#I can only leave the house twice a month on pocket money

[feathertailedcentipede]

applied for benifits......... been feeling sick ever since 👎

[calummss]

having a baby with marshall mathers/eminem

masterlist

headcanon includes timeline, pregnancy and after birth bullet points

for the purpose of this headcanon the baby is called romy

timeline

i imagine marshall to also be young in this universe — 24 years old, can barely keep a job down. you work multiple jobs to pull through college. becoming parents was the last thing on your mind

finding out you were pregnant was a shock; as much sex as you two had, you always made sure to be protected, so when you suddenly realised your period was late and took a pregnancy test your heart literally dopped

you literally dropped everything, crammed the test into your pockets and marched through the frosty detroit morning to the restaurant marshall was currently employed under and asked to see him

marshall assured you that whatever conclusion you came to would be right and would support you no matter what

that definitely was the biggest weight lifted off your shoulders—the reassurance that marshall would stick with you if you decided to keep the baby

it was definitely a tough decision and took you almost two weeks to completely make up your mind

you ofc decided to keep the baby (otherwise whats the point of this headcanon?)

marshall promised to that he would be by your side and support his new family

literally 5 seconds after you told him you wanted to keep the baby, he pulled out a ring and said ‘thank god cause this is just a good excuse to marry you’

and we all know that having a child in marriage is far easier (but marshall also loved you and would’ve married you anyways)

baby mathers would be born on december 25th aka christmas because it would just be the best christmas present

what it would include (during pregnancy)

i feel like marshall is the type to be extra careful with you; offering his arm or hand when walking down steps, not letting you carry heavy things, making sure you cannot be hurt in whatever it is you are doing. and if any of his friends did something harmless but he saw it as a danger, he would be so pissed off

i also think it’s very possible for him to call your unborn baby ‘baby mathers; little slim’ something sweet that builds a connection

i imagine marshall to be very helpful with things around the house or other things that need to be done but he’ll definitely be pissed a few times because even though he understands that you’re supposed to relax and take care of yourself and the baby, he feels an extra burden so maybe he snaps once or twice? he immediately apologises but it’s a lot for a man who constantly takes new jobs and tries to be the best husband and father

i 100% see him talking to your stomach. he’ll talk to his daughter, catch her up on life and what he’s doing

‘hello baby, it’s daddy. mommy only has a few months left before we finally get to meet you. don’t take too long though because mama is startin’ to get very tired. the doctor said that you’re due for christmas. now daddy isn’t one who belives in destiny but you my little lady are goin’ to be our little christmas present. daddy has no money right now and that makes him feel like a bum but he’ll work extra hard to give you everything you ever want… if you ever want a unicorn you just come and let daddy know, okay?’

i have this gut feeling that he tries to hide his feelings. during this time marshall is so overwhelmed. he’s happy to welcome his daughter, stressed because he doesn’t know how long his job will last and how much money he can put down. you’ll find him crying in the kitchen one night after you wake up and couldn’t feel him beside you. you let him cry alone knowing he needed alone time

marshall will try to honour your cravings and buy you anything you want. if he’s short on money or can’t leave he will ask deshaun to swing by (and shaun cannot say no to you)

the d12 group will 100% pledge allegiance to baby mathers!! like you just now that as soon as you hang out together they’re gonna talk about how baby mathers will be protected at all costs, no one’s gonna f*ck with her etc. it’s like they’re her bodyguards ready to get at anyone’s neck who would even dare take a wrong glance at her

marshall’s arm would drape over your stomach when you two sleep at night. his arm would go from lying on a flat surface to a montain but he didn’t seem to mind. it was a habit he picked up

when you get closer to your due date this man would be stressed!! i mean stressed! any call out (shit, fuck, no, yes, what, literally the list goes on and on) would have a panting marshall by your side in less than a few seconds. he’s just waiting for your water to break. he’s extra careful during the last weeks because at this point you’re also stressed and just want the pregnancy to be done with

so when your water does finally break you know the bag is packed and in less than 5 minutes you’re on your way to the hospital, i just know it

extra: during labour he’s so supportive: holding your hand, motivating you, but deep inside he’s so much more stressed than you are lmao

what it would include (after birth)

he would not be able to let go of her. any time you turn away and look back he’d have little romy in his arms, literally hearts in his eyes as he stares down at her

you both decided on breastfeeding but you bought formula so that he could feed her and seeing him holding her in his arms feeding her the bottle makes your heart skip a beat. it allowed him to be as close to her as you were during feedings

he is absolutely obsessed with her hands. he loves how her baby hand wraps around his finger, and when she’s older the feeling of her small hand in his as it engulfs hers

plus he loves carrying her. he just loves the closeness. he will carry his baby girl anywhere and everywhere

marshall would be so proud to show her off to his friends. and if she wasn’t with him he’d find any reason to talk about her. they could be talking about the best ways to make a drink and he’d just start rambling about baby romy. some of them playfully roll their eyes but understand where he’s coming from

he’ll definitely be overwhelmed the first months when she wakes up crying in the middle of the night because it just adds to the stress but will never openly complain about it. he toughens up and goes to her room to calm her down

he’d have an addiction with baby clothes and browsing around stores literally fighting himself wether or not he actually needs to buy certain things

he’ll only address his daughter as ‘baby’ to the point you tell him to start calling her romy because she’d probably start to believe that baby was her name

marshall would definitely beat himself up trying to live up to his own expectations as a father. having no father to look up to, he tries to do his daughter justice but feels like he fails her in certain moments. those moments similar to those during pregnancy, he would sit alone in the kitchen just thinking about how to make things right

he’d insist on bringing baby romy EVERYWHERE. this man cannot stay away from her for longer than a few hours. she’s his serotonin, his lifeline

he’d have a piggy bank for her where he would put a 1/4 of his pay into so that she would be able to buy things she wanted

romy (and you) would serve as his main inspiration for music and also motivate him to work hard to make it out of greensbriar

after his rise to fame, despite his busy work schedule, marshall tries to spend as much time with her as possible

he tries to do few shows so that he’s not away from her and you for too long

with the rise of fame, his income flooded in. marshall buys her almost everything she wants. not stuff she doesn’t need but a lot. he’s not spoiling her in the way you think. he just wants her to have everything he didn’t have and make her happy. and if buying her a fourth barbie doll makes his baby smile then he will buy her that fourth barbie doll!!

though romy serves as his drive and motivation and inspiration for many of his songs, he tries to keep her out of the spotlight and out of hollywood. as soon as he’s done recording, attending award shows etc. he’s back on a plane to detroit to see his baby the only lady he adores (see what i did? ofc you did.)

he’d just be such an amazing father which you remind him of every day. he still doubts a lot but he’s starting to know his impact on her life

also romy comes before anything else!! daddy-daughter-day at kindergarten? sorry dre but this recording will be postponed. tour dates fall onto romy’s first day of school? yeah that tour night ain’t happening—i think you get what i’m trying to say. nothing will stop him from experiencing milestones and important memories in her life and in his life as a father (learned what not to do from his father)

the older she gets the more sentimental he becomes. seeing his baby grow up makes him sad and proud at the same time. she’s not only his whole world but she is the reason for him breathing and continuing in life even if it seems that life doesn’t want him to win

you made romy a cd with all the songs dedicated or about her from her daddy so when she’s in her room playing with dolls whatever, his songs are on repeat and the sight of it could make him fall to his knees (metaphorically speaking)

when romy turns 4 and older she’ll randomly make him watch her self choreographed dances or sing along to his songs and you best believe he is smiling and clapping after EVERY performance his baby girl gives!! he’s her number 1 fan. he even encourages her to show his friends and you already now they’re hyping up their little lady

and when romy is 15, oh she’s gonna rap him some of his songs and he’ll have the same reaction. maybe even share the stage for one song? who knows?

marshall is known for his rap and not for his cooking for a reason but he has few recipes like pancakes or foods he grew up with that are staples and enjoys cooking them for romy (she has her dad’s tastebuds 100%)

when romy has nightmares he’ll let her sleep in your bed for as long as she needs to feel safe again (deep down he never wants his baby to leave)

[arcadiabaytornado]

idk if you’ve done this before and i missed it, but if you could rewrite the entirety of Before The Storm what would you do? i know it’s a loaded question but i’m curious.

Oh wow, this is a loaded ask. Which is fantastic because those are my favorite kinds! Not to write a book (I say, fully knowing that I am going to write a book), but I would personally:

Change Chloe's Dynamic With David:

A: David and Chloe ending Before The Storm on semi good terms (if you make certain choices) has never made a ton of sense to me considering what we see in Life Is Strange. So I would start Episode 1 with David and Chloe on mostly negative terms, and then end Episode 3 with them on bad terms. I would also have David be already living with them for a few months by the time the game starts. For an example of how I would show their relationship deterioration:

More Undercut (And by more undercut I mean I went all the way to M. This is one of those "I'm having a stage ten autism event," posts.)

B: In Episode 1 I would have them make small talk about the music to show that their dynamic isn't at the point where they fight constantly. However, then Joyce makes David drive Chloe to school, and when he drops her off he tells her not to worry Joyce by sneaking out. Then in Episode 2, Chloe would be called to the office for skipping school with Rachel. In the parking lot, David's controlling side would show and he would be angry that the she "disobeyed his orders". They get into an argument that leads to Chloe storming off. Then in Episode 3 when she (Spoilers for a later section) comes back from her failed escape attempt with Rachel, David is fucking livid that he's told her something twice and she hasn't obeyed. They get into a fight where Chloe says that David isn't her Dad and David responds by grabbing her arm and trying to force her to listen to him. They have a small scuffle, but Chloe gets her arm free and leaves the house.

Change Things About Rachel's Parents:

C: Rachel's Dad being an overprotective DA doesn't line up with what we're told in Life Is Strange about him not looking for her. So, I would personally change Rachel's parents to be people who really care about their image, but not their daughter. They would want Rachel to be seen, but not heard. Which obviously puts them into conflict with Rachel, who is very defiant about that idea.

D: Instead of Rachel seeing James kiss Sera under the tree, Rachel would be set off by a an ugly text from her Father. He'd get onto her after learning that Rachel rebelled by skipping school with Chloe, and Rachel would talk to Chloe about how she didn't realize how bad her family was when she was younger. This conversation is what lead's to the tree being set on fire. (I'd also have the fire be smaller and more contained so it would make more sense why Rachel and Chloe presumably never got in trouble over it.)

Remove The Sera/Damon Plotline:

E: I hate this plotline, so I would remove all of it. I've said before that I would remove the drug plotline entirely, but on further thought I think I'd actually use this plotline to explain more of Chloe and Frank's dynamic and how it got to where Chloe can kill him in Life Is Strange.

F: Chloe would call Frank early in Episode 2 and ask if she could borrow some money from him. She would have the intention of using it to escape from Arcadia before Frank could get it repaid, but Frank says that he won't worry about the repayment if Chloe will steal the money Drew owns him.

G: Instead of staying with Mikey or confronting Damon, Chloe would be caught by Mikey, who would ask what she was doing in Drew's room. At this point, she could lie and steal the money or come clean and return it to him.

H: If you return the money or pocket it for Chloe and Rachel, Frank will be pissed and say the only reason he isn't loosing his shit on Chloe is because Rachel is around and she's a "good kid." (I will not let y'all forget that Rachel was 15 and Frank was 28.) But he'll say he'll be willing to give her another chance with his cash if she's willing to add finical interest to what he loans her. If you give Frank the money then he'll thank Chloe and say that he's open to giving her more cash in the future, but he expects that it'll be paid back to the penny.

Explore Why Rachel And Chloe Never Left Arcadia Bay In Episode 3

I: Since the drug plot's mostly gone, Episode 3 would have a different plot. I would have Chloe and Rachel leave Arcadia Bay at the end of Episode 2 and open Episode 3 with them in some diner in a small town outside of Arcadia. Rachel would be giddy and talk to Chloe about everything they were going to do now that they're out of Arcadia.

J: However, Chloe is struggling being in a diner that isn't the Two Whales. She's worried about leaving Joyce despite their tense relationship since she's already lost one parent. She's also worried about the truck because she's never fixed a car before. She's realistic enough to know that it might not make it all the way to LA. Chloe talks about her fears and Rachel is too desperate to leave to really take in the worries Chloe has. Though reality does get to her a bit when the waiter brings the bill for their big breakfast and they realize how much it costs just to eat.

K: At this point Chloe has realized that this isn't sustainable. At least, not right now. They don't have anywhere to go. They don't have enough cash to last for long. The car they have barely runs. She tells Rachel that they should go back for now, and Rachel spirals a bit. She accuses Chloe of giving up on their dream when it's in their grasp, and Chloe has to backtalk her down. If she wins the backtalk, then Rachel will realize that she's right and solemnly agree to back. If Chloe loses the back talk then Rachel is furious with her, but agrees to return with her simply because she doesn't have the resources to go to LA alone. However, if Chloe loses the backtalk, the Rachel is notably colder to her for the rest of the game.

L: Chloe would drop Rachel off at her house, and then would go back home to face Joyce. This is where the confrontation with David would happen. Chloe would go back to the junkyard afterward, and would call Rachel to ask if they could meet up. Rachel would agree to meet with her once it got dark since she was grounded for leaving.

M: This is the final scene. Chloe would try to make everything up to Rachel by projecting stars on the ceiling on the junkyard hangout. Rachel would be amazed that Chloe made such a sincere effort to cheer her up, and the girls would spend a moment watching the stars before Rachel turned to Chloe. She would ask "Chloe. Do you think we'll ever really get out of Arcadia Bay?" and Chloe can make her final choice in the game...she can tell Rachel either "I don't know" or "I hope so." The choice holds no consequence because their ending has been decided. It won't change no matter what Chloe says in the moment. Yet, fate spins along, and Rachel accepts what Chloe has to say. The game closes with them watching the fake stars together, contemplating their fake future.

So uh...sorry for the entire book, but that's what I would do personally!

[katsukikitten]

Hello friends! Here is my contribution to the Bakugou Birthday Bash! The master link will be linked here ! Please enjoy my bit of an angsty fic! And all of the other art and works that are on the master list! Enjoy the big bakugou blow out and remember to leave a comment on your favorite pieces! Happy birthday ya shitty man! (Lowkey become 3d please)

Warning: he's 28 btw 😂 (my fic says so also)

It shouldn't be this fucking hard to get groceries and booze. It's a quick and easy errand. Everything already pre-ordered for an important birthday that just needed to be picked up. And yet here you were crying in your car trying to get it together before the attendant asked for the order name. Honestly you had texted out "I can't do this today. Sorry." Several times before deleting it, telling yourself not to hit send. But you would have to be having the worst mental day of your life wouldn't you? Today of all days, how fucking selfish of you.

Especially with the amount of time and effort you and Kirishima had put into this idea. Since New Year's actually, months and months of planning after the two of you had gotten shit faced at Denki and Mina's new years party, creating the brain child. All after bonding over switching patrol partners six months before, you had gotten Bakugou and he had gotten Ashido. Kirishima and yourself giggle over stupid things to the side of the party, people watching as you took shots. Kirishima points towards a normally grumpy blonde.

"Wow I think he's actually having fun." You snort, as you watch Bakugou hide his rare cat smile behind a sip of his beer as Mina makes Denki the butt of a joke.

"He actually loves parties. He never says it so people just think he's a wet blanket." Kirishima laughs, pouring the two of you another shot. Bakugou lets out a particularly loud laugh after 'Dunce Face' proves Mina's point. I guess that would be the time that it started.

When you started to fall. His laugh makes your cheeks deepen in hue and burn, to want to hear it again, to watch it again and learn all of the other sides of your patrol partner that he obviously only reserved for his closest friends.

"Let's throw him a great birthday party." You say, holding up your shot as a devilish smile spreads over sharp teeth. The mountainous man clinks your shot glass before he adds.

"Let's." In unison the two of you down the burning liquid as the plan comes into fruition.

Four months, four months and nineteen days of you thinking of nothing but your patrol partner with whom you got extremely close with since New Year's. So why? Why today of all days were you struggling? Why would normal everyday tasks feel more as if you were wading through mud than the breeze they should have been? You flip down the visor, looking yourself in the eye through little square mirror as you grit your teeth hissing

"Get your shit together."

Your little pep talk helps you get the several cakes and the cart full of booze that everyone requested, planning to make this the best birthday ever. Helping Kirishima set his house up with decorations, setting out the snacks, catering and even pouring some drinks as guests began to arrive to set down their gifts and help with the last minute touches before hiding. Masking through the pit in your stomach as you smiled at all of your friends as they poured in through Kirishima's door. Through the weighted emptiness you felt as each one wrapped you into a tight hug, already praising you and Kirishima for the amazing effort, that Bakugou would be so surprised when it was more than just you and Kirishima here. . Finally you had to go and get the guest of honor just before sundown to catch him before he went to bed. A much needed breather from the constant smiling and forcing a laugh that everyone thought sounded genuine.

Enjoying the silence of the evening train as it pulled you across town to the unsuspecting blonde. And maybe you could have made it through the night from your shitty pep talk or at least through getting the freshly 28 year old to his party but instead you catch your reflection in the window. Your facial features weighted with exhaustion, shoulders hunched allowing your body to continue to produce cortisol. Tears prick your eyes as you deep low, too low. Remembering everything and nothing all at once, steeping in guilt as you beg yourself for just a few more hours. That the depression episode can happen when you're home and alone, after the party goes off without a hitch. Tears fall anyway and they do all the way to Bakugou's until you finally get enough control to step out of yourself for a moment. Ringing the doorbell several times as a smile is plastered on your face, the door swings open. Bakugou's eyes narrow as they take you in, he notices that something is off. Your smile is a little too wide, your eyes rimmed red but he says nothing about it. Instead he lets his initial anger come forth.

"Oi! I told you to fuckin' text me when you were on the train so I could meet you at the station!" He growls, slamming his door shut and pocketing his keys. Deadly and sweaty hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket as his palms itch to hold onto something else. Garnet eyes track your own hands as you reach over your head stretching.

"Yea yea, I hear you Dad." You tease giving him a look, "I still made it okay."

"Kirishima should have come instead of you that fuckin hair for brains." He snarls keeping pace with you as he always does on patrol.

"I know Dad must be sad cause his favorite didn't come to pick him up." You try not to sound dejected, nudging him in the ribs to distract from the crack in your voice, "Happy birthday ya big lug."

Bakugou cuts you a glare, mind racing before his barks out a "Thanks."

Comfortable silence stretches between the two of you before you two hit the train station, passing a corner store.

"Was shitty hair burning dinner? Do I need to stop for back up?" His thumb hooks over his shoulder towards the neon as he stands idle waiting for you to jog your memory. Kirishima had burned the last friend's dinner making Bakugou so angry he walked six blocks to make something that was 'FUCKIN EDIBLE!' while you tried to air out his apartment. You laugh loudly, genuinely for the first time that day causing Bakugou's shoulders to sag with relief. In the ten months he had been working with you he had only seen you faking a smile or laugh once or twice. Then the time after that you were absent from work the next day or two forcing him to patrol with Denki but worse yet...making him worry.

"Guess I'll grab something just in case." He gave you his back so you wouldn't see his face or the faint blush that dusted his cheeks.

"No, no! I ordered out this time. From that famous chef you like." Bakugou glares your way, digging in his back pocket for his wallet.

"How much." He demands through gritted teeth while you show him the palms of your hands in surrender.

"Woah woah! It's your birthday gift! You can't pay me back for dinner! I'd sooner burn the money before I'd accept it from you!" Your watch dings with a message from Kirishima asking for an ETA. You grab onto Bakugou's hand pulling him along into a run as you shout over your shoulder.

"We're gonna be late!"

Oh how Bakugou wished you hadn't done that, he was already struggling to keep his heart beat even when you were around and now to grab onto him. To pull him along in a hurry like those cheesy insta posts that couples did on their "grand adventure" together. He swallows the lump in his throat as he reminds himself that you are nothing more than his patrol partner. His friend at best.

Even though the train was mostly empty Bakugou stood closely by you, as he always did when the two of you were in a crowded space. He had seen how most men took advantage of the situation and he hated the idea of that happening to you although he knew you were more than capable of handling it on your own. Hell you could kick even his ass but he would die before ever admitting that. Instead he watches you talk about what you ordered for dinner and how you got the cake from that bakery Sato works part time at, the same one he got your birthday cake from but he doesn't hear a word. Instead all he can see is the golden light from the setting sun worshiping you. Kissing your skin to make it glow, giving your eyes a hue that makes his heart fall into his stomach and illuminating you in a true light. A radiant ethereal thing is what you were and Bakugou was just lucky enough to be standing by you. So out of it he doesn't realize the two of you are at your stop.

"Uh Suki?" Your voice is soft paired with the setting sun has him acting weird. He leans closer to you, pulled by some invisible force before he stops himself as he watches you look up at him beneath long lashes.

"You okay?" You ask almost nervously from his proximity, the smell of spice and caramel wrap around you making you feel warm and fuzzy. Temporarily making you forget that you were trying to act on the train, making you relax as you just talked to Bakugou. He sucks his teeth as he picks up your bag to sling over his shoulder.

"Yea but you were gonna forget your whole damn purse like you always do." He huffs, this time he was the one pulling at your hand in a rush before the doors closed to trap you two on the train. His hand feels warm in yours, his grip tight as he drags you along before pulling you within his sight, another habit of his you happened to notice. Almost reluctantly he lets go of you hand as Kirishima's house comes into view.

"We better have a good time tonight patrol Princess or you owe me a special birthday gift." He laughs causing you to roll your eyes at his stupid nickname that stuck after your first day with him, adamant that the two of you take your route instead of his it was a huge argument. But it was a good thing he listened to the "princess", it put the two of you smack dab in the middle of a robbery. You stick out your tongue.

"Trust me. You're gonna have a good time!" You push him up the steps as he bats away your hands. Opening the front door before everyone jumps out of various and bad hiding spots.

"SURPRISE!!" All of the alumni of class A and some of B shout, a select few already slurring their words. Bakugou's scowl turns into a smirk before he looks over his shoulder at you.

"Aw you did this to me?" His voice is teasing but his eyes almost sparkle, you nod encouraging him to go deeper into the party. As he does people flock to him laughing and yelling out happy birthday until he's sick of hearing it. All the while your smile wanes with the night. Until an hour in that heavy episode hits you full force. Numbness setting in where happiness should be, rotting as it turns to shame and guilt as you watch your friend, your crush, enjoy his night. Bringing a glass bottle to his lips as he talks with Kirishima, who then presses a shot into his hands. Bodies dancing to the house music that beat out of the speakers competing with chatter and laughter.

It felt weird to watch everyone truly enjoying themselves while you felt low. It felt more as if you were standing outside of the house, looking in through the window to see everyone enjoying themselves, no one even knowing who you were as you stared in.

You felt distant, alone. What a shitty way to feel in a room full of people, none of it being their fault and so the guilt pressed harder. Eyes watering as they lingered on the blonde who deserved this celebration and more. Making you decide to give the best birthday gift of them all.

To slip away upstairs and onto the roof, to give the room space to breathe when you felt like suffocating.

Crying to no one but the moon.

And no one noticed. Two hours slip by before Kirishima insists that Bakugou make a wish and eat cake before everyone gets too drunk too. The entire house drunkenly sings happy birthday but Bakugou notices a voice missing. Yours that's just a touch off key, not to mention he didn't hear you say the stupid nickname 'Suki' where his name should be in the song. Plus you weren't one to miss out on dessert. For as long as Bakugou has been working with you, you never turned down the opportunity for sweets. Whether that was taking the long way back to the agency to try to catch a certain street vendor or to hover by the deserts at a party to pick the very best treat.

