#Sheltered reader

[drgnflyteabox]

Imagine you're a sheltered woman from New York in the 1850s. By the time you're a young lady both your parents are dead, so you have no choice but to leave your cushy little family home, get on a train and meet your only living relative. You're kind of useless, bookish and naive. You've never experienced anything but comfort. Your uncle tells you he doesn't want you around, but as a woman you can't do much on your own, and what could you do? You're as helpless as a lamb.

Your uncle betroths you to a man in Oregon, and ships you off to travel the oregon trail with all your treasure (jewelry, bonds, antiques, etc). The only thing is that he can't just send you on your own- you've only been in the real world the past few days to travel to him!!! You've been an anxious little hermit, and who's gonna carry your trunk full of romance books?

Your uncle hires security company 141 to escort you through the grueling journey, and you're none the wiser that company 141 doesn't exist, but outlaw gang Ghost team does...

Anyways I neeeeeeed more western and cowboy 141 and I've been playing rdr2 lately soo

This could work for any of the boys :')

Gaz who's just like your fairytale men. Kind, considerate, kisses your hand. He gives you a little extra bacon in the morning when you whine and picks wildflowers for you when he sees a pretty one (like you). You're defenseless against his charms.

Price who's...... the embodiment of your daddy issues. Spoiler? But you grew up so sheltered because your dad believed your family was cursed, and made you scared to be in the world. Price is so big and solid and comforting, older and bearlike... you definitely could call him daddy :')

Johnny who's got you flustered and blushing the entire way, even when you're miserable, when you're beyond travel weary. He's carefree about touch and space, and for someone who grew up locked in a single space for so long, you're like putty at the simplest touches from him

Simon's a wildcard. He wears a bandana, which makes everyone but the company nervous, and he's always riding off. You rarely see him, but you're mesmerized by his pale eyes and pale lashes, his scars and his story. He kind of hates you for how you don't seem to know like... anything. He let's the others care for you, counting the days until they can meet up with Kate and abandon you for dead with all your ma and pas jewelry and valuables and onto the next robbery... unless (0)o(0)

Also the guy you're meant to marry is graves LOL. Your family is deep in the railway industry and filthy rich and graves is buying up land and planting vineyards. Hes getting rich off of wine :') that's the story in my head

Plsss forgive me if this has already been written!!! I had a dream about it and I couldn't remember if it was something I'd read, or something I thought up. I looked around tumblr and ao3 for anything but couldn't find anything. Pleaseeeeee contact me if its your idea, I'm terrified of accidentally plagiarizing lol

[forrestfanfics]

So This is Love || Civil War 13: “Self-Cooking Hot Dogs”

“So This is Love” Masterlist

Previous Chapter  ||   Next Chapter (Coming Soon)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Captain America: Civil War

"To generate, disseminate and preserve knowledge. And work with others to bring it to bear on the world's great challenges..."

The sparkle in my eyes couldn't be more apparent as I recited the statement alongside the mass group of students and professors in the auditorium.

I stood backstage, watching through the small gap in the curtains, as I wasn't allowed to show my face to anyone besides the select staff members.

"Well, you are the others. And quiet as it's kept, the challenges facing you are the greatest man kind had ever known." My dad was standing dead centre of the stage, giving his speech, where each word was provided by a teleprompter only visible to himself.

MIT... My dream.

I would've been in my third year there if I hadn't struggled so hard with Aeronautics.

But I'd be starting my first year in September and with the exhausting amount of preparation my dad put me through the past year, I passed the test with flying colours...

"Plus, most of you are broke."

Laughter came from the crowd.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Rather, you were."

Okay, well. Exhausting preparation and a comically large hypothetical check.

"As of this moment... Every student has been made an equal recipient of the inaugural September Foundation Grant. As in..." Pause for dramatic effect...

"All of your projects have just been approved and funded."

A round of applause from the students.

"Absurd."

I turned to the man who spoke next to me. A tall, skinny man in a black turtleneck with the ugliest, nastiest look on his face directed at the back of my father's head.

"Dude, you're kinda ruining my vibe here-"

"This was mine. All my hard work. And he makes a fool out of me. How can he stand there without a care in the world like he hadn't just taken credit for and mocked my life's work in front of all these people? BARF? Look at him! A pathetic man like him shouldn't take geniuses like me for granted," he spat every word like it was poison.

"You work for my dad?" I asked monotonously.

The scowl on his face disappeared when he looked at me with a bit of shock. "You're Y/N Stark?" He asked so casually. As if he wasn't just insulting my father to my face. "My name is Quentin B-"

"Yeah... I'm sorry, I'm not supposed to talk to strangers. Especially those who talk shit about my dad and his work," I waved my hands up in defence, turning to walk away when his hand got hold of my forearm. My head snapped back at him, chills running up my spine as the hairs on my arm stood up from the strange fear I suddenly felt around this man.

"You think you can help me out?" He asked like he wasn't just insulting my father a second ago.

"What?" I scrunched my nose, attempting to pull my arm away, but his grip was iron and my wrist was starting to ache.

"Put in a good word? Convince him my project is worth the care? Convince him to reimagine its purpose in the way I intended it! And for God's sake, give me the credit I deserve!"

"Please, let go of me," I said, trying to sound calm when in reality everything about this screamed danger.

"He'll listen to you. You're his little girl. He'll do it."

"Please stop!" I finally managed to claw his hand off of my arm and shove him back. "Don't ever come near me again," I warned with a shaky voice.

Before he could call out to me, I booked it, rounding the back of the stage to the other end just in time to see my dad being bombarded by the Dean rambling.

I took a moment to hold my hand over my chest, breathing heavily and shakily as I gently rubbed the part of my wrist he held.

Whoever the hell that psycho was, I hoped what he said wasn't true.

From what I was aware, that project was meant to act as some kind of therapy for my dad.

The idea of him stealing some guy's idea and passing it off as his own made me sick to my stomach.

I thought back to when he was first showing it to me. It was his way of introducing me to my late grandparents.

"They would've loved you," I remember him saying.

Sick. Absolutely sick. I refused to believe it. Why should I? He could've been lying to get me to talk about him with Tony Stark. That guy probably didn't even work for him.

My intrusive, distressing thoughts came to an end when I heard the conversation between my dad and the Dean.

Well, the one-sided conversation the bald guy was having with Tony.

"Hear me out, I got this killer idea for a self-cooking hot dog-"

My dad's eyes landed on my approaching figure and got hold of me, only to push me between him and the blabbermouth.

I took the hint and pulled the Dean aside while my dad spoke to another staff member.

"We'll catch up later!" He said to Tony as I dragged him away.

"Hi, my name is Y/N Stark. Tony's daughter. It's very nice to meet you, sir. Say, what's this about a self-cooking hot dog? Maybe I could pitch it to the old man," I gave my best fake smile and the most chipper attitude I could muster as the guy in front of me beamed.

"Oh, why, it's very nice to meet you, Miss Stark. As you're aware, I'm the Dean around here. I actually have a lot of questions. Like, why were you hidden away for 15 years? Do you know what a pedicab is? Because let me tell you, I know a great guy who can hook you up, and maybe I could-"

"Get on with it," I shook my head when I realised my dad was already gone.

"Right. Hot dog. Basically a chemical detonator embedded-"

"Say, why don't you e-mail me, huh? Here's my card," I smiled even wider, plucking out the random business card I grabbed in the lobby and placing it face-down in the palm of his hand.

"Oh, wow! You just gave me your number. There are so many things I want to discuss with you and your dear old dad."

"Yeah, yeah. I gotta go," I jerked back, going to move when I noticed something and stopped myself. "You look very familiar." I pointed out.

"How so?" He asked, tilting his chin up to the side.

"Probably just look like some character... I watch way too much TV," I shrugged and left to go after my dad.

"Wait! Which chara- Miss Stark! Which character?!"

●    ◉    ◎    ◈    ◎    ◉    ●

"Dad!" He was standing in front of an elevator down the hall when I found him. There was a woman who eyed me before saying something to my father and walking away.

"Hey," I greeted as I approached. "Oh my God, who was that guy?" I chuckled. "I know you don't want me throwing around my name like that to just anyone, but I'm really reconsidering that self-cooking Hot dog idea. Sounds like a million dollar investment."

The smile on my face faded when I noticed the dread on my dad's face.

"What happened? Who was the lady?" I asked, glancing down the hall to where the lady disappeared.

