn’t you?” Cassian grabs the first roll, Azriel the second and Reverie bristles at both of them.

“Bastards!” she huffs and wants to reach for them.

Azriel only tsks and shakes his head, while Cassian laughs loudly. “Well, if you are staring out of the window for hours, daydreaming about a male Rhysie shall probably never find out about or he will decapitate him tomorrow, someone has to eat the good stuff you baked. Otherwise it will all go to waste.”

Gods! Reverie thinks. Rhys could actually do that, if only to give her a millennia long lesson about why she could never ever have a crush on Tamlin.

The only problem is…this is not just a crush. She saw him, their eyes met, and suddenly everything felt right. Her world came to a halt, her heart and mind felt at ease, and…

“She is doing it again,” Azriel whispers and Reverie whips her head into his direction.

She throws her hands up in despair. “I’m doing what?”

“Daydreaming.” Cassian winks at her, grinning brightly.

The long days of silent reveries, though, turn into weeks. The weeks into months and the months, eventually, into years. Two years. Two years without a single chance for her to see Tamlin again.

Rhysand can no longer bring her along now that she is training in the war camps, and his visits to Spring are sparse as well, kept busy by more and more duties at court.

Reverie‘s heart aches, yearning to meet the Spring Court male again. To look into his eyes again, to see him smile once more.

────── ⋆⋅ꕤ⋅⋆ ──────

Reverie isn’t the only one replaying their first interaction in her mind. Tamlin’s thoughts often stray, wandering right to the princess of the Night Court, when he is playing his fiddle, going for a walk or simply resting somewhere.

She has stolen the air from his lungs and swept him off his feet - she was wonderful and he longs to see her again. Her beautiful violet eyes, her beautiful smile.

Much to his displeasure, his daydreams are often interrupted by his father’s loud declarations of his plans for Tamlin to wed Amarantha from Hybern.

It’s a proposition Tamlin’s brothers highly support.

“See it as a chance, Tam.” Adair pats his younger brother’s shoulder. “Finally you will be riding something other than horses.”

The content of his stomach sours and he fights the urge to gag, especially when his other brother Ethel bursts into laughter, joining in with Adair.

Although Tamlin knows there will never be anything between him and Reverie, that there can never be anything between them for a myriad of reasons, he won’t ever say yes to a marriage proposal to Amarantha. Never.

He remains resolute about his decision, no matter the consequences, the punishments, the torture, the pain; he won’t wed her. And so, in the darkest of hours, the lonely nights and days, spent tending to his wounds and trying to heal his broken heart, he holds onto the sliver of hope to see her again. Reverie.

tags: @thesnugglingduck @sirenpearldust @lilah-asteria

#tamlin x oc #tamlin acotar #acotar #acosf

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mythica0 · 1 year

Note

Hi hiiii!!!!! I feel like people already know I’m a sucker for lee Donnie lmaooo

That being said mayhaps you can do some lee!Donnie and ler!leo, where Donnie maybe is stuck in his own invention or whatever, and Leo just takes advantage of it lmao. I know I personally wrote a fic similar already but it was more with them as turtle tots. Wanted to do one when they’re older but I didn’t wanna reuse my own idea lmao…

So anyway yeah you don’t have to or anything but feel free!!! Love your writing! ❤️

Pouting

🎂:ROTTMNT

🧁:Donnie

🍫:Leo (ft. Tech)

Summary: A prototype Battle Shell Donnie was working on kinda… backfired. He immediately regrets asking for help from his Twin brother.

A/N: You got it, dude(gender neutral). PREPArE FOR TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF

TW: mild swearing. above mentioned tooth-rotting fluff.

Pouting

Donnie messed up. Big time.

He was just working on a prototype for a new battle shell. Something he did once in a while when he came up with new ideas to put in it.

But clearly he did something wrong, as it malfunctioned.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a big deal. He would just try and figure out what happened and fix it.

The problem was, what malfunctioned was a trapping net. That he was now caught in.

He didn’t know how, but he ended up with his ankle trapped in one of the net holes, arms tied to either side, and hanging over the rest like a kid playing birds on a swing set.

Sigh. This was very unfortunate. He couldn’t get himself out, his arms were stuck, but nobody was home right now.

