#I tried to show the injury the less possible since it might be too much for some people

[simply-whump]

Dr Romantic 3 : Episode 10

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[kitthepurplepotato]

MWRMI PART 4

My Weird Roommate, Midoriya Izuku

Week 2 - Garden Shenanigans! 🪴

~•🥦•~

Summary: Midoriya has a shopping problem. He also has a hard time understanding the difference between a friendly banter and flirting when he’s in a good mood. Y/N realizes her favorite person in the world isn’t pro hero Deku anymore.

Warnings: swear words, mentions of alcohol (they have one cider)

First Part Masterlist

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Shopping With Midoriya is… an adventure.

The sun is barely up when he decides that you had enough sleep for the day and barges into your room, uninvited. There is a burnt smell coming from somewhere, but right now, all you care about is the fact that pro hero Deku just invited himself into your room and you probably look like shit after sleeping less than 4 hours the night before.

“Y/N, they open in an hour, I made breakfast, come and eat!”

… so that’s what the smell is.

You lazily open your eyes to take a look at your new roomie; with a frown on your face you realize he looks absolutely stunning even with the lack of sleep. He’s wearing a tank top and dark green shorts, his arms are full of new and old injuries but instead of them being unattractive they kinda make the guy look really… well… sexy. And manly. Ahh, it’s way too early for all this sexual frustration.

“It’s already way too hot outside, stop making it worse with your existence.” You mumble to yourself, absolutely sure the guy won’t understand your mumbling anyway. For your surprise, Midoriya freezes in one place and his face gets as red as a tomato in only a few seconds.

“Y/N! You can’t say things like that to me!” Deku is about to combust from the embarrassment and while you know you should be ashamed of yourself for being heard, after yesterday’s mess up you can’t even bother anymore. You already fucked up enough for Midoriya to never look at you in a romantic way anyway so you might as well just be honest and be yourself at this point.

“Midoriya, you can’t barge into a lady’s bedroom either!” You parrot the green haired hero, who gets even redder (if that’s even possible) and moves towards your door while mumbling apologies on his way out. You giggle to yourself and put on a bit more clothing; it’s really hot outside so your sleepwear is quite light and you are not sure if you have the confidence to show yourself in your sleepwear to the greenette yet. This whole roomie thing with your favorite hero is still a bit too much for you; you definitely feel less awkward about it since yesterday, but still, you want to give yourself some time to adjust, one step at a time.

You put on a grey tank top with capri trousers and make your way to the bathroom to wash your teeth; there is no way you are going to have breakfast with Midoriya while smelling like death in the mouth.

“Y\N, this is not a fucking date, you moron” your mind screams, but you blissfully ignore it.

~•🥦•~

“Midoriya, with full respect, this is an abomination.” You stare at the dark brown, unidentifiable thing on your plate. By the broken egg shells in the bin, this THING needs to be a really poorly made/burnt scrambled egg with rice? Also, the ketchup on the top makes it look like it’s a murder scene. Midoriya looks at you with tears in his eyes; he looks like a little child who tried to do something nice for his mother but ended up burning the house down by accident. “I will gladly eat this abomination.” You mumble, physically incapable to look into his pretty puppy eyes any more.

“You don’t need to…” The boy sounds heartbroken, his voice trembling and fuck, you would do anything to make him smile again. Anything.

“I do, Midoriya. You made this for me. You poured your heart and soul into this…” you stop for a second to investigate the substance in front of you but Midoriya is nice enough to help your out. What a nice chap.

“Egg fried rice”

“…Into this egg fried rice, and it is my responsibility to at least give it a try.” You finish your sentence with a big sigh and try a small amount; it’s gooey and sticky and absolutely atrocious, but it’s still edible. Disgusting… but edible.

The green haired man smiles while you struggle to swallow; (that’s what she said… - Kit) but fuck if it wasn’t worth it. Thankfully, Midoriya has just enough self-preservation to bin the rest of the food with a promise to eat something at the garden center instead and pushes you out of the door as soon as the “food” is safely disposed.

~•🥦•~

There are a lot of headcanons on Tumblr about Midoriya in general and there is also a debate about his possessions; does he own a car? What car does a hero like Deku drive? Is he the fancy type or the “got this from my mom when I was 18” kinda gal? Or maybe he prefers motorcycles? Bicycles? Skateboards?

Well… you get your answer when Deku leads you to the underground garage and points to the flashiest car in the car park.

“So, this is my baby.” Midoriya points at the massive sports car. It’s metallic dark green with orange and black details; the interior is a tan color which makes the interior stand out even from the distance. It’s the most elegant and most badass sports car you’ve ever seen in your life. “It’s a McLaren 570GT. To be honest with you, I just wanted a Prius, but Kacchan said I should get a ‘fancy ass car to hide my boring, stupid personality’ and forced me to buy this baby.” You are almost hundred percent sure that this translates to ‘you deserve a better fucking car’ in Dynamight language. “It’s not too useful for shopping or driving around with friends which is a shame, but Shouto-Kun has a mini-bus, so… what’s so funny?”

You don’t even realize you are laughing until the greenette points it out.

“I was just thinking about Pro Hero Shouto driving around in a mini bus and picking you guys up one by one, making sure the whole class is present before driving off to school.”

“He even has an attendance sheet.” The hero winks at you like it’s a big secret; well, it probably is; and you can’t help the blush spreading on your cheeks. “I’ll ask him to add you to the list the next time we go camping! Just make sure you don’t drink anything Denki gives you. The last time we went camping, Denki made Kacchan so drunk he almost burnt the forest down while sneezing.”

You can’t believe these guys. In your mind, these people were beyond everyone, perfect, flawless and majestic, but here they are, playing school camping on their day offs while getting shit drunk, like normal people. By the end of the day, heroes are only humans. You can’t wait to meet these people in real life, they sound so much fun to be around.

“So Dynamight loses control over his quirk when he drinks?”

“Don’t get me started on quirk analysis, I’ll never shut up.” Midoriya giggles, clearly struggling not to give you a whole presentation on the topic.

“You never shut up anyway.” You tease, but by the blush on his face, he didn’t really take that as a joke. “I like it.” You add sheepishly, your own face also decorated with the same shade of red. “Please, never change, Midoriya.”

The hero looks at you the same way he did yesterday; like this is the first time someone has told him to be himself. His eyes are wet, but they shine with gratitude written all over them.

“I wish we’ve met in different circumstances, Y/N.” He sighs and opens the door for you. You look at him with a questioning look. “It’s nothing. Let’s go, roomie.” He gives you a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and moves along to the other side; you sink into the fine, comfortable leather seat with a content sigh.

When Midoriya jumps in and starts the car none of you speaks up; the sound of the engine is so calming you almost fall asleep from the beautiful sound of it.

~•🥦•~

Midoriya takes this shopping really seriously; he’s crouching down in front of a bunch of seed packets and googles them one by one to make sure they are suitable for his garden. He’s wearing a baseball hat and sunglasses to hide his identity, but thankfully, the garden center is almost empty anyway on this lovely Tuesday morning.

“So, what kind of tomatoes do we want? Fiorentino, gold nugget, marmande, rugby; well that’s a funny one; sun gold or super mama?

We. You and him. Oh fudge, this is too much for your little heart.

“Well, get a nice big one and a small one for the salads?” You mumble with a blush on your face, but he doesn’t even listen to you; he jumps into your sentence without hesitation.

“Look, I found the perfect seed for you!” Midoriya gives you the packet to check it out; it’s a sweet pea. Your face becomes as red as the tomatoes on the pictures.

“Midoriya! Behave!” You ramble, and give him another seed packet. “There you go, this is you.”

“A teasel?” He looks at you with a confused face.

“Yes. Because you’re teasing me. Get it?” You can’t help but grin as Midoriya’s face contorts into a frown from the bad pun.

Without a single retort, he puts the two packets of seeds into his shopping trolley. “Aww, you’ll buy them? You are so sentimental! So kawaii! Please tell me you want them to have their own special place in the garden as well!”

The green boy blushes and moves towards the flower section. “And then what.” Midoriya mumbles and fuck… you love this guy so much already.

“Izuuuuuu!!!! You are so sweet!” Without a single thought in your silly little head, you jump on the hero’s back. He stiffens for a second but catches your thighs to keep you up, giving you a piggy back ride.

“Awww, what a sweet couple!” The cashier mumbles to her colleague and that’s the exact moment you realize how stupid of an idea this was.

“I’m sorry, Midoriya, you can put me down now.” You mumble apologetically.

“No, this is fun.” The greenette looks back at you with his puppy eyes; there is no way you can say no when he does that. No fucking way.

~•🥦•~

“Wow, look, they have an All Might themed flower basket! Let’s get five of those!”

“FIVE?!” You deadpan. He’s such a fanboy, honest to fuck. “What about those cute little pink ones there?! I want the pink ones!” You insist; you know it’s not your garden, but the whole renovation was your idea so you definitely want to be a part of it.

“Four All might baskets?” He flutters his eyelashes for great measure. This man will be the death of you.

“Three All Might baskets and 2 pink ones. Look at their names, Midoriya! Pink kisses! Flutter burst! Purple wedding! We need these as good omens, otherwise we will be single forever!” … Not like you actually care but it sounds like a great way to make it sound like you don’t have a big fat crush on your adorable flatmate.

“I don’t mind being single. I have you. That’s more than enough for me.” You definitely did not expect this comeback. That was a low blow.

What are you supposed to say?! ‘Marry me then?!’

“… I’m getting them anyway.” You mumble with a red face, avoiding eye contact with the greenette.

“Please do. They are cute. Like you.”

… this needs to stop. He’s only joking but your little fragile heart wants to take everything seriously. You can hear the wedding bells in the background. It’s getting harder and harder to put your Deku fanatism aside and concentrate on the guy in front of you as a separate person, or to be more exact, it’s getting harder not to love this guy the same way you love your favorite pro hero if not more. This is Midoriya Izuku, everyone, a walking green flag who can’t even have a flaw without being adorable.

“Honest to fuck Midoriya, stop flirting with me.” You reprimand, but it rather sounds like ‘please, praise me more.’ Oh well, you tried.

“Oh… sorry, I didn’t realize this is what flirting is like. Maybe this is why the ladies get mad when I turn them down…” Midoriya stares into the nothingness, deep in thoughts. Ah, that explains it.

“You heartbreaker!” You giggle, poking his shoulders in a friendly way. You can do this. You can be friendly. There is no reason to make this weird.

“I am, apparently. Sue me.”

“I would never sue someone with such a pretty face.” You coo at the greenette, topping your words with a kissy face. You can play that game too, okay?!

“You are such a hypocrite, Y/N!” Deku grins with a slight blush on his face and everything goes back to normal; or as normal as it can be considering you are on a not-a-date with your favorite hero of all time, buying garden supplies like a 60 years old married couple.

Being with Midoriya is confusing, but it’s so much fun; you’ve never been this happy in your whole life and it has nothing to do with him being your favorite hero. You can only hope he’ll find someone who likes him the way you do; because Midoriya Izuku is just as perfect as a human being as he is as a hero.

~•🥦•~

The two trollies are full of random plants and bushes by the time you get to the furniture isle; there is a citrus tree, a cranberry, strawberry and blackberry bush and a small acer tree next to all the flowers you two have chosen a few minutes prior. He also managed to find some all Might merch hidden in a gift shop; they are fake and cheap but apparently, the nerd needs them all; Midoriya definitely has a massive shopping problem.

“I really want that.” Midoriya points at the biggest firepit in the building. You can’t help, but sigh. This is the fifteenth random thing the greenette wants to take home for no reason. You don’t have enough energy to do this again.

“Midoriya… we already have a massive sofa set, the most expensive one at that I might add, four folding egg chairs, five lounge chairs, ten foldable chairs, the biggest available grill and a parasol. There is no more space in that poor garden.” You deadpan.

Does he care? Nah.

“Well, the foldable chairs are useless without something to sit around, ain’t they?” Midoriya’s eyes are chaotic; he somehow managed to get to a point when the insanity is clearly written all over his face. He’s also hyperventilating a little bit. A few more minutes and he’s going to drool all over the floor. Shopaholic Midoriya is scary.

“Alright.” You give in. “But you’re buying us another hot dog, because I won’t have time to cook today.”

“Deal.”

… this will be a long day.

~•🥦•~

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Well.

Okay, listen.

Having Midoriya fiddling with the tank top he changed into and staring at you with puppy eyes while the garden looks like a war zone is one thing but the above mentioned tank top doesn’t have sides… like at all. This means, you can see everything. Everything. His pectoral muscles are on another level, they are so plump and perfect they actually look fake. You can’t even comment on the rest of his body without sounding like a thirsty fangirl. This should be illegal. This guy is a fucking dream. Damn, you really want to touch the skin under that tank top.

You swallow your NOT so innocent thoughts and look up at the hero.

Keep your eyes on his face, Y/N. You can do this.

Ahh, that’s a nipple.

Fuck.

“Uhm, let’s try to assemble all of these first then move on to the plants. I think it looks worse than it is.”

Well done, Y/N. You managed to sound coherent.

Midoriya looks heartbroken by your words, even though you didn’t mean any harm with them.

“I said I’m sorry.” He repeats, his eyes scanning the grass like he’s looking for something there. You can’t help but touch his side to comfort him; what you did not expect is your hands touching his naked skin. How stupid can you be? You literally just had a full conversation with yourself about his perfect, almost naked upper body.

Fudge, his skin is so soft, what the actual fuck. You definitely need to borrow his moisturizer and MOVE YOUR FUCKING GRABBY HANDS AWAY. LIKE NOW.

“I heard you, but there is no need for you to feel like that, you know. You are an adult and this is your garden and your money. Thank you for buying me those flowers. I can’t wait to see them from the window every morning.” You smile at the tall, bulky man next to you.

After 10 seconds of emotional staring you move away with a shy giggle; this is too much for your little heart.

“Thank you.” He says and you look back at him; Midoriya’s smile is so honest and so full of affection you can’t help the blush spreading on your cheeks from all the fluttery feelings boiling inside you.

“Shut up...”

~•🥦•~

It just around 9 PM when Midoriya and you finish with the garden shenanigans. You are both exhausted and sticky from the sweat but that doesn’t stop you from having a cider on the brand new sofa set while the sun goes down in the background. Midoriya’s fluffy head ends up on your shoulders, hist chest moving up and down with his calm, steady breaths. This should be uncomfortable for so many reasons, but if just feels right; there is this weird feeling that pulls you towards the green haired nerd, this new emotion lurking in your heart. It’s confusing but so, so nice; warm and cozy like a hot chocolate on a grumpy cold winter night.

By the end of the day, Midoriya and Deku became two different people in your eyes and funnily enough, the one cuddled close to you takes over Deku’s Number One place in a flawless victory.

“I really like this.” The green haired man speaks up, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Being able to hold someone so close even though you both smell like shit?” You look at the greenette questioningly.

“Yes, Y/N. I like the fact that I trust you enough already to be at my worst around you without feeling terrible about it.” Midoriya strikes back with a new kind of sass. “I also like the fact that YOU also smell like ‘shit’ but I still feel the urge to stay close to you and It’s really fucking nice but now you ruined my emotional roomie-love confession.” He pouts, clearly offended; he’s so fucking adorable you want to cry.

“You know what?” You speak up in the same offended tone. “If we are having a honest moment here, I would like to add that from today, pro Hero Deku isn’t my ultimate favorite person in the world.” Midoriya actually takes offense at that and moves away but you continue your rambling. “It’s cuz’ of that stupid little sticky nerd I spent the day with. You know, the one who comes home all bloody and grimy sometimes but takes his time to comment on my latest drawings anyway. The one who let me have my shitty pink flowers in his perfect All Might themed garden, even though they stick out like a sore thumb. I only knew this guy for a few days, yet here I am, all sappy and emotional, goddamnit.”

