#Dog Days Ch 2

[myfictionaldreams]

Seven // Mafia!Stucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: One week is all it takes for your world to come crashing down. Even though you could have everything you'd ever wanted, for some reason, something isn't right. Will your emotions and the smothering of overprotective Stucky come to an end?

Prompt: please read my 'origin' fics last hope (Ch 1) (Ch 2) for some reader backstory.

Requested by: 2 x requests mixed together. @hellsenthero for the safeword use, subdrop + lots of angst/comfort & anon with very overprotective Stucky. I hope you both enjoy, this gets quite intense so be ready!

Warnings (PLEASE READ): injuries, blood, safe word use, discussion of m*rder, severe panic attack. Not by the main characters: threats of abuse, unconsenting face touching, derogatory, misogony, slut shaming

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst (!), Overprotective (!), Dom/Sub, threesome, hurt/comfort, possessive, sir kink, oral (f + m recieving), squirting, subdrop, crying, anal, double penetration, praise kink, begging, rough sex, aftercare (sorry if i've missed any lmao)

Words: 9k (it's a long one!)

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

One week. Seven days.

Not a significant amount of time for most in the grand scheme of a lifetime. How much could change in a single week? Everything it seemed and yet nothing at all.

A week of not acting like yourself. Days filled with conflicting thoughts between overreacting and not having the energy to emote. Excuses became your best friend. Maybe it was because you were due to start your period; perhaps it was a mental breakdown. Who knows?

There was never a day that you EVER doubted your love for Steve Rogers and James Barnes. The term soulmates didn’t even come close to how much you loved these men. The loves of your life. Saving you from a lifetime of pain, saving you from yourself. There would never be a day that you weren’t grateful for these men, and every day, you tried to show them your appreciation with love and affection.

Yes, you were still human. There were days when you couldn’t even cope with their assertive overprotectiveness. Yes, it was for your benefit; they loved you as much as you loved them. Scared of losing you, cautious of the horrible life and background that they’d saved you from. Their job as heads of the Rogers Mafia was rifled with dangers, violence, and death. There was always a target on their backs and anyone they encountered. The list was endless as to why Steve and Bucky acted as they did.

For years, there was nothing but appreciation for this way of life. The dangers that surrounded every second were always at an arm's length away from you as you lived a comfortable, loving life with the men you loved.

Steve and Bucky were renowned for their protection of you. Going to extreme lengths to make sure you were safe. This ranged from 24/7 security, personal bodyguards always by your side unless they were there, and weapons hidden throughout your home that you had been thoroughly trained on just in case.

Next were the verbal and physical threats Steve and Bucky would give those who dared to look at you for more than 5 seconds. People died. MANY people had been killed, as a matter of fact, in the line of duty, love and a little bit of crazy. The lines that were crossed to make sure you were safe had no boundaries.

Except on these small occasions. Just one week for your patience to lose all hope.

MONDAY

It had been a calm day for you. You complete chores at home until you’re satisfied while your boyfriends are at work, making money and continuing to prove they own Brooklyn. You wanted to treat them to something special and decided to cook a hearty meal and have a romantic dinner.

The table was decorated with candles and fresh flowers from the garden. Even your dog Dodger was handsome in his blue and red bowtie around his neck. He sat his head on his paws, watching you chop vegetables.

“What do you think Dodger? Does Mama move well?” you ask him whilst shaking your hips in time with the song playing on the radio. The rottweiler’s head tilts as if to say you’re really going to ask me that?

“Fine, maybe I can’t dance, but I can cook; if you’re good, you’ll get some of the meat scraps”. Dodgers ears perk up at this, and you can’t help but grin down at your baby, “Of course, you’re going to be a good boy, you’re always my good boy- OW SHIT!”

The pain is intense, and the burn radiates from the centre of your palm. Blood, that's all you see at first. The crimson drips from the end of the knife in your hand before it clutters onto the cutting board.

“Honey, we’re home!” Bucky hollered from the front door.

You couldn’t reply. Utterly frozen and helpless as more drips continued to coat the surface. This is how you die from chopping vegetables. You’ll be the laughing stock of the infamous mafia leader’s lover dies from cutting a carrot.

Dodger, ever the inquisitive boy, began to bark hysterically, running out of the kitchen towards Steve and Bucky, jumping up at them, biting onto their clothes and pulling in the direction of the kitchen. He’d been trained for moments like this to protect and alert if you’re in danger.

“What is it, Dodger? Where is she- Fuck! Bucky, get the first aid kit. Baby, let me see.” Steve’s hand's cup yours, pressing firmly against the area that was now throbbing and you couldn’t help but hiss as the sting intensified. “I know it hurts, but I need to stop it bleeding”, he explains whilst coaxing you toward the sink.

With surprising gentleness for such a big hunk of a man, Steve washed your hand, able to inspect the wound as Bucky appeared to your other side with the first aid box opened and ready.

“It’s not deep enough to need stitches, thankfully, but I’m going to need to press on it for a couple of minutes to stop it bleeding”. Nodding your head in response to Steve, you lean against his body, finding comfort in his warmth and firm body.

“I guess that’s the last time you try and do anything romantic, huh, Doll?” Tilting your head toward Bucky, you glare hard at his joke as he sticks out his bottom lip in a pout. “Oh, I love it when you try and look angry with me; you look so damn cute”, he finishes his teasing with a bop at the end of your nose with his finger.

“Bucky, stop being a jerk”, Steve chastises as you hide your face in his chest.

“I just wanted to make you both a nice meal”, your voice muffled against Steve’s white shirt.

“As much as we appreciate the sentiment, maybe use the precut carrots next time, yeah?” Knocking your shoulder against Steve’s chest, he laughs and kisses your cheek as an apology for his joke.

Your hand is then thoroughly wrapped in a bandage, probably more than necessary, and you’re nudged to sit at the table while they continue cooking the meal you’d planned. Guilt settled uneasily in your stomach. It was meant to be a pleasant surprise for them, but now they’re left clearing up after you.

Dodger came over, licking at your uninjured hand, begging for pets you’re more than happy to give him as you contemplated how to make up for your mistake.

However, Steve and Bucky had other ideas as they took it upon themselves to ensure you were effortlessly cared for to the point that they refused to allow you to cut up your food or feed yourself, cuddling you into Bucky’s lap as he fed you. Next, they’re undressing you slowly, carefully and tenderly, bathing you, being careful of your injury, and ending the day with enough orgasms to have your mind fuzzy and body sated.

 You were treated to the care and attention you were used to, and Steve and Bucky did not complain once. In fact, they had smiles on their faces, and they enjoyed looking after you, which is where your conundrum occurs. Sometimes, the overprotective attentiveness verged on being smothering.

TUESDAY

It did not end. You’re washed, dressed, and hair combed by them. Even lifting the damn spoon for your cereal to your mouth.

“I can use a spoon; I’m not incapable of everything!”

All you’re given in response from Bucky is a soft smile, his eyes flicking across your face like he’s trying to memorise every pore, and then once more, he continues to feed you. “I like looking after you like this”.

“What, like a baby?” you ask in a monotone voice.

“You know exactly what I mean” he rolls his eyes playfully but doesn’t stop.

You knew he was trying to be innocent and caring, but for some reason, this time, it was hitting you the wrong way. One small mistake, and now you aren’t even trusted to do anything for yourself? Maybe it was because you were irritable, as they were only being nice to you, but something didn’t feel right. You need a breath or moment to be independent, but for today, you let it go, thinking it would all be back to normal by tomorrow.

WEDNESDAY

There was never a single complaint when it came to sex. They worshipped every inch of your body. Your trust in them was never-ending, especially in your most vulnerable positions. They both knew you better than you knew yourself in those intimate times.

When you need soft, they will give you love and gentleness. When you needed a more brutal, rougher fuck, they would absolutely be up for the job, which is why in the different situations and scenes played out in the bedroom, you all used the traffic light system for safe words. What might be right for one person doesn’t always suit the others.

It wasn’t even like you used the word ‘red’ often, but today, you needed it just because of your uncomfortable position. Kneeling over the back of the chair, Steve had one hand roughly gripping your hip as he fucked you from behind, blinding you with the pleasure pulsing in your cunt from his engorged cock. The other hand was in your hair, pushing you towards Bucky’s cock as he fucked your mouth.

It was perfect, hard and highly satisfying. Until Steve lifts your right leg, trying to rest your knee on the arm of the chair, giving himself more room to push his cock deeper. However, the angle at which he lifted your leg had a sharp pain shooting through your hip joint as it clicked.

Tapping your hand three times on the back of the chair, the pressure on the back of your head eased as Bucky’s cock slips out of your mouth as you rush out the word “Red”.

There’s instant relief as Steve moves away, allowing you to lower your leg and rub the sore area that had clicked. The leg wasn’t dislocated; it was just a bad angle and horrible timing.

“Did I hurt you? Christ, baby, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to”, Steve begs as he hovers behind you, looking helplessly down.

“I just- need a minute”, you say, trying to catch your breath enough to explain what had happened. The muscles around your hip ached, but nothing more as your breathing slowed enough that you could look up and try and give a reassuring smile. You hated how they both appeared terrified, glancing between your hip and face. “It’s fine; I just twinged my hip a little. Maybe if we just move positions or something so I’m not kneeling”, you suggest whilst trying to stand, but wince when the soreness returns to your hip.

Steve’s eyes are almost bulging out of his head, and he is concerned as he shakes his head, leaning down to lift you into his strong arms. “Absolutely not; I’m taking you to the hospital. I could have broken your hip; I’m not risking it”.

Gripping his cheeks, you force him to look at you while trying to remain calm and stern. “Steve, stop! It’s fine; it was just a little twinge. I’m not going to the hospital. Nothing is broken; I would have told you if it was, and you’d never break me.”

Steve didn’t look convinced as he carefully settled your body into the centre of the bed, his calloused hand lowering over your body until resting over your right side. “You don’t know that. I could have dislocated your hip or something.”

Moving your leg to emphasise that this much damage hadn’t happened to your hip, you comb your fingers through his blonde hair to soothe him. “Steve, please stop overreacting. I’m not going anywhere. I’m fine”.

Bucky suggested, “If you won’t go to the hospital, then I’m still going to call Doctor Banner to come and check you over. There could be a trapped nerve or-”

“No! You aren’t listening to me. Please, will both of you just stop? I don’t want to go to the hospital, and I don’t want the Doctor to come and see me. It was a little twinge and nothing more. I’m perfectly well.” The blonde and brunette exchanged an uncertain glance but thankfully didn’t say anymore.

It was safe to say the pleasurable mood was thoroughly out of the window as they began to tentatively and extra carefully give you aftercare. Cleaning you up, ensuring you’d had something to eat and drink and wearing comfortable clothes. One of them continued to touch you at all times, even as you fell asleep, stroking over your back and massaging any aches and pains away.

THURSDAY

Usually, after an emotional night, you’re feeling needy, but today, you’re withdrawn, potentially experiencing a subdrop where your emotions are heightened and vulnerable.

If you thought Tuesday Steve and Bucky were constantly at your side, this took smothering to a whole new meaning. Even when going to the bathroom, one was there to ensure you were okay, to the point where you stopped answering and continued with your day. It was too much, and it wasn’t like you meant to push them away, but you just needed space, a moment, a second, to catch your breath. It was like you were drowning with the want to be ok, but being constantly reminded that you weren’t made it more difficult to recover.

Your friends who had children would always speak about those moments when they’re overstimulated with touch by these kids. No matter how much they love them, it becomes too much when someone constantly needs to be on you at all times of the day. This was exactly how you felt. You love them with all your heart, but it becomes too much.

By the time the sun had set over your home, you were hardly conversing with either of your boyfriends, which had them both tense. Deep lines were imbedded between their brows; fists clenched to stop from wringing their fingers together. Some of you felt sad and guilty even for pushing them away, especially when it came to bed, and you wanted to spoon a pillow rather than one of them. 

FRIDAY

Due to their lifestyle, there were days when they could stay at home and others when they were needed at work. Today, they were needed at work and for a change of scenery, you wanted to join them, which had never been an issue before. Especially after the last few days with your emotions all over the place, you just wanted some normality with the two men you loved.

“Wait, what do you mean I have to stay here?” you ask in a state of shock, feet planted into your living room carpet.

The men share a look you’d seen multiple times this week already. Where no words are shared, but enough was said for you to read between the lines. The mafia leader stepped forward, all towering and handsome in his suit, enough to distract you momentarily. Especially as his big hands cup your face, tilting it back so that he can kiss you enough to take your breath away. As he pulls away, you’re lifting onto the tips of your toes for more.

His hands remain framing your face as he explains, “We just think it would be best for you to stay here and get some rest, that’s all. There’s also an important meeting today with some unkind people, and we’d rather you stay here where it’s safe.”

You sigh exasperatedly, holding onto his wrists to keep him in front. “But there are always meetings with those types of people. I’ve attended many, might I remind you? I’ve rested enough this week; I want to come with you both.”

Steve’s blue eyes drill into yours as he chews on the inside of his cheek, contemplating before glancing over to his boyfriend, but it’s your turn to hold onto his face, forcing his gaze back to yours. “No!” you snap, “Don’t look at Bucky for backup. I want a genuine reason for being forced to be kept in the house. I want to stay with both of you today, and I thought that’s what you wanted over the last few days?”

It was a low blow, and you had to refrain from cringing.

“I can stay”, Bucky begins as you look over at him as Steve’s hands fall to his side.

“No. That’s not fair. I’ve been here for four days now. Please let me come with you”. It wasn’t often you had to beg either man for anything other than during an intimate moment. They were always happy for you to do anything, especially if it meant for you to remain at their side.

However, as both of their blue eyes clash in another knowing gaze, you give up. Feeling once more vulnerable and tired. It had been an odd week, to say the least. Stepping away from them, your shoulders drop in defeat. “You know what, I’ll just see you both when you get home. Please be safe”. With that, you escape up the stairs with the plan to rot in bed for the remainder of the day to catch up with your emotions.

Bucky heaves a sigh as you reach the top of the stairs. A small part of you wished that seeing you this upset, they would have chased you, but this didn’t happen. As the front door opens and closes, you can’t help but drown in the emotions of the last few days, crying into your pillow.

Later, when they return home with bags of take-out and unharmed, useless, this would be enough to pick up your spirits. However, you aren’t in the mood, unable to pull yourself out of the grump, mentally still blaming it on your impending period.

So, you ate the delicious food and climbed back into bed. It wasn’t like you were going out of your way to be distant, but the rejection from earlier still hurt, so being petty, if they wanted to be without you, they could continue that way.

SATURDAY

Wake up alone, but you know they’re somewhere still in the house. It takes you considerable time to even crawl out of bed with how groggy you feel. You’d probably spent more time in bed this week than any other time, so you decided enough was enough. You texted your friend Laura Barton.

I haven’t seen you in a while and need a distraction. Coffee date?

Five minutes passed before your phone was lighting up with a response.

Love in paradise? You know I’m always free for you; I’ve just got to bring Nate along as no babysitter, but I’m down!

My mind’s just all over the place, and I really need a friend, you respond immediately.

I can pick you up in 20, and we’ll head to a coffee shop.

Your fingers are typing before you have a moment to think about what you’re sending, and you reply, "That’s if they will let me leave the house."

The three dots on your phone appear and disappear multiple times before Laura’s text arrives. Wow, if you’re revolting against their overprotectiveness, things must be tough there. I’ll be there soon. I’m sure if you bat your pretty lashes at them, everything will be fine.

If only you thought rather than responding and taking the next 15 minutes to prepare. After getting dressed, you feel much more motivated and in better spirits; speaking to them about leaving the house is the only issue. You just needed an hour or two away to clear your thoughts from all of the protective, macho-man bullshit that seemed to surround you on the daily.

They’re both working out in the gym, and for a second, you admire them, your mouth slipping open in awe. Dressed in only their gym shorts, you’re momentarily jealous of the sweat dripping down their chests, the muscles covering their bodies flexing with each movement.

“If you want a closer look, Princess, why don’t you come here?” Bucky eyes you just as hungrily as he lowers the weight, wiping a hand over his stubbled jaw.

Taking a deep breath and trying to remain on the plan, you shake your head, straightening your posture. You can do this.

“I’m going out”, you firmly state. Usually, you ask so that they can prepare a bodyguard or security guard to patrol the area, but not today. You were a grown-ass woman who didn’t need to ask.

Steve nods, moving some strays of his wet blonde hair out of his piercing eyes. “I hope it’s somewhere fun”.

Your gaze is still flicking between them, especially Bucky as he saunters over, his eyelids lowered, and he looks like an animal on the way to pouncing on his prey. You’re like molten lava by the time he’s by your side, all but ready to jump into his arms, kissing him until you’re breathless. Your fingers slide over his firm chest, feeling his muscles, thumping heart and skimming over the scars where the metal of his arms connect with his skin. 

You mewl pathetically as he pulls back, grinning as he realizes how needy you’ve become. “If you give us a few minutes, Sam can prepare a car.”

Sam is your trusty bodyguard and best friend, and as much as you love spending time with him, today, you didn’t want to be reminded of how you always needed to be coddled.

Taking a hearty step away from him, you firmly say, “No. I don’t need Sam. I’m just going out with Laura, and she’s picking me up. It’s just coffee. I’ll be fine”. Much like the rest of the week, the atmosphere soon sours as Bucky’s grin fades until you can see his jaw tighten as he swallows.

“Ok, that’s fine”, he begins slowly, like he’s careful with what to say. “Laura can drive you, but Sam’s still coming with you, Sweetheart. It’s too dangerous out there”.

A negative heat flushes through your chest as rage slowly takes over. “No. I just need some space, I just-”. You hated how difficult it was to articulate yourself when angry. Most of the time, your instinct was to cry, but you needed to explain how you were feeling to them.

Steve enters your eyeline as he lowers his height so you’re both eye to eye. “Ok, Sam won’t go.”

“But-” Bucky tries to interrupt but stops when Steve holds up a hand to silence him.

“Take my card with you and buy yourself something nice. Have fun, baby girl”. You’re so shocked by Steve’s reaction that you hardly respond when his lips caress yours in a simple kiss.

“Really? You’re letting me go like that?” you ask suspiciously.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we? We’re a team, right?” There’s something in how he looks at you with such uncertainty that your chest is tightening. A beat passes before your arms are locked around his neck, pulling him down to kiss him slowly and deeply. Savour the touch of his stubble against your cheeks, the softness of his tongue. You’re relieved when his fingers dig into your waist, holding on with just as much eagerness.

Your phone vibrates in your back pocket. The reminder that Laura has probably arrived outside has you taking a step back, licking your lips while looking down. Your fingertips slip over his abs, which flex as you touch them.

“I’ll see you both later, love you” Quickly pecking Bucky, you turn and leave the gym, tickling under Dodger’s chin as Steve and Bucky simultaneously shout ‘Love you’ back.

Sitting with a coffee that probably had a week's worth of caffeine and a cake the size of your head, you could finally go into detail about what was happening with Laura.

“So after all that, they really let you come out with no security? I’ve never seen that happen before”, your friend muses whilst sipping her drink and trying to entertain her toddler, Nate.

“I guess not that I’m going to complain about it. Feels rebellious to be out here by myself”. 

The time passed, and it was relieving to catch up with her, definitely needed someone to validate your feelings. You still absolutely loved them and appreciated everything they did for you, but you were smothered over the last few days.

Just as you’d taken another sip of your coffee, the fine hairs on your neck rose as you felt like someone was watching you. Keeping the coffee at your lips, your eyes darted, looking out the window to the street and the patrons in the coffee shop when you saw them. Both of them.

Sensing your change in demeanour, Laura frowns as she looks at you. “What is it?” She looks around the room, and it takes seconds before she chuckles. “You’re joking, right? Did they really think a baseball hat and aviator sunglasses would be a good enough disguise?”

The fury that had first hit you when spotting Steve and Bucky soon turned to sadness. It was like they didn’t trust you at all, feeling overwhelmed by them. Initially, you wanted to confront them, but there was no point; you just wanted to escape and go to your safe space.

“Can you take me home, please?” you quietly ask Laura, pushing away the rest of your coffee.

You try to ignore your friend's sad look as she leans across the table to hold the back of your hand. “Honey, I’m sure they’re just trying to look out for you”.

“Yes, I know, they just could have told me. It makes me feel incompetent when they sneak around behind my back.”

“It’s not that, you know it’s dangerous to be dating them-”

“Yes, I know. Please, can we just go”. You didn’t mean to snap at her, and it was clear she didn’t seem offended as she packed up her belongings and rested Nate on her hip.

Standing, you walk without stopping towards the exit, conveniently where your boyfriends are sitting. Out of the corner of your eye, they both stand, and Bucky tries to reach for you.

“Just listen, we can explain why we’re here”.

You don’t stop. Even as the tears begin to fall and you see the visible flinch from Bucky, you don’t stop.

Laura tried to comfort you in the car, but it was useless. You’re home with a brief goodbye to your friend. Weaving past the security to the entrance to your home, you finally are at your front door.

By the time Steve and Bucky return, you’re upstairs, changing into your pj’s with a tub of ice cream and Dodger at your side. “Baby, where are you?” You don’t answer, but it doesn’t matter as in a matter of seconds, Steve is standing at your bedroom door, breathless and clearly distraught. “Just give us a minute to explain. It’s too dangerous to be out by yourself. We didn’t want to make you feel crowded by having someone at your side, but you need someone close just in case”.

Allowing him to speak, you’re too much of a coward to face him, turning away as the tears continue to fall and soak your clothing. “Mmm hmm, I understand”. You feel drained of energy, and the caffeine from earlier has no effect. Moving towards your bedside cabinet, you unplug your phone charger, collect your phone and ice cream, and bundle the fluffy decorative blanket from the bed.

“Where are you going?” Bucky now asks where he appears at Steve’s side, appearing just as concerned as his boyfriend, with the hat and sunglasses gone.

“The spare room”.

You can hear the audible breath that your boyfriends suck in. It took everything in you not to change your mind immediately. It hurt them, but they also hurt you this week. It wasn’t like you were gathering all your stuff and going to stay in a hotel; it was only across the hall for the rest of the day.

 It was just a break, a place to cry without having someone watching and then consequently feeling guilty for having emotions.

One of them begs, “Why are you going there? Just let us talk,” but you’re done.

“I don’t want to talk” Your bottom lip wobbles as you hold back the sobs, threatening to burst free.

Bucky steps forward, whose metal hands are cupping the point of your chin to tilt your face up to his, “Don’t stay in the spare bedroom; if you don’t want to sleep with us, we’ll stay on the couch. Just give us a minute, please”.

Trying to ignore the pleading in his tone, you shake your head, not trusting yourself to talk. Walking around them, they let you walk past, and no word is shared as you walk across the hall to the spare room.

Locking the door, you can just turn the TV on before releasing the pent-up sob you’d held in. Nearly the entire tub of ice cream has been emotionally eaten, and eyes are sore from the crying. It also felt soul-soothing to get all your emotions out, and by the time hours passed, you were ready to speak to them both, except for one long blink, which turned into a full sleep.

SUNDAY

There was no sense of time when you began to stir, only aware that the room was mainly cast into darkness except for the glow from the TV that was still playing whatever trash TV show you’d picked on Netflix.

You’re so incredibly comfortable you have to hold back a groan of pleasure with how content you’re feeling. It was like you were in a cocoon of warmth and contentment as you nuzzled further into the firm yet soft heat beneath your cheek as the bubble surrounding you tightened.

Thump thump. Thump thump. The therapeutic beat against your cheek was something you had already memorised in your dreams.

All the memories came flooding back. The crying, the argument, the locked door, the ice cream and more crying. The locked door. Something you specifically remember doing, yet somehow, you’re wrapped in a boyfriend sandwich, and you’re pretty sure the heavy weight across your feet is Dodger.

In truth, you were happy to be there and had planned to speak to them before your eyes had closed. You’d never fallen asleep during an argument before; it felt unhealthy in a relationship to do, and god knows how stressed Steve and Bucky must have been.

Snuggling closer to Steve’s chest with your back pressed against Bucky’s, you finally feel content after a week of wobbly emotions. You’re sure you need to speak with a therapist or something with how up and down you’ve been all week. You didn’t want to move from this spot ever again.

However, the urgency and pain radiating from your bladder had you cursing. Carefully and with great difficulty, you can wiggle out of your beefy cuddle and sneak to the toilet with Dodger following closely at your side. On the way, you’re able to see the door knob to the room has been shaped like it has been gripped, assuming that Bucky’s metal hand was behind the breaking into the room whilst you’re asleep.

Once in the bathroom, you take in your dishevelled look, showering, freshening up, rebandaging your hand, and dressing in one of Steve’s comfortable jumpers. On your way back to the boys, you pause, overhearing them awake and whispering.

“I told you we shouldn’t have broken in”, Steve groans frustratedly.

“Yeah, well, I’m not sleeping without her”, Bucky argues, his voice crackling lowly from where he’d just woken up.

There’s a momentary pause, and you’re about to go in when they continue. “You don’t think we’ve pushed her too far, do you?” Bucky asks.

“You tell me. She’s not in here now. She’s kept up at arm's length for days. I feel like I can’t do anything right. I just want to keep her safe, but I feel like we’re losing her”.

Broken. That’s how they both sounded, and you have done this. Your eyes sting as they, once again, well with tears, and you move back into the room, pulling the sleeves of your jumper down over your hands to wipe away the moisture.

“I’m sorry I made you both feel this way”.

Strong arms wrap around your body, cradling you carefully against their body as you’re moved to sit across Steve’s lap, and Bucky takes your feet into his lap so that you are facing one another. “I love you both. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know whether it’s my impending period that’s finding everything too overwhelming. I’m sorry!”

You’re hysterical as they both attempt to ground you with soothing shushes and strokes of their hands over your back and legs. “Sweetheart, it’s ok”.

“No, it’s not okay! " Reaching up, you take Steve’s face in your palms and say, “I love you! I would never leave you. EVER!” Next, you hold onto Bucky, half crawling fully into his lap to get your point across: “I love you so much; I’m sorry I wasn’t there to fall asleep in your arms.”

“Hey, hey, calm down, Mama. I’ve got you, we’ve both got you. We aren’t going anywhere”. 

Eventually, you can calm down enough, cuddled up against Bucky with Steve massaging the souls of your feet. You all discuss everything from feeling smothered by them to your up and down moods, feeling incompetent, and yet understanding why they are the way they are to keep you safe. It was like the world had tilted back to the right way up. Boundaries are set, so some understanding will be shared if you ever feel overwhelmed again.

“We just need you to know that we’re never going to stop protecting you until our last fucking breath”, Bucky promises as he kisses your temple.