‘Except…. Groan. Leo.’

Oh well. It’s not like he had a choice in the matter. He sighed and resigned himself to getting help from his insufferable Twin.

“LEO!”

“YEAH!”

“CAN,” he sighed again, “CAN YOU COME HERE REAL QUICK.”

“OKAY, ONE SEC!” The younger twin replied.

Donnie heard footsteps and then saw Leo, standing in the door frame, looking all to amused for the soft shell’s liking.

“Whahat- what did you do?” Leon asked, clearly trying (and failing) not to laugh.

Donnie sighed again. “My new battle shell prototype isn’t working as intended.”

“Pfft- clehearly.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m hilarious. Can you help me out now? I didn’t call you just so you could make fun of me.”

Leo held up a hand and chuckled, “alright, I’ll help ya.”

He actually was going to help! He swears! …but…

He saw how upset Donnie looked. He was pouting, and just looked so annoyed. Leo couldn’t help but feel like it was his job to put a smile on that scowling face! Not to mention his little brother instinct to be an absolute little shit.

He brought his hand past Donnie’s side, giving it a little tickle as he did so.

Donnie want expecting the sensation and squealed.

Leo smirked and did it again.

Donnie didn’t squeal that time, as he was expecting it more, but he did snicker a bit.

“Nahardo, what exactly do you think you’re doihing?”

“Oh, nothing~ just putting a smile on my pouty twins face~” Leo said with a lilt as he started to more rapidly scribble against the older twins sides.

“Nohohoho! Nahahahardo doho nohohot!”

“Too late~~” the slider started with a sing song, “and hey! Look! It’s working! Look at that smile~”

He wasn’t wrong either. Donnie’s face had stretched itself into a wide grin against his permission as he giggled wildly.

“Tickle tickle tickle DonTon~”

“Ohoho shihihit! dohohont sahahay thahahat!”

“Why not~? Seems to be making you all giggly~ tickle tickle tickle tickle~” Leon brought his hand up to Don’s underarm, exposed from where the net had caught his hands.

“NAHAHO! WHYHY! Hahahahahaha!” The tech-wiz giggled loudly. The fact that he couldn’t move his arms seemed to make it feel a thousand times worse. But, he was having maybe just a bit of fun. Not that he would ever admit it in a thousand million years.

“I already told you why! I wanted to see you smile dear twin o’ mine! Spirits know you need to smile more often!”

“Y’know~ I wonder what would happen if I were to get your shell right now?” Leo asked in mock pondering.

Donnie gulped internally. He was really regretting calling for Leo’s help. He should of just waited for someone to get home! Obviously since he was working on a battle she’ll prototype, he was looking at his battle shell for reference. Which meant he wasn’t wearing it.

“Are you ready, DonTon~”

“Ahahahbsolohoutly nohot.”

“Oh, well~! I’m doing it anyway~” Leon started to scratch gently along Don’s soft shell in an extremely ticklish fashion.

Donnie felt like he was seeing the gates of the afterlife from how much that tickled. He would probably be freaking out more if it was anyone but family, but he trusted his brother not to go too far with his shell.

Just enough to absolutely wreck him into next week!

“LEHEHEHOOHOHO! IHIHIHITS SOHOHO BAHAHAHAHAD! EEHEHEHAHAHAH!”

“I know~ but look, no more pouting now~”

“SHIHIHI-HAHAHAH! STAHAHAHAP!”

Leo could tell he was serious and did as instructed. Donnie glared at him in shock and suspicion.

“Whyhy- why dihidnt you stohop sohooner?”

“You didn’t tell me too.” Leo smirked at the indignant look that got him.

The slider actually freed his twin now, and helped him up.

Leo was adamant that Donnie needed to smile more. Thankfully he would always be there to put one on his face when the soft shell was pouting.

———THE END————————————————

#parrotwrites #parrotanswers #sfw tickling community #rottmnt tickles #lee!donnie #ler!leo

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rendy-a · 1 year

Note

♡Valentine's event is so cute!♡ so I hope to be in time to place my order: Silver, romantic, in a sunset in the woods? I love your blog, I hope to see more of your future works 🌹

I rambled quite a bit on this one but I think it ties up nicely at the end. Thanks for taking part in my event!

