#Food Wars: The Third Plate

[writersdrug]

Simon "Ghost" Riley is the kind of man who:

In your shared home, always sits with his legs spread. Manspreading king. Adores it when you cross your arms and give him a disapproving look, saying there's no room for you. "Course there is, luv. Jus' sit between my thighs."

Refuses to let you do simple tasks around the house, like making tea, folding his underwear, or putting away the dishes. One might think it's a sweet, husbandly gesture - but he's just super picky. You made tea in the microwave once, and now you're banned from ever touching his tea stash. Likes his underwear folded in a specific way, and you don't understand the importance of it. He got tired of you stuffing his underwear in his drawer, so now he folds it himself. And the dishes? Couldn't stand how you put them away. "There's no rhyme or reason to 'em." "I didn't think there had to be, Si-" "Just gimme the damn bowl." Fewer chores? You aren't complaining.

Looks like he's always on edge - and he is, kinda. When he's out with you, he can't help but be alert and watchful, and extremely protective of you. You've tried to get him to loosen up - it's the supermarket, what could happen? - but have just come to accept it as his nature. Plus, you get that giddy feeling when you see other men look straight down at the floor, avoiding Simon's stare as the two of you pass.

Is the grumpiest, poutiest, and most indignant man ever when he gets sick. Doesn't want you doting on him in case you catch whatever he has. But, wait - where are you going? "Get your ass back in this bed - 'm cold." Grumbles like a child when you force him to let you get up to grab him soup, tea, or medicine. And no, he doesn't care how sick he is, he's not wearing that stupid, floppy ice pack hat.

Brings Johnny over unannounced, and you've grown used to it. The moment you hear that Scottish yapping out the front door as the key unlocks, you grab a third plate for dinner - he insists you don't need to feed him, but you always make extra for Simon's lunch the next day regardless, and the last time he'd said that, he ended up grabbing an extra fork and picking from Simon's plate. Which, of course, had Simon up at 1 am making instant ramen because he was still hungry, but didn't have the heart to ask you to make him a decent meal. So, yes, Johnny would be fed.

Loves spoiling you on your birthday. What is a man if not someone who spoils his partner rotten? Orders in food from your favorite bakery, sets all your presents neat and nice on the table (the excellent wrapping job done by yours truly, Gaz), flower petals sprinkled on the ground and the table top (also Gaz's idea), and a seat on his lap so for you while you open your presents. Loves watching your face light up, and each little "you remembered?!" fall from your lips as you open each gift. Scoffs and shifts in his seat. "I's not that much of a fuss, luv..." as you squeal excitedly, but you know he's biting back a proud smile. The blush, he can't even attempt to hide.

Is somehow a magnet for your young nephews. Every time he comes along to your sister's place, he's either making conversation with her husband in the living room, or he's interrogated and cornered by her two sons. And, lord help him, he doesn't understand it either. He'd always expected kids to look at him like a monster, but, especially with these two, that was never the case. They'd ask him for stories about "being in war" - half of the time, he'd make up some not-too-gory adventure, sparing them the details of real war. The rest of the time, he'd talk about "Soap, my mate who blows everything up." And they'd listen with wide eyes and jaws on the floor.

Has scared you unintentionally, more than too many times. He'd come home at three in the morning from a mission, and all he wanted was to quietly peel his dirty uniform off and slip into bed with you. His main intention was to avoid waking you up, because you'd force him to shower before joining you in bed - and he was too tired for that. However, you'd been rounding the corner, up for your 3 am glass of water - you screamed as you saw the hulking, dark figure by the front door, launching your phone at him. He'd caught it effortlessly and shoved it into his back pocket. "What've I told ya 'bout using the bat?" "I was just getting water!" "I coulda been anyone." "Well you're not." "Missed ya, luvie." "Missed you too- but you're grimy. Go take a-" "No." He grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder, ignoring your protests as he hauled you back to bed.

[0097linersb]

Sour Candy (m)

Pairings: Mingi x Reader

Genre: Smut

Word count: 5k~

Warnings: Very very very needy Mingi, wouldn't say exactly sub!mingi but kind of sub!mingi u know, good boi´s just very desperate. consent lines are kind of blurred in this one so pls skip if it makes u uncomfortable, this was just written in like an hour with absolutely no thoughts or grammar-checking, head empty only filled with crying whiny men <3

Follow me on twitter: wooyosgfreal <3

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅��� ──────

“What time did Yunho say he was coming back again?” You asked for about the fourth time that afternoon. 

“In like an hour or two,” Mingi answered patiently like he did all the other times you asked before. “Bro, why do you hate me?” 

“Because you keep making me play this boring game and it really fucking sucks.” 

“That´s just because you´re bad at it.” 

“You´re literally worse than me.” 

“Maybe modernity was wrong all along, maybe women really shouldn´t be allowed to have opinions.” 

“It is a fact, not an opinion. Maybe you men should still be in planes being shipped off to war and leave us alone.” 

“Fine. Do you want to play something else, princess?” 

“Let´s play Overcooked,” You squealed.  

Mingi didn´t even groan this time when you mentioned the game you and Seonghwa were obsessing over lately, simply going back to the home screen on Yunho´s Playstation and looking for the colorful icon. He knew there was no arguing with you. 

While the game was loading, Mingi handed you the main controller and stood up, fixing his shirt that had scrunched up and stretching his back, “Set everything up, I´m gonna go find some snacks.” 

You happily did as told, driving your little animated truck towards the level you had last failed at and playing with your phone to wait for your friend, at least until your vision was blocked by said friend pushing a red plastic bag in front of your face. 

“What´s that?” You asked, already reaching into the bag and picking up one of the soft candies inside. 

Mingi simply shrugged, already chewing on one of the jellies, “Dunno, found them in the kitchen. They´re pretty good though.” 

You trusted his words, popping the candy into your mouth and waiting for the flavors to kick in - and hell you wish you didn´t. 

“Oh my god this is disgusting,” Your face contorts in distaste. 

“It´s cinnamon,” Mingi stares you down, clearly not amused.  

“Yeah, with candle wax. Ew.” 

“Just swallow it and stop being a baby.” 

“I will literally kill myself.” 

He gave you another judgmental glare and sat down next to you on the couch once again, already reaching for his third candy from hell as you forced yourself to let it slide down your throat. You handed him the main remote and picked up the secondary one, coughing to see if flowing some air into your lungs would get the taste of rotten papaya out of your mouth.  

“Maybe it´s poison that Yunho left out as a trap because you keep stealing his food.” 

“Nah, it was right on top of the counter,” He waved it off, pressing play on the game. 

“My point stands.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” 

“You´re very eloquent today.” 

“You´re very annoying today.” 

“The salmon Mingi, the fucking salmon!!” 

“I´m getting it!” 

“Bro, you gotta throw it!” 

“Fuck. I know, but if I leave the fucking rice is going to burn.” 

“I´m throwing you more rice.” 

“I don´t need it.” 

“Yes, you do. Oh my god.” 

“What I do need are some clean plates.” 

“Oh, yeah. On it.” 

“Why do you like this game?” He groaned, cleaning the sweat from his forehead and reaching for another candy in the bag. “You´re making me stress eat.” 

“Doesn´t it make you feel pumped?”  

“Yeah, pumped to punch the TV.” 

“We have one more minute, we can do it if you stop being dumb.” 

“There are literally two plates on the counter ready to go and you haven´t delivered them yet.” 

“Jeez, done. Can you slice me some tomatoes?” 

“One sec,” He answered, mouth full of yet another candy. 

“It would be faster if you would just stop eating.” 

“We´re not making it anyways, let me enjoy one thing at least.” 

And he was right: a few seconds later the TV screen was filled with the sad numbers displaying how you didn´t reach the minimum score - didn´t even come close to it in fact. 

Mingi let out his frustrations by popping the nth white jelly past his lips and you stared at him in disgust, reaching for the bag to understand what that malevolent creation even was.  

“Huh...” 

“What?” He asked. 

“Hm, I mean, this is all in German or Dutch but I´m pretty sure this word means aphrodisiac.” 

“Come again?” His mouth was hanging open mid chew, unblinking eyes staring at you. 

“Hm, yeah. Wasn´t Yunho´s friend just in Amsterdam? The one with the big smile? Maybe he brought those as a souvenir, since you know, it´s Amsterdam. Like, ‘haha look at this candy that makes you horny´.” 

“Oh, yeah. But it´s like a placebo touristy thing, right?” He laughed nervously. “Like, these won´t actually make me horny, right?” 

“Nah, I don´t think this kind of stuff works. It´s probably just for shit and giggles. Do you feel any different?” 

“I don´t know, my heart is beating faster. I think I´m going to die.” 

“Mingi, relax. Now it´s probably just because you´re nervous.” 

“No, what if there´s some kind of drug in these? I ate almost 10 of them! Oh my god I´m going to die. Am I going to overdose, Y/N? What if I start hallucinating?” 

He was being a bit overdramatic, but he did have genuine concerns. 

“Wait, let me call Yunho.” 

Mingi didn´t even hear you, too busy at his own pity party as he whined and stared at the bag´s labels like he could suddenly speak Dutch.  

“Y/N?” Yunho´s voice filled your ears. 

“Hm, hi. Sorry to bother you at work but we´ve kind of got a situation.” 

“Oh my god, did Mingi break my door playing with the bar? I already told him-” 

“No, nothing like that. Huh, do you know that candy that you left on the kitchen counter?” 

“What? No. What cand- Oh. Oh.” 

“Huh, yeah. So... Mingi found it and ate like 10 of them?” 

“Y/N.” 

“Is that bad? He´s kind of freaking out, he´s afraid there´s like drugs in them or something.” 

“There are some stimulants in them but like, in minor quantities. He won´t die because of it. But bro, bro.” 

“What?” You whined, Yunho´s tone making you anxious. 

“He had 10 of them? San had like 3 and said he was at it for hours.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, oh.” 

“So I guess these do work, huh?” 

“Haven´t tried them, but from what San says it´s some strong shit. Did you take any?” 

“Just like one, tastes like organic trash.” 

“Yeah, good. Let me know how it goes, please just stay out of my bedroom.” 

“Your bedroom? Why would- What are you trying to imply, Jeong Yunho?” 

“Oh shit, client calling. Byeee,” He laughed. “Stupid.” 

As soon as you put your phone away, Mingi stopped talking to himself like a mad man and stared at you with big hopeful eyes. 

“I have good news and bad news.” 

“Am I going to die?” 

“That´s the good news: no, you´re not. No.” 

“And what are the bad news?” 

“Apparently you will get very horny, though.” 

He froze at your words, looking down at his pants, “I don´t feel it, though.” 

“Maybe you won´t, it might be different for everyone,” You shrug, standing up and grabbing your sweater. “All I know is that I am leaving because if it does happen, that´s not a sight I want to be here for.” 

“Please no,” Mingi whined, literally throwing himself on his knees to catch your arm before you could walk away. “Don´t leave me alone here. I just ingested unknown substances, what if my body reacts badly and I actually die? What if I throw up and drown in my own puke here all alone?” 

Once again, over-dramatic but right.  

“Yeah, you´re right,” You sighed. “I would still rather die than see you with a boner so here´s what we´re gonna do: I´m locking myself in Yunho´s room and you can freely roam the apartment and do whatever you want, I´ll check up on you every few minutes. Sounds good?” 

“Yeah, ok,” Mingi agreed. 

“Also, if you´re going to like - ” You motioned vaguely towards his pants hoping he would get what you were trying to say. “Give me a heads up so I can put on some earphones.” 

“Oh my god,” He whined in shame, cheeks going flush. “Yeah, ok.” 

“Ok, good. Huh, bye,” You awkwardly waved as you made your way towards Yunho´s room. “Good luck.” 

You closed the door behind you, hearing as Mingi opened some other game back in the living room. There was not much to do in Yunho´s room so you decided to lay in bed and scroll through Tiktok until Mingi stopped thinking he was going to die and you could leave. Also, you did eat one of the candies too, so you guessed that if they did work, you would feel it as well. 

10 minutes later you still heard Mingi normally playing and cursing outside, but you still decided to yell out an “Everything good?” just to be sure. 

“Yeah!” Was his answer. 

Another 15 minutes went by, and you shot him a text. 

Not dead yet? 

Mings: Still good, I don´t think these things actually work. 

Maybe Yunho was just messing with us.  

Mings: Yeah, fucking asshole. 

You went back to watching your silly little videos, not even noticing the time passing or how everything suddenly went quiet outside. Over half an hour had gone by when your ears finally perked up at the lack of your friend´s loudness.  

You sat up in bed worried. 

You good? 

No answer. 

Mingi? 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

You were already picturing his dead body looking all stupid on Yunho´s carpet, thinking about how you were going to explain to the paramedics that he died because he ate too much horny candy.  

No, even worse: How would you explain this to his family? 

Oh, no. Not your best friend. How would you live without him? You liked teasing him and you bickered a lot but you love- 

Your little spiral of insanity was interrupted by a knock on the door and your body was finally able to move after how it had been paralyzed with fear for a few minutes. 

“Mingi?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh, thank god. You scared the shit out of me,” You took a deep breath in relief, staring at Yunho´s white door. “What´s up?” 

“Huh, can I come in?” 

You furrowed your eyebrows at his tone.  

Something sounded weird about this.  

“Sure,” You answered skeptically.  

Mingi opened the door and came in, head cast down and gaze not meeting your eyes. 

“What´s wrong-” You started asking worriedly, about to jump out of the bed to go check up on him before your eyes finally zeroed in on the very prominent bulge in his pants. “Song Mingi! What the fuck?” 

“I- I don´t know what to do,” His eyes finally met yours, cheeks tinted in pink and hands trembling. He looked at you like a kicked puppy.  

“And what do I have to do with it? Go deal with it yourself. Eeew, we talked about this,” You raised your hand in the air to try and block the bottom half of Mingi from your line of vision.  

“I already did,” He groaned, rubbing his face in frustration. “Twice.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah. Nothing fucking works - and also, I just can´t stop thinking about you.” 

“What?” You never heard your voice go so high before. “Nuh uh, we´re not going there. Absolutely not.” 

“I´m not happy about it either, ok?” His fingers were squeezing the corner of the door so thigh they were almost white. “Just please, help me out this once. Please.” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

You just prayed that the reason you started clenching around nothing was because the candy was finally kicking in and not because stupid Song Mingi was practically begging in front of you. 

“No!” You screeched, weirded out by your own sudden reaction. “This isn´t you talking, it´s just th stupid candy, you´ll regret it after it wears off -” 

“No but I won´t,” He disagreed, closing the door and rushing towards you like a madman in three large strides. 

You had never seen him like this, you never once in a million years could have gone as far as even imagining the look in his eyes right now. 

“Fuck. It´s just - your skin is so soft, you know?” Mingi pushed the covers to the side so his hand could squeeze your thigh, his knees dipping into the mattress as he crawled on top of you. You were too shocked to move away, frozen in place with your mouth open wide, not really knowing what to do as he rubbed the palm of his hands up and down your skin, squeezing it occasionally with a heavy breath like he had just reached heaven´s gate. 

“Mingi,” You warned, but your voice didn´t sound that threatening anymore. 

“Please, just once,” He breathed out, practically rubbing himself against your body like a cat in heat forcing you to slowly lie back in the bed, his hands gently guiding yours over your head as you slid down. You looked up at his glazed eyes, at the way his hands were shaking around your wrists, the way he was discreetly rutting against your thigh without even realizing he was doing it. He looked so vulnerable and frenzied – And it was doing something to you. 

“Mingi,” You whined, not even sure what you were trying to say or do. 

“You kept walking around with this white top all day,” He let out a broken groan, looking down at said top. “Your boobs look amazing in it. I just- I – Can I?” 

His begging eyes were enough to get you automatically nodding before even realizing what you were agreeing to - When you did process what he was asking for though, his right hand was already squeezing your boobs and kneading at them like his life depended on it, his calloused fingers firm on your body. You could feel how hard he was every time he subconsciously ground against you, shaky hot breaths leaving his lips and hitting the sensitive skin on the side of your neck where his plump soft lips kept lightly brushing against with every move. 

Mingi took advantage of the position, sucking against your vein and leaving pleas in the form of little kisses around your skin. His thumb played with your nipple and your hands were still abandoned on top of your head against the sheets, not sure if you would really let this happen yet - but Mingi didn´t seem to mind, too lost in worshipping you into compliance.  

“I need to fuck you. Like, right now. I´ll - I´ll make you feel good too, I promise,” The shakier and breathier his voice sounded the wetter you got. “I promise. I promise. Please. We -we don´t even need to fuck I can – I can – Let me – Just the tip- Anything-” 

“Just the tip?” 

“Yeah,” He eagerly nodded, his eyes so hopeful you could melt. 

“Ok,” You agreed, physically not being able to say no to his pleading eyes.  

“Fuck,” He groaned in surprise, not actually thinking you would agree to it - But since you did, he wasted no time and made quick work of practically ripping your cotton short down your legs in one harsh tug. “Under normal circumstances I would, you know – But, I – right now I – I can´t.” 

“It´s ok,” You assured, afraid he would actually cry if you made him wait another single second with how desperate he was. 

He hooked his finger on the bottom of your panties and pushed them to the side, not even being able to take them out. He stared at your pussy for a moment, his eyes looking even more insane than before at the sight, like he would actually growl at you. 

“Fuck,” Mingi cursed as he went out of the little trance he was in, pushing his sweater pants and boxers down in a rush - once again not even bothering with taking them all out.  

And oh fuck. 

His cock was so hard you could imagine how it actually hurt; it throbbed against the skin of his abdomen without even being touched, looking swollen and angry with all the veins surrounding it - And man were you glad you agreed on just the tip because there was just no way that would fit without a lot of preparation first. Even with how wet you were right now. Who knew? 

Mingi leaned on top of you once again, one arm supporting the weight of his body in between your legs as he gently guided his dick up and down your folds, his eyes closing at the feeling, a violent shiver taking over his thighs and up his spine with a loud groan.  

Like he had absolutely no control over his body, Mingi positioned himself against your entrance, slowly pushing just a little bit in as promised. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” His groans sounded so raw against your ear as he cursed over the initial resistance of your walls, his forehead meeting your neck to try and ground himself. 

You even let a moan out yourself because this was absolute madness, it felt insane. Your whole body was buzzing like you were electrified, your fingers ached to scratch Mingi´s back and pull him all the way in - Damn, those candies were good.  

And you only had one. 

“Y/N, fuck,” Mingi gasped as he started moving his hips in shallow little thrusts so he wouldn´t break your agreement. “Ah - Ah. I can´t think strai - You´re so pretty. Fuck, fuck.” 

His lips met your neck once again, messy kisses full of saliva and teeth as he shuddered on top of you, leaving marks that would soon turn purple. You could feel how tense every single muscle in his body was as he fought against himself to not rut deeper into you every time he moved, and you were biting onto your lip so hard to keep the noises inside that you could taste blood.  