You kind of lost your confidence by the end of the sentence but as you look up at the teary eyed greenette, you know he’d understood.

“Let’s stay like this forever.” Midoriya clinks your glasses together, the air filled with electricity from all the unsaid words swirling around the both of you.

“Forever.” You smile, and this time, you are the one who breaks down the wall and snuggles close.

One day, you will get used to this. But for now, you just enjoy as the loud beats of your heart slowly lull you to sleep on the new sofa as the warm summer breeze soothingly caresses your face on this lovely Tuesday evening.

~•🥦•~ (extra)

You end up talking about random stuff until 11 PM; you only had one cider so you can’t even blame it on the alcohol, but at one point the conversation stops and you are both just staring at each other, taking all the small details in. You cheekily take another look at your flatmate’s lovely chest while taking a big sip of your beverage, and that’s when Midoriya decides to break the silence.

“You know, Kacchan told me I should get a nipple piercing.”

Needless to say, you choke on your drink and spit it all out; right at the poor guy’s above mentioned, perfect chest.

“You can’t fucking say shit like that without giving me a heads up!” You cough as Midoriya tries to clean himself up.

“Well, you were looking at them and I got embarrassed and blurted it out and now I’m also freaking out, because it was such a creepy thing to say, I’m so sorry!” He rambles, not even taking a single breath in between the words.

“Sorry for looking at your nipples!” You blurt out with a red face. “I completely zoned out! I think I should head to bed. Please, forget about this, I can’t believe we can’t have one day without me embarrassing myself in front of you!” You end up complaining.

“Hey, I really love when you say silly things like that. Please, never change, Y/N.” The hero winks, throwing your own words back at you.

You’ll never get used to this. Never.

… Next Part!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated 🥦

Random fun facts and rambling:

- Midoriya’s car exists and it’s absolutely stunning, look!

- All the plant names are real, I actually went to a garden center for this chapter! 😂

- Midoriya’s shopping problem was based on myself. Needless to say, my whole flat is a jungle at this point.

- This series will be really fucking long so I hope you don’t mind that. Every time I write a chapter I come up with three more chapter ideas. It’s killing me. I also can’t stop writing it hence why I have another chapter almost ready by the time I’m uploading this.

- The next chapter will be called “Reality Check”. Does it sound ominous enough? *evil laugh*

Taglist: @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo

[x-avantgarde-x]

We are gonna be okay - Joel Miller

Summary: it’s the end of the world, and Joel isn’t able to save one of the people he loves the most.

Warnings: heavy angst! No comfort, just pain and tears.

————————————————————————

If you were ever asked to rate Joel’s birthdays’ celebrations since you had joined him and his daughter, Sarah, almost seven years ago, this one, without a second thought, would surely be the worst.

That was one of the first things that crossed your mind when you found yourself on your boyfriend‘s truck, Sarah holding tightly onto your body as you held her back with shaky hands, with Tommy doing his best to escape the estate as fast as possible while running over as few people as he could manage.

“Just keep going!” Joel kept yelling to his brother, his voice panicked, when the streets kept filling with more people before an onrush of them rushed towards your car. “Back, back, back, back, back!” Joel kept urging Tommy who was now driving backwards, trying to find a new escape, making the already terrifying situation more nerve wrecking.

While they kept arguing you pulled Sarah closer towards you, kissing the top of the teens curly head and did your best to comfort your terrified daughter. “It’s okay, baby girl. We will be fine.” You spoke against her hair, doing your best for your fear not to show up. Though you didn’t really know who you where trying to comfort with your words, if you or the girl who was holding tightly onto your embrace, but Sarah nodded against your chest and knowing it was comforting your baby girl was all you needed in that moment.

The panic you felt was horrible, the whole situation sending body into survival mode given the horror of it all. You tried to say something more, to keep your mind from shattering and to calm dow Sarah’s shaking frame but then you both turned your heads back just in time to catch the plane crashing behind you all and the explosion that followed it, and the words you were about to speak died in your throat.

You snapped your head forward in less than a second and started screaming, your voice shaking from the fear you felt in that moment “Move, move forwards, Tommy! Fucking move!” Before something came flying towards you causing you to crash.

For a few moments all you could see was black and all you could hear was the ringing in your ears from the collision.

Once you finally opened back your eyes, the first thing you saw was Sarah’s leg, her ankle twisted on a painful way “Sarah, Sarah baby don’t move” you spoke, your voice sounding as strict as you could manage in that moment.

And then cane the soaring pain on your left shoulder, surely dislocated, which made you hiss like a hurt animal.

“Sarah, come here come here.” Came Joel’s worried words as he pulled his daughter against him. “I got you, I got you.” He reassured her, pulling her out of the car before turning towards you and helping you out too.

“Are you okay, are you two okay?” He asked, face scrunched up with worry while he did his best to hold you without letting go of Sara’s hand, trying his best to check for any injuries you might have gotten.

“My shoulder hurts, but it’s not much” you assured him with the softest tone you could manage before your eyes went back to Sarah’s fucked up leg “But she twisted her ankle, Joel. She cannot walk like this.” You said, voice weak and trembling as you watched the girl struggle to stand up.

Suddenly another car crushed against yours, the explosion causing you to jump frightened from the flames. After Joel and Tommy agreed to meet at the river you watched as Joel picked Sarah up “You keep your eyes on me, okay? Don’t look anywhere else.” He told her before turning towards you,

“Hold onto me, okay? Don’t let go.” He said firmly, though you knew he was doing his best to comfort you. You nodded your head in agreement and rushed to grab onto his arm.

“Okay.” You whispered softly, looking deep into Joel’s eyes, as if trying to comfort him back.

The three of you started moving with shaky steps, not quite sure where to go at the moment as you looked around your surroundings in fear of coming up with one of the infected.

And just as you turned to exist the alley, there it was, feasting on poor woman laying there helplessly. Joel tried his best to move you away from it without catching it’s attention, but it was in vain. The thing snapped it’s head towards you three in a matter of seconds and started chasing after you three with it’s twitching body.

Joel and you ran as fast as humanly possible, trying to get away from the damned thing. You unconsciously let go of your hold of Joel’s arm when you saw him rush to kick the door in-front of you open. None of you could think about anything else than escaping as fast as possible and getting Sarah and each other safe.

You kept running as fast as you could, a few steps behind Joel and Sarah, who was being held tightly by her dad. In a matter of seconds, in which you turned your head to look at the infected behind you, you heard a loud gun shot and saw it’s body drop to the floor after it had been hit in the head by a bullet… his brain scattered all over the ground.

“It’s okay, baby. We are safe.” Was the mast thing you heard Joel tell Sarah before you turned your head to the armed soldier facing you three, your now completely into survival mode as you became aware of the hostile attitude the man held.

After that you wasted no time to hold onto Joel’s arms, your chest against his elbow while you did your best to cover Sarah’s body with your’s. You could barely hear whatever it was that Joel was telling the soldier. You ears were still ringing and you could still hear your heartbeat against your eardrums, the adrenaline of survival long from leaving you.

Then, as if second nature, you looked attentively at the man before you, he was shaken, hands gripping his arm tightly and fingers never leaving trigger while he received commands from his radio.

Suddenly you saw him raise his shotgun far too quickly for your likeness and, as if it was a mom sense thing -something you and Joel had joked long ago-, you pushed Joel’s body down the small hill with only a quick “Don’t let go of Sarah.”

You all fell down just as the soldier started shutting your way. You rolled down the hill and your body hit the ground soundly, making your already beaten up body hurt even more.

Your boyfriend and child were not too far from you as they had rolled together, for Joel hadn’t let go Sarah for an instant.

That was the last thing you noticed before you felt the agonizing pain on your side. Your skin and shirt felt wet and sticky, your mouth suddenly too dry and your body too shaky and becoming uncomfortably cold. Your vision and surroundings started to become blurry, but you swore you could faintly hear Joel and Sarah screaming, then a shotgun… Tommy, Tommy had shot the soldier.

From the corner of your eye you could see Joel approaching you, his breath in heavy pants and his face pale, while it was now Tommy who was carrying Sarah. You wanted to speak, to ask how they all where but the pain on your side was too much and your mind was too hazy, keeping you from forming any coherent words.

“No, oh no, no!” was the first thing you heard Joel say when he kneeled right next to your body “Hey, love, are you okay?” He asked while bringing his arms to turn you from your position, a sharp hiss leaving your lips at the blinding pain it caused you. You couldn’t really feel the hot tears running down your face, but you could feel Joel’s rough and warm hand cleaning them away. “Come on! Come on, love, answer me!” Came his distressed voice.

You sobbed against his chest, the realisation of what had just happened finally washing over you and making you panic at your state. “You are okay, you are okay, love” came Joel’s words, trying his best to calm you down as he brought his hand to your bleeding stomach. You shook your head, trying to push him away from you despite the agonising pain.

“Come on, let me see.” He pleaded, bringing you closer towards his trembling body while you kept trying to resist him. “I know it hurts, baby, but let me see.” Joel kept begging as you finally caved in, letting him expose the bullet wound furiously bleeding before he rushed to press his hands against it, trying to keep you from bleeding out.

“It’s okay. I know it hurts love, but you are gonna be okay!” He kept repeating while you furiously shook your head and did your best to grab onto his arm. “No.” you panted out “Joel… Joel listen to me.” You said in between cracked sobs, your mind almost blank from the pain as your body slowly gave out.

Joel’s pained eyes moved back from your wound to your face, tears streaming down his face after he heard you speak. “Baby-“ he tried to say again, but you interrupted him. “No, Joel, Joel… I’m dying here, baby, okay?” You sobbed, bringing your weak hands to hold onto his face the best that you could “Get out of here… Get Sarah out of here, baby. Joel, baby, please…” you pleaded, your body shaking as you slowly started to lose your consciousness in his arms.

“No, no! Love, please, listen to me! I gotta get you out. I gotta get you both out of here!” Joel sobbed, holding your cold body closer to his while Sarah cried on Tommy’s shoulder. “Come on, love, please…” he begged, now fully crying as he held you in his arms.

Eventually, you stopped breathing, your body falling against his as he kept rocking you while he pressed your forehead’s together. Heavy tears falling from his eyes at the look of your face and the feel of your corpse in his arms.

“Joel, we gotta leave.” Tommy rushed his brother while Sarah sobbed forcefully and gasped against him. “Man we got to go!” He explained next, finally grabbing the attention of his older brother.

Joel stood up to move towards his brother, letting go of your body, not without leaving a last kiss on your cold lips… the last kiss you two would ever share.

He walked up to his brother and daughter and took Sarah from Tommy’s arms, pressing her as close as humanly possible against him. He felt oddly empty at that moment, the fact that you had died and that he had been unable to do anything save you crushing his heart and leaving a wound on him that he would never be able to close.

“Dad…” Sarah whimpered softly, grabbing her father’s attention, how brought his forehead against hers and left out through a choked sob “It’s okay, baby… We are gonna be okay, I promise.”

And they would be okay, that much Joel knew. Because after losing you he wouldn’t allow himself to lose someone close to him ever again.

[bamfahsoka]

Change of Fate: Chapter 4

No warnings. Just a ridiculously in love couple, and their chosen family, trying to save the galaxy. No big...

I hope you enjoy it!

The next morning, you woke up and went straight to the med bay. Today, you were supposed to confront the horrifying possibility that your men, your brothers…your other half, might be prisoners in their own minds. You walked in the med bay, and you and Kix had a line of troopers waiting for you. Of course, Rex and Wolffe were front and center. You walked up to the group and greeted them

    "Good morning gentlemen". 

You then spoke to Rex directly. 

    "Rex, I know you want to be first in line and lead by example, but I need you to wait to get examined. At least the first round. " Before he could argue, you continued. "I won't be available to direct orders, and make sure this ship gets back to Coruscant safely while I'm in everybody's head. That's why I'm having you wait. I need you to take charge and command the ship. " 

Reluctantly, Rex agreed, but only after you promised to have him regularly updated on your progress. After that was settled, he went to leave for the bridge. Next, you moved to address Kix. 

"Ok Kix, how do you suggest we get this process started?" 

You all settle on setting up a triage of sorts. However, instead of organizing by the severity of injuries; the men would be organized by batches. You hated utilizing any form of identification other than their chosen names, but working in batches made it easier to see just how widespread the potential threat really is. It's also decided that Wolffe would stand guard while you and Kix were working. Like with Tup, you felt more comfortable knowing someone had your back while in such a vulnerable state, and there was no better choice than your commander. 

With all the details worked out you take your position at the first trooper's head, and start to move through his mind. Since you knew where and what you're looking for, it's far less physically taxing than it was with Tup. As you arrive at your destination, your heart sinks when you see the inhibitor chip. As soon as you make contact, you hear machines beeping and know that you've done all you can do, and that it's up to Kix and the rest of the medics to successfully remove the inhibitor chip. As you come out of your meditative state, you're greeted by Wolffe, the rest of the anxious troopers, and Kix moving the first trooper into surgery. 

      "You ok?" Wolffe asked tentatively.

      "Yes and no," you answered softly. "I'm not hurt or anything, but…he has the chip. Your heart ached, but you were also more motivated than you had ever been. You were going to find a way to help ALL the clones of the GAR. You tried to think through the next step. You knew if you evaluated every trooper yourself, you would border on force exhaustion. You decided to move on to the next batch rather than do all the troopers of a single batch and then move on. Your thinking was that if one of the batch has the chip, the chances of the whole batch having them were high. While the troopers worked out  who would volunteer for the batches that were currently present. You looked to Wolffe and said 

   "We need a more efficient way of scanning for the chips. It'll take too long for me to examine every single trooper,not to mention using the Force that much in one sitting might just kill me. " 

    "I agree," Wolffe said seriously. "We have to be able to retrofit an old droid or scanner to look for the chips." 

    "I think Cody knows someone that could help, but that means risking bringing more people into this shit show." 

    "True, but at this point, we have enough proof that this is a real threat that bringing at least Cody in on it is warranted. I know you want to keep this on the down low, but honestly, we should brief General Plo, too. " 

    "Probably true…Let's get through these troopers, then we'll work on briefing the General and bringing Cody in." 

You proceeded to examine and find chips in every trooper you examined. You admit you were tired and heartbroken at the increasing amount of undeniable proof that someone is essentially controlling the men of the GAR. The questions that come with that are who, why, and when…

Before you drown in your thoughts, Wolffe pulls you back to the present. 

      "General." 

      "Huh? Oh! The debriefing right." 

      "Uh huh. Let's take a walk and grab some food. Yea?" 

      "Yea sounds good", you said with a hesitant smile. 

You both walk towards the Mess when Wolffe suddenly takes your hand and pulls you into a rarely used conference room. Wolffe takes off his helmet, and pulls you close. He holds you against his broad chest, with his strong arms. You stay there until he moves his hands to cradle your face, like you were made of glass. 

      "C'yare, we'll figure this out ok? Trust me I want to end this just as bad as you do, and so does every one of the troopers on this ship. We will stop this" 

      "I know Love. I know…" 

You move to wrap your arms around his neck, forcing his hands down to your hips. You look down at his lips, and that's all the signal he needs. Wolffe closes the distance and catches your lips in his. Your heart rate increases and the world around you suddenly disappears. For a brief time you were in heaven. In these stolen moments you could almost imagine a life where there was no more war, no more loyalties or duties other than to each other, and an opportunity to live a long and happy life together. However, as the war liked to remind you, that was a seemingly impossible future. You separated from each other breathing heavily and slightly dazed from your lust filled escapade. You steadied each other in another loving embrace. After a few moments, Wolffe stepped back, held your hands, and said 

      " I love you. Let's get some food"  

You laugh at his abrupt change of tone. 