If ever you need me, I’ll be at your side, Valentine.

Ever since you were young, you’ve enjoyed gifting Valentine’s cards and candy to your friends. You made sure to make one for all your new friends this year too. The first years were easy to deliver to; you all ate lunch together. You lucked out with the Dorm Leaders (save Malleus who is never invited) and Vice Leaders, as they had a meeting after class. That only left you with a few of your friends to find.

Ruggie tracked you down when he heard you were giving out candy. Floyd is only a stop away at the Mostro Lounge when it opens. And Cater, he could be reached to meet up with at any time over his Magicam. The real difficulty was Silver. The quiet second year was rarely on a set schedule. You were as likely to find him training at Diasomnia as sleeping in the Botanical Gardens. You’d kept your eye out for him as you delivered your previous gifts and yet, not caught any hint of his location.

You had one last gift to deliver before only Silver’s would be left. You’d saved this one for last on purpose, just in case you needed the extra help. “Happy Valentine’s Day Malleus!” you say as you hand him the little chocolate dragon and card. “So, you mean to present a gift to me, child of man? You are very brave. Fufufu,” the dragon fae says. The words sound foreboding but you can tell from the smile on his face that he is pleased to be included in the day.

“Say Malleus, you wouldn’t happen to know where I could find Silver, would you? I’ve still got his gift and I can’t seem to find him,” you tell your friend bashfully. Malleus puts a hand to his chin, “Silver?” he questions as he ponders. “I believe Tuesday is the day Silver is tasked with feeding the horses for the Equestrian Club.” You brighten up and shout, “Thanks Malleus!” Then head off towards the stable, hoping you’d be in time to meet up with Silver.

You arrive at the stable, but Silver is no where to be found. As you stand at the fence, a white horse approaches you, curious to see if you have any treats. “Sorry boy, I’ve got no apples for you. I’ll bring one next time, I promise,” you apologize to the princely stead while mentally making a note to get some apples from Epel. The horse neighs at you in a tone you swear was disappointed. “Well, I’m disappointed too! Shouldn’t I find my knight on the back of a white horse and yet here we both are, Silver-less.” The horse shakes his head as if to say, ‘that’s your problem!’ before wandering back into the pasture.

You give a sigh, looking off into the distance. The sun was dropping lower in the sky and you were wondering if you’d succeed in giving out your last Valentine on the holiday after all. The most important one. While all your Valentines were special in their own way, you can’t deny that you’d put just a little bit extra into Silver’s. You hoped that just a piece of your admiration would come through when he saw the extra effort you’d put into the hand cut decorations or the thoughtful poem.

You give one last huge sigh and push yourself off the fence, headed home. That’s when it hit you. Literally. You jump with surprise, gazing at a lone acorn that rests at your feet. You look up and track the makeshift projectile to a chattering squirrel. As you gaze at him, he continues to scold you from his lofty vantage. “Well, what do you want me to do? It’s not like you can lead me to Silver, can you?” you demand of the noisy squirrel in frustration. To your great surprise, at this statement the squirrel quiets.

“Wait, can you lead me to Silver?” It was an odd thought but you recall the almost magical bond that Silver has with the small animals of the forest. You look up at the squirrel hopefully, “Will you do it? Will you take me to him? He’s probably fallen asleep in the forest, right? Well, let’s go!” As you approach the squirrel, it bounds off the tree branch and onto the neighboring tree. Then it looks back at you and you feel like it is telling you, ‘follow me!’

The path the squirrel takes you on is unpredictable and long. There are many times you cures Lilia for giving Silver such strange training to be done in such remote places. More than a few times, you’ve considered turning back but the thoughts of Silver, alone in the forest, kept you going. Finally, you reach a tall tree at the edge of a stream. The squirrel climbs into a hole in the trunk and you wait for him to emerge and lead on. You wait. And wait. And wait.

Finally, you realize how foolish you’ve been. ‘I can’t believe I followed some random squirrel into the forest,’ you say to yourself. You look up where the squirrel had disappeared and shout, “TRAITOR!” The squirrel does not appear to answer to your allegations. You collect yourself and take in your situation; it’s not good. If the sun was beginning to set when you entered the woods, it would be nearly sunset soon. Seeing as you were deep into the forest, the trees were already blocking most of the scant light. The shadows were pooling at the base of the trees and forming deep lakes of darkness. Soon, you’d not be able to see at all. On top of it all, you had no idea where you were.