“Thank you, thank you,” You shivered at the way cold air hit your neck when Mingi pulled back a bit to look you in the eye, “Can I go ah- a little deeper, please? Just a little. It feels so good, I need ah- more. Fuck.” 

“Mingi.” 

“Please,” He cried out and you just couldn´t believe the sight in front of you. 

Tall big strong Song Mingi with the deep voice, reduced to a disheveled delirious mess. His ashy blond hair rumpled, his cheeks burning pink and skin glistening with sweat, his pupils huge and shiny and he just looked so disheartened that it was breaking your heart to not let him just use you however he wanted.  

“I need you,” He agonized, his right arm clinging onto your shoulder like you would run away from him if you could, so out of it that he was already pushing deeper into you without even noticing, eyes shut so tightly at the sensation of your walls around him. “Please, please, please, please,” It was like a mantra. 

He was far gone. 

And kind of so were you. 

You whine in pain and raspy moans left Mingi´s soft lips every time he thrust back into you, hitting farther each time, “I´m sorry, baby. I´m sorry. You can take it right? Ah – Just a bit more, I promise. Fuck. I´m almost ah- in. Why do you smell so good? It´s driving me ah – insane.” 

It hurt, it did hurt, but you also didn´t seem to mind that he was practically splitting you open when his voice sounded this pretty apologizing for it. 

The speed and strength of his hips started picking up to match his urgency, his plush lips were open so captivatingly and his weight was now supported by both arms so he could pistol into you. He didn´t have a specific angle or rhythm to it, his moves were strictly instinctual and carnal, your nails finally finding your way down his back to keep yourself anchored to reality. 

“You´re so so so beautiful, fuck. Your lips - can´t stop thinking about them around my ah- cock. Will you show me?”  

You loved how broken his voice sounded. 

“Yeah, baby. Whatever you want.” 

He shuddered once again at your words, “I´m so close.” 

“Me too,” You nodded, still doing your very best to not let noises of pleasure escape past your lips – and kind of failing. 

“Let me hear you,” Mingi growls, managing to somehow snake his hand in between your bodies to start drawing quick circles on your clit. “Please, I love your voice.” 

You wouldn´t be able to hold back even if you wanted to.  

His chaotic rhythm had an appeal of its own, every broken moan that left his mouth drew you closer to the edge until you finally reached it. Your vision went black, nails digging into Mingi´s biceps so harshly you would feel bad for it later, every muscle in your body tightening as it all washed over you in a devastating wave, leaving your body in the form of gasps and breathy moans. 

“Oh my god, fuck,” Mingi cursed at the way your walls were clenching so tightly around him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

He wouldn´t slow down and you were still coming down from your high, twitching with the aftershocks as the oversensitivity quickly began to rise, but you decided to ignore it the best you couldand push through it - you could tell Mingi was close anyway with the way his thrusts became even more erratic, and his voice went up with every moan.  

You were mesmerized by his glossy unfocused eyes, the frown on his forehead, so frantic to get what he needed by ramming into you. He looked so pretty like this, you wanted to destroy him-  

Wow. 

Wait. 

Now where did that come from? 

“Shit, I´m gonna- Fuck, fuck.” 

You watched as his whole body froze for a second before violently shaking, his eyes shot so tightly he was probably seeing white as he continued thrusting into you to ride his orgasm to the end as you felt something warm hitting your walls. And his moans, oh his moans – I mean, you were not deaf, you had always been well-aware that Mingi had an attractive voice, but to hear it like this, so raw and relieved, was truly something else. 

Mingi let out one last broken cry as he slowly stopped moving, dropping his weight on top of you to catch his breath, chest heaving up and down against your ribcage as his muscles continued twitching here and there. You took advantage of the moment to get yourself together too, stabilizing your breathing and trying to figure out what the hell just happened as you two went down, but you also kind of expected Mingi to say something or try to joke around a bit to lessen the burden of the fact that the two of you just fucked - and when he didn´t, well, you started getting worried. 

You were mustering up the courage to say something after the two minutes of silence when the last thing you expected to happen, happened.  

Your eyes were blown wide, “Mingi-” 

“I can´t stop, I´m sorry-” He whined, his still rock-solid cock now slowly moving inside of you once again, rutting into you like he had absolutely no control over himself. 

He was still hard? 

Wasn´t this like his third time already? 

His whole body was shaking in overstimulation but he wouldn´t stop grinding into you, “I´m sorry.” 

“Mingi,” You tried pulling away from him thinking that´s what he was asking for. 

“No, don´t. Ah- Need you,” He desperately grabbed onto your thighs and wrapped them around his hips, your chests flushed against each other's as he hid his forehead on your neck to keep fucking deep into you. Literal whines of pain were leaving his lips, it was like he was an animal incapable of rational thoughts, and it was making you feel dizzy. 

“Mingi, love. You´re going to hurt yourself.” 

“No, feels so ah- Just one more,” He moaned, body shuddering. His whines got you clenching involuntarily around him, suddenly realizing you were kind of close to the edge already. “Please.” 

You felt a strong bite on your shoulder disguising a groan, the animalistic act crashed with how smoothly he was sliding in and out of you, but it also showed how deranged he was at the moment. You tightened your thighs around Mingi´s hips and pulled at the hair on his nape, not bothering with trying to cover up your moans anymore. 

Mingi took the action as permission and started gradually moving his hips faster, broken little whines getting louder and more frequent each second until he was once again supported by both his arms and pistoling into you.  

“I can´t - I can´t,” His voice was so shaky, so broken. “I - Please.” 

And then your whole world stopped as you watched the first tear roll down Mingi´s cheek. 

You were mesmerized, you wanted to frame it.  

“It hurts,” He whimpered, another tear falling, followed by another and then another.  

“You´re almost there,” You cooed, deciding to be useful to the poor giant man breaking down on top of you. “Aren´t you? So close.” 

Mingi nodded, blinking harshly to clear his vision which resulted in more tears running down his face. You just couldn´t help supporting your weight onto your elbow so you could lean up and hold his jaw, kissing the salty traces across his cheeks until his face was clean. He immediately started shaking, moans growing whinier and choppier, his thrusts started losing their patterns as he plowed into you like his life depended on it, entering a mental state he never knew existed before. 

His right hand grabbed your thigh with enough force to bruise it badly as he came for what you imagined was the fourth time in an hour, holding you so close that you could feel his cock hitting impossible places deep inside of you. Mingi was breathing so hard you were kind of worried for his well-being but the noises leaving his lips assured you he was feeling pleasure at least as his nose found its place on your neck once again. 

“Feeling better?” You asked once he had calmed down a little. 

“Kind of,” He pushed back to look at you with a low chuckle, his eyes looking a tad bit saner already. “But I also kind of need to eat you out.” 

You felt his dick twitch inside of you at his own words and how the fuck was that even possible? 

A painful whimper left his lips at the slight stimulation, already way past oversensitive, “Please?” 

 He had the nerve to pout. 

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Beneath the Surface

Warnings: Depression, Eating Disorder, Emotional Distress, Mental Health Struggles

Summary: Y/n, struggling with depression and an eating disorder, feels trapped in her own darkness, unable to confide in her husband, Toto Wolff, for fear of burdening him. Despite her attempts to hide her pain, Toto notices the changes in her and becomes increasingly concerned.

Pairing: Toto Wolff x reader

Word count: 869

If you need help please don´t shy away and confide in someone for help. your feelings are valid.

______________________________________________________________

Y/n stared blankly out of the window, her eyes tracing the familiar skyline of England. The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden hue over the city, but she felt nothing. The world outside was vibrant, alive with color and energy, but inside, she was a hollow shell, trapped in a gray fog that refused to lift.

Toto had left early that morning, heading to the Mercedes factory for yet another meeting. His life was a whirlwind of decisions, deadlines, and constant pressure. Y/n had always admired his drive and ambition, the way he could juggle a million things at once and still come home to her with a smile. But lately, that smile felt like a spotlight, one she couldn't bear to stand under.

She sighed, her hand drifting to the untouched plate of food in front of her. The thought of eating made her stomach turn, a wave of guilt crashing over her for the third time that day. The food wasn’t the problem—she was. Her mind was a battlefield, a war she had been losing for months now. The depression had crept in slowly, like a shadow lengthening in the afternoon sun, until it swallowed her whole.

And the eating disorder? That was her secret weapon, the twisted coping mechanism she clung to in a desperate attempt to feel some semblance of control. But the control was an illusion, and she knew it. It was a spiral, one that tightened around her like a noose, leaving her breathless and panicked.

She couldn’t tell Toto. The very thought of burdening him with her darkness made her chest ache. He had enough on his plate, running a Formula 1 team and maintaining the image of a calm, collected leader. He didn’t need her problems on top of that.

But Toto noticed. He always did.

He had seen the way her clothes hung a little looser on her frame, the way her smile never quite reached her eyes anymore. He noticed how she pushed food around on her plate, claiming she wasn’t hungry, or that she had eaten earlier. He watched as the light in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a distant, haunted look that broke his heart.

Toto was no stranger to pressure and stress, but the sight of his wife slipping away from him was a different kind of pain, one he didn’t know how to fight. He had tried to bring it up gently, asking if she was okay, if there was anything she wanted to talk about. Each time, she brushed him off with a weak smile and a quick excuse.

But Toto wasn’t fooled. He knew something was terribly wrong, and the longer she kept him at arm’s length, the more desperate he became to help her.

One evening, he came home earlier than usual, hoping to catch her before she retreated into the solitude of their bedroom. He found her sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at a cup of tea that had long gone cold.

“Y/n,” he called softly, not wanting to startle her.

She looked up, startled anyway, and quickly forced a smile. “Hey, I didn’t hear you come in. How was your day?”

Toto walked over, pulling out the chair next to her and sitting down. He took her hand in his, noting how thin and cold it felt. “It was fine,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. “But I’m more worried about how your day was.”

Y/n’s smile faltered, and she looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m fine, Toto. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

He squeezed her hand, his heart aching at the way she tried to downplay her struggles. “Y/n, you’re not fine. I can see that something is wrong, and it’s killing me that you won’t let me in.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she quickly blinked them away, shaking her head. “I don’t want to burden you with my problems. You have enough to deal with already.”

Toto’s expression softened, and he reached out to gently cup her cheek, turning her face toward him. “You are never a burden to me, Y/n. You’re my wife, my partner in everything. If you’re hurting, then I’m hurting too. Please, let me help you.”

The dam broke then. The tears she had been holding back for so long spilled over, and she crumpled into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Toto held her tightly, his own eyes damp as he whispered soothing words, promising her that they would get through this together.

“I’m so sorry,” she choked out between sobs. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I feel so lost, so out of control, and I didn’t want to drag you down with me.”

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” Toto murmured, stroking her hair. “We’ll find help, Y/n. We’ll get through this, one step at a time. But you have to trust me, and let me in. We’re a team, remember?”

She nodded against his chest, the weight of her secret finally lifting, if only a little. “I’m scared, Toto.”

“I know,” he whispered. “But we’ll face it together, every step of the way.”

[imagineteamfreewill]

From the Dead - Five

Pairing: Soldier!Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: Hearing loss, pregnancy, nervousness, nausea, mentions of PTSD, and fluff

Summary: Dean Winchester died as a war hero during his third tour overseas. He left Y/N behind, and she decides that she needs a change. She leaves Lawrence to work at Camp New Moon, where a mysterious visitor shows up almost five years after Dean first left for his tour.

A/N: This is the final part of the “From the Dead” series. As always, thank you for supporting me whether I’m writing Supernatural or Marvel, both here and on other websites. I hope you enjoy!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

From the Dead Series Masterlist

The months practically fly by after Dean receives his hearing aid. As part of his therapy, he creates a list of things he wants to do now that he’s back in the States, some of which you’ve never done together. One by one, you check things off the list. You spend sunsets—and a few sunrises—snuggled up on the beach by the lake, and when the fall hits, you and Dean are able to get away for a few weekends for hikes in a nearby state park. It’s on those nights at the lake and in the cabins you rent at the parks that Dean talks to you more about his tour. He can’t tell you all the details, especially since Sam is still advising you on whether or not to sue for everything you’d been put through, but he talks to you about his life in the village. Sometimes you lay together in bed as he talks, and other times you sit facing him so you can read his expressions. Sometimes he cries. You do too. It’s cathartic for both of you.

When winter descends on the South, you take him to Atlanta for some of the Christmas festivities. You go to a concert, go on a fancy date at an even fancier restaurant, and walk hand in hand while you look at Christmas lights. His family drives down for the holidays, and you put them up in a few of the empty staff cabins. Mary tells you one morning while you’re watching the sun rise over the lake that she understands why you’d want to stay at New Moon. It’s one of the best Christmas gifts you get.

Dean surprises you with trips to the zoo, aquarium, and museums. He takes you shopping, compliments you with every new thing you tried on, and he carries your bags. He cooks you elaborate meals and brings you picnic lunches. You’re pretty sure that he and Meg text because he always seems to show up for lunch on the days where you need his company the most.

Life is sublime, even on the rough nights when you sleep very little. Dean’s nightmares wake you up on occasion, but you don’t mind. He shows you his love in a thousand little ways, and lying with him and comforting him is one of the few ways that you do the same. You both lay on your sides, facing each other, and you murmur reassurances in the dim light from the bedside lamp. You’ve gotten used to sleeping with it on, especially now since you found out that the darkness is something that worsens his PTSD.

Some nights, you stay up late worrying about the girls. Others you spend sitting up with them or talking with them when they need support, or intervention. Oftentimes, on those nights, you walk back to your cottage in the dark, following the path with just an old plastic flashlight to guide you. Your phone is usually dead and you’re always bone-tired, but without fail, you open the door to find Dean waiting up for you on the couch. He has the TV playing low in the background, and if you haven’t eaten dinner, he has a plate of food ready to be reheated for you. He listens when he can, too. You tell him whatever isn’t confidential, and he listens in silence with a hand on your leg as you curl up to him on the couch, or he holds you close as you lay together in bed, just like when you listen to him talk about his time overseas.

It’s on one of these nights in early March when you’re curled up together, sometime just past midnight, that you realize you’ve been home late almost every day this week and that Dean had been alone almost all day, every day. Your thoughts roam back to the first dinner you’d had with his family since his return. He’d thrived in the living room bustling with people he loved, and he’d lit up any time he’d interacted with his niece and nephew. You haven’t seen that exact look on his face since.

“Dean?” you murmur. He doesn’t answer right away, but he keeps stroking your hair, so you carefully turn your head on his thigh to look up at him. He took his hearing aid out an hour ago, which meant he probably just hasn’t heard you.

“You need something, sweetheart?” he asks, looking down at you.

“Do you… Do you still want kids? We haven’t talked about it since you got back, but before your deployment…”

He hums thoughtfully and sits up a little more on the sofa. You sit up when he moves, pulling your legs in and propping yourself up with one arm on the top of the back cushions. He keeps looking at the TV, but you can tell that he really isn’t watching it. The show is something pedantic—a black-and-white sitcom from the 60s that only comes on during late-night television. It’s one of a few that are on rotation during your late night talks, and you know enough from the subtitles that you’ve seen this episode at least three times.

“Did you hear me?” you ask, reaching out to gently touch his arm with your fingertips.

Dean nods. His eyes still stay focused forward. “I heard you. I’m just… thinking.” He turns to look at you after a second. The furrow between his eyebrows is pronounced, and his lips purse ever so slightly as he searches your face. “Why? Are you—?” He glances down at your stomach, just for a split second.

Quickly, you shake your head and scoot closer on the couch so that your calf is pressed up against the side of his thigh. You reach out and grab both of his hands in yours. He turns slightly more towards you, and his thumb drifts over your knuckles as you answer,

“No. No, I’m not pregnant. I just…” You trail off and look down at your joined hands, trying to put thoughts to your words. Finally, you sigh and look back up at him, squeezing his hands. “When we were at your parents’ house, with Sam and Jess and their kids, you seemed really happy.”

“Those little guys are awesome,” Dean replies, chuckling lightly. The worried crinkle between his eyebrows relaxes at the memory. “I had no idea how much I’d really missed them until we got there. The videos you’d shown me on your phone weren’t nearly as good as the real thing.”

“It wasn’t just that. It was the way you cuddled and played with Jacob, and the way you held Ella and talked to her. You love them.”

“Of course I love them, Y/N, they’re my niece and nephew.”

His voice is patient as he gives you the reminder, and though you know that he isn’t trying to make you feel bad, you still find yourself searching for the right words to get your point across. You’re exhausted, and your thoughts are already scattered.

Maybe I shouldn’t have even brought it up, you think.

Nonetheless, you nod and squeeze his hands again. “I know. I just… It reminded me of all those conversations we had before you left, you know? And I see the way you look at babies and little kids whenever we’re in town. Anyone could tell that you want a kid of your own.” You pause and shake your head a little. “I don’t know, it’s late. Maybe I’m just thinking too much. If it’s gonna happen, it’ll happen, right? I mean, if that’s what you want.”

Releasing him, you rub your face with one hand and stand from the couch. He looks up at you, watching in silence as you gather your dinner dishes, along with the mug he’d been drinking from when you got home. Your stomach twists as you move, and though you hope he’ll speak up and put you out of your misery by giving you some kind of response, Dean says nothing.

“I should shower,” you tell him. The lights in most of the cottage living area are off already, and the light from the TV casts strange shadows over him and the couch. It’s enough light for you to see Dean already looking away from you, staring at the long wooden coffee table you’d bought from a thrift store shortly after starting at the camp.

As you pass by, however, he scoots forward on the couch and reaches out. His arm blocks your path and his hands rest on your opposite hip, holding you in place. Your heart skips a beat.

“I do want kids,” Dean admits, quieter than before. He holds your gaze. Though the room is dark, the hesitance in his expression is clear.

Has he been thinking about this too?

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, dishes still in hand as you wait for him to continue. He doesn’t, so you set the dishes on the side table to his right and take matters into your own hands.

“Yeah?”

Dean’s shoulders slump and he nods. “Yeah. I didn’t want to bring it up. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What for? Why didn’t you want to bring it up?”

Carefully, you lower yourself to sit on his thigh with your back resting against the arm of the couch. You drape your legs over his lap. Dean reaches his arm behind you and holds your hip to help you keep your balance on his legs, and almost immediately his thumb is rubbing small arcs on your side, back and forth at a steady tempo. His other hand rests on your thighs. It’s warm over your legs, and you can feel his body heat even more where your shirt has come untucked, revealing the bare skin on your side where his thumb has found purchase. He’s almost too warm to be this close to him, but you can’t bear to complain, not after so many painful years apart. You rest one arm over his shoulders, and with the other you cup his cheek, turning his face so you can look at him properly.

“I was nervous that you’d changed your mind,” he admits. The low sound of the TV almost drowns him out, so much so that if you were any farther away, you’d be straining to hear him. “It’s been so long since we talked about it, and I wasn’t sure if that was still what you wanted.”

His next words go unspoken: with me. Dean has never expressed it outright, but you know that he still sometimes feels insecure about wearing his hearing aid and his struggle with PTSD from everything that happened overseas. You’ve joined him for several video sessions with his therapist, and you know that they’re working on strategies to deal with both of those things. You try not to interfere or give your opinions on his recovery—he needs a wife and a partner, not a second therapist—but you support him in every way you can without overstepping. You never want him to feel alone because of what he’s been through.