And if it was a birthday party, you never could shut up that y'all could not leave until after they blew out the candles and made a wish.

His eyes linger for a second longer, making sure he didn't miss you before his heart sinks. He takes in a sharp inhale, thinks on his wish and blows out the candles.

Meanwhile you hear the cheers of everyone down stairs and sob into your knees. You missed your favorite part of birthdays. Of hoping they make a wish that comes true, of watching their face as they think of something quickly or how some people tear up when they finally realize just how loved they are on their birthday.

It isn't long after that do you hear the sound of combat boots on shingles. Whipping your head up in the direction of the sound. Stomach clenching with guilt as you watch Bakugou walking towards you with a slice of cake.

"Brought ya some cake, since I didn't hear you sing off key to me." He says sinking down beside you as you furiously wipe at your tears.

"I'm-um."

"You don't gotta explain yourself to me." He snarls as you stare dumbly at your cake, "You know that."

"I know…" Silence passes slowly, the moon shines overhead and the party carries on below.

"Well, I'm waiting!" Bakugou says dramatically, "You gonna sing or am I gonna have to sing to myself?"

"Oh." It makes you giggle a bit before you blush, realizing he is serious. You take a deep breath before singing "just off key" when you don't, to him.

"Sukiiiiii!" Relief washes over his features when he hears the dumb ass name, "Happy birthday to youuuuuu!"

"Okay, now you can eat the damn cake." He grunts, his smile never wavering as he looks to the empty street below. You follow his eyes, chewing the inside of your lip, setting the cake down.

"What'd you wish for…" Curiosity gets the better of you and earns his intense gaze. He smirks, scoffing at the end.

"You always say you shouldn't tell or it won't come true." He laughs at your pout, before he finally admits "I wished for courage."

With a furrowed brow you give him a puzzled look, he just holds your gaze.

"Why? You're like the bravest hero I know!" Bakugou can hear the truth in your voice, you aren't saying it just to fucking stroke his ego.

You actually meant it, making this conversation that much harder.

"Yea except when it comes to this one thing I want to do. Its fuckin easy and I've done it hundreds of times just as I'm about to do it I fucking back down cause I'm probably fuckin reading into things too much." He leans in closer, again his smell mesmerizes you, causing your body to visibly relax, "Too much of a fuckin bitch, thinking she doesn't want me like I want her. So I wished for the courage to follow through. To fuckin' just do it."

Your heart is racing out of your chest before one of his hands finds the nape of your neck pulling you into a feverish kiss. Teeth gnashing from the passion, lips perfectly modeling to the other before tongues lightly dance around one another. Lengthening seconds into hours with just a few head tilts and plush lips. You moan into his mouth, he pulls away, eyes clouded with lust as a string of spit connects your tongues. He pants, face flushed and his hand warm, almost burning at the nape of your neck, the shingle by his hand charred from restraint as he pants out.

"I wished for you."

[triptuckers]

Secret admirer - Kaz Brekker

Request: yep “Hello☺️! can you please write something for Kaz where the reader loves to read, and she keeps finding books she's mentioned wanting to read on her bed and she doesn't know where they are coming from, but it turns out Kaz has been stealing them for her? you don't have to, but I think it would be sweet. thanks tons!!!!” Pairing:  Kaz Brekker x reader Summary:  you’re trying to figure out who keeps sending you books Warnings: none! Word count:  1.6K A/N: this request is so sweet omg!! thank you for requesting it, enjoy reading!

It’s a rare, slow day. You’re sitting around a table with Nina and Inej, sharing a plate of waffles with them. Nina is eating most of them, though. You’re talking to them about a book you read a while ago, but you lost your copy.

‘How does one lose a book?’ says Nina through a mouth full of waffles.

‘Nina, this is Ketterdam. People lose things all the time. Half of the time they get robbed.’ you say.

‘Okay, let me rephrase that; why would anyone steal a book?’ says Nina.

You shrug. ‘Maybe they liked it too so they stole it. Maybe I just lost it. It’s very possible that it’s collecting dust in the corner of my room as we speak.’ you say.

‘Why not buy a new copy?’ asks Inej.

‘Every time I visit the bookstore, I look for it, but they never have it.’ you say. ‘I re-read it a lot of times, it was a really good one. Guess I’ll have to find a new favourite.’ 

Nina pushes the plate of waffles toward you. ‘You can have the last one.’ she says.

‘Thanks.’ you say, smiling at her and taking the waffle as you get up to go to your room.

Maybe your book would show up, maybe it wouldn’t. It was the least of your worries these days. 

You walk up the stairs to your room, putting the last bit of waffle in your mouth. Tomorrow you’d try the bookstore again, even though you knew it would probably be useless. They never had it, and you doubted they’d have it tomorrow. 

And you didn’t even have that much time to read anyway. Still, you like to go to the store to check. You like the little store with books cramped into every corner. You’re pretty sure you’re the only regular customer. Most of the people in Ketterdam who read books go to the university on the other side of the city. They went to nice, big stores. Not like the small one located near you.

You get up early the next day. After putting on some clothes and gathering your weapons, you quickly head out the door. It’s a nice sunny morning. It’s not too cold or too hot, the temperature is exactly right.

You’re enjoying your walk to the bookstore and wave at the owner as you enter.

���Still looking for it?’ they say. ‘Of course.’ you say. ‘I didn’t get it.’ they say. ‘Always worth looking for it anyway.’ you say, moving to scan the titles of the books on the shelves. 

Every time you’d come in, the owner would tell you they didn’t get it, and you’d go and look for it anyway. It was a nice routine you’d settled into. With your life consisting only out of chaos, it felt good to have a routine. Even if it was just looking for a book you knew wasn’t there.

After looking for it and not finding it, you head out the door, back to the Slat. You walk up the stairs to go and get Nina so you could have breakfast together. When you walk past your door, you pause.

You take a few steps back and look at your door. You’re certain you locked it when you left earlier this morning. Your hand rests on your weapon as you slowly twist the door knob.

You open the door to find the room empty. You open the doors of your closet and are met by the familiar mess of clothes, no one is hiding in it. Just as you’re moving to leave your room again something catches your eye.

On the bed is a small package. You slowly approach it. Why would anyone break into your room and leave something behind instead of taking something? You eye the package suspiciously, then pick it up.

It’s heavier than you expected it to be. You frown and shake it a little. It doesn’t make any sound. You look up when you hear a knock on your door.

‘Ready for breakfast?’ says Nina. ‘Hey, what do you have there?’

‘I don’t know.’ you say, turning your attention back to the package in your hands. ‘I just got back from the bookstore and my door was unlocked and this was on my bed.’

‘Well?’ says Nina, walking over to you. ‘Open it!’

‘I still find it surprising that your curiosity hasn’t gotten you killed.’ you say, making Nina snort.

‘You’ll never know what it is if you don’t open it.’ states Nina.

‘You’re right.’ you say. You carefully unwrap the package and your eyes land on a book with a beautiful deep blue coloured cover. Nina leans over your shoulder to read the title. 

‘Hey!’ she says. ‘Isn’t that the book you lost?’

‘Yes.’ you say, confused. You turn the book over in your hands. It looks brand new.

‘Maybe someone found it for you and gave it back to you?’ says Nina.

‘No, this isn’t my copy.’ you say, opening it. ‘This one looks new, and I write my name on the first page of any book I own.’

‘Maybe the bookstore owner got it for you and had it delivered?’ says Nina as the two of you walk downstairs.

‘No, I visited them today, they said they didn’t have it.’ you say. ‘Maybe they wanted it to be a surprise?’ says Nina.  You shake your head. ‘No, they would have told me.’ you say. 

You spend the entire day trying to figure out who could have possible gifted you the book. And it turned out it was only the beginning. After every conversation you’d have about a book, you’d find a copy of it on your bed. 

You were a bit flattered and still confused. One day, you get downstairs with yet another new one.

‘Got another one.’ you say to the rest of the Crows as you sit down between Wylan and Nina.

You put the book on the table and Jesper picks it up, letting out a low whistle. ‘This looks expensive.’ says Jesper.

‘It is.’ you say, helping yourself to a cup of coffee. ‘I don’t get it. I can only think it’s someone who knows me and talks to me. That’s the only way they can know exactly which books I like.’

‘Maybe it’s the bookstore owner?’ offers Wylan. ‘The bookstore owner is old and by that I mean at least twice my age if not more. And I'm pretty sure they haven’t left the store since they bought it.’ you say, shooting his idea down.

‘What if it’s a student from the university? They could get the books from one of the bigger stores.’ says Inej. ‘I’ll eat my hat if some student comes all the way to the Barrel, listens to my conversations, heads back to the university, buys expensive books, walks back to the Barrel, slips into my room and places the books there.’ you say.

‘Well, they certainly put a lot of effort into making you happy with these books.’ says Wylan.  ‘Oooh!’ says Jesper, wiggling his eyebrows at you. ‘Y/N’s gotten herself a secret admirer!’ You scoff, taking the book from him. ‘No I don’t.’ you say.

‘Didn’t you just tell us that book is ridiculously expensive?’ says Jesper. ‘Yes, but-’ ‘And whoever gave it to you, has bought you a lot of books already. They’re spending serious money for you.’ says Jesper.

‘Well then, that rules you out.’ you say. 

Jesper places his hand on his chest and pretends to be in pain. ‘Ouch!’ he says. ‘Rude!’

You laugh and finish you coffee. ‘Maybe they’ll show themselves, maybe they won’t. I’m getting nice books, so I’m not complaining.’ you say. 

‘I bet it’s that kid that joined two months ago. He’s been eyeing you.’ says Nina. ‘You’re making that up.’ you say. ‘He has been eyeing you, Y/N, Nina’s got a point.’ says Inej. ‘He’s what, 15? And if he can buy me books he can buy himself a new coat that doesn’t have holes in it.’ you say and you get up. ‘I’ll leave you to figure this out.’

You head up to your room to get your coat before you go outside, and a new package catches your eye. You smile as you walk up to it. It’s wrapped in the same brown paper, but this time there’s a note attached to it.

You pick up the note and fold it open.

“They aren’t expensive if you don’t pay for them. K.”

Your jaw drops as you read the note again and again. K. Was Kaz the one that had secretly been sending you books? 

They aren’t expensive if you don’t pay for them. Of course he wouldn’t. 

You smile to yourself as you unwrap the package. And as expected, the latest book you mentioned is in it. You softly laugh to yourself and shake your head. Who would have guessed that the bastard of the Barrel would do something like anonymously send you the books you talk about?

You never really thought he was listening to you. You thought his mind was all about heist and how to make more kruge. But apparently, he did hear you. You set the book down next to your other books, and put the note in your pocket.

You grab your coat and head back downstairs. Just as you reach the last steps, you run into Kaz, deep in conversation with one of the Dregs. 

He briefly looks at you before continuing his conversation. You take the note out of your pocket and hold it up. You mouth a thank you and he nods at you.

You look at the rest of the Crows, who are still discussing who they think would send you books.

‘I figured it out!’ you say.

But before they can ask you who it is, you’re out the door, smiling to yourself. You’d keep this little secret between you and Kaz.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

[wing-ed-thing]

Casually (Kankuro x Reader)

Synopsis: All Kankuro wants to do is ask out the cute florist that comes to deliver flowers to the office, but of course working with your siblings means that you can never get a moment of peace.

Word Count: 1,167

Warnings/Tags: Gender Neutral Reader, Minor Original Characters, Attempt at Humor, Humor, This Fic is Actually Kinda Ridiculous, Fluff, Nervous!Kankuro, Florist!Reader

Notes: I felt in a bit of a goofy mood so here y’all go

Mr. Watanabe sent Mrs. Watanabe a bouquet of flowers every week like clockwork. Where Mr. Watanabe got the money to be able to shell out for weekly flowers, Kankuro didn’t know. After all, not many floral species grew naturally in the deserts of Sunagakure, meaning that the bouquets were grown for a high price in the village green house or they were imported. And with Mrs. Watanabe working as a secretary and Mr. Watanabe working part time in daycare, the large, vibrant vase of flowers served as an unspoken mystery for Kankuro to walk by at least twice a day.

But he had no complaints. Not when you were there, because twice a week you would bring Mrs. Watanabe her flowers. You checked your card, you had her sign, and oftentimes you would chat with her by her desk during slow periods at the Kazekage office. And Kankuro was sure that at the very least, he had held the door open for you once before pretending to be busy nearby. He had a hard time admitting, even to himself, that he felt flustered by a florist. That Kankuro, bodyguard and right hand to the Kazekage, had a difficult time talking to the local florist.

“Another beautiful selection, Mrs. Watanabe!” Your voice cut through Kankuro’s thoughts. He never spent too much time on the first floor before, but for the past few months he had offered to run paperwork whenever he had the chance. You lightly kicked open the door, a vibrant group of flowers hiding your face. Kankuro looked up from the paperwork that he was discussing with the secretary as you made your way over. You placed the vase on the counter.

“Those are very nice,” Kankuro said, inwardly kicking himself the moment the words left his lips. He tuned out Mrs. Watanabe who raved about the colors in the background. You smiled at the petals before turning your attention to him. Kankuro leaned against the counter in an attempt to look casual.

“Right? I got a whole bunch of seeds from the Land of Water for a really great price. They’re just so different and gorgeous.” Kankuro didn’t know how to respond. He never engaged in flower discourse before. You motioned to him, eyes lingering to the corner of your vision. “And you are Mr…” Your forehead scrunched up the slightest bit.

“Kankuro,” he provided quickly, “Just Kankuro. And you are…” You offered him your name, although he already knew it. You smiled, but centered your attention on Mrs. Watanabe as you provided her her card and the receipt to sign. When you glanced back at him, you did so expectantly. Kankuro scratched at the back of his neck through his hood. “Hey, um, if you ever have some free time—”

“Kankuro!” Temari burst through the stairwell door, her reading glasses on and a few manilla envelopes in her arms. “Did you ever end up processing that paperwork that was supposed to go to the Leaf? They keep sending me letters about how they haven’t gotten their copy of the files and I swear I’m going to shoot down the next Hokage bird that comes to my window.” He held up the small stack of papers in his hands.

“It’s right here. We’re going to get it by the date that we told them we’d get it, so tell Shikamaru to…” he trailed off, subtly glancing your way before clearing his throat. “Tell Shikamaru to wait.” Temari groaned.

“You’re no help. I swear I have to do everything around here!” You could still hear her frustrated grunts as she retreated back up the stairs. You turned back to Kankuro.

“You were saying?” You blinked at him and Kankuro had to take a moment to process what it was that you said.

“Oh, yeah!” Kankuro almost jumped back as he shook his head. Out of all the missions he ran, all of the times he risked his life for his country, he had never felt as flustered as he did. He kicked himself, trying to channel his usual, self-proclaimed, charming cockiness. “Uh—” He leaned back against the counter, extra casual this time. —“So if you’re free at some point this week…”

But before he could get the second half of his sentence out, the doors burst open and a flurry of sand spilled across the floor. Gaara trudged in, robes dusty and slightly tattered. Kankuro immediately rushed to his brother’s side only to be stopped short by Gaara’s halting palm.

“Mrs. Watanabe,” Gaara spoke in his usual gravelly voice. Mrs. Watanabe hummed, perking up behind her desk. Gaara trudged towards the stairwell. “Please cancel all of my appointments today. I wish to be in my office undisturbed.” She scribbled a few things in her book before holding up a thumb with a wrinkled smile.  

“What happened to you?” Kankuro asked and Gaara stood still.

“The sand and I got into a disagreement.”

And without another word he disappeared, leaving a large, suspiciously Gaara-sized pile of sand behind. Kankuro let out a sigh, knowing that he would have to add checking in on his brother to the list of things he had to do before the end of the work day. He ran his hands over his face, careful as to not smudge his face paint. You cleared your throat behind him and Kankuro turned to your concerned, dumbfounded expression.

“Does he do that—”

—“all the time.” Kankuro nodded and you took a sharp breath inward. A pause overtook the front office as you studied the sand slowly drift across the floor, the front doors still wide open.

“Whelp, um… Mrs. Watanabe, you have a great day.” You began to collect your things. Kankuro found himself at a loss as he stood alone in the middle of the entryway. You motioned to him, forehead crinkled again as you thought. “And you were trying to tell me something, but I actually have a few more flowers to run—” Kankuro tried not to look disappointed.

“Oh, uh, yeah. For sure…” He considered joining his brother in a bit of midday sulking. Maybe the next time around he could approach asking you out more like a mission. Maybe he wouldn’t get so uncharacteristically flustered—

—“So why don’t you just tell me at dinner tonight.” You maneuvered past him with a smile with your pen pointed in your hand. “That is, if you’re free tonight. Because if you are, you can just meet me at the flower shop.” Kankuro shook himself out of his shock.

“Yeah, that sounds great!” he said with nothing to lean on this time to look casual. He stuck a hand in his pocket as you left through the open doors. Kankuro gave a slight wave with his other. Mrs. Watanabe glanced up from her work over the glasses that sat on the tip of her nose.

“Do you even know where the flower shop is?”

Kankuro shook his head, still a bit dazed.

Notes: Despite the silliness I think I kept everyone in character...?

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

@brokennerdalert​

[astaroth1357]

An MC Who Treats The Brothers Like a Kindergarten Teacher 

Okay, so I know I still have requests. I will get back to them right after this, but I just saw a post that gave me this idea and I had had had to get it out!! Requests will be back after this! Thank you MRS. Green Apple (my favorite band ever) and their song Present for this fun little romp of mine. 🤭

Lucifer

He is so conflicted on this it makes him wish he drank more…

On the one hand, he HATES how patronizing they can be… but even he can't deny how much progress they’ve made in his brothers. Mammon especially.

They're all actually studying more, cleaning up after themselves, doing their chores, and being polite… it's… admittedly he having an existential crisis...

This is what he's been missing this whole time?? Sticker charts?! And come on, they're all on the Student Council for Hell's sake! How could the most powerful beings in the Devildom be won over so easily by the same tactics used on human schoolchildren!?! Have some dignity!!

For the first month he just watched them whip his brothers into shape in barely concealed horror. It was so surreal...

But at about the time the MC managed to get Mammon and Levi to stop fighting and apologize for being mean to each other, he threw in the towel. Whether he liked them or not, he conceded that the human was a blessing in disguise and left most of the discipline to them from then on.

He's never been more productive in his life and he can actually get a night or two of good sleep with no interruptions... He's taken the MC out to lunch on multiple occasions and is still trying to talk Diavolo into letting them make this a permanent arrangement. They may actually get his brothers to become well-behaved demons yet...!

Mammon

Okay so, don't get it twisted. He doesn't need their stickers, or their love, or their approval, or all that positive reinforcement or anything! He's just playing along with them okay?? Okay?!

He scoffed at the whole thing at first because, look, he's no child. He's a grown-ass demon! What were little stickers of Devildom currency supposed to do for him??

But when they told him a completed chart would earn him a shopping spree outta their pocket… Well now they were talking.

He just did it at first for the big prize, but every time he finished a task the MC would be sure to notice how hard he worked and tell him he did a good job or compliment him somehow and… well… he doesn't get that a lot...

After a while he kind of forgot about filling out the chart because he would be excited to run to them and tell them what good thing he did next. Turns out this boy was starving for any kind of approval. 😖

The first time he actually finished his chart they told him how proud they were and he almost cried... Almost. He ain't that soft, okay??

Though he does mess up still, he probably makes the most progress of the House, much to everyone's disbelief. He's also super protective of his stickers and HATES when they're taken away so none of y'all better drag him into your problems, ya hear??

Leviathan 

He feels like this normie is weird even for human standards… Why do they keep offering him stickers…?

Well… They are Ruri-chan themed so he's not complaining that much.

He's not even sure where they got them from… He thought he had a pulse on every bit of merch that comes out for his favorite characters so they must had those custom ordered and that's dedication.

They told him that they'd get him a new game for every finished chart, which was nice but not necessary, he kind of just liked getting more little pictures of Ruri-chan like the collector he is. ��

After a while, the MC started subtly theming his tasks more toward getting out of his room and being more productive... In baby steps, of course.

He'd be scared, but they were always there to praise him any time he tried. With a little bit of time, he actually started getting more confident! I mean, not a lot but hey. It's improvement.

The human even managed to get Mammon to pay him back a little bit of the money he’s owed! Well, it was literally just one night's paycheck from Hell's Kitchen but it was still more than he's seen in three centuries so he'll take it! He goes to them whenever he needs to butter up Mammon now... They’re an excellent go-between.

Satan

Ah… So the MC is well-versed in psychological manipulation… Well he refuses to fall for it.

They could offer him all the stickers they wanted, he’s going to just fall in line like his brothers! He didn't need any psychological training from them, even as the youngest he’s centuries older than they are!

But wait… are those stickers cat themed…? And is that one in a little cowboy hat??

… Touché human. He'll play nice once or twice but he doesn't need their cute stickers!

A part of him got a lot of joy out of watching Lucifer finally admit that this living nursery rhyme of a being was better at controlling his brothers than he was… Talk about a slice of humble pie, he even got it all on camera… 😏

But his brother wasn't wrong... The House has never been cleaner and everyone's grades were up, even his own. As odd as it was to say, bringing the human to the Devildom seemed to have produced a net positive all around. 🤷‍♀️

And after he discovered that the MC convinced Lucifer to let him volunteer at a human world animal shelter each time he completed a chart… Move over, Beel. He's going to finish the most charts in the House now. Just you wait.

Asmodeus 

Oh honey, he knows a thing or two about punishment and reward systems. It's going to take some pretty nice prizes for him to play this game...

Which is why his stickers get followed up by kisses.

For each new sticker, he gets to pick a spot to kiss them or for them to kiss him (though they don't let him get too pervy with it)

Finish the dishes? Get a kiss on the hand. Two hour of studying? There's one for the cheek. And so on.

The others get jealous of his deal pretty quickly and start asking for kisses too but he'll throw a fit if he ever finds out. The human's kisses are HIS prize so everyone else will just have to live with it! 😠

Asmo, drama-hog that he is, is also the biggest snitch in the House. He loooves telling the MC about when his brothers mess up and should lose stickers, Mammon especially because it make him sooo pissed.

He's also in a betting war with Satan over how many days it’ll take Belphie to actually get up and do his chores for a change... The current wager is two weeks or more.

Beelzebub 

Thought it was a little weird that the human seemed so obsessed with praising him and calling him a good boy but whatever. 

(Little did he know they were subtly using him like a role model of everybody else but that's neither here nor there 🤷‍♀️)

He doesn't mind the sticker thing because he gets them so easily. The theme seems to be: be responsible, helpful, and not a jerk which he passes with flying colors so it’s really not a challenge for him.

It was only after they told him that they'd take him out to Hell's Kitchen with each completed chart that he really got serious about it...

If you think normal Beel is sweet, actually trying to be sweet Beel is practically an angel all over again. He even stopped stealing food from other people's plates when the MC told him he could lose stickers for it… (which means that Levi can start eating breakfast for a change, at least. 🤷‍♀️)

He's long since completed five charts and is well into his sixth. It doesn't matter what it is, if food is on the line then Beel will knock it out of the park every time. If Lucifer wasn't funding their sticker project, then he honestly would have bankrupted the MC a long time ago… 😅… 😟… 😥...

Belphegor 

What the-? Did he leave his brothers for a few months and they all formed a cult or something?? Why is everyone suddenly so obsessed with stickers???