“Good thing neither of you is going anywhere. Did you really think I’d ever leave either of you? Do I need to remind you of the hell hole you saved me from all those years ago?”

“Yes, and you’ll never have to live like that again. You’re mine and Bucky’s. No one will touch you again”.

If only Steve knew what was to come.

It was the early morning hours after your long chat, but it was late enough for Steve and Bucky to forgo sleeping and head to the office. Having a couple more hours of sleep after they left, you were fresh and ready to go by the time Sam was knocking on your front door.

It had been a long week, so you surprised your bodyguard by hugging him. “Did they tell you about my week?” you ask, needing to know if Sam had been updated about everything from your boyfriends.

“I don't know what you mean” Judging by his tone, he damn well knew what had happened, but nonetheless, his arms tightened around you, “as much as I love your company, the bosses will kill me for touching you”.

You pull back, alarmed to see him trying and failing to hide the smile on his face. Rolling your eyes at his jokes playfully, you climb into the waiting SUV.

“Just a warning, boss lady. There’s a meeting being held over the next 10 minutes,” Sam explains as he pulls into the parking lot that opens into the warehouse.

“Oh? Do you know who it is with?”

Sam shrugs, helping you out of the car whilst looking around at the chaos surrounding him as men and women rush around the crates and trucks. “Some hotshot guy who owns a couple of clubs wants to have the protection of the Rogers team so he can run his underground market. HEY! That’s not supposed to be in that shipment, you dickwad! Sorry, do you mind if I go kick their heads in?”

You know he’s joking, but he nods, grinning as Sam, the group's mother hen, rushes toward the offending truck. “Good luck! I’m going to head to the office. I’m sure the meeting will be over soon.”

Lost in your daydream world, you’re half paying attention as the elevator arrives at the corridor leading to the office. Stepping out and into the elevator, expecting it to be empty but stopping short when, you find a man leaning against the wall, staring at his phone.

The walls felt as if they were caving in. Everything, including your breath and heart, pauses momentarily as you know who it is. You’d know him from his voice, aftershave, and grimy hands. He was one of the many that plagued your nightmares from a past you were trying to forget. No happiness existed when your brother controlled every aspect of your miserable life until Steve bulldozed his way into it. 

Ralph Pannone, the man before you, was one of the highest individuals in your brother's gang, but over the last few months before it all came crashing down - thanks to the Rogers mafia - he had been missing on a job. It had been a relief, if not a blessing, those weeks without him and the years that followed, and it’s easy to think you’re safe from those past demons when they don’t haunt you in reality.

The wolf tattooed on his throat is ingrained into your mind. The silver of his fingers glinted in the dimmed light that was shockingly cool against your skin from all the times he had inappropriately touched your face.

Later in therapy, you would talk about your instinct to freeze when in a shocking, fearful situation. For example, on Monday, when your palm was accidentally cut, and today, staring at one of Hell’s workers in your safe space, all you could do was freeze.

He must have smelt your fear because his face slowly turned to yours, his typical devilish smirk causing your knees to shake. You wanted to scream. Scream for help for Steve and Bucky to save you.

“I was saddened to see my little kitten wasn’t on her knees and waiting for me in that meeting like I thought she would be. But, it appears she wants her own personal meeting”. He’s now walking towards you, and there’s nothing you can do except tremble with fear.

Kitten. That nickname that always had you flinching. It was his favourite thing to call you. He’d say it’s because you’re soft and cut, and whenever he decided he had the right to touch your face, you would swat him away with your ‘sharp little claws’. He was degrading, misogynistic and utterly terrifying.

The tip of his boots brushes against the front of your shoes as you breathe in his nauseating aftershave. “Come on, kitten, cat got your tongue? It’s funny how your brother gave you everything, but it wasn’t enough, was it? You still had to have my BEST friend killed and sleep your way to the top of Brooklyn.”

You finally have a visible response when you flinch away, staring at the floor as you struggle to catch your breath at his derogatory words. Your throat burns with the threat of vomiting as his fingers graze against your forehead, brushing aside a strand of hair until it's tucked behind your ear.

Leaning even closer until his lips are close to his fingers around the shell of your ear, he whispers, “Don’t worry, my sweet kitten. You’re going to be mine soon. These pretend soldiers aren’t going to stop me from getting what’s mine.”

And then he’s gone.

Like that, your world is once again tilted on its axis—the safety net you’d been cocooned in, shattering into dust. Time doesn’t seem to exist when you’re in this state of shock as the next minutes or hours flash by in brief glimpses.

Lying on the floor of the corridor, high-pitched ringing in your ears.

Sam’s face hovered above your own as he shouted, but you couldn’t hear what he said as the world felt muffled. All you could tell was that he was conflicted between being scared and furious.

Now you’re in the office, specifically Steve’s personal office on the couch, your head in Bucky’s lap as Steve paced a hole into the carpet.

Natasha was here, by your side, talking lowly to you. It feels like you’re responding, but you can’t be sure. It was like your body was in a weird limbo of sorts.

Home. At last, you were home, in your bed, with Doctor Banner lightly touching your wrist with his eyes closed. He was counting, you thought, and as he finished and glanced up at your face, he was happy to see you were awake. A bright light flashed in your eyes as you flinched away, trying to shield yourself.

“I’m glad you’re back with us.”

“What happened?” you croaked from the dryness in your throat as you tried to sit up.

“Careful, here’s some water. It appears that you had a panic attack and fainted. Luckily, there doesn’t seem to be any head injuries or lasting injuries. Maybe a bruises here and there. Do you remember what happened? What was the last thing you remember?”

Ralph.

The next thing you know, you’re breathing into a paper bag as the Doctor rubs slow circles over your shoulders, trying to reassure you to breathe slowly. It took a few minutes to calm down before you could ask, “Bucky, Steve, please, I need to see them”.

“Of course, I’ll go right and get them. I’m on call tonight, so please don’t hesitate to get them to phone me if you need anything”.  You’re hardly paying attention as he leaves, and suddenly, you’re first welcomed by a lick on the face by an excited Dodger and arms around your waist and back as Steve and Bucky are finally at your side.

They all hold you as you cry, not a single tear reaching your shirt as either Dodger licks them away or Steve and Bucky wipe them with their fingers.

“I’m not expecting you to explain what has happened, and I have never been more scared than seeing you on the floor, barely conscious, without an obvious reason for it. I want you to know you’re safe, and the threat has been eliminated”.

Turning towards Steve, you give him a questioning look so he continues explaining. “We watched the security camera from the corridor. He saw what he did, and we heard what that scumbag said to you. For some reason, a background check wasn’t completed on him so he could weasel his way into a meeting with us. We found plenty of evidence of his involvement in your brother's gang.” Steve has to take a deep breath as his anger increases again, his jaw tight.

Bucky, therefore, continues, but you can tell by the venom in his voice that his anger is just as severe as his boyfriend's. “It took me minutes to track him down whilst Natasha and Sam stayed by your side. We wanted to stay, but we needed to be the ones to end that fuckers life. I wanted to see the light leave his eyes”.

“To be honest, we killed him too quickly. I wanted to inflict as much pain mentally as he had done to you, but know that he died screaming and begging for his life”. 

Steve and Bucky held no remorse when he came to you. This was the life they lived, the protection they offered for someone they loved.

Appreciation and regret are the two words spiralling through your thoughts. Appreciation for them both, for everything they’ve ever given for you and regret for how you’ve overreacted this week. Yes, you were human; it was expected to have ups and downs days, but right now, there was nothing more you wanted than to show how much you loved them right back.

You were done being the victim.

You’re in Steve’s, thighs burning from the stretch of straddling over his, your fingers desperately clutching into his blonde hair, pulling onto it and drawing his face towards yours. You feel his body tense and then wholly break. Warm hands grip your waist, dominantly tugging your body closer until you flush against him.

“Dodger, go to bed, buddy,” Bucky instructs, clicking towards the door. The good boy that he is, your baby strolls out of the room to his bed downstairs. 

Your hands are all over Steve, combing through his locks, to the stubble on his cheeks, to the muscles over his shoulders. You needed to feel all of him, the softness of his skin, the power in his legs, the hardness of his cock.

“More, I need more”, you beg against his lips whilst trying to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“Woah, ok, hold on a moment”, Steve urges gently whilst cupping both of your hands away from his chest. “I think we need to walk about this. You’ve been through a lot, and I just need to ensure you’re alright”. 

“I can and will talk about this, but not right now. I need a distraction, and I need you to remind me that everything is alright. I need you to remind me that I am yours, and you are both mine, and no one will change that!”

“Damn right, you’re ours”, Bucky growls possessively, tugging on the strands of hair at the nape of your neck, angling your head back and devouring your mouth. At the same time, Steve’s on your throat, leaving open-mouthed kisses and nippin' in the sensitive spots. Your hips instinctively grind against Steve’s crotch, needing pressure and stimulation to your pussy.

You’re rewarded with the outline of Steve’s cock, hard and squished within the confines of his suit trousers. Bucky’s tongue enters your mouth, and he groans at your taste, his sharp teeth catching your lower lip and soothing the bites with more kisses.

“Need this off!” Steve demands as he roughly grabs the hem of your shirt, tearing it down the middle and discarding the pieces across the room. His mouth is then attached to the swell of your breasts, sucking until pain and pleasure pulses in the areas. With a simple snap of his fingers, the clasp of your bra is the next to be removed.

Topless, his bare hands are finally able to cup your breasts, his thumbs pressing on your hardened nipples. “These are mine”, he speaks against your skin before sucking a nipple into his mouth, pulsing the sensitive area until you’re crying out his name against Bucky’s lips.

Your panties feel uncomfortable and restrictive with how warm and wet you are between your legs. However, your needs are the last thing on your mind right now as you need to please your boyfriends and show them your appreciation.

Reaching between your bodies, your fingers press against the swell in Steve’s crotch, massaging the throbbing erection until he’s bucking into your palm. Undoing his buckle and zipper, you’re able to free his cock, moving your tight fist up and down his length as he groans hungrily against your breasts.

With unsteady legs, you climb off Steve’s lap and lower to your knees on the carpet; however, his hands pull up against your arms, stopping your movement. “No, this is supposed to be about you”.

Shaking your head with a reassuring smile, you move back to your knees, massaging your hands up Steve’s thigh. “No, actually. It’s supposed to be about all of us. Now, please, let me suck your cock, sir”.

The name works wonders as his cock visibly throbs against his abdomen, and his eyes darken as he licks his lips. To his side, Bucky pulls off his shirt, muscles flexing as he does so, and you continue with your plan for the rest of the evening. “I want to take you both at the same time. So why don’t you help me, sir?” you’re looking directly at Bucky now, who grins in response.

“Fuck yes, Doll”.

He helps to take off the remainder of your clothes until you’re left kneeling, back arches and ass perked up with Bucky behind you, his hands massaging your ass cheeks.

“I want your pretty little mouth on Steve’s cock whilst I make you cum. Do you think you can do that for me, Princess?” Bucky asks whilst kissing up the length of your spine.

You don’t need to verbally answer him as your mouth is instantly on the blonde’s cock, teasing at first with licks around the sensitive head before wrapping your lips around the thickness and sucking inches of it back into your mouth. You’re welcomed with a sinful gasp from the man who spreads his legs further, giving you more room to settle between them, his big hands resting on the back of your head.

Bucky watched whilst removing the rest of his clothes before delving into his own personal feast. Growling with hunger as he spreads your cheeks and licks from your clit up to your puckered back hole. Your body reacts by pushing back into his face as his tongue slips into your pussy, slurping all your juices lewdly.

His tongue played special treats against your clit, circling, sucking, pulsing whilst his finger dipped into your asshole. He knew exactly how to get you worked up as he used your wetness to lube one finger, then two, gently easing in and out, trying to stretch the area for his cock. It burned, but it was a delicious pain you’d hoped for when asking him to complete the task.

Just as he had three fingers penetrating your hole, your orgasm burst in pleasurable, mind-numbing waves as your pussy squeezed his tongue desperately. Your moan also caused your mouth to vibrate around Steve’s cock as he verbally coached you through your pleasure.

“That’s it, cum around Bucky’s tongue. Taking his fingers so well, aren’t you, baby girl? You’re made for us.”

Nodding with his cock still in your mouth, you’re suddenly pulled off by the hand on the back of your head as Steve leans down to heavily make out with you, not caring that your mouth had just been on his cock. “I need to taste you”, he demands against your mouth, and within seconds, you’re led out over the bed.

His head dips between your thighs, his mouth hungrily eating and sucking away as your back arches, fingers and nails desperately clawing into his hair. “Yes! Sir! Oh my god!”

“Damn right, I’m your god now”, he spoke the words against your clit. Your mind was rushing with the need to agree verbally and yet desperately hold on to his hair.

A cool hand cups your cheek as Bucky tilts your face in his direction, and you open your mouth, accepting his cock as you had done with Steve’s. Bucky isn’t as demanding as he’s fucking your mouth as he rolls his hips carefully so that he’s slowly fucking your throat.

It takes almost no time at all before there’s overwhelming tightness between your legs like everything down there is going to explode. Pulling away from Bucky’s cock, you cry out, “I can’t- it’s too much!”

“Yes, you can. Come for us, Baby,” Steve encouraged as he slipped two fingers into your wet pussy, curling them to hit that perfect spot within. That was all you needed to both cum and relax all your muscles between your legs, and without shame, you could feel the bed soaking beneath you as Steve and Bucky cheered you on, “That’s it, squirt for us! Damn, you’re so beautiful”.

The breath is knocked out of you by the time the waves of pleasure have subsided. However, your arousal is still at a ten as Steve’s arms circle beneath your body, and you’re now koalaed around him. Arms around his shoulders and ankles crossed behind his back.

“Steve!” your head tips back as the thick length of him slowly enters your pussy. No matter the number of times the two of you fucked, there was never a time when you weren’t shocked by how full you felt with him inside of you.

“Feels so good to be inside of you. Do you think you can still take Buck?”

“Yes, please, sir, I need you both inside of me”.

The warmth of Bucky’s chest finally surrounds your spine as he kisses the junction between your shoulder and neck. “Easy there, got to be careful when slipping this big dick in this tight little hole back here”, Bucky teases as you feel the head of his cock pressing against your asshole.

Your head tips back and rests on his shoulder, mouth gaping open with a constant string of curses and pleads. Much like with his fingers, the initial burn mixing with the pleasure is the perfect mix as the head of his cock gently breaches your warmth.

“You’re so fucking wet and tight”, Bucky moans against your neck as you take inch after inch of him until you’re stretched and full of them both.

The first orgasm with both of them fucking you at the same time is enough to nearly have you passing out again as you continue to squirt until there’s a small puddle on the floor.

The second orgasm has every nerve in your body feel as if it’s burning with pleasure. You’re entirely limp in their arms, but they’re holding you up with firm hands on your thighs and waist. By the third orgasm, you were hardly coherent as both men finally joined you in that blissful state, their cum filling your used holes and dripping into the puddle below.

It was hard for you to stay awake as they carefully cleaned you with warm wash clothes and fresh clothing. You’re thoroughly wrapped in their arms as the three of you settle into the centre of the bed.

“I’m so happy to be yours”, you admit tiredly before sleep takes you.

[noiriarti]

The Winner Takes it All: Anakin Skywalker x Reader (Enemies-to-Lovers Modern AU)

NSFW! Minors DNI!!! Summary: The moment the thesis competition was announced, you knew your biggest threat. Anakin Skywalker, golden boy of the engineering department. He's the only other person smart enough to beat you, and the only other person insane enough to stay in the lab until midnight every night. He's also an asshole, but you're starting to think maybe he's not as bad as you thought he was... Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader CW: mentions of masturbation WC: 3.4k AN: hello darlings!! another anakin x reader longer fic coming your way!! lmk what you think, and asks/requests are always open!

[Ch. 1], Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6

Chapter 1: Soldering

The moment the competition was announced, you knew your biggest threat. Anakin Skywalker, golden boy of the department. As soon as he heard about it at the thesis info session of your senior year, his eyes found you in the crowd, because he knew you're his biggest rival, and you're coming for him. He was surprised to find you were looking at him, based on the way his eyes widened, and you found a shocking amount of satisfaction in it. The top prize was 10k and a job at Boeing, after all. The more you surprised him, the more likely you were to catch him off-guard. Not that you would sabotage his work, that was just unseemly conduct for a senior at Coruscant U, but you'd encourage his sloppiness.

The instant after the presentation finished, you rushed to the lab. The thesis lab adjoined the regular makerspace in a continuation of the glass walls and sleek design of the rest of the engineering building. You'd spent the end of your junior year there, when you'd had to submit your thesis proposal (A Novel Method for Glaucoma Detection Utilizing Machine Learning and Mass-Producible Hardware). Anakin was always there too, which made the space just a little more annoying, with the loud music blasting out of his headphones and the hair-raising racket of the band saw.

Last year, you'd decided to admit to yourself, despite your best efforts since you had met him, that okay, Anakin Skywalker was hot. Like, horrendously hot. He was a looker no matter what he did, with those blue puppy dog eyes, full lips, and his gorgeous chestnut hair, which looked so soft that you had wondered on multiple occasions what it would be like to touch it. And, being captain of the university taekwondo team, he was muscular as all get-out. You'd catch a peek at his calves and ass on hot days when he wore shorts, and his biceps and shoulders were almost always flexed in the lab when he was sawing something or bent over the soldering station. One time, he wore grey sweatpants, and you had to literally tear your eyes away. But it wasn't just those features that made him hot. It was, unfortunately, him as a person. The confidence with which he sauntered through the building. His mischievous smile that he'd cast you in group projects, or the clench of his jaw as he wired something finicky. Your roommate, Ahsoka, a junior and also his vice-captain, told you that, oh yeah, he was also really good with younger team members. That he taught kids in the nearby school once a week, too, even though he had such a busy schedule. Wasn't that just sweet.

He wasn't that kind to you. Another thing that made him hot, unfortunately, was his brain, and his wit. He was kind of smart, okay, very smart, and that might make him the one thing standing in your way this year. Anakin also never shied away from a biting comment at you, usually about how if you had done it correctly, you wouldn't have an issue with some wiring. Unfortunately, he was usually right, but you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of telling him that.

Your rivalry started in freshman year, when your physics professor would choose the best student's homework and post it to the class as an example. You were sure you'd be chosen--your first homework was perfect--but then you saw his name. Anakin Skywalker. The next week, you beat him, but then he came out on top immediately after. And so it went. Always fighting for the top spot, to see who could outdo the other. Now, the department was just paying you to do it.

You were in the lab right after the "Senior Thesis Information Session" presentation, using the few minutes you had before your thermodynamics class to tinker with the 3D print that had just finished. Then, the door slid open with the beep of an ID card. You didn't have to turn around to know it was Anakin. Only he would be insane enough to work on day 1 of the semester. Him, and you.

"So you're seriously competing for this, huh?" He asked, watching you sand off some rough edges off the plastic. His tone was playful, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness. He was sizing up the competition.

"Yup. And I'm gonna blow you out of the water," you said self-assuredly. Your project was too good not to win. Anakin barked out a laugh.

"Sure. Right. We'll see about that," he remarked. His voice was dripping with smugness, just like usual with you. You just rolled your eyes. It wasn't worth it to waste time verbally sparring with him, you had better things to do. Like thermo. So you pushed out of your chair, leaving the print on the shelf that had your name laser cut into wood (a gift you had made yourself after your junior thesis proposal got an A), and heading to Lecture Hall 3.56B. Anakin was, of course, heading there too. You were in lockstep, as always. However, he refused to walk there with you, so he waited precisely enough for you to close the door before he left too.

And so, the first three months of the semester passed in relative peace between the two of you. There was only a handful of people who used the thesis room, and you were the only ones there consistently. It helped because safety regulations meant you had to have a buddy in the room to use any of the really useful machines, so you sometimes found yourself pleased to see him. It meant you could get work done. At night, the engineering building was fifteen minutes away from the dorms where you both lived--in the same building, which vexed you to no end when you saw him in the dining hall--so you both had to make the walk home late at night through the city. Oftentimes, you ended up walking home at the same time. It would be wrong to call it walking together, because that would imply you were near each other, or in each other's company, which would be plain wrong. You were always as far as possible on the sidewalk, and oftentimes you two would end up speedwalking home, not allowing the other person to be faster. Was it childish? Maybe. Did you feel a rush of joy every single time you hit the door to your building before him? Definitely.

In November, as the biting cold chilled the air, you found yourself done before him. All your current tasks were done, and you had to wait for a print to finish before you could keep going, plus he wasn't using any machines that needed a buddy, according to lab rules. It had been a long day, and you'd barely dragged your bones into the lab, let alone through all that work.

"Hang on," his voice called from across the space. He was at the soldering station in his safety glasses, bent over some chip.

"What?" Why couldn't you just go home? To your beautiful bed?

"I don't feel good about you walking home alone, so can you just wait for, like, three more seconds?" He wasn't even looking at you as he said it, instead he was pressing the soldering iron to some metal. You scoffed. Like you were so frail you couldn't walk fifteen minutes on your own.

"Are you serious? Do you think I'm vulnerable because, what, I have a vagina? I've taken self-defense classes, thank you very much." Your tone was poisonous, and you tried to infuse every drop of venom you had in you at his stupid idea. Anakin finally looked up from the bench, turning the iron off and cleaning it in the steel wool, catching your eyes with an angry glare.

"No, dumbass. You're just less likely to get robbed in this part of town if you're not alone. But do what you want, I guess. Have fun getting all your valuables taken!" He shrugged sardonically and turned off the vent fan above him. Anakin was right, it killed you to admit. You didn't exactly feel safe walking home at 3am through this part of town. There were enough reports of students getting hurt. So you planted yourself in your chair and waited. When he saw you, a smug smile grew on his face. Asshole.

"C'mon, let's go home," he said nonchalantly once he'd shut down and locked the woodworking room and the laser cutters. As you walked home, this time at a comfortable pace and with his headphones off, you realized it was almost nice, peaceful to be with him like this. The night was still, not a single thing moving in the dark of the night. You passed the corner store, its graffiti-covered grate down at night, then the Vietnamese restaurant you loved, dark and empty. There was no one on the planet but the two of you at that moment. Much to your chagrin, you didn't mind it at that moment. Anakin looked even more ethereal in the moonlight, lighting up the light parts of his hair a silvery white and casting shadows all over his face. He really was handsome, you admitted reluctantly. When you got home, he wished you a good night, which he had never gone. You found the word escaping your lips out of habit. After that, your walking home at the same time turned into walking home together. On November the 8th, he asked you how you were doing. You told him you were good, your tone clipped. He echoed good into the quiet street, then you lapsed into silence. On the 10th, he asked if Ahsoka was feeling better. She had sprained her ankle at practice the previous day. You told him she was, and he said good again. On the 11th, he asked how your project was going, and, in a fit of weakness, you told him it wasn't great. That you were nervous about your first real test of the finished product, the one that would tell you if the past three months had been wasted or not. He told you that if anyone could do it, it would be you, and you spend the rest of the walk wondering where the insult buried inside the statement was hiding. Later that night, once you had tucked into bed, you realized there wasn't any insult at all, just genuine encouragement. For the next week, your walks were filled with slightly guarded conversation, sometimes about upcoming homework assignments, but sometimes about how the taekwondo team was doing, or if you thought Professor Yoda's ear hairs were a countable or uncountable infinity. But he was still an asshole.

About a week later, you were alone with Anakin in the lab around midnight, working on a piece of the lens, trying to get the refraction just right before the test run, when your phone buzzed. Midterm Grade Posted for PHYS 485: Thermodynamics. Your heart stopped. You had been hoping and praying that the number of hours you'd poured into your thesis wouldn't come back to bite you in terms of classwork, but now was the moment of truth. You opened the notification, then to the Canvas page, where you saw your grade. 38/100. Everything in the world stopped. How could you have fucked up that badly? Your eyes scanned over instructor comments. Average class grade: 40/100. Maximum grade: 49/100. Okay, okay. It would be curved up, and you'd probably get a B, but you were below average for the first time in your life. Fuck. Fuck. How could this happen? You glared at Anakin, who was screwing in a bolt to the metal scaffolding of his project. That motherfucker was probably the one who got 49. The thought made you so angry you bolted out of your chair and went to go grab the materials for your test. That motherfucker got everything. It wasn't fair.

You lined up the small device you made, plugged it into the port of your phone, and opened the corresponding software. Through the external lens, you scanned the two printed-out pictures of eyes, one with glaucoma and one without. You held your breath throughout the loading screen. Please, just let one thing go right. Please. Please. The little loading circle stopped. Both eyes were cleared of glaucoma. A false negative. Motherfucker. Three months of work, and for what? You'd never get the prize at this rate. You'd have to start from scratch. You slammed your fist onto the table in anger.

"Hey, there's hammers for that," Anakin called, teasing from the other side of the room. He looked up at you, mouth open to snark something else out, when he saw your eyes welling with tears.

"Woah, are you okay? What's wrong? Did you hurt yourself?" His voice was soft, warm. Anakin dropped the wrench he was holding on the table and half-jogged over to you, putting his hand on your shoulder. You jumped at the contact, but it wasn't entirely unwelcome. It was kind of comforting, actually, but you were too upset to notice that.

"It's just, it's not working, and I've spent so much time and--" you trailed off.

"Don't cry, it's okay, we can fix it," he said with a shrug and a smile. Why was he smiling? God, was he actually pleased right now? Suddenly, your tears turned to anger, not at yourself or the system or the difficulty of your project, but at him.

"Like you're not happy about this. I bet you sabotaged it yourself," you spat out and shrugged his hand off your shoulder. He balked.

"Sabotage? Are you serious? I'd never do that." You stood up, incensed, and pointed a finger into his chest.

"Really? It sounds exactly like something you would do--remember in sophomore year when Barriss's robot mysteriously stopped working?" He half laughed, half scoffed, mouth dropping open, then snapped back with his voice raised.

"You've got to be kidding! Maybe if you paid two seconds of attention to your classmates or anyone around you, you'd know it was her wiring! The connections were bad!"

"Sure," your voice dripped with sarcasm as you scoffed at his insult, "And when you told her it served her right? You were so smug!" Your voice was rising. He ran a hand through his hair and bit out another laugh as he retorted.

"And if I was? Like you're not the queen of being smug in this department. 'Oh, my robot's better, Anakin. I got an A, Anakin.'" He raised his voice high, mocking you. His eyes were wild, furious.