You lean in to kiss him on the cheek opposite your hand, and you smile gently as you say, “I love you, Dean. It’s still what I want, but even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t change things between us, at least not on my end. You’re still my main man, no matter what. Kids have never been the endgame. It’s always just been you.”

The lines on Dean’s face relax, smoothing out to reveal the faintest smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. They’re just starting to reappear now that the winter is fading and he can comfortably spend more time outside. Your stomach untwists as he smiles back at you. He shifts the hand on your hip and squeezes it just a little.

“I love you too, Y/N. No matter what.”

Dean kisses you on the lips, and it’s long, slow, and sweet. He’s warm against you. You’re bone-tired, but you close your eyes and kiss back, soaking up his warmth and the feel of being in his arms after a long day at work. It’s heavenly. You never would have predicted this moment a year ago. If someone had told you that Dean wasn’t dead and that he’d find you at New Moon, and that you’d be having a conversation at one in the morning about having kids, you would’ve thought they were crazy. Now, however, you’re just grateful.

After a few moments, Dean eases his arm under your legs instead of resting it over them, then stands. He carries you to the bedroom and you relax in his arms, keeping your eyes closed for the short walk. When he sets you down on the edge of the bed, you open your eyes to look up at him. You brace your hands on the mattress behind you to keep from toppling backwards as the memory foam dips under your weight.

“I don’t want to stress about this,” you tell him. “I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t help anything. If it happens, it happens.”

He nods in agreement, then yawns. You chuckle and sit up a little more so you can stand without fighting against the mattress. Dean always complains that it’s too soft, but you like the way you can sink into it after a long day. 

“Get to bed, soldier,” you order, patting his arm. “You’ve got work in the morning.”

A month ago, Dean had decided he was ready to get back to work. You’d offered to put him on the payroll at camp as a maintenance worker or groundsperson, but he’d opted for an online position, at least for the time being. It’s a dull job compared to his work with the military. Secretly, you’re thankful that he’s chosen a safe route and that he’s feeling well enough to get back to work, but you also worry a little. For as long as you’ve known him, Dean’s been a hands-on type of person. He likes to build and fix and create. His therapy appointments are virtual too, which means that he spends most of the day cooped up in the cottage, sitting at the kitchen table or on the couch in front of a laptop. Not only is it not the healthiest thing for him physically, you know that he pushes himself to work harder than anybody should, simply because the job seems so much easier than what he used to do. Plus, being that he’s home most of the day, he’s taken on most of the cottage upkeep, cooking, and shopping so that you can spend as much time together as possible whenever you are home. You don’t mind that as much, but it does make you feel a little guilty.

“I’ll wait for you to be out of the shower,” he replies, but you shake your head.

“It’s okay. You’ve waited up long enough for me, De. You need to sleep—you’ve been burning the candle at both ends just so you can see me in the morning and at night, and I’m starting to get worried. You were falling asleep during your meeting the other day when I came home for lunch, remember?”

“I’m fine,” he insists.

Sighing, you wrap your arms around his waist, reaching up until your hands press against the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades. Your cheek presses up against his chest and you close your eyes again. He returns your embrace, and after several long moments, you feel his body relax against yours. 

I could go to sleep right here, you think with a tiny smile.

“Come on,” you say as you finally pull away, then pat him on the chest with one hand. “Go lay down. I’ll be there in a minute, okay? Get the bed warm for me.”

He nods in agreement, and you step away. You hurry to get your pajamas from the dresser before heading into the bathroom. Dean had changed long before you’d gotten home, as he always did on late nights like these. You need to shower, but you know Dean would force himself to stay up until you’re ready to go to bed too, no matter how much you push him and try to coerce him to take care of himself first. You’re exhausted, too, and the thought of having to shower before you can crash isn’t appealing.

So, you forgo your normal shower and stick with simply washing your face and brushing your teeth after changing into the pajamas. You can shower in the morning, even though it means you’ll need to change the bedding sooner than usual. Though it isn’t quite as hot as it normally is this time of year, the humidity makes everything sticky, and you’ve spent most of the day outside. A thin layer of sweat coats your skin, making even your pajamas feel gross.

When you turn off the light and step out of the bathroom, Dean looks up from the book he’s grabbed from his nightstand. It’s a novel, if you remember correctly, but you’re not sure what about. The cover picture has a cactus on it. It’s probably another western—he’s been catching up on some of his favorite authors since Sam convinced him to get a library card in December.

“You didn’t shower,” he notes, clearing his throat and sitting himself up further against the headboard. He doesn’t fool you, however. You know that he’s been nodding off instead of actually reading the library book. He’s been on the same page the past three nights.

“I’ll shower in the morning,” you reply. You throw your clothes in the hamper against the wall. “I need to change the sheets anyway, so it’s not a big deal.”

Dean hums and sets his book back in its place, then reaches over to pull the covers open for you. You climb into bed and wait until he’s dimmed the lamp beside his nightstand to cuddle up against him. The room grows darker once he does, and your eyes take a second to adjust, but you can still hear Dean’s dog tags clink as he shifts to get into a comfortable position with you at his side. You slip one arm over him, resting your hand on his chest as you close your eyes. To no surprise, it doesn’t take you long to fall asleep. 

The next morning, Dean’s asleep when you wake up, which is a rarity. Despite the fact that you’re somehow still exhausted, you know that you need to get up before he does. If you doze until he’s awake too, he’ll want to get up and make you breakfast while you shower, meaning that he won’t get the rest he needs. His PTSD symptoms start rearing their ugly heads whenever he’s overtired, and you don’t want that for him.

Showering without waking Dean would be tricky, but after a few moments of lying in the dark, you find a solution. There’s a small bathroom attached to your personal office in the main camp building, and though you haven’t used it in a while, you know that it’s clean and that it still has your normal soap and shampoo. Before Dean, you spent most of your late nights sleeping on the futon in the office, then showering and dressing in the bathroom, rather than trekking all the way back to your cottage. You hadn’t had a reason to go all the way home back then, but now you do. The shower hasn’t been used in almost a year. This morning, however, it will come in handy.

As silently as possible, you roll out of bed and gather up the few toiletries you’ll need that aren’t already in the office bathroom. You pull on a pair of sweatpants over your pajamas, plus the faded Stanford hoodie you’d gotten in support of Sam shortly after marrying Dean. You grab a bag for the toiletries and a set of work clothes to change into after you shower, then shove your feet into a pair of sandals and slip out of the cottage to head towards the main cluster of buildings.

The sun is barely up. It casts an ethereal glow over the grassy field that separates your cottage from the rest of the camp. Dew dampens the path, and it makes wildflowers and the tips of grass blades glitter in the lingering sunrise. In the trees, birds sing and coo. The soft tap of your feet on the stones is the only other sound.

You pause to breathe in deeply, then exhale. Mornings at New Moon are special to you, especially after a long, stressful night. They remind you of why you stayed—every girl needs the peace and calm that the morning brings. They deserve it. You’ve certainly needed it many times yourself.

“You’re up early.”

You turn, already speaking as you meet Meg’s steady gaze. “I needed to shower, but I didn’t want to wake Dean. He’s been staying up late for me every night.”

She mutters something in acknowledgement, then tucks her phone in her jacket pocket as you close the distance to join her outside the only empty cabin, which she’s been checking for trespassers. It’s on the outskirts of the camp, and the four girls that had occupied it for most of last year transitioned to a more traditional foster home only last month. From what you’ve heard from their social worker, they’re on the path to reunification with their family.

Now that you’re closer, Meg’s giving you a strange, almost curious look, and you frown when she lifts her chin. Her eyes glitter with a secret. 

“I’m a little afraid to ask,” you say, “but do you know something I don’t?”

She chuckles and crosses her arms in front of her. Her lips press together in a smug smile. “How are you feeling?” she asks.

Unsure of what she means, you start walking towards the office. Meg falls into step beside you, just as you knew she would. 

“Fine, I suppose,” you slowly reply. You’re careful to give vague answers, just in case she’s looking to start a tiff just for her own amusement. “Why?”

She shrugs. “Just wondering.”

A minute of silence passes as you walk together, and the path changes from stone to gravel. It crunches beneath your feet, and all around you, life begins to stir in the cabins as the girls wake and get ready for the day. They’ll be coming outside with their counselors and gathering outside the dining hall within an hour, which means time is running out if you want to shower and have time to mentally prepare for the day.

Meg holds the office door for you and you mutter your thanks, then head down the hall to your personal office. You’re just reaching the door when she calls your name from the lobby.

Turning, you raise your eyebrows expectantly. She stands near the receptionist desk, her hands at her sides, and for a second, a genuine smile flashes across her face. It’s quickly replaced with her usual nonchalant look, however, so quickly that you aren’t entirely sure that you’d seen it. You must be more tired than you’d thought.

“You should take a test,” Meg says.

You frown at her, confused, and set your bag of clothes and toiletries at your feet, against the wall. “A test?”

She nods, widening her eyes as she repeats, “A test, Y/N. You know, the tests you keep in the first aid closet? For those rare, special emergencies?”

For a moment, you just stare at her. There are very few emergencies that you handle at the camp. True, due to the nature of your job, you’re trained in a litany of thing, ranging from first aid and de-escalation to basic animal control and building maintenance, all of which is in addition to your psychology degrees and training, but the rest of the camp staff is so well-trained that rarely do situations ever become actual emergencies that you need to handle.

If you’re handling a first aid emergency, however, you do basic triage before an ambulance can arrive. You keep most of the supplies in your office, both in a cabinet and in a bag, but there are also small first aid kits in all the cabins, as well as in every building and down by the lake.

You shake your head, a little baffled by Meg’s strange behavior and comments. Neither one of you needs any kind of first aid right now, at least not that you’re aware of. Turning, you reach for the doorknob on your office door, but you stop as soon as your fingers graze the metal. It’s as if lightning has struck you, and you immediately straighten, dropping your hand back down to your side as you whirl to face her again.

“What?” you exclaim, shocked at her brazen assumption. “Are you serious?”

She shrugs and leans against the wall opposite the desk, her arms once again crossed. Her stare, as always, is unrelenting, but suddenly it makes your skin itch with anticipation. Does she know something about you that you don’t? You pride yourself on being self-aware, but is it possible that you’ve missed something?

“You’ve been nauseous on and off for almost two weeks now, and you’ve been moody. More than some of the girls, actually,” she huffs.

You narrow your eyes and cross your arms, almost a mirror image of her. “Really? Moody? That’s your argument for this, Meg?”

“Don’t hurry to prove me right,” she teases, and you quickly drop your arms again, heat rising in your cheeks. “You’ve been constantly complaining of being too hot and then too cold all week, too. Didn’t you say that was one of the things your mother-in-law complained about when she was pregnant with Dean?”

It was, and a strange feeling rises inside of you now that you remember the conversation you’d had with Meg about it. How she remembered such a detail from a random discussion you’d had almost months ago is beyond you, but it doesn’t matter. She’s put the thought in your head, and with it comes another reminder—your period hadn’t come last month, and you’ve been due for almost a week now. If it was coming, it would have been here already.

You inhale shakily and give her a terse nod.

“Right,” you say. You smooth your hands over your thighs, trying not to seem so blown away by her hypothesis. “Okay. Okay. I’m—” Shaking your head, you close your eyes and try to focus on the mental to-do list you’ve made for yourself. Then, after a second, you grab your bag from the floor. “I have to shower.”

Meg nods. “Shower,” she repeats. 

“I’ll see you later.”

She nods again, then turns on her heel and walks out of the building, leaving you standing in the hallway. You stay still for a second, listening to the front door open and close. Outside, Meg shouts at someone for standing on a bench, but the sound of her voice fades as she gets farther away from the building. Finally, you turn and open the door to your office, then quickly close it behind you.

You close your eyes and press one hand to your stomach, over the sweatshirt. It’s bulky over your pajamas. Logically, you know that if you are pregnant, the baby would still be too small to show, but it feels wrong not to feel for a baby bump now that it’s been suggested.

Not daring to get your hopes up just yet, you let your hand fall as you march to the locked metal cabinet in the corner of your office. It’s mounted to the wall and reaches almost to the ceiling, and the pregnancy tests are at the back of the top shelf. You don’t use them often, considering that New Moon is only for girls, but you keep them on hand just in case you need them for a new arrival. You’ll be lucky if the test is still good, considering you haven’t had to use one in so long.

You dump the bag from your cottage on the desk, then fumble with your keys until you find the right one. The bag falls over and knocks a pen off the desk, but you ignore it as you unlock the cabinet, pull over your rolling desk chair, and carefully climb up on it to grab one of the tests. After checking the expiration date, you tuck the flimsy cardboard box under your arm and head to the bathroom, not even bothering to close the cabinet or right the bag that’s tipped over and dumped onto your workspace. All thoughts of showering and getting ready for the day are gone. They’ve been replaced with a nervous energy that buzzes beneath your skin, making your fingers feel weak as you open the box.

The lock on the bathroom door is sturdy enough to help you feel a little bit more secure as you take the test, all the while trying to take deep breaths. Your heart feels like it’s beating too fast, and you aren’t sure if it’s because you’re nervous or excited. Maybe you’re both.

Calm down, Y/N! Freaking out isn’t going to help anybody!

You wash your hands and read the back of the box again, checking the wait time printed in tiny black letters. The test sits precariously on the countertop, in between the sink and the edge of the counter closest to the toilet, and you give it a wary glance before unlocking the bathroom door and going to sit in your office while you wait. After setting the timer on your phone, you end up pacing in front of your desk instead, from the wall to the futon and back again. 

Finally, the timer goes off. You flinch at the loud ringing, then hurry to silence it. Your hands fumble with your phone and you stay tense when the office falls quiet again. Silently, you slip it back into your pocket and go back into the bathroom. When you reach the sink, you brace your hands against the front of the bowl, on the thinnest part of the counter. You stare at yourself in the mirror for a long few seconds, pointedly not looking down at the test that’s resting only a few inches from your hands. Inside your chest, your heart pounds even harder than before and your hands shake. Everything feels so unsteady, from your head to your feet, and for a second, you worry that you might pass out. Closing your eyes, you try to take a few deep breaths to calm yourself and to slow your racing pulse.

You’re reaching for the test on the counter when there’s a knock at your office door.

“Y/N? You in there?”

“Yes!” you yelp, almost too loudly. Your hand, outstretched and only an inch from the test, knocks it sideways, sending it clattering to the floor, along with a tube of toothpaste.

Dean calls for you again and you frantically scramble to right the bathroom. You practically throw the test onto the counter. It slides into the sink, and you’re pulling the bathroom door shut behind you just as Dean pushes the office door open from the hallway. He meets your eyes and you force a smile that you hope seems normal. 

“You left before I was up,” he says. He’s dressed already, in jeans and the green jacket you’d got him for his birthday, and his hair looks damp from the shower. 

Accepting a kiss on the lips, you hum a little and let go of the door handle to wrap your arms around his waist. Can he feel your heart beating too hard inside of your chest? What about your hands trembling against his back?

“I needed to shower and I didn’t want to wake you up. I have a shower here that I used to use when I was by myself.” You tilt your head back slightly, towards the door behind you.

Dean frowns. “You could’ve showered at home.” He looks down at you, and not only does his frown deepen, but the furrow between his eyebrows appears again. His worry lines are out in full force. “What’s wrong?”

Your stomach drops. Are you supposed to tell him? What if the test turns out negative? What if—?

“Sweetheart,” Dean soothes, pulling away so there’s space between the two of you. He takes your shaking hands in his and searches your face for an answer to his concerns. “What’s on your mind? I can see all the gears turning in there.”

The tips of his fingers touch your temple. You swallow thickly and look away. A line of dust lays gray on the hardwood where your old rug used to be. You moved it just last week to clean, but apparently, you’d missed it.

“Did I do something?”

Frantic, you shake your head and find his eyes. “What? No! No, of course not.”

“Then what is it?” Dean steps closer, crowding close in a tentative way that allows you enough time to move away, if you want. You don’t, and you let your eyes fall closed as you breathe in his scent and soak in his warmth. Your hands move to clutch the sides of his shirt, pulling him infinitely closer until your front is pressed against his again. Then, for the first time all morning, you relax. Your shoulders slump and you rest your forehead against him.

“I think…” you finally say after a minute. You take a breath, willing the words out on your next exhale. “I think I might be pregnant.”

There’s silence in the moments that follow, and though you know he’s probably just processing the news, it kills you. You stay frozen in place, unable to move as you wait for Dean to speak. 

Finally, you release his shirt and step back, just enough that you can see his face without tilting your head at too uncomfortable of an angle. He’s staring at the closed bathroom door behind you, with both eyebrows raised and with long creases along his forehead. His whole body is tense and the longer he stares at the door, the deeper the furrow between his brows becomes.

“Dean?” you prompt. “Say something, please.”

“You think? Or you know?” His voice is hoarse and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, then looks back down at you. 

“I don’t know. I took a test. I was just about to look at it when you knocked.”

“Oh.” His eyes flick up again, over your shoulder at the door, then down to your face. The second hand on the wall clock ticks as you stand near each other, Dean processing the news and you holding your breath as you wait for a more concrete response from him. The ticking feels louder than it did before. Has it always been that loud?

His fingers against your cheek make you look away from where you’ve been watching the black plastic line clunk around the circumference of the clock face.

“What do you want it to say?” Dean asks.

You inhale shakily and search his eyes, hoping for an answer to the question. “What do you want?” you ask in return.

Dean shakes his head, then runs his hand over your shoulder and down your arm until he can lace his fingers with yours. You glance down at your joined hands, unsure of why he’s not answering. He’d told you only just last night that he wanted kids. His hesitation makes you wonder if something’s changed in only just a few hours.

“It’s not up to me. It’s your body, Y/N.”

The words tumble out before you can even formulate the thought. “I just wasn’t expecting this so soon. I thought we’d have more time with just the two of us. What if this changes everything? What if it’s not everything we thought it would be?”

“We’ll still have time together,” he tells you, gently squeezing your hand. “It just might be less than we’d anticipated.”

“Would it even be a good thing if I was pregnant now? I know you said last night that it’s what you wanted, but we also said—”

“We said that if it happens, it happens,” Dean interrupts. “And if it’s happening now, then that’s a good thing. If it happens later, that’s also a good thing.”

You nod and take another deep breath. The butterflies in your stomach are out in full force. You have to close your eyes as you take breaths, trying to stave off the sudden wave of nausea that accompanies your worries. Dean’s hands in yours keeps you grounded as you breathe through your nose.

When you’re finally feeling more settled, you open your eyes and silently glance behind you at the bathroom door.

“You want me to wait out here?” Dean asks.

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head. Tears burn in your eyes, and you wipe them away with one hand, embarrassed by your reaction. “Why am I so scared? We just said that this is supposed to be a good thing.”