      "How romantic" you said with a sarcastic grin. 

      "What?! We both need food! It's not my fault I have a super human metabolism!" He countered playfully. You made yourself presentable again and made your way to the Mess. 

After eating you went to the bridge. You wanted to update Rex before you talked to Master Plo. You both walked in and walked up next to Rex.

       "General. Commander. Any more progress? 

       "Yes…We examined one trooper from each batch from this morning's volunteers…"

        "By your hesitation, I bet I can guess what you found…" Rex said in a defeated tone. 

        "Each trooper I examined had the same chip in the exact same place…" Kix is taking the troopers I examined into surgery to remove the chips. He hasn't commed me, so I'm taking that as good news, for now at least. "  

You could tell Rex was using every ounce of willpower and military training to subdue his emotions and focus on the 'mission'.  

       "So what's the plan?" 

       "We have a few things we need to do to make this easier for ourselves, hopefully leading to faster results and more answered questions. First is briefing Master Plo. We haven't updated him in awhile, and he's our ally in the Council. I don't want to involve the entire Council yet, but we might need their support in the near future… Plus if we don't check in soon, Master Plo will think we kidnapped Wolffe for good" you said with a wink and a mischievous smile on your face. The corners of Wolffe's lips curled up into a small smile, and he gave you his signature eye roll.

With Wolffe and Rex standing at attention behind you, you asked your communication officer to contact Master Plo. Master Plo and crew answered immediately. 

 "Y/N, it's wonderful to see you. I hope you haven't been too much trouble for the Commander and Captain." Master Plo said playfully. Wolffe and Rex couldn't help but smirk. 

"I'm offended, Master" you say in mock protest. As much as you loved chatting with your former Master and father figure, you could not delay informing him of your findings. 

"Master l wanted to contact you regarding the incident with Tup, and my suspicions that there is something bigger going on." 

"Based on your tone, I assume you found something?" 

"Yes Master. I know you told me that the council can not get involved, but soon if we are able to uncover more…they might not have a choice. We are dealing with something that goes far beyond what we, gesturing to yourself, Rex, and Wolffe behind you, can handle on our own. This information, and the threat that it poses, affects the entire GAR. Possibly the entire war." 

"Those are big claims my little one…You need to have concrete proof before you bring this to the council or GAR officials. If you make these claims without substantial proof, the consequences may be discrediting yourself at best…and fatal at worst." 

" I know…That's why I plan to get the evidence needed to support my claims. I just wanted to let you know that when I do find it, I will come to the council for support." 

"Good luck, my little one. I'll see you and the Commander back on Coruscant."

"Thank you Master"

With that the transmission ended, and you sighed heavily leaning over the holo table. You turned around and looked at both Wolffe and Rex and stated

"And to think that was the easy part…".

Wolffe was the one to break the silence.

"Onto step two?" 

"Step two?" Rex asked. 

"We need Cody's help, but I think it's better if we talk to him in person. You two think you can convince him to meet up with us on Coruscant?" 

"Shouldn't be too difficult" Rex said confidently. 

"I agree. We'll contact him directly and set something up." Wolffe stated seriously.  

"Alright then. Let's get home then shall we?"

[somebigface]

*Big Face had just arrived in Allervale. The shaman took notice of all the worried villagers as he strolled his way to Elli’s tree house. After climbing the ladder, he knocked on the door and was greeted by his daughter. The two shared an embrace and he entered her home.

*Dokk had been given his own room within the tree house, and the pulley ramp for Dokk’s wheelchair had been finished. Dokk has had his hands full tending to the injured Tekkno, who was making a speedy recovery from his injuries.

*Big Face sat with Elli in the den area, and Elli began filling her father in on the current events and what had happened in his absense. Big Face removed his mask to get a better look at his daughter. After finishing up the status report, Elli sighed a little and began to fidget with her hands.*

“Dad? I’m… I’m thinking about making what might be one of the biggest decisions in my life… Possibly in Alf’s as well. Once this business with the Brood Father is over and done with… I… Feel like I can finally move on from what Toni did to me. Abe, Alf, and Toby all have made such an impact on my life. I’ve tried my best to let them know how much they all mean to me. I want to go with them on this fight.

And when this is all over, and if we survive this… I want to ask Alf to… to…”

*Big Face’s expression softened. He gently took hold of his daughter’s hand and smiled to her.*

“He really means that much if you are going to do that so quickly. Though I worry that this might all be a little too soon, I will support you. I will support both of you. Though I want to make something exceptionally clear, Elenore. If Alf dares to hurt you like Toni did, I will show him the same lack of mercy as I did to Toni.

If I’m honest, however… I feel we have nothing to worry about. I have been meaning to present Alf with something for a while now. Something that may be of use later. It is a gift I don’t give up lightly.

Elli? I might not be going with you on this adventure. Someone will need to stay behind to not only protect Allervale in your absence, but it’s been discovered that The Brood Father has ways to infiltrate the Shrykull Temples. I need to protect those lands. If they are destroyed or damaged, our connection to Shrykull may be severed entirely until a new temple can be created.

Elli? Listen to me. Throughout Mudos there are shrines, temples, or effigys that allow the spirits to walk amongst Oddworld with us. To not be concealed from our vision. If anything were to happen to those temples, then we may lose the ability to commune with forces like Lebone, Seraphim, even Mother Odd herself. The risk becomes greater if there are less shrines or temples laid out for that spirit or god.”

“Dad? Why are you telling me this now? Isn’t that the concern of shamans or seers?”

“Because Elli, originally you were destined to one day take my place, but now you are destined for something much bigger.  A protector of our beliefs and our sacred rites. Not just to Shrykull. Out of the spirits we frequently commune with, there is one who’s presence has been threatened on Oddworld since his betrayal of the pantheon. There exists but one shrine left to Lebone. If that shrine is desecrated, Lebone’s ties to Oddworld may be severed until more can be built.

The threat of the Brood Father may end in this final battle, but there are other lesser risks that still remain in the aftermath. Do you understand?”

*Elli nodded to her father and pulled him in for a big embrace.*

“At least this time, I won’t have to face this big destiny alone. And I have one of the best teachers in the land to help guide me.”

[byanyan]

@tamedgod sent:ㅤ(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ 👫 for both! if u want 👉👈

relationship headcanonsㅤㅤ✧ * º •ㅤㅤaccepting!!

✧˚ㅤharu.

ㅤbyan finds haru's demeanor very off-putting at first. they don't like that she's so caring, so understanding, and so patient. they've seen it all in foster parents before, and it never lasted — there's always a limit to all that compassion and byan always finds it, intentionally or not. at this point in their life, they try to bring foster parents to this limit as quickly as possible so they can't build any sort of relationship with them and thus they can't be hurt when they're inevitably sent away. haru, however, has been a tougher nut to crack than byan anticipated. nothing seems to faze her. no matter what awful stunt they pull or cruel words they spew, she always comes back with that same compassion. they don't understand. they do, however, find the entire thing extremely annoying because it feels to them like she's just drawing out the inevitable.

ㅤagainst their will and better judgement, byan has grown to care more about haru through their time in the household. they hate it, but they find a comfort in her presence that they're not sure they ever have with someone before and, if they have, it hasn't been since they were very young. they try to resist this feeling of comfort and the growing trust that comes with it, not wanting to let themself come to rely on her in any way or, god forbid, get attached, but every time she patches up their injuries without berating them and calling them a disappointment or shows them care without pity, she makes a little more progress in breaking through their defensive walls.

ㅤbyan has developed a fondness for going shopping with haru when she has the free time to take them. something about the way she waits patiently for them to look around as thoroughly as they please, or maybe the way she points out things she thinks they'll like (and is usually right about)... they don't feel rushed, and they don't feel judged for the sort of things they enjoy. i like to think they have a standing appointment like, once a month where she takes them to fabric and craft stores to collect new materials for the clothes and accessories byan likes to make.

ㅤhonestly, byan has probably opened up to haru at least a little on one or two occasions about some of their history. nothing too detailed, none of the particularly traumatic things, but still a bit less surface-level than the sort of things they'll usually share. they relate to haru far more than xiao because she grew up in poverty and, after learning about that part of her background, they feel that she might understand some of their experiences in a way that no previous foster parent ever has.

✧˚ㅤxiao.

ㅤthough they get along with him better, byan trusts xiao less than they do haru. they have deep-rooted trust issues with people in general, but these are even more intense when it comes to men — doubly so when it comes to foster fathers. the fact that byan has the suspicion they they were initially only taken in as a publicity stunt certainly only fuels this distrust. he's definitely made some progress with them, but their guard remains up in his presence.

ㅤat first, byan didn't realize that xiao was keeping tabs on them. assuming he was overall uninterested in them and sure that they'd be out of the house and back in a group home in only a few months, they were surprised one day when he warned them against meddling too much with a particular group of people they had been harassing earlier. since then, they've been hyperaware of his efforts and try to trounce them at every corner out of spite — if he sends someone to tail them, they do their very best to lose this person by using their skill in parkour to their advantage. if he tries to track their phone, they turn it off or simply leave it at home. they also regularly check their clothes, bags, and shoes for any sort of tracking device he might try to slip into them.

ㅤdespite both above points, xiao is still the fun parent. byan likes that he doesn't usually try to put a stop to their delinquent behaviours and, in fact, seems to almost encourage them. that's something they've never had in a foster parent, and it's an surprising upheaval of their expectations in being brought into a wealthy household. for the most part, byan doesn't try to hide their petty crimes from xiao, even brags about some of the more exciting ones. they probably also get really enthusiastic telling him about whatever fight they got into on any given day. ...but only if they won. if they lost, he's not hearing about it despite it being obvious in the injuries they sustained.

ㅤbyan has definitely called xiao from a holding cell in a police station on at least one occasion. they know it's a riskier call since he might be too busy to answer, but between him and haru, calling xiao seems like the option that will lead to the shortest lecture. it's also the funnier option because they really enjoy the idea that they're damaging his public image if word of his foster kid being jailed gets out.

✧˚ㅤbonus headcanon!! because it's been rattling around in my brain for months

ㅤsix months in, byan still hasn't unpacked their things. a few items that see regular use have spread out across their room a little in the time they've been in the apartment, as well as the things they've acquired since moving in, but most of their belongings remain tucked away inside the couple of bags they showed up with. even as their relationships with both haru and xiao are growing, they're waiting for that other shoe to drop — they're waiting for that moment where they're finally deemed too difficult and sent back to the group home. less and less they find themself wanting that day to come, but they're anticipating it nonetheless. no matter how good things seem, it always happens eventually.

[mirrorred-star]

Whumptober Day 15

Its midnight, fuckers! YEET!

I am not putting this in the main tags because I am a weenie and I would not be surprised if there were Nazis there. I'd been thinking of tagging death note stuff 'moon moon and his [something] notebook' but I caught some greek tragedy vibes instead. Too bad its been so long since I did Classical Greek that I can't do the translation I want.

Prompt: Lies

Fandom: Death Note

Characters: L, Light, Soichiro

Wordcount: 1,053 [cut scene 201]

The heck is happening: there is a serial killer targetting criminals and people investigating said murders, the murderer has been nicknamed 'Kira', L is leading the investigation due to being international man of mystery sherlock holmes, Light picked up this weird notebook once and is helping the investigation because he's super-smart and also he's kira. and also L knows Light is Kira but doesn't have enough proof to arrest him and the most senior local investigator is Light's dad Soichiro. awkward.

This technically takes place in the skyscraper that L bought, but there's no point in canon this could have happened, so shrug emoji

warnings: injury, self-injury, manipulation, false accusations.

Summary? I should do a summary: Light lies a lot about not having stabbed L in the chest and having in fact been attacked by L, while L is dying.

"Ugh, why haven't we been able to find Kira yet?"

L said nothing, just shifted his weight between his bare feet. This felt like some sort of trap, but if he tried to defuse it, he might set off the trap. Or let Light know he was onto him.

"How do you even sit like that?"

"Practise."

Light ran his fingers through his hair in mock frustration. "You would have thought that we would at least have a good lead on who Kira is."

"We don't?" L looked up to see Light holding his bleeding arm.

L was out of his chair before he could think about it.

And Light punched him in the chest.

L started to shift his weight to kick him in retaliation, but Light turned his fist sideways, and L felt the distinct feeling of something solid moving inside his chest, and heard the snap of plastic breaking. Light pulled back to show L the handle of the clear plastic knife he'd just embedded in L's chest.

"Fuck you," L responded. Light pushed him back into the chair. "Couldn't have worked better," Light gloated.

L already felt faint. Wrong. This was bad.

"How…?" How had he managed to put all that together and pull that off?

"No one is infallible, L. Not even you."

"Tell me." The demand sounded pathetic, even to him.

Light laughed. "No."

L leaned forward to the console, to contact Watari, but Light pushed him back into the chair. Light clipped one of the handcuffs around L's wrist and looped the length of the chain around L's other wrist to pull both of them together behind his back.

"And what now?" L could feel how hard it was to breathe, even now. "You get caught and executed for my murder."

"No." Light leaned on the shoulder of the chair. "Kira was L the entire time. But you, you will die before you even see trial."

*

Light had planned everything to the last detail. He'd interfered with the video to make parts of it cut out at just the right time. The clear plastic knife had been strong enough so it wouldn't shatter. Leaving it in would mean that the wound wouldn't bleed as much and would be a lot less obvious.

*

"Dad, I'm so sorry, but he attacked me. I was telling him how frustrating it was that we don't know who Kira is, and he attacked me and told me he was Kira, and I grabbed the knife to stop him. And I think I might have nicked him a little, and -"

Light had called Soichiro alone up to the command room. Soichiro was the one of all of them who was the most likely to believe any solid-looking theory that Kira was anyone other than Light, and could maybe be talked into just… leaving L until it was too late for medical attention.

He didn't think that Soichiro would let it go on that long, but it was a distinct, and welcome, possibility.

Soichiro let Light speak until Soichiro had finished bandaging Light's arm.

"L? Is this true?" he asked coldly.

L was starting to have trouble following the conversation, which worried him. A lot.

Soichiro would at least give the appearance of being fair at all times, but he was not so foolish as to believe that Soichiro would believe that his son had stabbed himself and then anyone else.

"No."

The security cameras would be unlikely to help - they would be the most obvious first thing to check, and Light had obviously tampered with them.

Could that be used to his advantage?

"Then what happened?"

"I don't know. The lights cut out for a moment and I stood up to sort it out, then someone stabbed me in the chest. Before I recovered, the lights came back on and Light was securing me to this chair. I assumed he'd stabbed me too, until I saw he was bleeding."

"So some stranger stabbed us both when the lights went down?"

Light snapped. "I saw my attacker - I held up my arms so he wouldn't cut me."

"Then we should watch the security tapes. Maybe we'll see him on it."

"You're not even hurt at all," Light countered. "You're just faking."

"Then maybe we should watch the tapes."

"Maybe you want us to watch the tapes because you know they've been tampered with," Light retorted. "This is your building. You would be the only one able to do that."

Oh shit.

He was wrong - the security guards were well trained enough that they wouldn't even let L access the tapes without recording that he'd accessed them - but it sounded plausible enough.

How had Light managed to tamper with them?

L sighed in frustration. "Soichiro, just arrest us both."

"What?"

"Just… put us both under surveillance in solitary confinement."

"Fine."

*

L stared at the wall. He was feeling less and less tethered to reality. Was that blood loss? There were so many things it could be. Punctured lung, bleeding into the sac of flesh protecting the heart, damage to the heart itself, damage to one of the veins leading to the heart - no, if it was that he'd be dead already. And probably not damage to the heart itself, for the same reason.