"Me? Smug? Look in the mirror, asshole! Pretend all you want, but I know who you are. You can pretend to be oh-so-nice to everyone else, but I see you for what you really are. Just. A. Fucking. Asshole." You emphasized each word with a jab of your finger, getting closer to him each time. The tension between you was turning somehow--were you losing the argument? You couldn't tell.

"Oh yeah? You don't know a single thing about me," he gritted out, right up in your face, jaw flexing. His intense eyes bored into yours, flicking back and forth, and then they dropped down to glance at your lips.

You weren't sure which one of you moved first, but all you felt was his lips against yours and your hands fisting in his hair, which it turned out was as perfectly soft as you had imagined. Bastard. Anakin's kisses were hot, insistent against your mouth as you sloppily made out in the middle of the lab. His arms, warm and firm, circled your waist and pulled you to him while you tilted your heads this way and that to get closer. Your tongue swiped his lower lip, and he treated you to a surprised, low moan that you wanted to hear again and again until your ears bled. He got your hint, though, and started teasing your lips with his tongue until you opened your mouth just enough to touch your tongue to his. His arms tightened and pulled you against him so that you could feel his warmth from chest to thigh. The two of you were frantic, like if you got close enough, deep enough in each others' mouths, you'd figure out why you were doing this and why it felt so goddamn good. Your heart was pounding when his hands slipped lower and grabbed you under your ass.

"Jump," he whispered huskily after he reluctantly separated his mouth from yours. You hopped, and he used the hands under your thighs to lift you up and sit you on the lab table. Dutifully, you wrapped your legs around his hips, interlocking your ankles around his unfairly attractive ass, and kept your hands buried in his hair. Anakin was back on your lips immediately. He was sloppy and excited until you shifted your hips against him, and then he became electric against you, even hungrier than before. You were definitely feeling something underneath your hips, a lump. It hit you that he was hard, and that sent a bolt of lightning between your legs. You'd stared a little bit more than you cared to admit that time he'd worn gray sweatpants, and what you'd seen was now pressed against you. You drew in a shaky breath at that idea, and you realized that God, he smelled like metal from his soldering earlier and, underneath that, sandalwood and vanilla.

Sometime around the time his hips tilted forward into yours, a beep echoed through the empty lab. You both jumped apart, leaving you sitting on the table, and the noise continued. Beep beep beep. The insistent noise came from one of the 3D printers in the corner. Anakin's print was done.

The silence of the lab felt deafening as you both panted. What had you done? Making out with your enemy was completely against lab safety guidelines, for one, and your morals, for another. Your heart was still pounding in your chest, despite your misgivings, but you willed those wisps of excitement deep down into some mental box. This couldn't happen. If there was a single person on this campus you couldn't fuck, it was Anakin. Not only was he rude, but if you got too close, how would you navigate it when only one of you won? Most importantly, though, you had hated him for four years. And for good reason. (Though you couldn't remember exactly what it was, or think critically at all, in that moment.)

"We shouldn't do that again, Anakin." Your voice was small in the empty space. For a second, his face fell, but he pressed his lips into a thin line to disguise it.

"Definitely not. I--Sorry." And that was that.

You walked home in complete silence, stealing glances at one another in the dark night. When you got to the door of your dorm, you opened your mouth to say something, but then closed it. Better not. So why, once you separated, did you feel so sad? Why did you want to see him again, to feel that silky hair under your fingers in your bed? You laid awake until the early hours of the night, and told yourself that your fingers slipping inside the waistband of your pajamas wasn't about Anakin, you just hadn't gotten some in way too long. It wasn't about Anakin. Even though it was his mouth and chest and arms you thought about when you came on your fingers, it wasn't about him.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

please let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

[starlit-writer]

in sickness and in health, ch. 2 - alpha!simon riley x omega!reader

here is chapter two!!!! in writing this chapter, i realized that this little fic has taken on a complete life of its own that i never anticipated, and will have many, many more chapters to come, so if you want to be added to a tag list to make sure you stay up-to-date, let me know in the replies! eat well, lovelies <3

as always, if you want to understand more about my omegaverse au, you can look at my masterpost here, and it'll help explain all of the intricacies that may or may not be explained well enough in these short-form fics!

word count: 4,270 chapter one chapter three masterlist ao3 link

You slept. And you slept. And you slept.

But, Simon held tight to his promise to you. He didn’t leave your side for any longer than necessary, and necessary held a very… loose definition to Simon as you laid on his bed, all but comatose. In the three days since you had shown up at his door, Simon had left the bed maybe five times to relieve himself, and a handful of other times just to growl somebody away from the door who had missed the memo that Simon and you would be out of commission for the foreseeable future. The rest of the time, he just laid next to you, curled up like a guard dog. Sometimes he talked to you, but most of the time, he was just watching your chest as it rose up and down, his fingers resting delicately over your wrist to ensure your heart was still beating. That you were still here.

It had been three days. And you still hadn’t woken up. The worry in Simon’s heart was becoming hard to keep down, and the neglect of his own body was starting to catch up with him. He hadn’t done any work, hadn’t showered, and had barely eaten the food that the team had left at the door. He was going insane with panic, with fear, at the thought that he lost you. That he had killed you.

He never knew what he had had until it was gone.

Simon was spiraling. He sat in the corner of the bed, making sure to keep his thigh pressed against you, but his head was in his hands as his fingers tugged relentlessly at his dirty blond strands. It was his fault. All of this was. He didn’t know how to be a good alpha, let alone any sort of partner that he knew you needed him to be. He was so completely lost in his own tortured mind that he didn’t even hear Soap as he slipped into the room.

It wasn’t until the tray full of food that Soap was carrying clattered to the ground that Simon even noticed he was in there. Simon’s head snapped up, his hackles rising as a vicious growl ripped through his throat. The sound was a clear warning to get the fuck away from him and his mate, but all Soap did was roll his eyes in complete exasperation and take a step closer to your sleeping form.

Simon’s growl intensified at the intrusion, his muscles rippling in preparation to fight. It didn’t matter that this was Johnny, one of the few people on this earth that Simon trusted wholeheartedly. His mate was dying, and Simon’s alpha was tearing itself apart, identifying anything and anyone that got too close to you as a threat. But, the other alpha ignored him. The only sign that Simon got that Soap even heard his posturing was the low, return growl that left Soap’s lips as they curled up to reveal his alpha fangs.

“Haud yer wheesht,” Soap grumbled in reply as his hand came up to rest on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing gently over the joint. Soap’s focus was entirely on you, completely ignoring the massive bulk of Simon just on the other side of you. Soap and you had always been friends, and you had sought comfort in him over the last few months of Simon’s neglect. Guilt gnawed at him that he wasn’t enough, that he couldn’t help prevent the bond sickness from stealing you away, but that guilt was far overshadowed by the rage he felt towards Simon.

“How could ye ever do this to ‘er, huh?” Soap muttered, the words low and dangerous as he finally glanced up at Simon. “She was good. More tha’ good. She was a great fuckin’ medic, better teammate, and now look at ‘er.”

Simon’s alpha growled in response. He knew he had fucked up, destroyed you in ways he was only beginning to comprehend. He would take you yelling at him, telling him how shit he was, but hearing it from Soap, another alpha, was a whole new level of shame and guilt. Simon wasn’t built to hold this much emotion, never taught how to properly deal with his feelings, and he was at his breaking point. His rage was rising, like water that had been left on the stove too long without proper supervision, the bubbles breaking free over the steely confines of the walls he had built around his heart.

The very same confines that had kept him from you.

Simon’s eyes zeroed in on Soap’s hand on your shoulder, and he lost it. He scrambled off of the bed, his movements uncoordinated due to the lack of sleep and sustenance, but still full of the undeniable power that lived within the massive bulk of the alpha. He slapped Soap’s hand away, and grabbed at the straps of his tactical vest. Simon picked the smaller alpha up and spun to press him against the wall, Soap’s head cracking off the drywall. But, it wasn’t enough. Simon hated himself. Hated Soap. Hated everything that he could even remotely tie in as a factor to your comatose state on his bed. Simon gnashed his teeth in Soap’s face, pure, unbridled alpha rage pouring off of him.

Soap just smirked, completely unfazed.

“Oh, I see. Now you can be all protective over ‘er when she’s dying, aye? When it’s yer fuckin’ fault that she wasted away like this? You should’ve been better!” Soap was close to yelling now, his own hands coming up to Simon’s throat. Soap wasn’t going to kill him, no, the only thing that that would accomplish right now is causing more harm to you. But, dammit, if he wasn’t close.

Soap squeezed at Simon’s throat, his alpha claws digging into the mating bite on the side of the larger alpha’s throat. “I should rip that fuckin’ bite right off of ye, ye know that right?”

Simon roared, jerking his neck around to get Soap’s claws as far away as possible from the scent gland that held the imprint of your smaller omega fangs - the last thing truly tying him to you. He was far too gone with his rage, his alpha bursting against the confines of his skin, to even begin to formulate a response. All he could see was the red-hot haze of his rage, of his grief, the anguish that had settled so permanently into his bones over the last three days.

Soap grinned, a mean, sadistic thing that did little more than show off his alpha fangs. It was a challenge, an expression eerily similar to what a predator does when defending their territory. But you were not Soap’s territory. He knew that. He wasn’t trying to vye for your affection or to stake claim on you. His goal was single-minded: get Simon pissed enough to finally admit that he needs you, that he’ll fight for you, for your health, and that he’ll never abandon you this way again.

And if he wouldn’t? Well, Soap wasn’t looking for an omega of his own. Mainly just saw you as a constant in his life, in his pack, but he would single-handedly rip out that mating bite that glared, swollen and red from the strain of the bond, on the edge of Simon’s throat with his own claws and claim you as his own, if it meant fixing you, giving you some sort of stability.

“Ye did this to ‘er! Yer neglect, yer fuckin’ issues, made ‘er this way! All because your head was so far up your goddamned arse you couldn’t see it! She deserves better! She deserves an alpha who will take care of ‘er, not someone who will abandon her for months on end in hopes of getting blown to pieces!”

“I know!” Simon roared in response as he lifted Soap away from the wall again and slammed him back into it. “I know!” His grip on Soap started to falter as tears welled up in his eyes. He let go of Soap with one hand, the smaller alpha falling back to his feet on the ground as Simon scraped his hand across his face to prevent the tears from falling.

“I… I just… I don’t know how to do this, Johnny. It’s not like I grew up with a…” Simon trailed off, his voice thick with tears and regret as he completely let go of Soap to run his hands through his hair in anguish. “My father was an awful man. A horrendous example of an alpha. He… the things he did, Johnny, to me, to Tommy, to my poor fuckin’ mum… the only promise I made to myself when I left that place and let it burn to the ground was to never be like him. And that meant keeping myself as far away from any omega as I possibly could. I never wanted this! And then the brass gave that ultimatum, and shoved us together, and… and I sure as shit wasn’t gonna be the reason that she got kicked out of the place that she worked tooth and nail to get to! I didn’t know how to be an alpha! I didn’t know how to protect her, and I had no one to ask! I just… I… I just didn’t know…”

Soap stood against the wall, mouth agape as he looked down at the massive, trembling form of the man he considered his best friend. Somewhere in his monologue, Simon had completely collapsed onto his knees, his head back in his hands, but Soap was too busy listening to the raw, honest truth falling from Simon’s tear-stained lips to even begin to try and guess when it had happened. Soap was in shock. But, he was at even more of a loss at how to comfort the other alpha.

Soap crouched down beside Simon, his hand awkwardly, yet gently, patting his shoulder as Simon’s hulking form shook from the force of his silent tears, his agony. Soap sighed as he rubbed his other hand over the back of his own neck. What the fuck had he gotten himself into?

“Ghost, I… I think you need to go talk to Price. Maybe get in with the base therapist.”

Simon stiffened under Soap’s touch as those words left his mouth. He didn’t want to go talk to Price, even if he was his captain and a part of his pack. He didn’t want to have to admit to his failures to the same person who gave him orders, signed off on his paychecks. And a therapist? Yeah, he talked to a therapist, he’d just about be signing off on his own discharge forms.

Soap felt it. How his words affected Simon. He sighed again, a low rumble reverberating from his chest in an attempt to provide some comfort to the larger alpha. It was normally a move reserved for comforting a pup, or a distressed omega, but Soap was truly at a loss of what to do here. He had never seen Simon break down like this.

“Ghost, Price can help. He’s been with his bonnie lass for years, and they’re happy with pups runnin’ ‘round. Just… you can’t keep doin’ this to ‘er. And if that means you need direction, need to see how to be an alpha… at least talk to Price. She deserves an alpha who can be there for her, at the very least.”

Simon nodded slowly, wiping his hand across his face again. He felt weak, like a failure, but he knew he had to try.

You never knew what you had until it was gone.

Yeah, well, he knew now. And he wasn’t ever going to let it go again.

Simon lifted his head, his watery brown eyes meeting Soap’s determined baby blues. There was still anger in Soap’s eyes, but he was shoving it away. No point in kicking his friend while he was already down.

“I… I can’t just leave her here.”

“I’ll stay with her,” came Soap’s immediate response. You had sought solace in him over the last few months, and as another alpha from your pack, you would probably be the most comfortable with him around, even if your alpha was gone.

Hearing Soap’s immediate reply made something in Ghost’s alpha twist with distress, aching at the idea of another alpha taking care of his omega, even if it was another member of his pack. A low growl born of his alpha’s displeasure of the situation rumbled out of his throat for a moment before he quickly cut it off by clearing it. Simon knew this needed to be done, and sooner rather than later. He had to fix his ways, to see what it meant to truly be the type of alpha that you needed, that you deserved. But, before he agreed, he had to know one thing.

“Do you love her?”

Soap froze, his head rearing back slightly in shock. Did he love you? “What?”

“You heard me. Do you love her?”

“Simon, she’s a part of our pack. She always has been, even before you and her mated. So, yes, I love her, but not… not like that.”

Simon nodded slowly, his joints aching as he stood up to his full height again. Everything hurt. His muscles were sore from lack of movement, sleep, and nutrition, and his heart and soul felt as if they had been ripped to shreds. Your end of the bond felt like it had been shrouded in impenetrable inky blackness, which just made him feel even more empty. Gods, it used to annoy him to no end to feel your neverending presence in his mind, but now he would give anything, his own life, just to feel it again.

Soap breathed out a silent sigh of relief as he saw the acceptance in Simon’s nod. His best friend was going to be okay, both of you would be. He had to believe it. And, in classic Soap fashion, he couldn’t help but try to chip away the sour, somber mood in the room by cracking a joke.

“But, ye fuck it up again, and I really will rip that mating bite right out of ye, ye can bet on tha’.”

Simon glared at him, but it was the first bit of normalcy he had felt in… months. He shoved at Soap’s shoulder, but all it did was make the smaller alpha’s cocky smirk widen.

“Fuck off, Johnny,” Simon mumbled half-heartedly as he pulled off the tank top he had slipped on after you had fallen asleep, and he tucked it gently next to your head to ensure you still had his scent while he was gone. He ran a gentle, almost reverent finger down your cheek, smoothing an errant piece of your hair back behind your ear. He sighed softly, his guilt threatening to break free again, but he quickly stepped back from you and tugged on a sweatshirt. He glanced at Soap, his gaze glinting with a possessive protectiveness.

Soap, knowing exactly what was running through his mind, put his hands up in a placating manner.

“I won’ touch ‘er. Just don’ be gone too long, aye?”

Simon grumbled something under his breath but nodded, grabbing his keys and shoving them in his pocket before he opened the door. He paused in the open doorway with one last, longing glance back at you filled with all of the pain and regret and guilt swirling through his veins before he finally stepped through and shut the door behind him with a soft click.

—

He didn’t want to be here. To be doing this but he would, if it meant fixing you. He stood in front of Price’s office door, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he tried to muster up enough courage to knock. The light was on, so Simon knew Price was in there. Hopefully he was just doing paperwork, and not anything… else.

Simon sighed loudly, scraping a hand down his face before he shook out his arms. He just needed to open the door. And, you know, pour his heart and soul out to the Captain, but that would come after. However, he didn’t get the chance.

“You gonna stand out there all day or are you comin’ in?”

Shit. Simon squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he took a deep breath. He could do this. For you, he could. He had to. He shouldered open the door, but he kept his gaze on the ratty red carpet of Captain Price’s office. Mmm, low-pile. Probably feel really scratchy on his face when Price inevitably-

“Ah, Simon. I’ve been expecting you.”

Fuck. Simon felt untethered, for lack of a better word. He couldn’t get a read on Price’s expression as the older, greying alpha moved his glasses off of the bridge of his nose and carefully folded the arms in to set them on the giant wooden desk in front of him. Simon made a point to keep his gaze away from the gouged out claw marks on the surface of the desk. Simon swallowed thickly and looked back down at the carpet in front of him. He had never had to ask for help before, at least, not like this. Not anything that meant showing his weakness, his losing hand, the fact that he’s a shit ass alpha.

“Uh, yeah. I… um, sir, I need… help.” Gods, kill him now.

“Yeah,” Price breathed out harshly as he stretched his arms back around his head. “Yeah, I’d say you do.”

Simon winced at Price’s words. He sounded like a disappointed father, or, at least, what Simon imagined a disappointed father would sound like, and he felt like he had been brought into the principal’s office after painting graffiti on the side of the building during recess. He finally brought his gaze up to the older Alpha, taking a deep breath before he spoke.

“Captain, listen, I-”

Price cut him off with a raise of his hand as he stood up. Simon watched with wide eyes as Price grabbed a cigar out of the humidor that had always laid on his desk. Price grabbed his lighter, and placed the cigar between his lips before he turned away from Simon and looked out the window in the back of his office. A few moments later, and Simon heard the shink of the lighter catching, and he watched as a thick plume of dark grey smoke rose above Price’s form.

“You should’ve come to me for help sooner.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Price questioned, looking back at Simon over his shoulder.

“You’ve been running for years, Simon. Even before she came into the picture. And I let you. I shouldn’t have, but I kept hoping you would figure it out. And then, well, you didn’t. And then I watched you continue to close yourself off, to keep your distance. I watched as you brushed her off over, and over, and over again. And, I admit, as the pack leader, I should have stepped in. Should have forced you to stay on base and figure your shit out, but, tactically, it would’ve been a mistake to keep you here. So, we’re here now. What’s happened has happened. How are you going to fix it?”

Simon stood there, slack jawed and wide eyed as Captain John Price just essentially ripped down every single one of his defenses, his excuses, in one fell swoop. He wrung his hands in front of him, feeling exactly like he had been flayed open, all of his weaknesses and failures laid out in the open like intestines.

“I… I don’t know. That’s why I came here. I was looking for… pointers, I guess. Of how to be a better alpha- fuck, how to just be a good alpha. How to treat an omega. I wasn’t ever… I didn’t have good role models for that shit, and I just- well, Johnny said-”

“Will you actually listen?”

“What?”

Price took a deep inhale of the thick, grey smoke and held it as he turned to look at Simon face-on, studying Simon’s shaking form, the wild, lost look in his eyes, before he exhaled. Price kept his face schooled in a neutral expression, but he really did feel for Simon. He had once been a lost alpha like him, confused on how to even begin to take on the responsibility of an omega, how to take care of them. “If we have this conversation, will you actually take what I say into consideration? Or are you going to attempt for a few days, get frustrated, and then give up?”

Simon winced as Price continued to lay into him with that same cold, calculating gaze he used when discussing potential battle plans. Simon sighed softly, letting his head fall back to stare at the ceiling for a moment before he rolled his shoulders and looked at Price. “I have to fix this.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

Price grinned around his cigar and sat back down at the desk, his fingers tracing idly over the claw marks in the surface of the wood. He gestured his arm out, inviting Simon to sit across from him. Simon squeezed into the chair, his large bulk making the chair creak in protest. He leaned back, trying to feign a confident, or at the very least, unaffected air, but all of his thoughts just kept coming back to you, his knee bouncing in a very distracting fashion as he fought every urge to just run back to his quarters, just to check on you.

Price smirked and steepled his hands in front of him, resting his chin on his thumbs. “You’re scared, ain’t ya?”

Simon nodded, biting down on his plush lower lip.

“Good. Means ya care. You’re just shit at showing it.”

Simon’s lips pressed into a thin line, but what could he do? He couldn’t protest the truth. He was already flayed open, might as well attempt to dissect and treat the diseased portions where he has been keeping all of his shit coping mechanisms.

“Did you ever court her?” Price asked, watching Simon skeptically. He could guess at the answer, as the relationship between you and Simon was far from traditional.

“No, I… Price, the brass gave us an ultimatum, you know that. I didn’t have time!”

“Not before, you didn’t, but what about after? You still could have courted her. Maybe then you would’ve trusted each other more, and we wouldn’t all be in this situation. Do you even know her favorite food? Flower? Song to dance to at 3 am in the kitchen? Color?”

With each question, Simon sank further and further into himself. He felt like the worst alpha on the planet. And, honestly, he probably was, or else you wouldn’t be still laying in his bed practically comatose.

Captain Price sighed and rubbed his thumb over the deep-set lines in his forehead. “Alright, well, those are good places to start, I guess, but… being an alpha isn’t all about gift giving and protecting. You have to listen to her. And I don’t just mean the words out of her mouth - although those are still very important - I also mean her pheromones. Her body language. Her microexpressions. All of the things she doesn’t say.”

“What!? How am I-”

Price put his hand up again to stop the tirade that he knew was about to come pouring out of Simon. “You pay attention. That’s it. It ain’t rocket science, Simon. You’ve led how many teams through how many missions? I’m sure you can figure out if one omega prefers dark or milk chocolate.”

Simon sighed loudly, the sound trailing off into a growl. He felt so stupid. He had been too focused on himself, on his own trauma and his own issues that he had completely neglected the bare minimum for you. He had so much to make up for. He slammed his forehead down into the desk in frustration, the force making the pens on the desk jump. “I should’ve just allowed the brass to kick me out. At least then she could’ve been forced to mate someone who could actually provide for her.”

Price shrugged, leaning back in his own chair as he puffed on his cigar. “No point in thinkin’ like that. You guys are mates, and that bond stayed together for a lot longer than I ever thought it would. That means somethin’, you know. So, you’ve really only got one option. You’ve gotta fix it. Listen to her. Pay attention. Make her feel cared for.”

Simon nodded, his forehead still pressed against the cold wood of the desk, but something Price said kept sticking in his brain, ruminating like a dog trying to lick peanut butter off of the roof of its mouth.

“That means something?” Simon asked, looking up at Price, skeptically looking for clarification.

Price just grinned and pretended to zip his mouth shut before waving Simon off. “Go back to your girl. If you still haven’t figured it out in a few weeks, come talk to me. But remember, court her. Especially after all of this. Show her you care. That you can be a good alpha.”

Simon furrowed his brow, not thrilled about not getting an answer about what Price meant, but got up from his seat. He had been dismissed, and all he wanted to do was get back to you.

Courting. Courting. Right. He could do that. Right?

tag list: @kerst666 @misscaller06 @letaliabane @sai-int @itsmeamysworld @massivescissorsthingperson @aeeliy

[grandline-fics]

The Grand Line's Bounty List

Have to now split the Masterlist into multiple posts now because of the amount of links.

HEART PIRATES, KID PIRATES, WHITEBEARD PIRATES, BIG MOM PIRATES, DONQUIXOTE FAMILY

Law The Moment They Started Seeing You Differently Seeing You Differently Part Two An Angry Confession You Need Liquid Courage To Act Lazy Mornings With You Comforting Him On A Bad Day You Get Pregnant After A One Night Stand You Call Them A Term Of Endearment They Touch Your Cold Hands/Feet At Night They Hurt You While Controlled The Little Things They Love With You Confronting Your Feelings After Being Silently In Love Prompt: Accidental Kiss You're There To Ease His Pain They Have A Nightmare You Marry Someone Else You Say Their Name In Your Sleep The First Time They Hear You Sing Prompt: Jealousy Kiss w/Do You Have Any Idea How Much I Want To Kiss You Right Now? You Try To Hide Illness From Him When You Fall Unconscious When You Unexpectedly Appear In The Paper Prompt: "No! Don't Give Me Those Puppy-Dog Eyes!" Valentines Event: Single Red Rose

Kid The First Time They Hear You Sing You Call Them A Term Of Endearment They Touch Your Cold Hands/Feet At Night The Moment They Started Seeing You Differently The Little Things They Love With You You're Shorter Than Him Their Favourite Moments To Kiss You The Have A Nightmare You Marry Someone Else You're His Opposite Prompt: Jealousy Kiss w/Do You Have Any Idea How Much I Want To Kiss You Right Now? Prompt: Accidentally Saying 'I Love You' They Hurt You While Controlled Prompt: Desperate Kiss

Killer He Has A Crush On A Strawhat! Reader The Little Things They Love With You You Say Their Name In Your Sleep When You Fall Unconscious

Ace Lazy Mornings With You You Call Them A Term Of Endearment You're Serious Until You See Something Cute They Hurt You While Controlled The Have A Nightmare You Marry Someone Else They Finally See You Jealous The First Time They Hear You Sing The Crew Interfere To Get You Together Prompt: Jealousy Kiss w/Do You Have Any Idea How Much I Want To Kiss You Right Now? Prompt: Taking The Hit For Them Prompt: Secretly Dating w/Desperate Kiss Prompt: Fake Dating (Modern!Au) When You Fall Unconscious He Gets Turned Into A Younger Version Of Himself

Marco You Call Them A Term Of Endearment Lazy Mornings With You They Finally See You Jealous The First Time They Hear You Sing When You Fall Unconscious

Katakuri The Have A Nightmare You Marry Someone Else

Rosinante/Corazon They Catch You In Their Clothes

Doflamingo Immune To Your Charms, Ch.2, Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Ch.10 Ch.11 Ch.12 Ch.13

Other Masterlists:

Strawhats

Red Hair Pirates, Cross Guild, Marines, Revolutionary Army

[starberry-cupcake]

GUESS WHO'S BACK??? Happy new year you bone-loving weirdos (affectionately)!!! Let's start 2025 with Nona!!!

previously, in this react series:

we (I mean me, but also you, alongside me) finished harrowcita del 9

we read some short stories

I made a gideon craft as a gift and the person I made it for told me that the recap I wrote in the back made it to some discord server somewhere

my legacy is being unfunny

NOW LET'S START WITH NONA:

(that's how I called 2 of my great-grandmothers)

I decided to skip all the praise for the book because some of them were getting a little too involved with the story and I don't want to know anything, thank you very much

I did however read the blurb in the inside cover that I missed the last time

I wonder if at some point I could make like an audio version of a recap as I read, because my reaction when I read the following was Something, but then again you'd have to deal with my pronunciation of the names and idk if I want that

anyway, blurb says "with Pyrrha, Camilla and Palamedes"

???????????????????????????????????????????