He doesn't understand the appeal at all... Do chores around the house and get a prize? What kind of game were they trying to play here?? No thanks. He'll pass.

Belphie proved pretty hard to motivate, even with prizes, so the MC had to try a different tactic…

If there's anything that can motivate Belphie, it's the promise of good sleep and cuddles. But if they made it too difficult to get and he'd just sleep by himself in pouty defiance...

So they told him that he needs to get at least two or three stickers every few days or they'll stop cuddling completely until he does. 

He didn't think they were serious at first… but any time he'd try to get his arms around them, they'd sidestep or slip out of the way like they had a sixth sense or something! What kind of superhuman reflexes do you need to keep up with human anklebiters???

It took a week for him to finally relent and join the freaky sticker cult that makes up the rest of his family... He remains self-aware enough to always point out how fucking bizarre it all is... but hey. He's too lazy to do much about it, so who cares right? 🤷‍♀️

Check out my Masterlist for more!

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The General (part 9): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: nothing is the way it was before. there is no future; there is no past. all there is... is nothing. 

wc: 2.1k

tw: light gore

masterlist

“She’s not gonna eat; I already told you that.” 

The sounds of Kaori and Toji fighting just outside of your door leak into your room, but you’re beyond caring. Megumi sits beside you in the sun-lit room, eyes scanning the outdoors, looking for any sign of an animal. You’re tucked underneath a warm, thick blanket, despite the temperature outside being warm enough to cause a little sweat. No, things were better this way. 

When you had come to after blacking out, Toji, Kaori, and Megumi were hovering over you, trying to figure out what to do about the General’s untimely passing. But in the two months since, no one had quite figured out how to bring you back to life. The only thing they could do is watch you slowly waste away and become a shell of your former self. 

Your parents suspect it’s because your princely husband had not sent for you since the war had ended, and you’re grieving a supposed loss. But neither Kaori nor Toji had the heart to admit that this loss wasn’t supposed. It was real. 

Your days are spent in your bed or in the garden behind the house, mind empty as Megumi attempts to watch over you and possibly even cheer you up by play-fighting with his father. But more often than not, you’re reduced to tears, and Toji fetches Kaori because he “can’t deal with crying women”. 

“My lady?” The head maid enters into your room with an orange and onigiri in her hands. “I brought you some fresh fruit from the market. Hamai sends her regards as well.” Hamai - Yuta’s sister and wife of Yuko - had also attempted to visit you, but her grief motivated her to knock on your door, and you couldn’t bear to think of Yuta or Nanami or--

“Thank you,” you croak, and she nods, handing Megumi the two onigiri. 

“Your father said you’d better eat these or he’ll never--”

“‘Feed me again’. I know,” Megumi chants monotonously and takes the rice balls from her hands. “Thank you, Kaori-san.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want any visitors?” Kaori asks for the third time. You cut your eyes to her, attempting a glare. “Hamai would love to come and--” 

“Listen, the lady said no visitors,” Toji gripes, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. “I’ve been fighting off a ton of measly looking men who have nothing to say except ‘I’ve come to see Lady y/n’ and honestly, if you invite another person to this damn place, I’ll kill them on the spot.”

You roll away from the two people and look out of the window, remaining silent as Megumi eats his onigiri and stares at the bears and tigers in his book. Kaori and Toji retreat, restarting their squabble as soon as the door closes, leaving you to think about nothing and no one. 

_______________________________________________________________________

You’re in the garden when Megumi runs up to you, holding a light pashmina to cover your shoulders in the chill of fall. 

“Careful, you might get sick,” he warns, and you accept the article with a smile. 

“Thank you, sweet one.” The child climbs onto the bench you’re seated on, swinging his legs while you stare at the shishi-odoshi in silence. You’re suddenly reminded of the three other sweet children you left back at the camp, and before you can begin to sob out loud, your hand flies to your mouth. 

“Hey,” Toji appears from the house, hands deep in his pockets as he surveys the area. “You alright?” 

“Just fine,” you whisper, pushing back tears and grief all at once. “I just needed some peace and quiet.” 

“Yeah, gardens will give you that.” Toji stands beside the fountain and stares into the water for a moment before turning to Megumi. “There’s a frog out by the lake if you’re interested in--” Megumi hops down from the bench and disappears around the corner in a flash, abandoning you without a worry in the world. You sigh, watching him fade into the distance, and then turn to Toji, who is already staring at you with some unreadable expression. 

“What is it?” you grumble, blinking slowly. 

“Nothing, just…” Toji presses his lips together and looks sky-ward, thinking about his next words carefully. “I know you feel like everyone in the whole world can fuck off since Geto died… but have you ever considered moving on?” You tilt your head to the side, wondering if Toji really ever listened to himself talk. “I mean, yeah this shit is painful, but…” Toji rubs his neck and looks away from you and back to the fountain. “You have to move on at some point.” 

“He told me to wait for him,” you explain, wrapping the pashmina a little tighter and squinting at the shapes in the pool. “I’m going to do just that.”

“Y/n, he’s dead… what good will waiting do? Will you wait your whole life?” 

Your head snaps to Toji and you curl your lip up in disgust. 

“You’ve never loved anyone in this world but yourself and your money,” you spit, standing from your seated position so fast that Toji takes a half-step back. “I don’t imagine that you’d know what I’m talking about.” 

“That’s not true,” he retorts, frowning. “I’m trying to help you, that’s all. I’d hate to see you waste away over a man who can’t even survi--” The pashmina falls from your shoulders as your hand makes contact with his face, the echo of the slap scaring a flock of birds from the surrounding trees into the sky. 

“Speak ill of Geto again, and I’ll make sure those words are your last.” Toji doesn’t touch his bruised cheek as you stomp off, watching you retreat back into the house as he realizes that he let you slap him. 

_______________________________________________________________________

Screams haunt your sleep, fire burns the camp, and you’re running away, holding hands with the children as you dash into the forest. Geto is behind you, fighting off some unknown assailant, but you instinctively know how the dream is going to end.

You trip and fall over a root of a tree, but you yell at the children to escape. They continue running, not sparing you a second glance, but you turn around just as Geto is stabbed through the chest by a spear and falls with his back to the ground.  His head tilts back and he makes eye contact with you, blood pouring out of his mouth as he chokes:

“Wait for me.”

You shoot up in the bed and stumble out of your room through the sliding door that leads to the garden, sweat pouring down your neck and back as you sink to your knees. Your stomach heaves once, twice, depositing yellow bile into the bushes beside the house. The sun is barely up, and as you dry heave, you hear another door sliding open, Toji then Kaori tumbling out of your back door. 

“Poison,” Toji grunts, but Kaori pushes him aside before he can get to you. 

“No, she didn’t even eat anything before bed,” she states, rubbing your back with her cool hands. Your skin clams up as a breeze rolls across the garden, and you shudder violently before your teeth begin to chatter. “Toji, a blanket.” 

“Isn’t that your job?” he gripes, but walks into the house to grab a blanket anyways. When the cloth resta against your back, you feel a little better, but the feeling in your stomach won’t go away. 

“My Lady… talk to me. What’s the matter?” 

“Go,” you shake Kaori off, not wanting to repeat the events of your dream. 

“It’s probably because she didn’t eat,” Toji groans, the stairs squeaking under his weight. “I’ll get her a --” 

“Both of you. Go.” You look up at Toji, mustering your sternest look, and aiming the same expression at Kaori, who walks away from you, head hung low. 

You stay in the garden as true morning crests over the sky, lying on the bench under the bare cherry blossom tree while the skies turn into pinks and yellows, and reds. The image of Geto’s bloodied face wouldn’t depart from your memory and you feel the ache even deeper than before. The ache intensifies until it feels like all of you is just one large hole, throbbing with need and grief.

Nothing could save you. 

No one was coming back for you. 

They were all dead, and there was nothing left of the people you had grown to love and care for. 

It isn’t until your mother walks into the garden that you realize you might have missed your breakfast of an orange and water, but she comes bearing the fruit and you’re set back at ease. You wordlessly allow your mother to sit beside you, lifting your head so it rests in her lap snugly. She pats your hair gently, then inhales deeply, speaking in her normal soft tones. 

“Kaori told me you were sick last night,” she begins, and you nod as if she had asked a question and not stated a fact. “Ever since Geto Suguru died, you’ve been awfully sullen. One might think you had been with him the whole time and not at the Imperial Palace.” You glance up at your mother, and she winks at you. “Don’t worry; I won’t tell your father.” 

“How did you know?” you wonder, and she smiles, wrinkles forming at the edges of her mouth. 

“Well first, whoever the General gets to write his letters needs to brush up on their penmanship,” she laughs, then shrugs. “But it was your face the day that the General was announced dead that I saw you change. It only took me a few days to realize that you were in mourning, not upset that your prince hadn’t sent for you.” 

“Mother, I--” 

“You had every right to keep it a secret, although I wish you hadn’t. It would’ve made my interrogation of Toji much easier.” You imagine your own mother - all of five-foot-four, standing up to the massive Fushiguro with a finger to his chest - and you can’t help but chuckle. “Whatever the General did, I haven’t seen you glowing like you did when you returned since you were a little girl. I’ll have to find a way to thank him for that.” 

You choke out a deep sob, closing your eyes as you think of the lack of tribute, the lack of a funeral, the missing images of him that won’t return to your memory. 

“Though Toji takes good care of you. I haven’t seen that man slack off on his job once since after the announcement. He’s also been very helpful with your father. You know, he would ma--” 

“Lady y/n!” Kaori sprints out of the home, and you both look up to see her flustered expression, wondering what would have her so worked up this early in the morning. “There was a messenger from the Imperial Palace in the square!” she stops in front of you, panting heavily. “The Emperor… has fallen… ill.” When she catches her breath, the head maid can finally finish her statement, and she exhales deeply. “As is custom, his eldest son will be taking a tour of the country. And he’s named this village as his final stop, with your house as his resting place for the time he is here. He’ll be in the village in a fortnight.” You sit up, eyeing the maid carefully. 

Pieces of a puzzle begin to click together in your mind.

“His eldest son is Prince Naoya, correct?” 

“Yes, my lady.” As if sensing your premature plan, Kaori looks you dead in the eyes, daring you to do what she imagines you are already thinking of. 

“And you said a fortnight?” Your mother butts in, squinting her eyes.

“Yes.” 

“Fourteen days to prepare.” you whisper, lifting your head out of your mother’s lap and retreating to the house to find the eldest Fushiguro. Kaori enters behind you, grabbing your elbow before you can open his guest room door.

“What you’re thinking of is suicide,” she hisses, but you shrug. 

“What better way to rejoin Geto than to kill his murderer and then die myself?” you retort, but she slaps a hand over the gap between the wall and the door, blocking you from entering. 

“This isn’t what he would want,” Kaori pleads. “Please, think about what he said.”

“I cannot wait for a dead man, Kaori. Now, let me go.” You yank free from her grasp and enter the guest room, eyeing a lazy Toji lounging by the window. “I need your help.” 

He rolls his head around to look at you and raises a brow. “With what, my lady?” 

“I need to kill a prince in two weeks. Think you can help me with that?” 

“You mean treason?” Toji sits up, letting the book he held in his hands drop to his bed, and hums thoughtfully. “Killing a prince as revenge… putting the Imperial Court into chaos… yeah, I think I can help you with that.”

_______________________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @kamisamaundercover @jotazinha @just4readingfics @mxhi @sammytamaki @brownskinnedgirll @keelyshayee @leanne-tamashi @vabybizzle @amaris9 @fuegy-fuegy @ambiguous-something​

[tatestripedsweater]

Never Forget

Plot: After Bucky comes home in his new uniform, Bucky decides to make his goodbye to his best girl worth while.

Pairing: 1940s!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Unprotected Sex, Cunnilingus, Mentions of Hitler (Idk if that’s a warning but I’m doing it as one just in case)

Wordcount: 4.1K

A/N: I’m posting this one shot a bit earlier than expected as I got a tad excited, also I’m proud of it (hint: the word count) I hope you all enjoy it!

Marvel Taglist: @amourtentiaa @tatesimper @mxlti-fand0m-imaginess @darlingkitt @elaineygrace @satanscomplex @mossybank​ - Add/Remove yourself through my pinned post 

“Does Y/N know?’’ Steve asked as he motioned to Bucky’s uniform, of course you didn’t. He already knew the answer to that question. Bucky knew you’d me less than happy, but not you or him could change what was happening in the world right now. No matter how bad he wanted too. “I’ll take that as a no.”

Steve knew his best friend better than anyone, he should do as the two grew up with one another. The look on Bucky’s face indicated that you, Bucky’s girlfriend, didn’t know at all. So, it was going to be a surprise when he walked in through the door in his Sergeant uniform.

“Yeah, I know she’s going to be pissed. What woman wouldn’t...?” Bucky didn’t know how he was going to handle being away from you, god knows how long this war was going to go on for. Bucky wasn’t even sure if he would come back home to you at all.

Just like Steve had read Bucky’s mind, he spoke up once more to share his ‘words of wisdom’ as Bucky called it. “You’ll be back before you know it, then you’ll have all those kids to run after once you’ve married her.”

You and Bucky had spoken about children, it was something that came up once he asked you to marry him. He wanted as many as you were willing to birth, just one big happy family.

“Oh, shut up.” The tone in Bucky’s voice was teasing and even a tad sarcastic, but he had to hold himself back from letting tears fall down his cheeks as he thought about it. What if he never came back? The two of you would never have the family the both of you talked about, you’d most likely remarry. Have a family without him.

“Are you both coming to the Stark Expo tonight?” Steve decided it was best to change the subject and quickly, Bucky had other plans than watching Howard Stark show off his latest invention.

“I’m going to spend the night with my girl.” He nudged Steve when he playfully rolled his eyes. Bucky wanted to spend as much time with you as possible, no one else. Just you and him.

 -

 “I’m home baby doll.” The excitement on your face was soon replaced with sadness once you saw your fiancé. Part of you hoped he wasn’t going, but you knew that if he didn’t then Bucky would be deemed a coward. Not that you would’ve cared. “Hey hey... come here.”

Bucky soon walked over to you and engulfed you in his arms once he saw the tears start to fall down your cheeks, small sobs escaping your lips as your head rested on his chest.

You weren’t ready for him to go, as selfish as it sounded you didn’t want him to leave.

“You can’t leave me.” Your voice cracked as you spoke, as soon as Bucky heard it then the tears started to roll down his cheeks. His hands rubbed your back gently as he held you, the both of you just clinging onto each other as you two cried. “Stay. Stay and we can run away together, anywhere you want.”

Bucky took a deep breath once that left his lips, how he wished it was that easy. He would if he could. Bucky knew how deeply this was going to affect you, he hoped to god that he came back as he didn’t know how you’d cope if he ever died. You could barely cope when he was out of the house earning money.

“Y/N we can’t.” His warm hands cupped your cheeks as he lifted your head, so you looked up at him, both yours and Bucky’s eyes red. “As much as I want to do that we can’t, but I promise you I’ll do everything in my power to come back to you. Not even Hitler can stop me from doing that.”

Before you could even speak, he leaned in to kiss you. Bucky’s lips against your own was like a drug, you just wanted more of his touch and his kisses that you didn’t know how you’d survive without him.

His hands were still on your cheeks as the two of you kissed one another, he could taste the sweetness of the honey you had for breakfast as he ran his tongue over your own.

Bucky deepened the kiss as his hands moved from your cheeks and ran down your arms, finally landing on your waist. Your arms moved over his shoulders before taking his hat off, so you were able to run your fingers through his hair, it was like running your fingers through silk.

You were sure that by the end of this that your lips would be bruised but you didn’t care, you wanted all of him. With neither of you taking a breather from the kiss, the dizziness started to set in. It wasn’t major, it happened often as the both of you couldn’t get enough of each other.

“Bucky.” You panted against his lips but before you could say another word you felt him sick your bottom lip into his mouth, before biting on it gently. He knew just how to make you flustered.

“You’re mine. Tonight, and forever no matter what happens. Promise if I don’t come back, you won’t forget me.” That took you off guard as he whispered that against your lips, his hot breath making goosebumps appear on your skin. “Promise me doll. I need to hear you say it.”

“I’ll never forget you. How could I? You’re always going to be my first love, first kiss. first sexual experience.” Your cheeks went hot as you said that, Bucky only chuckling made you heat up even more. “I’ll always love you, as long as the sun rises and falls, you’ll always be in my heart James.”

You were the only one he’d let get away with calling him by his ‘proper’ name, you and his mother were the only ones that ever called him it.

Bucky’s forehead rested against your own as tears fell once more after you said that, he was so afraid of you forgetting him if he didn’t come back. He didn’t want this love story to end.

“I got you something to remember me by.” He whispered softly as I looked into your eyes, pulling away so he could get a better look at your face. Your lips were swollen from the kiss, which only made Bucky smile as he noticed. Even saying goodbye, he was one hell of a tease.

“Stop laughing.” You spoke, Bucky chuckled, his hand moved to the inside of his uniform pocket. Pulling out a blue velvet box. “What’s that?”

“Open it.” He whispered as he saw the curious look upon your face, doing as you were told your eyes were met with a silver locket. It was in the shape of a heart on a silver chain, taking the heart into your hands you couldn’t help but smile widely at the present. “Open that as well.”

Looking down at the locket within your hands, you I clipped it before looking inside. There was a picture of Bucky inside.

“Now you can’t forget me. I’ll always be with you no matter where you go.”

“Are you trying to make me cry even more?” Your fingers traced over the picture with a small smile, it was the same one his mother had given to you months before the two of you had first met.

“No, but I want you to keep it on you always. Wherever you go, I’m with you, even if it’s to the bathroom.” A soft laugh felt from his lips as he tried to lighten the mood, Bucky saw you turn around and he got the hint instantly. Taking the necklace from you and unclipping the chain, he placed it around you before clipping it back in place, so it hung around your neck.

Bucky slipped the sides of your dress down your arms, exposing the skin before kissing your shoulders. With your back to him you could easily feel his cock against your ass, the bulge in his trousers making it clear just how hard he is.

“Beautiful.” As Bucky kissed your shoulder and made his way up to the crook of your neck, he could smell your perfume. It was sweet just like you. “My beautiful girl.”

“All yours.” Whispering back to him, you felt him smile against your neck when that left your mouth. With his hands on your waist, Bucky moved his hips as he pulled you even closer to him.

“You feel that doll? That’s what you do to me.” Bucky mumbles against your skin as he ground his cock against your ass. The very feeling forced a whimper from your lips, he knew what he was doing. Bucky often teased you like this, grinding against you for ages before finally giving you what you want. A good fucking.

“I don’t know how you’ll survive.” You whispered to him; Bucky didn’t know how he would either. He didn’t know how long he was going to be away from you, your current sex life with one another was rampant and very active. “You’ll have to take a picture of me with you.”

Bucky already knew which picture he was going to take, the one of you at the beach in your one piece. He had taken you on a beach holiday to get away for a while, just the two of you together. It may have ended up in sex on the beach, but it was worth it. And it was all he was going to think about while he was away.

“Already way ahead of you.” Once that left his mouth, Bucky had enough of teasing you. The two of you had all night together and he didn’t want to waste it, you felt yourself being spun around to face your fiancé before being picked up into his arms.

“Bucky.” You giggled as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms around his shoulders as you looked into his eyes lovingly. Bucky holding you carefully with his hands below your ass, you screw your face up playfully as he kisses your nose.

“Oh, you love my affection.” Bucky teased as he carried you into your shared bedroom. It was decorated with a picture of the two of you on your first date on the bedside table, along with some decor his mother had gotten you when you first moved in together.

“I do. Very much so.” You whispered as he laid you down on the bed, the sheets being soft on your skin. “Make love to me Bucky.” He didn’t need to be told twice. His hands moved to the back of your dress, easily undoing each button with every kiss he pressed against your neck.

“Fuck.” Bucky murmured against your neck once he pulled down your dress, your bra and underwear exposed to him. Goosebumps formed on your skin due to the mix of his kisses and the cold air, humming softly as one of his hands moved to your breasts while the other gripped the back of your head. Tangling it in your hair as Bucky moved his lips to kiss you.

“Baby.” You whispered against his lips as you felt his hand massage your breast, his hands were warm against your skin. He was like your own personal heater. “More. Please Bucky.”

The hand that was on your breast pulled down your bra without even taking it off, he didn’t have the patience to unclip it. As long as your breasts were exposed, he was happy.

Letting go off the back of your head, Bucky moved down so he kissed between your breasts. As pleasurable as this was, still having the bra there was a deal breaker for you so you managed to unclip it and throw it behind him.

“Thanks doll.” He chuckled before biting onto your left nipple playfully, Bucky’s other hand giving attention to the right one. Him running it between his fingers before pinching it, Bucky got the squeal he wanted from you. It only made his cock strain even more against his trousers. “I love your body so much, you’re fucking beautiful.”

The cold air that hit your nipple that he had in his mouth made you shiver once he pulled away, his mouth now paying attention to the other one. You could feel his bulge against your inner thigh as he suckled and bit at what he had in his mouth, if Bucky could spend all day just kissing your breasts, then he would. But he didn’t have time to do that tonight.

“Bucky.” You moaned softly as you leaned your head back against the pillow, he had to hold himself from Cumming in his briefs as the sound of you moaning his name was music to his ears.

The feeling of his lips move from your nipple and kiss down your stomach made you instinctively open your legs wider for him. Bucky nipped slightly at your lower stomach, making sure to leave a mark there that you’d only see.

With his face now centimetres from your cunt, Bucky kissed your inner thighs gently. He could see just how wet you are through your underwear. With him knowing your weak spots, Bucky made sure to leave marks on your inner thighs. Biting at the skin as he growled against you.

“This pussy is mine.” Bucky’s tongue licked up your clothed cunt just to get a taste of you but also to tease you, the whine that left your lips forced him back to reality. Bucky’s teeth gripped onto the band of your underwear before pulling it down, you were completely bare whereas the only thing that he had taken off was his hat. “You’re already so wet and I’ve barely touched you yet.”

Bucky’s tone made you flustered as he teased you, moving a hand into his chocolate locks he couldn’t help but moan at the sensation. He always loved it when you played with his hair, no matter if it was you gripping it during sex or stroking it while cuddling.

Moving so he was led on his stomach, Bucky gripped onto your thighs to keep you in place as he flicked your clit with his tongue. Your back arched but he managed to keep your lower half just where he wanted it, the taste alone for him was something he was going to miss. Bucky couldn’t get enough of how you taste, often comparing it to the sweetest pastry from the bakery.

Your fingers ran through his hair as Bucky applied pressure to your clit with his tongue, circling it and smirking as he felt you get wetter the more he toyed with you. The sounds he was making while eating you out was enough to have you whining, Bucky sounded like he was feasting on his last meal. He technically was.

“Bucky, oh fuck.” He moaned against your clit as that left your mouth, Bucky started to tug at your clit with his mouth before swirling it around his tongue. Just by how you were moaning was enough to let him know how much pleasure you were in, not to mention the fact you were coating his face in your arousal. Bucky was sure the lower half of his face would be glistening.

Moving one of his hands before teasing your hole with two of his fingers, Bucky could feel just how aroused you were from the way you moaned as he easily slid two fingers inside you. With his tongue still circling your clit, the moans he was letting out caused a vibration type sensation against your clit. His fingers filled you up.