He seemed to be deep in his thoughts. But his face only showed horror the longer he looked at me.

"What?" I asked before I was abruptly brought into an embrace.

"I love you," he whispered into the top of my head, planting a kiss in the same spot.

The sudden impetuous affection ceased my working mind, clearing my head of any thoughts as I tried to digest the action.

Whatever he was talking about with that lady made me wonder what exactly was going through his head at that moment.

I decided against trying to come up with an answer for receiving unprompted affection from my dad, and wrapped my arms around him.

"I love you too, Dad."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[bunnis-monsters]

Hybrid Shelter

Ch1

prologue

chapter 2

warning: milking the cow/bull hybrids, handjob, thigh fucking

summary: after becoming a full time worker at the hybrid shelter, you realize it’s not going to be as easy as you thought.

🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃

Working at the Hybrid Shelter full time was as hard as you thought it would be.

The younger hybrids started fixating on you lately. When you had only been working part time shifts, you only saw them in passing.

Now, every day you walked in, ready to wake them up and get them all fed.

“Mama!”

A puppy hybrid greeted you with a yip, their puppy teeth gnawing in your pants leg as you prepared a few bottles. “Mama, play?”

You gently pulled the puppy hybrid off of your leg, keeping him balanced on your hip. “Not right now, pup. You all have to have your bottle first.”

A few kitten hybrids toddled and crawled around nearby, while an infant mouse hybrid wailed from his crib.

The nursery was a fairly new addition to the hybrid shelter. In the past, only adults had been allowed to stay, meaning occasionally some men with children would be denied shelter.

Now they were both accepted. A few of the babies here belonged to men in the shelter, while others had no parents.

As you fed the infant mouse hybrid, a puppy hybrid knocked on the door. “Is my brother awake?”

Alex was 19, and had been separated from his parents a few years back. His brother was 3 years old, and stayed in the nursery while Alex tried to find work and a stable home for the both of them.

“Yeah, he’s right here.”

The puppy hybrid that had been gnawing on your pants before, Ollie, toddled to his big brother and decided to chew on him instead. “Hey, I told you not to do that…”

Though the older pup scolded the little one, there was no bite behind his words. He picked Ollie up and licked his head, giving him a quick bath. “You will be good for her today, alright? I’m mopping the halls today, so I’ll be close by if you need me.”

You buried the infant in your arms before giving him a diaper change and tucking him back into bed. Privacy was something a luxury when you lived in a shelter, so you tried to give the two some space.

“Okay, bubba. I won’t pee on the floor!”

A nurse took over the nursery once the shelter opened, and you left to begin your other daily chores.

“(NAME)!”

You were nearly tackled by the cat hybrid you had tamed a few weeks ago. “Hey, Midnight. How’s everything going?”

He purred and butted his head against your cheek affectionately, immediately beginning to groom and preen you. “It’s always scary when you’re not here. I don’t like the doctors or the other hybrids.”

That seemed to be relatively common with the abused hybrids. They didn’t like the situation they’d been forced into, having no home left to return to and being abandoned by abusers they still loved.

“You should try getting along with the others, okay? You know next week we’re introducing you to the group, your quarantine is almost over.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, too busy rubbing his scent on you. “Don’t wanna… can’t I just come home with you?”

As much as you wished he could, all employees were forbidden from adopting any hybrids from the shelter. If they wanted to, they’d have to quit.

“You know I can’t… at least not right now.”

You didn’t want to give him hope, but you also knew that the possibility that he could come home with you eventually was the only thing keeping him going.

After he ate his breakfast and you spent some time cleaning his space and making sure he had enough enrichment for the day, you left to continue your chores.

Your first stop was the domesticated hybrid building.

The more common type of hybrid to be abandoned were the domestic ones. Puppies, cats, bunnies, birds, goldfish, and hamsters.

“Have you guys had breakfast?”

Several heads turned to look at you once the door opened. “(Name)’s here!”

The hybrids gathered around you, all sniffing and licking your body and hair. You had grown used to this, and simply waited until they were satisfied before speaking. “I’m assuming you have, considering you all smell like bacon and eggs.”

“Mhm, it was good! Alex said you would be here soon!” one of the puppy hybrids said, his tail wagging furiously.

A goldfish hybrid swam in the pool area, poking his head out of the water. “(Name), you said you’d swim with me this week.”

“I will, Goldy, but it’s gonna be after I finish up with the wild building.”

The cat hybrids rubbed against you as a bunny hybrid relaxed in your lap. “The wild building? I can’t believe you’re still meeting with them every day.”

A week ago, you were tasked with helping to domesticate the wild animals in the shelter. That was no easy task, considering it consisted of big cats, wolves, and other dangerous hybrids that saw humans as a source of food.

“It’s not all that bad, I have a few allies there that keep me safe.”

The bunny hybrid, Momo, huffed and nibbled on your finger. “Wild hybrids will always be wild at the end of the day. Don’t be fooled, they’re only being nice to you so they can get what they want.”

“What do they want..?”

None of the hybrids seemed like they wanted to answer that particular question.

“Well… you all will be getting a new roommate this week. He’s had a tough time, so I hope you’ll remember that when I introduce you to him.”

They all glanced at one another. “We’ve all had a hard time, (Name). As long as he doesn’t attack us, we won’t do anything.”

If only you could promise such a thing. With Midnight, you weren’t so sure.

As you did some minor cleaning up around the building, you were approached by a hamster hybrid.

“Quinn? Something wrong?”

He looked down at his feet, his hands twisting and pulling at the hem of his shirt. “… it’s just…”

The man sighed, puffing out his chubby cheeks. “Isn’t it strange? Lately, you’ve been the only one visiting us every day.”

You blinked, pausing your work. “The only one..?”

“Mhm. Before, multiple female workers would come to check on us. Of course none of them were as personable as you. They came in, asked how we were doing and cleaned up, then left.”

That was rather confusing. You always remembered the entire place brimming with female employees. Though lately, it was rare to spot more than a handful in each building.

“I’m sure we must be short staffed at the moment. Are you looking for any employees in particular?”

He shook his head, looking up at you. “No, we don’t even know the names of the others.”

Quinn left after that, and you pushed that information aside for now. You’d ask your boss about it later, your work came first.

Though as you comforted a small parrot hybrid after a nightmare, you wondered if they had been receiving the same care from the other employees. You knew that there was only so much one person could do, and that everyone’s role to play was different…

But did they even ca-

You shook your head, carefully wiping away the hybrid’s tears before settling him down for a nap. You shouldn’t think about the shelter that way. When you started working there, you saw firsthand how draining it was to work with so many different hybrids.

Perhaps they were all taking a break, and a new rotation of employees would be coming in to fill in for them…

Once the parrot hybrid was asleep, you tiptoed out. The poor thing was nearly your age, but he still needed to be soothed to sleep. His beautiful feathers had been plucked out of stress, leaving bald patches that were covered up by a fluffy sweater.

You had a lot of things to do every day. Your job was to comfort, feed, play with, and socialize the hybrids and get them to the point they could either be adopted, get a job, or be reintroduced to the wild.

It was strange, though. Despite the fact the shelter encouraged each member to strive towards some sort of goal, none of the hybrids there had managed to achieve anything.

They stayed there, stagnant and bored out of their minds.

Perhaps they just needed a little push. That’s what your boss told you he needed you for. Most of the hybrid seemed to enjoy your presence and wanted to impress you!

As you moved towards the farm building, you wrote some notes next to each hybrid’s name.

“(Name), how’s it going?”

You jumped when you were embraced from behind, your cheeks turning red. “C-Cecil, you shouldn’t be outside of your building!”

The white tiger hybrid chuckled, purring as his large, rough tongue licked your hair. He always ended up giving you such a huge cowlick!

“Mmm, I just returned from the infirmary, actually.”

You immediately softened. Cecil had a number of health problems, stemming from the bad breeding conditions that white tiger hybrids were born from.

Although he looked like a beautiful white tiger hybrid with striking grey eyes, his vision was impaired and he suffered chronic aches and joint pain.

Cecil couldn’t live with the other wild hybrids due to his immune system deficiencies, so he stayed with hybrids like him with similar health problems.

“What did they say..?”

A purr left his throat. He knew bringing up his worsening health always meant a little extra time with you. “They think that the organ transplant is working well, and that I’ll be able to eat solid food again soon.”