I thought it was judith and coronabeer twin??????

I'm gonna change her name from regina george twin to coronabeer twin now because she outlived her other nickname

she's the only nickname graduate so far

who took palmolive out of the tamagotchi river loft???????

who set him loose????

how is phyrrha there, she was with gideon/harrow/gideonharrow fusion??????

"each night, Nona dreams of a woman with a skull painted face"

don't we all

the list of books says "Nona the Ninth" and so does the title in the paratext

instead of dramatis personae we have a guest list for a party

there are a lot of dogs invited to the party, which is nice

one of them has six legs

there's also people with BOE names

and one kevin, love to see it, I'll remember him

lots of meme potential there

there are some camilla annotations beside all the people from BOE allegedly nona wants to invite

still not seeing coronabeer and/or judith

gonna imagine that, wherever they are, they're making out

good for them

we got two poems after, the latter of which is a bit heart wrenching, I don't wanna ask about it

then we got a title that looks like a bible verse

had to google it and it is a verse about peter and a disciple finding jesus's tomb empty

ice cube barbie is locked tomb jesus confirmed

I've never mentioned this before but this has happened to me ever since book 1, and since it's here again I'm gonna say it

I have noticed I have a bad knee jerk reaction to the adjective 'fat' being used so often for so many things, but I'm trying to work thought it

don't wanna project my trauma onto unintended narrators

we got a summarized recount of events of what might be how emperor asshat and some of his lyctors got where they got from maybe present times???

there's talk about cryogenics for a lot of people and an evacuation plan from earth

and names are erased but we have some initials that could be augustine, mercygirl, cassiopeia and gideon

I don't think c is not!dulcinea because she was meant to be a newer model lyctor

during this recount he's in the beach alongside harrow, who he says he's gonna hurt

harrow apparently says she still loves him

gideon would be kicking him in the nuts

also, I thought the emperor was with yandere twin

what the hell happened between the two books???? where's everyone????

DAY ONE (hot sauce and 5 days until the tomb opens) CH 1

we've got a recorded statement of what feels to me like the Pool Situation Wink Wonk You Know The One

is she harrow??? or is harrow in the river with the emperor and this is a new person???? who is this????? is harrow's soul in the river???? where is gideon's perfectly preserved body that we knew camilla was carrying around with coronabeer and judith???

I don't know anything

but my wife is here, so it's all good

also, she's apparently sharing a body with palmolive now

so now the wife ideal turned into a polycule situation, I guess

didn't have that in my 2025 cards

I have two hands, apparently, idk

turns out, palmolive was somehow freed from his tamagotchi loft in the river and placed in camilla's body so they share it

how? by who? when?

glad you asked, I don't know

they're sharing space now, that's all I know

it's kind of like the lyctors should have been if the emperor wasn't an asshole, I guess

because it seems they can also switch easily and like coexist without totally cutting the other one out

it feels a lot healthier and organic in their relationship, even though palmolive is a soul guest

palmolive says camilla's body is a temple, so I'm glad we agree

pyrrha is also there, I assume taking over og!gideon's body fully, since he died, afaik

they're taking care of nona, who doesn't know who she is and they don't seem to know either, but if she has harrow's memories, I don't know what to tell you

they're living in a complicated militarized situation with few resources and little light use

palmolive thinks he could write explicit materials for a living but camilla doesn't want them to be remembered for that

palmolive wrote a lot of Things to his bae in correspondence, so maybe that's already part of his legacy

nona is sent to her room while palmolive and pyrrha argue about BOE acting weird

camolive want to rescue people, pyrrha thinks it's a bad idea and wants to get nona away from the planet

pyrrha also mentions a "she" that's crazier than camilla and makes references to commander wake me up when september ends but that one died???? twice????? so idk who this new "she" is

let's remember, for the record, that both og!gideon and pyrrha were Intimate with commander wake me up before we go go

apparently there are more people who are planet refugees in this one planet than two houses combined

which doesn't surprise me in the least, because that's how oppression often works, but is good to have it confirmed

heralds are also still a problem and camilla wants to fight them

pyrrha thinks that's a bad idea, because there's data of that not being possible

but she doesn't know that camilla hect is perfect and can do everything right always

it is important for me to clarify that, more than anyone ever in this book series, nona is the true definition of what in my land we refer to as: "está en un cumple"

the literal definition of the phrase means "she's in a birthday party"

the idiom definition is that someone is totally unaware of what is going on, without understanding what's around them, often used for people in a content state while unaware of a problem everyone else is worrying about

I truly think it's a very good way to describe her and I can't translate it in a way that feels the exact way, especially due to the party context

I headcanon her wearing this shirt

she also wants to save the animals, while camolive want to save the people

pyrrha is just tired and wants to retire to a farming planet to live in peace

I get it, though, imagine having to serve emperor asshat for so long

poor cavalier deserves some rest, og!gideon had the right idea when he exited the entire situation

saw an out with that fight in the river and left the chat

pyrrha is also worried about BOE capturing and torturing camolive for interrogation

and there seems to be an underlying plan between camolive and pyrrha that I'm not entirely sure of yet

nona, apparently, goes to school, because she's in a cumple, as previously established

going to school on top of the eye in the sky and the military issues and the social strife and the potential torturing doesn't sound ideal but very glad there's still an education system in place among all that

AND THAT'S IT FOR NOW!!! It's proving a bit complicated to do recaps with a paperback but I'm gonna try to find my footing!! See you on the next one!!

[souliebird]

[[and then i met you || ch 16]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Words: 4.4k

ao3 link

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

You dream of hands. 

They are strong, calloused, and scarred, but they are so gentle with you. They dance over your skin, tracing over your belly to your sides and go down to your thighs. They come back up, pushing your panties to the side and examine your most intimate areas, and though you feel desire radiating from them, they do not cross the line into deviant behavior. They do not tease - they explore and memorize and make you feel like something precious. 

Once they have soaked themselves in the slick your body can't help but produce, they slide up to just under your belly button and rest there. Everything inside you flutters at the gesture and your body craves to be full - for the hands to feel the push back of a life moving inside you.

They don't linger long - only enough to make you squirm and gasp - before they are moving again. They drag up your center, skirting your breast like they dare not indulge.

They wrap around your throat and give a small squeeze. They are powerful and could crush you without a thought, but they don't. They release you and continue upward. They brush your cheeks, and when a thick digit pushes past your lips and you begin to suckle at it, you finally wake. 

Your bedroom is filled with bright sunlight, and you groan with disappointment. 

Your instinct tells you to roll into your pillow and try to continue sleeping but your mind is faster than your body and groggy memories of the day before beat against your skull. 

Your ear has no problems reminding you that you are ill. As you come more into consciousness, you become aware of how much it aches and how overly warm you feel. You vaguely remember being woken up to have ear drops put in and to coaxed into drinking water. There are flashes of sweet words and praise and being held while you drift back to sleep and gentle little kisses all over your face. 

You force your eyes to open and are greeted by the cartoonishly large ones of Scooby. He's right beside your pillow, like he's watching over you, and he's been maneuvered into wearing Minnie’s miniature doctor's coat with her bright pink toy stethoscope clamped around his neck. Your heart sings with love for your little girl and you hug the stuffed dog to your chest, burying your nose in his oversized head. 

How in the world did you get a daughter who is so pure and full of compassion and love? It certainly isn't genetic - you don't think your parents knew what compassion was. If this is from what you have taught her, then maybe, just maybe, you have finally done something right with your life. 

You stay hugging Doctor Scooby until your bladder complains and you force yourself out of bed. 

Your phone is nowhere to be seen, but you don't worry about it too much - you only wanted to check the time. You have a feeling it's around midday, but you can't be too sure - all you know is it feels like you slept forever. 

You grab a change of clothes, then head to the bathroom, bringing your toddler assigned guardian with you. After you take care of business, you take the time to clean yourself up a bit before changing into fresh clothing. It does wonders to improve how you feel. Your ear still throbs, and you feel stiff, but you don't feel like you've been wallowing in your own sweat. 

As you clean up your small mess, you note the carefully arranged bottles in your bathtub have been switched around. Minnie’s shampoo is in the wrong place and instead of any annoyance, you find yourself smiling. 

Matt must have given her a bath. You can imagine how it went, as your daughter enjoys getting clean and playing with all her water-based toys. She also adores helping and following directions, and you can picture her instructing her Daddy on how to wash her hair just right. 

You would have thought you'd never trust Minnie with someone so soon after meeting them - there's no way you'd let any of your friends give her a bath - but with Matt it is so easy. He wants so much to be a good father and he and Mouse already have such a good bond. You are just sad you missed their first bath time together. 

You take Doctor Scooby and your dirty clothes and leave the bathroom. Your clothes go into the hamper, then you and the toy dog make your way to the living room. You can hear the television going, but it's too low to make out what is playing, and your daughter giggling. The noise warms your heart, and you yearn for her. 

The scene you come upon is something you don't expect - Matt is sitting cross legged on the ground, back facing you, with Minnie standing right in front of him. On the coffee table beside her, her toy makeup kit is laid out, with all the different brushes scattered everywhere. Your daughter has a look of pure concentration on her face as she examines her father, a tube of what you know to be roll on glitter clutched in her little fist.

Matt must be getting his first princess makeover.

You can't hold back the delighted noise that comes from your soul at the realization and that of course catches both of their attention.

“Mommy!” 

A rocket made of brown curls and a yellow sundress crashes into your waiting arms. You squeeze her tight, trying to absorb her into your being, along with the Scooby plush. The hug only lasts a moment, as she quickly pulls back, slaps her little hands onto your cheeks, and declares, “You're still sick!”

You push your face into her touch, and give a sad laugh, guilt bubbling in your belly, “I am, I'm sorry, Mouse. But I feel better now, I promise.”

She purses her lips at you before dropping her hands from your face and says in an authoritative voice, “Doctor Scooby says you need more sleep.”

You look down at the toy still in your arms, then hold him up to be face to face with Minnie, “My body doesn't want to sleep anymore. Do you think it would be okay if I came out here to be with my family, Doctor Scooby?”

She takes the dog from you and jams his mouth to her ear. She pouts and goes, “uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay,” before turning him so he is looking at you and you feel like you're being judged by him. “He says you have to stay on the couch. And no cookies!”

“No cookies?” Matt asks from behind Minnie, and you finally tear your eyes away from her to look at him. You have to bite your lip, so you don't laugh.

Mouse has gone above and beyond with her princess makeover. 

Baby pink eyeshadow has been smeared over his eyelids, up to his thick eyebrows, and blended out to have a border of blue sparkles. His cheeks are rouged enough to make a flapper jealous, and a deep purplely-red stain has been carefully applied to his lips. Or as carefully as a three-year-old can do, which means the scruff around his mouth now has a nice tint to it. To top off his look, stick-on gems have been placed around his eyes, and the deep red color and shape of them mimic the glasses he typically wears.

He looks absolutely fabulous, and you need to find your phone so you can send pictures to Foggy and Karen.

“No cookies,” Minnie confirms, waving her plush at you to get your attention back onto her. 

“Okay, no cookies,” you agree. You don't know if you actually have any cookies in the pantry to eat, anyways, so this will be an easy rule to follow. “And I have to stay on the couch?”

Minnie nods vigorously, “Doctor's orders!”

“Okay, if the doctor says so.” 

You push yourself back into standing and your daughter takes your hand to practically march you over to the couch. You plop down in your corner and not a moment later, Scooby is back in your arms. Then, Minnie is zooming away from you and to the kitchen, calling back, “Daddy, I need help, please, thank you!”

Matt beams at you as he stands up and even with his face used as a coloring book, he looks handsome as ever, “I'm coming, my love.” His voice is full of joy and pride, and while you feel guilty, he is stuck babysitting while you're recovering, he clearly doesn't feel the same. You have the suspicion that every time Minnie calls him ‘Daddy’, his heart grows bigger. 

You don't turn to spy as Matt disappears from your view. Your phone is on the table behind Minnie’s make up kit, so you grab that then pull the throw blanket off the back of the couch and wrap yourself in it after adjusting to get a little more comfortable. 

There are no urgent or interesting notifications waiting for you - a few emails about sales and calendar reminders about upcoming bills that need to be paid. You swipe them away then turn your focus to the television. It is one of the educational videos about animals your little one has started watching in preparation for her birthday trip to the zoo. The date is coming up fast and you wonder if she's been telling Matt about all the animals she's excited to see. You can't wait to take her to the park for her special day. 

Minnie brings you from your thoughts with another yell of, “Mommy!” She hurries into your view and your heart swells with love. She's holding your water bottle, which she shoves at you, “Doctor Scooby says…he says you have to stay hide-rated. I asked Daddy what that means and he said you gotta drink lots of water! I got you water!”

You take your bottle and have to resist the urge to take her up in your lap as well. Your little angel is so sweet and thoughtful, and you very much want to wrap her up in your arms and never let go. 

“Thank you so much, sweetie, I'll make sure to keep hydrated. Promise,” you tell her, fully meaning to do just that. You try to drink a lot of water anyways, so it shouldn't be hard to accomplish. 

Minnie, however, either doesn't believe you or is over eager to take care of you. She grabs a hold of one of your legs and shakes it as hard as she can, demanding “Drink!” She drags out the word in a way only a toddler can and to soothe her, you take a long sip of water. 

“What else did Doctor Scooby say?” Matt asks as he returns from the kitchen, and you can feel the grin in his words. 

Mouse takes in the question, swaying slightly as she thinks, then breaks out into a big grin as she recites, “Lots of rest and…and a ...a towel on her ear! To help the ickies!” 

“Exactly,” Matt practically cooes as he scoops up his daughter, swinging her around before securing her on his hips. He tilts his head towards you, looking proud as can be, “I think we have a little doctor on our hands.”

“I'm gonna be a veteran!” Minnie declares, puffing up her chest. 

You know she means veterinarian and decide you aren't going to correct her. Instead, you're going to tease her about her past career goals, “I thought you wanted to be a hot dog vendor?”

Her eyes get wide at the reminder, and she quickly amends, “I'm gonna do that on the weekend!”

“So, veteran during the week and hot dog vendor on the weekend?” Matt confirms, blue sparkly eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah!”

You and Matt both huff in laughter and your little one beams at the attention. 

You take in Matt's appearance, with his devastatingly handsome face and boyish charm and a warmth churns in your belly. To push away those feelings, you ask, “are you still going to have time to give Daddy makeovers with all that work?”

Minnie looks at Matt and analyzes him, before starting to wiggle to be put down, “you need says-or-eases!” You guess she isn't done with him yet and talks of her future will have to wait.

He sets her on the ground, asking, “I need what?” but she doesn't acknowledge him, running off to the bedroom to grab more of her toys. You watch as he moves his head in minute movements, brow wrinkling up. He must be trying to figure out what his daughter is fetching. 

“What is she getting?” Matt finally asks you and you take a sip of water so swallow down any smugness you have.

“Accessories,” you clarify. “You can't have a makeover without getting some new accessories.”

He mouths the word, and you know he has no idea what is to come - Foggy’s nieces must be too old for dress up and makeovers. He remains standing until Minnie comes waddling back. She's carrying one of the purses you've gotten for her, and she's stuffed it full of costume jewelry and hair clips. She dumps it all out on the ground by Matt's feet with a demand of, “Sit, please, thank you!”

Bewildered, he does as he's told, and your daughter wastes no time trying to determine what looks best with his makeup. She holds a necklace up, looking between it and him before setting it aside with a ���no!’ This happens again and again as she goes through her necklaces, then clip-on earrings and bangles - none of which fit over Matt's hands and are abandoned - and finally hair clips. 

You enjoy the process, sitting back and letting yourself wake up as Minnie describes each accessory to her Daddy as she decides if it matches the aesthetic. You snap photos to send to your new friends and Matt is good enough to even pose for a few. 

The final look consists of a giant yellow heart necklace, blue teardrop dangle earrings, and Beauty and the Beast hair bow. He looks very dashing, and you tell him as much as you send the end product over to Foggy and Karen. 

“If hot dog vending doesn't work out, your side hustle can be as a stylist,” you tease and Minnie beams at you, enjoying the praise. Matt examines what he is wearing, carefully touching the plastic jewelry to better understand what he looks like as Mouse reminds him of the colors. 

As they do that, you check the time. It is a little past Nap Time, so once the conversation starts to change, you address your daughter, “Would you like to clean up your toys and get some juice?” 

You know she knows this transition and she doesn't hesitate to nod and start to act. She starts with the things on the floor, stuffing them back into her purse and Matt jumps into Dad-mode. 

“What type of juice do you want, Mouse?”

“Apple juice, please, thank you.” 

“Half juice, half water,” you advise as he carefully navigates out of the living area. 

“Is the cup from last night, okay? The sippy one?”

“The bunny one!” Is the almost haughty reply. The pink bunny is the pre-nap juice cup, and you think a fit might be thrown if tradition isn't followed, so you untangle yourself from the blanket and go to the kitchen. Luckily, no one calls you out for leaving the couch. 

You smile at Matt as you pass him, and explain, “I ordered water resistant Braille label stickers but haven't finished putting them on all her things yet.” You open the cabinet that holds all of her various cups and pull out the correct one, then pass it over. “This one I did label.”

Matt takes it and runs his fingers over the surface until he finds the Braille, “Pink with bunnies. For Juice. Nap Time.” His face relaxes into something soft as he retraces the words. You don't know how descriptive you need to be with everything, but you know you don't need to spell everything out for him. His lips twitch into a smile and he whispers to you, “thank you,” before turning to the fridge to get out the juice. 

You don't want to make things awkward by lingering, so you shuffle back to the couch and reclaim your spot. Matt joins you a minute later, setting the sippy cup on the table. 

Mouse finishes cleaning up her toys rather quickly, then grabs her juice and crawls up to be between the two of you. You change the television over to one of the Pre-Nap shows - something calming to help everyone wind down - and out of the corner of your eye, you see your daughter snuggle into her Daddy's side and begin to sip her juice. Matt wraps his arm around her shoulders and begins to oh so gently pet over her arm. 

She's out before she finishes her juice. 

You don't miss the opportunity to take more pictures of Matt looking down at Minnie. You know he can't see her with his eyes, but you wonder what input he is getting and if he knows how sweet the pair of them look. 

You sit silently and wait until you're sure she won't wake up, then reach to gently touch Matt's shoulders, “Do you want to put her in her bed?”

He nods slowly, his whole being screaming with love for his little girl. You take the sippy cup away as he carefully picks her up after standing and you watch as he cradles her to his chest. He stands there for a moment, holding her close, and you think he must be savoring the moment. 

You don't disturb him and after a minute, he starts towards the bedroom. You wait until he's disappeared down the hallway to get up and go pour out the remainder of Minnie’s juice. You clean the cup, then grab some skin friendly wet wipes - you have the feeling Matt may not want to keep wearing his makeup. It feels gummy on your skin so you can't imagine how irritating he finds it. 

You resettle on the couch and change from sleepy television to soul crushing television - the midday news. 

You usually like to catch the top stories and the weather before switching away, but given Nap Time came a little late today, you miss those. Instead, you tune into the host interviewing some politician and the headline bar tells you he's a senator and they are discussing the Connecticut explosion. You turn up the volume slightly, so you can actually hear it. 

“- leaked report states this was not an attack, but the attempted arrest of an Enhanced individual gone wrong. Allegedly, the destruction of a neighborhood and the 634 deaths, dozens of which were children, was all caused by one man with powers. What are your thoughts on this, Senator Kelly?”

You frown at the new information. One person caused all that pain? Or are they just blaming one individual? 

“Thank you for having me, Vicki,” the Senator says, and you already don't like him. He gives off a slimy vibe - like he doesn't care about anyone but himself. “I've read the report and I've been on the ground, talking to the people whose lives were destroyed, and I've got one question in mind:  why were the good people of Stamford not made aware they were living next to a bomb? This individual, whose identity is still being hidden, only released one attack. One!” 

Your eyes go wide at the statement. That can't be true. Can someone really have that much power inside of them? You can understand people like Iron Man with a bunch of missiles strapped to him, but someone who is Enhanced?

“What do you propose, Senator?” Vicki asks and something like dread turns in your stomach. 

Matt reenters the room just as the vile man begins speaking again. He comes to stand by the couch, putting his hand on the cushion behind your shoulder.

“The American people deserve to know who they are living next to. We implemented this policy for sexual deviants, and we should do the same for these so-called Enhanced Individuals! The Sokovia Accords talks about registering ‘super heroes’,” Kelly uses air quotes around the word, a disgusted look on his face, “but this man wasn't a hero. He was a literal ticking time bomb and who knows how many more Enhanced Individuals are out there just like him. How would you feel if your neighbor could blow up your house with a wave of their arm, or walk through your walls, or Heaven-forbid, control you with their mind? S.H.I.E.L.D showed us all those people existed! How are we supposed to protect ourselves against that? Whose stopping those people from causing the next Sokovia, or Lagos, or Stamfo-”

You turn off the television. You can't hear any more of that man's rancid words and implications. 

You tilt your head up to look at Matt and your heart pangs for him. He's openly scowling and in the corner of your eye, you see him gripping the couch cushion tightly. 

Your body acts without thought and you reach up to squeeze his bicep, “Matt...?”

“He's talking about people like they are uncontrollable weapons,” he grinds out, “this is McCarthy Era ‘everyone who isn't you is a threat’ bullshit.”

“I know,” you say to try to soothe some of the anger you see boiling in him. You understand the anger and you are angry, too. You think Matt falls under the umbrella of ‘Enhanced Individuals’ and if so, Minnie does as well. It terrifies you that someone who is supposed to be running the country is spitting out such words, but you want to believe he's in the fringe. You want to believe your government doesn't think your daughter is a threat just because she's different. “He's vile.”

With his free hand, Matt wipes at his mouth, still looking furious, “everything he is saying goes against the Constitution. People have the right to privacy.”

You gently tug on his arm, and he takes the signal to come around and sit beside you. You turn to face him, and he does the same, and you decide to take the initiative. You want him to feel better. 

You are slow with your movements, so he can figure out your intentions, and unclip the bow from his hair. His eyes flutter shut before he takes a deep, calming breath, “I can't believe they let people like him on the news.”

You hum, then remove his necklace before going for the earrings, “I can. They love to stir the pot and giving those horrible people airtime gets them more views. They don't care about what's being said, only how much money they are getting for it “

“That's bleak,” he grumbles.

“It's better than the networks believing that bullshit,” you reply, as you pluck the red gems from his face. That makes him huff and a little smile form on his lips.

“You're good at this.”

“At what?” You ask as you set aside the jewelry on the table and grab the wet wipes. 

“Defusing the situation, turning the negative into a positive,” he says. He keeps his eyes closed as you start to wipe away the makeup Minnie caked onto him, starting with his rouge. 

“Is it a positive the news wants money instead of spewing hate?” You counter, a little bit of a tease in your voice. He reaches out and squeezes your knee and you can't help but smile. “Though, I guess it is better to be a capitalist than a Nazi.”

“That's the American way of thinking,” Matt jokes and you have to stop cleaning away the makeup so you can both laugh. 

You fall back into silence as you start in on his eye shadow. He keeps his hand on your knee, slowly beginning to rub his thumb back and forth over your sweats. You can practically see the tension bleeding out of his shoulders and a bit of pride swirls in your chest. You feel guilty for turning on and listening to the news in the first place. 

When it comes time for you to wipe away the stain on Matt's lips, you hesitate. 

You've been trying to ignore the feelings that have been slowly growing inside you. You thought of them as weeds - byproducts of Matt being naturally charming and kind and the father of your child. You know you are attracted to him - you slept with him, after all - but emotionally? 

You're terrified of that. 

You're terrified of him not returning the feelings.

You're terrified you only see what he allows you to see, and when the facade drops, someone else will appear. 

You're terrified of messing everything up - for yourself. For Minnie. 

You don't want to think of your dreams, where you know it's him you are imagining. You don't want to think about how perfect it felt to be held by him and know you were safe. You don't want to think about how he still hasn't left you since you had to be taken to the hospital. 

You can't fall down that rabbit hole. It's too much for you. 

So, you try to rip away the things growing inside you before they bloom and push forward. You fold the wet wipe in half and begin to remove the last of the makeup. You don't rush, taking just as much care as you had getting rid of the blue sparkles.

“All done,” you say as you finish and pull away from him, turning purposefully so his hand slides off your leg. You pretend to not notice and focus on balling up the used wipes.

“Thank you,” he responds quietly, turning as well so he's facing the television once again. You fear things are going to dip into awkwardness, but Matt speaks again before you get to say something stupid. His words are soft and steady, but strike fear into your heart.

“There was something I wanted to talk with you about.” 

You try to swallow down your anxiety and tell yourself that this isn't about your silly emotions - whatever Matt has to say must be regarding Minnie. It's the only thing that makes sense, so you come out a small “Yeah?”

“I wanted to talk to you about my mother.”

--

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two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @ astridstark13

 @lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

[aprik0se]

Please help a homeless trans woman survive!

09/06/24- IMMEDIATE NEED: $100 to cover an overdraft fee and get her some food.

VENM0 @ruby_arnone $rubyk01 PayPl

DETAILS: Charlotte has been sleeping outside with her dog and the weather is getting colder. She is very sick from cancer, covid complications, and injuries after being assaulted. I am grateful for the help she’s gotten so far but with donations she has only barely kept up with immediate needs, and skipped meals most days. She NEEDS more support, which means saving for a vehicle to live in. The gofundme below shows a little over $800 raised but all of that has gone to survival expenses over the past 2 months! The actual progress is 0. Please consider donating using one of the methods above! I do not exaggerate when I say that continuing to live outside will kill her. Please show up for trans women while they are still alive.

[hope-ur-ok]

Surprise Song Master post ~ European Leg

5/9 Paris, FR: Paris + LOML

5/10 Paris, FR: Is It Over Now?/OOTW + My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

5/11 Paris, FR: Hey Stephen + Maroon

5/12 Paris, FR: The Alchemy / Treacherous + Begin Again / Paris

5/17 Stockholm, SE: I Think He Knows / Gorgeous + Peter

5/18 Stockholm, SE: Guilty As Sin? + Say Don't Go / Welcome to New York / Clean

5/19 Stockholm, SE: Message In A Bottle / How You Get The Girl / New Romantics + How Did It End?