Dean squeezes your hand again. “This is a big thing, Y/N. It’s okay to be scared. I can be brave for both of us, okay?” He smiles a little, his lips pressed together, and you nod in response, inhaling deeply through your nose.

You feel stuck in place. Part of you wants to go look at the test, but another part of you is rooted to the floor, keeping you in this moment. The results of the test could turn your life upside down for the second time in a year, and you aren’t sure if you’re ready for that. What if you aren’t a good parent? What if you aren’t able to do your job while you’re pregnant? What would you do instead?

“Hey.”

You blink, then meet Dean’s eyes again. Another tear rolls down your cheek and you sniffle, wiping it away with the back of your free hand. His smile has disappeared, and now he watches you with a concerned frown that makes his lips turn downward at the corners and makes the wrinkle between his eyebrows reappear.

“There’s nothing to be scared of, sweetheart. We’re in this together, and I’m with you no matter what. Do you want me to look first?” he asks.

After a few seconds, you nod. You don’t know what to say, but you know it won’t matter to Dean whether you speak or not. He’ll do and be whatever you need in this moment, just like he always does.

He releases your hand and carefully steps around you, opening the bathroom door to retrieve the test from the sink. You’d left the light on in the bathroom when you’d shut the door, and now it floods your office from behind you. Dean’s footsteps are soft and his jacket rustles as he picks up the test, and you hold your breath as you listen for some kind of sign or clue as to the results. When there isn’t any, you turn in a circle to look at him.

“What’s it say?”

His profile gives you very little information about the results, and you take a tentative step forward when he doesn’t move or say anything. Maybe he just didn’t hear you? His bad ear is on the other side, but it’s still possible.

“Dean?” you prompt, stepping closer a second time. You wonder if he’s disappointed and that’s why he hasn’t said anything. The thought makes you nauseous again.

“You’re pregnant,” he answers. His voice shakes as he stands staring down at the plastic stick. It’s so small in his hand, and an image of him cradling a tiny newborn flashes in your mind.

You freeze a few feet from the bathroom threshold. “It’s positive?”

He nods and looks up, meeting your eyes. Tears glisten on his lower lash line, and you press your hands over your mouth, inhaling deeply as your heart leaps inside your chest. The wrinkle between his brows is gone once again, replaced with the kind of shock you’ve only seen a few times, the first being when you’d told him you’d loved him all those years ago.

“We’re having a baby,” Dean tells you, letting out a laugh. A smile grows on his face as tosses the test onto the counter and closes the distance between you in two long steps. He crushes you against him in a tight hug.

Too shocked to hug him back, you let Dean wrap his arms around you and lift you off the ground. Your feet dangle for a second before your instincts catch up with you. Hurriedly, you move your hands from your mouth to his back as your legs come up to wrap around his waist. You bury your face in the crook of Dean’s neck as you smile. Your cheeks already ache and you’re blinking away tears, but it doesn’t matter.

“We’re having a baby!” you exclaim. He spins around with you in his arms, and you push away from his neck and pull one hand from his shoulders so you can cradle his cheek in your palm. 

Dean’s eyes are alight with joy, making the green of his irises seem even more vibrant in the morning sunshine coming in from the office window. Your smile matches his as the scruff on his jawline scratches at the soft skin of your palm.

“You’re gonna be a dad,” you tell him, gently rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone. “You’re gonna be a great dad.”

He takes a few steps, then sets you down on the only clear space on your desk, beside the bag you’d brought with you this morning. You let your legs fall from around his waist so they bracket his hips, but you don’t drop your hand from his face.

“I love you,” Dean says. He brushes the backs of his knuckles over your abdomen, and you laugh when it tickles. There’s no bump yet, but the effect is all the same. Dean smiles wider, his eyes flicking to your stomach, then back up to your face. “I love both of you.”

You laugh and pull him down for a kiss. “We love you too, Dean Winchester. Forever and ever.”

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi!

Want to be tagged? Send me an ask!

@mrswhozeewhatsis​​ @alexwinchester23​​ @shaelyn102​​ @lyarr24​​ @supermoonpanda​​ @ultimatecin73​​ @musiclovinchic93​​ @shamelesslydean​​ @mlovesstories​​ @ellie-andthemachine​​ @karikatz12481​​ @amionthetumbler​​​ @akshi8278 @wayward-gypsy​​​

[lisenberry]

Don't have a name for this one yet, but this is Part One of Posh!Price, and my third entry in the Summer Love series.

Inspired in no small part by this amazing ask from a few months ago.

NSFW/MDNI/18+

CW: somewhat public sex, Price smokes and drinks, language.

There was nothing John hated more than pomp and fanfare.  Or tiny plates of cold, unidentifiable food.  Or the physical constraints of formal dinner wear.  Give him a waist-deep swamp, a warm MRE, and thirty pounds of gear any day.  Anything but the soul-sucking misery of a back-patting, bureaucratic group wank.

The only reason he was at the gala at all was because he didn’t have a choice.  Well, he always had a choice, in theory.  But in practice, he knew he’d be there the moment you asked him so nicely.  With a glowing smile and the promise that you’d make it worth his time.  He could sit still, and behave, like a good lad.

For a little while, at least.   

Finally, after the third hour of watching your every move from the edges as you made your rounds to financiers and well-to-dos, he refilled his glass of whisky at the open bar and took a fresh cigar to the secluded terrace.  With the full-bodied taste of earthy leather, sweet molasses and crisp cedar settling thickly on his tongue, he reflected on the circumstances that brought him there.

He’d met you six months prior at a product development retreat to introduce a new communication device that would resist both detection and interference in the field.  He’d been skeptical of your credentials at first, but by the time you finished your presentation and answered every one of his biting remarks with ease, he was left impressed with your knowledge not only of the tech, but of the practical application as well. 

You had experience with the weaknesses of the current equipment, and the upgrades would significantly improve not only the efficiency of the tradecraft, but the safety of his team.

He’d sought you out for the rest of the weekend, practically joined you at the hip, as you bonded over your shared combat experience and time at the Royal Military Academy in Sandhurst, although you’d been several years behind him. 

By the end, you’d exchanged numbers and a handful of nights together since.  When he was off mission, and you were in between business travel.  And there was that one wild night in Dubai when your flight paths had crossed clandestinely. 

Neither of you were in a position to make things any more official, but he never turned down the chance to spend more time with you. 

“How’d I know you’d be hiding out here?”  He heard you approach even before you spoke, as you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind. 

“I’ve hit my limit on polite conversation, I’m afraid.” 

John could stay hidden, and completely still in a bush for 24 hours without so much as blinking, all while holding a rifle scope steady on a target kilometers away.  But he’d grown restless to be so near, and yet so far away from you.

“What about impolite conversation?” you countered, slipping a hand lower to where his tuxedo shirt tucked into his trousers.  “Think we could fuck out here without anyone seeing us?” you murmured into the side of his neck. 

Your heels gave you just enough height to reach a bit of exposed skin above the collar of his well-fit jacket.

“Why do you think I chose this advantage point?” he growled with a grin, twisting around to face you and holding his cigar between his teeth.  It freed his hands to pull you closer, enough to feel just how much he needed you and slip up under the slit of your evening dress.

The smoke from it hung heavy in the humid summer air between you. 

You’d told him you didn't care much for cigars before you met him, but that your granddad would smoke the same label in his office when he’d let you sit atop his lap and listen to old war stories.

He'd been too young in WW2, but he'd served after.  The rebuilding in Berlin and the struggles throughout the continent that followed.  The Cold War and later, the troubles in Ireland.  His greatest successes and his deepest regrets.

John didn’t seem to mind that you’d drawn a connection between him and childhood memories of your grandfather, but you'd held off from confessing that it was something even stronger than just a pleasant recollection.  It was a feeling deep in your bones, of when home was a place in the world.  Concrete and unmoving, and yet a soft place to land.  Not just another tumultuous thing to be handled.  

Navigated.  Fixed.

With John, you found comfort again.  Or at least, recognized the possibility.  But still, you pulled the thick roll from his mouth as if it was competing for his attention and claimed his deceptively soft lips and warm tongue in a kiss that was as long as it was deep. 

“I’ve missed you, John.”  One night together was never enough.  Two was always a pleasant surprise, but they were few and far between.  Anything more was wishful thinking.

“I have a short leave starting the week after next.  Are you free?”  He nuzzled the length of his chin along your cheek, unwillingly to sever the connection even as he spoke.  His hands moved circles up along your hips.

“I’m going home for a family thing at our place in the country.  You’re welcome to tag along.”  You’d meant the last part to sound more sarcastic, but your voice hitched as he pressed you against the stone railing and spread your legs to better fit him against you.

“Where is it?”

“Herefordshire.  I was only kidding.  It’ll be horribly...I don’t even know how to describe it.”  

What were the odds that it would be the same area where he’d grown up as well?  In between his time at boarding schools, at least.  He was about sixteen the last time he’d been home.  He understood all too well the stress of returning.

However, he was unwilling to give you up for long. Not when you smelled like gardenias, looked at him so fondly, and clung so snuggly around his waist.

“How can I say ‘no’, when you’ll be there?”  It was his turn to claim your mouth, as he quickly proved just how clever he was at evading detection.

You just had to stay quiet, and not drop his cigar.

[seeingivy]

the party scene

roommate eren x f!reader 

you and eren won’t dance 

**find the series masterlist here

content warning: drinking, hitch and marlowe being annoying, someone gets pushed into a pool, marco getting clowned for his halloween costume, toilet humor 

an: ok yall. here’s the chapter. heheheheheh. and you should listen to the song, when you get to it. for vibes of course. to many anon who guessed correctly, hundreds of kisses. not my fav roommates chapters me thinks (but also it seems like everyone else has different fav chapters than I expected so)

previous part linked here

- 

“What are you going to be for the party?” 

You can literally see Eren’s ears perk up, breaking his concentration from the dinner he was cooking on the stove. You tried to make ravioli for dinner. Key word, tried. He didn’t let you stand there for longer than two minutes because he didn’t want you to “burn the apartment down.” 

You put foil in the microwave one time and suddenly he thinks you’re some arsonist. 

“The party on Friday? You’re going, peaches?” 

“Yeah. Jean invited me. Kind of being a wingwoman for him and bringing my classmate Marco, who I’m like ninety percent sure he has a crush on.” 

Eren turns his face back to the pan, dishing the food around on the plate. You get up occasionally, grabbing things you know he’ll need before he asks for them. Setting the dishes, grabbing the salt (because this man doesn’t know how to season), the Yerba Mate Eren claims to hate but drinks anyways. 

“Hitch and I are going as Anakin and Padme. From Star Wars. Apparently, Marlowe loves that crap and she never gave him the time of day for it. She thinks it’ll make him real mad if we show up like that.” 

“You should put a braid in your hair. You know, like from the second movie.” 

“Ew. I’m going as the third movie look.” 

“Good. He’s hotter in that movie anyways.” 

He flashes you a smile as he dishes out the food, lifting the plates and setting them on the table. You join him with the drinks, the two of you sitting right next to each other. 

It was getting easier. Eren was your friend. Maybe even your best friend. You’d still get the occasional heart pounding, flustered cheesk whenever he walked past you or said something that made your heart flutter, but other than that, you were making progress. You can live with a heart flutter here and there. 

“What are you going to be?” 

“Jean wants to do some basic angel/devil thing for the party. I’ve got a white dress and he apparently has a halo already so it should be fine.” 

“Have you ever been to a party?” 

“Yeah. Not really my thing though, but I don’t mind helping Jean. It can be fun with friends. Dancing, letting loose and all that.” 

“Hm. Save a dance for me, peaches?” 

“I’m not riding up on you, Eren. That’s weird.” 

He drops his fork, an exasperated expression spreading across his face. The vein in his forehead is prominent and you always enjoy when it shows up because you know you’ve won. He’s just that easy to aggravate. 

“Who said anything about you riding up on me? I didn’t mean it like that. That’s like…perverted. You could expect that type of shit from Jean or something but-” 

You place your hand against his forearm, laughing in his face. He stops immediately at the sight of your laughter, glaring at you. 

“You’re so easy to piss off, Eren. I’ll save you a dance, okay? A normal one.” 

He holds his hand out, gesturing for you to shake.

“Deal?” 

“Deal, Ren.” 

 - 

“Hey.” 

“Hi Ren.” 

He steps into the bathroom, standing directly behind you as you finish doing your makeup for the party. Jean was supposed to be here in thirty minutes and the two of you were going to go pick up Marco. Meaning, you were going to have to deal with their awkward pining for the ten minute drive to the party. 

“Can you help me with something?” 

“Sure. What’s up?” 

“Can you help me draw the scar?” 

“Oh, yeah. Show me the picture.” 

He hands you his phone as you inspect the picture, the scar starting before the eyebrow and breaking just underneath the left eye. He sits on top of the toilet seat, his ankles crossed over each other. 

“Ah. Hitch gave me this to use. For the scar.” 

He hands you a tube of lipstick, which you slide open and swatch against the back of your hand. Too glittery for a scar.

“Do you mind if I use mine? Hers is kind of glittery and it’ll look kinda weird?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

You bend over, digging through your bag to find the one tube of red lipstick you own, that Pieck forced you to buy for her wedding. You can’t show up to my wedding in lip gloss, that’s an atrocity. You find the tube at the end of the drawer, walking over to where Eren was sitting. 

As you amble over, you realize that the toilet seat is way too low and you can’t properly reach Eren’s face to reach. You were towering over him, his long legs sprawled across the floor of the bathroom. 

“Why are these toilet seats so low? I can’t even get the right angle.” 

“Levi. Kenny told me he hates having his feet dangle over certain toilets so he makes sure to get the shortest ones when picking his apartments. As if Levi’s going to come shit in our toilet at some point.” 

You nod, trying your best to lean over and indent the mark over Eren’s face. Out of all the angles you try, not one of them works - your head is blocking the light, your hands are in a weird position, you’re all up in his space. 

“Just sit on my knee. If it’s easier.” 

He splits his legs, tapping on the top of his thigh for you to sit. You nod, setting both of your legs on each side of his one as you lightly perch on top of his leg. 

“That’s hovering. Not sitting, Y/N. It’s fine.” 

You sigh, pressing your full weight against Eren as you lean back over for the phone and check the picture. As you slide over reaching for it, Eren puts his hands on your waist, holding you from falling off of his knee. 

“Thanks Ren. Just wanted to check again before I started.” 

You focus on the picture, the light shining against your face as you check where the scar was exactly on your eyes. Eren locks his fingers together behind your waist, pulling you closer so you can get a better look. 

“Okay. I think I’ve got it down.” 

You cradle the side of his face in your hands as you start drawing the scar on, trying to be as gentle as possible. Trying to avoid the fact that you’re basically straddling him right now. You can feel his cheeks warming under your touch and you try your hardest not to let the smile spread across your face. At least it’s not just you. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing Ren. You’re just blushing, that’s all.” 

“You’d blush if you were in my position too.” 

You shake your head, pressing your fingers against his lips so you can stop him from moving. You’re only halfway through the scar and if he talks again you’re going to smudge it. 

“Since when do you wear red lipstick?” 

“I don’t. Pieck made me buy it for her wedding. It’s for special occasions.” 

You lean back, cupping his face in your hands as you glean your eyes over the scar. You compare it to the picture and figure it's semi accurate, giving him a smile to signal you’re done. You slide off of his legs, beckoning him to join you in the mirror. You watch him lean forward, eyeing your work. 

“Thanks.” 

“No problem.” 

“Can I try?” 

“Try what?” 

“Doing makeup on you.” 

You pause, dropping your lipstick tube back into the box. 

“I don’t have a scar for my costume.” 

“I know. But you must have something left to do. You just looked so focused, like you were face painting, and I just wanted to try.” 

“Um, okay. You can take this glitter. You basically just dip your finger in it and swipe it against my eyelids. And then along the collarbone too, because it's body glitter.” 

He nods, taking the white glitter into his hands. He inspects the box first, turning it over and over again, holding it up against the light, smelling it. 

“Do you need to do a police inspection on the box? It’s just glitter.” 

“Shut up. I was just checking if it was okay to use.” 

“It’s obviously okay to use if I’m giving it to you. I’ve used it before.” 

He rolls his eyes, learning down. He sets his hands on both sides of your face, angling your face to inspect you this time. 

“You’re short.” 

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” 

“Do you always have to give me attitude?” 

“Pretty much.” 

“Sit on the counter. It’ll be easier for me to do if we’re closer to the same level.” 

You brace your palms against the counter, trying to push yourself onto the counter. You clearly misestimated how tall the counter was because you barely hit the back of the top, stumbling in the air. 

“Okay, Humpty Dumpty. Let me help you.” 

He reaches down, securing his hands around your waist to lift you up to the counter. You can feel your cheeks burning at the sensation, unable to look him in the eyes. 

Right. Because it was getting easier, because he was becoming your friend. But there were still moments like this. Ones where you can feel your cheeks burning, your heart pounding, your fingers shaking. 

You hate that he still makes you feel this way. 

“Okay, widen your stance.” 

“What?” 

“Open your legs.” 

“Ew. You’re so vulgar, Eren.” 

“Well, I said to widen your stance and you gave me that stupid look on your face. It’s your fault.” 

You roll your eyes, parting your legs. He steps in between the space, leaning close to your face with the glitter still in his hands. 

“So, the eyelids and collarbones?” 

“Yeah. You can just use your fingers. You wash your hands after you pee, right?” 

“Of course not.” 

“What?” 

“It’s better for the environment. If I just wait until I have to poop, I can just save water by washing my hands once. You should try it.” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“As if. Girls don’t poop.” 

“Yes, they do.” 

“No, they don’t.” 

“There’s no way girls don’t poop.” 

“Ask your mom. Or Mikasa. They’ll tell you the same thing.” 

“Okay, stop fucking around. We’re running late.”

“You started it with your stupid toilet humor.”

“Shut up. Your attitude is going to kill me one day.” 

“That’s a promise, Yeager.” 

He rolls his eyes, a small smile spread across his face as he dips his thumb into the glitter. He cups the side of your face and you flutter your eyes shut, his fingers gentle against your eyes. You can hear him laughing and you squint your eyes, glaring at him as you open them. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing Y/N. You’re just blushing, that’s all.” he responds, his tone mocking. 

“Did you do this just to prove a point? It looks like finger painting, my ass.” 

“Close your eyes. I’m not done yet.” 

You shut your eyes again, Eren sliding the last bit of glitter along your eyes. You open your eyes to find him staring at you, his eyes wide. 

“What did you do? Don’t tell me there’s glitter on my forehead.” 

“No, it just looks pretty, that’s all.” 

You look down, focusing on his hands as he dips into the glitter again. Stupid fucking hands and voice and smell and hair and soft cheeks. You can literally feel your heartbeat all the way in your stomach and he’s barely even touching you. 

He uses his hands to tilt your face up, lightly pressing the glitter against the exposed parts of your neck. You feel your body shiver, instantly remembering the last time you and Eren were like this. Pressed up in the bathroom, with him kissing your neck. He presses his hand to your shoulder, his eyes washing over in concern at you shivering. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah, sorry. Got a weird sense of deja vu, that’s all.” 