SNAP! The sound of a twig breaking catches your attention and elevates you to a new level of fear. You look around for a branch or something to defend yourself, hoping you’ll be able to avoid any large or vicious animals. When the source of the noise steps into the clearing and it is only Silver. You are profoundly relieved. “Silver! Don’t scare me like that!” you say as you put your hand to your racing heart and toss the branch onto the forest floor.

Silver sheepishly puts one hand to the side of his face, “I’m sorry. I’ll try harder next time.” You shake your head; he was always so earnest, even in ridiculous situations like this. “Silver, don’t apologize for things that aren’t your fault.” You chuckle and continue, “Besides, you haven’t harmed me but rescued me instead. How did you even know I was here? I don’t even know where I am!” Silver looks at you gently, “A little bird told me.” At this, a small owl in the branches about you lets out a satisfied hoot.

You look up at the owl and say, “You could have warned me about the squirrel.” The owl tilts his head and replies with a long “Whoooo?” You consider the owl; was he there the whole time and you hadn’t noticed? When you pose this question to Silver, he clears it up. “When I returned to Diasomnia, Lord Malleus asked if I enjoyed the Valentine gift from you. When I told him we hadn’t meet, fa..Lilia said I better go find you. So, I asked my forest friends if they could help me search.” You thank your lucky stars that you’d told Malleus what your plans were.

You smile at him, “I’m so glad you did.” You reach into your pocket and hand Silver your Valentine. It might have gotten a bit squashed in the hike, but it was the thought that counted! He looks startled to receive the Valentine, even though he had just mentioned hearing about it from Malleus. As he reads it, a rare smile breaks across his face. You tremble a little, hoping your feelings were conveyed. Then suddenly, he frowns. “What is it?” you ask. He looks forlorn as he puts his hand to his head, “I didn’t get anything for you.”

You walk to his side and place your hand on his shoulder, “I don’t need a gift. Look at how you are already helping me out. I don’t know what I’d have done tonight without you. You are like my real-life knight in shining armor.” Silver looks up at you hopefully, “I may not have prepared you a card but that doesn’t mean I can’t tell you what is in my heart. If ever you need me, I’ll be at your side, Valentine.” You smile back at him joyfully and take his hand in yours, “I accept.”

The sun had set but you walked home without fear, hand-in-hand, with your own personal knight. When you cleared the final trees, the full moon shone over the path to Ramshackle. It lit the way nicely, but you no longer cared. You had no need for the moon, you had already found your light in the darkness. And when you parted at the door of the dorm, he placed a kiss to your palm. It felt like an oath; I’ll always be there when you need me.

#200 follower event #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #silver x reader #twst silver

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naussensei · 27 days

Text

Sleeping had always been an issue for Suguru. Ever since he was a kid, he’d had trouble with it. If it wasn’t the night terrors waking him up in the middle of the night, it was his over preoccupied mind tormenting him with images or words going round and round in his head. Tonight, it was the second one that kept him sleep-deprived, rotting in his bed, reviewing the past days events in his head, and questioning why his brain decided to show him all the stupid things he’d said and done in his life, now of all times.

It was well past ten in the evening when he last checked the time, and that felt like ages ago. Suguru lay wide awake in his bed, turning from one side to the other, over and over, in a fruitless effort to put his mind at rest, until he decided there was no use in even trying to sleep. How could he, when guilt was eating him up inside?

“So much for making friends…” he muttered to himself as he sat up on the bed. Across the room, his own reflection stared at him with pity, a sight so sickening he couldn’t bear to hold for another moment. His head hung forward with the longest sigh, his hair falling over his eyes. It had grown so long it was beginning to tangle when he didn’t tie it, and he no longer had any hair ties left, because Satoru kept stealing them from him as a joke that nobody but him thought was funny. Next time, he would make Satoru buy him some. Although he wasn’t entirely sure how he would manage to do that. It would be a little hard, considering they were not on speaking terms. For now, he’d have to survive with a good comb and immaculate patience.