5/24 Lisbon, PT: Come Back... Be Here / The Way I Loved You / The Other Side of the Door + Fresh Out the Slammer / High Infidelity

5/25 Lisbon, PT: The Tortured Poets Department / Now That We Don't Talk + You're On Your Own Kid / Long Live

5/29 Madrid, ES: Sparks Fly / I Can Fix Him (No Really Can) + I Look In People's Windows / Snow On the Beach

5/30 Madrid, ES: Our Song / Jump Then Fall + King of My Heart

6/2 Lyon, FR: The Prophecy / Long Story Short + Fifteen / You're On Your Own Kid

6/3 Lyon, FR: Glitch / Everything Has Changed + Chloe Or Sam Or Sophia Or Marcus

6/7 Edinburgh, Scotland UK: Would've Could've Should've / I Know Places + 'Tis the Damn Season / Daylight

6/8 Edinburgh, Scotland UK: The Bolter / Getaway Car + All of the Girls You Loved Before / Crazier

6/9 Edinburgh, Scotland UK: It's Nice To Have A Friend / Dorothea + Haunted / Exile

6/13 Liverpool, England UK: I Can See You / Mine + Cornelia Street / Maroon

6/14 Liverpool, England UK: This Is What You Came For / Gold Rush + The Great War / You're Losing Me

6/15 Liverpool, England UK: Carolina / No Body No Crime + The Manuscript / Red

6/18 Cardiff, Wales UK: I Forgot That You Existed / This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things + I Hate It Here / The Lakes

6/21 London, England UK: Hits Different / Death By A Thousand Cuts + The Black Dog / Come Back Be Here / Maroon

6/22 London, England UK: thanK you aIMee / Mean + Castles Crumbling w/ Hayley Williams

6/23 London, England UK: Us w/ Gracie Abrams + Out Of The Woods / Is It Over Now? / Clean

6/28 Dublin, IE: State of Grace / You're On Your Own Kid + Sweet Nothing / Hoax

6/29 Dublin, IE: The Albatross / Dancing With Our Hands Tied + This Love / Ours

6/30 Dublin, IE: Clara Bow / The Lucky One + You’re On Your Own Kid

7/4 Amsterdam, NL: Guilty as Sin? / Untouchable + The Archer / Question...?

7/5 Amsterdam, NL: imgonnagetyouback / Dress + You Are In Love / Cowboy Like Me

7/6 Amsterdam, NL: Sweeter than fiction / Holy Ground + Mary's Song / So High School / Everything Has Changed

7/9 Zürich, CH: Right Where You Left Me / All You Had To Do Was Stay + Last Kiss / Sad Beautiful Tragic

7/10 Zürich, CH: Closure / A Perfectly Good Heart + Robin / Never Grow Up

7/13 Milan, IT: The 1 / Wonderland + I Almost Do / The Moment I Knew

7/14 Milan, IT: Mr. Perfectly Fine / Red + Getaway Car / Out Of The Woods

7/17 Gelsenkirchen, DE: Superstar / Invisible String + "Slut!" / False God

7/18 Gelsenkirchen, DE: Speak Now / Hey Stephen + This Is Me Trying / Labyrinth

7/19 Gelsenkirchen, DE: Paper Rings / Stay Stay Stay + It's Time To Go / Better Man

7/23 Hamburg, DE: Teardrops On My Guitar / The Last Time + We Were Happy / Happiness

7/24 Hamburg, DE: The Last Great American Dynasty / Run + Nothing New / Dear Reader

7/27 Munich, DE: Fresh Out The Slammer / You Are In Love + Ivy / Call It What You Want

7/28 Munich, DE: I Don't Wanna Live Forever / Imgonnagetyouback + LOML / Don't You

8/1 Warsaw, PL: Mirrorball / Clara Bow + Suburban Legends / New Years Day

8/2 Warsaw, PL: I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) / I Can See You + Red / Maroon

8/3 Warsaw, PL: Today Was A Fairytale / I Think He Knows + The Black Dog / Exile

8/15 London, England UK: Everything Has Changed / End Game / Thinking Out Loud w/Ed Sheeran + King Of My Heart / The Alchemy

8/16 London, England UK: London Boy + Dear John / Sad Beautiful Tragic

8/17 London, England UK: I Did Something Bad + My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys / Coney Island

8/19 London, England UK: Long Live / Change + The Archer / You're On Your Own Kid

8/20 London, England UK: Death By A Thousand Cut / Getaway Car w/Jack Antonoff + So Long, London

[phant0mth1ef]

'24 masterlist

bnha:

bakugou katsuki

headcanons

bakugou x support course reader hcs!

girl dad bakugou hcs!

band bakugou x band reader hcs!

bakugou x blunt support course reader hcs!

drabbles

the feeling that i'm losing her, forever (bakugou x reader angst sorta) part 2 part 3 part 4

bakugou x support course reader! part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

this boy's too young to be singing the blues / part 2 & part 3

forever young, i want to be forever young

too young to notice and too dumb to care, love was a story that couldn't compare.

i kissed the scars on her skin, i still think you're beautiful.

you'll never know the murderer sitting next to you

i don't know how i'ma manage, if one day you just up & leave.

if he cheating i'm doing him worse, no uno i hit the reverse.

if you could see 'em now, you'd be proud

clearing out your apartment

you're a part-time lover & a full time friend!

fuck the big 3, it's just big ME

you wonder why i'm bitter

icu scenario

scary? my god, you're divine.

all my friends are heathens, take it slow.

i think i just met my dad in 1985

a scrub is a guy that thinks he's fly.

i love my sister more than anything in this life, i will choose her happiness over mine everytime.

i bet on losing dogs.

cause when you know, you know.

you wanna be one of them? yeah. pt 2.

don't wanna be a fool for you.

when i'm around, slow dancing in the dark.

i've never felt so alone, felt so alone.

oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, they both-, oh yes.

bakugou x reader with dark body hair

was it casual when you told me you loved me?

guess i don't have a choice, all because i liked a boy.

fics! all currently ongoing

bakugou x streamer y/n: intro ch.1 ch. 2 ch.3 ch.4 ch.5 ch.6 ch.7

bakugou x popstar reader: intro ch. 1 ch.2 ch.3

euphoria: limitless / the alchemy / prologue ch.1

kaminari:

if he cheating i'm doing him worse, no uno i hit the reverse.

multi-character:

graffiti artist reader!

no character just drabbles:

four men in uniform, to carry home, my little soldier.

[empresskylo]

beneath the mask ✩ chapter 2 ⬅ ch. 1

➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎���𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ➠SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X AFAB!READER ➠CHAPTER TAGS | afab!reader. kinda mean!ghost. drinking. wc 2.3k. ➠AUTHOR'S NOTE | so glad you're all liking the story so far! hope you like this chapter as well. like i mentioned before, i havent actually played this game lmao so pls excuse any plot inaccuracies. i'm going off of wikipedia and lets plays of the game on youtube. there will definitely be plot points that don't quite line up with the actual game. oh and just fyi, i do not have a tag list. sorry!!

𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

you awoke the following morning with a splitting headache, someone shaking you back and forth only increasing the pain. you squinted your eyes open to see your friend leaning over you. 

“what?” you said through gritted teeth, not holding back any snark. 

“smith and jamerson got pulled into something early this morning. you’re the only medic on base and gaz is bleeding out in the infirmary.”

you shot up in bed, almost slamming foreheads with your friend. “shit. why didn’t you start with that?” you hissed, stumbling out of bed and blindly yanking on clothes.

it didn’t take you long to appear in the cold and barren infirmary, a laughing gaz stretched out on a bed filling your vision when you came storming in. 

he was laughing?  

“gaz,” you began, approaching him. he looked away from ghost, who had apparently been bearable enough to make kyle laugh whilst ‘bleeding out’. 

gaz mimicked you and repeated your name, a stupid grin on his face. 

“i was told you were bleeding out,” you said with a bit of annoyance on your tongue as you slowly strolled up to the man. 

“well, i am bleeding,” he said, holding his hand up, poorly wrapped in white linen that had turned a rusty red. 

you rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand, turning it over in your own. “did you do this?” you asked, referring to the shitty bandage job. 

“not bad, right?” he said with a cheeky grin.

“you’ve got to be kidding, gaz,” your fingers came up to grip the bridge of your nose. “look at it. it's so loose that dirt and debris have gotten into it. you’ll get an infection if i don’t redo it.” you shook your head. “how long has it been like this?”

“several hours, i think.” gaz looked at ghost who ever so slightly shook with a silent laugh. “i dont know, i think i did a pretty fabulous job, but if you insist.” his words were soft and airy and you cocked a brow at him. 

“he’s doped up,” ghost’s guttural voice said from beside you. that would explain gaz’s nonchalance. “got properly decked in the ribs. wouldn’t be surprised if he broke a couple.”

your eyes narrowed at gaz. “gaz,” you said exhaustedly with a hint of reprimand. he looked at you with puppy-dog eyes and you stifled a giggle. 

you went to work on gaz, checking his ribs for fractures and cleaning and rebandaging his hand. you were trying excruciatingly hard to not think about ghost’s eyes on you as you moved about the room. you could feel his glare like flames licking your skin.

finished with gaz, you switched gears and went to ghost’s bedside. he had refused to sit still and had his feet hanging over the edge while he cleaned one of his guns. he looked up at you and you could have sworn you saw something like reverence in his eyes. 

you went to change ghost’s bandages now, gaz already snoring behind you, making you smile to yourself. 

“goin’ back t’my room today,” ghost told you.

“that’s not a good idea, l.t.” you gently nudged his chest and he sat the gun down beside him and laid back. your fingertips lit like a match at just the small physical contact. 

“well good thing I wasn’t askin’.”

why did he always have to be so blunt? you grit your teeth as you finished up, avoiding any unnecessary contact with his skin. 

“i’ll only need to keep an eye on you the next two days. just to make sure there's no infection. then it’s easy sailing from there. i’ll show you how to clean–”

“i’m not daft. been hurt before. didn’t have some medic on call then, either.”

some medic. you weren’t sure why that stung. you felt stupid all of a sudden; of course he’s been injured before. he likely knew the drill like the back of his hand. you suspected under all his gear there were battle wounds that would take a full day just for him to go over the story behind each one.

“well, only two more days with me. then i’ll be out of your hair,” you mumbled.

you felt pathetic for wanting him to reply. to assure you that you didn’t annoy him or that he didn’t mind seeing you. but he just remained silent until you turned and left the room. 

you found soap later that day digging through papers sprawled out on the coffee table before him. “didn’t know you could read,” you teased. 

he looked up at you with a grin. you stood behind him to get a look at what he was reading. “jus’ goin’ over the dossier for our next mission.”

“ our ?” you questioned.

“since you’re the only medic available at the moment. yes, you’ll be coming along for the ride.”

“oh, don’t i feel so special,” you said sarcastically. 

“i woulda asked for you regardless.”

“didn’t know you could make medic requests.”

“ya can’t.”

you collapsed next to him on the couch, sighing before you glazed over the words on the sheets. 

“wait, ‘Hassan’?” you said perking up and pointing to the man’s name. “this seems serious.” you looked at soap with concern. 

“not gonna be an easy one, that’s for sure.”

“but, soap, i can barely use a gun, let alone fight. this seems like i might get killed if…” you trailed off, your heart beginning to race. you weren’t used to going along for intimate missions like this. you usually were held back at base or brought alongside a slew of other medics. but with everyone else gone… 

“don’t worry, lass,” he said bumping your shoulder with his own. “we’ll get ya trained up. it’s not for another two weeks when Hassan should be in Al Mazrah.”

that didn’t exactly make you feel any better. these men have been training their whole life. and you got two weeks?

soap could see the worry spread across your visage. “you’ll have me, gaz, price, and ghost to protect ya.”

“no,” you shook your head. “i can’t become a liability. you guys will have far more important things to focus on.”

“yer not a liability . we need you. there's a good chance that if we capture Hassan, he’ll be hurt. it’s crucial we keep him alive.”

“and that’s where i come in,” you said gloomily. 

“you’re there for us too,” he said smiling at you. soap always did appreciate everything the medics did for the team. he never treated you any differently than the other soldiers. you leaned against him, your heart racing at the idea of what was to come. 

it was late at night when ghost was due for another cleaning. you made it to his door and softly knocked. you paused a moment but didn’t hear anything in return so you quietly pushed the door open. 

the room was dark but you could see the faint silhouette of ghost hunched over on the edge of his bed. your hand hit the wall, searching for the light switch.

“wait,” his deep voice rumbled. you paused all movement and heard the soft rustle of fabric as ghost shuffled. you saw the illuminated outline of him as he pulled his mask over his face. your heart skipped a beat realizing he was sitting in here without it on. “okay.”

you ticked the light switch and met his eyes immediately. he had on his thin balaclava as opposed to the usual hard plastic of his skull mask. it felt like he was naked.

“why don’t you let anyone see you?” you asked timidly. 

“why do you wanna see so bad?” he retorted, clearly already irritated with you. 

“i..” you paused, thinking momentarily. “it’s not that i want to see what you look like. but don’t you find it, i don’t know,” you gestured your hands around nervously, “a bit lonely?”

“lonely?”

“i feel like i’d be lonely if i was always guarded.”

ghost appraised you for a moment, making you squirm uncomfortably. “well, i’m not lonely,” he grunted. okay, end of conversation, you thought. 

you shifted the strap of your bag on your shoulder, “right. i’m sorry. i didn’t mean–”

“quit fuckin’ apologizing.”

you sucked in a sharp breath. “okay. sor–” before you could finish your sentence you stopped yourself. 

you watched ghost roll his eyes. why did upsetting him make you feel so disconcerted? you tried to wipe your face of all expression but you knew he would be able to tell his words wounded you. it wasn’t fair– he could read everything on your face, but all he gave you was his eyes.

you bit your lip then approached him, wanting to get this over with. “if you wanna take off your shirt,” you said absentmindedly as you set your med bag down on his bed beside him. 

he sat back slightly and hiked up his shirt, obviously not wanting to remove it fully. you weren’t sure why, but that made your face heat. it was a statement you’ve made a thousand times to men who had injuries on their torso or when you had to examine their chest. you hadn’t even thought about it when you said it. but when ghost clearly didn’t want to completely shed his clothes, you felt embarrassed, like you had asked for too much. and in a way, he was right. he didn’t need to completely be bare-chested for you to work on him. the wound was quite low on his abdomen. 

you swallowed your embarrassment and cleaned and rebandaged his stitches. you saw an array of goosebumps rise on ghost’s skin from your featherlight touches as you worked. you finished quickly before shoving all your supplies forcibly in your med bag. you needed out of there asap. 

you threw your bag on your shoulder and went to leave when ghost’s bare hands grabbed your wrist. he twirled you so effortlessly to face him again that it almost infuriated you. 

you sucked in a breath of air as you looked at him a bit dumbfounded. ghost thought for a moment, his hand still firmly around your wrist. 

“i don’t mean to be such an arse,” he grunted.

in a breathy tone you spoke back, “it’s fine. i don’t think that, you’re just—“

he cut you off. “no. i don’t have to be so fuckin' upfront with you all the time. you’re just tryin’ to do your job. i gotta remind myself your not one of my men.”

you nodded, holding in the hurt that echoed through you. he was being upfront with you? what did that mean? that he regrets just being honest? that wasn’t what you wanted to hear. you hated yourself for wanting him to say something along the lines of him just lashing out and he didn’t mean the shit he said to you. but he did mean the shit he said, he just regretted saying it out loud.

“not one of your men, right,” you repeated back. you weren’t one of his men. you were just a starstruck woman who had no fucking business working with the most elite men in the world. awesome. 

ghost’s eyes darted between yours as if he wanted to say something more. that maybe he didn’t like the sullen tone you used when repeating his words back to him. as if he might have actually not intended for that implication. you could have sworn you saw his lips move under his mask like he was contemplating telling you he didn’t mean it like that.

but he was silent. 

“really. it’s fine,” you mumbled. “i’ll see you tomorrow.” 

ghost breathed your name, all too easily deciphering the hurt in your words. you wanted to bash your head against the wall for being so obvious. he was right. you weren’t meant for this line of work. you were too soft.

oh my god, were you going to cry?!

you ignored the flutter in your belly when he said your name and scurried out of the room, wanting to drown out your embarrassment with a swig of whiskey. this seemed to be a pattern with you two–ghost saying something a bit too real, you getting hurt and running out of the room like a baby.

you found soap back where you left him and you waltzed over to him with a bottle of whiskey in hand. he looked up at you and gave you a cheeky grin. 

his smile shifted to something of concern when you deflated next to him on the sectional. 

“ghost give ya a hard time?” 

“no,” you lied. “just been a long day.”

soap took the bottle from you and took a drag. “long week, more like it.” 

you chuckled before taking a sip. you passed the bottle back and forth a few more times until your body buzzed and your mouth wouldn’t let you swallow any more of the foul liquid.

“how do you guys drink this shit?” you asked, making a face of disgust.

“years of self-hatred,” he grinned.

you slouched against him. 

“do you think i’m cut out for this? 

he flipped through the pages of the dossier before glancing at you. “cut out for what?”

you gestured around you. “this. working with you guys. working for the best of the best.”

“'course i fuckin’ do.” he gave you a quizzical look. “why would you even ask that?”

you shrugged, keeping your eyes off of him.

your name escaped his lips making you finally look up at him. “you’re here for a reason. price doesn’t let just anyone join his team. i’ve seen what you can do, lass. you’re part of the best of the best .”

you smiled making him grin at you in return. “no more of this shit, okay?” he said softly, his scottish accent getting heavier the more he drank. you found it comforting.

“okay,” you agreed. 

“now, lets find price so we can steal all his money with a few games of cards,” he said, lightly tapping your shoulder with his fist.

you laughed knowing good and well price could beat the two of you blindfolded.

chapter 3 ➡

[604to647]

Safest with You - Series Masterlist

Modern AU with Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Din Djarin, retired mob enforcer, falls in love, but worries his past could put his future (you) in danger.

A/N: First time writer, please be gentle 🥹 This is a modern AU where Din is a former enforcer for the Fett family, and the world building and relationship development between Din and Reader takes place over many chapters. Some Star Wars names thrown in for fun, but there aren't meant to be any serious parallels to canon. Thank you for reading and hope you enjoy my brain rot for everyone’s favourite tin man 🥰

Series warnings: Chapters with smut denoted with 🚑, chapters with angst denoted with ❤️‍🩹, fluff throughout. Individual instalment warnings are included in each post.

Ch. 1 (The Coffeeshop)

Ch. 2 (The Bookstore)

Ch. 3 (The Drycleaner)

Ch. 4 (The First Date)

Ch. 5 (The Courtship)

Ch. 6 (The Courtship, Din's POV) ❤️‍🩹

Ch. 7 (The Third Date) ❤️‍🩹

Ch. 8 (The Cab) ❤️‍🩹

Ch. 9 (The Dam Breaks) 🚑

Ch. 10 (The Afterglow) 🚑

Ch. 11 (The Poker Game) (a summary)

Ch. 11 Addendum (After The Poker Game) 🚑

Ch. 12 (The Workout) 🚑

Ch. 13 (The Birthday)

Ch. 14 (The Subway) 🚑

Ch. 15 (The BBQ) 🚑

Ch. 16 (The Matchup) 🚑

Ch. 17 (The Preparations) 🚑

Ch. 18 (The Threat) 🚑 ❤️‍🩹 Inspo

Ch. 19 (The Betrayal) 🚑 ❤️‍🩹

Ch. 20 (The Way to Get Over Someone, Part 1)❤️‍🩹

Ch. 21 (The Way to Get Over Someone, Part 2)🚑 ❤️‍🩹

Ch. 22 (The Long Road to Forgiveness) 🚑 vibes

The Epilogue new!

Art new!

Dog walk (@kenobiwanx commission 🙏🏻)

Bedtime (@pinkiemme Ch. 11A commission 🥹) 🚑

101 Dalmations Inspired new! (@dazzlingjedi Epilogue commission 😍)

One-shots and Drabbles (same AU)

All the one shots and drabbles can be slotted in the above timeline; as the chapters get written, I’ll note where they fit in. For now, consider the below to all be set when Din and Reader are in an established relationship (hence the smut 😂).

Carnival Fright Night 🚑 (set between Ch. 12 & 14)

Lingerie 🚑 (set anytime after Ch. 10) (Link to the Lingerie set)

The Wedding, Part 2 🚑 (insert btwn Ch. 17 & 18) (Moodboard by @hellishjoel - thank you!)

2 More Days (A Textfic) 🚑 - Part 1, Part 2 (set anytime after Ch. 12)

Holiday Remix (A Textfic) (set anytime after Ch. 12)

Let Me Carry It For You (SBowl 🏈 Drabble) (set right after Ch. 11)

The Mando Roll (Valentine’s Day Special) (set anytime after Ch. 10)

Hat Trick (set anytime after Ch. 12) Part 2 (The Playoffs) 🚑

Birthday Bunny 🚑 (HBD P! 🥳)

Gouda Girl (Happy Pedro Hours Challenge)

Thots

Alfredo’s the best dog

Favourite nook

Walking the dog

POV: On a date with Din

Naming of Mando’s Gym inspo

Working at Mando’s

Paz Vizsla face cast

Excellent boxing advice

Young boxer Din inspo

Rotta Hutt face cast, I guess 😂

Series vibes and this amazing graphic by @gasolinerainbowpuddles (thank you!)

[somepsychopomp]

A Fair Contest (Ch. 2)

Summary-

A golden apple was tossed into a gathering of gods. Upon it, the inscription read: 

To the most amorous king.

And two hands reached for it at once. 

Unless the world was to be torn asunder by the warring sky and sea, Zeus and Poseidon would have to settle their dispute by having a mortal choose who was, beyond any doubt, the superior lover. 

And they set their eyes upon Odysseus of Ithaca.

+++

A few notes: this is a continuation of chapter 1 of my AU (which you can read here)

Also, this isn't the complete second chapter, just a taste of what's to come. That being said, this is a rough draft so anything could be subject to change.

Word Count: approx. 3k

As a final note, if you really like this fic, let me know! The support I got for Part 1 was great and really encouraging :)

+++

Since Odysseus was the most eager of anyone to see the palace complete, he was also one of the hardest workers. He rose at dawn and refused to rest even as the sun set on most days, using torches and lamps to give him light as he carved out furniture or laid out the stone tiles. He wanted as much of his new house to be built by his own hand as possible, to show Penelope just how much he adored her. 

Sadly, this meant he was sometimes met with resistance from those closest to him. 

“No, no,” Eurylochus said, blocking the entrance to the soon-to-be kitchens with his large frame, a smile on his face, “You’re not going anywhere near the construction today!”

Odysseus scoffed at his old friend, “Oh, is that so? And who are you to defy me?”

He tried to squeeze past, only to be met by Polites with his hands covered in the dust that came off the marble tiles. 

“We’ll see to it that everything stays on schedule!” Polites said. He was no match for Odysseus, but together, his two closest friends kept him from laying the stonework himself. 

“You need your rest.” Polites said, “You’d let any other man take a break, why not yourself?”

“Because I’m the king!” 

Eurylochus’ strong arms wrapped around his waist and physically turned Odysseus around. 

“Let go of me!” Odysseus said, feigning outrage even as he could feel Eurylochus laughing at him. 

“Go, my king. Take a walk, go back to sleep. Do whatever you want. But you’re not coming back to work until you’ve had a well-earned rest!”

To think, the king of Ithaca was usurped by his closest friends! 

Of course, they wouldn’t let him slink off to some other part of the palace to assist with the construction. While Eurylochus assumedly instructed the men, Polites was on Odysseus’ heels like a dog, poking and prodding at him every time he stopped to consider picking up a hammer or bucket. 

“Alright!” Odysseus said at last, no longer even attempting to appear irritated. He threw his hands into the air in defeat. “It’s a nice day out, I think I’ll go for a swim.”

“Excellent choice!” Poltes said, a warm smile upon his face as if he didn’t just spend the last ten minutes physically harassing his dearest friend and king. Odysseus shot him a knowing look before heading off. 

Ithaca was far from the largest island in the sea, or the most illustrious, and most of its shores consisted of rocky ground unsuitable for leisure. But he did know of a few beaches sporting white sand. There was even a little strip of soft sand not far from the palace. Odysseus intended for a stone pathway to be laid down, but he had no difficulty picking his way through the tall grass from the palace’s resting place to the sea below it. 

He expected to see a few others enjoying the early summer weather, perhaps some children playing in the surf, but found no one else. It was honestly a relief as Odysseus left his sandals behind and savored the way the warm sand felt under his feet. On the way down, he had half a mind to wait a little while before sneaking back into the palace, but it was so lovely out that Odysseus was tempted to really take a break. 

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and yet the sun wasn’t unbearably hot. The sand under his feet didn’t burn and the waves weren’t the usual rough, tempestuous kind that battered Ithaca’s shores. These lapped softly at the shore, almost in tune with the songbirds as Odysseus decided to go for a stroll. The sea was truly splendid today, glittering as if it were made of sapphires and capped with silver foam. 

Odysseus followed the beach, a little puzzled as a steep hill rose to his left, creating a bend in the path. He didn’t remember the beach here being curved, he thought it went on in a straight line. Nevertheless, it had been a while since his last visit the previous year. He was searching for the perfect location for his new palace before the construction began and thought a tidy strip of beach would be a nice addition to the grounds. 

He followed the beach, stunned to come around the bend and find a beautiful cove on the other side. High cliffs concealed it from the rest of the island, with moss and draping ivy growing out of the stone. The cliffs formed a semi-circle and the sand followed suit, creating a crescent that the water fed into. A few rocky outcroppings formed miniature islands out in the water, which glimmered like turquoise in the sunlight. 

How could he have missed this?

He was certain he walked the length of the beach and never once found anything as remarkable as this. The cove wasn’t very large, certainly no more than a few hundred feet wide, but its size added to its charm. It felt so serene here, so private. Odysseus could easily imagine guiding Penelope here for a picnic in the summer. He even went as far as imagining a few little ones jumping into the water. 

Smiling to himself, Odysseus shed his clothes and dipped his feet into the water before wading farther out. Soon, he was swimming in the bright, cool waters of the little cove, ducking his head beneath the surf to avoid the incoming waves. 

Once he was past the flurry of white-tipped waves that fell upon the shore, he could see one of the little islands directly in front of him. Odysseus wondered if he could make it there in just one breath, so he sucked in as much air as possible before diving once more. 

Most people, especially those from the mainland, didn’t know how to swim. They thought, should someone fall into the ocean, that it was better to drown swiftly than to prolong the process by trying to stay afloat. Odysseus knew better. His father taught him to swim and Odysseus had been knocked off more than one boat over the course of his life. Mostly they were all accidents incurred while sailing between the stone pillars around Ithaca’s coast as a test of courage. 