Bucky’s cock was enough to make you feel full, but his fingers were just as nice, if not just as pleasurable. The wet noises coming from your cunt as he thrust his fingers in and out of you made his cock harden even more, if that were possible. Scissoring his fingers inside you, Bucky noticed what a mess you were making on the bed sheets. Technically it was his fault, he knew what he did to you, but the sight alone made him smirk.

Your skin was starting to glisten from the small light in the room, the sweat making it look like diamonds on your skin. The heat pooled at your stomach as you started to get closer to your orgasm, your moans got louder with each growing second.

His tongue applied pressure to your clit as he could tell you were close, Bucky made sure to search for the spot inside you that he knew would have you moaning his name.

His fingers made a ‘come here’ motion before finally he had hit the jackpot, Bucky felt the bumpy skin inside you and rubbed against it as he knew that right there was your g spot.

“Right there. Oh Bucky!” Your moans got louder as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten as did the grip on his hair, it was like a knot was tightening in your stomach as he stroked his fingers against your g spot along with him sucking onto your clit. Bucky was the only man that had ever made you feel this alive; he was the only man you had been with so being without him was going to be a challenge for you.

Then the knot tightened before snapping, your legs shook against his head as you came over his tongue. The sensation making him moan, you tasted so sweet that he couldn’t get enough of it. It was like he was addicted.

“Good girl.” Bucky muttered as he licked up your slit, making sure to taste every inch of you. He didn’t know how he still hasn’t cum in his briefs yet, Bucky could tell when he would take his cock out that it would be purple and aching to be touched. “Shh, it’s okay. I got you.”

Stroking your legs gently as he moved to kiss your lower stomach, Bucky let you calm as you came down from your high. He wanted to go again, to taste even more but he knew that his time in Brooklyn was limited. “There’s my girl.”

He couldn’t help but smile as he kneeled up to look at you, you were panting as your eyes met his own. You could barely speak but Bucky could tell what you wanted by the way you were looking at him, he was still fully clothed yet here you were. Naked before his eyes.

“I’m already on it.” He spoke before you could, Bucky could read you like a book. He had been with you long enough to know what you wanted, not that he was complaining. He loved that you knew each other so well.

Bucky started with his jacket, then his tie, shirt and lastly the moment you had been waiting for. His belt. The sound of him unbuckling it went straight to your cunt, not that you needed to be aroused any more. You were already soaked.

Watching his every move, your mouth watered when you saw him pull down his trousers. He was finally naked.

Bucky was right, his cock was purple and begging to be touched. He so desperately wanted your mouth around him but tonight it was about you, he could go without a blowjob, but he couldn’t go the night without fucking you. He needed to feel your cunt wrapped around him, milking his cock.

Leaning down, he placed his arms either side of your head, so he practically caged you within them. Using that for leverage so he didn’t crush you.

“You have no idea how much I love you, I’ll always love you Y/N.” The tears started to form again in both of your eyes as he spoke, the two of you looking at each other with pure love. “Never forget me.” He whispered as his lips met yours once more, your arms wrapping around his back as he maneuvered himself.

“I could never.” You mumbled against his lips, you went to speak once more but was cut short when you felt his cock completely fill you up. He slid inside you so easily, it’s like Bucky was made for you and you him.

Moving his hips slow but hard, he made sure to go gentle with you tonight. Bucky didn’t just want to fuck you, but he wanted to make love to you, make sure that you remembered this moment years down the line.

“Fuck. Your cunt practically swallowed my cock  Y/N.” He growled as he felt your walls wrap around his cock, Bucky was truly going to miss this when he was away. He was going to fight tooth and nail to come back to you, nothing would stop him from coming back home to his beloved.

“I love you.” You whispered against Bucky’s lips as he thrust his hips against yours, keeping the pace just how he wanted it. The bed was creaking under the both of you, but you weren’t surprised, even at a slow but hard pace it still squeaked.

“I love you too doll. So, fucking much you don’t even understand.” His voice cracked as Bucky moved his face to the crook of your neck, your eyes went glassy as you felt the wet tears from his eyes fall onto your skin. “I’m going to miss you so much, and I’m scared I won’t come back.”

Bucky rarely showed he was scared in front of anybody, but right now he was showing just how vulnerable and scared he was. Bucky didn’t want to go but he had no choice.

You pulled Bucky tighter to you as tears started to fall down your cheeks as well, you were caught between crying and moaning as he continued thrusting inside you. He wanted to savour every moment, to feel every part off one another until when he was gone you still felt him on your skin.

He moved his head so his forehead was against yours, you could feel Bucky’s tears against your skin as he thrusted hips slowly but deep. You could feel every inch of his cock inside you, he was filling you to the brim and that’s exactly what he wanted to do.

Bucky’s breathing got faster as did his hips, no matter how hard he tried to go slow with you, he couldn’t help but pound you into the mattress. You could feel one another’s hot breath as he got faster, the sound of his cock thrusting inside you being the only noise along with the moans and skin slapping against one another. It was a sound you wish you could get on record.

“I want you to take my cum.” Bucky mumbled against your lips, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust made you moan as you looked up at him. He was always one for pulling out and Cumming against your stomach, or having you suck his cock to get him to his orgasm. Bucky had never let himself go inside you, but this time he wanted this to be special. He knew there was a risk with it, but Bucky was willing to take such a risk.

“Take all of it, be my good girl.” He whispered against your lips as he moved one of his hands between your legs, rubbing your clit in circles to match the pace of his own thrusts. “There she is.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched you fall apart, your cunt squeezing his cock as you came around him. Bucky could feel your nails dig into his back and he knew there would be marks there tomorrow, but he didn’t care. He was sure other soldiers would have the same marks from saying goodbye to their lovers.

“Doll... fuck.” You couldn’t help but moan at the sensation of Bucky filling you up with his cum, it was like something you couldn’t even describe. He was in ecstasy, he wanted to fill you up as much as possible tonight. Mark you as his own. You were his and you were always going to be no matter what. “Promise me doll, promise me again that you’ll never forget me.” Bucky panted as he looked down at you, he needed to be reassured. This was going to be something he was going to be asking all night, but you didn’t mind. You understand.

“I’ll never forget you, never James Buchanan Barnes.” You smiled lovingly up at him; his smile matched your own as he leaned in to kiss you. His lips moulding against yours like a puzzle piece, you didn’t want to stop. You never wanted this to end but at some point, it had too. “I love you, and I always will.”

And that’s a promise you kept your entire life.

[ohshesthriving]

You lose some...

I can talk about my wins all day but the losses are where you learn, evaluate, and re-assess.

I should have known when he caught covid for the 1st time, that that was a sign.

We were dating since July, it ended last month.  Two months.  And usually, that’s really all you need. the first 3 months you should be collecting data and assessing if he’s a good fit.  #wellkeptgirlfriend then #wellkeptfiancee then #wellkeptwife.

Since, I am vanilla dating, nice restaurants, picking me up from my house, and sex if I like you is how I date.  When I vanilla date... Sex is a reward.  For example, we only had sex once (and after dating for a little over a month).  Because, even though I like you, I’m still waiting for the real you to show up.  Even though you handled me softly and delicately, even if arguing, I’m still waiting for the real you to show up.  And because you did all of this, you get a reward... 

The real him showed up.  His biggest red flag, which unfortunately is my deal-breaker, is his silent treatment.  If I don’t hear from a suitor within 48 hours of our last conversation, it’s a big ass deal.  In the beginning he would go 2 days without connecting from time to time, but because I was dating other guys, I didn’t notice.  My first mistake.  After sex, I’m wide awake and present.  He’s chilling and getting a little comfortable.  Perfect combo.  He’s still taking me to nice spots, still picking me up, still calling, cool.  On our last date, I asked him what is he looking for.  The convo didn’t go well (confess his intentions of wanting me exclusively).  He went silent for three days.  When he hits me up, I brought it up.  Simply put: Hi X.  I haven’t heard from you in 3 days then you text me last night.  We talked on the phone.  

After our phone conversation, the convo felt genuine but he brought up the last date and that convo.  I don’t think he was expecting me to ask that and took 3 days to figure out what he felt, I guess.  But he was firing away on that phone & established that he didn’t want to rush anything with me and wanted me to set the pace (he’s maybe 13 yrs older).  At any rate, it happened again - didn’t we just have this conversation, sir?  If I bring something to you once, I damn sure aint gonna bring it up twice.  He took too long to process things and didn’t know how to directly address what he was thinking/how he was feeling; I mean this is an older man.  Who’s waiting around 3 days for someone to hit me up.  Yea, OK.  For every 2,3 times he initiates conversation, I’ll initiate.  So basically, after he’ll initiate that once, it took him 3 days for the second or third ...  he was also giving, ‘chase me’ vibes.  1 to 1 initiation aint my vibe and will never be.  

I get it, men want to be felt appreciated as well.  But I have many ways in showing that.  How are you supposed to get sexy photos and nice dinner dates if you’re not chasing me, sir? 

After it happened again, he hits me up.  I just simply ignored him & haven’t heard from him again.  

My 1st evaluation:  ask them how do they process information/how do he address what he’s thinking/how he’s feeling and keep track of how long they go without reaching out.  Or maybe he had a main lady & had me in a pocket; he told me he was single but they all say that.  A lot of these men are stuck in their ways.  And some of them have someone, won’t leave them, even though they’re clearly unhappy.  He’s a black man in his 40′s, no kids, & making good money.  It’s absolutely insane.  

My 2nd evaluation: how a man treats you/handles you on your birthday and special holidays is a deal breaker.  I’d only known him for about 2 weeks (1 date) then my bday came.  I didn’t get anything, no flowers, nothing.  He did text me.  But that’s vanilla dating & why I went to sugar.  My ex was the same way in the beginning but he ended up always giving me money, taking me places, so I know the beginning is always weird but na, if that happens next time, I’m out.  Crazy shit... if the tables were reversed & and his birthday came up after only talking for 2 weeks would I have spent maybe $40 on a Macy’s gift set or something... something???  

[strawberrysoup]

Pocketful of Posies || Chapter 1

You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever. 

pairings: dark!Avengers x reader word length: 3.3k chapters: 1/? warnings: A/B/O dynamics, power imbalances, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, loss of autonomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk. Open the read more and CTRL + F, search “content warnings” to skip to detailed trigger warnings at the bottom of the chapter.

Cleaning rich people’s vacation homes hadn’t been your dream job growing up. You had such high hopes when you were a kid, well into your teens, of becoming a zoologist. It had started off like most kid’s dreams—in kindergarten you wanted to be a veterinarian. That grew into wanting to become a herpetologist, but then you wondered, why limit yourself? As a zoologist you could be around tons and tons of animals, studying their behaviors and ecological impacts. It was about half way past your fourteenth birthday that you realized none of your dreams mattered.

You woke in the middle of the night to a crippling pain in your stomach, an unbearable heat boiling under your flesh. You must’ve been screaming, because your parents burst in frantically—only to stop dead upon stepping past the threshold. At the time you had no idea why, but it had been shock. Omegas were rare nowadays, more and more betas were being born while the number of omegas dropped. It was a point on contention; betas could breed with alphas, rendering the omega almost obsolete but alphas, especially ones with packs, wanted omegas.

Personally, you figured that evolution had decided to take things into its’ own hands. Everything about omegas spat in the face of adaption; they were small and delicate, hardwired to obey alpha commands even to their own detriment, experienced a full weeks’ worth of being completely and utterly incapable of survival on their own—

Well, unless one acquired (through whatever means necessary) methods to prevent it that one. Heats, a homegrown threat guaranteed to commit acts of violence at least twice a year. By the time your first had worn off, your parents had already jumped into action. They had three different packs bidding on you. Your mother had been bubbling with glee, talking about how wonderful it was that she had produced an omega when she herself was a beta. Your very existence was about to rocket them into both fame and fortune. So, you ran away. That same night.

It had been shockingly easy to locate illegal suppressants. They taught all about them in school, how they were horrible and taxing on an omega’s physiology. Suppressants masked an omega’s scent, prevented their heats, and (in your opinion) were the best invention of the twenty first century. You couldn’t have given a flying fuck about what negative impacts they might’ve had on your body—death would be a reprieve. Unfortunately you’d yet to have any of the widely touted negative effects (effects that you were pretty sure were made up to keep omegas afraid and compliant) and so you found yourself cleaning rich people’s vacation homes just over the Canadian border.

You’d been living out of your car since you first bought it at sixteen, for five hundred dollars. You gave a creepy beta a blowjob to get your license forged. It was the best investment you’d ever made (not that you had the opportunity to make many) and the clunker was still getting you from point A to point B and that’s all you needed. You had to move constantly, staying in one place too long meant people started to notice you, especially in the small towns you frequented in Ontario. But there was so much forest surrounding you that every once in a while you could just drop off the face of the earth, camping so deep in the woods no one would stumble across you. It made staying anonymous so much easier.

That was actually the current plan, after you finished cleaning this last massive cabin; to abscond into the woods for a while, until you’ve faded from everyone’s memory. You won’t return to this town for at least a year. You’ll spark recognition when you return, but not enough for anyone to consider you more than an outsider in their close-knit community. The kind woman who lets you work for her cleaning company so sporadically will remember you when you ring her, the only person particularly thrilled to hear you’re back for a few months.

You do an excellent job and you do it fast— you can thoroughly and perfectly clean a 6 bedroom mansion by yourself in less than 10 hours and you were paid under the table so you didn’t require overtime, which Mrs. Hunt loved (there was no tax to be taken from an unreported cash payment though, so it was a fair trade in your opinion). You would work yourself to the bone, 10 hours a day everyday there was work available for at least three months and then dip without any expectations until the next time you returned, when she was gushing over the amazing reviews your work had gotten the last time you were around.

It was symbiotic existence—you were paid well for your efforts, more than enough to sustain living out of your car for months at a time, and your performance drove her online reviews into the 4.9 stars range and made it feasible for her to raise her prices. Mrs. Hunt didn’t ask any questions either, even when you requested to only work alone and couldn’t provide any identification beyond a driver’s license.

You were finishing up the kitchen in what was definitely one of the nicest places you’d ever cleaned when your phone went off in your back pocket. It made your skin prickle. Very few people had your number and you couldn’t think of a single reason they’d ring you instead of texting unless something was wrong.  You propped the mop against your shoulder and dug out the phone, frowning at Mrs. Hunt’s name on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Oh sweetie, I’m so glad I got a hold of you! How are you doing?”

“I’m well, Mrs. Hunt,” you answered, your voice coming out semi-robotically as you strained not to sound panicked while continuing the conversation like a normal fucking person, “I’m just about done here, I was finishing the dry mop in the kitchen when you called and then all I need to do is pack up.”

“Oh perfect! I was calling because the owner just rang me, apparently some of his packmates will be arriving a bit earlier than anticipated—potentially within the next hour. Something about someone getting caught up at work, I’ll spare you the details. But if you’re almost done then you’ll probably be gone by the time they arrive.”

“Certainly Mrs. Hunt,” you’d immediately started frantically dry mopping the moment the words ‘within the next hour’ escaped the woman’s mouth, phone clamped between your ear and shoulder. “I’ll be gone in the next few minutes.”

“Now even if you aren’t its okay,” the concern in her voice meant that your own had betrayed you, waivered when you responded without your knowledge. “I always warn the owners that if they arrive before the scheduled time that there’s a possibility the house won’t be done and/or there might be people actively working in the house. You won’t get in any trouble, okay?”

“R-Right, thank you ma’am,” you swallowed heavily, finishing the last swipe across the tile in the kitchen and hustling back into the foyer. “I really won’t be but a minute though. I always keep all of my equipment put away and together if I’m not using it, so I really just need to pack up the mop.”

Which you’d already shoved into the rolling cart you picked up each morning that held all of your cleaning supplies provided by the company.

“Don’t forget your bucket too!” Mrs. Hunt sounded smiley again, “I’ll leave the key under the mat so you can stow your cart tonight. Have a good one swee—.”

“You too!” You might’ve hung up a touch too soon to be considered polite, shoving the phone back into your pocket and running into the kitchen. There was no time to dwell on manners. 

The mop bucket was sitting on the counter, already washed and dried and waiting to be put away. You’d started keeping your things completely put away at all times the same day you’d been accosted by a homeowner who arrived home earlier than expected while you were still trying to pack up. You’d tried to put your notice in that night, a couple of years ago now, but Mrs. Hunt begged you not to—promised it would never happen again. This must’ve been her best attempt at preventing it. At least you had already planned to leave town tonight anyway.

You nearly sprinted back to the cart, haphazardly tossing the stupid bucket on top and wheeling it towards the huge front doors. You’d just stopped to reach around and grab the handle when the knob turned and the left door was pushed open, nearly hitting your cart.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he was a beta, curly haired and dark eyed with pale skin, wearing a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Did I knock anything over?”

“N-No, sir,” you pulled the cart back a few steps, nearly trembling with the effort it took not to blast right past him, especially when you noticed him carefully scenting the air. "The house is all clean, I was j-just leaving.”

“Thank you, for getting everything clean for us. We don’t get to come out here as often as we like, I’m sure the place collected a lot of dust in our absence,” he smiled, looking both parts shy and calculating to your well trained eye— and you had no time for such consideration.

“Not too much, h-have a nice night!” You could feel your pulse racing and that was bad. Even the good suppressants, the ones that most of your money went to, had difficulty completely masking the scent of panicking omega.

“Did you use bleach?” The question caught you off guard and you almost jumped when he put a hand on your cart, glancing through the array of chemicals.

“Y-Yes, in the bathrooms. I wasn’t informed of any sensitivities—”

“Nothing a little fresh air won’t take care of,” you wanted him to stop looking at you like that, like there was some pale flash of recognition behind his eyes. “Would you go open the windows in the bathrooms upstairs? I’m afraid my nose is pretty sensitive, several of my packmates are similar.”

You did not like that his nose was especially sensitive and you hated that his packmates were similarly afflicted. It felt like getting punched in the face with a fight or flight instinct, your brain immediately demanded that you leave the cart and run past him—fuck the cart, fuck the job, you could find something else.

“Oh, and do you have the key to the front doors? I might as well get them from you now instead of us having to go down to the office tomorrow.” Your hand immediately dove into your pocket, yanking out the single key and dropping it in his palm. “Thanks— and the windows? Sorry, I just can’t go up there until it’s aired out.”

He wasn’t a huge man but the way he filled the doorway made you second guess trying to run past him, even if he was greying at the temples and looking a little rumpled. It was strange, you wouldn’t usually have such an intense reaction to a beta, but something about him was vaguely unsettling. So instead of trying to make a run for it, you turned on your heel and forced yourself to calmly walk up the stairs. There were four massive bedrooms in the cabin, each with its own bathroom and you’d need to go through and open the windows for the three bathrooms that had them. It meant darting into huge bedrooms, dodging expensive furniture and knickknacks and trying not to dirty the freshly mopped and swept hardwood floors in the process.

It took about five minutes but you felt like you’d run a marathon, your heart was pounding and there was sweat at the nape of your neck. All you wanted was out of the stupid fucking house, immediately. You dashed down the stairs and turned the corner, seeing your cart right where you left it. The door was still open too, but the beta was no where to be seen. You immediately darted forward, grabbing the cart tightly and beginning to push it past the threshold—

You were stopped in your tracks at the sight of two unnecessarily broad alphas. Both were tall, the white man standing just an inch or so taller, with a full beard and blond hair. The black alpha had facial hair too, a cleanly edged goatee to match a faded cut. Both were incredibly attractive and putting off waves of pheromones, to the point that your head floated for a moment.  Your lips clamped shut on a whine, instinct trying to push through and alert the two powerful alphas of your presence. Instead you ducked your head and continued out the door.

“Hi there, sweetheart.” Your gaze snapped up, immediately locking with a pair of dark brown eyes. “You the housekeeper?”

“Yes sir,” you answered quietly, stopping short in front of them when neither moved out of your way. “Sorry to have been here so late. Have a good evening.”

Both were still smiling, still pointedly not moving.

“My name’s Steve, that’s Sam,” the blond’s nose twitched, just slightly, and you realized he was very discretely scenting the air. “Nice to meet you. Do you live in town?”

“N-No, please excuse me,” you nudged the cart forward just an inch but they still didn’t budge and panic began coursing through your blood with renewed vigor, “excuse m—”

“Your scent is… confusing,” Steve’s head tilted to the side, “I don’t mean to be crass, of course, but I couldn’t help but notice.”

“It’s always been this way,” the response was automatic and your brain began shutting down all unnecessary functions; you were about to have to run and hope your omega physiology would make you faster than them.

“You smell almost like an omega,” he continued, both hands coming to rest on his hips, emphasizing the width of his shoulders. “But not quite?”

“I’m a beta.”

“Are you sweetheart?” Sam’s voice was a rumble, his head tilted to the side while his dark eyes burned holes into your skin.

The tone an alpha used with naughty omegas was deliberate and tightly controlled, the same as a command or a purr or a growl. It was on purpose, an attempt to nicely draw out the correct response. He wanted you to admit you were an omega, to tell them the truth of your own volition. The fact that your hindbrain desperately wanted to comply was a completely different issue—one you didn’t have time to address right now.

“Positive,” you breathed, clenching your fists tightly around the handles of the cart for just a second before deciding to leave it behind; you’d never be coming back here, there was no reason to worry about preserving your job.

Your eyes were quick and indefinitely perceptive. Being an omega was one step up from being a prey species, it came with inherent instincts that made you especially good at predicting behaviors. After all, an omega was only as good as their ability to please and soothe packmates. One of the single upsides to being an omega was that you were fast though—fast enough to outrun most alphas. And you only needed to go about a hundred and fifty feet, once you were in your car you could certainly get away. So the second you realized the pair was about to shift, moving to face each other more than you, you darted around the cart and dodged to the left.

It wasn’t your fault, honestly. There was no way you could’ve known you weren’t dealing with normal alphas. The blond was so fast that he almost moved between blinks—one moment he was still, the next he’d wrapped his arms around you and tugged you back into his chest. His arms were like steel, one wrapped around your torso to keep your arms pinned to your sides while the other carefully held your chin. Your hindbrain was screaming now, submit, submit, make alpha happy and you bit down on your tongue to hold in the whimpers, the omega sounds your throat was trying to produce.

“Shhh, shh, calm down,” it was half a tone away from being a purr and you continued to squirm while you still could—an alpha command was coming, you could feel it in your bones.

“Let Steve smell you,” Sam was rumbling instead of talking again, a similar half purr to how Steve had started speaking. "Everything’s okay, omega.”

You felt a nose nudge down your neck, towards your scent gland and you bared your teeth at the man in front of you. “I’m not an omega!”

“You smell like omega,” Steve’s breath ghosted over your skin and you fought a shiver. "Sort of. It’s buried, under… beta… sour beta?”

“What sort of suppressants are you on, sweetie?” You startled as the beta from earlier emerged from the house, wiping his hands on a dish towel absently. "Are you cutting them with anything? Heroin, or coke? It’s okay, you just need to tell me.”

“Tell Bruce sweetheart,” Sam coaxed, automatically moving to roll up the sleeves of your shirt, evidently looking for track marks. "Where do you get them?”

“I’m not on suppressants!” Your voice was almost a shriek at this point, desperately imitating the behavior of an angry beta rather than a terrified omega. “I’m a beta! Get off of me!”

“Okay, okay, here then,” Steve’s arm around your torso tightened, the one on your chin beginning to work its way down towards your jeans. "There’s only way one to tell for sure.”