This felt kind of like blood loss though, so maybe it was bleeding around the heart? What was that called? Cardiac tamponade? He was pretty sure that was it.

Was he dying? This didn't feel right. He didn't feel panicked about it, though. He just felt untethered.

He was on the floor? That was odd. He didn't think he had been on the floor before. The floor before. That sounded nice. It was cold? Why would the floor be cold?

There were heavy fast footsteps, the door opened. Something heavy hit the ground next to him.

"L? Can you hear me?"

"Its cardiac tamponade, I think. The blade is still in my chest."

Something picked up one of his wrists. "Pulse 20bpm, very weak and thready."

L faintly heard them talk to someone not present, loud and sharp and authoritative and indistinct.

"We're getting you to hospital, now."

"Good," L inhales a shaky breath, then exhaled. "Soichiro's fired."

CUT SCENE

[L is still in the chair with his hands cuffed behind him]

L could feel himself falling forward, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Soichiro looked concerned. "We need to let him out."

"He wants us to let him out so he can attack us again. He's faking," Light said. "He can't be that hurt."

"The knife blade is in my chest."

"No, it's not." Light picked up the knife from the floor, and held it up to the light. The entire knife was clear plastic, and there was blood starting to dry on the blade edge. The blade edge had barbs pointing backwards, so if the knife had been pulled out of someone the barbs would have been ripped off.

"I'm bleeding. There's a hole in my shirt."

"I didn't see anything. Though come to think of it, you are bleeding. I think the knife might have slashed you."

L could feel he was on the edge of passing out. "Can you call Watari over please?"

He felt rather than saw Light shake his head. "Watari's in on it too."

"Please… just, I need to lie down."

"No."

L barely heard the response before the static at the edges of his vision overcame him, and he passed out.

[justbreakonme]

My fav kinds of whump fics are when like, a servant/pet Whumpee is just, in complete denial that someone might want to be nice to them, and Caretaker really doesn’t know what they’re doing, so they’re just trying to make it through the day, like:

Whumpee: I cannot have wants, my needs are not important, I am meant to suffer to serve my master until I die. I know all of this and yet I am still a failure and still desire unbelievable privileges like food, and water, and sleep, and to not be hit.

Caretaker: Hi. *provides basic needs with the slightest amount of decency*

Whumpee: They just want me stronger so I can work to serve them, and I have not been punished yet because I have not had time to fail them yet. But I am inherently flawed, and I will fail them. This will not last.

Caretaker: Here you go. *keeps providing basic needs and human decency, even once Whumpee is stronger*

Whumpee: Surely this will not last. They are simply more patient and less critical than my previous master. What an undeserved miracle, to be given this leniency.

Caretaker: Here, take this too. *gives Whumpee something that’s an “impractical luxury” like a blanket or stuffed animal or dessert*

Whumpee: This is not for my benefit, and if it is, it is to train me. Still, what a joy to serve a master who uses rewards of such luxuries. I do not deserve such goodness, I must remember this, and prove to them that I will not grow spoiled.

Whumpee: *tries to do above and beyond for them, and instead makes a mistake that breaks something and hurts them in a way obvious to Caretaker* I have failed, and anger is more than justified, and I will take my punishment willingly, it will make me better. Why does the idea of master striking me feel more like grief than fear? Could I have grown to consider them…almost a friend? Oh how stupid, how foolish of me, to even consider such a thing. I am meant to suffer-

Caretaker: Oh no, oh no… *helps fix mistake and soothe the pain caused by the injury, all the while not showing any anger or disappointment, only concern* *tells Whumpee not to try what they did again, that they didn’t want them to get hurt*

Whumpee: Maybe they could see that I was trying to serve them better. Surely that must be it, why otherwise would they not want me to be hurt? How lucky I have gotten so far. But I must not fail again.

Whumpee: *gets sick* I must keep going.

Whumpee: *collapses* This is it. Master will finally punish me as I deserve, I have failed yet again.

Caretaker: Get well soon! *brings them medicine and soup and let’s them sleep in peace*

Whumpee: They are simply wanting for me to get well before they punish me. They don’t want to make a mess, or they want me to feel it all, without my attention divided by sickness. After all, how can I learn from a punishment I am barely conscious for?

Whumpee: *gets better* Now this truly is it. I shall face my punishment.

Caretaker: Glad you’re better! Here, take this. *doesn’t punish them, instead greets them with more necessities and an additional “impractical luxury”*

Caretaker: *keeps being nice, not punishing Whumpee, and making sure they are well provided for*

Whumpee: Possibly they are simply understanding of my inherent flaws, and mercifully allow the occasional lapses, so long as afterwards I am repentant and humble.

Caretaker: You’re important to me. *sacrifices something important just for Whumpee, like missing a work meeting to take them to the park or cutting off a friend because of the way they treated Whumpee*

Whumpee: I do not understand… But it is not my place to understand, as I am simple and flawed. I must just continue to serve as I was trained.

Caretaker: Oh, how nice, let’s have fun together! *makes up sweet little nicknames for Whumpee, knows their favorite things and makes sure to use that knowledge, compliments Whumpee on things outside of what they can do for others*

Whumpee: *realizes that they had changed so much since coming to Caretaker, and that this new version of themselves was not only safe and not hurting, but also happy and supported emotionally.*

Whumpee: *has an emotional breakdown due to pent up emotion, joy, and pure relief*

Caretaker: :O

Caretaker: I fucked up! I fucked up bad! I broke them!

[unoriginalmess]

A Second Mask: Chapter 4

Did that just happen?

Hello guys! It's me. I'm finally writing again. Sorry about the delay. I'm going to explain more at the end of the chapter, but I'm just going to keep the beginning short. So here is chapter 4:

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

To say Adrien was concerned would be a huge understatement. He was downright disturbed. Its been weeks and still Marinette hadn't changed back to the happy, peppy, nice girl that he knew. AND SHE WOULDN'T EVEN TALK TO HIM ABOUT IT!

He tried to talk to her for a whole week after her original trasformation, but after the repeated firm rejections, he stopped altogether. He figured that maybe with some space, she might be able to work through whatever she was going through, but at this point, he's losing hope.

When he is feeling this distressed about something, he usually turns to his lady, but she has been acting weird too. Ever since she suggested they start sparring, she's started to show that she is going through kinda a rough time as well. She is the same ladybug when everyone is watching, but when it's just the two of them, she looks sad and tired. She has also started saying some concerning things while they are sparring. She has started talking about how she has started taking being Ladybug and the Guardian more seriously, and how she has less distractions now, which would be a good thing if she didn't say them so sadly.

The good thing is, the sparring has given him a chance to get out his aggression because of the whole Marinette-situation and his anger at his father in a safe environment. He didn't like the idea of hitting Ladybug at first (especially in the face) but with her not holding back on her hits, he felt more comfortable doing the same. It has helped them fight better too. He hopes that whatever Ladybug is going through in her civillian life will work itself out soon, but until then he will be there for her. He just needs to figure out how to be there for Marinette.

•••

Felix was making good progress with Marinette. After they first asked marinette about (insert fashion question of your choice here, I legit know nothing and I didn't have time to research anything for this chapter), she had started answering their questions on a daily basis. After a couple of days of that, she had started to rant to them about different things in the fashion world that were bothering her, exciting her, or confusing her that particular day. In response to that, they had started to respond to her rants with their own opinions on the subjects and even start their own rants.

It had gotten to the point where Felix would now consider them to be friends, though they know that Marinette would never call them as such, it was fine with them. They know she has trust issues, and they can understand why, so they are fine with being friends in everything but a name.

Felix was looking forward to their daily banter as they waited in their seat for Marinette to arrive. When she did, she was followed by a very pissed-looking Alya. Felix turned to look at her and noticed that she had what looked to be tears forming in her eyes. What they didn't notice was the little black butterfly that had entered through the window in the back of the room, and was making a beeline towards her.

•••

Marinette walked to school in yet another one of her newest fashion creations: a pair of oversized grey ripped jeans and a navy blue sweatshirt. She was actually really liking her new look, and the comfort that it offered was just an added plus.

She was actually feeling excited to talk to Felix about Gabriel Agreste's newest fashion flop. They were the only person that she had met that actually cared about fashion as much as her. It made her happy to talk to them. It kind of scared her how excited she was. Shouldn't she be distancing herself from everyone? she thought to herself. No. Felix isn't my friend, they aren't close to me, they are just someone I talk fashion with. Like a coworker, yeah. Totally. Felix is just a coworker. ("Liar" says the inner voice in her head)

She was shocked out of her thoughts when she was pulled to the side by someone as she entered the courtyard. Her mind immediately thought of an akuma, when the person spoke.

"Marinette! Girl," Oh it's just Alya. Wait Alya? "How long are you gonna keep up this cry for attention? Are you really THAT jealous of Lila? I know that Adrien likes her, but that doesn't give you the right to act like this! And you are hanging out with Felix, who accused her of sexually harrassing Adrien on their first day here-?" She looked absolutely furious at her, but Marinette had heard enough. She cut Alya off in the middle of her presumably long rant.

"ALYA!" Said girl jumped at both the inturruption and the tone of voice used, "First of all, this isn't a cry for attention, if anything its a cry for leaving me the fuck alone. Second of all, I'm not jealous of Lila. I'm not in love with Adrien anymore, and haven't been for a while. You knew that I was dating Luka right? Why would I care who Adrien likes? Lastly, I am allowed to hang out with whoever I choose, whether you like them or not. It's none of your fucking business Alya, and if you think that I'm just some jealous, attention-seeker why do you even care?" With that last question she stormed off to the classroom, leaving a speechless Alya behind her.

When marinette sat down in her seat, she just kept thinking about how Alya was just talking to her. How could she think that about her? They used to be best friends, and Alya wasn't even concerned about her not talking to her anymore, she was just concerned about her being "jealous of Lila". It made her so furious that she could feel tears trickling down her face. She sees the black butterfly out of the corner of her eye and without hesitation grabs it out of the air.

(Next part is taken from this post by @bigfatbreak)

"Go ahead and akumatize me- See what happens, Hawkmoth!" She screamed the words with a slight madness that the energy of the akuma was giving her, "Every leash has two ends! I just have to pull until I find where you're holding it!"

At this point, the entire class was frozen in place watching her and listening to her crazed-sounding voice threaten an actual terrorist. Marinette felt Hawkmoth's confusion and terror through the bond. What in the- She's sensing me through the Akuma?! The akuma then started to fly away, and when it couldn't it zapped her hand like it was made of lightning and fluttered through the same window it came from. Marinette felt like she had failed yet again and collapsed down on her desk, muttering, "Uuuuggghh. It escaped anyway... What a waste. I didn't realize that Hawkmoth was such a coward. He usually likes grandstand..."

She was startled when her hand was picked up by Felix's, "You likely scared him off by managing to locate him like that... A risky move, I should mention. I would ask that you not attempt that a second time. No one knows what his akuma is truly capable of. You'll want to keep off of this hand for a while, too."

"Oh, are those the doctor's orders? Why, Felix, it almost sounds like you care about meeee." Marinette was all too amused by Felix's concern for her. She also liked to tease them... AS COWORKERS DO.

"I have an investment in your presence. Now don't be cheeky and let's get you to the nurse's office," They said while holding her wrist and gently pulling her in that direction.

Marinette scoffed, "'An investment in my presence'??"

Felix chuckled while still semi-dragging her by the wrist towards the front of the room, being careful not to hurt her injury even worse, "What did I just say about being cheeky?"

On their way out of the door they passed a VERY distressed-looking Adrien. He seemed to be sharing the sentiment with the entire class of: Did that just happen?

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

And thats chapter 4. It is VERY LATE! I know. I've been swamped with work, and when I went to write it, I had zero ideas on how to write this chapter. I never ended up getting those ideas. I just went where my writing took me, so if it doesn't really match the characters that's why. I will try to be better at updating regularly, but it probably won't happen. Sorry to everyone with a normal sleep schedule, but this is the time that I write things. Also I didn't have my outline with me while writing this chapter, so it might not have everything I planned to write in it.

I would like to thank you all for all of the support I've been getting on this fic. Despite all of the chapter delays, you guys have stuck with me through all of it, so thank each and every one of you. I love seeing so many people loving this au as much as I do. Without you guys this story wouldn't exist, and I would've stopped writing it after the first chapter.

As always, constructive criticism is always accepted. I love being able to improve my writing whenever possible.

Thank you for reading. Have a nice day/night/whenever you are reading this. See ya next time guys, gals, and non-binary pals.

Taglist

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[traumatictouch]

why tomura reads like a sexual abuse survivor

ive noticed that a lot of survivors - including me - easily read tomura as a csa survivor. ive decided to try to put these impressions into words, mostly for myself, but also for anyone curious as to why he’s so frequently read this way, or why i personally write him as such. i will mostly be elaborating on the reoccurring sexual assault imagery and csa survivor traits tomura exhibits.

triggering themes ahead, including discussed child sexual abuse, incest (sibling and pseudo), trauma and its effects, and sexual assault imagery (from the bnha manga itself). also spoilers for the most recent manga arc.

(disclaimer: i realize symptoms of trauma are pretty much common all across the board, and depression also comes with a lot of these behaviors - but there are some that crop up more commonly in cases of sexual abuse (especially from a young age) than in others. csa survivors also frequently end up with depression, too, so that doesn't necessarily take away from it.)

i’ll start with the cover above. the hands touching him here are much more expressive than the ones he usually wears. it's also framed in a way where you can't see the ends/cap things very well, and they don't appear so symmetrical, making them feel much more like real, living hands grabbing him.

there's also the fact that his face is exposed, which is something we had rarely seen him do willingly at this point in the manga, and even when he had he was still covered up with a hoodie or completely alone. the way he's covering half his face gives off the impression that he's not okay with the way he's exposed.

all of that, plus the obvious distress tomura is in, gives this very glaring assault vibes.

also, the hands on his head are clearly someone's actual, living hands as well. my guess is afo, especially since they seem to be petting him, which is reoccurring imagery between tomura and afo.

tomura's total lack of privacy

there's a clear lack of boundaries between tomura and the adults in his life. most of the spaces that seem to belong to tomura (the bar - he feels safe enough there to take Father off, and his room) are accompanied by cameras and audio transmissions from afo. he has no privacy, and doesn't even seem bothered by this fact.

he also doesn't seem to set boundaries with other people in general. toga can hold a knife to his neck, spinner can grab him and yell in his face, the doctor can shout over his earpiece, dabi (or anyone, really) can say whatever rude or callous things he wants to him… really the only time i can think of that even comes close was when mr. compress made a joke about working with overhaul and tomura said "hey, not funny."

he seems to kinda just let whatever happen to him. earlier in the series, tomura seemed to rely on kurogiri to notice when he needed space and step in for him rather than ask for it himself. that's a pretty telltale sign of someone who's had their needs and boundaries violated (or even punished) for a long time.

Tomuras over-attachment to afo and his praise/affection

obviously afo groomed tomura whether it involved sexual abuse or not, but it is something that could have easily lended itself to that as well. early in the series, tomura clearly highly valued afos opinion of him, and seemed to strive to please and repay him for his kindness. these are feelings afo incited in him on purpose and did, canonically, take advantage of to turn tomura into a villain and pawn - who's to say he didn't use it for other purposes, too?

it's also the kind of thing survivors tend to latch onto to cope with their abuse. it can be easier to think of the event as being affection, returning a favor, and/or special treatment, than to think of it as abuse. tomura looked up to afo so much that it's possible he could have considered (or been convinced) that it was special that someone as great as afo wanted to do something so intimate with him.

also, if this is really tomura realizing his sensei isn't as special and powerful as he'd been led to believe, then his reaction being to cover up while looking angry might, well… be a reaction to feeling used.