When he surfaced again, he could touch the wet stone. Odysseus even would’ve climbed on top just for the pleasure of jumping into the crystalline waters. 

But he could only gawk with a sharp, painful sense of dread at the man seated upon the stone. A man that Odysseus feared was no mortal at all. 

The stranger’s dense mane of pure white hair flowed lightly in the breeze, though his was not the face of an old man. No, whoever this was, he was beautiful beyond words. He wore no clothing whatsoever, proud to reveal his vast expanse of tan skin that seemed to glow in the sunlight. Much like his hair, his beard was full and well-kept despite its shocking lack of color. 

His broad chest, twice as wide as Odysseus’ own, spoke of his strength, as did his equally impressive arms and thighs. Though interestingly enough, while he had a warrior’s build, he bore not even a single scar. And he did not sit facing Odysseus, but rather with his body at an angle that made the curve of his chest and biceps all the more enticing. 

But his eyes. They sparkled like the purest of gold and put the stars to shame with their brilliance. 

The man with all his entrancing features smiled at Odysseus as he held out a hand. 

“Why, isn’t it a lovely day? Come, little king. Sit with me and enjoy the splendid sight of such a flawless sky.”

Odysseus pulled away from the man, wading in the water with half a mind to swim as hard as he could for land. 

“Who…” he began, fighting to calm his nerves, “Who might you be, if I may ask?”

Odysseus already had his suspicions. Their fulsome, wavy tresses, broad shoulders, and the square cut of their jaws were the exact same. 

Athena’s father continued to smile upon him, chuckling softly. 

“How could I possibly introduce myself like this? Come, and partake in some company.”

Odysseus suddenly found it very hard to catch his breath. He wasn’t sure if it was his growing unease or something else, but he feared the water might pull him under at any moment. 

As he bobbed in the surf, Odysseus startled at the sensation of something solid forming under his feet. He looked down, but could see no sand bar or stone beneath him, just the ocean. 

“Why leave the water so soon?” a new voice asked. Odysseus stiffed and suppressed his instinct to lash out as an arm wrapped itself around his chest. The voice spoke into his ear, “The ocean is perfect today, isn’t it?”

The arm coaxed him closer until his back was flush against a warm chest. While Zeus’ voice was deep with the rolling resonance that came with thunder, this new voice was a little rougher and reminded Odysseus of the high tide crashing upon a rocky shore. 

Odysseus risked a glance at the newcomer, any potential words to save himself dying in his throat. 

Never in his life had he ever seen eyes so deeply, beautifully blue before. The azure gaze leveled upon him couldn’t have been compared to sapphires, lapis, or turquoise. And these eyes, too, seemed to glow. Only the most splendid ocean waters, sun-warmed and shallow and dancing between shades of blue and green, could possibly compare. 

Unlike Zeus, this stranger bore a slightly fairer complexion and black hair that shined like obsidian. His hair didn’t billow the way Zeus’ did; rather, it flowed through the air as if it weighed nothing, shifting from black to a cerulean blue at the ends so gradually that it was impossible to say where the color even began to change. 

He was as handsome as Zeus, though different. His frame was thinner; still very much an athlete’s build, but more akin to an agile swimmer than the sheer bulk that Zeus possessed. 

“Brother,” Zeus said, his voice losing that welcoming tone to become colder, harder. 

Odysseus swallowed, his throat going dry as he realized he was being cradled like a lover by the god of the seas. 

Poseidon shot Zeus an unimpressed look. “What? Am I doing something wrong?”

Thunder clapped across the skies despite the distinct lack of clouds. Odysseus shivered, his father having drilled it into his head as a child that he should never try to swim during a thunderstorm. 

Zeus sneered, seeming to drop all pretenses as he rose to his feet. Odysseus couldn’t help the way his eyes traced the thick line of pure white hair that decorated the god’s abdomen, trailing down to…

Odysseus forced himself to shut his eyes, making every effort to avoid any feeling even remotely like lust. 

He wondered to himself, Why? Why me? 

What could he have possibly done to deserve a fate like this? To perish before he could even be wed?

What would Penelope think of him?

An impossibly large hand caressed his cheek. Odysseus’ eyes flew open. 

The King of the Gods laid upon a bed of wispy clouds in front of him, seeming to float on a bed of fog on the water’s surface. He propped himself on his other elbow, showing off the curve and vast expanse of his chest. Zeus was so large that even flat on his stomach, he had to look down to meet Odysseus’ eye. 

“So, little king, if you had to pick between the sea and sky, which would you say could more easily capture your admiration?”

“Oh, please!” Poseidon said, his own pretenses dropped as irritation colored his voice, “What could your sky do that’s more splendid than this?”

Something rose from the water right next to him, glowing like the eyes of a god, some tendril with the deep blue shade of the open ocean. It was a cold and stark contrast to the shallows they were in. Odysseus couldn’t understand what it was until it took shape, forming a hand terminating in clawed digits. 

Poseidon’s other arm, he thought. It was made of the very water that composed his domain. 

Poseidon flicked his wrist and a massive wave swelled, threatening to crash right into them. Odysseus felt his body tense, taking a deep breath on instinct. 

Before his very eyes, Poseidon willed the wave to flow over their heads and encase them in a bubble of air. Odysseus gasped. 

Right over his head, close enough to touch, the dome of water doused him in blue light. The closest thing Odysseus had ever seen to something so lovely was the warm, dappled sunlight filtering through the forest canopy. The way the water pulsed and rippled, he thought he could have easily spent all day just watching it flow. 

Zeus muttered something softly. Before Odysseus could wonder if it was meant to be a remark addressed to him, a dark shape appeared over their bubble. At first, Odysseus thought it was a large seabird. 

A circle opened up in the dome and a face appeared, youthful and hale, wearing a winged helm. 

“My, my! I don’t know if anyone’s ever beaten me to my destination before.”

“I was wondering what was taking you so long,” Zeus said, sitting up. 

Odysseus heard a grumbling sound come from Poseidon as the dome collapsed into seafoam and was carried away on the wind. Without it, he got a better look at the newcomer. 

He wore a short chiton embroidered with green and gold and carried a satchel at his side, resembling a young man Odysseus’ age or even younger. It would’ve been entirely possible to mistake him for human, seeing as he wasn’t reaching the towering size of his father or uncle, but his winged sandals warned of a far greater power hidden behind his mischievous smile. 

Odysseus wished he could sink into the water. He wished he never left his palace. 

Hermes turned his sparkling gaze upon him and knelt right on the surface of the water to tap Odysseus’ nose with his finger. He asked, “Forgive me! You are Odysseus of Ithaca, yes?”

Hearing his name sent a small jolt down his spine. Odysseus cleared his throat, “I am. But-”

He wanted to know what was going on, why three Olympians were suddenly assailing him, even posing as if to seduce him. 

“Perfect!” Hermes said, “I have a delivery for you. A gift, of sorts.”

He rummaged through his satchel while Zeus crossed his arms in an impatient gesture. He glanced at Poseidon, still behind Odysseus, and pointed his finger. Almost faster than Odysseus’ eyes could see, a bolt of white lightning as thin as a thread raced through the air. 

He felt no pain himself, but heard Poseidon hiss softly as he pulled his arm away, freeing Odysseus from his hold. 

“Ah!” Hermes said, either oblivious to the palpable tension in the air or just uncaring, “Here we are. And what an honor, to be the messenger to bestow a gold apple upon the king of Ithaca!” 

Pardon me? Odysseus wanted to ask. 

But Hermes produced what was unmistakably an apple from his bag. It must’ve been made from melted gold and polished by divine hands, for it was so perfectly shaped with no blemish from the smelting process in sight. It even came with a golden stem and a delicate golden leaf still attached. It shined so brightly in the light, Odysseus could even see his reflection in the curved surface. 

There was also a short ribbon tied to the stem. Hermes offered it in both hands, smiling without a care as he waited for Odysseus to take it. 

“A golden apple?” Odysseus asked, thinking fast, “Why, I couldn’t possibly accept a gift like this! Especially after having done no feat worthy of so much… attention.”

He looked away, doing his best to appear as bashful as possible. Whatever the gods were trying to do, whatever game they were playing, he wanted no part in it. He hoped his show of humility would hearten the gods and gain their favor, allowing him to escape the two deities that were well known for their appetites. 

A hand grabbed his face. Hermes continued to smile like an old friend as he forced Odysseus to make eye contact. Against his will, Odysseus’ hands lifted to accept the apple, which felt warm in his hands. 

“Not to worry, dear child,” Hermes said, “The apple isn’t quite for you, exactly. Instead, you’ll be its keeper for the time being.”

Hermes winked as his wings fluttered. He added, “Read the inscription. And, of course, good luck!” 

And then he was off, flying on the winds so quickly that he was beyond the horizon in seconds. 

Odysseus had the fleeting thought that Hermes was either so busy that he could not linger, or that he didn’t want to linger. 

[kengan-daddies]

The Boy Next Door Baki HanmaX Motherly! Older Female Reader

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4

Anime : Baki: Son of Ogre Character : Baki Hanma Warning : Mention of child neglect, child abuse

The Boy Next Door Baki Hanma X Motherly! Older Female Reader

The Boy Next Door Baki Hanma X Motherly! Older Female Reader

Your morning routine has been modified and changed, it was hard but it was worth it. Waking up from your usual time to 5:00 a.m. Getting out of bed, and drinking coffee to give you a pep in your step. You took your usual wash-up routine, then you got dressed and did your makeup. You cooked an extra breakfast before eating your own, done any chores you could think of that needed to be done, and then you waited... And waited... And waited... Your alarm went off and you sprung into action. Jumping up you grabbed your bag, put your shoes on, and dashed outside, slamming the door behind you as you ran towards the sidewalk.

You stopped short, catching your breath quickly, fixing your skirt, checking to make sure you looked decent and then you walked a few steps, stepping on the sidewalk you looked towards the left, and you smiled. There he was, the reason why you changed your morning routine, the reason why you tried to look as nice as you could, the reason why you ran towards the sidewalk, the boy next door, Baki Hanma walked down the street. His little home was back behind him as he walked, one hand in his pocket while the other held his bag, looking lost in thought.

'Silly boy... He's always deep in thought at this time of morning.' You thought as you stared at him, your eyes looking over his built form hidden under his school uniform. 'He's grown so much over the years. It makes me oddly proud to see him like this.' You thought as you shifted your weight in your heels. He seemed to have noticed you, his face brightening up in a happy smile. 'He so cute, he's like a little dog.' You thought as you smiled back, waving at him. He started to a light jog as he sprinted towards you, slowing once he got close enough.

"Hey, (y/n). How have you been... I haven't seen you in a few days." He said a nervous gleam in his eyes as he stared down at you. You smiled up at him, placing a hand on your hip as you did. "Yeah, I was busy with work, my boss is a real ass, he gave me extra work last week making me do some major overtime." You explained, a relaxed smile on your face. "Oh... Damn, that really sucks actually." He said. Your smile widened as you gave him a hard pat on his chest. "Don't worry about it, I'm a tough lady ya know." You said as you playfully flexed your arm.

He chuckled at you, his eyes gleaming happily. "Yeah, I guess you are." He said. Your smile faded as a look of shock crossed your face as you snapped your fingers. "Oh yeah!! I almost forgot!!" You said as you opened your bag. He stared down at you in question. "Here you go, your lunch." You said as you held out the bento box towards him. He stared down at it, marveling at how you had the chopsticks in a case the box was a pretty blue with a golden dragon going across it, written in Kanji was his name.

He smiled as he saw it, happily grabbing it. "Thanks (Y/n), man I really missed your cooking." He said as he placed it carefully into his bag. You smiled. "Why thank you Baki, I'm glad you love it so much." You said, your chest swelling in pride. He chuckled. "It's hard not to, you make the best food." He said softly.

The Boy Next Door

The Boy Next Door

You both walked down the street together, waking through the crowds as you both spoke to one another, Baki wasn't much of a talker, he enjoyed hearing your voice, but it's been almost a week since you last spoke to one another, so Baki had a lot to tell you. He told you about all his fights and his newest friend who was a primitive man named Pickle. You shook your head as you heard about what happened to his friends. "My god, that's awful... To lose a limb..." You said, you couldn't imagine the gruesome pictures that Baki explained to you... "Don't see it as something terrible... See it as a badge of honor." Baki said. You looked up at him a look of confusion on your face.

"How is that a badge of honor, Baki? You lost a piece of yourself forever." You said in a scolding voice, he never looked down at you as you both walked together, a knowing smile on his face. "I'm not expecting you to understand, I don't expect anyone to even begin to grasp the understanding of it... It's such a deep meaning to a warrior when they lose a limb to a worthy opponent... It's a symbol of strength... A trophy to wear... It's a beautiful way of saying 'I survived from fighting my strongest opponent.' ... It's a beautiful thing really." He said. You stared up at him, a puzzling look on your face, it melted into a relaxed stare before you looked away from him, staring at the scenery before you a small smile gracing your face.

"You're right... I don't think I'll ever understand Baki, but I can accept it... Because it's something you love." You said. His eyes widened and he looked down at you. You never looked over at him, but the sweet, genuine look on your face and the tender gleam in your eyes remained. He smiled slowly as his eyes relaxed. The happy gleam in his eyes shone harder than before as he looked ahead of himself as well. 'Damn... She's one hell of a woman.' He thought.

The Boy Next Door

The Boy Next Door

You sat in your cubical, sighing tiredly as you hung up the phone, you leaned back in your chair, making it incline back, you raised your arms, stretching them high above your head as your back arches, you squealed in pleasure as you sighed, you relaxed against the chair, resting your elbow on the armrest as you held your head up. Your eyes closed as you listened to the phones ringing, hanging up, and people answering calls. The sound of rushed steps sounded out, the rustling of paper, stapling, printing, and shredding.

It was an atmosphere you've grown accustomed to but never really loved, but it brought you comfort from how familiar it was. 'I wonder how Baki's doing... I hope he's doing good in school, talking to friends having fun, learning... I wonder if he's still talking to that girl, I forget her name... Kozue??? That sounds about right, but I could be wrong, he doesn't speak about her often, but when he does he always looks so happy... Yet so troubled... I hope he didn't get into any more fights, but if he did I'll just have to bandage him up and give him a good lecture.' You thought, your eyes mindlessly roaming around your cubical.

Pictures of family and friends hung up on the walls of your cubical, your desk organized yet messy, your laptop open to a document page, sticky notes stuck to the frame of your laptop marking important dates and time frames from customers and employees. You sighed as you looked down at the bottom of your laptop screen checking the time. '11:40 am... It should be lunchtime for Baki, I wonder if he's enjoying his bento.' You thought as your chest filled with warmth at the thought of the young man.

'We go way back, he and I... He always loved those bento boxes I made him... He was always so grateful... He'd hold onto them for years, even after they were old and broken, and he'd place them on his shelf as souvenirs... He's always been such a sweet boy.' You thought fondly, reminiscing his younger years. 'And now. He's a young man now, about to graduate high school and be out there in the world... And I'm pretty sure that I'm still gonna be making him bento boxes.' You thought as you chuckled to yourself.

The Boy Next Door

The Boy Next Door

Baki sat on the roof of the school, the bento you gave him this morning was opened and was nearly empty, he was slowly eating the food you cooked for him, 10 sausages sliced to look like little squids, 10 rolled omelets, and 4 large rice balls. It was never enough to get him stuffed, but it was enough to get him satisfied. He smiled as he swallowed the last of his rice ball, reaching down for the last rolled omelet and soon after the last two sausages. He chewed it slowly, savoring the taste like it'd be his last meal. He placed it down gently, putting the lid on it, sliding his chopsticks back into its case closing it before he placed it on top on the bento box.

He clasped his hands in thanks before he leaned back on his hands and he let out a burp before he sighed happily, patting his stomach with a satisfied stare. "Whoo!! Man, that hit the spot... She always knows how much to feed me... No matter how old I am, she always somehow knew when my appetite grew... Is that what the other kids at school are always talking about... How their mothers always know without them saying anything?... Is that what they call 'A Mother's instinct?' " He questioned aloud to himself as he stared at the sky, watching the clouds slowly drift by.

"I wonder what she's doing right now?... Probably eating... Maybe still working... Talking on the phone with a customer... A co-worker... Hopefully, it's a lady and not another guy.... Ha, now I sound like those guys who are protective of their moms." He said with a chuckle, a small smile on his face. He lays there in silence a little longer, lying down on his back as he crosses his arms under his head. "I wonder... How would she feel if I called her 'Mom'?... I mean, I would be shocked if she called me 'son'... But she already calls me things like 'sweetie', 'dear' and 'love', so... Maybe she wouldn't mind?.... Who am I kidding, of course, she would mind... Would she though?" He questioned as he lay there.

He stayed there for a few more minutes before he sat up, his legs bent and his arms resting on them. He stared down at the bento box, a gentle look on his face as he did. "I wouldn't know, If I don't try, right?" He asked himself aloud.

The Boy Next Door

The Boy Next Door

You sighed tiredly as you placed the stack of paper down on the counter in the lounge area, you sighed as you leaned on it, your arm resting on the stack while your other hand rested on the table. "Man, I can't wait for my shift to be over, I'm so ready to go home and relax with a nice dinner." You said, you stood there a little longer before you began separating the papers alphabetical order. 'Hmm, I wonder if Baki would want to come over for dinner today, it's been a while since we had dinner together.' You thought as your hands worked on autopilot, your eyes keeping tabs on the letters while your brain wondered.

'I should ask him after school today if he wants to have dinner together, knowing him he'd say yes, little foodie.' You thought fondly, a small smile gracing your face as you thought about him stuffing his face. You loved seeing Baki happy, he had such a rough life, and you were proud to be another constant form of normalcy in his life aside from school and having a girlfriend. You shook your head, remembering the sight of a young Baki, hungry and tired after constant training and depression, he wasn't frail but he wasn't exactly a normal thickness for a healthy child either.

A sad look crossed your face as you thought about it. 'Child neglect... It's a high rise here in Japan... And it's always so sad to see... Some women and men just didn't need to be parents.' You thought, Baki's mother crossing your mind, her arrogant stare as she glared at you, a saddened Baki by her side as he stared up at you with those big sad eyes. You hated that woman, she didn't deserve to be a mother... She was a monster, a selfish bitch, chasing after a man who didn't even want her, taking her frustrations out on a child. Your jaw clenched at the thought of her

Over the years of taking care of Baki, you've come to love him as your own child, you wished he was yours. You loved having him around, he made you feel so complete. Hearing him laugh in your living room as he watched TV, like a normal child, hearing his footsteps as he walked around, getting ready for school or to hit the gym, hearing him coming in from gym or school, a proud look on his face as he told you about him breaking his limits or about his grade improving. You watched him grow from a young teen to a young man, it made you proud to be in his life.

You stood there quietly for a while, the sound of shuffling paper was the only sound as you placed them in order, you paused halfway through, and you looked up in thought for a moment before you went back to work. "I wonder what I should make for dinner." You said aloud.

The Boy Next Door

The Boy Next Door

Baki walked down the street, hand in pocket while the other held his bag, a thoughtful look on his face as he walked. 'I'm gonna do it... I'm gonna walk in, like normal, I'm gonna sit at the table, like normal, and then I'm just gonna say it... It's just a simple word... Nothing too extreme... I'll just sit there casually, and I'll just say. "So, what's for dinner, Mom?".... Damn this is hard... I don't wanna make things awkward between us... But I also don't wanna constantly guess and wonder forever... Damn, this is tough.' He thought as he looked up, his brows creased in worry.

He sighed as he paused, his chest expanding before he held it for a moment, exhaling and his shoulders relaxed. A determined gleam in his eyes as he put a pep in his step. "I'm gonna do it!!" He said aloud, his walking picking up speed as he walked home. He walked for a while, his fast pace never slowing as he walked, he felt energized, nervous, nauseous, excited, worried, motivated... He was buzzing with so many emotions. His determined glare softened to a gentle gleam when he saw your form from a distance.

You were walking at a simple pace, you looked so small, so tired, yet still strong and sturdy. 'That's a mom for you, she's tired, she's beaten, she's bruised, but she still laughs, she still smiles, she still gives time for her young, she still carries on... The strongest human on earth is Yujiro Hanma, but the hardest to break is a Mother's Love.' Baki thought as he watched you walk ahead. His steps picked up speed as he caught up to you, it didn't take long, and once close enough he tapped your shoulder.

You jumped a little, looking over your shoulder and you relaxed the questioning look on your face into a happy smile when you saw Baki. The loving gleam in your eyes shined brightly and he stared at them, soaking up the stare. "Oh, Baki!! There you are, I was just wondering what I should make for dinner tonight." You said. He stared down at you sweetly as he smiled walking towards your home, you followed, your steps side by side as you both walked together through the crowded streets. Baki's eyes gleamed brightly as he steeled his resolve. 'Now.... This is the best time to do this.' He thought as his hand in his pocket balled into a fist.

"How about grilled fish, miso soup, and egg rolls with some rice... Mom?" He said, his voice wavered nervously at the end. Your eyes widen and you snatch your head to look over at him in question. 'Did I hear him right?... Did he just call me "mom"?' You thought, the soft yet scared look on his face, the cold sweat his eyes locked ahead of him, it all answered your question and you smiled. You wrapped your arm around his making him look down at you in shock with a questioning look. The happy look on your face, your eyes gleamed with unshead tears as you looked up at him.

"That sounds like a good idea, Son." You said. He slowly smiled at you, the scared look in his eyes relaxed and melted into a happy gleam as he tightened his arm around yours slightly. "Great... I was actually craving that at school today." He said, you giggled. "Really now? Well, it's a good thing you told me then because I was gonna make some fried cabbage, rice, and omelet." You said through a chuckle. "What!? Again!? Come on, Mom, you gotta eat better than that." He said playfully. You chuckled. "I know, I know... But I'll eat better now, I promise." You said.

You both walked together down the street, arms locked, happy smiles on your faces as you both looked like a mother and son having a playful banter.

[shrillow]

Winter Flowers - Ch 1

sylus x reader; dragon!sylus; human sacrifice!reader; female!reader

synopsis: the dragon protecting your valley demands a mate to join him in his lair. Certain events compel you to volunteer yourself, but nothing could have prepared you for what awaited you on the mountain.

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3

"For as long as this bite remains," he whispers, "you shall be mine."

-

In the mountain that overlooks your valley, lives a dragon.

Its age is unknown to you. For generations, your people exist in the shadow of the creature, while it guards the valley against raiders and armies alike. As children, the elders taught you to regard the dragon as a force of nature, capable of both preservation and great destruction. Grisly warnings are whispered to you in the dead of night, when sneaking out to the north woods proved an irresistible temptation to the youth. Yet, to you, the dragon is never more than an obscure presence in the background of your life.

After all, decades have gone and passed since the last pillagers stepped foot into the valley. A thousand years of peace have allowed wildflowers to unfurl across the gentle hills you wander. The frolic of deer and sound of birdsong fill the valley every spring. And you and your village follow the ebb and flow of its delicate ecosystem. Even now, on the cusp of the harvest, everyone gathers in the grey dawn to reap the bursting golden fields.

All of it, the elders are quick to remind you, is due to the benevolence of the valley’s guardian, and the deal your ancestors struck with it centuries ago.

And in return for this bucolic existence? A human mate every one hundred years.

A small price to pay for you to tend to your father’s sheep alone, without fear of plunder or kidnapping. To meander through the foothills beside the animals, with the village hound in tow, and read about giants under the shade of a tree. 

You’ve never known anything else except for the green expanse before you. Your people do not leave the valley, and why would they? When they have everything here. How could you want for anything, after being raised in the gentle cradle of these fields?

But when you stop at the valley’s end marked by the splitting river and a field of lupins, where the sheep do not care to roam further, a disquiet roots inside your heart.

You cannot name the feeling. It’s in a language the elders never taught you.

The wind shifts. The sheep grow restless with the fading light.

“Come away now,�� you beckon the sheep, “lest you want to be eaten by wolves.”

-

While the villagers spend their hours in the fields at this time of year, you’re still out in the pastures. You spend weeks at a time with the flock, until one of your brothers comes up from the village to take over. It’s solitary work. But you’re a solitary person.

You can still feel the heat of the earth when you wake up the next morning. Winter is still a couple months away. The lambs haven’t finished weaning.

One day is no different from the last. You rise to eat and feed the dog. You take your crook and rove through the flock, counting.

“Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one . . . ”

You arrive at the same number as last time. The sheep must have taken yesterday’s threat to heart.

You take the herd further into the valley, though you’re still a day and half’s walk from the village. Across your northern vision, a line like torn paper cuts into the sky. The mountains loom before the verdant plains like an impenetrable wall. Hills of pine blanket the base of those jagged peaks. You think you can see your village, small wisps of smoke rising in the distance. 

When night falls, you settle in a familiar glade, where the earth forms a natural barrier against harsher weather. Tonight, you can sleep under the stars. The sheep huddle close, and the hound prowls the dark. They may fear the wolves but you don’t.

“Wolves no longer venture into the valley.” Your father’s voice carried into the quiet evening. You were fourteen. You knew much of sheering but little of shepherding. Your father hopes to pass these pastures to his sons, but he still teaches you.

“Why?” you remember asking.

“Because we’re here,” he says. At the time, you didn’t think that was much of a reason. A girl who's just come of age isn’t much of a threat. And your father? Though he carried an axe on his belt, you’ve never seen him hurt a fly.

When the morning sun runs her fingers across your cheek, you wake to the smell of blood.

You leap to your feet. You feel around in the grass for your crook and rush to the herd. You call your dog but there’s no answering bark. The sheep have formed a tight and restless circle. They bleat as you pass them, struggling to get away from the stench.

You have to climb over a small rise before you see it.

Ten ewes lie dead at the bottom of the hill.

Their throats were torn open. Their entrails spill on the ground. They were clearly feasted on.

You hear your name in the wind and you look around frantically until you see him, your brother, rushing down the fields on a horse towards you.

You meet him halfway, but before he can open his mouth, you shout, “Something happened to the sheep last night!” You drag him over the hill where he can look down at the bloody scene. Your brother’s face turns white.

He grabs your arm suddenly. “You must return to the village.” You’ve never seen your brother so grave.

“The dragon,” he whispers, “came down from the mountain yesterday.”

Your mouth falls open.

That could only mean one thing.

You turn your attention back to the dead sheep. “This is no coincidence,” you insist, “The elders need to know.”

“Wolves got to these sheep,” your brother says.

Your face twists into a frown. “They were obviously killed by—”

“You don’t know that,” he retorts. He turns away to pace, wiping his face with a shaking hand. You look away. It’s been a long time since you saw your brother this shaken.