Shock and fear and humiliation; an array of emotions swarmed through your body as his hand popped the button but those were the three you could identify and you immediately started thrashing your legs—he was going to check if you had an omega ridge and then everything would be over. It was a defining physical characteristic that couldn’t be passed off as anything other than what it was: a boney protrusion meant to catch on an alpha’s knot so they could be locked in place. In females it was found in the vagina, prominently featured directly before the g-spot so a knot would cause persisting pleasure. For males it was similarly positioned next to the prostate.

“Calm down, calm down!” Sam crooned, hands coming up to cup your face as while Steve’s slithered down the front of your jeans and into your panties. "It’s okay sweetheart, no matter what. Whatever Steve finds, you’re okay. You’re safe. We’ll keep you safe.”

The thrashing was doing nothing but tiring you out, you’d already been intensively cleaning for the past 9 hours without a break and it certainly wasn’t dissuading the hand slithering between your folds. You bit down on your tongue harder, until you drew blood to prevent the whimpers—you couldn’t make that stupid sound, you’d never make that stupid, pathetic, whiney noise, you couldn’t. Not even when a long, thick finger penetrated and sunk knuckle deep. Not even when the pad of said finger brushed your g-spot before hooking onto the ridge, tugging gently in a way that would’ve caused blinding pleasure had you not grounded yourself with the pain of biting your tongue.

“There it is,” Steve’s voice was soft, finger carefully running the length of the ridge. "A nice deep one too.”

“How long have you been taking suppressants?” Bruce prodded quietly, coming to stand next to Sam. “I need to know what sort of damage we’re looking at.”

When you didn’t respond Sam sighed, fingers brushing gently over your chin as he directed you to face him. "Please don’t make us use an alpha command, sweetheart. We just wanna take care of you. Tell Bruce how long you’ve been on suppressants, please.”

You regarded the handsome alpha for several short moments before spitting a mouthful of blood directly into his face.

 content warnings: assault, noncon vaginal fingering

edited 7/9/21 - still on hiatus

[thran-duils]

I Crave Annihilation

Title: I Crave Annihilation Summary:  Fem!Reader x Mafia!Dark Tony Stark. Tony works for the reader’s very influential politician father moving guns and drugs. She starts flirting with him and he is returning the vibes. She moves into her own place out of her parent’s house and texts him to come save her from a house party. Smut ensues. Words: 3,310 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, HUGE age difference, angst, violence, infidelity, possessive behavior Author’s Note: You know when things just pour out of you and you go with it? Yeah. Me too. This is that. I’m thinking this might just be a one shot like my Petal Castiel fic. Song inspo for this.

Part Two || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Are you busy?

You pressed send on the text to Tony, leaning on the wall. Your eyes moved across the kitchen, wandering over everyone taking shots, playing beer pong. You spotted someone bringing in the pizza that had been ordered and you jumped to acting, coming right up to them. The girl smiled and put it on the counter. She was cute – her name was Rihanna, you thought -- but you knew she had a girlfriend here; you had talked to them earlier briefly out on the patio while you shared a cigarette.

“Preference?”

“Veggie?”

“No, sorry,” she shook her head. “There’s cheese, pepperoni, and meat lovers. So, the complete opposite of what you’re looking for. Are you vegetarian?”

“No, I just was craving it. I’ll take pepperoni.”

She dug through the boxes, the crowd around the pair of you growing at all the other drunk party goers. She made an aha sound, finding it on the bottom and pushed the box towards you. You grabbed a piece and sunk your teeth into it.

You snuck your way through the group and leaned back against the counter, pulling out your phone. He had already texted back, much to your amusement.

Not particularly. Why?

So, he had saved your number. That was a great sign. Your heart was starting to beat faster with anticipation. Taking another big bite, you savored it and swallowed. You wanted something in your stomach instead of the jungle juice and multiple types of potato chips you had been ingesting for the last couple hours. You ate the piece quickly, eyeing the group, thinking you should have grabbed a second piece. But maybe you could convince Tony to stop somewhere if he could come get you. You had had a ride home, but she had started rifling shots when her crush showed up.

My DD isn’t a DD anymore.

You hoped he would show up with that invitation.

<><><>

Tony and you had been flirting for a long while, playfully at first and had gotten more bold as time went on. But it had to be kept under wraps, nothing real or physical, since he worked for your dad. He had patched over from another part of the mafia when they had merged a years ago, coming closer to your city to work with the crew here.

The first time the new guys showed up at your dad’s house with the veterans of the area, it was relatively late at night. Your father was a politician, a powerful one. You had been swimming in the pool and they had come through the gate to go towards the guest house to have a meeting. You surfaced hearing voices as you did laps.

“Don’t mind us, keep going, sweetie,” your father had told you as he walked by.

“Hey, Y/N,” Christian, the president of their faction said as he passed you.

“Hi,” you told him in response, coming to the edge of the pool. “You still owe me that $10!”

He stopped and turned around, a wide smile on his face. You had challenged him to pool last weekend and he had been so drunk he had forgotten to pay you when you won. He walked back towards you as the other mafia walked in, pulling out his wallet.

“You’re just like your father. Won’t forget a cent.” You shrugged as he pulled out a ten. “Want me to leave it on your towel?”

“That works,” you said just as you caught sight of new faces following in.

They all were looking at you and you knew if they knew you were your father’s daughter, they would not be staring so abashedly to not offend him. You were only 19, your 20th coming up soon. One in particular though, he was not taking his eyes off of you as he walked by. You locked eyes with him, a small smirk playing on your lips. He was handsome, terribly so. You did not back away from his lascivious look, meeting him in intensity.

“Hey!” Christian snapped his fingers at the guys, noticing them all staring. “Show my niece some respect! You bunch of lechers!” He was not really your uncle, but he might as well be. He tossed the ten onto your towel and said, “Watch out for these assholes. They’re a bunch of pricks.”

“Will do,” you vowed, crossing your heart. “I’ve got you to protect me anyhow.”

“You’re damn right,” Christian responded, laughing before turning and walking off with the group.

The same man though looked back, finding you still looking. You blushed despite yourself before averting your eyes and moving back away from the wall to continue your laps.

After that, he had come to the house a handful of times and every time the two of you had shared flirtatious looks, sharing sparse words to introduce yourselves. He was far older than you, early forties. At least twice your age but you did not care. He was dangerous and you liked that. And he was single as far as you could tell.

At a late-night soiree, you had come home, finding them all drunk in the back yard, which was a risk for your father, but he was not one known to always heed caution by being tied to this mafia openly. Especially when he got a few drinks in him. There were card games going on, some of the mafia swimming in the pool.

Tony had looked up from the patio, sitting at one of the tables, seeing you inside speaking to one of his guys, Thor. Thor was a flirt, but he was harmless, holding out a shot to you. You had spotted Tony noticing you moments before and you shrugged, taking the shot from him. You were still underage, but your dad let you indulge, especially if it was at home. And around people he could trust, his mafia. No harm would come to you here, so you were not worried about him catching you.

The two of you took the shot and you did your best to not grimace because it was scotch.

“Took it like a champ,” Thor complimented, a wide smile on his face.

“You mind finding me a chaser?” you choked out.

He laughed in response and said, “Sure.”

Thor left you and you took a deep breath, trying to swallow the taste of the scotch. It really was nasty stuff. You turned your head and found Tony blatantly staring at you from outside on the porch.

You moved outside and came up to him, eyeing the cigarette in his hand, hanging by his side. He breathed out some smoke and you held out your hand expectantly.

His lips twitched in amusement and he held it up to you. You took it from him, wrapping your lips around it sensually, keeping eye contact. You took a deep breath in before pulling it out. Your lipstick was lining the cigarette. You exhaled slowly; eyes still locked. He looked damn good in the white button up he was wearing, tight black jeans.

“Does your dad know you smoke?” Tony inquired.

You shrugged, “It’s a social habit.”

Tony did smirk then, and you took another drag before handing it back to him. He wrapped his lips around it, and you smiled seeing your lipstick mark disappear into his mouth.

“And I’m sure you can keep it a secret,” you added, putting your hands behind your back, exposing your breasts more in your small tank top. He did not refrain from looking down briefly.

“Sure, precious,” he responded, and your stomach fluttered at the pet name. You loved his attention far too much for your own good.

You held out your hand and he went to hand you the cigarette again and you shook your head, causing him to stall. He narrowed his eyes curiously and you said, “Your phone.” He rose a brow now and you explained, “If I’m having a secret keeper, I might need to call them for help sometime, right?”

Tony ground his teeth for a moment, giving you a scrutinizing look. He looked hesitant; no doubt thinking about what your father would do if he knew how much the two of you were flirting. You flexed your fingers quickly, gesturing for him to hand it over. That broke him.

He sucked his bottom lip in, reaching into his pocket and handing his phone over to you. You flipped through it, finding his messages and sending yourself a text with a winky face.

“That’s naughty of you. What if your dad saw that?” Tony asked the moment he saw the text you had sent.

“Well, do what you just promised me. Keep secrets,” you responded, giving him a wink before turning away from him and walking back into the house, leaving him on the patio.

<><><>

Things had not progressed far from then because you had moved out of the house after getting accepted into a nearby university quickly afterward. You just wanted to be away from the house, have some independence, and you were willing to take on the money needed to live in an apartment. You had not seen him because of this, you had roommates and how could you explain a forty some year-old man coming over. But you found yourself thinking about him a lot recently in the months since you had moved out. He had not texted you and you thought maybe he thought you were silly and had just been a small distraction for him. That hurt and you hated thinking about that. When your friends went for hookups, you turned down guys who had come onto you, not interested.

You wanted him. There was something about him that drew you like a moth to flame.

You need a ride?

Yes, please.

What’s the address?

He was being cordial, probably in case someone happened to see the text conversation. You hoped that would stop the moment you got in the car. You managed to swipe another piece of pizza – no stopping on the way home now – but also got pressured into drinking another cup of jungle juice., Thankfully, you were able to toss half of the cup into the sink and you left the empty cup on the counter. You were not going to risk leaving a half cup where any of the frat boys could come by and drug it, waiting for a poor girl to come pick it up.

When he texted he was outside, you told your friend you had a ride and she had protested, wanting you to stay. You told her she was too drunk and that your other roommate was going to hang out with her. She asked who was picking you up and you said a friend before pulling away from her.

You got into his Lexus, collapsing back into the seat. He was watching you closely and you turned your head to look at him, smiling. “Thank you so much. It was so loud in there.”

“You’re telling me,” he said eyeing the house. “I’ll be surprised if the cops don’t stop by before 11pm. You can hear it out here.”

Trying to pretend like you could not see him running his eyes over your body – you had worn a black lace top over a black bra and a burgundy bandage skirt – you sat up straighter, giving an even clearer view of your tits.

“Yeah, well, good thing I’m dipping out then. Don’t need an MIP on my record. Not right before my 21st birthday.”

Tony snorted as he pulled away from the curb, taking off down the street.

“Seriously, it’s next month.”

“I know,” Tony chuckled.

You smiled and giggled, “You know my birthday?”

It was his turn to smile over at you. “Of course. How could I forget that 20th birthday? You looked perfect in that dress. I couldn’t stop looking at those photos.”

Your stomach was in knots hearing that. He had been looking at your social media. And for how long? Apparently for a long while. You wondered how often he was looking at the photos… and what he had been doing while he was looking at them. You could not help your mind going to dirty places, thinking of his hand wrapped around his cock, jerking himself off to you. That is sure as hell what he was insinuating. Maybe this was not such a good idea…

Tony’s hand slid across over to your thigh, gripping, erasing any doubt about where the night was heading. You let him, relaxing into the seat as best as you could, listening to the music.

You had instigated this, what was happening right now. So, why did you feel so nervous? You tried to fight off the feelings of doubt that were incoming hard the closer the two of you got to your apartment – you had not given him the address. But he knew where to go. That was a huge red flag, only compounding your nervousness.

His phone rang and he looked down at the middle console where it was resting. You saw Steve’s name popping up and you asked, “Should you answer that?”

“No,” Tony shook his head.

The call went to voicemail.

A few minutes later, the phone started ringing again. This time it was Thor. You narrowed your eyes, shooting him a look. You saw he saw the phone and you were wondering why he was not reacting.

“Maybe they need to talk to you?” you said carefully.

Maybe distracting him with work would stop what was coming at you like a freight train. You had dreamed about this for months but now that it was happening, you were just teetering on panic. He was so much older than you and he worked for your dad. What would happen if it ever came to light the two of you had sex? And what happened past this?

“He can get anyone to help them. Not everyone gets to be here with you, precious. You actually wanna turn it off for me?” He asked, nodding at the phone that had gone silent now.

“Are you sure?” you asked, staring at him.

“Yes,” Tony said more firmly. You reached down, picking the phone up and turning it off against your better judgment. Maybe you should have pressed it more but that was passed now. You placed it back down in the middle console and he winked, “Thanks, doll.”

He was at your back as you walked into the dark apartment, and you flipped on the kitchen light before kicking your shoes off and then walked to the freezer. “Do you want a drink?”

When you turned around he was right there, ready to pounce. His lips were on yours immediately and he pressed you up against the counter, his hands roaming and digging in to hold you close.

“I’ll take that as a no,” you breathed out when he gave you the space to breathe.

“Where’s your room?” he husked, still kissing you, cupping your ass.

You were still having second thoughts about this, but it was already happening, him riled up. You guided him to your bedroom, his hands barely leaving you. Your clothes were stripped from you and he wasted no time undressing himself too in the process. You laid back down on the bed, him weighing you down. You kissed him back, matching his fervor. You had wanted this for so long and it was happening. You fell into that memory, thinking of how much he desired you. This powerful, handsome man wanted you. Yeah, you wanted that. You wanted his attention. You spread your legs for him, holding onto him as he entered.

His guttural moans as he pounded you into the mattress caused you to dig your nails into his back, trying to match the shallow pain he was inflicting on you to even the score. Tony was relentless, even as he slowed his thrusts, his teeth were digging in at the base of your neck, sucking roughly. His hand came down in between the two of you and he began circling your clit.

“Come for me, precious. Come on,” he encouraged roughly, leaving bruising kisses along your jaw.

You whimpered feeling the coil in your stomach tightening as he massaged you towards release. That was new; no boy you had been with had even given a shit about you getting off. But he did. You were enjoying this, his regard for your orgasm.

He was skilled that was for damn sure and sooner rather than later, your legs shook, sharp, broken cries leaving your lips. He groaned loudly, his hand leaving your clit and he resumed a brutal pace as you clenched around him.

He let go in warm spurts, coating your walls. You were limp there, letting him use you like a doll as he finished himself. His head fell limp as well, his breath hot on your neck.

Tony laid a soft kiss at the base of your neck and you flinched slightly at the contact. It was where there was sure going to be a hickey tomorrow. He chuckled lightly and laid another soft kiss on your jaw before meeting your lips, pulling you towards him.

“Sorry about that,” he whispered. “Got a little caught up.”

Licking your lips, you asked timidly, “It was okay?”

Tony pulled away, looking down at you, his brow stitched, taking in your bashful face.

“’Okay’? You did perfect. So good,” Tony purred, and you felt warmth at his praise. He leaned back down, kissing you again, harder this time. “So fucking good, precious. You are a marvel.”

Maybe it had not been a mistake, you thought to yourself. He was holding you close, pinning you against him protectively.

<><><>

Tony got back in his car, pulling his phone out and turning it back on. He saw there were a lot of missed calls from Steve and Thor. Rolling his eyes, he pressed call back to Steve.

“What the fuck? Why weren’t you answering your phone?” Steve answered his phone, pissed off.

“I was busy,” Tony told him dryly.

“’Busy’. What the fuck are you playing at?”

Only hesitating for a moment before deciding eh could trust Steve, since Steve knew about their games, Tony answered, “Y/N. Picked her up from a party and gave her a ride home.”

Steve was quiet for a moment and Tony leaned back in the seat as he let that information settle in with him.

Steve finally scoffed, “Man, you better have been getting your dick sucked.”

“I got one better. If I could describe to you how tight she was, I would,” Tony said lewdly, looking back up at her dark bedroom window. He had left her in bed. She had been so cute, worried she had not done well. If he was not worried about all the phone calls he had been receiving before he turned his phone off to make sure he got to bury his dick in her tonight, he would have waited to go for round two. That would have to wait though. He was certainly coming back to collect on that. He could already tell he had her wrapped around his finger.

That actually drew a laugh from Steve, and he said more quietly, “You’re forgiven, you prick. But you’re gonna need to make up an excuse because Damien is going to want an answer. We had a shipment come in and you weren’t here.”

“You mean I can’t just tell him I was busy banging his daughter?” Tony asked sarcastically.

“I wouldn’t and I would advise you not to because I need your dumbass,” Steve retorted but Tony could tell he was smiling.

“Duly noted. I’ll think of something,” Tony said before hanging up the phone.

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld

[totallyexhausted]

What I Deserve...

Yurio leaned against the brick wall behind him, pressing his spine against the harsh cement as rain continued to drip down is face, soaking into his already wet clothes. He shivered, wiping his nose with the back of his hand as he closed his eyes, swallowing thickly as tears formed in his eyes, as the air around him became hot and heavy, hard to breathe. He smacked his head against the brick behind him, sliding against the rough brick as it scrapped against his back until he was sitting on the cold ground, and he opened his tired eyes, looking up at the stars that littered the night sky. He didn’t want to be alone… but he didn’t want to go to Viktor’s apartment yet… he wasn’t ready. He felt like shit. But whether that was from his mom’s phone call, her leaving a day prior, or the nausea coursing through his stomach, the 15-year-old wasn’t sure.

           Rain beat against his face harshly, mixing with the saltwater washing down his pale cheeks, and the teenager took a deep breath as his mother’s words echoed in his head. They don’t love you, honey… and if your grandfather was trying to keep you from me, then maybe he deserved what he got….

           Yurio flinched again, choking on the sob he refused to push past his lips. He was drowning, and the past few days spent with his mother hadn’t help anything… it had made things worse. He needed someone right now. He needed anyone… he needed to stop being so damn weak… he was weak. The Russian punk glanced down at the blue and green surrounding his ankle, grimacing as the slightly swollen flesh throbbed as he pressed against the bruise. He shivered again as the cold water fell from his chin, collecting in a puddle in his lap.

           He pulled his phone from his pocket with shaking fingers, letting his thumb hover over Otabek’s number, knowing he had already tried calling the older boy twice. You’re just being annoying… they don’t really love you, honey. Yurio shook his head softly, biting his lip, wondering if he would have the strength to call Yuuri… wondering what would happen if he did. The phone buzzed in his hand as his mother’s name flashed across the screen. Yurio cringed, shoving the phone in his pocket harshly, not really caring if the already broken glass cracked more. She had called earlier in the evening, when the teenager had found enough energy to pry himself from the bathroom floor… to explain. To explain her absence. Medicine- she had told him. She was grabbing medicine. But the money Yurio had offered earlier was gone… and so were most of her things.

           Lights flashed across him briefly as a car drove past, splashing water in Yurio’s direction as the teenager pushed himself off the dirty sidewalk. He leaned against the wall, pulling his wet jacket closer to him as thunder boomed overhead, and lightning struck a street sign a few feet away. He sucked in a shaky breath as he pushed himself away from the wall, shoving his trembling hands in his pockets as he started walking towards Viktor and Yuuri’s apartment.

           They were going to ask. Fuck, they’d probably freak… after Yurio’s fight with them. The teenager stumbled slightly before catching himself against the wall and stopping momentarily. Would they even want to see him? Shit… Shit.

           Yurio had been with them only about a month before his mom showed up, begging to be apart of her son’s life again. Things had happened… horrible things over the past few months that felt crushing. Numbing. His grandfather had passed. His mother showed up. She came to one of his performances, and the teenager had fucked up so badly that he ended up having a panic attack in the locker room… and it’d been a few weeks after that that the teenager finally agreed to meet with her. A month later, he agreed to stay with her for a while, while she got back on her feet- and that had made things difficult between Viktor, Yuuri, and him. He’d gotten into an argument. He had said some things he couldn’t take back… and he hadn’t really talked to them since.

           But he had nowhere else to go. He couldn’t stay in that house. In his grandfather’s house. Too many memories etched between familiar fabric and musty walls. With his mom, he could ignore it. But by himself… he couldn’t. He just couldn’t be there. And his mom. The 15-year-old knew it was stupid; it was so fucking stupid, but he believed she’d changed. That she really wanted him back… and he told himself not to fall for it, not this time around but she was his mom. And he was fucking stupid. So fucking stupid.

           His phone vibrated again, and the teenager pushed himself away from the wall again, kicking some water towards the road as he glanced towards Viktor’s apartment. Despite it being late, Yurio knew the two older skaters wouldn’t be home just yet. They practiced late for more privacy, and the thought of them wanting more privacy was nauseating to say the least… or maybe it was the thought of trying to explain his appearance after a month of avoiding them.

           Yurio swallowed harshly as he entered the building and trudged up the 13 flights of stairs. Normally, he’d just take the elevator, especially since he felt like shit… but he was nervous, and running through explanations, trying to find a quick excuse. To find an apologize, something, anything that didn’t require a lot of effort because the teenager had been up for a while, not to mention he’d been sick earlier. Something he would rather avoid the Geezer and Pork Cutlet finding out. He didn’t need the drama. And he definitely didn’t want their concern. They can’t love you the way I do, honey. You’re an inconvenience to them… nothing more than a publicity stunt.

           The 15-year-old is standing in front of their door before he realizes Viktor and Yuuri might tell him to leave. They might reject him… kick him out, tell him he wasn’t welcome anymore. The teenager grasped the key in his jacket pocket as he bit his bottom lip, staring at the numbers posted to the door in bright gold. 1326. The apartment he’d memorized… the place he’d lived and had become comfortable in. But he hadn’t stepped foot in their apartment since his mom. And they hadn’t tried calling him. Because he’d been stupid and mean. The Russian Punk was mean… And he had said things he regretted the moment they left his mouth. Yurio had fucked up… and he didn’t deserve Viktor or Katsudon.

He deserved his mother, and his dead grandfather. They were his family; the ones who were supposed to be his family. And in the end, they’d left… his grandfather unable to trust the teenager enough to ask for help, and his mother not caring enough to stay when the 15-year-old needed her most. He’d been let down by the people he loved, and he deserved it. He didn’t deserve to be back here. The Russian Punk wasn’t good enough for that. And he’d never be.

A soft meow echoed through the wooden door, followed by a light scratch, and a small smile broke across the teenager’s face. Potya. Yuuri had agreed to watch him for the teenager since his mom was allergic. And since the fight, the 15-year-old had been too afraid to come back to visit her. Another meow trailed through the door, and Yurio glanced down to see a shadow moving on the other side of the door before a furry paw was shoved under the door.

The teenager laughed softly, shoving his key in the door and shivering as he pushed the heavy door open. He sighed loudly as silence met his ears, and Potya pounced at his shoes, clawing at the laces as the teenager bent down to pet him. Makkachin raised her head from the bed in the living room, wagging her tail quickly as it smacked against the bookshelf before rising and coming to greet the teenager.

Yurio bit the bottom of his chapped lips as he pet her head, scratching between the dog’s ears as she licked his warm cheek. Potya meowed as he rubbed against the teenager’s legs before the 15-year-old picked him up, cuddling the fluffy cat against his face as he walked towards the couch. After a few moments, Potya squirmed, jumping from the teenager’s grasp as Yurio collapsed against the couch.

He glanced around the small dark room slowly. The lights from the city bled through the sheer curtains, and the teenager let out a sigh of relief as he realized nothing had changed. Everything looked the same. Exactly where it’d been a month prior. Everything smelled the same. Felt the same… but he was alone right now. In an hour, when the two skaters came home, things might not feel the same. They might not be. But Yurio didn’t have anywhere else to go, and he didn’t know how to fix what he had already broken.