Tomura & older men

there's not a lot of people besides afo that tomura seems very quickly, openly… invested in. there are two major ones i can think of, and they are both 1. older men, and 2. mentor figures (even if not to tomura.)

the most obvious of the two is aizawa, who tomura has seemed pretty fond of since his first appearance and, even in the most recent chapters, can't seem to help but think about how cool aizawa is. aizawa isn't a mentor to tomura, obviously, but he is a teacher and tomura knows this. (and seems impressed by the way he tries to protect the students in his care--something afo very specifically does not do for tomura.)

the second, and perhaps less obvious to most, is Stain. i wrote up a whole post trying (trying.) to explain the way tomura seemed interested in him, and you can see a bit more about that and how tomura was hoping he'd be a mentor to him here.

in other words, tomura has shown reoccurring interest in older men, who are mentors, that he does not show for anyone else.

early sexual abuse can influence a person's attractions. survivors tend to be drawn to what is familiar, even if it hurt, and so it's pretty common for them to be attracted to and/or desire a relationship with those who resemble their abuser(s).

and afo is an older man who is a mentor to tomura (and others.)

immaturity (& age regression)

tomura, in early canon, is often described by characters in-universe as being childish, especially in regards to how he processes his emotions. (i don't really like to conflate these things with "age" or "being childish" - but the way the manga itself presents these qualities is clearly intended to give tomura a immature/childish vibe.)

tomura's emotional processing, simple motivations, fixation with video games, toys littering his room, and need for close caregiving (kurogiri) all give off the impression that he's had trouble developing the way he "”should”" have--kind of like he didn't really move on at all.

this sort of stunted development tends to occur in people with childhood trauma, especially csa survivors. ptsd at its core is the brain getting "stuck" in the moment of trauma, so if the trauma occurred as a child, then one's development is somewhat halted there, especially in areas of emotional processing, because the brain and body have to dedicate so much energy to just trying to cope and survive. it's pretty common for csa survivors to have trouble coping with and controlling their emotions.

relatedly: i have no real way to confirm this right now, but i’ve heard that during the mla arc, while tomura was kind of going in and out of flashbacks, he started switching to using “boku” - a self pronoun for young boys - as opposed to his usual “ore”). ive since had to wonder if this is a reoccurring state for tomura - it might partly explain why he keeps his toys around despite never showing interest in them on-screen, and has such close supervision from kurogiri.

again, age regression can go for any kind of childhood trauma, but seems very common in child sexual abuse survivors in particular.

Lack of hygiene (esp oral)

look at how tomura's teeth are drawn compared to even another villains. dabis teeth are straight and clean, whereas tomura's have holes and chips, and tend to be drawn uneven with wobbly lines, like they're covered in plaque.

not caring for one's hygiene is common for people with depression too - but failure to care for teeth also frequently crops up in survivors of sexual abuse, due to an aversion to things touching or being inside their mouth, because it can remind them of the abuse.

in a similar vein, tomura's hair looks unwashed and greasy to me, especially when it gets long. it sort of gathers in clumps and appears heavy. survivors may avoid taking showers because they aren't comfortable removing their clothes for long periods of time, or because the abuse occurred in proximity to bathing. (which is a convenient time for parental figures to groom and abuse their children, since it already involves them being naked and the parent touching them closely.)

in general, there just seems to be something off about tomura's relationship with his body. maybe it's the way he barely bats an eye at major injuries, doesn't care for his hygiene, self-injures, and didn't mind undergoing a surgery that altered its shape and function pretty heavily--but i get the impression that tomura sees his body as just a tool more than anything.

which, if someone grew up having their body regarded as nothing but a means of pleasure, kind of makes sense.

his clothing

im not sure if this has the same “connotations” (for lack of a better word) for flat chested people, but tomura always wearing a lowcut shirt that shows off a fair amount of his chest, but covering the rest of himself head to toe--including his face--feels significant to me. as well as the way he covers up even more (his hoodie) when he’s stressed. the hands, too--being covered up seems to be calming for him.

the placement of the hands afo gave him

you can't tell me little tenko placed these hands where they are by himself. the ones on his chest aren’t even from his family or meant to resemble them - they’re additional hands afo gave him to wear. pretty weird place for “afo”’s hands to go...

I feel like theres a little bit something to tomura frequently having his clothes ripped off during fights

not that it's particularly uncommon for bnha characters to get their clothes a bit shredded during fights, but i can't help but feel like there's something to tomura getting torn down to nothing but his pants twice, with both battles heavily involving tomura's traumas, including the ones related to afo. the vs mla arc with how tomura met afo and how he turned him into what he is today, then the war arc where the methods afo used to control and abuse tomura (the hands) are brought back again--and afo repeatedly takes tomura's bodily autonomy away from him.

AFO's predatory behaviors

tomuras own behavior aside, All For One himself has some behaviors and imagery that gives off very predatory vibes. i’ll start with Ragdoll…

most people theorize that she was going to be turned into a nomu, but there are two important things here. ragdoll was found 1. alive, and 2. naked. all nomu are made from corpses - if afo had time to take her quirk and undress her, he certainly had time to kill her, especially since three days had passed since she was kidnapped. (and, what benefit would there be to making a nomu out of a quirkless hero?)

her dazed state is also curious - we've never been told taking or giving quirks has a side effect like this, and i would think itd at least wear off after three days…

there's also not actually a lot to suggest she was submerged in one of the tanks (that i know of); in the full body image, she doesn't seem to be soaking wet or anything. there's no water dripping off her. there's just a bit of liquid on her face and neck, which could merely be sweat, or… other fluids.

this next part is more debatable due to it being more dubiously canon (although My Hero: One’s Justice has been known to basically spoil villain related lore before it appears in the manga) - but he has some dialogue that makes him sound... pretty fuckin enthusiastic about sexual violence.

and time and time again, afo has been... very creepy and obsessive about his brother. who happens to look an awful lot like tomura, and is vaguely connected to nana as a user of OFA, and we know how far afo would go to spite both of them.

The "wow this is pretty much confirmed now" page

i always thought i was just projecting when i read tomura as a csa survivor - until i saw this page, which was so viscerally uncomfortable that it made me nauseous. it definitely made me decide i wasn't just reading into things that weren't there. that's not exactly to say this panel 100% confirmed it (though it certainly did in my mind, personally) -- but the imagery here can't not be deliberate.

tomura is literally shirtless and bent over before afo, and sure, afos not completely standing behind him, but that's partially because his lower half is inside of tomura. and from our previous example of afo taking over tomura's body…

i wish i could find the translation i first saw - this is the viz translation, which is notoriously horrible - but the one i read felt much more along the lines of "i saved you, so i get to do what i want with your body."

that is a line of logic that could have EASILY applied to their earlier relationship. the way afo saved tenko was very much on the forefront of tomura's mind early in the series, possibly either an idea he clung onto to justify the abuse he experienced from afo, or something afo personally reminded him of frequently.

also… part of afos body is definitely wrapped around tomura's upper thigh, and in certain panels seems to be emanating from between his legs.

speaking of, tomura's stance is also notable to me. compared to the panel where tomura first realized afo was taking control of him, where his knees are pretty straight on or outwards in a powerful balanced brace, in these panels his knees seem to be bending in towards his body, like he wants to squeeze his legs shut. huh.

i touched on this before, but it's interesting to me that what finally let afo fully take control of tomura's body, was having a hand (one afo very specifically used to control and abuse tomura into doing what he wanted) placed upon his body without permission.

so, all in all, afo is "inside" tomura's body, using it for his own means, against tomura's wishes.

what else does that sound like? no wonder deku feels like tomura needs help, despite everything...

again, this isn't to say that csa is definitely the cause of these things, just that tomura does have an abundance of behaviors and imagery that could easily be read that way.

[officialcharactersimp]

Mending & Amends

(Graduation Gift Part 4)

Summary: the fourth installment of my graduation gift series (can be found on my masterlist). This picks up literally seconds after the end of pt 3 with Natasha trying to find ways to make amends and get you to trust her again. No smut, but still not appropriate.

A/N: author’s note WC: 3k (holy heck)

CW: dark fic; mommy!nat; there is no porn, I repeat no porn; but there is mommy milk/breastfeeding; reader is injured; dubcon existence; 18+ only, do you hear me??

While you’re out, Natasha has time to tend to your injuries without you cowering and crying. Without all the guilt.

She picks your limp form up gently and brings you back out to the basement proper and lays you face-down on the bed-crib. She goes to get some medical supplies and cleans you up, then bandages the open bits and rubs some healing salve all over you. With only a few strikes having landed on your core, she’s satisfied with rubbing some of the salve there.

She gets you to drink some water from a bottle in your sleep, your natural instincts she’s been nurturing taking over. She checks your temperature, a solid 99, which isn’t too bad. She wipes the sweat and tear-tracks from your face, then brushes your hair out again. She lays down beside you and drapes an arm over your waist, burying her face into the back of your neck as she tries to think of what she’ll do when you wake up.

An idea forms slowly as she runs her hand along your waist. Yes, that will work. You might not like it at first, but it will work if she bears through it. She’s not sure how much of the fear and pain on your face she can handle, but she needs to.

She moves you off the bed to make it up nice, then sets you down gently, face down. Whenever you’re healed up you’ll be able to lay on your back, but right now that’s not possible. She ties your hands and feet to frame corners with plenty of slack—she wants you to be able to move.

Finally, she reluctantly removes your collar, biting her lip as she does so. It looked so precious on you, a symbol of the progress of your relationship. All gone now, thanks to her paranoia and overreaction. As much as she doesn’t want to remove it, it’s not right to keep it on if it speaks a lie.

Then she waits for you to come to. It shouldn’t be much longer now, maybe another half hour or so. She sits in the rocking chair in the corner, anxiously bouncing her leg. She needs to get herself under control before you wake. She knows her little baby needs for her to be the collected, caring, soothing mommy right now, and that you will for some time.

You mumble a little as you begin to stir, picking your head up a little. She takes a deep breath and smiles before going over and crouching down to look at your face while she gently tucks your hair back.

“Hey baby,” she says softly. “How’s my little sleepyhead feeling?” she asks. You whimper and inch away from her.

“D-don’ touch me,” you stammer.

“It’s okay baby, mommy isn’t gonna hurt you,” she says.

She sits down beside you. “I am so so sorry about what I did earlier. I was scared you were gonna try to leave me and get hurt. It’s a nasty drop from that window. But I didn’t take the time to think past my initial reaction or ask you, and that was wrong. I overreacted out of fear and anger without stopping to think, and I’m so sorry, little one. I never should have done that,” she says, tears brimming in her eyes. You turn your head to look up at her, eyes searching hers for any sign of ingenuity. You find only regret and sadness.

“You mean it?” you ask softly.

“Yes baby,” she says. “And mommy promises never to punish you without talking first or before taking some deep breaths, okay?” she says.

“Pinky promise?” you ask.

“Pinky promise,” she sticks out her pinky to hook with yours. She’s thrilled that you’re already starting to be a bit little again. As you move to interlock with her, you notice the restraints.

“Wait, what?” all traces of your headspace are gone as you jerk up to look around at your tied limbs. “What the hell?”

“Baby, it’s to keep you safe. See? They’re not tight or anything,” she tugs on all the loose rope.

“This is insane! All of this is insane!” you shout at her for the first time in weeks. It breaks her heart even more.

“I told you, mommy’s gonna fix what she did. Mommy’s gonna show you you can trust me again, gonna take care of you, of everything. Make it so this collar means something again,” she taps it on the bedside table, just out of your reach. You bury your face in your pillow and sob.

“It’s gonna be okay, baby. Mommy’s here. Mommy’s gonna make it all better,” she curls up beside you and puts an arm over you again. Despite how upset you are, you lean into it, wanting the physical comfort you associate with her.

“How’s your bottom?” she asks.

“Hurts,” you mumble.

“Do you think some Advil might help?” she asks. You nod and she gets up briefly to go get it. “Here you go, baby,” you tilt your head up and she puts the pills in, then grabs your bottle of water. You roll your eyes but suck on it to get the water to wash the pills down. You nod a thank you.

“Are you hungry?” she asks. You nod. “What do you want? I’ll even go drive through somewhere if that will help,” she says. You think for a moment.

“McDonalds?” you ask hopefully. She nods and smooths your hair back.

“McDonalds will be here soon,” she assures you. “Mommy has to go see a friend, too, so it works out. I’ll be back in half an hour or so, okay?” she says. You nod.

She kisses your head, which you recoil from, and leaves. You’re left alone to lay face-down on the crib-bed, restrained and in pain, until she returns. It’s silent. It’s lonely. You’ve grown used to either having Natasha or the sounds of the TV running since you came down here.

You think back to this morning. Everything was so different. You honestly trusted her this morning, even if it wasn’t the strongest trust. But this afternoon reminded you that she was an unstable, dangerous, paranoid lunatic. And it scared you.

Truth be told, you’ve grown to like being “little,” as Natasha calls it, letting yourself stop thinking too much and trust your mommy—Natasha, you correct yourself—to take care of you. You liked playing with her and cuddling. And when she touched you, it felt so good. So much better than when you had touched yourself. You felt loved and cared for in some twisted way.

But that was all in the past, now. You’d been doing so well, both of you, and now this. How does she expect you to trust her again? You’re not sure. You turn your head and close your eyes.

—

“You’re sure this will work, Wan?” Natasha asks her friend anxiously as she pulls her shirt back on. The red glow around her is fading. Her bra feels painfully tight and she winces.

“I’m positive. It worked for me, and especially given that you told me it’s happened before with those meds. If not tonight, by tomorrow for sure. And here’s these,” she hands Natasha a package. “They’ll be much more comfortable.”

“Thanks, Wanda. I don’t know what I’d do without you, in all honesty,” she says. Wanda smiles and hugs her.

“I could say the same to you,” she smiles. “Go on, get back to your little one,” she shoos her playfully. Natasha waves and leaves, then drives by McDonalds as promised. She’s back in a little over half an hour to see you dozing. It warms her heart to see her precious baby sleeping.

“Come on, little one, mommy brought your food,” she says, shaking you gently. You open your eyes and push yourself up off of the bed some. “Let’s get you comfy,” she helps you find a position that isn’t too uncomfortable for your aching rear, then hands you your food. “What do we say?” she asks.

“Thank you,” you say with a french fry in your mouth. She smiles. The mommy will come back later. She won’t push it for tonight.

“Do you wanna watch some cartoons?” she asks. They always engross you and help you into your littlespace. You nod and she flicks through the TV until she finds one she knows you like.

You both eat in relative silence, watching the TV. At least you’re not trying to cower anymore. That’s good, right? Progress? She hopes so.

“I’m gonna use the potty,” she tells you, then gets up. You don’t notice her bring the package with her as does.

When she returns, you notice something different about her, but you can’t tell what. It’s a small difference, then. Maybe she just fixed her hair. She’s smiling though.

You’re finished with your food soon enough, and the show ends shortly after.

“Let’s get you in the bath now baby, hm?” she suggests. You feel gross anyways, so you nod. She unties you and scoops you up in her arms.

“Let me down!” you squirm.

“Hush now, like mommy told you, I’m gonna take care of everything. Gonna show you you can trust me again,” she says. You squirm all the way to the bathroom anyways. She sets you down on the toilet facing the wall, almost straddling it.

“Huh?” you ask.

“It’s less pressure on your little bottom,” she explains. You nod and use the toilet while she gets the tub ready, but when you go to get some toilet paper, Natasha beats you to it. “I’ve got it, baby,” she says, wiping your tender area gently. You wince and try to get away from her.