“Take the horse,” he instructs you, “and tell no one of this. Not even Father. Okay?” He makes you swear it.

You swallow your protests and make your way through the fields. A shape bounds towards you and you sigh in relief as you recognize your hound. At least he remains unscathed.

As you pull yourself into the saddle, you hear a sound like shattering glass.

The earth trembles. You see black mist rising from the north, like a murmuration of starlings. It writhes in the air until it disappears within the shadow of the mountains.

-

When you return to your village, you find the south fields empty of villagers. Tools and wagons heavy with unthreshed wheat stand idle.

Droves of villagers are making their way towards the village center. You weave through them, trying to find the rest of your family when someone calls your name.

You spin around just as your sister throws herself at you.

“It was here,” she says breathlessly. She’s shaking. You think she’s about to faint so you grab her. You see in her eyes pure terror. “The elders have called a gathering.”

She tugs you into the stream of people until you shuffle inside the mead hall. Even infants and young children are brought. The elders sit in a circle, their aged faces sallow and grim as they address each other.

“We cannot concede to the beast’s demand,” Elder Jenna’s voice resounds through the hall, “Barely fifty years have passed since we last had to sacrifice one of our daughters.”

Elder Josephine shushes the crowd that murmur their support for Jenna. “The pact did not specify once every century.”

“But the precedent has always been thus, Elder Josephine,” Jenna counters, “Has it not since our forebears settled the land?”

“I’ll admit that our histories do not have record of the dragon demanding a new mate so early,” the older woman concedes. The hall once again echoes with several hundred voices, but when the elder rises from her chair, all are silenced.

“So who here,” Elder Josephine addresses the village, “is willing to forgo the ceremony?”

Everyone stiffens. Neighbors glance at each other, girls your age share haunted looks.

A thousand years of peace.

Not even Jenna speaks up.

In the end, no one wants to bear the burden of breaking such a legacy. Not for principle. Not for a daughter.

-

As is the custom, lots are drawn.

Mothers, married women, and girls who haven’t had their first blood, are exempt. That leaves ten eligible maidens to draw a stone.

The entire village descends into mourning. The harvest is put on hold, and the usual festive ribbons folks spent weeks making are stripped from doorways and light posts. Until all color is leached from the village.

The families with eligible daughters receive heartfelt condolences, including your parents. But not many, for you are their only eligible daughter among three boys and a married sister. Other families are not so lucky.

Your mother does not share the sentiment.

“Such plans I had for you,” she mutters. “All to be threatened by that beast? The forebears mock me.”

You wince when you feel her jasper ring scrape against the back of your neck while wrangling your hair into a braid. 

At last, she finishes and leaves for your sister’s house to help her with the newborn, before undoing your mother’s work.

You rouse your brothers, check in on your father who sleeps much longer these days, and make sure that you have ample amount of wood to burn later tonight.

Then, you slip into the morning mist and disappear.

-

No one ever hunts in the north woods. No one would dare, so close to the mountain. As children, you and the others would play a game of who could stand the closest to the treeline. Your friend, Tara, is the unseated champion of this little contest. You remember watching her stride to the forest’s edge until branches and foliage seemed to stretch toward her, embracing her. You feared the woods would swallow her hole.

You find her now at the edge of these same woods, collecting flowers.

“They say the climb is the hardest part,” Tara says as you approach. She gathers arnica and yarrow in her basket, before casting her gaze up the mountain, which looms like the wrinkled face of a sleeping giant. In a few weeks, a fresh mantle of snow will cover the peak and glitter under the winter sun. For now, there’s only a light dusting of white.

“I’m not scared,” she says. You give her a look and she flashes you a coy smile. “What? Not everyone can claim they bedded down with a dragon.” 

“Only you would joke about something like this,” you say, elbowing her side. Any other time, you would have laughed. But everyone knows that the chosen never return to the valley. The reason is self-explanatory.

You read somewhere that being chosen as a dragon’s mate was seen as a sacred honor. You don’t know exactly when that sentiment changed.

You stare into the depths of the forest. As a child, you could never get as close to them as Tara.

“What do you think is on the other side of the mountain?” you ask.

“I don’t know . . . Death and destruction?” she suggests. Wormwood and nettle join her collection. “Cannibals and thieves? I haven’t really thought about it.”

You think about the dead ewes in the field. Description of that morbid scene is at the tip of your tongue.

But when you glance at your friend, the words once again fail you. Why do they fail you? Tara deserves to know what kind of monster really lurks in that mountain.

Compliancy makes cowards of us all.

“The book Jenna gave me,” you say instead, “it talked about something called an ocean. Water, as far as the eye can see.”

Tara laughs. "Now that's something I'd like to see. What other fantasies have you got in that head of yours?"

That night, you dream that the forest drags Tara into its darkness. You dream of running after her, only for the trees to weave into an impenetrable wall, preventing you inside.

-

The ceremony is a simple affair, without speeches or spectacles. You, Tara, and eight other girls each pull a stone from a hemp sack. You roll your stone in your hand, cool and river-soaked smooth.

Nine black stones. One white stone.

The entire village is in attendance. For most, this is the first ceremony they’ve witnessed. The elders watch you girls closely. Jenna’s hands are tightly clasped around her pendant, her expression a storm cloud. Elder Josephine’s gaze is relaxed in quiet assessment.

Your mother looks as if she’ll crack someone’s bones any minute. Your father and brothers appear ill. Tara’s family is on their knees in prayer.

When Elder Jenna asks you to reveal your stones, you close your eyes and unfold your fingers.

Several girls cry out. You hear a tidal of murmurs ripple throughout the village. Your mother’s gasp is what causes you to open your eyes.

A black stone.

You let yourself breathe and turn to Tara with a half-smile—

You drop your stone. The world narrows to a pin prick.

Nestled in Tara’s palm, a white stone.

-

“Now that all that fuss is over,” says your mother, “it’s time we announce your engagement.”

You look up sharply.

“That boy Andrew has asked to marry you. I said yes.”

You recognize his name. His family owns the largest fields in the valley. You grew up together. He’d taught you how to thresh wheat, had sucked the blood from your finger when you’d cut yourself on a stalk.

“I can’t marry him.”

“His father is the wealthiest landowner in the valley. His are the fields from which we eat. And yet, you can’t marry his son?” Her voice hisses with mockery. “Pray tell, daughter.”

A dozen reasons bubble in your throat, but they would be reeds to her fiery tongue. And so, you shrink into your chair, avoiding the smug curl of your mother’s lips. 

“You will wed him next spring, and you will be grateful that a boy like him has chosen someone like you.”

-

You sprint to Tara’s home before the sun’s golden fingers touch the valley’s floor.

You barge through the door and announce, “We must leave this place.” You stride toward Tara’s room. “Before you depart for the mountain, and I for the marriage bed.”

It takes a moment for you to realize that Tara isn’t inside, though her herbs lay scattered across the table. Puzzled, you make your way around the hut to find your friend hunched over and heaving behind the cottage.

You rush to her side. “Tara!” You hold back her long hair while she coughs up the remaining contents of her stomach. When she quiets, you guide her back into the house, sitting her down close to the firepit, before retreating to the kitchen to make up some rudimentary concoction Tara once taught you for upset stomachs.

“Remind me, is it goldenseal or bloodroot for the stomach?” you ask her.

“Nothing I have is going to remedy this ailment,” Tara says ruefully, “I’m with child.”

You spin around. “Why didn’t you say anything before the ceremony?”

“I didn’t know.”

“We must tell the elders,” you insist, “We can draw lots again—”

“You know the other girls and their families would riot if we did that,” she says. “And they’ll think I planned this.”

“The dragon demands a maiden,” you remind her, “It would kill you and the baby!” You watch tears form in your friend’s eyes. You take her hand and brush her tears away with your scarf. “If you won’t tell the elders, then we must leave the valley.”

Tara’s eyes widened. “Where would we go?”

“Anywhere that dragon or my mother can’t reach us,” you say, “She’s marrying me off come spring. If we leave now, we'll be out of the mountains before the first snow.”

But Tara is shaking her head. “No.”

Your grip on her hand tightens. “What?”

“I want my child to be raised here.” She looks at you pleadingly. “You know the world beyond this place is dangerous. Our village has not seen violence in a thousand years.” Tara’s hand curls into a fist above her stomach. “Maybe . . . maybe the dragon will let me stay? Maybe I can at least give birth before I have to join it . . . ”

It was a far flung hope. In your village’s collective memory, no concessions have been made since the forging of that archaic agreement between the dragon and your ancestors. You know nothing of a dragon’s mating cycles, but you doubt the creature would accept the arrival of its mate to be delayed. Nor would sending someone up with a message be feasible, so close to winter.

“Please, Tara,” you beg, “leave this valley with me. It can’t be any worse than becoming the dragon’s mate.”

Where was your friend who braved the edge of the north woods? Where was your friend who said she wasn’t afraid of the dragon? 

You wait for her to emerge from the forest unscathed.

But you are met with only Tara’s silence.

-

You are not yet five summers old when Elder Jenna takes you to the old chapel and reads to you the meagre books that have survived since the time of your forebears. From their own memoirs, she recounts vast oceans and deserts; monstrous creatures and fae guides; legendary kings and prodigal magicians.

“The elders believe that these are only folklores our forebears collected during their travels,” Jenna tells you while you lay your young head in her lap while she reads. “But I think these stories are real.”

“All of them?” you’d asked.

She shares a smile with you. Her garnet pendant glimmers in the candlelight. “There’s a world out there, bright one. We’ve let ourselves forget about it.”

Now, years later, you follow the sheep in a daze. The fall sun beats down on the back of your neck as you sit with the faded pages from these journals. Whatever comfort they once provided you has ebbed away and eroded the surface of something far more sinister than any fable. An unspeakable truth. Now an unavoidable certainty.

The same sheep graze in the same spots. The same lilies and gentians are trampled beneath your familiar feet. You and a hundred generations of shepherds have worn a path through the same meadows and grassy plains. Even after your father entrusted the sheep to your care, you never strayed from it.

Could you call any place home besides this valley? Could any other lovely fields or alpine views feel half as comforting as the ones before you?

Can you starve in all this beauty, hungry child?

Anyone who becomes the dragon’s mate is gone forever. Anyone who leaves the valley never returns.

You think of Tara, whose fear is not leaving but rather, never being able to go back.

You remember how you were too scared to approach the north woods, how you always lost in those games. You were henceforth known as the craven one, the one in need of the comfort of books and familiar things.

But that isn’t why you were never able to compete with Tara and the rest.

You were afraid that if given the choice, you would choose to never return.

-

In the morning, your mother drags you out of bed by your hair.

“You volunteered?!” she screams, “After all I have done for you? Selfish girl!” She throws you into the main room in front of your father and brothers. Disoriented from sleep, you struggle to rise, but your mother simply kicks you back. You stumble into the fireplace and pain engulfs your arm. You scramble away but the damage is already done.

Your father makes himself scarce. Your brothers cower in the corner as your mother approaches you. There is nothing but malice in her eyes. “If you want to be the dragon’s whore, then so be it.”

It’s the last thing your mother ever says to you.

-

You and Tara sit on top of the remains of a crumbling stone wall, cloud-watching.

She’s the first to break the silence.

“I thought we’d grow old here.”

You squeeze her fingers with your good hand. “We shared a childhood,” you say, “the forebears granted us that at least.”

Tara looks at you with shining eyes. “I hate this. We should have run away.”

You shake your head. “This is where you belong. I shouldn’t have tried to take that from you.”

“But what about you?” Tara entreats.

“I don’t know,” you admit. Your gaze inevitably turns to the mountain. “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”

-

Your brother returns from the pastures.

“You were right.” He’s standing with his shoulders hunched, there’s a paranoid look in his eyes. “I want to give you something.”

You follow him to one of the outposts, where spare tools and food are stored. Gingerly, he reaches inside to pull out his hunting spear.

“They always told us that the dragon promised to never harm one of our own,” he recalls. After a moment, he hands the weapon to you. “It lied.”

You stare at the spear. It’s a simple thing, with a steel tip fastened to the end of an ash wood shaft. It was your mother’s weapon, crafted with her own hands, before gifting it to your brother.

You toss it back to him. “What do you expect me to do with it?”

“Whatever you have to,” he says, “Whatever it takes to come back home.”

You’re silent. Clouds chase after the sun’s slow descent behind the hills. Neighbors return to their huts, to rise again before the wheat rots on the stem.

And above it all, a dragon waits.

You take the spear from your brother.

-

The night before you are to leave, Elder Josephine asks you to visit the chapel.

It’s a crumbling, teetering thing on the outskirts of the village. It’s not used for prayer or holding ceremonies. The only things inside are the relics of your forebears, the first men and women who settled the valley.

You find the elder standing before a row of chests at the back of the building. Her brooch flashes a brilliant red in the candlelight, fractals of color spill across the stone walls like blood splatterings

“Before tomorrow, I must ask you,” she utters gravely, “are you truly willing to become the dragon’s mate, to forsake the valley, climb the mountain, and never return?”

You think of Tara and the child in her belly. You think of dead sheep and spring weddings.

Your breath is steady when you say, “I do.”

A moment passes, before, “Then approach, daughter of the valley.”

-

Your sister tightens the straps of your cloak, checks the buckles of your back, and combs away the strands of hair that refuse to conform to the braid.

“They say the climb is the hardest part,” she says.

“I know.”

Behind her, you watch your niece pick at the grass while the dog curls its protective body around her. The sun has barely made it over the eastern rise.

Your sister surveys her work. She glances at your bandaged arm but quickly looks away. Nine years your senior, you weren’t very close to your sister. But you share the same mother, and so too, the same wounds.

“Wolves and bears don’t trespass into the dragon’s territory, so you shouldn’t worry about attracting them. The food should last the entire journey, but I know you like to indulge.” Her mouth is pinched into a smile. “So don’t blame me if you run out.”

Her eyes glisten dangerously. You open your arms and your sister collapses into them. 

“Thank you,” you say.

You hold her until your clothes soak up the last of her tears. A quiet part of you is grateful that you can carry her with you in this small way.

-

A crowd waits for you. But your father and brothers are the only ones you search for among the somber faces. Their hugs are the hardest to let go from. Your mother is predictably absent. You wipe their tears and tell your brothers to look after your father.

Tara is the last one in the parade of villagers you pass on your way to the north forest. She smells like morning rainfall and fresh laundry when you hug her. The scent pierces your lungs, and you think that if you let go, you’ll be lost forever.

“Come back to us when you make it out,” she murmurs into your ear.

You hide your smile into her shoulder. Only Tara would make such an impossible demand.

“I will,” you say, because only you would make such an impossible promise.

-

Like so many years ago, you find yourself standing before the north forest, and closer than you’ve ever been before.

Just as you step into the trees, you root around the damp earth until you come across something long and heavy.

You allow yourself a moment to admire the spear, turning it around in your hands. Then, you begin to walk until your unremarkable little village disappears behind a dense green shroud. 

For days, you trudge through a thick layer of underbrush, using the spear as a walking stick. Nights in the forest are the darkest you’ve ever known. You’re used to the boundless canopy of stars stretching from one end of the valley to the other and beyond. Oftentimes, with Tara, you would sleep out in the fields on summer evenings and spin tales from constellations.

When you peer at the sky now, you only see shadows upon shadows, concealing the stars from you.

The sun struggles to pierce the thick woods in the mornings, forcing you to continue your journey largely by feel. You don’t have to worry about direction, you just follow where the ground tilts up.

Your aching feet are at least a distraction from your raw and itching arm. Every morning you wrap it in fresh linens, washing and drying your old wraps when you make camp. You dab a bit of the salve Tara made for you on the worst of your burn, but the blisters are slow to heal.

You hope the dragon doesn’t mind his mate pre-roasted.

By the end of the week, a chill accompanies the air. You notice a clearing up ahead of you, where a bit of rock juts out. You clamor your way to the outcropping and soak in the view before you.

Your valley has always been beautiful. Beyond the wheat fields, miles of wildflowers bloom in a shocking array of colors every spring. The sheep come down from the south hills and flood the terrain. But up here, your valley looks so small, tucked away in the folds of a vast mountain range. Your village is a blemish against the greenery. The outposts scattered across the grazing fields mere freckles.

You glance behind you, taking in the rest of your journey.

A jagged, unfriendly cliff face stares back at you in challenge.

You tighten your bandages, and begin to climb.

-

Tara and your sister were right. The climb might kill you before the dragon does.

You nurse your bleeding hands, try to warm them against your bowl of food. You’re starving, but you only eat enough to keep the hunger pains at bay. 

The harvest would be over by now. Almost two weeks since you hugged your best friend. Since your sister fixed the hole in your cloak for the climb. Since your father doused your burned arm in water and bandaged it. At least here, this solitude is familiar.

You avoid thinking of Tara and your family too often. You reserve your mind only for the dragon.

One thing about this climb that you appreciate: you can see the stars again.

Are you looking at the stars, Tara?

That night you dream of fire. You dream that Tara births a creature with wings and horns. You dream of your mother’s rage, burning red in her eyes. You dream of a spear, resting in the blood-stained snow.

-

There’s more things you don’t know about the dragon than you do. 

The spring of your sister’s wedding, you asked Elder Josephine: “Why does the dragon need a mate?”

You work with her on your sister’s veil. Famed for her needlework, Elder Josephine has sewn the veils of all the girls in the valley. Showing some talent for the craft, you’re placed under her tutelage.

“That is the price for its protection,” she answers, eyes never leaving her careful embroidery.

You contemplate her answer, before suggesting, “Do you think the dragon is lonely?”

For the longest time she doesn’t answer.

Eventually, she turns to you and says, “The last girl who was chosen asked the same thing.” She pats the brooch over her heart. “Perhaps the creature feels something akin to loneliness. But who’s to say? This is something not even the forebears knew.”

You and Elder Josephine continue to embroider lilies and heathers into your sister’s veil. You do not speak of the dragon again.

While you and the elder are admiring the finished product of your hard work, Elder Josephine says to you, “For your veil, sweet child, daffodils.”

You never have the chance to ask her why.

Years later, and your only veil is the frost that clings to you in the early mornings as you ascend higher and higher into the clouds. The air is thin and bitter cold.

You find . . . winter flowers, sprouting in rebellion against the frost.

No spring wedding for you. No daffodils or handsome groom. Only the climb.

-

You’re lost.

Cavernous rock faces rise up on all sides, caging you in an icy labyrinth. You don’t know where you took a wrong turn, you’ve been wandering for days.

You assume the dragon’s den would be obvious. But the mountain is huge, and you’ve stumbled into all sorts of caverns and caves, with no dragon in sight.

Harvest has surely passed, yet you’ve failed to find the dragon’s lair. Would it punish you? Would it punish the village?

You forgo camp to scour the mountain passages. Deep crags cast long, gloomy shadows as dusk creeps toward night. You’ve lit a torch just to watch where your feet tread.

You follow a narrow crevice and nearly plummet to your death when you emerge before a sheer drop. You land on your backside in your attempt to scramble to a safer distance from the ledge.

And then you see it, cast in brilliant orange and violet hues, the largest expanse of water you’ve ever seen.

It sparkles like a field of diamonds, melting into the fuzzy horizon. But then you see strange shapes in the distance. Unnatural structures reaching into the sky, and flickering lights dotting them, growing in number as the night assumes its domain. Until you can’t see anything at all.

A low growl resounds behind you.

Ocean forgotten, you slowly look up to find yellow eyes staring back.

A wolf. Flesh-tearing and huntress-cunning.

It lunges.

-

You’re fourteen, in the pastures with your father. The summer heat makes it nearly impossible to sleep. 

The flock don’t share your suffering, for they lie restfully, spread out in small packs across the field.

You think every living thing in this valley will be getting a good night’s rest except for you, until you hear a whine pierce the night air before it’s abruptly cut off. 

You sit up. The sheep are already startled awake. Your father has not.

You hear one of the sheep squeal—the sound of animal terror is unmistakable.

You reach for your father’s axe and head down into the valley.

On the edge of the forest, you find it: a wolf is feasting on a carcass. It looks up at you between the tall grass, its muzzle bloody and dripping. 

It has no fear of you.

You are shocked at the speed at which it sprints toward you. You’re knocked to the ground. It presses its massive body on top of you and opens its jaws, aiming for your throat.

You raise your axe and the wolf’s jaws snap around the shaft. Your arm reverberates with the impact. The sound of teeth biting into wood rattles your skull. As it tears the weapon from your grip, you find a rock with your other hand and strike it into the beast’s face with all your strength.

It howls. The weight of its body disappears and you stagger to your feet, groping the ground frantically for the axe.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the wolf circle you. Blood trails from an empty eye socket.

From its remaining eyes, there’s only hunger.

It lunges at you one last time. It’s slower. You can anticipate its speed.

You pull back your axe and swing.

-

A wolf lies dead with your spear through its chest.

You crawl on your knees, searching for the torch you dropped. The light has withered to a mere flame. But just as you reach for it, a shadow descends upon you.

Without thinking, you thrust the torch outward, only for it to be caught mid-swing.

A clawed hand and scarlet eyes emerge from the darkness.

“Impressive,” a voice says, before the fire burns out completely.

-

A snap of fingers brings the hearth to life.

You blink tears from your eyes, trying to adjust to the sudden light.

A male face stares at you from across the fire. Humanoid. The rest of him is less so. Down his neck and across his shoulders grow black, twisting scale ridges, like armor. Two spindly horns sprout from his head, and a spiked, segmented tail stretches out behind him into the shadows.

And perhaps the strangest detail of his monstrous physique: tendrils of red lines like blood trails creeping towards a concave dip in his sternum. They end a few inches away from the cavity, as if in ambush.

He catches you staring at him and he smiles. “Admiring the scenery?”

You swallow. “Were you watching me the whole time?”

“I was,” he admits. His voice carries an unnatural rumbling sound.

“Why?”

The dragon shrugs. “I was curious. And it would be a rare opportunity for me to save a damsel in distress.”

You scoff. “Not a damsel.”

“No?” His red eyes glow. “They sent you up here to fend for yourself.” His tail brushes against the cavern’s floor. A few coins go scattering.

“You were the one who asked for a mate,” you remind him.

His smile twitches. “I did, didn’t I? Well—” He props his arm up and leans his head against a clawed hand. “—allow me to take full responsibility.”

You glance around the cave. Your spear leans against the wall between you two. In small alcoves, candlelight flickers, lighting up the mountains of gold and priceless treasures. Indeed, the dragon is in no need of riches. You wonder how he acquired all this . . . where he acquired it.

The cavern seems to be part of a larger tunnel system. You notice corridors and crevices leading away from the chamber, paths of gold disappearing into the dark.

The sound of the dragon’s breathing is amplified in the vast cave.

“So what now?” you ask.

“Hmm?” He arches a brow. He assesses you with a predatory intelligence. You feel like an insect under his gaze.

“How does this work?” you clarify, “Do we just . . . you know.”

Understanding hits him and he releases a deep-chested laugh. It startles you. The tip of his tail flicks out, like a horse swatting away flies.

“Do you expect me to pounce on you any minute?” he chuckles. “Don’t flatter yourself, kitten.”

You glower at him. “Then what am I here for?”

“Relax,” he drawls, “There’ll be time for that later. For now, maybe I just want a night of good conversation.”

“You must not have many conversations if you consider this the good kind.”

He scoffs. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?”

You look away. For a moment, you forgot that you were in the company of a monster. The one from your elders’ stories. Protector of the valley. Dragon in the mountain. You think of the ones who came before you, the one’s who’ll come after.

How many times has he had the same conversation? Do you sit in the same spot as the others, sharing warmth from the same fire?

“I know that look,” says the dragon. Though he speaks to you, he’s looking into the fire. He releases a long sigh before rising from the ground.

Your heart lurches, and you spring to your feet as well.

“Spooked?” He grins at you, but it's colder than the others. You’re sure he can hear the desperate beating of your heart. You can barely hear him over the blood rushing in your ears. You suppress the urge to flinch when he reaches for you.

“I’ll make this quick then.”

His claws catch the light as they swipe across your shoulder. You cry out more in surprise than pain. You stare at the cut he made; it’s no more than a flesh wound.

Your eyes turn back to him, and watch as he licks his claw, tasting your blood.

Your breath catches.

When he swallows, a light ripples across the red lines on his chest. He groans as if in discomfort, but the glow fades as quickly as it appeared.

“There,” he murmurs. 

“What?” You stare down at yourself. You realize you’re shaking. 

A rustling sound. You look up to see the dragon slink into the darkness, disappearing further into the cave.

“Wait!” you shout after him, “The elders said—they told us—!”

“That I was going to ravish you?” Rippling shadows are your only warning before he’s right in front of you. Heat emits from his body, encompassing you like a warm blanket, better than any fire. “Did your elders say that I would take you to my bed and have my wicked way with you?” He chuckles. His hand trails down your face. Amazed, you feel his claws recede into his skin, leaving only very human fingers to follow the line of your jaw.

You inhale sharply as he grabs your chin and roughly tilts your head up. His eyes shine, as brilliant as a blood moon.

“Or maybe,” he whispers, “You’re one of those.” He leans forward until his cheek brushes yours. “Maybe you want to be ravished by a dragon.”

You feel light-headed. You fear that if you speak you’ll melt into a puddle, or worse, that he’ll laugh at your stuttering attempt at words.

“My forebears promised you a mate,” you manage to say with a steady voice, “Does taking my blood fulfill this promise?”

He considers you for a long moment. You feel his tail brush your leg and you shudder.

“It’s enough,” he says simply.

You don’t know what that means. “So, we’re mated?”

He laughs again, there’s genuine amusement in it. “No, we’re not.”

You frown at him. What game was he playing? You were prepared to face down a predator. You were prepared, even, for cruelty. You thought you knew what the dragon wanted but now you’re not sure.

The dragon certainly didn’t appear . . . in need of a mate. You know what the rams were like when the ewes were in heat, how the male dogs would rut frantically on anything that moved if no females were around to relieve him.

The dragon is nothing like the wild, heat-drunk animal you were expecting. At least, not right now.

“You know,” he begins, voice absent of the sultry tones from before, “the others would have run away by now.”

The admission confuses you.

“Do you really want to know what it means to be a dragon’s mate?” he asks.

“If you promise to let me go after,” you say, “ . . . then yes.”

He regards you with suspicion. An unnatural light emanates from his eyes, reminding you of his power. You would be a fool to raise a weapon against him.

“I’ll need to take more than just your blood,” he tells you at last.

“Do what you must.” You don’t sound confident, but the dragon mercifully doesn’t mention it.

His hands come around your body, one at the small of your back, the other behind your neck. His tail curls around your leg. You suddenly find yourself held secure in his embrace.