He nods, finishing off the last of the glitter. When he’s done, he locks his hands across your waist again, lightly setting you back down on the counter as you both stand there. You’re both staring at each other, neither one of you talking first. 

Right. Because what are you supposed to say after that? Oh, sorry, I was just thinking of your lips on my neck, my bad.

The doorbell rings and Eren gives you a soft smile before squeezing your shoulder and leaving. You can hear Hitch in the doorway and you try to ignore the way your entire body is steaming. 

  -

“What are you even supposed to be, Marco?” 

“I’m a space cowboy, Y/N!”

“You’re holding a glittery gun and wearing a flannel. You look like a kid who got lost at Party City and picked the closest thing you could find. You don’t even have a cowboy hat.” 

“Ignore her, Marco. I think you look great.” 

You watch Marco’s cheeks turn a bright pink, awkwardly stuttering to respond to Jean. Great. They’re going to do this whole oblivious idiots thing all night. 

Marco slides into the front as you and Jean walk to the other side, unlocking the car. 

“Ignore her, Marco. I think you look great.” you say, mocking Jean’s high pitched voice. 

He rolls his eyes, lightly shoving you as you settle into the seat behind him. They’re both talking animatedly, forgetting you were even sitting in the back. You unlock your phone, playing Wordscapes as they go on in the background. 

- 

Eren’s eyes were trained on your figure, as Jean and Marco were spinning you around on the dance floor with them for a better part of the last forty-five minutes. He’s been waiting, staring at you, anticipating when you’ll look at him. 

You’re driving him crazy. Today, especially. Soft glitters, a willowy white dress, that stupid flowery perfume you wore during the concert. He even likes the stupid halo you have on your head. 

He wants to touch you. Press his hands against yours, drag you out and leave with you so he was the only one who could see you like this, your stupid eyes glittering in the light. 

He hates that you can still make him feel this way. 

He sees you leave, waving off Jean and Marco who were still left on the dance floor. Marco’s wearing your halo and you have the glittery gun Marco was holding. 

He’s still watching you. Shamelessly. You weave around people talking, wait to walk forward so you don’t get in the way of pictures, compliment strangers on their costumes. 

“What are you staring at?”

“Nothing, Hitch.” 

She’s been annoyed for a better part of the last hour, not that he’s been paying much attention to it. Marlowe still hasn’t shown up. 

He doesn’t mind the guy. He doesn’t quite understand why Marlowe and Hitch have to play these games - circling around each other, making each other jealous, making up. He figures a part of it is the chase, but he’s always found that part the most agonizing. He’d catch you if he could. He’s been waiting long enough. He’d make you feel good right here and right now. 

He watches you leave the room, leaving the heat of the room to the patio outside. 

“Mind if I leave? Just call me when he’s here, okay?” 

Hitch nods and Eren basically bolts out the door, ready to follow you where you went. But before he can, Jean all but falls right off the dance floor, piled on the floor in front of him. He can see Marco’s hand under him, dragging them both up by their arms. He can tell Jean’s already too far gone and that he has to deal with this first. Then you. 

-

Your feet hurt. Like a bitch. You made the wrong choice of wearing your Doc Martens to the party. You had figured you wouldn’t be moving much, just sticking to the walls and talking to whoever you knew there. But no, of course Jean’s nervous ass had to drag you onto the dance floor with Marco, the three of you spinning in circles. 

You had made your safe escape, sitting outside on the patio. You had been watching the wind whistle through the trees in the dead of night, watching the lights in the pool change colors. They had been changing every minute - switching from purple, to red, to green. There were a few stars glittering out, barely sparkling in the sky. 

“Anyone sitting here?” 

You look up to find a guy with black hair and pale green eyes kneeling down, crossing his legs next to yours. 

“No. Well you are, now.” 

He smiles, the two of you sitting in silence. You watch people swerve around the pool, girls holding hands, people leaning against the chairs, everyone nursing drinks in their hands. 

“I’ve never seen you around here.” 

“Yeah. I don’t really come to these things, I just came here with my friend Jean.” 

He nods, leaning down to feel the temperature of the water. 

“Do you want to play twenty questions?” 

You hike your knees against your chest, tangling your fingers together across. 

“Sure.” 

“Your name is…?” 

“Y/N. Yours?” 

“Marlowe.” 

Right. Hitch’s Marlowe. The guy she was trying to make jealous, the reason Eren was seeing her and not you. Well, not exactly. He said you two were just a mistake but you could have convinced him if she wasn’t in the picture. Semantics. He taps your shoulder and you forget that it’s your turn. 

“You play a sport, Marlowe?” 

“Water Polo.” 

You nod, lightly turning your head to the side. This is wrong. Surely Hitch wouldn’t be the happiest that you were sitting with Marlowe and not her. You can hear the party getting louder behind you and you swear you can hear her screaming in there somewhere. 

“Seeing anyone, Y/N?” 

“Uh, no. You?” 

“Not exactly, Y/N.” 

“I have this friend, I think you’d like her. Her name is-” 

“Hitch?” 

You pause, swallowing as you turn your face to look at him. He’s sitting way too close, an all-knowing look plastered on his face. 

“Yeah.” 

“Thanks for the suggestion. I’m okay, for now. It’s your turn to ask.” 

“Um, okay. Why don’t you want to see Hitch?” 

“Because I’m talking to you.” 

He untangles his legs and stands up, holding out his hand for you to follow. You press your hand into his and he pulls you up, not letting go of your hand as the two of you stand. The party is getting even louder, the sound of voices drowning out the sound of the music. You’re positive you can hear her now. 

“My turn. Do you know a guy named Eren? Plays soccer, green eyes?” 

“Uh, no. Never heard of him.” 

He nods, squinting his eyes at you. He must know Eren’s your roommate. Maybe he’s found out their together and he’s trying to get you to admit it. You let go of his hand, the two of you standing awkwardly by the pool. 

You can’t really tell what he’s getting at, but every part of him irks you out. He’s perfect for Hitch. 

“My turn, Marlowe. Are we done now?” 

“That’s barely even twenty. But fine, one more question.” 

You teeter on the balls of your feet, ready to take off the second he asks his stupid question. He turns to the side, eyeing the window, before asking. 

“When was the last time someone kissed you?” 

Before you can respond, Marlowe crashes into the pool, with Eren suddenly standing at your side. Eren just pushed Marlowe into the fucking pool. You can hear the sound of footsteps behind you - Hitch, Jean, and Marco at your sides. 

Jean and Marco - well wasted beyond their minds - swing their arms around you, slurring as they ask you if you’re okay. Hitch on the other hand is pissed. At Eren. 

“What the hell is your problem, Eren?” 

“Him, Hitch. He was pissing me off.” 

“This wasn’t what I meant when I asked you for help with this Eren. And your stupid roommate wasn’t helping the case either.” 

You feel your eyes widen, as you make eye contact with Hitch, awkwardly crossing your arms across each other. You turn back to Jean, who still isn’t paying attention, instead playing rock paper scissors with Marco on the floor. 

“You want to be with Marlowe so bad, Hitch? Go ahead and join him.” 

He leans over, lightly pushing Hitch into the pool where Marlowe was still watching. He turns to you and ou can tell he’s pissed - that stupid vein on his forehead is showing again. But not in the good way. 

“We’re leaving, Y/N.” 

He grabs the edge of your wrist, dragging you towards the door as you shake on his hand. 

“I drove here with Marco and Jean, Eren. And they’re way too drunk to drive home now.” 

You both turn back, leaning over Marco and Jean. Jean’s way too out of it, but Marco looks up, smiling at the two of you. 

“You guys are so cute. I love your Anakin and Padme costume.” 

Right. Because he took your halo and you took the glittery gun because he kept hitting Jean with it. Eren turns to you, shaking your hand again. 

“Armin will come get them. You and I are leaving. Now.” 

“But how will he even find them? And what about Marco’s car?” 

Eren turns around fully, stopping in the center of the door. He’s pissed, at you now, and you can lightly hear Marlowe and Hitch arguing in the background. 

“You can hear them right? Knowing them, they’re going to walk up in a few seconds and start arguing with you and me. And if he says some shit again, I’m going to do worse than just push him into a fucking pool. You and I are leaving.” 

He tangles his fingers around your wrist again, his touch still gentle, as the two of you file out of the party, making it back to the apartment. 

 - 

Eren doesn’t say anything to you as you walk to the car, when you drive home, or even when you stare at him from the confines of your kitchen. He can tell by the look in your eyes that you’re waiting. For an explanation. 

But he can’t do that can he? Tell you that the reason he pushed Marlowe in the pull and argued with Hitch is because he can’t stand the thought of him being with you? He can see the entire scene in his head, like he has been for the past hour, his anger burning every time he does. 

“Jean, get the fuck up. You too, Marco.” 

They both stand up, half leaning on each other. Totally gone. 

“Eren. Marlowe’s here.” 

He turns to find Hitch at his side, her face scrunched up in anger. Eren waves off Marco and Jean, pushing them towards the kitchen where (he hopes) they’ll find water and sober up a little. There’s no way he’s letting them drive you home, that’s for sure. 

“Where?” 

“With your stupid roommate outside. What is she doing?” 

Eren turns his neck to find you, where he was just about to join you, sitting by the side of the pool. He can see Marlowe sitting next to you, leaning way too close for his liking. He turns back around, pressing his hands against Hitch’s shoulders. 

“Get him to leave. Now.” 

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” 

He drags Hitch out by the arm, the two of them leaning their necks so they can hear what you and Marlowe are talking about. 

“Seeing anyone, Y/N?” 

That’s enough. Eren moves forward, not exactly sure what he’s going to do, but Hitch stops him, pulling him back by the wrist. 

“What are you doing, Hitch?” 

Hitch digs her fingers into Eren’s wrist, turning to glare at him. 

“What the fuck is she doing?” 

“He asked her the question, Hitch. Shut the fuck up.” 

He’s getting angrier. He can feel it - burning hot, red anger. Because why the fuck is Marlowe talking to you? Asking you if you’re alone? Why are you talking to him when you know he’s here? And why the fuck is Hitch pissed at you like Marlowe’s not the one all over you right now? Don’t you know he’s been waiting for that dance you promised him all night? 

“Not exactly, Y/N.” 

“I have this friend I think you’d like. Her name is-” 

“Hitch?” 

He turns back, his turn to glare at Hitch. 

“See, Hitch. It’s fucking Marlowe. Now go and stop him.” 

“How the fuck am I supposed to stop him? And I have no interest in chasing him.” 

“Get mad. Argue and then kiss and makeup. I don’t give a fuck. Just get him to stop fucking talking to her. Now.” 

“I already told you. I’m not chasing him.”

“This isn’t fucking about you. Do something now or I’ll call the deal off now. I’ve already done more than enough and you can’t do one thing for me?” 

“Why do you even care?” 

He turns his neck again, to find you and Marlowe standing, his hand in yours. He can’t stand it. Your hand in his. Because he doesn’t deserve you. No one does. Because he can’t treat you right and Eren can. He’d praise the ground you walk on if you let him. 

He hears the last question and he can’t take it anymore.

“When was the last time you were kissed?” 

So he does the only thing he can think of. Push Marlowe in the pool. Drag you out of the party, where Hitch and Marlowe and Jean or Marco or anyone can’t talk to you. See you. He hates it. Being possessive, getting jealous. He knows you’re not his. But he can’t fucking stand it. It makes his skin fucking burn thinking of an asshole like Marlowe even touching you, let alone kissing you. 

“Earth to Ren?” 

He looks back up to find you staring at him, awkwardly brushing your hands against your forearms. Right. Because you’re still waiting for a fucking answer and he can’t tell you. Tell you that the thought of another man touching you drives him crazy, that the only person who could touch you right, make you feel good was him. 

“You’re doing that thing again. I can see the steam coming off of your head.” 

He deflates, leaning against the counter as he watches you. You’re moving from the side, pressing the glass of water in your hand to the dispenser in the kitchen. It’s pissing him off even more. The thought of someone seeing you like this - bedhead in the morning, focused when you’re doing your makeup, half asleep on the couch. He can’t fucking stand it. 

“So. Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No.” 

“Okay, Darth Vader. No need to growl at me.” 

Fuck. Everything is pissing him off. Everything. 

“Let’s think about something else, yeah? We don’t have to talk about it just….stop being so pissy.” 

You’re at his side, circling the glass of water in your hand. 

“Fine. The answer to the question. What was it?” 

“What question, Ren?” 

“The one Marlowe asked you. Before I pushed him in the pool.” 

When was the last time you were kissed? In the bathroom, when Eren had his lips pressed to your neck. 

“A real kiss, Y/N.” 

Eren Yeager, mind reader.

“Oh. Um. A while ago, maybe a year? It was back when I was dating Floch.” 

Eren turns his neck, his eyes flashing at you as you look at him. He looks less angry, his eyes more concerned than murderous like they were a few seconds ago. 

“I don’t even think I can remember. I don’t know - he never really liked that stuff. Affection, compliments, all that.” 

“Did you ask him to? Do that stuff?”

“At first, yeah. But he never did.” 

Now he’s even more pissed. Because an asshole wanting to kiss you, him doing it all wrong is infuriating enough. But the fact that you had to ask someone to do it? He’d literally drop on his fucking knees if you gave him the chance and you had to ask someone for it? 

Eren does the only thing he can. The only thing he knows how to do. He wraps his arms around you, tucking your face against his neck as he holds you. 

It was either this or kissing you, full on like he wanted to. But he can’t really do that. So hugging it is. He hears you murmur against his shoulder, your arms pressing against his back. 

“S’okay Eren. What are you so mad about?” 

“You said we didn’t have to talk about it. And no. It’s not.” 

“We don’t. But I think this is less about whatever happened and more about whatever just-” 

He tightens his grip on you, the pressure of his arms silencing you. 

“I’m mad because you should be kissed. Often. And by someone who knows how. Like they can’t get enough of you, like you’re the air they breathe, like you’re inventing kissing just by putting your lips together.”

Shit. He said too much. 

You stand in silence, staring at him as he finishes talking. Oh he messed up big time. 

He watches the smile spread across your face, your eyes still in the dim light of the kitchen. Stupid fucking glitter. He’s going to go into the bathroom and throw it out. 

“Didn’t realize you cared so much, Ren.” 

He doesn’t respond. 

“Why do you?” 

“Why do I what?” 

“Care so much, Eren?” 

You watch him constrict his fists again, his jaw clenched.

“Selfish reasons.” 

You walk up to the counter where he’s leaning over, lacing your arm through his. You push your hands into his fists, forcing him to stop clenching his hands so hard. You can tell his anger is dissipating, his shoulders slowly tensing as you touch him. 

“Selfish reasons?” 

“I don’t want to see you unhappy or anything. You’re like...my best friend right now. Is it so weird that I want you to be happy?” 

You smile, leaning your head against his shoulder. Fucking idiot. 

“No, Ren. It’s not weird.” 

You both stand like that for a while, your head pressed against his shoulder. He’s still tense, his heart pounding against your ear. 

“So I say all this nice shit to you and you have nothing to say back?” 

“Nope.” 

“Nothing at all.” 

You shake your head, watching him begrudingly smile at you as you two smile In the kitchen. You stand there for a while, the anger, awkwardness, wearing off. It’s just you two, standing in the light of your kitchen. 

“You promised me a dance. You never even gave me one, Ren.” 

“I’m not riding up on you, Y/N.” 

“I’m heartbroken.” 

You both laugh and Eren leans over, grabbing your phone from the side. He puts a song on - I Won’t Dance by Fred Astaire - and holds his hands out. You lean forward, knotting your hands behind his back as he presses his hands to your waist.

“You know Fred Astaire, Ren?” 

“Old timey shit. My parents love it.” 

You tangle your hands behind his neck, the two of you dancing in the dim light of your kitchen. 

You hate this. That you want to lick all his wounds, hold him till his anger goes away. That you want to dance like this in the kitchen with him, all the time. 

He hates this. That it’s this easy for you to fix it all for him. For you to make it better. That he wants to hold you, make you feel good every night. 

Do you love each other? 

- 

next part linked here

taglist: @maliakealoha @smolone88 @mykyoon @squirrelspoetry @roronoazorosbxtchh @fell-4-u @erensleftnutt @thelazylemur @mg63k @filunara @mblrrr @spidersinmybutthole @lezsie @erensmoodygf @maesthebestmonth @nanamiswife22 @lalalucidity @lapin0u @cullenswife @leafguitar @saiyasworld @rebeccawinters @mrs-sullys-blog @red-moon-dream @icansmellsouls @luvinclouds @katestrophes @amourely @6sakusa @miralbdo @k0z3me @celiniverse @txminie-blog @erenspersonalwh0re @s0f14sbs @violetmatcha @sweetenertea @wheredidmycrowngo @serendippindots @intimacywithceline @alonemoth @l0v31yw0r1d @meowmeowmau @miasthoughtsdotcom @lia-sstuff @sad-darksoul @bsenpai @getfckdd @twistedchild808 @conniesbbymama @tysynn @smokeyfuzz @faejvst 

reply under this post or any of the one’s linked above to be added to the tag list! <3 

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

The Feral Princess - Part 2

Marvel AU

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Theme: Soulmate AU / Medieval / Fantasy / Soulmate Marks

Summary: Bucky and Steve have known they were soulmates since they were children. Fate bringing a then sickly Steve and the future King together. War takes them apart and throws them back together over and over, in and out of each other lives, arms and beds. But something is missing and throughout, they know they are missing their third and final piece. The kingdom is now Bucky's and Steve's, the latter now a leader and no longer a sickly child. Both are war heroes, with the respect of their country and those that surround it. They are a force to be reconned with, admired and respected within the other royal houses. They could have any maiden or princess they wanted, but they don't want just anyone. They want their soulmate. They want their princess. Even if she is known as The Feral Princess.

Chapter Summary: We meet the reader and a visitor witnesses her unruly behaviour.

Chapter Warning: Mentions of violence against children, physical violence against the person threatening the child, implied feeding of people to humans.

You’re already stirring when you hear the patter of little feet along the wooden floor. The voice of one of the Royal Guards comes soon after.

“Your Royal Highness where are you going? And where is your Governess?”

There was a sound of raspberries being blown.

“Princess I don’t believe your cousin has awoken yet?”

“Outta way.” Came a little voice and there was the sounds of a chair being pushed across the hall.

“Princess please be careful.”

There was a gasp and then the sounds of one of your ladies.

“What on earth are you doing child?”

“See her.”

“You can’t just let her climb up there like that.”

“My apologies Lady Dawn but to stop her would mean to place hands on her and we are under orders to avoid that after what happened.”

“Oh for goodness sake. One little bite, a nip if that, and you’re scared of a three year old. You got off lightly, Tulip was much worse, she tried to stab a guard when she was the Princess’ age.”

There was knock and the door pushed open.

“Come on little one do not loiter you will scare the guards.”