“That’s great news!”

His cheeks warmed when you patted his head and gave his ears a scratch. “Go rest, okay? I’ll come check on you when I visit the sickbay.”

Cecil watched you go, clutching his chest. He hoped he’d live long enough to someday make you his.

Your next stop was the farm. Outside a few sheep and pig hybrids trotted about, gracing or lying atound in the sun. When they noticed you, they gathered at the fence.

“(Name), right now might not be the best time to… uh… go in there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

The group glanced at one another, and you joined them in the grass. A young lamb curled up in your lap, suckling on one of your fingers as he napped.

In hushed whispers, the sheep across from you began to speak. “Well, no one has been by the farm to milk the bull and cow hybrids. They’re… uh… a bit testy right now.”

You heard a few off handed comments and complaints from your coworkers that had to take care of the cow and bull hybrids, but you never had any problems with them!

“It’s my job to ensure every hybrid here is comfortable, safe, and healthy. If no one else is here to milk them, I’m sure I can handle it.”

Though the other hybrids looked nervous, they didn’t stop you.

Your phone struggled to load the protocol for milking the cow and bull hybrids as you walked in. The sound of frustrated and pained groans could be heard from the back.

“Hello?”

The sounds stopped, an eerie silence falling over the barn. The sudden creaking of the back door slowly opening made you jump.

Before you could call out again, you were pulled into the back.

“(Name)… please… you have to help us!”

You felt arms wrapping around your body… and several long, wet things rubbing against you…

“Beau?”

Beau, one of the new cow hybrids that arrived last month mooed nervously. His eyes were full of tears, and his tongue gave your cheek a lick.

“No one has been by to milk us… it’s been two days, the bulls are angry and pent up, and…”

As he sniffled, you reached out to pet his head. “Hey, it’s okay. I came to take care of that for you. I used to milk cows with my grandpa, he had a farm.”

Beau blushed, his tail swaying. “W-well… with male cow and bull hybrids… it’s uhm… a little different.”

He slowly pulled back, and you finally got to see what was rubbing against you.

His fat cock was poking out, his balls heavy and swollen from the days he hadn’t been milked. It was all coming together now…

It took you a moment to gather your thoughts. You were a professional, and these hybrids were in obvious pain! You needed to take care of them, no matter now embarrassing it may be!

The arousal growing between your legs was the wordy part. It was making you horny, seeing so many cow hybrids desperate for your touch.

“They usually have a machine for us to g-get off with…” Beau murmured, twiddling his thumbs. “Sometimes we can even use it ourselves if we think we need to… but it’s gone.”

Being understaffed was one thing, but the disappearance of machinery that bettered the hybrids’ lives was… concerning. Where had it gone?

You sighed softly, the information finally loading on your phone ten minutes too late. A bucket was placed on the ground, and you slowly reached out to grab hold of Beau’s cock.

His hips bucked as you stroked his shaft carefully, aiming the tip towards the bucket. A whine left his throat, and with a few strokes he came.

The semen smelled like milk, but had a thicker and creamier texture. Your eyes were focused on the tip of his cock, how it oozed and twitched with every touch.

God, you just wanted to take it into your mouth and-

“Ahh, that’s so much better…” Beau said, interrupting your dirty thoughts. You blinked and your cheeks heated up as you let go of his softening cock.

“I’m… glad I could help.”

After milking every cow hybrid, you moved to the bull hybrids’ quarters. There were only three of them, since taking any more on may result in territorial behavior.

The moment you walked in, your skirt was lifted up and a cock was slipped between your thighs.

“Heard our (Name) was coming to milk us ourselves…” Brody cooed, already beginning to fuck your thighs.

“We’re way too big to jerk off, missy. We’ll be using these.”

The three took turns fucking your thighs, their thick cocks occasionally brushing against your wet panties. This wasn’t the correct protocol, what if someone saw? Would you be fired!?

Did you even care when you were hoping they’d pull your panties to the side and fill you with their milk instead of that bucket?

The bulls weren’t easy on you, leaving your thighs a sticky mess before it was all said and done with. You were almost disappointed they didn’t just go ahead and fuck you…

You left the barn, face burning with shame and arousal as you ran towards the staff building.

After a shower, you’d have to continue on with your duties…

If only you knew how your day would progress from there… you may have just gone home.

———————

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[promiscuousg1rl]

INTRODUCING SHELTERED!READER

SHELTERED!READER who is the daughter of an overprotective father. she's not allowed to go to many parties, she has a 8 o'clock curfew, and must be in the house not a second later.

SHELTERED!READER who always has her nose in a book whenever you see her. she practically lives in the library and you rarely see her anywhere else on campus.

SHELTERED!READER who gets noticed by popular quarterback rafe cameron when she is out having a bite to eat at the local diner in town. she's sitting alone at a booth with a milkshake and french-fries sitting in front her; and like always, she's reading.

SHELTERED!READER who gets approached by rafe and doesn't know what to do. she's never been approached by a guy before, especially someone of rafe's....status.

SHELTERED!READER who can't stop talking once rafe asks her about the book she's reading. she takes his curiosity as a green light to tell him any & everything; from the plot, to the characters, and even facts about the author.

SHELTERED!READER who became surprisingly comfortable with talking to rafe until she noticed his friends giggling and whispering from their table. she's naive but not that naive, so she shuts the conversation down there and leaves rafe wondering what changed in a matter of minutes.

SHELTERED!READER who tries her best to her avoid rafe after this but he does NOT let her. he starts going out of his way to talk to her at school and when she gets fed up and asks him why, he tells her its because they're "friends now".

SHELTERED!READER who is now known as "bambi" at school because rafe decided that it was her new nickname and never hesitates to shout it whenever he sees her in the hallways or literally anywhere else on campus.

[matchpointfaist]

sheltered art! x flirty reader pt iv

pretty piece of flesh ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

halloween .

not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, art found himself wandering the rooms of a packed frat house, trying his best to steer clear of temptation. ever since he'd had that little taste of you, all the things he once saw as sins, were now just forbidden fruit; temptations dangled before him, calling to him, pulling him in deeper until eventually he'd betray everything he'd been taught, the very things he stood for and used to believe in.

it was halloween night, and he was dressed in chain link with a cheap prop sword dangling on his hip, as he and the tennis team had gone as king arthur and the knights. he found himself looking for you, in that small, subconscious way he'd grown all too comfortable with. sweeping the room for any trace of your hair, or your dark lipstick, or straining his ears for the slightest sound of your laugh.

you hadn't sought him out after that night. he told himself it was a good thing, that this thing between you could only end badly, but he knew it was all a lie. he checked his phone obsessively, eager for just a text from you, a confirmation that he didn't humiliate himself and run you off forever. in the back of his mind, he couldn't shake the thought that he should have known this would happen. you were too good to be true.

in the midst of his self pity, he glanced up as someone said your name, and there you were. like something from heaven, or hell, or wherever the fuck you had to have come from. gone was the dark eyeliner and lipstick, the sultry look you always seemed to have. you were all clean, light colors, innocent little look in your eye. a pretty white dress, fluffy angel wings, and a shimmery halo on your head.

it felt like you were torturing him, mocking his faith, or the faith he'd lost the moment you sank to your knees in front of him. the way you'd said god's name even as his come shined on your lips; he was weak in the knees, in the middle of all his friends, watching you walk over, the memories on a reel in his mind.

"art," you smiled, so sweet, so cloying, "i didn't know you'd be here. cool costume," he tried to remember how to speak normally, how not to give himself away for how depraved he was feeling, "uh, yeah- i got invited. you look beautiful, i mean, i love your costume,"

you laughed, and jesus, your hand was on his arm again. "i thought maybe you'd appreciate it," you smiled, blinking up at him with wide, faux doe eyes, "you think god would mind you being with an angel, art?"

he didn't give a fuck what god minded. he didn't care about anything other than your hand on his arm and the look in your eye and the cross necklace he now recognized as the one he suspiciously couldn't find after your last meeting, now dangled around your neck. he threw faith out the window just as he had the second you entered his bedroom, taking your hand in his and pulling you to a more secluded part of the house, even with his head screaming at him that he was taking this too far.

"you didn't call," he said quietly, "i thought you didn't want to see me, and now you're here and that's my necklace, and what are you doing dressed up like an angel anyway?" he could hear how ridiculous he sounded, like he had any right to demand you call him, like he knew what he was doing when it came to you at all.