The 15-year-old swallowed thickly as he leaned his head against the couch, pressing a hand against his stomach as nausea ate at him. He was nervous. And shivering… and cold. The teenager cursed as he realized his clothes were still wet from the rain, that he was still wet from the rain. He groaned as he tried to find the energy to force himself up and change, but his head was beginning to hurt again, and the teenager was pretty sure the handful of Tylenol he’d choked done earlier was beginning to wear off.

His phone vibrated against, and Yurio shivered as he pulled the moist device from his pocket. His mother’s name flashed across the screen again before going black. The 15-year-old pressed the home button, wincing as he realized he had 28 missed calls all from her… and 30 unread messages. He inhaled slowly as he flipped through the messages, wiping at the tears forming in his eyes as he browsed through the texts. I’m sorry, honey. I’ll be back later… those two bastards don’t love you like I do! They will never love you like a mother can! Just like your pathetic grandfather couldn’t love you like a mother could! Like I do! Pick up. Yuri, pick up! You’re just like your father…

Worthless. His phone smacked against the wall before the 15-year-old realized he’d thrown it. He gasped softly, watching the device crash to the ground, the screen cracking further as a small corner of the glass shot off. Potya ran from the room, and Makkachin raised her head from her bed as the teenager continued to stare at the device. Despite it cracking, the screen was still going off every few minutes, the bright screen flashing green as his mother’s face filled the window.

The A/C kicked on and rain continued to patter against the balcony outside as the teenager leaned further back against the couch, clenching his hands, his fingernails digging into the already visible cuts in his palms. Silence evaded the room again except for the soft snoring from Makkachin and pinging from his phone as another notification was pushed through. Yurio sighed loudly, closing his eyes as his headache pushed itself down his neck.

 ……………………………………………………………………………………

 Something felt off the moment Viktor stepped through his apartment door. The hair standing up on the back of his neck as he scanned through the dimly lit living area, glancing towards Makkachin rising from her bed, Potya sitting on the counter gracefully, his senses on guard as he glanced back towards Yuuri, placing Chinese takeaway on the counter slowly.

The older man bent down, rubbing Makkachin’s neck gently before she pushed past him, towards Yuuri. Viktor stood offended, a shocked look crossing his face as he turned towards Yuuri, and the Japanese man stuck his tongue out towards him as the dog circled him happily. Viktor scoffed, “At least Potya loves me.”

He reached towards the cat, petting him briefly behind the ear before the cat jumped from the counter, running from the room. Yuuri clicked his tongue before laughing loudly as Viktor put a hand over his heart. He sighed loudly as he took his coat off, slipping his shoes off slowly and began pulling the Chinese from the bag as Yuuri grabbed some plates.

“What are you staring at?” Yuuri asked as he set the plates down on the counter, an eyebrow raised towards Viktor as the older man watched him, leaning against the counter. Viktor shook his head, smirking as he ran a hand through his silver hair. He liked evenings like this. Him and Yuuri. Chinese takeaway. Rain… everything. Everything, every evening like this made Viktor love him more, made his past okay, made his life without his parents or his little sister okay. Evenings like this made Viktor feel okay, whole… and he’d never trade this for anything.

Yuuri pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as he repeated the question, and the older skater reached over the counter, pushing some of Yuuri’s black hair behind his ear. The Japanese skater blushed, and Viktor laughed softly, “I’m just so happy to have met you. So lucky.”

Yuuri glanced down, smirking slightly as red flushed across his face. Despite being married for a year, Viktor still had the capability to make him feel like some lovesick teenager. He could still make him blush. It was almost embarrassing. Yuuri looked back up, shoving the plates to the side softly as he climbed on the counter, sitting on the edge where Viktor was standing. The older skater raised an eyebrow as Yuuri took his glasses off, running his fingers through his hair slowly.

Potya brushed against Viktor’s legs as the older man pulled Yuuri closer to him, surprised momentarily when the younger man pressed his lips against his, running his fingers under his shirt. Viktor forced Yuuri closer, shoving his hands under his wet jacket as he rammed it off quickly, Yuuri’s fingers pulling Viktor’s shirt over his head. Viktor gripped against Yuuri’s jeans, kissing against the younger man’s neck as he exhaled slowly as Yuuri pulled Viktor’s face back towards him, letting the Russian slip his shirt off frantically before Viktor pulled Yuuri from the counter.

They stumbled slightly, crashing against the table laughing, slamming against the bookshelf in the living room as Yuuri fumbled with Viktor’s belt, Viktor pressing his lips along the younger man’s collarbone, breathing heavily. He felt Yuuri slide his belt off, slinging it across the room as Viktor pulled him up again; Yuuri biting against Viktor’s neck gently as Makkachin whined, and the older glanced towards the couch.

“Fuck!” Viktor blurted, dropping Yuuri as his eyes connected with the small teenager sprawled across his couch. Yuuri scrambled up quickly, confusion crossing his face as he reached for the light, flicking it on before following his husband’s gaze, cursing softly. The Japanese skater fumbled, pulling his shirt from the floor before tossing Viktor’s towards him, hitting the older man in the face. Viktor grasped his shirt, shoving it inside-out over his head as he took a step forward.

His foot collided with something hard, and Viktor glanced down, his eyebrows drawing together slowly as he reached for Yurio’s phone. He inspected the cracked screen, missing edges, the dented side, harboring a small amount of white paint from impact; he pressed the on button only to find the phone dead or broken, maybe both. Yuuri shoved his glasses back on his face as he bit nervously at his thumbnail, “What’s he doing here, Vitya?”

Viktor glanced towards him before kneeling next to the slumbering teen. Anger washed through him momentarily, and Viktor’s hand hovered over the 15-year-old’s jacket before he shook his head and lowered his hand. The older Russian let out a long sigh, looking over the teenager’s complexion.

They hadn’t seen Yurio in a month. No phone calls. No texts. No visits. Nothing. He and Yuuri had stopped by Yurio’s grandfather’s house about a week after the teen left, only to find the kid’s mother, telling them to get lost. Yurio didn’t want to see them. Ever. According to her. And despite his judgement, Viktor was willing to oblige if it was easier for the 15-year-old. Besides it wasn’t like the kid answered his phone calls or texts anyway. But now? Why was he here now?

The older man sat there for a few minutes, thinking. Makkachin whined against, nudging Viktor’s shoulder before sniffing the teenager’s right arm, dangling off the couch. A chill washed over the older Russian as the hair on the back of his neck stood up slowly. Yurio looked like shit. He was pale, his lips chapped, a small cut across his cheek as a soft pink stood against his complexion. The older man reached for the teenager’s outstretched palm, seeing bloody indents from his nails forced through skin. The kid had had a panic attack at some point. Self-destructive, Nikolai had told him. Yurio didn’t know how to deal with his emotions, and he relied on self-destruction, self-infliction as an outlet.

“Viktor,” Yuuri said softly, and Viktor let go of the teenager’s hand, glancing towards Yuuri, who was kneeling near the kid’s feet. He’d slipped the younger’s socks off before his fingers ghosted over the swollen and bruised flesh on the kid’s left ankle. The older man rose slowly, gently prodding the black and green flesh, his lips forming a thin tight line as he set the 15-year-old’s ankle back down softly. He glanced towards the kid’s face as Yuuri picked at some of the skin on his thumbnail before whispering, “He’s seriously out.”

Viktor hummed in response, pressing his back against the coffee table as he leaned back, anger washed through him. Yuuri was right, the kid should have woken by now- it’s not like Viktor or Yuuri had known he was here, and they weren’t exactly quiet. But he was still asleep… which meant the kid was exhausted. He hadn’t been sleeping. And he looked like he hadn’t been eating much either. His cheekbones were more prominent than a month ago, his face paler; he seemed smaller which was concerning because the kid wasn’t big to begin with.

Viktor ran a hand over his tired face, clenching the bridge of his nose as tension began to spread up his neck, through his shoulders. He turned towards Yuuri who was still tearing at the hangnail on his thumb, smiling sadly before standing as one name raged through his mind. Over and over and over. Micha. Yurio’s mom- she had lied to him. To Viktor. She said she’d make sure nothing bad would happen to the kid… but if he was here, if he had come back, something bad had obviously happened. And she was to blame. And Viktor was going to fucking kill her.

Yuuri sighed loudly as he watched the older Russian stand, pulling his phone from his pocket, flipping through his contacts before pressing the phone to his ear. He watched Viktor pace through the kitchen, running a hand through his hair before pulling the phone away, pressing call, and pressing it against his ear again. He stood there, hand on his hip as he shook his head, scoffing. He redialed as Yuuri sat down on the coffee table, running his fingers through the teenager’s hair gently.

It’d been a while since they’d seen the kid. And truth be told, Yuuri was slightly relieved to see him now…  but if Yurio was here, that meant something had happened. Something with his mom. Yuuri’s stomach clenched as he brushed his thumb over the small cut on the kid’s face before pressing his hand against his cheek, then forehead. Yurio whimpered softly as Yuuri’s hand connected with an uncomfortable warmth radiating from the teenager’s skin.

“Viktor,” Yuuri whispered, his fingers still carding through the younger’s hair as he glanced towards his husband. Viktor was still pacing, still trying to get whoever he’d called to answer. He shook his head, cursing before throwing his phone against the counter, running a hand over his face slowly. Yuuri cleared his throat again, “Viktor!”

The older Russian paused, glancing in Yuuri’s direction as the younger skater stood. Yuuri crossed his arms gently, “He has a fever.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow as he crossed through the small living room, kneeling over the teenager as Yuuri brushed past him. Viktor pressed his hand against the kid’s forehead before pushing the blonde’s bangs away from his face, cursing again. He leaned against the arm of the couch, forcing his hands against the fabric as he took a few slow breaths, closing his eyes momentarily. He should have known better; Viktor should have known better- he should have trusted his instincts. Micha was bad news, and Nikolai had warned him about her, warned him to keep Yurio from seeing her. But she was his mother. And Viktor was just glad to see the kid happy again. But Micha had played them. She had played the kid since he was here, and she wasn’t. And now Viktor and Yuuri had to pick up the pieces, fix the damage she had done to the teenager… because Viktor had been a fucking moron.

Something nudged his side, and Viktor opened his eyes slowly, turning to see Yuuri kneeling next to the teenager again. He pressed a few wet paper towels against the kid’s forehead before running his fingers through the blonde’s hair gently. Viktor watched as water dripped from the towels, rolling down the teenager’s temples, soaking into the old grey fabric of the couch. This was Viktor’s fault. He was the adult. He should have known.

The 15-year-old stirred slightly, his fingers reaching for the small compress on his forehead before Viktor’s fingers grasped his, pushing the kid’s hand back down. He leaned over the couch as Yurio blinked slowly, and Viktor gave him a soft smile, carding his fingers through the boy’s hair. Confusion crossed the teenager’s face before he choked loudly, tears welling in his eyes.

“V-Vitya,” Yurio sobbed softly as his eyes met the older Russian...

[goddamnitdazai]

Doldrums | Dazai {AU}

The Tea House is the only clean place in all of the three outlying territories; the capital and castle are overflowing with gold. There's boredom in both places and freedom in neither. Dazai finds the only way to amuse himself and you're just curious enough to agree. {fic under the cut} [ao3 link] x [patreon]

The long reign of the king ended unexpectedly. Within the first few months of the king’s death, the prodigal heir to the throne was crowned the one-hundred-and-fifteen King of Tartalya. Despite what the royal family toted to the public the new king only resembled his father in strategical demeanor. The prince’s (now king) features were prominent and sharp whereas the previous king had cheeks still plump with baby fat and a wide smile. Prince Osamu never smiled; that was the rumor anyway.

Per Tartalya tradition the new king was married within the first month of his new position. His wife, the dutchess of a rich port territory, fawned over him endlessly. A polished depiction of what Tartalya’s queen should be. Sweet, humble, and above all else, proper. Tartalya’s prior king required indisputable perfection within his court and their partners. Any imperfections were snuffed out quicker than a strong wind extinguishes a candle. The ruthless king’s only heir was no exception to these strict expectations; a rumor from the high court states the prince’s wife was picked when they were both ten years old due to her bloodline, manners, and demeanor. Rumors from the high courts were often stretched and dissected until they resembled fables, but there was truth to some extent. That is what you were taught to believe anyway. Take the words of a man with as you would an ill-cooked gift; chew with conviction then spit it out when their back is turned. You were taught this of all rumors and of all men. Of the region claimed by Tarayla’s century-old monarch, only three territories have been allowed to rule without direct sanctions from the high court or prince. They are considered the dark outliers in both qualities of life and the quality of inhabitants. These three territories provide shelter for merchants coming to port looking to gamble and drink, criminals from other territories seeking asylum, and those who are not able to afford a single room within the cheapest region of Tartayla’s kingdom. Like many of the other inhabitants born in Valnnin, your mother chose to leave you at the Tea House under the care of the Ozaki clan the day after you’d turned five. She was paid a handsome fee and signed a contract never to return to the Tea House. Supposedly, many women bear children simply to drop them at the Tea House for the reward. That rumor was not hard to believe given the state of Valnnin. Decent money offered the means to escape Valnnin to the closest region in Tartayla, Soinet, where large farms sit on rolling green hills lush with purple fruit that grows plentiful on tall trees. Anyone who made it out of Valnnin stayed out; by starvation or success. A part of you hoped your mother starved. There are worse fates in Valnnin than the Ozaki’s Tea House, though. Bred with a sharp wit and long cherry-red hair the Ozaki clan were well known all over Tartayla for their refined charisma and elegant beauty. Some of these traits were able to be passed on to the right young men and women making the courtesans of the Tea House the highest priced commodity in all of the three territories. Top earners are allowed to live in the lavish rooms on the top floor of the Tea House.  The Ozaki house, a four-tier traditional home lit with gold paper lanterns and endless vines wrapped over a cobblestone bridge, sits across the Tea House. The watchful guardian for the inhabitants of the Tea House. Other than becoming part of a legacy family in Valnnin, like the Ozaki, the best living was at the top of the Tea House. Residing in the middle, for now, was comfortable enough. “___, dear you’re staring.’ Kouyou tuts, whacking your knee with her lace fan. When her fan is fully spread the gold filigree becomes a long winding dragon sifting through the clouds. A well-known symbol of the Ozaki clan. The dragon is imprinted throughout the Tea House and stamped on the inside of each girl’s wrist in gold ink. Ownership and protection, that is what they preached while poking your skin with a hot needle. “Is that potted ivy really that intriguing? It must be with how rude you’re being during our conversation.” Her long manicured nail brushes over your nose to draw your attention. Her touch instantaneously forces your shoulders to go rigid as your eyes drop to your lap. Kouyou’s sharp nails bite at your jawline. “Don’t be rude to our company tonight. Understood?” You nod, wincing a bit at her grip. Kouyou-san only showed this type of intensity with newer girls in order to hammer in the traditions of the Tea House. You, however, had been here for fifteen long years and knew every twist and turn. Your familiarity had risen to the point that you and the other girls made wages on some of the staff’s mood based on an eyebrow quirk or tense knuckle. For the most part, you won each round. Kouyou-san did insist your looks and keen eye made for a high commodity, however, the blessings around your features were not as god-like as some of the girls. You were sure they came from a line of Queens and Goddesses long before humanity stomped over the grasslands. “Kouyou-san, I don’t understand why you won’t inform me who I am waiting for.” You shift uncomfortably in your silk robe. The pillow beneath your knees had become a hardened lump of clay that was sure to leave bruises. “Using the gold room is above my station.” “It is.” Kouyou agrees without an ounce of hesitation. If you were allowed to show your true emotions a dark frown laden with knitted brows would be reflecting back at Kouyou. Tea house manners forbade any type of backtalk, verbal or otherwise, toward the ladies of the house. It had been a long time since your feet had been whipped into a bloody mess due to your expressions. “You should be thankful a man of high caliber is interested in your company.” You exhale through your nose and adjust the pillow subtly just for something to grab and ease the tension rising up your spine. The golden room was incredibly expensive and reserved for foreign clientele or a man rich enough to buy the country twice over. What you could gather from the maids who set the room was scarcely what you could consider good information but their gossiping mouths let out that the changes were due to the man’s incredibly specific taste. Instead of immaculate gaudy golden candles, simple paper lanterns were hung in shades of red that bounced off the polished wood walls. The marble table had been replaced with a smaller traditional one stacked high with poker chips and two crystal glasses. A bottle of imported whisky more expensive than the entirety of Valnnin had been staring back at you for the better part of an hour. Jewels from all over the country were heaped into woven baskets spilling out their glittering gemstones of blues, pinks, reds, and purples. One stone looked as big as your palm. Within the baskets, bracelets, and necklaces sparkle and hang over the rim like a used handkerchief tossed in the garbage. Money can’t buy taste, you think to yourself, though you wouldn’t mind pocketing some of those jewels to sell later. Abruptly the double doors open and the lanterns are snuffed out. Above your head dangles an imported odd-shaped light with arms extending outwards holding each white candle as if it were trying to scorch the walls.  Kouyou stands to greet the unknown guest. Gliding across the wooden floor as a swan crosses a lake. You remain perfectly poised. Long red dress stretching out your arms to pool against your thighs. The Tea House provided silk garments for expensive clients that showed skin without being over-zealous. A strong dip in the back revealing your spine for wandering fingers. Bare shoulders for teeth to graze and tease. Your lips had been painted deep red to accentuate a pout worthy of a diamond necklace. Beyond Kouyou’s tall stance you barely make out the rough edges of a man much taller than Kouyou. “Enjoy your time, sir. Please, let me know if I can do anything to be more accommodating.” Kouyou’s bow is deep and longer than usual. The man doesn’t bow back.  The guards that had accompanied him to the golden room remain on the other side of the screen door once it’s closed, another uncommon occurrence. You get to your feet and walk towards the man in the same manner Kouyou did. You’d done this a hundred times. A thousand. Something high up, but there was an odd sensation growing in the pit of your stomach. Circling the pit of your belly like a serpent through the grass. “Good evening. Who do I have the pleasure of spending time with? I’m afraid my tongue has gone numb in excitement.” The man chuckles and takes a step forward; you take in his form with a simple blink. His hair is an unruly slue of dark browns overlapping each other held back by a deep ruby pin, an odd style but the capital tended to couple foreign fashion with traditional garments. The stranger is incredibly tall, thin, wearing traditional Tartayla clothing though the crest on his lapel doesn’t ring a bell. It did not mirror the crests members of the court wore nor the men stationed beneath them. Scribes, military, footmen, all members of the palace wore crests revealing their status to the world. A palace aid, even, would be able to afford the golden room for a night. “That’s a lie.” He takes another few steps towards you. Swift. His long legs easily bring him close enough for you to smell his cologne. Expensive and foreign. “I specifically told Ozaki not to speak my name. A clever way to ask without asking.” You blink rapidly but hold your ground, folding your hands politely in front of your thighs. His stare is honey lined with liquid gold. “As expected of a woman raised in the Tea House.” “I did not want to seem ill-prepared.” You finally answer, “It is uncommon to not know the name of my companion prior to meeting.” Nicknames--you roll through the most requested, but none of them fit. He bends a bit, you expect a hand on your cheek or your chin; he grips your throat. Contracting your airways with an eerily gentle touch. “You can address me as Dazai, nothing else.” His gaze remains ice cold. Something about the name bubbles up and up until your mouth unintentionally drops open just enough to let out a silent gasp. Prince Dazai. If he would let go of your chin you could bow to him but he anchors himself to the ground. “Ah, there it is. I can let go that you did not recognize me considering we let the territories exist as an extension. Not much royalty passing through here? What a scandal~”. He releases your jaw and walks over to the table in the center of the room. Out of instinct, you follow behind with your head bowed just slightly. What would the prince be doing here? You presumed when royal blood desired the flesh of someone else other than their betrothed they found it easily among the many women of the court. “Dazai, what is it you desire tonight?” Common phrases of your trade finally return once your tongue has melted off the shock. “Business.” He states, taking a seat on the plush pillows. “Come, and don’t speak unless I ask you a question.” Dazai pats his hand on his lap as he speaks. You follow his command and walk yourself to his lap. The scent of him is overwhelmingly pleasing in comparison to the other men that have requested this position. With your back against his chest, you can feel the ruffle of fabric on your bare skin from his vest, it’s an interesting sensation. You’d never felt this type of material before. “Now,” Dazai starts voice a rich smoky tenor, “you will come with me to the capital and sit just like this. You won’t speak, you won’t move, you won’t do a thing except look as you do now.” He drags his knuckles down your spine. “All you need to know is that. What lies in this room,” he lazily gestures to the jewels in the collapsing baskets, “will be your payment.” All you can do is nod dumbly. What the hell did he want you at the capital for? To be a lap ornament? What a strange request. You want to say no, to tell him you’re much more than a porcelain doll to play with. Your wit and charm has made you the favorite of so many men of his own court. Dazai presses his nose to the curve between your throat and shoulder. “You may ask one question but make it quick, I dislike having to ride home during the day.” Dazai gave you information without giving you detail. The bare-bones without an explanation or purpose, but he was the prince. You couldn’t pester him for more like your regulars who gave vague requests--of which you denied regardless of what it was. Taking a courtesan out of the Tea House was strictly forbidden. There was no amount that would interest the Ozaki women to allow their charges to leave the premises with a client. Every person had their price, though, it should have been obvious considering your line of work. “Am I to be a lap ornament for your entertainment or to prove a point to another person?” Dazai pauses his hand on your spine. For a moment your heart freezes--until he begins to laugh. Harmonious and cheerful, it almost sounds sweet but the tingle in your spine tells you otherwise. “Both,” Dazai places his hand on your thigh giving the soft flesh a tight squeeze, “but the latter. I don’t find very much of this world entertaining in the slightest.” Abruptly his teeth graze the shell of your ear as his hand wanders beneath your silk dress finding the edge of your hipbone. “This is just to waste time.”                                   __________________________ Jealousy was not something prince Dazai experienced. However, the man across from you seemed to be dripping green with it. You vaguely recognized him, a court-appointed general from the land across the sea. The name escaped you, anytime he appeared at the Tea House for your attention his words sank to the bottom of your consciousness. His conversation was as dull and his hands were fat with sausage-like fingers that didn’t know how to properly undo the knots that held your dress together at the side. He never had enough money other than to converse for twenty minutes and stare at your nude body. Prior to the meeting, Dazai had walked you through the main courtyard filled lined with enormous evergreen trees and rose bushes taller than your shoulders. Members of the royal court bowed and held their tongues as you passed. Your clothing served as a clear indicator of your position in the Tea House. Dazai had made it a point to dress you in the most elegant outfit the Tea House allowed. Draped in gold and black with hints of deep scarlet beneath the split up your thigh. The palace was, unsurprisingly,  massive in size and stature. Getting lost for hours within its corridors and monumental rooms seemed inevitable. Had Dazai let you wander from his side. “Do not speak or move without my permission.” His only warning punctuated with a sharp slap to your ass. While the meeting went on Dazai’s hands grew increasingly curious in tandem with his ever-rising boredom. Beneath the table, his fingers roamed between your legs never touching where you wanted. They drew teasing circles just outside your lower lips. Dug crescents into the meat of your inner thighs. The longer the meeting went on the higher his hands reached. Inside the deep cut of your dress to squeeze your breast while he spoke about the outcome of a fictional war the general had threatened, apparently. Something about trade prices rising. Anything happening beyond Dazai’s grip wasn’t sticking to your psyche. By the time the meeting was finished sweat was beading down the back of your neck. Your cheeks had grown hot to the touch and your clit was aching for touch. Dazai simply stood expecting you to catch yourself. “You will not be returning to the Tea House.” It was all he said before two guards escorted you down a long corridor lined with paintings of the royal bloodline.                       ___________________________________ The first time he fucked you the moon had appeared in splendor. Bright and bold against dark skies empty of stares and clouds. His wife had requested him to come to bed early. Her long dark hair falling in gentle curls illuminated by the candelabra she held in her fist. You watched from the corner of his study as Dazai used that talented tongue of his to herd her back to bed. Once the door was shut and locked with a metal key Dazai bent you over his desk and fucked you deep and slow. He left bite marks on your neck and laughed when you begged so pathetically to cum around his cock. At first, there was nothing inside him. No emotion to his touch and no passion beyond the carnal desire to fuck you when he needed release. His wife would often stare at you when you passed in the corridors trying to find some sort of entertainment. You had heard nothing of your position at the palace nor had anyone questioned your existence there. Dazai demanded you stay within his sights at all times and would punish you with hard slaps to your bare ass when you wandered too far. He was the softest after he left a red handprint on your behind. He’d cradle you in his arms and call you pretty things like a lover would. It only served to deepen your confusion in both your own feelings for him and what he wanted out of your existence in his life.                     _______________________________________ The queen’s illness came on rapidly and without a cause. She was pale with a fever and sickly looking. Her skin stretched over the bones of her face and her eyes looked glass. Nothing the doctors were doing had made a difference. She existed on her large bed surrounded by basins of water and broth, her ladies in waiting rotated washing her and feeding her the best they could. She couldn’t move on her own accord except to speak in a low muddled voice. Dazai did not visit her often. After a week she had been moved to her own room down two corridors and across from the King’s quarters. The bed was burned and the room scrubbed clean until it glistened. Dazai didn’t ask, he never did. When your room turned up empty you knew to find him in his quarters. His long legs propped up on the ottoman beside the window, fingers over his favorite book gifted by a friend long gone from this world. His touch had become gentle in the past few weeks. You presumed, at first, it was due to his grieving and perhaps guilt for the affair. Yet he did not change the frequency in which he kissed you, fucked you, held you against his chest for a few minutes before he eventually left the bed to finish whatever work he’d thrown across the floor when he grew too aggravated or bored. Nights he wanted to fall off the edge of the world he tied your hands to the bed and played with your body until sunrise. Dazai left his mark where he pleased. Nothing felt as good as his hands, his attention, his tongue. Rarely did he ever keep himself on top. No, he expected you to ride him. Make him cum while he watched you grow addicted to the feeling of his cock inside of you.                                  ______________________ Dazai had to produce an heir, he said, one morning while you’d been eating breakfast at his side. His wife could not fulfill that duty while sick. You pause for a moment and set your glass down. Looking at him as the sun rises behind his head. “You know I can’t have children.” Part of the process of becoming part of the Tea House; everyone went through the procedure. “What do you plan to do?” Dazai wipes his mouth with a napkin. “What makes you believe I haven’t already finished what I planned to do?” He places his elbows on the table and folds his fingers beneath his chin. That same gaze from the day you met him in the golden room returning to douse you in something unsettling. You blink at him and lean back in your chair. “As long as the queen remains alive you are not able to marry another. You will be expected to wait to have a child with your wife when she is well again.” Dazai tilts his head. “I don’t want children.” He says nonchalantly. “Dazai..” What makes you believe I haven’t already finished what I planned to do? “Dazai.” His grin spreads wide, eyes darkening despite the light from the windows splashing halycon all over the room. “Eat up, _____. I’m growing bored.”