You heard the familiar sounds of your breakfast tray and Lady Dawn’s footsteps along with little ones. You shuffled down in the blankets and pretended to be sleeping. You felt them be pulled as the little princess tried to climb onto your bed.

“Do you require help your Royal Highness?”

“Nopes, I can do, seeeeee.”

“Well done, now wake Tulip for me but nicely.”

“Shhhhhhhh”

“Yes, quietly. We know how grumpy she can be when she's first woken.”

Sadly your cousin took far too much after you and although she took quiet steps to begin with she soon launched herself on top of you.

“Wakes, wakes up.”

“You Princess Lottie are a nuisance.” You exclaimed as you tickled her, her laughter bouncing around the room.

“Hmmmm, can’t think where she learned such behaviour.” Quipped Lady Dawn.

“Her father.” You quipped back.

“Daddy speak you.”

“What is that Governess teaching her?! It’s Daddy needs to speak to you.” Lady Dawn exclaimed. “She’s worse than the governess you had!”

“I may have terrorised her a little.”

“A little, every single one left either crying or running, or both. Lady Marion and I had to teach you ourselves.”

“I’m aware Lady Dawn, I was there, and what a fine lady you made me.”

Lady Dawn scowled at you.

“Sit up and eat your damn breakfast.”

"And she says I'm the grumpy one."

You made small talk with the Princess, as she stole food from your plate. You smiled softly at her, she was definitely more like you than anyone wanted to admit. She started to tell you about her lessons that morning and revealed that the Governess had raised her voice and shouted at her. You scowled and glanced at Lady Dawn, when you turned back and looked at Lottie a realisation washed over you. Her feet and legs were bare and though they often were, today the little princess was to have lessons and she should be dressed as such.

“Lottie where are your tights?”

“She took.”

“Why?”

Her eyes turned down in sadness and her bottom lip began to quiver. You pushed the tray away and pulled her into your lap.

“Stickkkk.” She said as she cried into your chest. Lady Dawn didn’t even hesitate and she pulled open the doors to your dressing room and began to ready your clothes.

You would be having words with the Governess. You pulled open the doors to your room moments later startling the guards.

They both nodded their heads to you and Lottie.

“Your Royal Highnesses.”

“Has she been here? The Governess? For Lottie?”

“No.”

“Send word she is not to leave the castle until I have dealt with her.”

You marched down through the hallways, Lottie on your hip and Lady Dawn hurrying along behind you. The strength in your silent stride, the look on your face and the fact you were striding along in your riding clothes, sword on your waist and knife on your thigh spoke volumes, and although you wished the staff good morning they moved quickly out of your way.

You made your way towards the Great Hall, hearing raised voices as you approached. Lottie’s mother, the king’s longest serving mistress yelling at the Governess was the first thing you heard, followed by the Governess’ excuses.

“I’m sorry my lady I have looked everywhere.”

“WILL YOU DO SOMETHING RICHARD!!!” The mistress again, but yelling this time.

“She can’t have gotten far Annie, have you really looked everywhere?”

“Of course your Majesty.”

The doors to the hall opened and one of Royal Guards announced you.

“Their Royal Highnesses, Princess Charlotte and Princess Y/N, accompanied by Lady Dawn your Majesty.”

There were gasps as you entered and Annie rushed to you pulling Lottie from your arms.

“Mama, mama!!!”

“Thank you Princess.”

You smiled softly. Many had issue with Anne’s presence in court, even more so at Richard’s side and especially now her child was legitimatised and in line for the throne. But you did not. She made Richard happy after he had lost his Queen and soulmate and that was enough for you.

“Of course.” You said placing a kiss on Lottie’s head. You turned to place a kiss on Lady Anne’s cheeky but whispered to her instead. “Take her from the room you won’t want her to see what comes.”

She nodded and left, Lottie still in her arms and her two ladies following behind. Once the doors had closed you marched towards the Governess and struck her hard with the back of your hand across her face, striking with such force she fell to the floor. There were gasps from some of the newer ladies of court, with the older and regular attendees not surprised by your outburst.

You pulled the knife from your thigh holster and straddled the Governess.

“Did you just lie to the King?”

“No Tulip of course….”

“No,” you stopped her, twirling the knife in your hand as you spoke “only my friends call me that and we are not and never will be friends. Now I’ll ask you again, did you just lie to your King?”

You pressed the knife against her throat.

“No Princess. I swear it.”

“Odd, I thought I heard you tell the King twice that you’d looked everywhere for the little Princess and yet you have made no enquiries near to or within my chambers. Otherwise you would know the imp had been stealing my breakfast whilst chatting away like a court gossip upon my bed. Now, tell the King why she ran from you.”

“She doesn’t like her lessons, the ones at the desk, that she must sit for.”

“And?”

“And she was being a mischief and ran from me.”

“Why would she run?”

“The lessons. The lessons.” The Governess squealed as you pressed the blade further into her neck.

“And?”

“That is all!! That is all!!”

“You must find better Governesses your Majesty, for this one is a liar.”

“I am not!!!”

“Why are the Princess’s legs bare?”

At that the Governess’ eyes went wide.

You leaned down and whispered into her ear.

“Think yourself lucky there is an audience Governess, I would kill you where you lay if there wasn’t. Now tell the truth, otherwise I will tell all of court of your nightly visits to see the Priest and we both know it’s not for prayers.”

“I sort to, I was going to…..”

You rolled your eyes and let the blade nick at her neck, causing a small cut.

“I was going to strike her, to discipline her!!! She is feral.”

“Oh Governess. All the best Princesses are.”

There was light laughter around the hall but it was stopped by the King raising his hand.

“I believe there are some dragons that require feeding Tulip.”

“Of course your Majesty.”

You rose from your straddling position and left the hall. Two of your own personal guards, hand picked from your Uncle Robin’s men, emerged silently from the crowd and roughly picked up the Governess and followed you from the hall.

You didn’t see the visiting Lord turn to one of the Knights.

“You have dragons here?”

This would be harder than they thought. Because not only were you definitely feral, and in Sam's eyes a lunatic, there was also dragons here. DRAGONS!!! Which you apparently fed with human snacks!!!

It was at that moment Sam decided it was probably best if Bucky fetched you himself.

Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

TAGLIST

@animegirlgeeky @sebastians-love @mrsevans90 @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @forgetmenotsexy

[soulc-hilde]

Welcome to the Wild

Pairing: Carmen Berzatto x OFC! Caden

Synopsis: No longer about her future, Caden spirals as the rug is once again pulled from underneath her feet. Living her days in a silent shell, she forces herself into her work. Noted as the restaurant's Mute Pâtissier, the stuttering eyes of her boss always finds themselves attached to her. Studying her. Like some animal in the wild.

Divider by @strangergraphics-archive

“Honey, how are those buns comin’, love?” Mickey’s deep voice calls over the chaos of the kitchen.

In the far corner, blocked off from the madness was his sole baker, prepared for war and unbothered with the onslaught of orders. She pulls out the third baking tray of rolls and places them inside the rack before turning to coat a tray of recently cooled ones with honey butter. The perfect, golden rolls absorb the butter. Droplets run down its sides slowly, the bread appearing like a professional photograph.

“First three trays are finished,” she calls back, not a pause in her pace noticeable.

The Berzatto nods, a grin taking over his chiseled features as he watches her work. “Atta’ girl,” he compliments, hustling on with the service. Afterwards as the staff gathered for Family, everyone talking and laughing, Caden looks over at the man who seemed to bring ease into her life.

“Why that name?” She asks, quietly. He looks over at her, stumped at the question.

“What name you talkin’ about, Honey?” He retorts, eyebrows scrunched. She nods his way, “that one. Honey. Where’d you even get that from?”

This time he looks down at his plate, fork shuffling the food around. “Because you’re a good kid, ya know?” He tilts his head up, looking at her.

“You try to push people away, scare ‘em off, but you really just want a family. You want someone to love your sweet soul just as much as you’d love them.”

Caden scoffs, playfully, shaking her head. “The day that someone can look me in my eyes and say ‘I love you’ and mean that shit, pigs’ll start flyin’.”

She swallows a fork full of collard greens and a bit of turkey tail in the mix, eyebrows scrunching happily. Mickey looks at her, his shy gaze steeled as he stares through her. The once mute kid Tina brought to his office like a lost kitten has become the rambunctious, scatterbrained little sister he never asked for but appreciated.

He chuckles, “just be happy it’s ‘Honey’ and not ‘Squirrel.’ kiddo.”

She sends a playful glare, chubby cheeks stuffed with food. “Hey, my ADHD ain’t a joke,” she tries to scold yet her words come out jumbled and slurred.

He smiles, leaning forward, ear facing her, “what was that? I couldn’t hear you over those stuffed cheeks, Squirrel.”

“Go to Hell,” she mumbles, going back to her food, ignorant of his eyes watching her with a soft gaze.

---

No one really goes into details about the hero of the story dying and how their loved ones, their supporters, deal with it. For Caden, Michael's death wasn't that big of a shocker. No one lives forever unless you're the Devil's favorite. Mickey was the most stereotypical older brother anyone could ever meet.

The stand-in father. Believes everyone is better off without him. The one who puts up with his abusive mother's shit, not because he's an enabler but the little boy who watched it all go to shit just can't let go.

God, she missed him. Despite having her own older brothers, Caden was doomed from the start, as if neglect and trauma was all she was destined for. No friends, a negligent mother, an ill father, and avoidant brothers.

But, Michael was her brother, though.

When Tina brought her to The Beef, all the poor girl had was a backpack of clothes, her grandfather's saving, and desperation. Michael took her in, watched her bake and turn the pastries she once drew into a reality like some magician.

If only she knew how much she reminded him of Carmen.

"Those two'll bitch each other out, but they'd be one hell of a front." He'd think with that smile he'd carry as if everything was gonna be okay.

Maybe she shouldn't have answered her phone that night. She should've declined his offer, make up some lame excuse like homework.

No. Even if that was the last memory of him she had, she'd much prefer that they were together rather than apart.

---

"Cousin," Richie's microphone for a voice rings off the kitchen walls. "You may already know some of these guys, seeing as they've been here longer than me. Tina, Ebra, Angel, Manny, and finally, the soul of the team, Honey."

Caden side eyes the men, lazily looking at them for a moment before sending a nod toward the short, curly haired one. Just as quick as she turned, she resumes back to her station, sorting her spices and chocolates. Behind, Richie simply waves her off, blowing a rasberry.

"Don't mind her. The name's sweet, but, uh, she's kind of dark." He warns the younger man. Ebra leans over, "her name's Caden. If you're a smart boy, you'd call her that."

Richie scoffs, "c'mon, this is Carmy, we're talkin' about. Mikey's little brother? It works out, perfectly, the Bears and their honey."

Walking past, Caden smacks her hand against the back of head, beelining for the walk-in. The man winces, rubbing the heated spot with a grimace, glaring at her back.

Inside the walk-in, she glares at the bananas, aggressively picking them off the shared stem. Why the fuck would he say some shit like that? Makin' it sound like some damn affair happened between her and Mike.

She'll fucking kill him if he keeps going. Marching back to her corner, her blank eyes fall onto the man, or Carmy's, blue eyes. He was obviously watching, waiting for her to walk out.

He walks over as she begins chopping a peeled banana into perfectly symmetrical slices. "I'm, uh, Carmen," he practically whispers, fingers pinching at his bottom lip.

"I'm sorry... uh, about, about Richie. He's an asshole, doesn't know when he's gone too far," he continues.

She nods, lost amongst the rhythm she subconsciously follows with every cut. "Have you, uh, have you ever went to culinary school?"

Her hand comes to a stop, her attention now focusing on him. Rather than snap, she curls her plump lips inward and bites down before shaking her head.

He nods, shrugging, "i, I was just wonderin', ya know? With the way you, uh, take, take care of your station, it's, uh. It's experienced."

"OCD," she whispers.

Her eyes return to the cutting board, hands frozen in place to memorize the exact width she had cut. Finishing the first one, she grabs the second, mimicking the actions of the first time, not a step different or seconds behind.

Laying the bare fruit beside the chopped pieces of its twin, she places her hands in a starting position. Left hand gripping the fruit, index and thumb pressed gently against her cutting mark that matched exactly to the ones beside it.

Carmen watches, fascinated, as the embodiment of silence works in an ongoing loop of repetition, shutting him out from her world. Her fucked up world of madness.

"You enjoyin' the show or some'?" A voice questions him, snapping the man from his thoughts.

Turning to face the intruder, his eyebrows raise with panic as Tina glares up at him. The corner of her top lip is pinned up, teeth bared as if she was prepared to mame him.

"Uh, no, not. It's not, it's not like that," he rushes to his defense. Her eyebrows raise, expression shifting to one of aghast. "Oh, so, you don't think she's beautiful? Talented? What, you too good for this place?"

He jaw jolts, brain short-circuiting as the older woman rapidly fires assumptions his way. He knew coming through the restaurant as a nobody was a risk. He may have been Michael's baby brother, the star in his eyes, but they only knew Carmen by his words. To them, Carmen was a fantasy character. The kid that stood in front of them was just a stranger, the stranger who was also their new boss.

"Tia," the woman calls, finished slicing the bananas. She turns to glare at the two. "Do you mind? I've got a system going on, right now. Take the playground shit somewhere else, yeah?"

Unlike the staff built up of Chicago natives and ethnic backgrounds - Latino and Italian being the majority, she didn't yell. Regardless of how far she stood from anyone, she never even raised her voice in a way to project her words. She just talked, casually, and if you heard her than you heard her.

If you didn't? Well, tough shit cause she won't repeat herself.

Her voice was mellow and naturally rested at a low octave. Her accent nowhere near the Chicago accent, it was more of a general midwest/southern accent. Her words relied heavily on the southern part of her dialect. It was as if she was a puzzle that just kept scrambling, creating greater confusion than understanding.

"Yeah, system, mija," Tina nods, a condescending smile taking over. "Don't fuck," she points at Carmen, finger just inches from his face. "with the system. Cocotazo."

She walks off, leaving the younger chefs to themselves.

---

In the beginning, he believed that Tina was fucking with him. "The system" was a fucking mess. It was about as sloppy and greasy as the restaurant itself. As the thoroughly trained professional he is, Carmen decided that things were to take a change for the better. The first being to go?

Every fucking red flag that dressed the staff like some high-end jacket. And God, did they fucking complain. Turn into children with their stomps, glares, and petty insults aimed at him no matter what he did.

Just simply asking for the chefs to keep up with proper hygiene outside of the typical washing hands with soap for 20 seconds resulted in a 'fuck you' and 'don't fuck with the system.'

Well, fuck me for not wantin' to deal with sick customers, he scoffed at the thought. A breath-filled chuckle releases beside him. Quickly, he looks over to meet eyes with Caden. She leant her right shoulder against the doorway of the office, face seemingly blank but her eyes hummed with warmth.

"I wouldn't wanna deal with these bitches on a regular, much less because they got sick from us," she states, referencing to the statement that rang through his mind.

He straightens, "oh, oh? Di-Did I say that out loud?" She nods, "yeah, you did." She steps further into the office, closing the door behind her. "But that's not what I'm here to talk to you about. Well, actually, it has some connection."

"Okay, uh, here," he stands, leaning over to push out another small metal foldable chair. "Take a, uh, seat. Take a seat." She nods, settling down beside him. "So, what did you wanna talk about?"

Please, don't say you're quitting. Please, don't say you're quitting, his conscience pleas.

"Staff," she starts off. "I love those assholes, but even when Mikey was here and runnin' the show, it was fuckin' chaos. They think they're functioning well because Mikey never corrected them, but we both know they're not."

His eyebrows raise with surprise. "Oh?" he whispers, sitting back in the wheeled chair, fingers pulling at his lips.

"Mh," she nods. "And don't even get me started on the bakery. Before Mikey died, we were workin' togetha' on how to make the bakery faster. Which meant better equipment and shit," she snorts.

"We don't have the money, though. Which leads me to the next suggestion," she leans forward. "We're gonna have to start hirin' some help."

Taglist: @spiderstyles04 @lostinwonderland314

[lollieskk]

Denki angst

After the war Denki’s scars stopped disappearing, they became permanent and tripled in amount.

During his second year, lichtenburg figures started appearing on his arms after high quirk usage. It wasn’t a problem in the beginning, he even thought they looked cool. Showed them off even. They usually disappeared within a day or two, he didn’t even notice when that timespan increased into a week. Or maybe he did but didn’t want to  acknowledge it, ignored the fact that his arms were throbbing.

The summer between second and third year the scars stopped fading. Permanent scars, every time he used more than 0.7 million voltage. Honestly he could probably make do with that. Get some scars, save some people, be a hero. That was his thought process, that’s why he didn’t bother with recovery girl. He was fine.

His arms started hurting more and more. He was nearly two months into his third year when he wanted to cry every time he lifted his arms. Aizawa had them training on upping their quirk limit, and Denki couldn’t even reach his usually most powerful attack, 1.3 million voltage without wanting to scream. It felt like his nerves were burning, like lighting and fire running up and down inside his arms. A pain he couldn’t see or touch, he wanted to claw at his arms, he wanted to rip his flesh and bleed. He wanted to see it, to know were the pain was coming from, to see the damage.

Aizawa seemed disappointed in him, he didn’t outright say it. But Denki saw it in his eyes, heard it between the lines when he scolded Denki. Every sigh when Denki nearly got up to 0.5 million voltage without tears welling up in his eyes. He must have looked pathetic to everyone.

Everyday now he looked himself up in his room and weeped he tried to be as quiet as possible, afraid Koda or Lida would hear him. Pain killers did nothing for his pain, everything he saw on Google that seemed like it would work had to be prescribed by a doctor.

Soon his arms were covered from the top of his fingers up to his armpits and down his chest.

The others in class tried seeking him out, he knew that. He wasn’t blind nor as stupid as people may think, he got the social cues. But it honestly took everything inside of him not to completely collapse everyday in class, and he could not keep that act up longer then a school day. Just the thought of being in the common room with the others make him fill up with anxiety.

One day he woke up with a fever of 40° C, he didn’t leave his bed at all the whole day. He could of easily if he wanted to, to at least get some food or water. But he had his water bottle from the day before and he simply didn’t want to get out of bed. His fever dragged on for another day and around the time class would have ended there was a knock at his door.

He could hear Shinsou’s voice through it. A soft, “Denki? You okay?”

He stared at the door, waiting to see if Shinsou would walk in. Denki didn’t know if he wanted him to walk away or open the door, and it felt so exhausting to move with mouth and tongue. He slowly blinked, unmoving from his bed.

“Denks? Aizawa said you were sick, I brought you some food,” food sounded good, it really did, but the thought of getting up and going through the process of acually eating sounded like hell. Having to put his arm muscles to use to cut the food, or just moving his hand up from the plate made him even more exhausted then he already was.

“Okay,” the voice behind his door sighed, “I’ll leave it outside if you want it.” The was a clink and then footsteps.

The weeks passed and eventually Denki could not move anymore. The pain was to great, he couldn’t get up out of bed. Not only were his arms on fire but now his hips and legs as well. The worst were his joins; his knees, hips, shoulders, elbows and neck. The pain hadn’t reached his feet, yet, and he couldn’t even feel his fingers anymore.