"there ya go," you sounded pleased, a small smile on your lips, "knew you'd come out of that shell eventually. you missed me, isn't that right?" and then you were on your tip toes, leaning up to kiss him, so sweet and so dangerous.

he pulled you against him, practically clinging to you, his hands resting under your angel wings and his mouth hungry against yours. "missed you too," you mumbled between kisses, all sloppy and desperate and wrong just right.

he couldn't think, couldn't focus on anything other than this, than your hands wandering over his costume and the way you bit as his bottom lip just enough to make him crazy. and then you were pulling him into one of the bedrooms, and he couldn't say no, couldn't even think that he'd ever wanted anything but this.

he pulled you to the bed, pulling you into his lap, panting against your lips and letting his hands wander wherever he felt like it. he was so tired of being good, of doing the right thing, and you felt so fucking good against him. and god, the sounds you made, the little whimpers between kisses and the way you mumbled his name as you kissed down his neck, biting his collarbone, sucking a bruise into the delicate skin behind his ear.

"want you," he whined as you nipped at the skin, his hips bucking beneath you, "god, please, i'll be so good," you giggled against him, kissing back up to his mouth, "know you'd be good," you sounded almost like you were teasing him, "not gonna take your virginity in a frat guys bedroom, art,"

but then your hands were wandering even lower, pulling down his pants, and he prayed that you didn't mean it, that you'd let him fuck you and finally end this horrible yearning. instead, you left him in his boxers and settled back in his lap, kissing him with a feverish need.

you ground your hips against him, and he could feel the wetness seeping through the cotton of the layers between you, a low groan rumbling in his throat. "how bad do you want it?' you whispered as you trailed your kisses low once again, "tell me, wanna hear you say it," he dug his fingers into your hips, trying to keep some form of composure, "want it so bad, please, just want something-"

you reached down, sliding down his boxers just enough for his cock to slap against his abs, smiling as he sucked in a breath at the feeling. then you settled back into his lap, gently taking him into your hand, and he nearly fainted when you slid him inside your soaked panties, grinding against him.

he gasped, his eyes closing, his teeth digging into his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. "oh my god, you're so wet," he groaned, pulling you back and forth against him with shaking hands, "feels so good, i'm-"

"all for you," you grabbed his jaw, pulling him in almost close enough to kiss you, "know you're close, just go ahead," you said it so sweetly, like you really didn't mind, and he felt so bad but you felt so good, he was pulling away in an instant, spilling cum all over your thighs, panting and whining and rutting against your skin.

he rested his head against your chest as he caught his breath, apologizing for making a mess of you, but you waved it off, running your fingers through his hair in a way that almost made him feel like this really meant something to you.

"you didn't finish," he mumbled into your skin, pressing a soft kiss against your chest, "let me- can you show me? wanna make you feel good, too," you shifted off his lap in response, taking one of his hands in yours, "so sweet," you hummed, "come here,"

and then your legs were spread, and your panties were pulled to the side, and he could've died right there and gone straight to heaven. "so beautiful," he hated how in awe he sounded, but he truly was. you felt like a gift from god, a reward for how good he'd been for so long.

you motioned for him to come closer, and he was so close he was nearly whining again, need thrumming in his veins. "tell me what to do," he practically begged, looking up at you through thick lashes, "wanna be good,"

you might've been dressed like an angel, but you felt like some sort of demon, some siren, as art donaldson sat between your thighs, following all your instructions so eagerly, lapping at your cunt like he'd done it a million times before. you knew he'd be good, so eager to please, so sweet and patient. he was so good, such a good man, perfect for you to teach and grow with.

you didn't care about any of that as your hands were fisted in his hair, rocking against his face as he sucked at your clit, little whines leaving his mouth and vibrating against you. he was rutting against the mattress, desperate like he was the one getting head, and that made it so much better.

"gonna- fuck, art, gonna come for you," you moaned, your grip on his hair growing tighter as that only encouraged him more. he was chasing it, hungry for it, so desperate to be good to you. you came with a sharp gasp, your eyes rolling back as he worked the orgasm out of you, so thorough and devoted.

when you were finished, he crawled up to kiss you, his lips wet and shining in the dim bedroom light. "was that- did i do good?" he asked timidly, and you nodded, pulling him down to wrap your arms around his shoulders. "so good," you mumbled, tracing your fingertips down his back, "you're perfect,"

you let yourself fall asleep despite it not even being your house, despite you telling yourself that this was a mistake, sleeping tangled up with art like this.

you'd never slept better.

[totallynotashieldagent]

bucky would be the WORST case of down bad in the history of down bads.

you could be dating him, married to him, be his and he'd still be such a puppy for you.

at your beck and call always. even if you just were going to the kitchen for a glass of water, he'd jump out before you with a let me get it and

he'd swoon every time you actually asked him for something. goddamn it, his account's been collecting interest for years and he's gotta spend it somewhere, right? why NOT you???

you're his girl, afterall. he'd spend his days off just watching you read because he can.

oh he'd be so wrapped around your finger - cooking meals, learning you favourites, helping out, sometimes physically making you sit out chores so he can do it for you

all with the whole i'm a super soldier, doll, i can do more than you and you'd have no argument against it.

you could belong to him in every which way possible and he'd still be working his ass off to make sure he deserved it.

[hatsbuckets]

[i do not need a fwb situation, i tell myself repeatedly. (i'm in college it'd be way too easy lmao)]

Head Canons (some suggestive stuff in this but not much)

Thinking about John Mactavish volunteering at animal shelters whenever he can. It ends up being like a few spattering of days every month, but he'll spend all day there. He loves being around the animals. And he loves getting to be useful and help wherever he can.

You, a longtime volunteer, there nearly every day, love having the enthusiastic, charming... strong... muscular... funny... extra help too. You were the one who showed John around on his first day, a volunteer event day that he happened upon. A few dozen people showed up, and this mohawked, military man was among them.

He was one of the few who came back to the shelter after the event, and on some random day every week, he's there to lend a hand, listening intently to whatever instructions you give him (he's very motivated to listen to you and help the animals out) and even after a couple weeks of absence, he comes back again, apologizing that work took him away so suddenly.

And after a few months... this silly, mohawked, (might I add effortlessly charming, handsome, pretty?) military man's scattering of volunteer days has become a welcome surprise every time. He's always so sweet when he talks to you, throwing a friendly, "good mornin', love. Survive without me?" Carrying on easy conversation throughout the day, and occasionally something that feels like flirting, but you don't read too much into it.

He's a blessing to have. Dogs need a run? He's the first to grab their leashes. Cats' litter boxes need cleaning? He's there with a scoop in hand. The small collection of rodents' pens need a new layer of bedding? He's already headed to storage.

He comes back drenched in sweat from runs, his tank plastered to his chest. Sweaty thighs peeking out from below his shorts as he squats down to pet the happy, panting dogs. And you pass him a towel, and his smile just beams up at you. God he's adorable and hot all at once.

His arms flex against his shirt sleeves when he hefts the heavy bags of food up onto his shoulder and god if only he'd do that that you.

His hands are so gentle with the tiny new litter of cats that just came in, helping you clean them off and place them safely into the crate with their mum. need I say more

You learn more about each other. Where he's from, what he does for work, and of course you'd pinned military, but he doesn't quite go into the work that he does. He talks about the men he works with, and you start to recognize names like Price, Gaz, and Ghost. He even shows you pictures of the first two. Not the latter though.

And then another few weeks he's not there... You're starting to miss the loud Scottish voice that normally fills the space as you hose down the concrete patio in the back the shelter. Your thoughts drift to how last time you did this with him he had sprayed you very intentionally with the hose. And you nearly tackled him to wrap your soaking body around him. His hand discarding the hose and wrapping under your legs as he hoists you happily up into his arms and oh you were so close, laughing, smiling, teasing about getting soaked. You were definitely blushing as much as he was.

a couple of days later, just like he'd never left, he's back, helping you organize the larger storage closet. Sharing jokes and teasing. Until you have to reach across him and his face is so close to yours and he completes the distance, catching you oh so off guard but you melt into that kiss. and he presses and prods until your job to reorganize is interrupted by the sudden to fuck each other into the next dimension.

and then a few days later it's the same... You had simply gone to grab a new leash from the closet... he had come for a bag of dog food... or that's what he'd told you at least...