[reinerispretty]

reminiscence. (? x f!reader) pt6

THANK U FOR BEING SO PATIENT i am so excited to get back to this story!!

pt1

pt5

pt7

“That’s not how you do it.”

Asami furrowed her brows at her. “Oh yeah? Then show me how you knead dough.” (Y/N) rolled up her sleeves and began pressing into the dough with the heel of her palm, at first gently, but then with some effort.

“It’s like raising a baby,” (Y/N) said. “You have to be soft, but firm.”

It took (Y/N) quite a few days to recover. She shivered in bed the first night, retching violently into the trash bin Jinora had kindly placed at her bedside. She had given her a worried smile, which (Y/N) weakly returned. Falling asleep was difficult because of how cold she felt. When sleep finally did grace her, it was littered with dreams of empty blackness and monsters licking at her heels. She woke up every few hours, sweat beading down her neck and a scream threatening to rip at her throat. She felt like her heart was beating too fast to be contained by her chest. Her first night of illness was undoubtedly the worst. 

Knowing this, Korra had moved a cot into her room the next night. She knew what it was like to be ill and how isolating it felt, so she thought (Y/N) could use the company. Especially when her fever had risen to a temperature near scalding. Korra bundled her in her warmest blankets from the Northern Water Tribe, tucking (Y/N) into the fabric. She looked so small and weak, nothing like the bright, curious girl that Korra had come to know over the past few days. Naga slept protectively at the girls’ feet. (Y/N) slept most of the night and well into the next day. 

But when she awoke, the rest of the household was surprised to find her walking into the dining room, one of Korra’s blankets still wrapped around her shoulders and the color returning to her skin. “Could I have something to eat?” Her voice was hoarse from lack of use. Pema insisted that she go back to bed and rest, that dinner would be brought to her, and although she hadn’t known her very long, (Y/N) knew better than to argue. 

Quickly, she made her way back to her room and crawled back into bed, her stomach eagerly awaiting the arrival of food. 

Korra entered a few minutes later, shocked to find (Y/N) looking so chipper. “Someone’s feeling better. Pema made your favorite.” (Y/N) cocked her head to the side. “Bolin told me. Soup dumplings.” (Y/N) held in her squeal of excitement as Korra handed her the hot bowl and chopsticks. 

“So,” Korra began as she scarfed down her dumplings. “I have a plan. We,” (Y/N) liked how Korra included her in the ‘we.’ “Will take a ship to the South Pole and enter the Spirit World through the portal. Then we’ll ask the spirits if they know anything about you.” 

(Y/N) finished her last dumpling, her mouth burning comfortably from the hot food. “Is that it?” Korra let out a surprised laughed at her boldness. 

“Did you want more action?” (Y/N’s) face flushed. 

“No, I just mean that it seems really easy.” 

“If all goes well, it will be.”

--

(Y/N) was bundled up so tightly for their trip that she could hardly move. Pema hadn’t like the idea of them leaving before she was feeling her best, but (Y/N) insisted that they left as soon as possible. The thought of getting her memories back made her heart race. 

She stood in the courtyard of the Air Temple, Tenzin and his family standing before her. “I can’t thank you enough for your hospitality,” She said. “I hope one day I can repay you for taking care of me.” 

“You have to come back and play with us!” Ikki begged, jumping up and down as she clapped her hands together. “Please, please, please!” 

“Yeah!” Meelo interjected. “You were too busy throwing up to play with us!” (Y/N) laughed as Tenzin blanched at his children. 

“I’m sorry, Meelo. I promise I’ll come back and play with you guys soon!” She glanced at Tenzin and Pema. “As long as I’m welcome, of course.” 

“You are always welcome here,” Tenzin reassured her, and (Y/N) smiled. Korra walked out of the house then, both her and (Y/N’s) bags slung across her shoulders. 

“Ready to go?” Korra questioned, and (Y/N) nodded. She waved goodbye to the family and walked down the stone steps to the dock, where their ship was pulling up. (Y/N’s) eyes widened at the sight of it. “Ship” was an understatement. It was huge, twice the size of any boat she had seen in her almost three weeks of memory. It was white, with thick blue stripes painted around the edges. 

“Is that yours?” She asked Korra. 

“It’s Varrick’s,” She called back to her. “He’s a super rich guy. Kinda sorta a friend of ours, a guess. I called in a favor.” 

“You’re sure he doesn’t mind?” 

Korra turned around and flashed her a smile. “Varrick tosses money around like it’s leaves. If anything happens to this boat, he’s got ten more.” (Y/N) smiled back at Korra and tried to ignore the statement, “If anything happens.” 

When they reached the dock, one of the most beautiful girls (Y/N) had ever seen stood at it’s edge. She waved at the two of them, her dark hair fluttering behind her in the breeze. Korra dropped their bags on the dock and enveloped the girl in a hug. “Asami!” She cheered. 

Asami squeezed Korra tightly and gave her a kind smile. “It’s good to see you again!” Her green eyes fluttered to (Y/N). “You must be (Y/N). Korra’s told me so much about you.” She extended her hand and (Y/N) shook it firmly. 

“I guess that’s not very much,” (Y/N) joked, eliciting a laugh from Asami. 

“Where are the guys?” Asami asked, and Korra shrugged. 

“Probably running late, as usual.” 

“I want to say thank you to you both,” (Y/N) said suddenly, wringing her fingers together nervously. “I’m sure you both have heard some pretty bad things about me, but I’m so thankful you’re willing to help.” 

“Mako has a bit of a flair for the dramatics,” Asami said as she waved a hand into the air. “As far as we’re concerned, you’re a completely different person.” Korra nodded in agreement, flashing her white teeth at (Y/N). 

Mako and Bolin joined them only a few moments later and the five of them boarded the massive ship. Varrick had sent along an entire crew to accompany them, which everyone was very thankful for. As much as Team Avatar trusted their abilities, none of them were very keen on the idea of steering a ship for a whole week. 

They departed from the bay outside of Republic City and (Y/N) watched from one of the enclosed decks as the skyscraper buildings faded into nothingness. A nervous pit fit itself in the bottom of her stomach. This was really happening. She would get her memories back. 

The majority of her was absolutely ecstatic. She hated not knowing anything about herself and couldn’t wait for her life to get back to normal--whatever that meant before she lost her memory. But a small, miniscule part of her enjoyed what was happening right now. If it hadn’t been for losing her memory, she would not have become friends with Korra. (Y/N) feared that once she got her memories back, there would be some things she didn’t want to remember. 

Asami appeared at her side, offering (Y/N) yet another kind smile. “How do you like the ship?” 

“It’s huge,” (Y/N) said. “I can barely feel the water underneath us. I was worried that since I was sick, I wouldn’t feel well, but I feel fine.” 

“Korra mentioned that you hadn’t been feeling well. I’m glad you’re okay now.” 

(Y/N’s) eyes trailed to the middle of the room, where Korra, Mako, and Bolin talked to each other. “Have you known them long?” 

“Only a few months,” Asami said. “But they’ve become my best friends.” (Y/N) felt a tug at her heart. She wondered if before everything, if she had had a group like this. “Are you feeling hungry?” 

“A little,” (Y/N) admitted. 

“How about we make something in the kitchens? Just you and me.” (Y/N) nodded excitedly and followed Asami down two flights of stairs, where the kitchen took up the entire floor. The staff was scarce, considering that dinner would not be happening for a long while, so they both rifled through the pantries trying to find ingredients. “We could make a pizza!” 

(Y/N) poked her head around the pantry door and stared quizzically at Asami. “Do you know how to make a pizza?” The dark haired girl shrugged, gathering ingredients into her arms. 

“It can’t be that hard.” 

It turned out it was that hard, but they had found a cookbook with their desired recipe and managed to at least get the dough started. Asami slapped it against the counter as (Y/N) giggled. “That’s not how you do it.” 

Asami furrowed her brows at her. “Oh yeah? Then show me how you knead dough.” (Y/N) rolled up her sleeves and began pressing into the dough with the heel of her palm, at first gently, but then with some effort. 

“It’s like raising a baby,” (Y/N) said. “You have to be soft, but firm.” Asami laughed at her comparison. 

“How do you know so much about making dough?” (Y/N) paused for a moment before turning back to her work, kneading into the dough harder. 

“I’m not sure,” She admitted. “I guess there are some things left in there.” 

Bolin stood in the entryway to the kitchens, not yet noticed by the two girls. He watched as (Y/N) taught Asami how to make pizza dough. It brought him back to a memory he reflected on often during the years of her absence. 

Years ago, after (Y/N) and Bolin had taken each other out on many dates, there was the night that he decided to ask her to be his girlfriend. He was incredibly nervous, his palms were a sweaty, clammy mess, but (Y/N) had stared at him kindly. 

“I want to show you something,” She said as they walked down the streets of Republic City, their hands intertwined. If she noticed how slippery his hands were, she didn’t acknowledge it. Like he did in all things, Bolin followed (Y/N) with no questions asked. 

She led him to Kwong’s Cuisine, which had closed for the night hours ago. She pulled a silver key from her pocket and led him to the backdoor. She unlocked the heavy metal door and pushed it open with her shoulder, her fingers still interlocked with Bolin’s. 

“Are you sure we should be in here?” He asked the darkness. (Y/N) flipped a switch and bright, white lights illuminated the silver fixtures of the kitchens. 

“I’m the owner’s daughter,” (Y/N) said with a teasing scoff. “What are they going to do, fire me?” She pulled open the fridges and began gathering her ingredients. Bolin had never seen her move like this before. (Y/N) always seemed so confident, but here, she seemed liked she owned the place. He guessed in a way, she did. “I’d like to make you brownies,” She said to him, pulling out a metal stool with her foot and gesturing toward it. “Sit.” 

Bolin obeyed and watched with fascinated eyes as she mixed the batter together from scratch. “Are you doing this all off the top of your head?” He asked. She nodded. 

“Mom always made me cook when I still lived with her,” She said, offering him the spoon so he could get a taste of the batter. He took his finger and swiped it into the chocolatey mixture before licking it. 

“These are going to be the best brownies I’ve ever had! You should be a chef!” (Y/N) laughed. 

“Maybe one day,” She said. She put the brownies in the oven and set the timer. As they waited, they talked about their days and the events of Bolin’s latest pro-bending match. When the timer buzzed, (Y/N) hopped up from her seat and pulled the brownies out. 

“I’m too excited to wait,” Bolin said, grabbing a knife and slicing into the gooey brownies. 

“Bo, be careful you’re gonna-” 

“Ow, ow, ow,” Bolin complained as he held the scorching hot brownie, but he tossed it into his mouth. He tried his best to chew. “It burns but it’s so yummy,” He mumbled as he tried to breathe hot air out of his mouth. 

“Your girlfriend makes pretty good brownies, huh?” She asked, and Bolin nearly choked on his hot piece of brownie. He doubled over as he coughed and tried to swallow it down. “Oh my goodness, are you okay?” 

“Girlfriend?” Bolin asked once he had righted himself. (Y/N’s) face flushed. Had she calculated everything wrong?

“Yeah, girlfriend. I thought that girlfriend is okay.” Bolin nodded, his hands wrapping around the small of her back to pull her close. 

“Girlfriend’s okay!” He said. “As long as boyfriend’s okay, too.” (Y/N) smiled brightly up at him. 

“Boyfriend’s okay,” She said as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Bolin leaned down to kiss her and she could taste the hot brownies on his tongue. 

“Bolin!” Asami called to him, breaking his flashback. “You want a piece of pizza? I think (Y/N) should be a chef, because it’s amazing!” 

Bolin stepped into the room, giving (Y/N) a tight smile. She smiled back at him as she chewed on her piece of pizza. “What kind is it?” 

“Pineapple and pepperoni,” She said, and Bolin twisted his face in disgust. “No, no! You have to give it a chance first, please?” He conceded and took a bite of pizza. It did taste amazing. 

“Not bad,” He said with a teasing smile, and both Asami and (Y/N) rolled their eyes. 

Once the three had finished devouring the pizza, (Y/N) moved to leave the room with Asami, but Bolin called out her name. She turned to him, her eyes staring up at his quizzically. “I just wanted to say,” He cleared his throat. “That, even though I know that you know that things didn’t necessarily end well for us, I don’t, uh, have hard feelings.” He could feel his face redden. “It was a long time ago, and I know I can’t tell you anything yet, but I’m sure you had a reason for doing certain things, so I don’t blame you.” 

(Y/N’s) eyes shined so brightly in the kitchen light that Bolin was sure tears would spill over any moment. “Thank you,” She said quietly, an uncertain smile making its way across her features. “I, um, want to apologize for whatever it was I did. You seem very kind and great and whatever happened between us, I’m certain you didn’t deserve it.” Bolin nodded, his own eyes prickling at the backs. “Could we start over? Just be friends?” 

Bolin nodded perhaps a bit too eagerly. “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

(Y/N) smiled up at Bolin and felt that maybe she had been wrong. Maybe things would be okay. 

When she left the kitchens, she wondered if everyone had been planning to gather down there, because she ran into Mako as she was walking away. “Sorry,” She said, refusing to meet his eyes. She would never admit it, but Mako intimidated her. His dislike for her was always apparent and (Y/N) hated it. 

“Bolin told me what he said to you,” Mako said as she began to walk past. She turned back to look at him. 

“So?” 

“He’s forgiving, but I’m not. What you did, it was cruel. You were cruel.” 

“As if you don’t spend every waking moment reminding me,” (Y/N) said with a sigh. Mako narrowed his eyes at her. 

“If you do anything--” 

“You’ll do what, Mako?” She snapped. She had enough of him thinking that he could talk to her whatever way he pleased. “Hurt me?” 

He blinked in surprise, as if the suggestion was ridiculous. “Just stay away from him, alright?” 

“How about you stay away from me? The ship’s big enough.” With that, she stormed up the stairs and joined the rest of her friends. (Y/N) hated Mako. Absolutely hated him. The flush of her cheeks and her racing heart proved that.

---

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[razrbladekiss]

Tyrants | Chapter Seven - Fix You

WORD COUNT: 6.1k

WARNINGS: Gun talk, mentions of murder, The usual SOA shit. 

An almost unsettling fog blanketed Charming tonight, amplifying the sinister aura that’d been drifting through the town since Stahl had made her mark.

Since June Stahl had made it her mission—her whole purpose—to destroy the Sons Of Anarchy, and anybody that laid in her path.

She was doing a damn good job of that, too.

Isla wasn’t sure what her hasty arrival would mean for the club, but she knew that it wasn’t going to end pretty. She was aware that the bitter agent was just as stiff-necked as Clay, and wasn’t going down without a fucking fight.

Which, a fight, the Sons could do. It was whether they’d all make it out alive that Isla couldn’t predict.

She wouldn’t want to put her money on it either, actually.

“Any word on Bobby?”

“No.” Gemma’s sigh was sad, exhausted. “Rosen swung by just after you left with the she-devil. Said there’s a witness in a safe house willing to testify against Bobby and Ope in court. And if he does stick to his word, they’re going down for murder.”

Choosing to ignore her comment about Tara, Isla continued to pace the room. She held her cell tightly between her pink fingertips, hoping it’d light up and vibrate with a call from Jax, or Tig, or even Happy.

“Shit.” She hissed, mindful of the fact that there was a sleeping baby in Wendy’s arms and any offensive sounds would rouse him in an instant. “Did Clay tell you what their next move was?”

“Yeah. But I don’t think you’re gonna like it, sweetheart.”

She didn’t have to be privy to the plan to know that their next move involved one witness, three men, and a handful of shrapnel bullets.

“Jax know about this?” Almost concerned, Wendy asked. Isla’s ears perked up at that, too, because she wanted to know.

The VP was brutal, he was domineering and harsh when he had to be, but he wanted minimal blood shed. He didn’t host that same massacre mentality as Tig or Clay, and he definitely didn’t desire the sick thrill of gunning down a witness being protected by the fucking ATF.

“I’m assuming that he doesn’t.” The blonde uttered for Gemma after noticing that she was taking a painfully long time to respond. “Clay sent Happy, Tig, and who else? Juice?”

“Not Juice.”

“Did Clay go?” A little bit condescending, like she already knew the answer, Wendy asked. She rocked Abel back and forth as she did so, penetratively glaring at her ex-mother-in-law.

Isla swallowed thickly, stuffing her cell into the back pocket of her jeans when she realized what Gemma was trying to say.

Clay never did his own dirty work—it was always the Sgt. At Arms and whoever else was willing to get the blood on their hands. And her father, the forward-thinking, strong-willed Scotsman, never shied away from a task of this nature.

“It’s okay.” She spoke aloud, elucidating her innermost thoughts. “It’s fine. They’ve got Hap—he’s never been caught before—he knows what he’s doing.”

“And Tig, too. Y’know what he’s like.”

“Yeah.” Reflectively, she spoke. “At least they’d go through with it if my dad couldn’t.”

“You saying that your old man is weak?”

“No.” Isla spat at Wendy, glaring at her. “I’m saying that he has a conscience. Hap and Tig are a little bit hasty with the trigger and don’t tend to think before they execute somebody.”

In agreement, Gemma nodded.

“But it’s gotta be done.” She concluded, sitting on the arm of the couch. “The witness has gotta be dealt with—even if Jax doesn’t know anything about this.”

She felt her heart constrict at the thought of nobody telling the Vice President about their plans to get rid of that man.

The man that had the power to take down Opie and Bobby, and leave a club without their brothers.

Two families without their fathers.

And though it was inherently wrong to commit murder, Isla had been brought up knowing that the Sons got rid of their problems by planting bullets in the skulls of their enemies.

It was bad and immoral, and she couldn’t think of a way to excuse it to anybody on the outside. But to SAMCRO, it was habitual. It was what they did because it worked. Every single time.

“Wait a second.”

“What’s the matter, baby?”

Isla pulled a hand through her hair. “How is Clay so sure that they’re not gonna get caught? Y’know, ‘cuz this witness is being protected by the ATF—“

She was cut short by a delicate, albeit firmer than usual, knock at the door. Isla piqued a brow when Gemma got up to answer.

“They’ve got it covered.” Was all she managed to muster out before she went to see who’d decided to turn up at that hour.

Isla’s brain was doing cartwheels. She was nervous, she was pissed, but, most of all, she was upset that Chibs hadn’t told her where he was going tonight.

She snapped herself out of it, though. When Gemma scoffed as she opened the door and trailed back to her spot on the adjacent couch, Isla’s interests had been roused.

“It’s kinda late for a house call.” Her eyes rolled.

Tara trailed in behind her, feeling uneasy at the mere sight of the SAMCRO Queen and Jax’s ex-wife—but Isla being the only friendly face eased her a little bit.

“I was on my way home from work. Just thought I’d stop by and check in.”

“That’s sweet.” Isla smiled at the brunette, offering her the space next to Wendy. “Here.”

“It’s okay, I’ll stand—“

“No, I insist.” She protested softly, getting up. “It’s been a long day for you, sweetie. I’ll sit by mama bear over there.”

Gemma snorted, trying to figure out just what had happened between the pair for Isla to suddenly be so kind and considerate toward the woman she loathed for the best part of a decade.

But she was drawing a blank, because she realized how stupid that would’ve been to wonder—she was just like that. Nothing had to happen for her to be that way.

Isla was the kind of woman that Gemma wanted to be, while simultaneously being her exact double. She was a cleaner, kinder, brighter version of the matriarch, though she hosted that flicker of something that’d tie her to the battle axe that raised her.

And maybe calling the woman a “battle axe” was a little bit harsh, but it was true—on almost every single count.

Gemma was strong-willed, stubborn, martinent, and she took no shit from anybody. Isla wasn’t like that. She wasn’t a doormat, and she didn’t let people walk all over her, but she never went out of her way to demand respect.

Even though she’d been brought up to know she was better than the other women that lived among the Sons Of Anarchy.

“Is he here?”