With resignation, Suguru moved to the small sink in the corner of his room to boil some water for tea. It was probably not a good idea to drink black tea at that time, but he already wasn’t getting any sleep.

The tea was just beginning to brew in his cup when someone knocked on his door.

“Who is it?” Suguru’s skin bristled in alert. There was no answer.

Putting the cup down, he moved to the door to open it ever so slightly, and his eyes widened with surprise.

“Satoru?”

There he was, the source of all his problems, the reason for his sleepless nights, standing before his door. Gojo Satoru, who had told him to stay away, was standing before his door. And with a very much troubled face, too. He was looking down at his foot, which bounced impatiently, and biting the inside of his cheek as though pondering.

Suguru watched him in silence, and waited for him to say something, because he seemed as if he had something to say.

“Come,” Satoru blurted out, then stepped away from the door for Suguru to follow him, as if certain that Suguru would do so, with no further questions asked. His confidence was infuriating, because the thought of doing exactly that really did cross Suguru’s mind.

He was about to give in when he reminded himself of the foul things Satoru had said to him. Not just this week, but ever since the moment they met. His eyes narrowed at him with reluctance.

“Where?”

Satoru flinched, his foot bouncing again. “Just– just come with me, will you?”

Suguru opened the door a little wider, just a little, but enough to see Satoru’s face better. The fact that he had Satoru at his door calling for him so eagerly sparked something warm in his chest, an overwhelming feeling of fulfillment, so pleasant that he was almost tempted to leave the room immediately. Almost. But after some minimal thought, he decided that the prospects of having Satoru begging and seeing his pride crushed were so much more tempting.

With his chin high, Suguru looked him dead in the eye and firmly said, “No.”

“Huh?! Why not?!”

“Ask me nicely.”

“Ugh,” Satoru sighed in frustration, then rolled his eyes. “Would you come with me, please ?”

Suguru did not appreciate sarcasm when it came from anyone that wasn’t himself.

“No, thank you .”

The door half-closed on Satoru’s face.

“Wait!” He shoved one arm and leg inside to keep the door from closing. “Man, you’re brutal, you didn’t even hesitate. Could you at least pretend to give it some thought?!”

“Ok.” He stopped forcing the door closed.

Satoru looked at him, expectantly. “Really?”

“Alright.”

”So, you’re coming?”

“No.”

This time the door shut on Satoru’s face.

“Wait, wait, wait!” He yelped, squeezing his way into Suguru’s room regardless. He must’ve had his barrier on, because there wasn’t a scratch in his face.

Just how stubborn could he be? It was like a child who’d never been told ‘no’ in his life.

Tired now of struggling against the door, Suguru folded his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow at him.

“I thought you told me to stay ‘five meter radio away’ from you.”

“I… uh, don’t remember saying that…”

“Well, I don’t feel like going anywhere. I just made tea and I plan to drink it while it’s still hot, so…”

“Ugh! Why are you being so—!“ Satoru’s lips pursed into a thin line, keeping the foul words from escaping his mouth. He was making an effort, and Suguru would have given him points for that, if it wasn’t because Satoru was now grabbing his wrist and pulling him violently.

“Just come with me, damn it.”

“I said no— hey!”

Before Suguru could object any further, Satoru was already dragging him out of his room and closing the door behind them. They were now walking at full speed down the corridor.

“Let go.” In spite of his words, Suguru’s feet did not stop moving. “I told you, I wanna have my tea in peace.“

“Oh my god, stop being such a baby. There’s tea in my room too.”

“And why would I—“

Suguru cut himself off as he realized who’s door they were standing at. Now, the question was, why the hell were they going there.

From: Our Last Summer by Naus

#SatoSugu #stsg #SatoSugu fic #SatoSugu fanfic #Satoru x Suguru

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moreloke · 1 month

Text

csm x skinner, flower shop au, accidental time loop??

you can find other fics under #csm x skinner

Walter is not a big fan of flora. He's also not a big fan of places that smell like grass.

He's awkward and out of place amongst the delicate plants in the apron and work gloves. He's too old to be a flower boy. He's helping a family friend.

...He's very much applied when hauling pots and vases around and counting the cash meticulously.

🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸

Walter looks up - a man steps in, water dripping from his coat, muddy shoe prints everywhere, and puts a cigarette in his mouth. He's just cleaned up after the last customer, the weather was dreadful alright, a bit too wet, but then his shop is not a bus stop.

"No." The man freezes comically, a lighter half way to his face, brows going up.

"No?" He repeats, unused to being denied.

Walter silently points at the no-smoking sign. (He dug it out of a stationery box in the back for no particular reason. He's glad he did.)

"This is a flower shop." Walter points out helpfully at the prolonged silence.

"So it is."

"People buy flowers here."

The man ponders this, as if unfamiliar with the concept. The man is someone Walter could have seen in the endless halls of Hoover building. He hopes not.

"So. Sell me flowers then."

🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸

Man in a suit comes in with a frown and a lit cigarette in his mouth. The man puts it out at his stern look.

"Something simple. For a funeral."

Walter got no idea what's appropriate for a funeral.

"Lilies ok?"

The man nods.

He doesn't ask about colours or arrangement, sensing it's not that type of customer, and ties a simple black ribbon carefully around the bouquet.

"These are not US dollars." Some foreign currency, german maybe?

"You could still take them." The suit man's voice is gruff, from years of lung damage, surely. He frowns at his own hand, then at him and Walter guesses he's not used to being refused. Well, tough luck.

"I couldn't." He says it firmly enough and stands straighter, so they're the same height.

At that the other changes his stance lightly, less of a stand off, more of a size up.

"I'll write a cheque."

Walter shrugs and accepts the paper. He studies it attentively, then, finding no apparent fault, slips it into the drawer.

"Your flowers."

The man grabs them carelessly, too carelessly, but that's not Walters problem anymore.

"Sorry." At the raised eyebrows he adds "for the occasion." He doesn't know why he said that.

The suit throws him a look and leaves without another word.

Walter sighs and turns back to work. He hopes the cheque isn't a fraud.

🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸

"Something for a hospital."

There's nothing well wishing about the man, harsh frown, deep lines, insincire eyes. But then it's not Walter's place to comment on that.

He plucks carnations out of their vases, some fern and lemon leaf, and rolls them into a simple paper bag. They wouldn't smell too strongly and would last arguably well on a bedside table. He doesn't explain any of it, presuming that the other wouldn't care.

This time it's proper american cash but he still makes a point of examining the hundred dollar bill.

"It's genuine, I assure you." He insists, as if offended at the forgery insinuation.

"Hmph," agrees Walter and hurries to count the change.

🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸🌷🛸

A man in a suit rushes in and demands two dozen roses.

"We're closed."

The man winces, yet comes closer to the counter. There's a cigarette in his hand, unlit.

"You're still here, aren't you?" Walter is busy trying to discern the note of threat in his tone when the vague smell of Morley breaks though the grassy wet fragrance of the shop.

His supervisor's office reeked of smoke that day.

"You're doing good work in the field, Agent Skinner. We would hate for your career to... stall due to unsubstantiated claims and lack of concrete evidence."

It was back there. Whatever horror he supposedly never saw. It was still back there.

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir, I understand."

Someone else got the promotion. The thing, whatever it was, still roamed at large. Unchecked. Free. Hungry.

The cigarette man is looking at him expectedly.

"So? My roses."

Well, fuck it.

"Sorry." He breathes out unapologetically and looks straight into the murky blue eyes. "But we're closed for the day."

The man sizes him up. Huffs in an obvious displeasure. Stares at the "no smoking" plaque and lights his damn cig on the way out.

What an asshole.

#csm x skinner #walter skinner #cigarette smoking man #x files #i couldnt just write a normal au could i #no no no way #this is flirting btw #x fic tag

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satureja13 · 11 months

Text

06:39 am

An usual morning for Jebho. They share the bath all the time ^^' The Boys will have to leave the hotel soon - into an uncertain future...

Jack didn't last long in his pizza bag last night. Even though he was exhausted from driving the truck (very slowly, bec no driver's license) through the night to Tartosa, Saiwa, him (and the others of course) were worried Vlad could die again from drinking Ji Ho's poisonous blood.

So Saiwa and Jack were keeping watch. (Like they did at Mount Komorebi ;) Sai: "Jack! He's waking up!"