And then your bodies are close, his hand at the back of your neck, your hand travelling down and down, his mouth on yours, hot, needy, quick, and amazing. You're both happy to do it. And it seems you both don't think much of it.

This becomes a routine, in his oh too few volunteer days each month, you make a habit of occupying small, mostly private spaces of the shelter, the small break room, the storage closet, his car, your car. It's only been two or three months, and it's not like it's a big shelter, not that many employees, but damn if it doesn't excite you all the same.

And then after one of these sessions, as you're slipping you shirt on in the back of your car, he pecks a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth. "I'll be gone a few weeks this time, bonnie. Jus' though' I might warn ya." (his accent gets thicker when it's laced with lust, you've come to notice.)

And he is, gone a while, that is. And during this time one of your old flings comes to town... some business trip... and God is this one always a good time, so charming and kind, buys you chocolates and all, a good person truly, just not one to settle down. That's fine by you. So, you let them take you home, let them in your bed, and have a good time. And then they head back to whatever the hell fancy job they have in whatever town they live in now.

It's longer than you expect before John comes back. And when he does, he greets you with that charming smile and you put him to work almost immediately, and he's happy to get to cleaning the dog kennels with you. You get to talking, he asks how your past few weeks have been. And John is so easy to talk to. And you mention your old friend you visited, how they visited your home, even bought you chocolates, the goof. But John gets quiet at this... you don't mention it, not yet...

And then of course, he walks you out to your car that afternoon and of course you end up in the back of it (I should mention here that you do not own a small car, after being the animal lover you are, you need the space to load crates in the back seat) and something about how John takes you this time is needy, needier, possesive in the way he nips at your skin and presses against you.

And at the end of it, he leaves with the same gentle peck at the corner of your mouth, but this time there's no quip, no tease, just a "drive safe" and a gentle smile...

A few days later this man returns to the shelter and before he even asks what needs to get done, he's offering up a small box of chocolates with a bashful little smile.

You thank him and accept the chocolates. and then it's back to work. That evening though, after a particularly long day after getting three new dogs and a new cat, when John walks you to your car, you ask if he wants to go home with you. You'd thought about it all day... somewhere between cleaning and intaking the new animals, mustering up the courage to ask. He accepts with that same enthusiasm that the dogs have when someone walks in with their leashes.

You wake up tangled in him, his arm slung heavy over your waist, his chest warm against your back, one leg thrown over yours like he’s actively trying to wrestle you into the mattress in his sleep. And this man sleeps light, military training and all, but the second you start shifting to sneak out of bed, his grip tightens. "Where ya goin’, love?" all rough morning voice and sleep-heavy slur, nose nudging against your shoulder like he could just sink right back into you and stay there. (You do not go anywhere.)

And things stay the same, mostly. He still only comes around every few weeks, still volunteers, still fills the shelter with that chaotic, obnoxious, charming energy. Still gets drenched in sweat from running the dogs, still lifts those massive bags of food onto his shoulders like he’s personally showing off for you (and he is), still sneaks off into the storage closet with you when no one’s looking, grinning against your mouth before pressing you up against the nearest shelf.

But then, one evening, right as you're closing up the shelter, he lingers by the front desk. Hands shoved deep in his pockets. That telltale shift of weight from foot to foot like he's got something rattling around in his skull, something he's been turning over for a while now.

"Was thinkin'..." He exhales sharply, rubs a hand over the back of his neck, looking down at his boots like they’ve got the answers. "I've gotta go again, but maybe next time I’m back, we go out somewhere. A proper date, aye?"

And fuck. That shouldn’t make your stomach flip. But it does. You should say yes. You want to say yes. But you don't.

Because life is a cruel and petty little bastard, your old fling had waltzed back into town. Just for you. A familiar, easy thing. The kind of person you don’t have to think about too much. And for some reason, you say yes when they ask you to dinner. Maybe because you don’t want to wait for something uncertain. Maybe because John is John—flirty, gorgeous, disgustingly good at making you weak in the knees, but never around long enough for you to be sure. (And John doesn't show it, not outwardly, but it breaks his heart.)

And then John comes back. Finally. And he’s not alone. There is a mountain standing next to him. Big. Broad. Dressed head to toe in dark clothes and hoodie like he’s ready for spying, the lower half of his face covered by a black medical mask. He looks like he could crush a man with one hand and still have fingers left to spare. And his eyes, dark, cold, sharp as a fucking blade, land on you like he’s personally offended by your existence. Oh. Oh, this must be Ghost.

John, completely unfazed, grins. “Ghost wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” Ghost says nothing. Just stares. (You have never felt more judged in your life. The fuck did you do to make this walking fortress glare at you like that? You know he doesn’t know. There’s no way he knows. Right?)

And things go back to normal, kind of. John keeps showing up, keeps doing his usual thing. But there’s something off this time. A shift in the way he looks at you, something quietly considering behind his eyes. It all comes to a head one evening when you’re closing up together, standing in the back room trying to fix a shelving issue. He’s quiet. You’re quiet.

And then, you break first. Spill it out like you didn’t mean to—how your old fling wasn’t what you thought, how you shouldn’t have agreed in the first place, how you let yourself get caught up in something easy instead of something real. And John? He leans back against the counter, arms crossed, listening, nodding along like he’s already pieced this all together. Until you mutter, "And I don’t even fucking like chocolate."

And that is what makes him pause. And his brows pull together. Just a little. And then, in the softest, most John way possible—"...Oh."

And the next time he walks into the shelter, it’s not with chocolates.

It’s with a small paper bag. He hands it to you with a little smirk, and inside.

Fresh strawberries. From the farmer’s stand down the road. You’d only mentioned them once. Some passing comment made one day while you were both cleaning up in the yard outside. And John had remembered. And with a charming little smile, he takes your hand. "Let me take ya out properly." And you blink up at him, caught off guard by how easy, how simple he makes it sound. "I—yeah."

And yes, you go on that date. And yes, you end up back at your place. And yes, you have a very, very good night.

And yes, eventually, John introduces you to Ghost properly. (and Price and Gaz too, ah John and Kyle.)

And yes, somehow, someway, you end up with not just one, but two terrifyingly strong military men helping out at the shelter—John still enthusiastically doing everything he can, and Ghost looming in the doing every little thing you ask without question, surprisingly good with the most feral old cats, somehow terrifying and begrudgingly helpful all at once. (He makes it a point to lift two bags of dog food for every one John carries. Jesus Christ)

And yes, eventually, Ghost ends up in your bed too.

But that’s another story.

Thanks for reading.

[xaviersplvshiek1ller]

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

PAIRING. Sheltered!gojo x pervert!reader

GENRE. Smut

CONTENT. Sexual content, handjob, dryhumping, dub-con?(idk if it counts)

SYPNOSIS. Girlie has some secret feelings about her bestie she just had to put on paper but what what will she do when said bestie discovers it

Masterlist

You never meant to see your childhood bestie in this way. The boy you met because he fell on the playground and straight up started sobbing as if it had never happened to him before, so you went over there, helped him up, dusted him off and ever since you have been inseparable.

That’s why as your teen years started, and he started growing into this cocky annoyingly handsome man with the sharpest blue eyes you’ve ever seen and a pretentious attitude that hid your affectionate clingy sheltered best friend behind it, you realized you could never be with him as he was too untouchable and the best thing to do was to bury your feelings and keep them a secret. 

You should’ve also realized that eventually all secrets get revealed, and even entertaining the thought of ever sharing something more than friendship was dangerous. Especially if your thoughts were increasingly dirty. 

It’s just that one night, alone in your room, your hands in your panties, frantically rubbing your swollen clit desperately trying to scratch and itch that had to do with your white-haired bestie, but Twitter and your imagination alone didn’t seem to do it anymore, so you had to create your own spank bank. The nut you got from that didn’t compare to any you had before, so you kept writing more. Even when he was in your room just hanging out, as you usually do.

You should’ve been more careful.

You could see on his face he was planning to keep it a secret, but when you came back from getting some snacks and saw how he was sitting on your bed, face completely red, lookin at you with his blue puppy eyes, that got you feening for him like this in the first place, like he did something terrible. His face completely red, pushing his hard bulge down in a failed attempt to conceal it while looking at your open laptop.

You pathetically start crying, burying your face in your hands out of embarrassment. 