“Does it look like he’s here?” Gemma’s lips twitched.

“No, I just…I guess I miss him, you know?”

Wendy nodded, tending to a fidgeting Abel. “Yeah, I do.”

Isla looked between the pair—sadly. She watched two of the most important people in Jax’s life sit side-by-side, meditative and wondering about the positions they had both been thrust into.

He had lived two completely different lives with each woman, and she was grateful to say that she had been present in both.

But to see Jax struggle—to see his heart break twice—was too much for Isla to think about, really.

She had watched Tara walk away, right out of his life without a second glance or even a second thought. And it was painful to discern. Painful to know that her best friend had lost the love of his life because she felt that she was too good to stick around for him.

Isla knew that wasn’t the entire truth, and that Tara was just doing a good thing for herself. But, at the time, she was young and stupid and extremely closed-minded when it came to the people that wronged the ones she loved, and all she wanted to do was hate that woman.

She’d grown up a lot since then, though. Isla was a different person entirely—a better version of herself—and she understood each reason behind every last thing Tara did when she did it.

Even if Jax’s mother couldn’t get to grips with it—couldn’t think about trusting her—Isla could.

It was a little bit difficult now, however. To see Tara and Wendy in the same room—trying to coexist peacefully in Jax’s life—was hard.

The lull was boisterous. The sheepish silence was deafening, and the thwacking of Isla’s heart against her chest was vociferous enough to be heard by Gemma across the way.

It was a position she didn’t want to be thrust into, but she wasn’t willing to get up and leave had anything been said.

She sat beside the older woman, watching her watch them like a fucking hawk, until her phone vibrated in her back pocket.

Isla shifted, pulling the cell from the denim and flipping it open.

Janet: Can u make it in for 9 tomorrow morning?

Her eyebrows pinched together, looking up a little confused. Isla swore that she sent Janet a text message that told her she wouldn’t be able to work in the morning.

She couldn’t miss Donna’s funeral. She didn’t want to, either.

“Who is it?” Gemma spoke inquisitively, peeling her eyes away from the conversion between Wendy and Tara.

“My boss.”

“Janet?” She nodded. “What’d that bitch want?”

“For me to work tomorrow morning—”

Gemma turned to her, grimacing. “But it’s the funeral. You told her that, right?”

Once again, Isla bobbed her head while fiddling with the buttons on her cellphone.

“She’s not gonna let me take another day off.” Her throat hitched at the realization. “I’m just gonna have to go with you, ignore her calls, and tell her that I didn’t see the text she sent to me tonight.”

Lying to and ignoring the woman that paid her at the end of every month, the woman that had helped her financially for the last five years, wasn’t what Isla wanted to do today.

But it was the only way she could pay her respects to Donna, she thought.

“You’re not gonna go in, right?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m just gonna call her after the funeral and apologize—“

“Don’t apologize.” Gemma chastised, knitting her eyebrows together. “If she can’t understand that you’ve got a funeral in the morning that you can’t miss, then she can go to hell—“

“Alright, Gem.” Her chuckle was hearty as she put her hand against her purse, pulling it to sit against her shoulder.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m gonna head home.” She rose to her feet smiling over at Tara and Wendy. “It’s getting late and we’ve gotta be out early tomorrow.”

“Alright, baby.” The older woman stood with her, pushing her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “Call me when you get there?”

Isla smiled, pecking her cheek. “Of course.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” She directed toward Tara—not particularly giving a damn if Wendy would be there or not.

The doctor simply smiled and nodded, giving her the answer that she not only wanted, but needed. She needed her there by her side in the morning. Isla feared she wouldn’t be able to get through it without her, actually.

But she was dreading the day. To see those men hold themselves together—to see Opie strive not to crumble—was something that she didn’t want to have to witness tomorrow.

So many funerals had she attended, so many friends and family members had been seized from her reach throughout the course of her life, but she hadn’t seen anything like this before.

She hadn’t ever seen a friend lose his one true love, the woman that brought him unintelligible happiness and two beautiful children to cherish with his entire being.

She hadn’t seen Opie suffer so much before. The man that was strong and willing and would hastily blow shit up with little to no regard for consequences, was disintegrating before her very eyes.

And Isla didn’t fucking know how to help him cope with that. She didn’t even know if she could help him to cope with that.

Her anxiety was still present on the drive home, too.

Even after getting into bed and recounting the events of the afternoon, Isla was still nervous as to what’d happen next. Because Clay’s reaction to Bobby getting arrested didn’t inspire much confidence, either.

And the way that Piney had disappeared earlier to seek vengeance, to hold a fucking pistol to the head of Laroy Wayne—the man that allegedly played a role in the murder of Donna Winston—was also prickling away at her thoughts.

Something was going to go wrong, wasn’t it?

No matter how well thought out their plans might’ve been, or how seamlessly they carried out the crime, something always went wrong. Somebody was always caught out, or hurt, or just felt bad about what they were doing.

Isla could’ve written that shit, now. After so many failed hits, failed attempts, and unfortunate events, Isla was almost a pro at predicting what the future would entail.

Almost as if she’d manifested it by merely thinking, her attention was piqued by the hastening roar of a motorcycle engine—clearly pulling up to her place.

It was wonderful to know that Gemma hadn’t decided to follow her home tonight, but the rough din could’ve led to any of the others.

She hoped it wasn’t Jax, and she really hoped it wasn’t her father or Happy.

As she slid out of bed, Isla reached for the pink robe with the daisies on it that rested against the back of her bedroom door, and shrugged it on over her silky pajamas.

It was great that she lived in such a small house, really, because she was able to get from point A (her bedroom) to point B (the front door), in a matter of seconds, or before the person outside got angry that she was taking too long.

He hadn’t knocked the door yet, but she knew that he was about to.

Isla rummaged around the little bowl beside the entrance for her front door key, suddenly realizing that she had way too many of them—her house key, a key to her mailbox, keys to T M, keys to her dad’s place, her car keys, she had somebody’s bike keys, too.

The little chain that hosted a few pieces of metal, a cherry keychain, a tiny motorcycle, and an old beaded bracelet that Chibs had given to her for safe travels, was hastily being shoved into the lock and twisted counterclockwise.

“How’d you know I was out here?” Tig asked from about a foot away, barely visible to her as the streetlights were out, for some reason.

“Literally couldn’t hear myself think over the sound of your bike.” She chuckled, leaning against her door frame. She squinted, trying to focus on him—but it was no use. “What’re you going here, Tigger?”

He stepped further toward her—reluctantly. The dim glow of her living room light suddenly illuminated the space a hell of a lot more, hitting Tig square in the face as Isla shifted a little to her left.

Her heart clenched.

“I need you to play nurse again.” Bashfully, he smiled.

There were tears of pain trickling from those crystalline hues, his left hand firmly planted against his ribcage, and she suddenly heeded the dried blood underneath his nose, his lips, and a bruise forming against his cheek.

“Tig…” Her words broke away from her tongue, the lump in her throat constricting her airways because seeing him so beaten and exhausted hurt her.

“You should see the other guy.” He tried to joke, but the humor was lost on her.

Lost on him, too. He didn’t think it was funny, but he hated the way she was looking at him.

“Sorry to bring this here.” Tig sniffed harshly, squinting as the pain suddenly started to hit him. “I’ll—uh—I’ll go—“

“No. No, you’re not going anywhere.” She stated firmly, stepping out of the house and down the path. “You’re gonna come in, I’m gonna fix you up, and you’re gonna tell me what happened.”

“Isla…”

“Please, Alex.”

Tig couldn’t help that little smile pulling at the corners of his lips, always liking that she’d say his name so softly. Anybody else referring to him that way would’ve gotten a swift kick in the fucking gut—but she was different.

Isla was a comfort. Always had been.

He stepped inside, following closely behind her as she made a beeline for her bathroom. But she instructed him to sit at the dinner table, stifling a laugh at the way she tried her hand at being the authoritative figure.

She’d even told him to help himself to the Jack Daniels she kept for when Chibs called ‘round.

“You’re so lucky dad taught me how to treat wounds.” She called from the end of the hallway, shuffling across the carpet in a pair of sparkly pink slippers.

“I know.” He agreed, thankful. “He did a good job, too.”

“I’ll tell him you said that.” Isla smiled, putting her first aid necessities atop the table. “But don’t tell him that I’m about to ask you to take your shirt off, or else he’ll beat the shit outta you.”

“What?”

“Take your shirt off.” She smiled again, gesturing to the part of his body that his hand had subconsciously taken purchase against. “I’m not tryna make you do a strip tease for me, Tig, I just need to see if you’ve got any cuts there or if it’s just a bruise.”

“I think it’s just a bruise,” he mused, shrugging off his black zip-up, and starting to unbutton the cotton shirt adorning his torso.

Isla bit her bottom lip as she fiddled with the tube of antiseptic cream, wondering how she would broach the topic. She wanted to know what had happened—because whatever it was clearly did not go to plan—but she didn’t want him to think that she was trying to force it out of him.

“See.” Tig ran his hand over the red marks, lines, and the small flecks of yellow surrounding his rib cage and lower abdomen. “All good.”

“Not all good.” She halted him as he tried to reason with her, furrowing her eyebrows. “Where did they come from?”

Nobody could lie to her. Ever.

Nobody had to lie to her, really, because Isla Telford tried not to ask any questions—but she was worried tonight.

Worried about Tig and the various messes that he’d found himself entwined in over the last day and a half. Worried that he was in trouble, that he was tormenting himself over something out of his reach—his control.

She was just worried about him, really.

His sigh was throaty, hurt palpable. “You want the whole truth, or the dumbed-down version?”

“The whole truth.” She retorted instantaneously, letting him button his shirt before she started to clean the blood from his face. “And don’t try to lie to me, because I know you too well for that.”

Like last night, he felt pathetic. He felt that twinge of vulnerability poke through again, and he hated it.

He hated the thought of Isla seeing him this way—in pain, downtrodden and exhausted—and he hated the thought of her knowing that whatever it was he did today had gotten to him so much.

“The witness that was gonna testify against Ope. Me, Hap, and your old man went to go ‘n handle him,” Tig sucked in a deep breath when the alcohol pad nicked at a cut he was unaware of.

“I know about that part.” Easily, she followed on. “So what happened? Was he too fast?”

His head shook, an airy chuckle escaping his lips. “He was a she. A teenage girl—“

“Jesus, Tig.” Almost disgusted, she took a step back. “You didn’t…”

“No.” He reassured her, letting her soften a little bit before coming out with; “but me and Hap were gonna.”

“You’re kidding?”

If there was one thing that Isla knew SAMCRO did not do, it was kill women. Ever.

There had been accidents that saw innocent girls caught in the crossfire—last night, for one—which was inevitable. But the club never went out of their way to end their lives.

“Wish I was, Isla.” Tig’s eyes watered, but she didn’t do anything. She didn’t say anything, either. “I dunno what's happening to me.”

I don’t either, Tiggy.

“I was gonna put that bullet in her and if it wasn’t for Jax—“

“Jax was there?”

“He stormed in after someone must’ve told him we were gonna off the “man” that saw Ope and Bobby kill Hefner at that complex.”

“Oh.” She nodded along, cleaning out the wound she had literally only just fixed yesterday.

But the cogs inside of her brain were slowly turning.

“Oh…” Isla quickly looked down at him, piecing the puzzle together. “Tell me he didn’t do this to you.”

He winced as the whiskey left a searing trail down the back of his throat, barely making eye contact with her before she snapped.

“Tig! Talk to me—“

“Alright, fine! Yeah, he did this!” He raised his voice at her, watching anger flit across her delicate features. “He held his glock to my goddamn head and I was ready for him to pull the trigger, but he didn’t.”

She blinked at him, uneasy at the thought of what Jax had started to morph into. Who he had started to morph into.

“We ended up fighting and I got a few hits in, but the asshole punched me in the fucking face and threw me onto a table—that’s probably where the bruises came from.”

“And this was because of the girl, right?”

“Right.”

“But Happy and my dad were there, too…Why did Jax beat the shit outta you?”

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t,” she grabbed the tumbler from his right hand so he couldn’t silence himself with anymore alcohol, and put it atop the table.

“Because he stormed in when I had the gun to that kid’s head, and I was gonna pull the fucking trigger.” He recounted, sobbing as he spoke.

She was seething. Oh, Isla was fucking furious—but she didn’t want to spook him after this, because he was unpredictable and really unstable. She didn’t want him to do anything stupid.

“It’s alright.” The damp pad was discarded, tossed to the middle of the table when she grabbed gently at his chin and forced him to look upward. “You didn’t kill her, I’m assuming Jax handled it some other way, and you’re outta the blue, okay? It’s fine.”

Maybe Isla was so quick to forgive him for something that he didn’t do because she was also toiling with the idea of coming to terms with an act just as—if not more—treacherous than Tig’s.

She seeked that reassurance, that “it’s okay” talk from somebody after what she had done with her best friend, but she knew that the only person that’d give it to her was Jax. Because he was also trying to accept it.

The guilt was hefty and Tig knew all too fucking well what that’d entail, but he had no idea that Isla was suffering that same thing, too.

“You didn’t know the witness was a kid. None of you were to know that if Rosen didn’t specify.”

“But I was still gonna do it.” He added. “After I found out she was a kid, I was still gonna kill her.”

“But you didn’t.”

He was making it difficult for her to get through to him.

“It was horrible and I know that what you were going to do was bad, but you weren’t the only one there, about to do what you had to for your brother.” Isla’s thumb ran softly underneath his lower lip, hoping the tears welling in her eyes weren’t about to fall to the apples of her cheeks.

Because that’s all that Tig was doing. He was doing this for his brother. For the man that had already sacrificed so fucking much for his club, he deserved every last sliver of prosperity and protection that SAMCRO could offer.

And, perhaps, Tig wanting so desperately to pull that trigger was a way for him to solidify the fact that Opie wasn’t going to be sent away—wasn’t going to suffer more after his wife had been “mysteriously” killed. But Isla simply saw that as him wanting to do an inherently evil thing that’d see the greater good ensue.

Looking past the fact it was a teenage girl, however, was something she had to work on for the sake of her own fucking sanity.

“Thank you.” Tig broke the silence, getting to his feet. He towered over her a little bit as he did so. “See you tomorrow—“

Isla didn’t have enough time to think about what she was doing, but that phrase triggered something inside of her. She grabbed at his hand as he went to slip away, looking up at him with that almost heart-wrenching innocence of hers.

“I did something bad, too.” She blurted, letting her tears fall freely. “I can't say what I did, but it was bad and I regret it every fucking day because I can’t sleep properly, and it’s the only thing on my mind, and I just—“

He silenced her when he wrapped both arms around her trembling frame, holding her impossibly close to his chest as she weepeed into the navy cotton, and he gradually moved a hand upward to twist into her hair.

“It’s alright, baby, let it out.”

Mentally, he commended himself for being the one person that Isla trusted enough to confide in—to crumble before. But it was also sickening because the woman was so fucking stubborn and rarely ever shed a tear in front of a Son.

Chibs was the only one that saw her like this, really.

He felt horrible. Not because she was so upset but because she had so obviously been harboring that emotion, that pain and anguish and she didn’t know how to express it without crying.

“I’m scared, Tig.” Isla mumbled sadly into his chest, trying to sniff back the horrid emotion but failing miserably.

“Of what?”

“Myself. And these stupid things that I can’t stop thinking.”

“Thoughts are normal.” He reassured her, running a hand up and down her back. “Intrusive thoughts are normal. Don’t you worry—“

“You can’t tell me not to worry, because that’s gonna make me worry.” Her words were plied in a weak laugh. “And when I worry, I cry—obviously.”

“Don’t cry.” He chuckled, too, using the pad of his thumb to brush across her cheek. “You’re too pretty to cry this much.”

“And you’re too much of a mean old man to be this comforting.” Tig feigned offense, gasping dramatically at her words. “So, what was it? What pulled at your heartstrings so much that made you think you had to try and make me feel better?”

“It’s my good deed for the day.” Her lips curled upward into a grin when his expression softened.

“Do you think you can extend that good deed?”

He grunted, nodding. “Suppose so. What’d ‘ya want me to do?”

“I was just gonna ask if you’d stay with me again tonight.” All irreverence in her tone had melted away, promptly replaced by a borderline debilitating sincerity. “You don’t have to because we’ve gotta be out early for the funeral tomorrow, and that’d mean you’d have to leave earlier to get yourself fixed up, but—“

“I can leave a little earlier.” He cut her short, still swiping at the tears that wouldn’t quit flowing from her eyes. “If you get your ass up and ready before eight, you can leave with me too.”

“Yeah?” Hopefully, she asked. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Tig confirmed, slinging his arm over her shoulder when she pulled away and pointed toward the end of the hall. “And I guessed that you didn’t wanna head to the garage alone—and Gemma would probably beat the shit outta you if you were late—so if you come with me, you’ll be on time.”

Isla just hummed, thankful for the genuine intentions behind Tig’s actions. He was sweet when he wanted to be.

“Where am I sleepin’?” He asked with a little grunt, a twinge of pain prickling against his ribcage. “I’ll take the couch—“

“Oh, shut up. You’re not sleeping on my couch after getting your shit rocked.”

Tig glared at her, but she simply raised an eyebrow. She gestured to her bedroom.

“Y’know, if we keep spending the night together then people are gonna get a little suspicious.”

“Eh. Let ‘em.” Isla stated offhandedly shimmying her shoulders out of her robe, and throwing it onto her vanity stool as she got to her room. “I don’t care what Gemma thinks.”

“Not so much Gemma.” They shared a knowing look, but he followed her into the room and sat at the edge of her bed regardless.

Isla sighed, sitting beside him.

“If you’re worried about my dad because of how he was this morning, then you don’t need to be. I think he’s just a little bit spun out after last night, and feels bad for Ope—‘cuz, y’know, he’s been through this too.”

Tig’s heartbeat hastened to an almost debilitating tempo, wondering how Isla knew the similarities between Diane and Donna. But she blew those thoughts right out his brain when she built on her response.

“He lost his wife and was left with a kid,” she pointed to herself, “and didn’t know how to navigate this life without the woman he’d depended on for so long. It’s just heavy at the moment.”

“Yeah,” he shook his head a little, looking at his hands bunched together in his lap, “you’re probably right about that.”

“It’s all that it is. He’s just feelin’ it a little more than what we are.”

I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Isla.

“Anyway.” She perked up a bit more. “If you wanna freshen up, I’ve got some shampoo and lotions that don’t smell like roses in the bathroom—and I think there might be some razors in one of those cupboards, too.”

“You gonna join me?”

The tips of her ears began to blaze, stippling heat across her cheeks and down to her neck until she could almost feel how red she was getting.

Despite knowing that was a joke—the habitual banter shared between them—it still forced a feeling to swell in her stomach.

A feeling of something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Maybe tomorrow.” Isla chuckled at the playful pout tugging at his lips, urging him to step into the en suite before she physically fucking exploded.

He grabbed a towel from the pile, walked in, and shut the door behind him, and she threw herself against the top of the comforter with a groan.

At what point had Tig’s harmless flirting turned into something more for Isla, she wasn’t entirely sure. What she did know, however, was that she was definitely enjoying it a little bit too much now.

And that would complicate things, she was certain of it.

But she strived not to let it get to her, and slid underneath the unkempt covers for the second time tonight.

When Tig emerged from the bathroom, he was thankful to see that she’d covered herself up because the tiny crimson cami and shorts combo was killing him.

He wasn’t able to pinpoint just what it was that’d made him feel so differently about that this evening, but he knew that he wasn’t able to get the image out of his fucking head.

“Was that nice?” She asked from the left side of her bed, barely opening her eyes as he stepped onto the carpet.

“It was.” Tig answered softly, picking his jeans up from the ground.

“You can’t seriously be wearing those to sleep in?”

“I’ve slept in more uncomfortable outfits.”

Isla huffed out a breath, gripping the covers and pulling them back. “Wait here.” Begrudgingly, she left the bed again and traipsed toward the cabinet at the end of her hallway.

He watched her saunter away, heeding the crow tattoo on her lower back that he’d never noticed before. He wondered who she’d gotten that for, and he also wondered if anybody even knew about that—because he certainly did not.

“These are clean, you can wear them.” She threw a pair of pajama pants at him from the doorway, hoping he wouldn’t make a face.

Cautiously, he held them out in front of him. “Whose are these?”

“Nobodies. I just learned—from Gemma—to always keep spare shit at my house. Like the shower stuff and razors, and I’ve got things for whoever might need them.”

He smiled, forgetting that she was so thoughtful.

Tig unzipped his pants and slipped into the checkered cotton as Isla rummaged around the bottom drawer of her closet, pulling out a couple of pillows.

“You do this a lot?” He quizzed, getting into bed. “Take care of us guys, I mean.”

“Not really. Only when one of you needs it.”

He nodded, taking one of the two pillows from her.

“Aside from stitching you up two days in a row, the last time I took care of somebody was when Jax and Wendy split and he let her live at his place.”

“He never said.”

“‘Cuz Gemma would go nuts if she found out that he came to me and not his mommy.” She chuckled, settling beside him before flicking the lamp off. “And he only stayed with me for a couple weeks because he didn’t wanna sleep at the clubhouse.”

“So you were harboring Jax from her, huh?” He nudged her, prompting Isla to shift closer to him.

“I guess so.” She joked back through a yawn. “I felt bad for him because she’s such a hardass sometimes. He just wanted somewhere to stay, and somebody to keep him company that wouldn’t ask an abundance of overbearing questions.”

“And you were that somebody.”

“Yup. I was.” Tig turned onto his side to face her. “And I liked it because I hate being alone. It was nice to have somebody around.”

“You? Not wanting to be alone?” Sarcastically, he let out.

Had he not already been hurt, she would’ve slapped the smugness off of his face for that comment.

“What’s that all about, huh?”

“The being alone thing?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know, really.” She mused quietly, pursing her lips. “I think I just got used to being around my dad, and whenever I wasn’t with him I was with Gemma—and I didn’t move into my own place until I was twenty-three, so…”

“So you always had somebody.”

“Yup. I guess I have some attachment issues.” Isla chuckled, silently thanking him for not ridiculing her the way she thought that he might’ve.

But Tig was always so thoughtful when it came to her, and he probably wouldn’t have been able to find it in himself to make fun of that sentiment.

He had his own issues, too. He wouldn’t dream of mocking that she didn’t like to be alone.

“Is it Jax’s?” He asked out of nowhere in reference to the crow. “The tattoo you got.”

Isla froze. She didn’t know that he’d seen it tonight.

Only Tara knew about that. Only Tara knew about a lot of things, it seemed.

“No.” She rasped, hating the way her words became lodged at the back of her throat.

Tig raised a brow. “Whose is it? Is it Juice’s—“

She snorted at his words, and he smiled because he had finally gaged a more positive reaction. Her smile—though barely visible—was most certainly as beautiful as ever.

“It isn’t anybody’s. It’s just a SAMCRO crow.” The smile was weak, now. Faded and pained, but it was there.

She wasn’t lying, but it felt like there was more to the story than what she was letting on, and he was happy with the answer that he’d gotten. So he didn't push it.

“Would you ever get a crow for someone?” A question that he never thought he’d be asking Chibs’s daughter, but a question that he had to acquire an answer to.

After mulling it over for a few seconds, Isla nodded. She laid her hand atop Tig’s that was resting against his pillow, and flicked her eyes upward to meet his gaze as he yawned.

“Maybe one day. But, right now, I’m happy knowing that my little tattoo represents my dedication to the club as a whole—not just refined to one person.”