Vlad: "?" Sai: "We can't lose you again." Vlad: "I told you I'm fine." And he really was. Maybe his body developed antibodies or death/hellfire/the bond changed him - who knows. And something else has changed since yesterday: the bond wasn't demanding anymore. Neither Vlad nor Ji Ho felt the usual drag towards the other or the urge to charge the bond. They tightened the bond on winter and summer solstice - maybe this has closed the circle? Or the bond had done it's duty by leading Vlad and Ji Ho to their powers to defeat the council (at least for a while)?

Whatever - they had to leave the hotel and then they had breakfast at the Piazza Matteotti.

And while they were pondering what to do now and where to go - Signore Srini, the pasticciere (confectioner) recognized them from yesterday's broadcast.

He was so happy that they made the council leave that he offered them to stay at his family's old llama farm turned camping site - for free! He described them the way and said they could stay as long as they wanted since the summer season hasn't started yet.

It seems their rainy days have ended! Saiwa: "Mille grazie Signore Srini!"

Così piccola e fragile mi sembri tu e sto sbagliando di più. Così piccola accanto a me e fragile o no ma in fondo sei molto più forte di me! E con la voce che hai sensazioni mi dai m'innamoro, fragile sei tu... Sottovoce tu mi esponi i tuoi problemi poi ridi e ti neghi a me mentre io

(So little and fragile but actually you're stronger than I am And with the voice that you have you give me this feeling I fall in love, you're fragile Quietly you tell me your problems and after that you laugh and deny)

Piccola Et Fragile - Drupi

From the Beginning ~ Underwater Love ~ Latest TMI: I'm so happy that I got rid of that plumbob (again) and can see the speech/thought bubbles! They even inspired the post today ;)

#Summer at Tartosa #simblr #sims 4 story #ts4 #underwater love #woo ji ho #vladimir tepesz #jack callahan #saiwa #giga byte #tartosa #porto azzurro #jeb harris #Jack Pizza #sitting at Vlad's bed

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ellieinbg · 5 months

Text

Making a folk skirt for my cold legs

Back in the before times—which I guess for most people means before COVID-19, but for me means before chronic illness smashed my world to bits—I used to do a lot of couture-style sewing. I have sewen entire historical ensembles. I sewed my own wedding dress. I thread traced and pad stitched and flat-lined. I was in love with the idea of fashion and wanted to engage with it on a sophisticated level. The problem was I didn't like anything I made.

Not only do I have a hard-to-fit body, but I have an electrolyte disorder that fucks up my hormones and makes my body size fluctuate like wild. When I could get things to fit well, they inevitably didn't fit well a month later. And the things I made were either too costumey for me to wear or too boring for me to enjoy. The sheer amount of money, and effort it took to create a garment I didn't like or could not wear destroyed my interest in sewing. I took a break for many years, though as sick as I was I could not have sewn even if I had wanted to. In the past few years, I have had the opportunity to live in Bulgaria for a few months at a time, here and there, slowly soaking up the culture. There I discovered my passion for Slavic folk attire. I have had the opportunity to view some amazing pieces up close at museums and festivals and to see countless up-close photos on Bulgarian buy/sell websites. Something that slowly wormed its way into my brain as I spent time appreciating these garments is how wonderfully flawed they are. I don't mean that they are not skillfully created. They, of course, vary from roughly made amateur attempts to some of the most amazing textile work I have ever seen. What they lack is the rigid rules of couture. The stuffy conventions that define high fashion are conspicuously and freeingly missing from these garments. They are not fitted but instead tied and belted into shape. Trimmings can be added ad-hoc with little coordination as old ones are replaced or new fancier ones can be obtained. Tunics, vests, skirts, and aprons are mostly stand-alone things and not part of a coordinated ensemble. Each item is beautiful and meaningful but modular. And most of all they tend to be extremely size adjustable. Not custom fit for one single body, but designed for any body that garment might be handed down to. Cue this winter, when I was once again looking with dread at the pants in my closet, knowing the things that fit were not warm enough for winter and dreading another round of buying things. There is a growing online trend for sewing historic-inspired adjustable clothing and I knew what I needed was an adjustable over skirt for going out. It needed to be long, warm, and easy to throw on over whatever I was wearing in the house. I wanted something that visually paid homage to the Slavic folk wear I love but their tie-on construction method wasn't going to work. Traditionally these skits had a long slit from the waistband down and tied shut. The ties let the skirt adjust to your size but the front would gap and was not very modest. This is why many historic European costumes include an apron. When wearing skirts of this type the apron covered this slit and provided complete modestly. Also, you have to either step into or drop these skirts over your head which wasn't what I wanted. While pondering how I wanted to make this I stumbled upon a video from "Sewing Therapy" about reversible hanbok skirt construction. The Hanbok is a traditional garment in Korea and like much traditional clothing, a very simple design made mostly of rectangles. As I understand it, and my understanding is poor, the skirt variant is a relatively modern creation. It has a waistband, two ties, and a large pleated panel. Importantly for me, the hanbok is made on the straight grain and not gored, or cut on the circle, just like Slavic folk skirts. They are very size adjustable and can be layered over any under clothes easily making them the perfect outer layer for winter.