“I’m so sorry, ‘toru, I know you’re probably disgusted by me, and I’m not gonna blame you if you want nothing to do with me.”

Satoru immediately jumped up and hugged you, frantically trying to wipe your tears away and comfort you. “I-it’s okay, I’m not disgusted at all!”

You sniff and wrap your arms around him before jumping up and closing your legs around his muscled body to give him a bear hug, bringing your body even closer to his. Which is not an unusual position for you guys, since you are best friends and have always been really close and physically affectionate people.

“Really, are you sure? I wrote stuff no best friend should be even thinking about their other best friend” you pout

Satoru groans as his erection is now getting squished against your pussy, which is barely covered by the skintight satin booty shorts you prefer wearing at home.

“Y-yeah, it’s natural, right? Besides, my parents said that if you do that stuff with random people, you can die from diseases, it’s safer to experiment with someone you know well.” He earnestly looks into your damp eyes, obviously feeling awful that he invaded your privacy like this.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach because you can feel him twitching against your clit at the thought of the stuff he read about on your laptop. You can’t stop your body from ever so slightly grinding against him as he holds you up with no effort. At first, both of you didn’t notice being too enveloped in the emotions you were feeling, but the longer your movements continued, the wetter your cunt got, and satoru definitely felt that.

“Mmf w-what are you doing?” Satoru croaks out as the stimulation of your soaked cunt rubbing up and down his cock starts to make him weak in the knees.

You realize what you’re doing and immediately jump off him and run towards your bed and plop face down into your pillow, cursing at your body for being so horny. Satoru carefully sits down next to you in silence, like he’s pondering over something.

“U-uhm if you want, we could try some of the stuff since we’re best friends, and it’s better to do that together where we're safe rather than risk it w-with other people” with every word he fumbles out of his mouth he gets quieter until you can see his lips moving but can’t hear anything.

“What?” You turn around and sit up to fully face him as he also fully sits on your bed with his legs crossed In front of you.

“I said if you want to, we can try to do some of what you wrote,” he mumbled with his head down.

Oh? Oh

You lean over and grab his face with both hands, making sure he’s looking you in the eyes. “Are you sure, ‘Toru? I don’t know if you’re supposed to do this with your best friend.”

He frowns at the thought of you doing any of the things you wrote about doing to him to anyone else. He grabs you by the waist and effortlessly lifts you and places you down on his lap, facing him with your legs crossed behind his back.

“I’m not very experienced with any of this, but I wouldn’t want to try this stuff with anybody but you,” he blushes

“Me neither, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I mean, I’ve read about it often, but I don’t know If any of that stuff is real.” You look down, getting insecure again.

He puts one arm around your waist, pulling you closer and uses the other one to reach over to grab your laptop and simultaneously keep you in his lap, but the movement accidentally slithers your still sensitive crotches in the perfect snug position for his needy cock to bully its way between your puffy lips. 

Neither of you dare to move as he starts reading everything you wrote. As the minutes go by and your embarrassment increases, so does the blood flow to his shaft, and before you know it, he’s growing more and more and pressing even harder at your special spot.

He clears his throat. “From what I’ve read we should start with kissing” he puts your laptop away and now has both hands planted firmly at your waist making sure you can’t move a muscle unless he moves it for you.

Fuck it.

You press your lips against him so quickly; he wasn’t quite prepared just yet, but just as soon you pull away. Your heart is beating so quickly you’re actually concerned he can hear it. 

Clearly the peck wasn’t enough because he follows your lips and you collide. Softly brushing against each other again and again until you start kissing harder and faster, the wet sounds are growing increasingly louder. You don’t know how long you’ve been kissing, but you don’t want to stop anytime soon, but the lack of oxygen is making you lightheaded. You pull back and gasp for air.

“Oh~ that felt really good,” you giggle.

He runs his hand through his hair. In an attempt to cool down a little, and smiles cockily at you, “Yeah, I know.”

"Do you wanna continue-"

He attacks your mouth again, but this time even more feverishly. In a moment of bold bravery, you nip at his lower lip and swipe your tongue across it. He doesn’t know what to do, so he just swipes back. You gently open your mouth, and he takes it as a sign to do the same. You pull back again, and he sighs irritably.

“‘Toru I’m gonna try something, I promise it’ll feel good.” He looks at you expectantly.

“Open your mouth a little”

“Stick your tongue out”

“Good” you coo at him before taking his tongue in your mouth and suuucking.

He went limp and started mewling in your mouth. The sound intensified as does the throbbing of your slick cunt, so you started moving back n forth on his leaky cock, looking for some relief. Your mouth turned slack at the feeling of his thick mushroom tip rubbing against your clit.

“Fuuuuuuuhck” 

He used your moment of distraction to explore your mouth with his tongue roaming around the entire hot cavern, not leaving an inch unexplored like he wanted to burn the shape of your mouth in his mind.

“Uh~ ‘toru please,” you wanton out with pure need. You didn’t even know what you were begging for in the first place.

He humps up at you, making the friction even more delicious. You feel something build up on your core, so you start going faster until you’re bouncing on him, but it just isn’t enough. You hastily remove your shorts, leaving your bare from the bottom down, and start working on untying his sweatpants.

“‘Toru can I take it out, please?”

“Huh?” He clearly was paying more attention to your drippy cunt as his eyes were glued to your soft looking folds

“Can I take your dick out? It will feel better this way.”

“Y-yeah, sweetheart whatever you want” As the words spill out of his mouth he’s already lifting his hips so you can pull down his pants, now you’re both naked on the bottom.

“Your dick is sooo pretty ‘Toru and HUGE.” He looks shy after your bold statement.

His leaky tip is calling to you, so you tap it with your finger. Both of you giggle as his weeping cock jumps at the sensation. You touch it again, but this time you run your finger down a vein before wrapping your hand around his cock, or at least you attempt to, one of your hands isn’t enough, so you use both hands to start pumping up and down, but he quickly stops you.

“Wait, it’s too dry” His eyebrows are furrowed up like It pains him to stop you.

U have a solution for that

You take two fingers and drag them in between your pussy lips to gather moisture for good measure; you also spit on your hands.

That should do it

You look up at him all doe eyed to measure up his reaction as you wrap your slick and spit covered And run it up and down his cock, mixing it with his precum.

This is the hottest thing he has ever experienced, and he fears he might faint. His eyes screw up, and the wind flies out of his body as you take a tight grip on his cock and start rapidly fisting his cock, twisting as you go down. The squelching sound of his cock being milked fills up the room.

He truly doesn’t know what has overcome him, he’s moaning like a bitch in heat as his eyes roll to the back of his head and his hips start thrusting up at you.

You’ve seen enough videos to know he’s close, so you scooch down, plant your pussy on his lower leg, and start humping it like a crazed animal. You lower your head to graze your nose through his white pubes and give him a kiss on his tip before licking a stripe in between his balls.

You’ve killed him.

Or you might as well have. His stomach is swimming with butterflies, his eyes cross and roll to the back of his head, and he lets’s out a high-pitched whine before he starts shaking like you’ve electrified him while spurts of white-hot cum fly onto the both of you.

The moment the first drip of nut hit, you creamed all over his leg. Still, you don’t stop pumping his softening cock and fondling his balls until he’s thoroughly milked, overstimulated and bucking your hands away.

“Soo How was it?” You drawl out.

When you don’t get an answer, you look up at him, but he’s staring at nothing, clearly blissed out.

You stand up to grab a towel so you can clean some of the white gooey liquid off of you. When you turn around again, he’s knocked out.

You clean off the both of you before falling asleep next to him.

Master list next

Part two?

Dis my first time ever writing smut have mercy on meee…

[zepskies]

Against the Wind - Epilogue

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: Dropping this a bit early since tomorrow's a holiday!~ But here we're finally getting to the unplanned epilogue for ATW! The claim bond in this is not unlike the soulmate AU I just wrote for Beau. Guess I have a type on this stuff. 😂 Get ready for some family feels! 🥰

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Posted on Patreon: 4/13/2025

Word Count: 4.2K

Tags/Warnings: Fluff and more fluff, smidge of angst, hint of jealous alpha Dean, tinge of spice~

🧡 Series Masterlist

Epilogue: Shelter

"Someone told me there's a girl out there, with love in her eyes and flowers in her hair..."

You’ve given him a new reason to love Zeppelin IV, Dean thinks. He sneaks another glance at you. The two of you haven’t said anything for almost an hour on this two-day road trip, now almost at an end. But when you notice his gaze on you, the smile you give him is golden.