“Stop it, I’m not a baby!” you try to grab her hand and move it, but she stays still, unmoving.

“Come on, little one. I know you’re in there. I know you want to let mommy take care of you,” she says. You shake your head. “Baby, this is about me proving to you that you can trust me to take care of you,” her voice is even. “I want you to choose to let me prove it to you. That’s why I haven’t given you any of the medicine I used to. But that doesn’t mean I won’t. I’ll do whatever it takes to get you to believe how much I care about you again,” she says.

“But—“ you don’t know what you were planning on saying. “But I wanna do it myself. I can do it myself,” your voice is quiet as you lose your grip on her wrist, barely audible.

“That’s the thing, precious,” she steps closer to you, finishing her task and then using her other hand to pet your head. “I know you can do it. But you don’t have to. That’s why I’m here,” she says. You groan and lean forward on the toilet tank. “Come on, you’ll feel better when you’re clean,” she picks you up and sets you in the tub, then flushes the toilet.

You sigh and let her bathe you. Your body is too sore from getting dragged and caned to wash yourself that effectively anyways. When she gets to your most sensitive areas though, you squirm away from her and reach for the soap.

“It’s too sore. I wanna wash it myself,” you say quietly.

“I’m gonna be so careful, you won’t even notice,” she gently moved your hand away and got the soap again. Tears brimmed in your eyes and your bottom lip started to form a pout. “No, baby, don’t cry,” she gasps, petting your cheek. “Tell mommy what’s going on,” she says.

“I’m scared,” you say. “I don’t want you to touch it because you hurt me,” you say. Her heart breaks again.

“Okay, sweetie, how about this: we can do it together,” she takes your hand and puts it over hers, then begins to wash you gentler than ever. Your breathing hitches and your heart kicks up, but it’s over before it can go into full-blown panic.

“All done. You did such a good job, little one,” she praises you. “Ready to get out, or do you want to play in the water some?” she asks.

“Ready to get out,” you say. She picks you up out of the bath and dries you off with a soft towel before taking you out to the bed. She pulls on a soft shirt, leaving your bottom half uncovered so as not to irritate it. She changes into the spare pjs she keeps down here and crawls into bed beside you. You don’t welcome or recoil from her touch, which she’ll take as progress.

Her chest is still dully aching, but she knows she’s pushed you far enough for tonight. Maybe tomorrow she’ll be able to coax you into it.

—

When day comes again, Natasha is treating you the way she did when she first brought you down here, only with gentleness and tenderness where there was hardness and strictness before. The lack of the sedative drugs in your system makes it more difficult, but she’s able to maneuver your squirming form through the daily ritual of getting up, using the toilet, getting dressed, brushing your hair and teeth, and finally breakfast. Whenever she can, she has you laying on your stomach on the bed, and this is one thing you don’t protest.

You notice her shifting in discomfort the whole morning though, and despite how much you dislike her at the moment, you hate to see her in pain. You work up the courage to ask after a while of watching cartoons.

“Are you hurt?” you ask.

“I… well, I have a side effect from a treatment I had done that’s causing me discomfort,” she admits.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “That sucks.”

“There’s a way you can help me,” she says, sounding more timid than you’ve heard her maybe ever before.

“What is it?” you ask. To your confusion, she started to unbutton her shirt, and then she unclips her bra, but from the top? What?

“Huh?” you blurt out.

“I’m lactating,” she says simply, squeezing her nipple a little, causing a drop of what can only be breast milk to come of it.

“I—what do you want me to do about it?” you ask, dumbfounded.

“They hurt because they’re too full,” she explains. “And it would be really helpful if you would, well… empty them. I don’t have a breast pump, of course,” she says.

“Wait, like, you want me to—to drink your milk?” you’re turning bright red. Even after everything you’ve done with her, you’re almost unbearably embarrassed.

“Yes, baby, it would really help me, plus I think that you’ll like it. And it could help us…feel closer,” she chooses her words carefully, gauging your reaction.

“It’s kinda weirding me out,” you say honestly.

“Just try it, please, baby? It’ll help me feel so much better. And I promise, if you hate it after a little while then I’ll get a pump,” she crosses her fingers behind her back.

“I… okay,” you say. This whole situation is so absurd you can hardly bother trying to resist it. She smiles and adjusts the both of you to where you can reach her breast.

It’s not like you haven’t had her tits in your mouth before. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous right now. Natasha gently puts a hand on the back of your head and pushes you a little closer. You wrap your mouth around her nipple hesitantly, unsure of what to do.

“It’s like your bottle, sweetheart,” she senses your confusion. You tentatively begin sucking, and you’re surprised by the flow of milk into your mouth. You jerk back, but Natasha keeps your head in place, groaning in relief.

When the initial shock wears off, you realize she was right—you do like it. It’s warm and sweet, and the sucking action soothes you. You relax a little.

“That’s a good baby for mommy,” Natasha says gently, stroking your head with her thumb on the hand supporting you. “Do you like mommy’s milkies?” she asks. You nod, slipping into littlespace quickly as you drink from her. “Is it yummy?” she asks out of her own curiosity. You nod, not wanting to stop to answer. She chuckles. “It’s all yours, little one.”

She moves you to her other breast when you’ve finished, looking down and noticing that her other one is indeed smaller, and it certainly feels better now. You clutch at her gently to get a good angle, and her heart swells. She’s so glad this worked, but then again, Wanda’s advice has yet to fail her, so she shouldn’t be surprised.

When you finish, your eyelids are droopy and you nuzzle into her willingly, a rarity even before she fucked everything up. She pets you gently.

“Sleepy, little one?” she asks you softly. You nod. “Want a nap?” she asks. You nod again. Between your body being exhausted already and the soothing effects of her milk, she’s not surprised you’re already tired even though you’ve only been awake for a few hours. “Let mommy check your bottom, okay?” she turns you on your tummy. You’re healing nicely. “Do you want a blankie? I think it won’t hurt,” she says. You nod and she covers you with a blanket.

“Mommy stay,” you say when she gets up. And how is she supposed to argue with that? The answer is, she isn’t, so after she turns the lights off, he curls up next to you and holds you close.

“Mommy’s here, little one,” she assures you, finding your favorite stuffie and handing it to you. “Mommy will always be here, don’t you worry.”

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What would happen if you were sent back and ended up in the orphanage with Tom Riddle—and say you also had magic?

Oh boy.

Well, there's a lot to question here. Judging by the... spirit of this ask, I presume I'm... pretty much reincarnated. I'm in the orphanage, I'm much younger than I am now and a child, I'm pre-Hogwarts age, and I retain my current knowledge.

For the purpose of this ask I suppose I also retain my current mental faculties. Despite being in the body of an eight-year-old, I'm not The Carnivorous Muffin at eight.

Welp, there's a lot to consider here.

First, I probably don't realize I'm in Harry Potter for quite some time and instead assume I've been reincarnated to some parallel universe. It's the 1930's, I'm in England in the depression, WWI has occurred and the vast majority of major historical events I know about seem to have happened in the right order, and this Earth is eerily similar to the Earth I left behind.

Strange that I appear to remember everything of my past life with my adult mental abilities, but alright universe, I guess that's how we're going to play this.

What I do know is that I'm dirt poor, presumably still a woman which does not bode well for my career prospects, and if I want any prospects in life period I'm going to have to fight tooth and nail for it. It'd be great if I got adopted to help with this, and might be nice to have people in my life who love me, but there's a lot of orphans in the world and a lot of orphans who are much less weird than I am.

The orphanage is the orphanage and not great, Mrs. Cole is overworked, the orphanage is chronically understaffed, and the kids are running wild beating the shit out of each other.

Being a girl, I probably don't have to worry about getting the shit kicked out of me quite as much, but I still probably try to keep my head down and don't aggravate the particularly beefy looking orphans.

Yes, there's some very angry gremlin named Tom Riddle around who will shove you down the stairs in retribution, but that's just a weird coincidence. And then supernatural shit starts happening. Billy's rabbit hangs itself, people get injuries when Tom is nowhere near them, and I start wondering if this is really the Tom Riddle.

I'm in Wool's Orphanage, my matron is Mrs. Cole, Tom Riddle is running around lighting things on fire. It's possible, though it could all be a strange coincidence.

Now, how things go from here depends on how controlled my own magic is. Since accidental magic typically does manifest at least once or twice, it probably does manifest for me for.. something. If Tom Riddle's there to witness it then...

Well, I imagine he's very offended. Here he was, special, different, better than everyone else, and then some girl in the orphanage (who dares to get very good grades on her assignments in school) has it too.

And I just stand there, smiling, going "Tee hee".

He probably confronts me to prove that he's better at it than I am, and he probably is unless the universe hates both him and me, but having someone else with the Shining around probably prompts him to take me as his protégé (in part so he can show off and in part because he's genuinely excited to be able to share this super cool talent).

I am now apprentice to eight-year-old Tom Riddle. Whoop de doo.

Well, I don't remember this part of Harry Potter, so now I'm probably confused as to where I am again. Regardless, I try to advise Tom on how to tone it down and not, say, traumatize Amy and Dennis for life and antagonize all the other orphans forever. He probably doesn't take me seriously. What do I know, I can't even light that patch of grass on fire?

Hanging around Tom Riddle gets me a reputation to, given the difference in genders, probably a fairly nasty one at that. When Dumbledore arrives he's undoubtedly told hot gossip about how eleven-year-old Tom and I have had sex in a ritual to summon Satan. Dumbledore takes this seriously.

Dumbledore probably meets us both at the same time and it's a disaster. I tried my best to prep Tom without revealing I'm a prophet, Tom first doesn't believe there might not be others, then doesn't believe they would be antagonist/anything but amazed by how awesome he is.

Well, Dumbledore lights his wardrobe on fire while I sit there. Dying inside. Dumbledore probably also does something to me too, to teach me some kind of lesson about something.

I imagine he temporarily disfigures me/makes me appear very ugly, then sticks a mirror to the wall, that way I realize that looks aren’t everything/being a whore is wrong. Tom, still traumatized over the wardrobe, is no help and my magic’s probably not controlled enough to do a thing about it.

I spend a day looking like a pig, Tom and I are given just enough money to buy new wands and second hand/barely functioning everything else and given the world’s worst directions to Diagon Alley. Thanks, Albus.

Well, months pass, we get our wands, Tom gets excited for Hogwarts and I... start seriously considering the future. WWII is coming, the Blitz is coming, Tom and I live in east London and must be able to evacuate during the bombing of London (which went on well past the Blitz to the end of the war). I also start considering my future in the wizarding world. Do I now actually have career prospects?

Probably not because I’m muggle born and a woman. My best bet is doing very well in useful subjects and finding employment with the goblins, I can’t imagine they have the same hang ups as the wizarding world.

Tom wants to go to Slytherin, of course, I tell him this is a bad idea. “Gee Tom,” I say, “Not sure how I know this but I have this feeling that Slytherin is filled with people who loathe our very existence and will shank us. Why don’t we pick Ravenclaw or Gryffindor instead?”

No one shanks Tom Riddle! Tom says. Tom is still eleven and while he admits that sometimes I may, in retrospect, have been right about certain things that doesn’t mean he wants to go to the house known for hard work. That’s code word for everyone there being a moron and having no other redeeming features than tenacity. As for the other two, Ravenclaws sound like smug, elitist, nerds and Gryffindors like dumb jocks.

Better to be known for ambition, cunning, and actually being competent.

Well, there’s no talking him out of this one, and goddamn it we’re all each other has.

I’m the closest thing Tom Riddle has ever had to a friend in all these years and in the orphanage the only one who could hold a decent conversation with him. And while it’s not my moral obligation to keep Tom from becoming a domestic terrorist, and there’s no guarantee I even can, dumping him for one of the other houses and drifting apart won’t help.

Not to mention that, after all these years, I’m undoubtedly lonely, I’m in this foreign land, and he’s now the closest thing to a friend I have.

Looks like I’m going to Slytherin, YOOOOOLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOO! I shout as a battle cry as tears run down my face. I may have to convince the hat to put me in Slytherin, but like all human beings I am a mixture of many qualities. I’m not cunning in the least, mind games exhaust me unutterably, but I’m full of ambition. 

This confirms every bad opinion Dumbledore had regarding me and Tom.

For the next several months, Tom probably beats the shit out of dormmates who steal his things/harass him. He beats up mine too because feminism (TM) means that he should treat all people equally when guilty of the same crime. I... am not sure I can win that fight so I just resign myself to having to adopt some of Tom’s tactics to make sure I’m not shoved in lockers, have tampons thrown at me, or pig’s blood dumped on me at the prom.

Once again, everyone thinks Tom Riddle and I are dating. I don’t even know if they’re wrong at this point.

Well, being in class with eleven year olds who seem to have had little to no prior education, Tom and I are undoubtedly blazing through class. I imagine I’m bored out of my mind (the Hogwarts curriculum sounds unbelievably boring) and Tom is... well, probably devouring the library but probably also bored. I decide to try and see if I can find some real history texts on this world (there are probably none, the wizarding world seems to only have two historians and both... have a different approach to history than current modern thought as I know it) and discover what magic even is. That shit is fascinating: wingardium leviosa is not.

Dumbledore likely gives neither me nor Tom points in class, I think the house cup is stupid, so I really don’t care. I have no interest in playing quidditch, neither does Tom, so that doesn’t happen.

The second world war starts up, Tom, me, and the muggle borns are the only ones who give a flying fuck. I work harder on figuring out how to get lodging during the Blitz/the bombing of London. Unfortunately, Mrs. Cole hates me too for being the Bride of Satan, so that’s a no go. Third year, 1939, I probably write her in earnest anyway telling her to PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, send Tom and I instructions for the summer/where the orphans are staying/how they’ve been dispersed to the countryside. As a back up plan, I try desperately to shmooze shopkeepers in Hogsmeade during every Hogsmeade weekend to get myself and Tom part time jobs and lodging over the summer. As a back up back up plan, I spend my time badgering Tom to become very good at survivalist wandless magic and if the Lord has pity on me gain some ability in it myself.

Hopefully, either Mrs. Cole or one of the Hogsmeade shop owners take pity on us. If not, then Tom and I are going extreme camping. Given Mrs. Cole (and the brain damage brought on by Dumbledore erasing memories left and right) and the likelihood of Hogsmeade shop owners just not getting it, Tom and I probably go extreme camping.

(Tom, meanwhile, asks Dippet and Dumbledore if we can stay in Hogwarts over the summer. He’s told no exceptions. London’s being bombed, you say? No exceptions. Toodles. Tom is never the same.)

Me, Tom Riddle, a tent we made ourselves, several rabbits we had to catch and skin ourselves, and the pitiful fire that we can keep going through pure will alone because if we try to use real people spells then we’ll get arrested. It has the benefit of making Tom feel very manly and impressive, catching his own food, but both of us are well aware that this sucks.

But hey, we aren’t dead.

Well, I’m sure Tom doesn’t appreciate that and this is where I imagine he seriously starts talking about violent revolution. I imagine much of my time is spent discussing the merits of not violently overthrowing our ant overlords. I imagine a thirteen-year-old Tom isn’t impressed by my pacifism, but he’s not married to Voldemort yet (probably).

Then I imagine the horcrux thing comes up and... Well, I will argue hard against it. Humans die, it is a truth of the universe, and simply something we have to accept. Horcruxes are not a measure against that, they can be destroyed, given infinite time they will be, and the sacrifice they require is too high: human life as well as the very essence of who you are.

What is a soul? I’m not sure, we never really learn in HP canon, but whatever it is, it is in some way the essence of yourself. If you take half of it and throw it somewhere else, you will cease to be you, someone or something else is walking around in your body while the other half of you exists in endless agony.