I do not in any way claim that what I made in the end is a traditional hanbok. Pleated skirts with a waistband are a pretty pan-cultural idea and are frequently used in the construction of traditional European skirts as well, but the idea of making a pleated panel into a wrap skirt is something I first saw with this hanbok video and I wanted to make a point to give credit to Sara its creator. I hit up my local thrift store for cotton sheets for this experiment and lucked out on this burgundy and cream pair. The burgundy side I hit up with black fabric spray paint and whip-stitched a burgundy ribbon from my stash. For the cream side, I dip-dyed it with procion dyes. I added a simple pocket bag on one side and then stamped it with my possum skull block from my trash coat project. I made a point just to get this made and not to care about seams matching or thread color. I just wanted to have fun sewing again. And ya know what? It is imperfect and weird and works amazing to keep my legs warm and I LOVE IT. I wear this skirt constantly. I love it so much I have started on my second version, this time with some vintage 90s dino sheets.

#upcycle #folk punk #avant garde fashion #goblincore #folk core #folk clothing #historybounding

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uninformedartist · 11 months

Note

Just an fyi when you see a lot of attention getting shown to Stolas/Moxxie/Angel getting beaten and bruised. Viv has bondage fetish and scramble to hide a lot of the bondage stuff she drew about Angel, but can't hide the stuff she drew with Addison further back.

CW ahead: Beastiality mentioned with a minor character

Hmm I have heard about this from other blog posts especially the Addison art she made way back then. Seeing his bio on the wiki its still listed as him being 17 and I cropped the art much more but yeah that is a huge yikes, beyond yikes.

To start I'm not going to shame Viv *IF*she has this fetish or anyone that has an intrest in that fetish. As long as its done with consenting parties who are majors in a safe way/environment etc. What is a problem is the Addison info above (cannot stess how disgusting that is) and how Viv seems to portray the scenes of bondage in her shows. Like its mostly scenes where the characters are held against their will, have their agency taken away or are also getting harmed while being tied up in that moment etc and *IF* it is to be as a scene that should be seen through a fetishising lense aswell then that is horrible.

I put emphasis on *if* because it does look that way but until it is proven solidly like the Addison situation (a minor character in such a sexual situation) then its just heavily implied which is bad aswell but one must just be aware of it, don't make assumptions but be aware. Also we don't really know if Viv has a bondage fetish (I won't make assumptions like that or say anything to solidify she has such a fetish) if there is a post she clearly says she has one then I would be interested to know as I couldn't find any information confirming that otherwise won't say she has one.

And going back to this post I do find it egregious how Stolas is portrayed here, not the fact that this scene is bad thematically in show but here Stolas was captured, tied up against his will and harmed badly but they are making "fun" prints of him to be signed and saying "poor Stolas", can express how bad that is considering the situation. And I know its fictional but this happens in real life and considering the helluva boss fandom (its mostly teens hands down) it can cause desensitization towards these situations (I've seen it happen 1st hand in my life, it does happen unfortunately).

Ty for the ask, gave me things to ponder on and this post isn't very polished its quite rambling sorry but it is things to *Consider* but until solid proof come out then that's all we can do, is be aware and consider these things.

#vivziepop critical #helluva boss critical #my post #ramblings #spindlehorse critical #not so polished post sorry #ty anon for this question really good point.

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