It makes him feel a little boyish and dumb, like he’s a teenager getting caught staring at his crush. His face starts to get warm, his lips curving upward, so he clears his throat and focuses back on the stretch of road ahead.

The scenery has turned rural, with stretches of wheat-yellow grass and patches of forest on either side of the gray, gravel strip. Out here in Northern California, it’s not so bad as its southern menace—cities like L.A., San Francisco, and Sacramento. Dean can roll the windows down out here and not be assaulted by the mingling scents of exhaust, vegan Tex Mex, overpriced cologne, and broken fucking dreams. 

“Almost there,” Dean says, lowering the radio a bit. He points to a big curve in the road up ahead. “If I remember right, we’ve just got this stretch to go.”

You suck in a subtle, but noticeable breath.

“Great.”

Your voice is a little high. Dean raises a brow at you. He concentrates for a moment to suss you out, and he feels a thread of your anxiety through the bond. It’s been just over two weeks since he claimed you, but in that time living such close quarters, practically breathing each other’s air day in and day out, he hasn’t just been getting to know you a hell of a lot more. He’s also starting to understand this private WIFI connection you guys have going on.

Sam tried to explain it to him once, what it feels like after the claim.

“It’s like the world just…shifts on its axis a bit,” he said. “Your awareness expands. You’re connected, in a way that’s kind of…well, it’s hard to explain.”

“Okay, Obi Wan,” Dean chortled. He eyed his brother with amusement, but also with a slight shake of his head. The guy looked fucking twitterpated.

Sam shot him a wry look. “All right, Dean. Just wait. If you ever take that step with an omega, you’ll see. It changes everything.”

Dean held in another snort of laughter. If? Fat fucking chance.

He had no illusions about his life. Not at this point. They both knew he was probably going to die in this bunker, or more likely, on one of these solo hunts he’d started pulling. Sam was busy packing, ready to move out and settle down with Eileen, his mate, his omega—ready to leave his old life behind, and his brother along with it.

Dean was happy for him though. Of fucking course, he was.

He raised the glass of cheap whiskey to his lips. 

Dean considers you with half a smile, reaching over smooth a hand along your thigh.

“You okay, ‘Mega?” he asks.

Your lower lip gets pulled between your teeth. You nibble on it, even as you slip your hand over his. You turn to him with a question in your eyes. He already knows the answer, even before you ask.

“I know this was my idea, but you still think this is… It’s not too soon?” you ask.

Dean shakes his head. “Nah. He’s gonna like you, sweetheart. They all will.”

“Oh, yeah? How do you know?”

He tosses you a grin. “Because I like you. And I’m an excellent judge of character.”

He punctuates his point with a kiss pressed to the back of your hand. Your lips tug at a smile.

Mission accomplished.

“Don’t you think you’re a little biased?” you tease.

He shrugs, but his crinkly-eyed grin says it all. You settle back in your seat and relax a little better for the rest of the ride. 

You can’t help it. Your anxiety swells back to life as the Impala pulls up the slight hill into a U-shaped driveway, rolling to a stop at a modest ranch-style house. It’s mostly made of rust-colored brick, a white roof with pale gray tiles. Even the walk-up to the porch is lined with brick and white stones. You also notice a little green toddler bike lying on its side in the front yard, where it seems to have dented a sprinkler.

You tread carefully up the pavement on your crutches.

Yeah, your ankle is unfortunately still busted; fractured, to be exact. You’ll be wearing this big ol’ boot on your right foot for two more months at least, but Dean has a hand resting comfortably on the small of your back, a support you appreciate. He gives you one last knowing smile, his thumb brushing your spine.

Then he knocks on the door. His brother and his wife know you and Dean are coming, but it’s still a little nerve-wracking, now knowing what you know about your mate and his family. You know about monsters and terrible, evil things mostly put to rest. You know that Sam and Dean Winchester have quite literally saved the world, more than once.

But it’s not just that. You’re about to meet the only family Dean has left in this world. What if they take one look at you and know you’re not like them? What if they think you’re not enough for someone like Dean?

“Hey,” he says, his deep voice washing over you.

You glance up at your mate, biting the inside of your cheek. Can he feel your nervousness through the bond? You try to bottle it all back up where it belongs, but you’re not really sure how to do that yet. You don’t know if that will change the longer you get used to the soul bond thrumming in your chest, but right now, it feels impossible to hide anything from this green-eyed mountain of an alpha.

Dean shoots you a wink.

The door opens. An even taller lumberjack takes up the entire doorway with his broad shoulders, a light beard down to his neck, and longer, darker hair almost brushing his shoulders. He brightens with a smile when he takes in you and Dean, especially his brother.

He chuckles and pulls Dean into a grappling hug. Dean’s smile is ear-to-ear as he wraps his arms tight around his little brother’s frame, thumping his back with a widespread hand.

“There he is,” Dean says. “But what’d I tell you about that shag carpet on your face? You look like a fucking hippie.”

Sam rolls his eyes. Just as he’s about to answer, no doubt with a dry retort, the patter of little feet come sprinting over, and something knocks heavy into Dean’s bowlegged knees. He looks down and breaks into a new smile, even warmer than the last.

“Hey, little man,” Dean says, bending low to scoop the two-year-old into his arms. The toddler giggles at being raised as high up as his dad carries him.

“Unc!” Dean Jr. exclaims, raising small hands to Dean Sr.’s prickly cheeks. Dean grins and settles the boy on his side.

“You remember me?” he asks.

“‘Course he does,” Sam says, rubbing his son’s back. “He’s always hearing stories of his Uncle Dean. I show him the old pictures too.”

The brothers share a look, one that communicates without speaking. Dean’s is bittersweet and sorry. Sorry it took so long for him to get back here. Sorry for what he’s probably missed. But Sam’s smile isn’t judging, just happy to see him. He turns to you though, apologetically.

“I’m sorry, getting carried away here. Hi, how are you?” he asks.

Dean finally notices you keeping to the side, watching them with a soft smile of your own. You step forward to shake Sam’s hand, carefully taking yours off your right crutch. Dean clears his throat and moves to slip his arm back around your waist, not just for the physical support, but for solidarity.

After you introduce yourselves, Dean finally chimes in.

“Sammy, this is my mate,” he says. The pride and warmth in his eyes are evident as he squeezes your shoulder. Your face heats in a blush, but when you look over at Sam, all you see is a sincere welcome.

“Yeah, I was glad to hear someone finally tied him down,” he says. But then, his good humor sobers, becoming more earnest. “I also heard about your dad. I’m really sorry.”

You shutter up at that one. You’re both surprised and unsurprised, knowing Dean must’ve told him the full story of how you two met, but the mention of your father still makes your lungs tighten. You manage to smile a little.

“Thank you,” you reply. Dean squeezes your shoulder again, his thumb brushing your neck. You lean into him a little, bringing you face to face with Sam’s mini-me, who still hangs on Dean’s shoulder while he stares at you. “Mini Dean” has those big brown eyes that you saw in all the pictures on Dean’s phone, now with shaggier hair and a sweet-as-pie grin.

“Hi,” Mini Dean says shyly.

“Hey, buddy! You’ve almost got your whole fist in your mouth, huh?” you tease, stroking the toddler’s wrist. He looks a little unsure of you, but he reaches out and grabs at a piece of your hair. You let him do it.

“Ooh, you caught me, huh?”

He giggles, especially when you playfully poke your tongue out at him.

Dean’s smirking hard enough to make his cheeks hurt. His gaze lifts from watching you with his nephew and lands on Sam’s softer smile.

Sam welcomes you all into the house, where Eileen finally comes to meet you all. She looks a little frazzled, but still beautiful. Her dark brown eyes take you in before she greets you kindly. She and Sam look just as casual as you and Dean, jeans and flannels or comfortable sweaters.

Lots of flannel, you notice, with your mate and his brother.

“Sorry, was working on dinner,” she says, with an embarrassed smile. “Hope you guys like burnt chili.”

“Honestly I don’t think you can burn chili,” you say, as she leads you all further into the house. “It just enhances the smokiness.”

“Smells good to me,” Dean says. “And right on time, too.” The mention of food is already making his stomach rumble to life. You toss him a look over your shoulder, smiling in amusement. You reach back at pat your man’s stomach.