If you must chase immortality, create a philosopher’s stone (as I darkly wonder why it was that couldn’t be replicated and what Flamel had to do to make it in the first place). On second thought, maybe we should search for the Holy Grail.

Whether I can talk Tom out of this or not is... unclear. I’m going to say that I can, in part because I imagine he’ll want to show the chamber off to me, tell me when he realizes he’s Heir of Slytherin, and in doing so I can prevent the basilisk incident from occurring. Without that, there’s no dead Myrtle, which means no first victim. That summer, when he goes to the Gaunts, I’ll go with him and convince him that it’s not worth it. He can just turn around and leave these people alone, I hopefully can talk him down. Which means no second victim.

I start writing Flamel to see if Tom or I can get an apprenticeship (Dumbledore probably beats us to the chase and poisons him against us, but it’s worth a shot).

Then, should all go well, I can convince Tom to find employment with the goblins rather than shady antique dealers on the bad side of town. Hopefully, I can convince him to never become Voldemort, and instead we travel the world together looking for the origins of magic or something.

Dumbledore goes around taking people’s memories of us in preparation for when Tom becomes a dark lord and I his lady of the night darkness.

TL;DR Apparently my life would become an SI/Tom Riddle fic. So, thanks anon.

[solomonish]

selfless (to a fault?) [demon brothers]

CW: allusions to past toxic relationships. minor description of injury in beel’s. belphie’s is a bit sad (happy ending! just melancholic vibes) and alludes to chapter 16.

no problem nonnie! i hope this is to your liking <3

nowdateables: here!

---

Lucifer

Honestly, he'd be a tough one to get to allow you to do anything for him. You know, the whole avatar of pride thing….and he also just generally has a habit of holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. He thinks - no, he knows he can handle everything on his own

If he's letting you in enough to help him - not only trusting you enough to think the tasks he delegates to you will be done to his liking, but allowing you to help and opening up the possibility that he might be risking his image of perfection - he can only expect you'll let him do the same for you. It's like your own special love language, right?

He does NOT like how jumpy you are about the subject. At first, he's miffed. Do you not think he can do the task to your liking? Has he given off the false impression that he cannot take any more work than he already has? Was your offer to help not based on affection, but pity??? It really ruffles his feathers.

He's the type to confront you head-on. At first, his voice is harsh because he's talked himself into thinking you've offended him, but when you start backing away and trying to dodge the conversation, apologies falling from your mouth about how the last thing you wanted to do was upset him, he softens. He doesn’t understand yet, but something is upsetting you and he intends to get to the bottom of it.

Not one who would pester you about opening up to him, but the sooner you do, the more of a show of good faith it is. He’ll trust your word entirely regardless, but it does a lot to soothe the upset of his own creation if you come back to explain sooner rather than later. After all, being vulnerable is perhaps Lucifer’s greatest show of love - it does not go unnoticed when you do the same.

Doing his best to talk through a solution is act of kindness #1 - and it helps you adjust a little since you worked with him rather than completely handed him the reins. He starts off his own plan to help you out by bringing in things he was already going to do for himself - offering you coffee when he gets his own, for example. He uses the fact that you’d feel bad for refusing against you for a little bit, but he means well!

You might notice him going softer on you for just a little bit - don’t say anything about it. He’s worried that he gave off the impression of using things against you because of how much of a disciplinarian he is. Besides, the two of you normally don’t get into arguments (he doesn’t have the time to let things simmer - if he’s that upset about something, he’ll try to address it immediately), so he doesn’t really know how else to change his behavior. He just hopes that allowing you the opportunity to open up to him again, should you need it, will alleviate the feeling that he’d ever use your kindness against you.

Mammon

The first time you stiffened up after he tried to help you, he thought you were crazy. Lucifer had just given you a punishment for one of his schemes that you took the fall for (and he still isn’t sure why Lucifer let you take the fall when it was obviously Not You), and you insisted that you could do it by yourself! He wasn’t too keen on cleaning every window in the House of Lamentation himself, so he left soon after placing the offer, but his time was spent mindlessly wondering about you.

The next time was shortly after, when you came into his room and crashed on his bed. He offered you a hand massage, although he did it in a very muttered voice with dark cheeks - and you said no again! Forget being offended that the romantic hand-holding idea he totally didn’t get from a magazine he was reading waiting for you (that would’ve somehow ended in disaster anyway) wouldn’t play out - he was getting worried.

He doesn’t bring anything up immediately, but he worries about you and watches you intently. Sometimes you’ll catch him staring at you, and he flips out when you ask him what’s up. The only clue Mammon gathers is that you don’t seem to be angry with him, so what’s up? He’s used to his backwards advances working against him, but he’s making a genuine effort here!

He finally gets pent up in his frustration and asks you head-on. Mammon isn’t known for his tact - “Oi, why won’t you just let me take over once in a while? Cut yerself a break, MC!” - but there’s a certain...desperate tinge to his voice that makes you realize he really does care (and is driving himself crazy trying to figure things out on his own). When you DO finally tell him, he sort of deflates and his voice goes to that softer, more genuine tone.

“H-hey, I would never do that kind of thing to ya…” He starts shuffling in place, kicking at rocks (if there are any) and you realize he kinda looks like a kid. “You do so much for everyone, and it makes me feel real good inside. I just wanna make you feel that, too. Besides, we don’t need TWO cranky workaholics in the house. Lucifer is plenty.”

He knows one moment of honesty isn’t going to fix your entire way of thinking, but he goes right back to his blatant offers after that. Maybe if he desensitizes you to it, you’ll feel less weird about accepting his help! It doesn’t work, so he shifts to little things. Catch him running across classrooms as soon as you’re dismissed so he can grab your textbooks to carry for you off the desk before you can. 

Once he realizes you’re more receptive to him helping you, he’s ready to breathe a sigh of relief and be annoying about it again. Generosity doesn’t come easy to him, okay? Besides, he’s The Great Mammon! You should’ve known he’d be better than any other guy you’ve been with!

Leviathan

Of COURSE you wouldn’t want someone like him to help you out. He’d probably mess it up, anyway…

Seriously, Leviathan is very sensitive to rejection, so the moment you politely decline any offers to help he backs up about a thousand miles and sulks when you’re not around. It’s hard for him to get out of his own head, and he’s so ready for you to just tell him what everybody else is thinking and how much he sucks…

It dawns on him, though, that you never gave up on him when he pushed you away. It’s totally not poggers sucky of him to just give up on you like that. You’re his henry! You’re his s/o! He’s totally ready to fight any boss for you!! …..after he levels up a little more.

Levi spends a TON of time looking up ways to talk to you, one-on-one. He isn’t good with emotions like this but he is capable of them and having deep, serious talks. It shouldn’t MATTER that his research material is a bunch of feel-good romance anime scenes that he based his most recent Top 10 OTPs of the season post on! 

Surprisingly enough, he brings it up relatively smoothly one night when you’re chilling in his room and he’s playing some relaxing simulator. You’re complaining about the things you have to do in the morning, and when there’s a lull in your conversation Leviathan turns and tentatively asks, “Hey...why don’t you try letting me help you out?” He can feel your refusal before it comes so he hurriedly adds “Please! I just- you stress yourself out so much and what good am I if I can’t even help you at all?”

Is it his impassioned plea for you to let him in? Is it his willingness to obviously step out of his comfort zone? Have your walls just conveniently crumbled at this moment? Whatever it is, you don’t have it in you to reject him when he’s so open about wanting to help you (and the pain it’s caused him not to). Either way, you sigh and give him a few, small tasks that you think you both could manage him having and he swears to do them well!!

Truly opening up to him about the reason why you were so hesitant on letting him help takes a while, and he doesn’t exactly pick up on it himself. Once you do tell him, though, in your journey to help yourself let him in, he holds you a little tighter and mumbles that he’ll never do that to you. Levi knows better than anyone that words can only mean so much, but he’s grateful for the chance to prove it to you. He won’t let his Henry down!

Satan

Satan is perceptive, and he knows how to talk about emotions. He might even have suspicious about the root cause before you even think about letting him know what’s up. He’s already started doing a few things for you - carrying each other’s books, for example. Small acts of kindness to get the both of you through the day.

However, one thing Satan isn’t good with…..is dealing with emotions head-on.

He spends so much time keeping his own under lock and key! After doing his best to keep the most calm, analytical front he can, Satan tends to uh….forget about the emotional part of emotions.

So. When he asks why you won’t let him reciprocate in the relationship, attempting to display that he just wants the two of you to be on equal ground and he is worried about you, he sort of comes off...as cold. And like he’s accusing you of feeling a certain way. He definitely presents it as “I’ve noticed you feel x and i think y would be helpful for us to fix it” rather than “how are you feeling? What is causing you trouble? How can i offer assistance in a way that translates well to you?” And if that doesn’t bring back some memories…

He feels awful, and at the end of it all you’re crying (or presenting your stress and bad memories however you normally do) and he still doesn’t know how to fix things. Counterintuitively, he looks through his books for an answer, and it takes him a few days to realize that’s what got him into this mess.

So he goes to you directly and, albeit a little clumsily, apologizes and asks what he can do to help you through this. You say that’s just the problem - you don’t want his help - and he sits next to you and just asks why? The two of you wind up talking for hours, sitting next to each other and just...really talking. You aren’t the only one feeling vulnerable - Satan is talking about his emotions full-on rather than through a scientific lens and it makes him just as nervous as you are.

Satan doesn’t get into arguments with you. He runs from the possibility because he’s worried about what his wrath could do to you. But he promises you that he could never hold anything against you, especially something like asking him for help. It’s an honor that you let him this close, and he can only return the favor in kind. He hopes you have enough faith to believe in him until he has the opportunity to prove it beyond a doubt.

Asmodeus

Asmo does things for people without asking. He gives unsolicited makeup and relationship advice, he offers to touch-up any products you may have on, he lends you clothes just because he felt like he should…

The thing is, Asmo will start before you even have a chance to ask him to stop. He’ll start before you’re even wondering if you like him. And at first, you’re ok with it. Well, you’re not, but you can decide he’s just testing the waters or that this is some weird demon way to earn your friendship or tell you he considers you a friendly presence, like cats. But it still rubs you the wrong way.

However, Asmo always notices that you...aren’t receiving it the way he wants you to. He invites you out and leaves you an outfit on your bed, and you come out wearing something entirely different. He leaves you a bouquet of flowers, and suddenly the dining room has a new bouquet in the center of it. (and you always avoid his gaze during those dinners, which is totally weird.) It’s almost like you’ve recognized the face he makes when he’s about to touch up your makeup, because you pull out a pocket mirror and check yourself over before he even has a chance to!

Are you leading him on? He doesn’t think so, but you are quite literally the only person he can’t literally charm the pants off of, and he isn’t quite sure how to navigate the signals you’re giving him. You seem fine with the relationship - it felt pretty genuine to him, and you looked thrilled when he made the romantic moves on you - so what was going on?

He finally caves and asks when he’s going through your wardrobe, sifting through it with you on the bed to make room for a shopping spree the two of you had been planning, and sees all the outfits he’d bought you hanging, still in their outfit bags. Some of the bags even had DUST on them!

He turns around and puts on a gentle voice. Though Asmo doesn’t know what’s happening, he can feel the air in the room shift and he knows he’s encroaching on some sensitive territory. “Hey, do you not like when I give you gifts? I haven’t been able to understand what’s been bothering you, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable…”

He does NOT like the way you turn your face away from him, but he sits a respectable distance away and keeps his hands in his lap. Asmo is as good at genuine advice as he is at gossip, so it isn’t hard for him to get you comfortable enough to open up to him. You don’t have to tell him everything at once - he’ll listen to whatever you’re willing to tell him, letting you lean against him when you’re ready.

Asmo is known for being petty, but you bring out sides of him nobody knew were there. He’ll swear up and down that he’d never turn your good heart against you - after all, it’s one of the many things he loves about you - but he does understand where you’d get that impression. If you’ll let him prove it to you, he will - and he’ll start by only pestering you to let him buy one outfit for you on that shopping spree!

Beelzebub

Listen. Beel is a generous soul (for a demon) ((to those he really loves)). He just doesn’t ever really find himself in possession of anything worth sharing. Really, the only thing he is ever in the possession of is food. When he isn’t at his sports practice, working out or studying, he’s eating, and he’ll gladly share his food with you.

Oh? You don’t want it? He gives you a confused look - he’d ask if you were feeling well if he hadn’t eaten lunch with you just an hour before - but shrugs, his growling stomach winning over his concern. It’s not like you’re skipping meals, anyway. It isn’t until you get hurt helping him work out and refuse to let him pick you up to carry you to medical attention that he gets VERY concerned.

He feels awful enough as is. It was his fault you were even there - he just wanted to add more weight to his workout. (And, he won’t admit it, the idea of using a bench you were sitting on to lift over his head may have been a bit overkill. But he saw that little spark that said ‘that isn’t possible but man i wish it was’ when you saw it happen in that show and mmmmmmaybe he wanted to impress you. How was he supposed to know Mammon had broken it and left it there?) He could practically feel the pain in your ankle from the sound it made, and you were clutching desperately to your shin, wanting to press on the wound but knowing it was a bad idea. MC, there’s no way you can walk on that, why aren’t you letting him help?

The guilty puppy face he’s giving you is making the whole situation worse. It’s taking everything you can not to snap on, from the overwhelming pain in your ankle to the negative thoughts racing in your head to the knowledge that you’ll have to give in eventually. Finally, you face him head on and decide to just rip the band-aid off. “I don’t have the best experience with letting people do things for me. If you’re expecting to use this against me, I’m going to be out of commission for a while, so remember that.”

He is. So confused. Are you really mad at him? What are you talking about? It’s not that he’s stupid - because really, he isn’t - this just kinda came at him from left field and he does not know what to do about.

“What? I’m worried about you, MC, and there’s no way you can walk on your ankle. Come on, please let me take you to get help. I won’t mention it ever again if that’s what will make you happy.”

So maybe it takes a while to get to the nearest infirmary, and maybe he’s going extra slow so as not to jostle our injury, and maybe in the meantime he’s being so contemplative and quiet that you have a heart-to-heart. Beel’s too genuine not to trust him when he swears he’d NEVER use your kindness against you, but he understands it’ll take a while to show you.

Belphegor

So. Um. This is awkward.

Belphie is a smartass, and he’s the youngest and used to getting his way. He’s definitely the type to dig his heels in and fight dirty in an argument, just because he’s used to winning. He’s also sadistic and has plotted with you to use his brothers’ weaknesses against them for fun. So he gets it. He totally gets why you would think he’d do it. Honestly, that’s basically what he did to free himself from the attic, only with more violence involved. He gets it.

Since Belphegor hasn’t exactly been the nicest to you in the past, he isn’t about to make you pity him with words like “yeah, of course you wouldn’t trust me after what I did to you…” First of all, on the off chance that it’s completely unrelated, he doesn’t want to put that idea in your head and give you a resentment you never had, but also he’s getting a hang of this redemption thing. Yes, on an average day he’s still a bratty, selfish little shit, but he does show you how sorry he is for using you and hurting you. It shows in the way he checks up on you in situations he knows you’re uncomfortable in, in the way he cares for you in that gentle way that’s so subtle you wonder if he’s even actively doing anything. (He is - offering you the best spot in a blanket nest, suggesting your favorite meals when the brother on dinner duty needs ideas, little things - and you both know it.) But how does he repent for something he doesn’t even know if he’s doing?

The way you stop cold when you peek in the kitchen and see him (and Beel) cooking the dinner you just complained about wanting hurts. The two of you have a stare-off for a moment, and Beel gets the message to slide out of the room. Belphegor clears his throat.