He stopped showing up to class all together and he could barely tell day and night apart. He slept when he felt like it, and he always felt like it.

Most from his class had tried to talk to him. Asked if he was okay, if he was sick again, if he’d eaten while they were in class. It got more aggressive as the days passed, people jiggling the door handle, pounding at the door to open up, threatens that Aizawa was furious at him.

Denki couldn’t bring himself to care, it felt like he was dying. He barely moved, the pain was numbling and tiering and felt drowsy from just breathing. He couldn’t tell what was going on even when Aizawa opened his door. He had a key probably, it made since. Obviously their teacher would have a key to all their dorms. Denki was to out of it to see his teachers face, to see how it changed from anger and frustration to scared and panicked. He didn’t see his classmates faces’ either. He missed Bakugou’s -once in a lifetime- utter terrified face, Kirishima right beside him, hand over his mouth. Midoriya’s tears were nothing new, but Shinsou’s was. He could see the purple of Shinsou’s hair, I could see everyone really but at the same time he didn’t. It was more like his brain couldn’t register them, could comprehend that there were people and sounds around him.

The pain that shredded through him suddenly was unbearable. He probably let out a horrid scream from the way everyone around him froze, it was quiet now he realized. Oh, right. Mina was yelling before, how could he not see Mina?

The pain was back a minute later, and it kept going this time. Somewhere in the back of him mind he realized he was moving. Aizawa was carrying him.

Denki woke up in the hospital, he had almost immediately gotten a scolding from recovery girl. His groggy brain slowly realized that he acually comprehend recovery girls scolding.

“Usually lichtenberg scars disappeared within 24 hours, but in your case it seems that the constant usage of your quirk has made them permanent. You should have come to me the second you saw these scars Kaminari…” he zoned out a bit, blinging at the short woman, her face twisted in irritation. She eventually took a breath and her features smoothed out.

“…it’s called neuropathic pain it comes from the nerves that transmit pain signals from the body to the brain. People often describe the pain as burning, stinging, or shooting. It may radiate from one area of the body to another and may be accompanied by numbness and tingling.” Seemed about right Denki concluded.

“There are two typical nerve medications to help with this thankfully. The first is called anticonvulsants. These medications were developed to control seizures, but they also help to blunt pain signals in the nerves. Several are in wide use for chronic pain. This is what I have put you on right now. The scars won’t disappear and you may still feel numbness and a shooting pain up and down your limbs.” The elder woman sighed again, looking at Denki with sad eyes.

“There is also antidepressants. Certain types of antidepressants also help to control nerve pain. They may have a synergistic effect in people who experience depression along with chronic pain. Chronic pain often causes depression, and depression can intensify a person's sensitivity to pain. However I cannot prescribe these to you outside of the hospital. I strongly advise you to go to a therapist my dear.”

Denki felt overwhelmed, like she had just stuffed his brain with a bunch of information. “You may experience some side effects of anticonvulsants, such as dizziness and drowsiness and in rare cases tremor, weight gain, gastrointestinal upset and rashes.” Oh god, Denki felt worse than before, if even possible. He let out an annoyed groan, his jaw still felt stitched shut.

“Yes yes, groan and moan all you want. This could have been much minor have you come earlier.” She scolded him yet again. Right then the door to his room opened, in stepped a tired Aizawa. One look at his student opened eyes and he seemed to relaxe, even if just a little bit.

“Ya’ scared everyone half to death kid.” He sighed, walking closer to recovery girl. Both on his right side of the bed. Denki simply hummed in response, Aizawa shot the woman a quick look to witch she sighed.

“The non verbal response has nothing to do with the medication Aizawa. Although I can imagine if he hasn’t talked in the four days he didn’t leave his room for, he has simply gotten used to not moving his jaw or tongue.” Four days? He had laid in bed for four days without moving? Jesus fuck.

Aizawa nodded and then looked back up at Denki, “Depending on how your recovery will go your future as a hero may very.” What?

“So long as the medication does it’s job without a much to big physical and/or mental backtrack then you can go forward as you see fit. But if you still have nerve pain to this point again I cannot let you purse a carrière as Pro Hero.” What the fuck.

Only a few minutes after half the class bursted through the doors. Recovery girl had to quiet them down with a hit with her cain before she and Aizawa stepped out.

“Fuck Denki are you okay?”

“You scared the shit out of us!”

“You looked like a fucking corpse spark plug!”

“Don’t ever scare me like that again!

“Kaminari you really should have told someone.”

“Denks how do you feel?”

They were all talking so fast and over each other, Denki could barely possess what they were saying. There was a second, five minutes into their ramping, when they all when quiet. Staring at him.

“Say something dunce face!” Bakugo I finally screamed, earring a scolding ‘Kacchan!’ from somewhere in the room.

“So-“ two letters in and he was already coughing at his dry and unused throat. “Haven’t ta’k’t in a w’ile.” They all stared for a second, Hanta and Eijirou almost immediately bursted into tears, hugging him on his bed.

[peachdues]

Hi hello yes I’m here to hear about Tengen’s FOUR kids!!!!!!! Was it one pregnancy for each wife and one of them got twins??? Tell me about themmmm (please if you want and have the energy to do so)

lmaooo so actually, your headcanon matches Sam’s — one kid with all three wives except one of them ends up with twins.

I think that’s viable — but I’m also imagining Tengen having one with each wife, but accidentally getting another one pregnant at the same time as the mother of the third child. So two wives being pregnant at the same time — which would be fucking hilarious because can you imagine the amount of stress that man would feel??

For their sake, I hope the two pregnant at the same time would be Makio and Suma, since Hinatsuru would provide the much needed calm and collectedness to the absolute hormone and stress-fueled anxious mess that would be Tengen x Makio x Suma. At the same time, Makio and Suma’s heightened hormones might lead to a house-wide emotional nuclear meltdown on more than one occasion.

Tbh, I see Tengen as someone who becomes even more high maintenance than his pregnant wives. Don’t get me wrong — he’s incredibly attentive and considerate during the pregnancies. But he’s also a fainting goat; he’s so stressed out trying to manage not one but two pregnancies while also dealing with two other kids (who are likely close in age and at that rambunctious stage where they think stressing Dad out is hilarious). He’s a hovering, nervous mother hen, and it doesn’t help that his wives are strong willed. I imagine him being beside himself because Suma has decided to climb up onto some taller surface to reach something she KNOWS Tengen will get for her, but she doesn’t want to be an inconvenience. So here he is, trying to help Hina with dinner, only to see Suma atop some tall, mildly rickety ladder and he has a fucking heart attack. Already her sense of balance is thrown off by the size of her stomach, but add an unstable ladder into the mix?? Poor man nearly drops dead.

Of course, while he’s rushing to help her down, Makio decides it’s the perfect time to get into a fight with the neighbor’s dog — you know, the one who keeps sneaking into the garden and trying to steal bites of food cooking atop the the outdoor fire pit as Hinatsuru has her back turned? Yeah. That one. Well, unfortunately for the dog, Hina happens to be making Makio’s favorite variation of grilled beef, and she is not about to let this mangy mutt steal from her. Too bad the dog also knows how to fight.

So imagine poor Tengen’s nerves when, just as he’s guiding Suma back down to steady ground, he hears screaming and snarling and barking while Hinatsuru is shouting Makio’s name. The former Sound Hashira doesn’t have time to appreciate the way his stomach falls out of his ass — he’s hightailing it out into the gardens, grabbing whatever makeshift weapon he can — an errant pan, an old training stick from his days in the Corps, anything.

Come to find his other equally pregnant wife in what can only be described as a tug of war with the neighbor’s poor dog. Said dog managed to snag a strip of meat off the cooking plate but not before Makio lunged for it, toppling the makeshift grill in the process and sending all of the family’s meal into the coals and dirt. But this last piece of beef is all she’s craved all day, and she’ll be damned if she loses to a stupid, flea-ridden bag of fur.

She loses anyway because both Hinatsuru and Tengen force her to drop her grip on the meat, and poor Makio has to watch as the dog scampers off, rapidly devouring her meal.

Anyways. That night, it’s Makio who is boo-hoo sobbing with big, fat tears because she feels terrible about having ruined dinner (and she didn’t get the meat she wanted, poor thing). Suma, as equally hormonal and a known sympathy crier, also bursts into tears the moment she witnesses Makio wailing, which in turn, awakens the two sleeping kids. Naturally, they don’t know why their moms are crying, so of course, they join in.

And you know what? It’s at that point Tengen joins in on the sob fest, because fuck it.

In conclusion: poor Hinatsuru.

[milaisreading]

🌱🩷: Basically a part 2 to this

Warnings: Reader uses she/her. Requests are open.

(C/n)- Country name

🌍Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya🌏

It has been a few days since (Y/n) had the whole fiasco with the Allies and Axis being in her home. Thankfully, they didn't stay for too long, since their bosses called them back before they could introduce themselves. (Y/n) was grateful how fast her boss had worked to call theirs, and now she had some peace. Just her, Hanatamago, and the quiet... or that's what she believed.

It was a peaceful morning, and while the fluffy dog was sleeping, (Y/n) went to prepare the breakfast, all was normal. But then, a knock on her door caught the Nordic country's attention and she ran to open it.

"I am coming!" (Y/n) yelled, expecting it to be her boss. Who else would visit her this early?

"Good morning, sunflower! I am happy you opened the door!" (Y/n)'s eyes widened in shock, and fear, when she saw Russia smiling down at her.

"M-mr. Russia? What a surprise. How can I help you?" The Russian ignored her nervousness and pointed inside.

"Can I come in? I walked all the way here and it's pretty cold."

"Sure." She gulped and moved away for him to enter.

'Shouldn't you of all be immune to the cold?'

"What are you doing?" His voice woke her up from her thoughts and she looked up at him.

"Ah... just preparing breakfast for Hana and I. What brought you here? Don't you have to do war stuff?" (Y/n) questioned, causing the tall Russian to chuckle the way she formed the last question.

'She is so silly. She doesn't even know what you do during war.' Russia thought as he patted her head, whish caused the girl to panic a little on the inside.

"I will prepare us breakfast then!"

"Y-you will stay here for a while?" She asked in concern as the Russian walked towards the kitchen.

"Is that an issue?"

"Not at all!" She said back, sighing while following the man.

"Do you like it?" The Russian man asked with his usual smile as (Y/n) ate the plate of pancakes he made. She had to admit, they were really good.

'Cheesy and the blueberry jam! So good!' She squealed a little as Hana ate her food peacefully.

"It's really good! What did you say was it called?"

"Syrniki. It's just cheese filled pancakes."

"It's really good! Thank you for making it!" The Russian felt pride filled his chest as she praised his food, pushing the plate with some of the pancakes towards her.

"Eat more. I already ate."

"You did?" (Y/n) wondered as she munched on a piece.

"Why did you come here, then? I don't mean to be rude, I am just confused if you didn't come for the breakfast." The Russian kept quiet for a moment, all that was heard was Hana eating her food.

"I want to marry you." (Y/n) chocked on her food as she heard Russia's words, looking at him in disbelief.

"W-what? Why?"

"I like you. You were the only country that wasn't mean to me back in the days."

"I-I..." She gulped, unsure what to say back.

"Is that about me playing with you in the snow."

Russia nodded his head and grabbed her hand, which caused Hana to bark, but was left ignored.

"To you it might have been insignificant, but to me back then it meant a lot. It still does. I was really sad when you isolated yourself from the rest of us, but now that you are back again, I don't want to lose you again."

For a good two minutes, there was a silence in the room, Hana was a little afraid of the glare the Russian sent her, and (Y/n) couldn't really form a sentence. But, the silence was quickly broken by a third voice and the kitchen door being slammed open.

"What the?!" She yelled in surprise.

"Russia! Stop terrorizing other countries! Don't worry, the hero will save the day!"

"America..." The Russian glared at the blonde, pulling (Y/n) behind him.

'Does he not know how to knock?!' She wondered.

After a good 10 minutes, the duo was calmed down and they sat at the table,an eeri silence surrounding the trio as (Y/n) hugged Hana closer.

"S-so... You are America? It's a nice surprise." (Y/n) said, trying to break the glare the two were heaving.

"Oh? It is?! I didn't get the chance to introduce myself properly last time. I am America, the hero in all of this. Don't forget that, ok?!" Russia rolled his eyes at his behavior while (Y/n) tried her best to keep the peace.

"I will keep that in mind, Mr. Hero. How have you been?" She gave the blonde a nervous smile. The nickname caused both men to stop their silent war and looked at (Y/n) in shock. Russia's look soon turned into one of disbelief, while America was flattered.

"M-Mr. Hero? Me?!"

"You said you are a hero. Sorry, I won't call you that-"

"No! No! I love the nickname! Call me that from now!" The American yelled in excitement as a red blush coated his cheeks.

"Sure, if you want to..." (Y/n) agreed, a little flustered.

"Oh? Do you want some tea or coffee? I have some cake left as well if you want to." (Y/n) offered, surprising America even more.

'Not only does she think I am a hero, but she is also very kind.' Before America could answer, Russia spoke up for him.

"He was on his way back home, actually. America, why don't you leave my sunflower amd I alone." The Russian said with his tight smile as America glared back at him.

"Why don't you go instead? You are the one scaring her!"

"Reoeat that again, I dare you."

"Please don't start a war in my kitchen!!" (Y/n) yelled in panic.

'How did I end up in this situation now?' Just as she thought her morning was insane, the afternoon was even worse. Somehow France and England had the brilliant idea to visit her... at the same time.

'Well, I better stay on their good side. I don't want to be attacked.' She thought as France kissed her hand and held a rose in front of her.

"Ma cherie, why don't we go somewhere more private? The black sheep over there is ruining our mood, don't you think?" France winked at the flustered girl while she took the rose from him.

"Mood? I.... I am fine here. Plus, it's rude to please England alone."

The Brit was about to speak up, irritated by the Frenchman's behavior, when he witnessed him move closer to her.

'That bastard!!'

"Athur will understand-"

"Move away, you barbarian!! She is uncomfortable with you like this!" England yelled as he pushed France away, earning a scowl from him.

"We had a moment, England. But your stuck-up ass will never understand that." France said with a smirk as England's mood got even worse. Trying to stop a possible fight, (Y/n) cleared her throat.

"As nice as the invitation sounds, Mr. France, I am sadly not that well acquainted with you yet. But, thank you for the rose, it's really pretty and smells nice. It's really thoughtful." The blonde was stunned by her words, feeling his heart race a little as she smiled at him.

"It's nothing, cherie. Next time I am bringing you a bouquet." France said, but before she could protest, England spoke up.

"Love, please don't pat attention to this frog. He has no concept of boundaries"

"Uh-"

"At least I give away great presents. All you brought are those scones of yours, that taste horrendous."

"What did you just say?!"

As the two started arguing, (Y/n) looked at the said items England brought for this tea get together. And true, they looked burned at some places. But, were they that bad?

Deciding to ignore their arguing for a moment, (Y/n) took one of them and took a small bite.

'Well, they are not something to write songs about... but, they are not that bad.' (Y/n) thought, taking another bite.

"They are not that bad, far from horrendous." She spoke up which caught the attention of the two. England's eyes widened in surprise as France looked at her in horror.

"You... you think so?" The Brit asked in a hopeful manner.

"Yep. They are not really something I eat at all, but they are good."

"Thank you, love! I will bring you some next time I visit." England said with a red face and huge grin as he grabbed her free hand.

"Next time?-"

"Hold up! If we will do it that way, I will bring you the finest desserts I have to offer." France interjected, grabbing her other hand.

"No need, Mr. France and Mr. England-"

"I absolutely must, cherie. You will love it, more that his food, anyway."

"Don't provoke me, you frog eater!"

'What did I get myself into?' She gulped.

It was peaceful for the next 3 days, and (Y/n) hoped she won't see any of the other countries any time soon. Right now, she was returning from the grocery store with Hana and thinking of something for dinner.

"Are you up for some Leipäjuusto? Finland told me he gave you those as a treat some times, he even thought me how to make it." She suggested as the dog barked sadly at her. (Y/n) looked at the fluffy animal in sadness, she really missed Finland.

"Don't worry, Hana. He will be back soon. I hope he,Sweden, Iceland, Denmark, and Norway are doing alright." She said the other part more to herself than anyone else. She was worried about them, since they were her closest companions after all.

"Until then, let's make the best of it, ok?" (Y/n) smiled down at the dog as she opened her front door.

"Let's eat now-"

"Ah! I see you are back! Just in time for dinner!" The girl dropped her bags in fright as she saw a brown-haired man standing in the hallway.

"What the hell?! Who are you?!"

'What did I do wrong in life?' (Y/n)'s eye twitched as she looked at the man, who she came to find out was China.

'For such an old country, Mr. China looks really young. I honestly expected a grandpa or something.' (Y/n) thought as she took a sip from the tea he made her.

"Thanks for the tea... and all this food. Sorry for yelling at you earlier, Mr. China." (Y/n) said, a tad bit embarrassed for losing her cool.

"It's ok, it was rude of me to enter without permission." China smiled back while patting his panda.

'It's so cute! So that's what they look like! I only read in books about them.' She thought while eyeing the animal for a moment.

"But, what is all this food about?" She asked the Chinese man.

"It's for you. France told us you tasted England's food the other day, and I couldn't let an innocent country destroy her taste buds." (Y/n) sweatdropped at his dramatic antics.

"It wasn't that bad-"

"Hush now, you don't have to lie in front of me. Eat now." China said as he pushed a plate in front of her.

"Here, take some fried rice! There is also chicken and duck if you want anything with it!" China smiled as (Y/n) nodded her head and took a bite of the food.

"Wow! It tastes amazing, Mr. China!" (Y/n) smiles at the brown-haired man as she took another bite.

"I know, right! I have the best cuisine around." The man boasted as (Y/n) ate.

"My bosses who visited you always said your food is good, I never imagined it to be this delicious tho. You are the best cook I met so far!" She grinned at China while taking another bite.

"Yeah, I am quite great. If only I wasn't so old, I could accomplish way more then." (Y/n) looked at the man weirdly and shrugged her shoulders.

"But, you accomplished a lot already. I might have been isolated for a part of my history, but I read a lot about you. You have an amazing culture and history, it's something to be proud of." (Y/n) said in a polite manner as the man stared at her in surprise. Sure, he does boast at times, but hearing it from someone else was a new feeling.

"Y-you think so?" The man stuttered out, earning a nod from (Y/n).

"You are unique, to be honest. So be proud of those things.

"T-thank you!" China blushed a bright red at those words, his heartbeat quickening a little.

"Italy!! Stop flirting with random women!!" (Y/n) and Japan flinched as Germany yelled at the Italian, who was busy charming the women at (Y/n)'s capital.

"He seems to be a social butterfly." (Y/n) said nervously, hoping this meeting will be cut short. Japan, who was next to her sighed in defeat as he watched the two argue.

"Yeah, he is. Too social even."