The dragon dips his head into the crook of your neck, you feel his breath there, and you understand.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he bites down. His teeth puncture the skin, flooding your throat with a hot, yet numbing pain.

He groans into it. His muscles tense around you, as if expecting that you will resist.

You're struck with the thought that you might be the first person he’s bitten like this.

You quickly perish the notion. Surely he’s claimed a mate before?

His teeth slowly retract from you. Instinctually, his tongue laps at your wound until you can’t feel any pain at all. When you touch the mark, your fingers come away clean.

His focus is solely on you. His gaze is strangely open—vulnerable in a way a predator’s shouldn’t be.

Surely you can’t be the first.

“For as long as this bite remains,” he whispers, “you shall be mine.”

His tail wraps around your body . . . petting you. You start to think it has a mind of its own, but when one of the spines catches on your burned arm, you hiss.

He releases you immediately. His eyes dart all across your body until it lands on your soiled bandages. You’ve forgotten about the injury until now.

“What’s this?” He slowly peels back the wrappings to reveal the welts and blisters that mar your skin. They shine in the fire light, ugly and angry from days of poor care.

“It’s recent,” he states, voice sharpening. There’s a threat of violence to his words.

“It was an accident.” The lie is out your mouth before you can think.

You feel his gaze upon your arm, burning like any fire. You can’t decipher his expression. All you know is that he’s displeased—very displeased.

Then, without a word, he retracts one of his claws and drags it across his other palm. Blood pebbles to the surface.

“What are you—?”

The dragon raises his hand and lets droplets of blood run down your arm. You try to jerk away but he holds you fast.

Your skin starts to tingle, but just as you think he’s harmed you, the blisters start to fade. Your flesh begins to smooth over, replacing the dead and discolored skin. 

“It’ll leave a scar,” he says when he’s done.

“. . . Thank you.” You raise your arm to the light. Indeed, the skin is raised and knotted, but the burn looks to be years, rather than days, old. It's incredible.

He’s still frowning when your attention drifts back to him.

“You’re a poor liar,” he says, making you stiffen up once again. His hand ghosts across the mating bite. “Do not attempt it again.”

You hold your breath and nod.

“You should get some rest.” The dragon snaps his fingers and more fires appear down a corridor. “My rut will be upon me in a few days. You’ll have plenty of chances to change your mind before then.”

You ignore that last sentence, choosing instead to ask, “What should I call you?” The silence that follows makes you frown.

“Call me whatever you want,” he answers, “but don’t expect me to respond.”

-

You see the signs of the rut over the next week.

It’s subtle at first. Until it’s not.

Irritability over the smallest things. Restlessness that has you worried he’s going to cause some damage. He runs his hands across his face and neck as if trying to soothe himself. There’s now a constant flush to his skin, radiating a mild feverish heat.

You expect him to give into his urges immediately. Instead, you watch him isolate himself further in the caves.

You don’t understand. Are you not a proper mate for him? 

He hides himself from you. When you enter the main chamber, he makes himself scarce. He doesn’t let you touch him.

He hunts. A lot.

He returns every few hours with a new kill. Deer. Boar. Moose. Even bears.

“No sheep?” You watch him closely.

He gives you a strange look. “Too fatty for my liking.”

From the increasingly large stores of food, it becomes apparent that the dragon will be incapable of hunting when his rut truly hits.

Every once in a while, the mating bite burns. It’s hottest when you’re trying to sleep. Over in the next cave, you hear the dragon pace.

Frustrated and bored, you get up and make your way to his chamber.

“Ataraxys,” you say.

He stops his pacing and turns to you, face scrunched in bewilderment. “What?”

“Mandrikor,” you offer, “maybe Rhadamanth?”

He scoffs. “These names couldn’t get more ridiculous if you tried.”

“How about Onychinus?”

“I spoke too soon.” He sighs.

You share a beat of silence. In one corner of the room is a bed—or rather a nest. Blankets, pillows, and furs are tossed haphazardly into a gigantic pile. Along the walls are shelves carved into the stone, full of books. 

You study the dragon. His condition only seems to be worsening, yet he hasn’t come for you. You stopped wondering that he’ll order you to lie with him and instead assumed that he’ll just hunt you down and take you where he finds you.

Neither scenario happens.

You never expected him to be gentle like the boys from your village, timid and sweet as they were. He’s a dragon after all, with all the natural instincts to mate like one. You prepared yourself as much as you can, you even tried to be . . . enticing.

You find his abstinence to be a wholly different kind of beast.

Tonight, however, he seems more pliant to your company. When you reach for him, he doesn’t pull away. The dim candlelight carves his face into hard, unyielding edges. Even as his eyes soften when you touch him.

You’re about to spin out another list of names when he says, “You can still change your mind. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

His tone is unbothered, but his mark burns hotter than ever.

“What about this?” You brush away your hair to expose your neck.

He looks away. “It’s just a bite. It’ll fade with time.”

So much for dragons mating for life.

“You need a mate,” you remind him, “isn’t that what you always ask for?”

You swallow your hurt when he frees himself from your touch. “I don’t need you,” he growls, “I never have.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Your anger surprises both of you. “I watch you. You prowl around frustrated and in pain. For hours you avoid me and the mark burns.”

The dragon flinches when you mention the bite. 

“Am I so unappealing?” you press him, “Is that why you deny yourself?”

He closes his eyes as if in agony. He likely is. “You need to leave before you regret this,” he pants, “before you can’t stop me.”

You weigh your options. The dragon is holding onto the remaining threads of self-control, and yet, you are not afraid.

“If you’re still giving me a choice, then I have time to change my mind.” You reach for him. “Right now, I want to be here with you.”

It’s probably the pre-rut that makes him acquiesce. Regardless, he accepts your touch and does not pull away from it again.

-

An almost unbearable heat envelops you. You try to turn over and find that you can’t.

The dragon lies above you, trapping you beneath his massive hybrid body. Neither of you are wearing clothes.

His cock is red and weeping between you two. Like the rest of him, black ridges run along his length. You wonder if they’re just as sensitive.

The dragon’s face is pressed against your throat, mouthing at your mating bite. Tiny moans escape his throat as he gently rocks against you, spreading your legs even wider.

He still hasn’t taken you.

“Dragon,” you moan. You run a hand through his hair, silver and thick like a wolf’s pelt. Your fingers brush the base of his horns and you hear him gasp and feel his hips snap against you.

When his eyes meet yours, however, there is only pain.

“This will not be pleasant for you,” he rasps, “once we begin, I will not be able to stop.”

You study his flushed body, his ragged breaths, and solemn eyes. You try to find the violent, rabid creature the elders warned you about, but all you’re met with is a question.

One last chance to back out.

You close the distance between you two, and whisper, “Then don’t.”

Ch 2

Can also be read on ao3!

[gremlingottoosilly]

The horror and the wild [!emperor!Konig x fem!Reader] ch.5

You had a nice, simple life. Serve the princess, obey the princess, protect the princess with your life. You never thought that this nice, simple life would bring you to be kidnapped by the infamous Northern Emperor. Konig never thought that kidnapping a wife would be much easier than courting one.

CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 4| Chapter 5l you're here! AO3

Word count: 3188 Tags/Warnings: Medieval fantasy/Alternative European history AU, Age gap, Enemies(one-sided)to lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Forced marriage, Size difference(Konig is absolutely huge), Somewhat one-sided slow burn, Yandere Konig

Warnings for this chapter: Predator/Prey kink, mild choking

Little princess doesn’t know what’s good for her. Little princess is dumb and naive and oh, so deliciously weak, it makes Konig sick just how much he adores her pouty face, her aggressive expressions, and that squeak in her voice every time he does something to embarrass her – which he does, a lot, in fact. Quite aware of how his war dog lingo would affect an innocent young lady like his precious dearest darling illustrious wife, he uses it to hi advantage – when you have your lady cornered, heavy panting and cumming from your tongue and your fingers in her tight royal cunt, she wouldn’t be able to open her mouth for something meaningless, right? Thou shall not think as thou would be a sin against god. 

Emperor is a sinner, but he still believes that you shall always follow the religious instructions – as if not ever trying to oppose him and speak like you have the right to think in his presence. Perhaps, his devotion to making you weak and pliable in his arms is what led to this situation. 

Little princess doesn’t know what’s good for her, so little princess runs. 

You might brag about your best education and most elegant courses for women you attended in the palace – but he knows just how empty your adorable little head is, because you had no idea how much the thrill of the hunt turns him on. 

You’re nowhere to be found, escaped through the window of the room you were stationed in – it was his mistake, assigning you a place from which you could jump so easily. Next time, he will cuff you to his bedpost, like a loyal palace dog lying on his legs. Next time, he will make sure to love you so eagerly that your legs won’t work for at least a few days. 

He doesn’t even need his hunting dogs to catch you. Horangi offers his help, Tiger so eager to come out and play with a little princess, perhaps maul her a bit, showing the royal cunt what she deserves for disrespecting her emperor and his subjects – but oh no, this won’t do. König needs to discipline you himself, track your scent like the hound he is, and get you back to your wedding bed with your body in his teeth. 

Woe on you, dumb little princess, as your emperor considers escape attempts the richest form of courting. 

Following you through the forest near the castle, your footsteps are clear in the mud and dirt – a piece of your dress serves as a grinding light. Your scent, delicious sweetness, and fresh flower oils maid had infused you with made it laughably easier to find you. He can almost see the glimpses of your body running through the woods – god, he knew that he wanted you and was right about taking you away. 

How can he resist a wedding gift from his bride who wants to play tag? He follows you like a madman, a dog, he sees through trees, trying to see where you could run. The deep golden brown of your dress almost made you look like a forest spirit standing in the depths of the woods – if it weren’t for König’s trained eye, he would rather mistake you for a tree. Or a particularly precious deer. 

He licks his lips, a wolf approaching the bunny he was hunting for so long – you run away, still try to. These dumb skirts aren’t made for running away from your fiancee in a forest – you can barely walk in those, poor thing. You take a step back, panicking, squawking from fear, as he approaches you as slowly as possible. 

Perhaps, if he gives you one more chance to run, it would make the chase even more precious. 

He is used to hunting with his royal hounds, with a group of his closest friends by his side – war hawks helping hunt for prey, the animal snifters making the whole process laughably easy. He doesn’t have anyone for the company now. 

Only you, him, and wilderness – and his adoring love for everything you do. 

— Stop resisting, little princess.

You whimper, but your little annoyed expression makes him only harder. Hell, how he adores your frown, how much he wants to kiss your face right now – god knows he is holding himself back these days. Little princess doesn’t deserve to get her innocence taken on her back, legs open on the dirt of the royal forest – but sometimes you act like a good lashing, and some passionate mating is the only thing that would keep you in line. 

He yells in your direction, hoping that even that dumb head of yours has some sense in it – the chase is fun, and he would continue it more until you’re completely unraveled under him, exhausted and defeated – but, oh, your silly desire to be free has led you to the edge of the lake. Dancing on the shaky, soft sands and warm mud of the pond, your clothes leave you with very small chances of getting out of here in one piece. 

He doesn’t want to be the bringer of doom, but just one sleep, a nervous movement that you can’t control – and the little princess of his dreams will come flying in the dark waters. Even if your royal majesty knows how to swim, the heavy fabrics of your garments would be declared as your executioners. 

You look so fragile like this – your skirt is lifted, showing your pretty ankles, as you’re trying to jump from stone to stone, as far away from him as possible. You’re scared, only reminding him more of the bunnies he used to hunt as a kid – and he is almost offended that you’d prefer that risk of drowning over getting in the hands of your husband again, but alas, princesses are usually not the smartest creatures on the planet. 

— I’d rather die, Your Majesty. 

You bite your lips and look at him, so stubborn and cute – the feelings in him rise, your arrogant expression making the thrill of the hint ever sweeter. God, he cannot control himself around you like this – you should stop trying to make yourself sweeter for him, he already wants to keep you chained in his bed and never let you go. 

You’re so…

Ach. 

His path of thought is stopped by the splash of water. 

Dumb thing, you really decided to make the most of your words – like a cornered animal, you jumped in the lake, getting to the bottom almost immediately. Your dress is heavy and expensive, all the weight of the fabrics pinning you down in elaborate execution. Your emperor stands on the small beach, looking at the water circles going from where you fell…and then he jumps straight after you. 

The last thing you remembered before the world went dark was the scream of a man who, for the first time in his life, had experienced genuine fear. 

*** You wake up warm – and naked. 

No wet clothes, no heavy dress lingering on your skin like a soft coffin. 

You’re as naked as the day you were born, shivering despite the warmness of the room and the crackling of fire somewhere near you. You remember this room – a royal bedroom, quickly made as your quarters when you moved to this god-forsaken castle. Empire has some horribly extensive architecture, and this room, big, stony, and expelled of any decor, has only made you feel regret ever waking up. 

You wished to wake up in the cold embrace of your Princess – but you open your eyes and see this room over and over again. Why couldn’t death come sooner? 

— It was incredibly stupid even for you, little princess. 

König sits on the edge of the bed. A future husband shouldn’t sit like this, resembling a servant who is scared for the health of his misstress. His eyes are filled with cold fury and other emotions that you can’t quite grasp – you don’t want to look at his face too much as even the mere glimpse is making you uncomfortable. God knows you are not in the mood for trying to talk to your captor. 

God knows he doesn’t care about your wishes. 

— If you can only provide me freedom in case of my death…

— You will not be free after your death. 

You sigh, shocked – your brain isn’t nearly ready for this information when you just almost died. You shift in your bed, trying to pretend that you accidentally fell asleep – but the emperor pushes his hand on your cheek, warm fingers lingering on the cold skin. You sigh quietly, sealing his warmth. 

You fight the desire to nuzzle in his palm like an obedient little pet. 

— It’s not for you to decide, Your Majesty. I should be allowed to die on my own accord. 

— I'm entitled to your life, my bride. Don’t make me remind you of this, ja? 

— I would rather… 

— I can deliver death to you, little one. In a verdammt heartbeat. 

His hand goes from a warm presence on your cheek to an angry squeeze of your neck – you cough when he continues to shut your breath, fluttering of your neck in his grasp only makes your defeat even sweeter. König has you right where he wants it – under him, holding firmly in his grasp like some exotic bird he picked up from his travels. 

Lack of air makes you dizzy – as ironic as it sounds, you feel airheaded, hands clinging to his massive palm in a poor attempt to make him let you go. You whimper, you cry, you feel death all too soon – you want to die, of course, maybe, willingly meeting in hell with the royalty you had sworn to serve, but you don’t want to be killed. Tears run down your cheeks when you finally see the other side of him – out of control, angry, worse even than the conqueror you saw when you first met. 

You feel replaceable and small – he squeezes your throat like you aren’t his bride like you don’t mean anything to him, and, yes, it makes you feel hurt. Vulnerable as ever, your manicured nails have zero power over him – he only laughs at your helpless expression. For a second, it makes you think this is it – the last thing you would ever see is the cold anger in the eyes of your emperor. 

When your vision finally got blurry enough so you could not see anything anymore, König softly lowered his face closer to you, lifting the bottom part of his weird, strange hood. Smothering you with his lips, delivering the air you were craving for – if only to make himself feel even more in control. You’re lightheaded and a bit dumb, still, your mind is too delirious to actually understand anything that is happening around you. 

His lips are warm and dry, you steal air from his lungs with each second – you feel the energy feeling you up again, eyes are finally set enough to see at least some part of his face. Chiseled chin, covered in scars, tanned skin – you’re surprised that he is not as pale as you thought he must be, with his love for the masks. 

His veins are dark and rotten – you don’t understand how he can survive with his blood looking like this, but the dark tendrils of his body almost make him more of a curiosity than an actual human being. It’s only his lips that are still holding you in realms of the living. You don’t want to think of the implications and gossip you heard from some servants that were allowed to go out – allowed to witness the growth of the empire that was soon to eat you all. 

König finally lets go of your mouth when you start falling asleep again. You don’t allow him to simply cover his lips with his hood again though – your hands are heading to lend on his neck, fingers tracing the outlines of his veins. 

A medical curiosity, this emperor – you squeeze the rot of his neck, and he moans like you just did something that he liked too much. 

It’s only fitting that he has the body of a monster – for all he is done, you wouldn't be surprised if his head actually resembles the one of an octopus from silly books you were reading or a mess of dark tendrils, wiggling and swarming. Your delirious, oxygen-deprived mind still wants to touch him more, to satisfy your curiosity in all the more fitting ways. Maybe take your research a bit further down to see if he truly is a man down there. 

But oh well, you saw his body before – although you never as much as paid attention to that detail. Did he change in a few days that passed? Does his veins start to spew out darkness because he is…

He crushed your hand in his, almost making you feel a crack in your dainty lady fingers. God forbid you feel like your hands are being torn apart. 

— Never try to defy me like this again. 

He spews the words with anger than would be fitting for the enemy – and he is, for you, but you were sure that he didn’t consider you one of them. The contrast with his soft actions earlier, you can feel tears collecting in your eyes as he slowly lets go of your hand. 

Not knowing what to do, you roll to the side, burning desire to never see his face – or lack thereof – ever again. Like an angry cat that doesn’t know how to stop biting, you feel like you’re going to cry again and again. 

You whimper, trying to escape the haunting gaze of his eyes – and his face softens, if only for a bit. He presses his hand against your damp forehead, checking the temperature. You don’t want to forgive him just yet – for anything at this matter, but he is soft at this moment, and somehow, it is almost enough. Somehow, you almost feel like you can breathe again. 

— I was so scared, little princess. I don’t like being scared. 

You laugh dryly, your face is still deep in the pillow. You are trying to ignore the beast, but the beast decided that you’re his best option for a nice free snack. Beast decided to take off some of his clothes – you don’t see it, but you hear the sound of fabric hitting the floor, and you don’t want to even think how much it cost. 

You try to cover your naked body with the silk sheets of your bed, but soft fabric only entices your desires in a way that can only be called sinful. You remember the sensation of his tongue between your legs, your desire to simply run out of your skin because of how good it felt – each stroke made you strive further and further away from your duties. Like a good little maid you are, a perfect lady in waiting, waiting for her demise, you have to ignore all the mortal pleasures. 

If you want the royal family to truly forgive you in their graves, you would have to join them. Perhaps, you gave up on drowning too fast. 

— It wasn’t my intention. 

He shifts, the bed is too small for someone like him. You feel his legs, clothed, thank god, touching your naked thighs – and you immediately stir to the further side. You keep your arms and legs in check, getting into a small ball of limbs as you’re trying to comfort yourself without his touch. You don’t want to admit it, but König is warm, warmer than you thought he had the right to be, and you’re freezing. The phantom feeling of cold water on your skin is making you shiver. 

— What were your intentions then? 

If the emperor knows about manners and how a fiancee should behave around his bride that he didn’t even consummate the marriage, he is ignoring that knowledge. Large hands pinning you to his chest, warm and firm – to your utter dread, he took off the armor plates and even the simple shirt under it, making you helplessly squish your cheek against his muscles. He smells like a man, and you never knew you’d feel that smell in your life. 

You don’t hate it. 

— You killed by parents, Your Majesty. 

He only laughs, his hand goes to stroke your back. This is a contrast with his coldness before – he is soft and warm with you, and you hate that you don’t hate it. Gigantic palm goes to settle between your shoulder blades and you simply sigh, trying to get used to his touches. You don’t want to, but a good servant should adapt to everything, so you do just that. Adapting, deforming, melding yourself in something you never knew you even could be. 

Your head hurts, and you whimper when his gentle massage relaxes your sore muscles. You hate his gentleness, you hate his firmness. 

You want him to let you go, but you don’t even know where you would go. 

— Your parents, little princess? Really? 

There is a vile mockery in his voice, and you immediately remember who this man is. Not some devoted lover and slightly obsessive romanticist – he is dangerous, horrible, he is the conqueror of your country. You may not have warm feelings about the royal family, but he doesn’t know this – his laugh and mockery of your “family” must be real. It has to be, or else you’re going to die after your deceiving has been opened. 

He pushes you even closer to him, and you whimper like a dumb little dog without any means of stopping him from touching you. There is some freedom from being exposed like this, but you still don’t like it. Still feel like he is going to murder you, given the reason. 

— If anything, my men did it. That dog you called a father did not deserve my sword. 

Anger fills your whole body – not because you were particularly close with the king, but because König is parading his mockery of your supposed family. He hugs you with hands that are covered in blood, no matter if he is just the one to give orders. 

You try to get out of his grasp, but apathy fills you. What’s the point if the royal family is dead? What’s the point if you aren’t even the real princess. 

— You will not call my father…

He makes you shut your mouth when he kisses your head. Sweet and soft, you do not understand his intentions. If anything, it feels like yet another mockery. 

— I will call him like I want, meine Liebe. And you will still be mine. 

— I won’t just take it, Your Majesty. 

He laughs again. You feel sick. 

— With our wedding tomorrow, little flower, you will have to take it. Not the last thing you’ll take on that day, little princess. 

You feel like you are going to be sick. 

König kisses you again, forcing you to sleep in his hands. 

[cyberneticfallout]

Chapter One: Filly

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9 - Ch 10 - More Coming Soon

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader Summary: You, a seasoned bounty hunter, team up with a gruff ghoul to capture a high-value target. Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, eventual smut, language, canon-typical violence, more tags will be added Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul Word Count: 1.2k

Bounty hunting is no walk in the park, but the rewards make it worthwhile. Your body aches as you trudge through the settlement known as Filly. Pushy vendors eagerly try to sell you their wares, with one particularly persistent one urging you to spend your hard-earned caps on dog meat. Politely declining their offers, you navigate your way through the bustling street towards the more reputable shops and services.

Having visited Filly a few times before, you recognize familiar faces among the locals. You exchange a silent greeting with the local repair girl and spot Ma June preparing to open her shop for the day, making a mental note to stop by later. As you approach a semi-functional Nuka Cola machine, you catch sight of a man seated in a chair. He's dressed like an outlaw from the Wild West, giving off an air of danger. His gaze locks with yours as you pass by.

A ghoul.

You've had mostly positive experiences with ghouls in the wasteland, but this one seems different. There's something about him that sets off alarm bells in your head. Feeling bold, you approach him after grabbing an unbearably warm Nuka Cola.

"Hey," you stand in front of him and take a sip. "I don't personally have a problem with ghouls, but the folk around here aren't too fond of them."

Smirking, he looks up at you, his sunken eyes and lack of nose more pronounced in the sunlight. Most people find ghouls unsettling, but you've grown accustomed to their appearance after years of interacting with them.

"That may be true," he drawls. "but I ain't here to make friends."

You offer him a sip of your drink, he stares at you in confusion. Taking it as a rejection, you finish the rest and toss the bottle aside.

"You look like you're either playing cowboy or you're a bounty hunter," you remark.

"What's your guess?" he snarls.

Leaning towards him, you place your hands on the arms of his chair. "I'm guessing you're here looking for a specific doctor."

"You're pretty bold for getting so close to a ghoul, smoothskin."

"And you're pretty bold for assuming I've never been closer." A small smile creeps onto your face as he looks at you curiously.

"I'm sure our paths will cross again. Until then..." Stepping back, you give him a casual salute and walk away.

The presence of the ghoul gives you the feeling that shit is about to go down so you decide to hang around on the outskirts of Filly. Leaning against a tree just outside the bustling street of vendors, you can hear the sound of raised voices and the unmistakable echoes of gunfire coming from the center of town.

"Called it," you mutter under your breath. There's no need to dive headfirst into the chaos when you can simply wait it out and observe the aftermath. Given the hefty reward on the line for this particular doctor, it's unlikely that he'll be an easy target. If he's anything like the other high-value bounties you've pursued in the past, he'll find a way to slip away, and you'll have to track him down.

Inhaling deeply, you take a moment to assess your surroundings, ensuring that your rifle and pistol are in proper working order. As you inspect your weapons, the air is suddenly filled with distorted screams, "No, no, no!" Looking up, you witness a spectacle that catches you off guard. A suit of Power Armor is soaring uncontrollably through the sky above you. Could it be the Brotherhood of Steel? This bounty just keeps getting crazier.

The Power Armor veers off in the opposite direction, leaving you to wonder what in the wasteland is going on. With the chaotic gunfight seemingly subsiding, you make your way back towards the town center. It appears that the flying garbage can and ghoul have caused quite the commotion, scattering the combatants and bringing an end to the firefight.

As you draw closer to the scene, the absurdity of the situation becomes even more apparent. Bodies, torn apart and scattered haphazardly, litter the ground. The locals, seizing the opportunity, have already begun looting them. You catch sight of the ghoul making his way towards a path that leads out of town. Without a moment's hesitation, you decide to follow him.

Quickening your pace, you navigate through the debris and bodies, doing your best to avoid the looters who pay you no mind. The ghoul moves quickly with a dog by his side, his sunken eyes focused on his route to the wastes.

As you approach the outskirts of town, the ghoul glances back, acknowledging your pursuit. Letting out an annoyed sigh, he comes to a halt and turns to face you.

"I ain't accepting companions," he declares, a note of irritation in his voice.

"That's too bad," you reply with a smirk, coming to a stop in front of him. Your attention is drawn to the dog standing beside him, looking up at you with a wagging tail. A warm feeling washes over you - you've always had a soft spot for dogs.

Kneeling down, you scratch behind the dog's ears and ask, "What's her name?"

"I don't fuckin' know," the ghoul snaps back.

You raise an eyebrow, a mixture of amusement and confusion on your face. "Did you hit your head back there? How do you not know your dog's name?"

The ghoul rolls his eyes slightly, clearly exasperated. "She ain't my dog. She was with the doctor. Along with some vault dweller."

A surge of curiosity courses through you at the mention of the doctor and the vault dweller. This situation just keeps getting more intriguing. You stand up, still keeping an eye on the ghoul.

“A vault dweller?”

He begins to draw his gun and points it at you, “Give me a reason not to shoot your ass. You’re startin’ to annoy me.”

“Calm down, beef jerky.” Taking a step back, you maintain a calm demeanor. “I think we can help each other out.”

The ghoul's grip on his gun tightens, but he hesitates, seemingly intrigued by your proposition. "I don't need help.”

“Oh but yes, you do.” You pull out a small vial filled with amber liquid, capturing his attention. “This dog will do a great job tracking its owner but I’ll do an even better job of making sure you don’t go feral. No offense but you seem pretty old - even for a ghoul.”

The ghoul's grip on his gun loosens, and he seems to consider your words. After a moment, he reluctantly lowers his weapon. "Fine," he grumbles. "But don't think I owe you anything."

You nod with a small smile, "Fair enough."