“What do you want?” You ask with narrowed eyes. Ouch, way to be a Lucifer. He instead says, “Nothing. I just wanted to do something nice for you.” “And you don’t want anything in return?” “Have I given off the impression that I would?”

You sigh and step into the kitchen to wash your hands, asking if he needs help since Beel left. He grabs your wrist. “You’re welcome to keep me company, but I want to do this for you.”

He doesn’t like you looking at him distrustfully, but is relieved you sit at the counter instead of leaving. He wants to ask you what’s up, but something is stopping him - he ignores that what’s stopping him is fear that you’ll have another thing to add onto the list of the unforgivable sins he’s committed. If you feel like telling him, he’ll listen - but until then, he’ll go back to quietly trying to prove his worth to you, hoping one day you’ll see that it’s genuine and let him give you all the good things you deserve.

[neonlights92]

RUN: Chapter VII (Epilogue.)

Jeon Jungkook hops from bed to bed, sleeping with as many beautiful, rich women as he can possibly find time for.  He’s young and attractive, with a silver tongue that gets him practically anything he wants.  So when his friend and boss, Kim Taehyung, tells him it’s time to settle down, Jungkook takes it pretty badly.  And when he finds out that the woman he’s destined to marry is, in fact, his little sister’s best friend, he is less than impressed.

You have spent your entire life trying to forget the way you feel about Jeon Jungkook.   So when you find out that Jungkook is to be your husband - and that he is anything but pleased about it - your world is thrown into chaos.  How can you survive a loveless marriage with the man you are hopelessly in love with?

Hey friends! Enjoy the epilogue <3  Namjoonie next..

You were pissed.

Jungkook had promised you he wouldn’t be late tonight.

It was your one year anniversary - one whole year of being married to the love of your life - and you were meant to be celebrating at a fancy restaurant with champagne and good food. 

You’d gotten all dressed up - squeezed yourself into some ridiculous contraption of a dress - just for him, and now it looked like you were going to miss your booking.

Eight o’clock passed…

Then eight-thirty…

Then nine…

By the time your husband finally decided to make an appearance it was more than an hour passed your reservation time.  You’d taken off your dress - kicked off your heels - and made a move on your makeup when the door to your bedroom clicked open.

“Hi Angel…” 

Jungkook’s sheepish tone greeted - and you chose not to answer - instead glaring at his reflection in your vanity mirror.

“I know, I know I’m late,” He’s pulled his tie and blazer off, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his forearms.  You chose not to comment on the suspiciously red coloured stains peppering his collar.

“Happy anniversary to us, I guess.”  Your own voice was sharp and angry - in the year you’d been married to Jungkook he had made you feel special and loved - but that didn’t mean he still didn’t fuck up.

“I’m sorry baby,”  He moved towards you quickly, and you stood turning to face him, “It was - y’know… God.  It’s Bangtan.” The desperation on his face pulled at your heart strings.

You knew your husband’s job was important - you knew that as a member of the Special Seven - as Bangtan’s shadow he had more responsibilities than he would probably ever tell you. 

And you knew that you wouldn’t be able to stay mad at him for long.

But still.  It was meant to be a special night for the two of you.  An acknowledgement of everything you’d been through together.

An acknowledgement of your love for one another.

You couldn’t help that you were disappointed.

“It’s alright,” You shrugged, “It’s part of the package, right?”

He sighed heavily and reached up to push some of your hair out of your face, “I hate disappointing you.”  His tone was tender and a little more of your anger fizzled out, “I love you so much Angel.  I always want to be with you - I always want to make you happy.  But I’m not always very good at it, huh?”

You chose not to say anything - slipping your bottom lip between your teeth and staring into the eyes of the man who had changed your life.

God.  Your heart swelled to nearly three times it’s size at the look on his face.

Such reverence and adoration - like you were a work of art.

He always made you feel special, like that.  

“I’m sorry baby,” His voice was sincere, “I really am.  I know tonight was meant to be special…. God.  What kind of husband leaves their wife waiting for them on their anniversary?” 

He laughed without humour, and you felt a stab of guilt.

“It’s okay Jungkook,” You licked your bottom lip and shrugged, “We’ll celebrate another time.”

He touched your face gently and frowned, “I know you’re disappointed… And you have every right to be, Y/N.  Tonight should’ve been about us.”

You sighed heavily, “What kept you out so late?”

His eyes darkened and you noticed for the first time how tired he seemed.  He’d been out all day - and if the blood on his shirt was any indicator it hadn’t been easy.

“Namjoon.”  He answered hoarsely, “He barely comes out on missions with us anymore.  Barely wants to be around any of us…” 

You felt a stab of guilt.

Since the night you’d been kidnapped almost four months ago, Kim Namjoon had turned into a shell of his former self.  You knew you couldn’t have done anything - you were just as much a victim of Sana’s brutality as he was - but you still felt awful.

“What happened?”

“We tried to help him… Lord knows we’re all emotionally constipated.  But Jimin thought it might be nice to take him out for lunch.  So we did.  And then…” Jungkook shook his head, “Namjoon cut himself with his steak knife.  He hasn’t gotten used to his prosthetics yet.” 

“The blood?” He clicked his tongue, “He was sitting beside me.”

You instantly felt terrible.  You moved to wrap your arms around your husband, pulling him down for a fierce kiss.

“I’m sorry baby,” You whispered against his mouth, “I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head and frowned, “No stop - don’t.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I can’t take you out for anniversary meals like normal couples.  I’m sorry I come home with blood on my shirt -” 

“It’s okay Jungkookie.”  You pressed a hand to his cheek and he smiled softly at the nickname he’d begrudgingly accepted, “I know who you are - I know the world we live in.  I accept it.  I accept you.  Is it annoying? Of course.  But I won’t give up on us.  Ever.”

He leaned into your touch and kissed your palm, “I love you baby.”

“Me too.”

“Next time though, text me alright?” You pulled a face, “I wouldn’t have bothered getting dressed up.”

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I will Angel.”

He spent the rest of the evening showing you just how sorry he was, and how much he absolutely adored you.

Needless to say, it wasn’t the worst way to spend an anniversary.

//

“I have something to tell you.”  Nayeon had shown up not five minutes ago, with a promise that you had to sit down and listen to her.

You’d obliged of course - she was your best friend after all.

But her confession had knocked the air out of you.

“I’m getting married.”

She was grinning from ear to ear.  You almost dropped the cup of tea you were drinking.

“What?”

“I’m getting married.”  She didn’t seem upset, “That’s why I came round.”

“To who?”

Her smile widened, “Song Mino.”

“Oh!” You mirrored her expression, “Song Mino.  He’s… Nice.”

“And hot.”  

Your face flushed and you nudged Nayeon playfully, “Stop it.”

“I’m happy.”  She told you honestly, “I might not know him very well but he seems like a decent guy.  And like I said… Hot.” You laughed this time at your friend’s unabashed appreciation of her husband-to-be and clicked your tongue, “Well if you’re happy sweetie, then so am I.”

“My dad told me last night.  Mino’s father approves - so does Taehyung….”  Her eyes flitted to yours guiltily and immediately you realised what this was.

A setup.

“You want me to tell Jungkook.”

Her lips stretched into a thin line.  She grimaced.

“Yes.” 

“Why can’t you tell him?”

She frowned deeply, “Because Jungkook’s hated Song Mino ever since they were kids and he stole Jungkook’s first girlfriend.”

“Your brother is not that petty.”

“Yes he is.”  She raised a brow and scoffed, “Don’t tell me you don’t know that about him.”

You bit back a laugh at the thought of Jungkook holding a grudge for as long as he apparently had with Mino.  Then you frowned.  Tonight was meant to be a different kind of surprise for your husband.

“I also had some big news for Jungkook tonight.  I was going to wait to tell you but since you’re already here….”

For a brief moment Nayeon seemed confused by what you’d said before her eyes widened and she shot out of her seat.  She moved towards you like you were a glass of water and she hadn’t drunk in a week.

“Oh my god.  Oh my god.”  She pulled you in for a hug, “You’re pregnant aren’t you?  Oh my God! How far along?”

You laughed at your friend, “I only found out this morning.  We’ve been trying for a couple of months… But I’ve only missed one period.” 

Nayeon’s eyes were sparkling with tears and you were sure your own weren’t too far off, “Oh my god!  Don’t worry about telling him about the wedding.  I’ll do that sweetie.  You just worry about telling my brother he’s going to be a dad!” 

A loud thud caught both your attention and you turned sharply to find the brother in question - your husband - staring at you both in shock.

“Wait… What?”

Jungkook’s eyes flitted between yours and his sister’s.  He blinked slowly, as if slotting everything into place.

Nayeon pulled away from you quickly and shot you an apologetic look.

“Surprise?”  She said to her brother with a weak smile before grabbing her things and making a nervous beeline for the exit. 

Nayeon mouthed “I’m sorry” to you as she disappeared and you had to stop yourself from laughing at the entire situation.  Of course it would all happen like this.

“Was she… Was that…”

You stood quickly and moved towards your husband, cupping his face in your hands softly.  Your eyes roved his his features carefully, looking for any sign of apprehension.  But all you saw was surprise… And joy.

“I’m going to be a dad?” He whispered, eyes wide, “For real?”

“For real.”  You smiled up at him and pressed a kiss to his lips, “You’re going to be the best dad.”

He broke out into a wide grin and bundled you up in a hug, raining  his own kisses down across your face.

“Oh my god Angel.  We’re going to be parents.  Oh my God!” 

You giggled at his reaction and squealed when he lifted you off your feet.

“Pregnant wife.”  You warned him, and he put you down quickly, patting your head and shoulders to check for signs of injury.

“Oh my god.  Pregnant wife,” His smile was dazzling, “I love you so much Angel.”

“I love you too Jungkookie.”

You had spent so long running from your feelings for Jungkook.  And he’d done the same.

Thank God you finally decided to stop and rest.

Things would never be perfect - but you were happy.  And so was he. 

And that was all that really mattered to you.

//

[funkwhistle]

I wonder if you would be able to do a Sadie Adler x FemReader (fluff and smut) in which the reader saves Mrs. Adler from a job go wrong and gets hurt in the process doing so PLEASEEEEE THANK UUUU

Pairing: Sadie Adler x GN!Reader (I think?)

Warnings: None, it's just fluff

Notes: I might do a smutty pt2 - this has been sat in my drafts ever since the request came in, and I ain't wild on it personally (it ain't my best! :D), but why knows I might make a lovely smutty part 2

The pounding of hooves was the only thing you could hear at the moment, your eyes drifting shut as the four of you rode back to camp. Sadie had her arm around you, holding you on her horse, galloping as fast as Bob could go. Behind you, Lenny and Hosea rode, with equal urgency as Arthur, who was riding alongside Sadie, trying to get you back to camp as fast as possible.

The four of them had been down to Shady Belle, planning to steal some elusive jewels, which had been stolen from a passing boat the other week. The plan was meticulously organized, Sadie was to sneak in during nightfall, with Hosea distracting the guards while Lenny and Arthur would sneak into the building. Sadie would be the escape team, transporting the goods from the area without being spotted. You'd run it through with them all at camp, rehearsing it until Hosea could recite his lines in his sleep and Lenny couldn't be heard by anyone around camp.

It was a foolproof plan, if the guards didn't take the carefully fed bait, they'd leave, planning on slipping some unnamed plant Dutch had provided them with into their drinks. The plant promised drowsiness, giving them enough time to enter, steal the gems, and leave without raising the alarm. You were part of an emergency back up team; waiting with Micah and John in the trees nearby, in case things got nasty. What you did not count on, however, was for the guards to get bored by Hosea's fanciful story, shooting wildly at the man of when he took a breath.

Lenny and Arthur still managed to get their hands on a few, but without the others they were less valuable than the entire collection. Hosea was desperately shooting back at them alongside you three, but they outnumbered the two of you at least ten to one, and you were fighting a losing battle. Sadie had gone around with Arthur and Lenny to try to gain a little more money, but they weren't having much luck, judged by the panicked shouting.

Once the other three joined you, the six of you attempted to retreat, whistling for your steeds and backing away along the wide path to the house. Just as your horses reached you, you let your guard down for a moment, allowing a bullet to lodge itself in your midriff. A cry of pain from you alerted Sadie, who, without any hesitation, pulled you onto her horse, knowing you couldn't wait any longer here.

Now you were a little outside your camp, if you strained to open your eyes, you could see the haze of smoke from one of the fires. One of Sadie's hands was pressing on the wound, desperately trying to stopper the blood spreading over your shirt. You couldn't feel any pain from the wound now, feeling so numb with the continual pain that your body had almost become accustomed to it. A quick glance down showed the damage; the deep wine colour spreading over your shirt, Sadie's hand dripping with your blood.

“Hold on for me, come on now,” Sadie shook you awake a little as her horse slowed for you to get off. Hosea was calling Miss Grimshaw over, and someone else helped Sadie lift you off her horse, you had tried to help, but from the waist down you felt as weak as a rag doll, nothing moved when you told it to. People were rushing around you in a blur of colour, you were being taken somewhere, to what looked like Arthur's tent, you couldn't tell from your bleary vision. The last thing you noticed was Miss Grimshaw rushing to sit beside you, pulling your shirt up to see the extent of your injury.

But by the time you opened your eyes again it was dark again, and the camp was more subdued than usual. Carefully, you moved your hand over your wound, finding damp bandages covering it, and yet you felt worse than when you'd first entered camp, the feeling of dizziness was back tenfold, and you felt as though going back to sleep was the best option. However, you ignored this thought, looking around the Arthur's tent to spot Dutch, sat on the crate beside the bed, asleep with his head in his hands.

“Dutch-” you managed to whisper, even this small action exhausted you. He jolted awake, and his face broke into a relived smile as he looked down on you. For someone who never seemed to care about what you were doing, this change in demeanour was strange, even for someone as unpredictable as Dutch.

“You're awake,” he looked almost surprised, moving closer to you, “Mrs Adler has only just left since you arrived,” he laughed a little, but soon an awkward silence fell between the both of you as he looked at your wound. The tension was broken by Sadie, as soon as her eyes fell on yours she rushed into the tent, past Dutch, to drop beside the bed.

“Thank heavens,” she muttered, taking one of your hands in hers and rubbing circles, “I promise I ain't left apart from just then,” she said a little sheepishly, glancing at Dutch behind her. He grimaced a little before walking out, making sure to drop the canvas flap down, so you had a little privacy.

In the dimly lit tent, you could still make out the dark circles under Sadie's eyes, and the exhaustion which etched itself into the lines on her face. You had no idea how long you'd been out for, but you were too exhausted to move properly at the moment — you hadn't even tried to move anything aside from your head yet, unsure if you could.

“How're you feelin'?” she asked, grabbing your hand and rubbing small, comforting circles on your palm. Unsure if you could trust your voice not to betray your pain, you shrugged a little. The pain in your chest had subsided, although an uncomfortable stinging was webbing across where the wound lay. Sadie caught you looking at where the bullet had entered, squeezing your hand gently to guide your eyes back to hers.

“Remember what I told ya? 'Bout Jake? And tha' bullet he had in his leg, with some rest he was as right as rain, I know you don-” it was your turn to squeeze her hand, stopping her trail of concern.

“I'll be fine Sadie, stop worryin',” you croakily replied, your eyes fluttering shut, exhausted already.

“You're always alright, ain't ya?” you could hear her say, as she placed a gentle kiss on your forehead before you fell asleep.

[calaofnoldor]

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290​‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass​​ (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural​‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant​‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo​ and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes​ Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.  

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.  

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

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