"Hm? What do you mean?" (Y/n) blinked at the black-haired country, who got a little flustered.

"Nothing, I am just a little jealous that he is so... open, I guess. People seem to like him a lot for that."

"Why don't you try this as well?" She wondered, but then remembered that just like her, Japan was isolated as well, so all of this is new to him as well.

"Sorryn! But, I guess I know how you feel."

"You do?" Japan looked over at her in surprise.

"Yep, I am not much of a social person either, Mr. Japan. I have a few close friends and that's about it, but I like it this way."

Japan kept quiet as (Y/n) tried to formulate another sentence.

"You are ok the way you are. If you feel more comfortable like that, stay that way." She said in a polite way, which surprised Japan a lot. The country blushed a little and nodded his head.

"Thank you-"

"(C/n)! Germany is being mean to me!!" The girl got startled as Italy ran up and hugged her.

"Italy! Don't get into other's spaces like that!" Japan scolded him, but the country wouldn't budge.

"I-It's alright. But, Mr. Italy, try to be nice to Mr. Germany, he is working hard right now." (Y/n) said, trying to hold her distain back.

'Don't piss him off more, he might take his anger out on Denmark or Norway.' She thought in fear as Germany pulled Italy off of her.

"Stop hugging people at random!" Germany yelled in embarrassment. (Y/n) looked at the duo, trying to think of a way to calm the German down.

"It's alright, Mr. Germany he didn't mean no harm. But, how about we go and eat something? You all loom pretty hungry." She suggested as Italy quickly nodded his head.

"I don't know-"

"I know a place that serves good beer! You might need some after working hard and keeping everyone in check." (Y/n) argued with the German as she kept her smile on. Germany's cheeks turned red a little as he let go of Italy.

"S-sure."

"Alright! Let's go then!" Italy cheered as he to (Y/n)'s hand in his.

"Hey!" The other two men protested.

"Where to, bella?"

"Th-this way." She stuttered out while a blush coated her cheeks.

[stephensmithuk]

The Hound of the Baskervilles: The Curse of the Baskervilles

CW for discussion of crimes against humanity.

Devonshire is a historical alternative name for the county of Devon, these days not seeing that much use. Devon and next-door Cornwall have a friendly rivalry going over various things, including the order in which you put cream and jam on a scone. Cornwall does jam first, Devon cream. Getting it the wrong round in the relevant county can attract disapproving looks.

Mainstream Christianity believes that the only sin that cannot be forgiven by God is "blaspheming against the Holy Spirit", which is a continuous and arrogant rejection of it. It is generally deemed impossible for a Christian to actually do because if you worried that you've done it, you're not rejecting the Holy Spirit.

The Great Rebellion is the then standard name for what is commonly called the English Civil War or less commonly, but more correctly the War of the Three Kingdoms - England, Scotland and Ireland all being their own kingdoms under a single monarch, Wales is a principality. Lasting from 1639 to 1653 and including a whole bunch of conflicts, including two English Civil Wars. Various videos explaining the whole rather complex affair with varying degrees of comedy can be found on YouTube, but the popular version is that a bunch of republicans (Roundheads) with short hair fought a bunch of monarchists with long hair (Cavaliers). To quote Arnold Rimmer, it ended "1-0 to the pudding-basins" and King Charles I ended up losing his head in public.

Edward Hyde, 1st Earl of Clarendon, a key member of the governments of Charles I and Charles II wrote some memoirs of the whole period. Initially written between 1646 and 1648 as a defence of the former, his fall from power and exile in 1667 (he was made to carry the can for the English defeat against the Netherlands in the Second Anglo-Dutch War despite having little involvement) resulted in a massive expansion and re-write of The History of the Rebellion, which generally runs to no less than six volumes. One can compare it to Winston Churchill's The Second World War it seems - interesting, but watch for bias.

A yeoman in this context was a commoner who owned the land that he farmed, as opposed to being merely a tenant. Indeed a third of all farmland remains run by tenanted farmers; including much of Dartmoor, which is owned by the Duchy of Cornwall, the land holdings of a (male only) heir to the throne.

A maiden is traditionally an unmarried girl or young woman, with a strong implication of virginity to boot.

Michaelmas is a Christian festival held on 29 September in honour Saint Michael and all the other angels. It was traditionally associated with the end of harvest and a bunch of other stuff, including the legal calendar. The Lord Mayor of London (not to be confused with the Mayor of London) is elected on this. Traditionally the meal eaten here included goose, but it has very much fallen out of fashion in modern Britain.

A carouse (also a verb) is basically a long drinking and dancing event; "Carouse" turns up as a skill in some RPG systems i.e. the ability to do this effectively without ending up on the floor next to your vomit.

"Terrible oaths" here mean foul language.

A league is three statute miles, so she's got to get nine miles or 14.9 kilometres. That's a rather long way to go, especially in the dark.

A flagon is a large vessel for containing drink, about 2 imperial pints or 1.1 litres in capacity. You can either use it for pouring (in which case it will have a spout) or drinking from directly.

Trenchers were flat wood or metal plates used for serving food. In medieval times, they would be made of stale bread. After the meal, these and the juices, leftovers etc. would be generally given to the poor. Eating the trencher yourself was considered rather vulgar.

"Wench" has had various meanings over the years. In Shakespeare's time, it was a neutral or even endearing term for a young woman. It then evolved into a female server, particularly at a tavern (with the associated sexy costume, although I am not sure when that became a thing) and from there to being a term for a prostitute, with "wenching" becoming a verb to mean using the services of them. With an associated meaning of a promiscuous woman. It is not clear whether the writer is using the term or Hugo is here. I can see the latter using it in a rather venomous way.

A kerchief is another name for a bandana.

The pistols of the period were single-shot weapons requiring reloading with powder, wadding and shot. Even with regular practice like in an army (where this was a major part of drill), you'd be looking at a 15 to 20 second reloading time. It was commonplace to carry two pistols (a brace) as a result, at which point the fight was either over, or it was time to get your sword out. Some went still further - Blackbeard, who was going progressively crazy with syphilis, is recorded as carrying six loaded pistols on him.

There were 16 fatal dog on human attacks in the UK from January to September 2023; a sharp rise blamed on the American XL Bully breed, which was promptly banned in England and Wales as a result.

Providence means God's intervention in the universe.

"Which would not forever punish the innocent beyond that third or fourth generation which is threatened in Holy Writ" is a reference to the Commandment about not creating graven images or idols, either the Second Commandment or part of the First depending on your denomination; Anglicans put it as the Second.

"The probable Liberal candidate for Mid-Devon" is going to form part of a post discussing late Victorian elections, because I could go on all days about those. Central Devon was a narrow Conservative hold in 2024, by the way.

Nouveaux riches is French for "new rich", commonly rendered as "new money". The "aristocracy" on both sides of the Atlantic (see The Gilded Age) looked down on the new millionaires who were being created by the Industrial Revolution, such as railway tycoon Cornelius Vanderbilt.

The discovery of diamonds at Kimberley in 1867, followed by gold at Witwatersrand in 1886, led to a vast boom that turned what would become South Africa from an agricultural economy to a wealthy industrial one... most of that wealth ending in the hands of white people, of course. Indeed, it led to the actual creation of South Africa in the first place.

Inquests are held in England and Wales after any death that is violent, unnatural, a possible suicide or in custody. These were at the time conducted with a jury, but this has become much rarer since 1927, when a coroner can do it on their own in many cases. In the case of a murder, an inquest will be opened and adjourned to allow the police to investigate. This process can take quite a while; after the Manchester Arena bombing of 2017, a full public inquiry into the event was held and following the end of that in 2003, the same judge then conducted an inquest into the death of the bomber himself, as was legally required. No public hearings were held in this case to avoid attention and save public money. The conclusion was officially logged as "suicide while undertaking a terror attack that murdered 22 innocent victims and injured many others", Sir John Saunders clearly that merely putting "suicide" was insufficient.

The Gypsy and Traveller community have long been associated with horses, with the Appleby Horse Fair being held every June in Cumbria. The RSPCA have a large presence at the event to deal with any animal welfare issues, issuing warnings and will take animals away or prosecute people if required. The 2024 event saw two horses worked to death, the official website posting the RSPCA's request for information on those responsible.

I've discussed Bushmen/San in one of my posts on The Sign of Four.

"Hottentot" is a now-offensive term for the Khoekhoe nomadic pastoralists of Southern Africa, often grouped with the San. Its use in the 1964 Mary Poppins film has seen that movie reclassified in the UK from a U (universal) to a PG.

They are split into the Northern Khoekhoe or Nama, located in Namibia and Botswana, and the Southern Khoekhoe or Cape Khoe found in the SW coastal regions of South Africa. At the time this book was set, these were, respectively:

German South West Africa

Bechaunaland Protectorate (de facto independent until 1891 when the British took active control)

The Cape Colony

Two years after publication, separate Nama and Herero rebellions in the former against colonial rule (the German aim being ethnic cleansing) were brutally defeated, with the peoples either shot dead, driven into the desert or placed into concentration camps. They were subjected to medical experiments, skulls being taken to Germany for use as demonstration of "racial inferiority". The similarities between this genocide and the Holocaust are clear, although the precise connections are debated by historians.

It is estimated that up to 80% of the indigenous population died as a result.

Germany has in the last decade offically recognised this as a genocide, agreed to pay €1.1 billion to the affected communities and has returned the human remains held in German universities or teaching hospitals.

On a final note, Mortimer failing to mention the footprints around the body might be considered perjury.

[puck1919]

Okay, I have thoughts about The Ravening War finale and the Deus Pa'Zuul twist:

The blender is still a part of the creation-consumption cycle as represented by the Bulb and the Hungry One.

Raphaniel's dive into the Ramsian Doctrine and the Prophidian Heresy upon being rejected by the Sanctus Putris was still based in the idea that while the Sanctus Putris was trying to remove itself from the cycle, it was not rejecting the cycle outright. The idea that the blades were that of a blender fed into that because a smoothie would still be consumed by the Hungry One and thus would complete the cycle as he knew it. His question about a smoothie with radish and cheese was almost a child-like "do you think we'll still be friends in heaven?" question.

Even adding in the Saprophians and their place in the creation-consumption cycle, that wouldn't have to change Raphaniel's initial position on the blender and what it would represent. I'm not a smoothie person, but people put all kinds of health food in smoothies, and while Matt was leaning into more the function of fungi within the food web as opposed to how the Hungry One would choose to consume mushrooms, molds and fungi are sometimes incredibly important to making the food that the Hungry One would eat.

What the Saprophians change is the position of Deus Pa'Zuul within the cosmology.

So, I don't know about you all, but I'm not throwing an entire radish into the disposal, I don't care how old and mushy it is. That just goes in the trash. However, cosmologically, for Calorum, that food would still be "consumed" because the Saprophians would do their job as fungi and break down the body to reintegrate the nutrients back into the land. That's why they're the third part of the cycle. But at least in my house, what goes in the disposal is the remnants of what was consumed-- the bits of food stuck to the plate that you're not going to eat. That is what makes Deus Pa'Zuul a fate worse than death-- it's the cycle rejecting you through complete obliteration, such that even those that are meant to recycle cannot find enough literal matter to do so.

The Bulb cares for no one, indeed.

[ask-hutcherverse]

(lost the ask for this one, but it was something along the lines of ‘josh, what are your top 3 games other than biotic wars?’)

josh turns on the camera, angling it on the counter. he’s in the kitchen, making what looks like eggs? honestly, whatever he’s making is unrecognizable.

“sorry about the weird angle… it’s my day to make breakfast and i’m not really good at it.” he chuckles.

“so, my top three favorite games, other than biotic wars..?” josh trails off as he seasons whatever the hell it is on his frying pan. “i mean… mario galaxy 2 is definitely up there. i think i’ll put that at first place.” josh licks a bit of food off of his finger. “second place…” he thinks. “ooh! little big planet! i love those little sackboys.” he gives a crooked grin.

josh puts whatever he’s made on a plate. “third place is… sonic the hedgehog. the original.” he nods.

“if you haven’t played those games you haven’t lived.” josh shrugs, reaching for the camera. he calls for the rest of the guys, then the video ends.

[augustrambles]

choose your adventure . gn! reader

[south park dating sim]

this occurs in HIGH SCHOOL. i do not write for 4th graders.

❝ LOVE IS WAR ❞ . . . loading

insert name here: ____________

you have chosen the name "new kid", is that correct?

yes | no

you have chosen the name "new kid" you can change this in settings in any point of the game

WARNING . . this game is written by a author who's fucked up in the head, and can't focus! please proceed with caution

[they/them pronouns will be used for the reader]

south park is a land of cold, your parents moved here a few weeks ago, and now you have to go to a new school. the whole situation was quite blurry, you've always had memory issues so remembering stuff has always been a hard task for you. due to this, you don't remember exactly why your parents moved here, or your past school. you remember some of your friends of course, but nobody really liked you at your past school, so in the end you are bound to forget everyone at some point.

waking up is such a pain, you thought to yourself as your phone rang, signaling how it was the first day of school for you. you felt nervous, a new year's party must've been happening in your stomach, because you could not calm down no matter what. of course, you didn't show this in your face. it was neutral, as it normally was, emotions weren't your strong suit.

well, PHYSICAL emotions anyway, obviously you felt emotions, you aren't some kind of mysterious main character. at least, not in someone else's point of view. you stood up as your vision blurred and you fell, clearly meaning you had woken up a bit too fast. so now your head was spinning. ow, you complained in your thoughts.

you got back up, and went to your wardrobe. you could really care less for your sense of fashion so you put on the first thing you saw and left. you now opened the door and started to walk downstairs, cracking your neck as you saw your father, taking care of your little brother. "good morning [name]!" he said to you.

"hey dad, hey charlie" you waved to your brother and dad, starting to make your breakfast. "mom's at work, i guess?" you asked, he let out a muffled yes as he started to feed your brother once again. you sat down at the table, starting to eat as your dad complained because your brother threw up on him and laughed. you let out a small chuckle, and began eating again.

"cmon kiddo, this is the third time!" he rolled his eyes, exhausted as charlie just laughed at him. he went to go and clean his clothes and left charlie with you. charlie then out of nowhere, hugged you. "huh?" you were confused, and then charlie started to eat your food, you just sat there, watching your brother eat your food. "oh"

your dad entered the room, laughing at the site. "seems like the little guy wanted your food instead." he said, resting his arms on top of the chair you were sitting on. "im glad he's eating at least" he said, your brother now finishing your food, and then going to your dad, yelling "up! up!"

so, you just sat there, looking at the plate who was now clean. resisting the urge to throw your brother.

"hey buddy, your school bus is coming soon, right?" your father asked. you looked at your phone, "yeah, im gonna go now" you stood up from your chair, getting your bag which was on the couch and placing it on your back. "bye kiddo! have a good day!" he said as your brother yelled "bye bye" to you.

you unlocked the door, going outside and closing it, you stepped on the cold snow, your boots being there so you wouldnt feel it, the bus stop was a few inches from your house.

walking to it, you realized there was a blonde boy there who seemed to be your age, you COULD use this as an opportunity to make a friend. what should you do?

[A] say hello, and try to be his friend

[B] go to the next bus stop

[C] go to the bus stop and say nothing

in this game, you have gems.

you obtain gems by getting friends, and you use them to make special choices!

every friend you make, you get gems. depending on who it is, you can get 2, 3, 4 or 5 gems. it all depends on their role in the show, main character, second main character, side character or background character.

currently you have 0 gems! congrats

to vote for the option you want, you have to write me through an ask, can be anonymous or not! just simply say "A", "B", or "C"

the more votes, the better! so make sure to vote!

i'd also love to hear ideas and suggestions so i can feature them here in this story! so dont be afraid to tell me those either!

bye now, until the next episode of this story!

- august

[televisionenjoyer]

i know you made that post like a week ago but the idea of the u.s. having unobstructed democracy is literally just one of the myths used to convince people that its a morally superior country. like black people and immigrants and poor people in general have to jump thru so many hoops to register to vote. and the bipartisan system is so forced that quite literally it does not work to vote third party in federal elections. i really fucking wish it did but it doesnt. the usamericans online who are all fighting over voting for biden or not voting at all are a tiny minority and they couldn't get a third party candidate elected even if they all magically agreed on one. if it was a real democracy than they would be doing what you want them to do, not agonizing over all the other shitty options that they have

AND leftists wouldve actually been successful in voting against imperialism for the past 200 yrs.. like this is not our choice. i know most americans are total pieces of shit about everyone else but the actual allies and sympathizers of the u.s.'s victims really are powerless within the system

Hi! I've left this ask simmer in my head for a whole day because I really wanted to digest it and put it down in a way that made some sense.

Fair warning I'm about to get rlly political about imperialism under the cut

I've received a lot of comments in that post about how democracy in the US is not as straightforward as it appears —I've gathered as much, which is why i referred to it as a perfectly crafted illusion of free will. But what I think most people missed from the post is that I was referencing, in its opposition, countries that literally had to bounce back from nondemocratic, violent governments through popular organizations rebelling against the system, which put their lives at immeasurable risk.

Throughout history all types of seemingly unmovable systems rose and fell. Kingdoms, dynasties, dictatorships, monarchies, caliphates, colonies, republics, you name it, its been made and destroyed. A common denominator within revolutions such as the french revolution, the haitian revolution, the american civil war and countless others was an overpowering sense of necessity within its "rebels". An overwhelming amount of people were poor, starving, and/or getting killed left and right because of their stations, races, ideologies, religions, etcetera.

It is my deeply cemented belief that the American Dream is in fact a device of the empire to keep the average usamerican content and compliant. As long as you have food on your plate, Netflix on your TV and an iPhone in your hand, you're not going to pay that much mind to which happens outside. You have the luxury to see an update on the current situation in Palestine, reblogs it, say to yourself "thank god it isn't happening to me", and move on to another amiable day in the suburbs. I'm not saying the life quality is anywhere near perfect, but it by far surpasses that of the "global south", "the third world" or however you'd like to name us.

It's strategic, calculated, a small sacrifice that the empire has to make to protect its exploitative endeavors: provide for those who have actual civic impact (reminder: puerto rico still can't vote). It's a necessary dent in the empire's funds, one they'd like to keep to a minimum, hence the dubious immigration policy and carefully crafted housing crisis in a country of such an extent — The American Dream can't be for everyone, otherwise there'd be no one else to exploit.

In essence the reason why the current democratic system has not yet been overthrown is quite simply that the usamerican people, those who have actual civil impact on the inner politics of the country, are not motivated enough to make it change. There is a reason why a significant number of the people who are most involved in the political cause of palestine happen to be marginalized sectors: people from the global south, arabs, people of color — understanding this imperialist oppression firsthand makes it harder to ignore. There is a reason aaron bushnell self immolated: his occupation put him in a position that made it outright impossible to ignore the horrors.

Furthermore, there is the knowledge that one win against the empire helps ton for the overall cause of mitigating this regime. A damn good motivation for us, not so much for the people who benefit from the current system.

TLDR you can always overthrow the government and demand a fairer system, but the the average american finds no strong real reason to.