“You’re always ready to go,” you tease. He grabs onto your hand. It makes you stop for a moment, since you kind of need that hand for your crutch.

“Got that right, baby. Locked and loaded,” he whispers suggestively near your ear. Your eyes widen. You shush him with a laugh, covering his nephew’s ears. He’s incorrigible.

“Already corrupting my son, huh?” Sam says. His tone is censuring, but still amused when he takes Dean Jr. off his brother’s hands.

“Aw, who else is gonna educate the kid?” Dean jokes.

“He’s two,” Sam says dryly. “Maybe wait until he’s in preschool, at least.”

Eileen had nothing to worry about, and not only because your mate always inhales his food (and seconds and thirds) like it’s his last meal. She even made cornbread to go along with the chili.

“From a box,” she’d said demurely.

Regardless, there’s nothing quite like a good hearty bowl of the stuff with a beer and nice, warm, buttery cornbread. Sam even bought a Dutch apple pie for dessert, sending his brother a knowing look when he brings it out.

You all talk and laugh and share stories throughout dinner, even after the conversation moves from the dining table to the living room, where Dean Jr. takes turns getting doted on. He starts out in Eileen’s lap with one of his toys, but then he goes to his name’s sake, even giving Dean an action figure to engage him in battle.

After a while though, the boy starts to get sleepy. He tuckers out on the couch between you and Dean, half splayed in your lap with his head resting in the crook of your arm, while Dean has his sock-covered feet.

“Okay, we should probably get that one officially to bed,” Sam says, jutting a chin over at his son in amusement.

You feel special that the toddler already felt comfortable enough with you to literally fall asleep in your arms, but you glance down at his head with a smile.

“Aw, I’m okay being his body pillow. I’ll just sleep sitting up,” you say, laughing.

Eileen smiles and shakes her head. She signs as she says, “He’s already got you wrapped around his finger.”

“One hundred percent,” you giggle. You grab at his little feet, gently so he doesn’t wake up. “I mean, look at these! I just wanna eat ‘em.”

You look up and happen to meet Dean’s gaze. He hides a grin behind his right hand from where he’s reclined in his corner of the couch. His left hand holds a beer perched on his jean-clad thigh. His eyes, however, roam over you and his nephew with a certain gleam. A blush warms your cheeks.

Eileen eventually takes the little one off your hands. You playfully pout as he leaves you, but it gives you the chance to get up and stretch—and find the bathroom. Sam and Dean are left to sit in a comfortable silence that lingers, just until Dean inhales a deep breath.

“Gotta hand it to you, Sammy. You ain’t done half bad,” he says.

Sam quirks a brow, beginning to smile. “I could say the same to you.”

Dean’s lips twitch, but he stares down at his beer. Something uncertain passes through his eyes.

“How much have you told her?” Sam asks.

“Enough,” Dean replies, after a pause. “More than I fucking wanted to, really. It all just kind of…happened.”

Sam’s mouth quirks at the corners. “Stuck in a cabin for two weeks. Hell of a way to get through the get to know you, phase.”

At that, Dean smirks. “Yeah well, after the heavy shit, we weren’t doing all that much talking.”

Sam sighs, rolling his eyes. But he’s happy for his brother—happy and relieved. Dean’s wellbeing has been a weight on Sam’s mind ever since he left the bunker. No matter how many phone calls and texts, some going unanswered for longer stretches than Sam would like, part of him has felt the familiar guilt of starting over, even though he logically knew he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He just underestimated, again, how hard it would be for Dean.  

Hell, he felt he had to hike up to a cabin in the damn mountains just for something different, a change of pace from drinking alone in the bunker. Sam wonders if Dean was embracing the solitude at that point, or if he was even planning to come back down the mountain.

And despite Jack’s promise to be “hands off,” Sam also wonders if their friend Upstairs had a hand in how you fell while hiking that day. Injuring your ankle. The blizzard. Had it all literally been the perfect storm?

Sam will never voice the thought out loud though. He’s just grateful…even if it is strange as hell to see Dean this way. All night, the man had never strayed very far from your side. He’s been there to reach out a helping hand to you whenever you needed to get up from your seat, raising yourself on your crutches.

And the way you two look at each other. Sometimes it’s just a check-in, a brief touch, and a confirmation. Sometimes it looks like an inside joke, with Dean’s suggestively waggling brows and signature smirk. (You usually look away first, as if fighting a blush.) But sometimes, it’s like a whole conversation passes between you and Dean in just that one moment.

Is that what Sam’s own bond looks like with his mate?

Probably, he thinks with a smile.

“It changed everything, right?” Sam asks.

Finding her. Claiming her. Dean understands what his brother’s getting at with those unspoken words. His gaze rises from his beer. He stares back at Sam and shakes his head.

“Yeah,” he agrees, however reluctantly.

It’s a heavy fucking weight of responsibility, with the lives they’ve led and the enemies they’ve made along the way, but Dean can’t bring himself to regret it. There’s too much of you in his heart already, filling those jagged, frayed, broken parts with smooth muscle and sinew, and new red life blood pumping again.

What he said to you that night still rings true.

It’s too damn late to let go.

That night, Dean falls asleep before you. His light snorts fill the guest room, and after almost a whole day on the road, you’d love nothing more than to join him in dreamland. You’re not sure what’s stopping you. It could be that it usually takes you a while to fall asleep in a new place and an unfamiliar bed, but it could also be your overactive mind still racing with today, and possibilities of tomorrow.

Sam and Eileen had offered for you and Dean to stay for a few days before you continued on your way, or even a week if you wanted. After that, Dean had agreed to take you home and meet your mom. After that though, what? Your job hadn’t been so understanding when you called and told them you’d gotten snowed in a cabin in Montana of all places, with no access to cell service or internet for almost a month.

So yeah, they let you go. It wasn’t a job you were in love with, and of course, meeting Dean is worth more to you than any job…but it had been paying your bills, even while living at your mother's house to help her after your dad's death.

I’ll figure it out…we’ll figure it out, you remind yourself. You’re eventually planning to go back with Dean to that bunker he’s been talking about. At least it’s in Kansas, somewhat close to your sister. From there, you’ll both have figure out the job thing, and potentially the house thing. You’re not totally sure about living in a bunker. 

These thoughts keep you up long enough that you heave a sigh and slip out of bed. A drink of water (and a few minutes of mindless pacing) might settle you a little. Somehow, the last thing you expected upon entering the kitchen was to run into Sam boiling water on the stove. He looks over his shoulder at you in surprise.

“Uh, hey,” he says.

“Heyyy,” you give an awkward wave. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Haven’t tried yet,” he admits. “Dean woke up about an hour after we set him down. He’s been finnicky, but finally got him to lay back down.”

At first you’re confused, until it hits you.

“Ah, you mean Mini Dean,” you say, smiling. “Aw, poor baby. He’s at that stage, huh?”

He chuckles wryly. “It’s called Terrible Twos for a reason. Want some tea?” He gestures at the mug he has waiting on the counter.

You agree, thanking him before you sit down at the two-seater breakfast nook in the kitchen. He pours you a mug as well and sits across from you. Silence threatens to reign between you, but you eventually break it.

“Thank you, by the way. For having me here too,” you say. “I know you weren’t exactly expecting me.”

Sam breaks into a smile. “Honestly, I’m the one who should probably be thanking you.”

You blink in surprise.

“Me? I haven’t done anything.” Your lips pull at a smile though, your fingertip tracing the rim of your mug. “Dean’s the one who took care of me. Still is, really. He’s the one who saved me, more than once.”

Sam tilts his head in acknowledgement. “Yeah, I don’t doubt that. But, uh, something tells me you saved him a little too.”

You look up at that, mostly in disbelief. You gave Dean a headache from the beginning. You’d needed his help all the time with your damn ankle. You poked your nose into his business, invaded his privacy, almost got him killed hunting that monster. What was it? Ah, right. A fucking Wendigo.

After all of it, he came back to you. He brought you closure for your father’s death, and held you when you fell apart. And when you kissed him, asked him with your whole heart to let you in, he broke through his own reservations to do it.

“Even if I did, it probably doesn’t even put a dent in what I owe him,” you say after a moment. Tears sting in your eyes, though you try to blink them away, taking in a subtle breath to try and steady yourself.

Sam’s eyes soften. He reaches across the small table and lays a hand on your arm.

“Trust me. I think he’d say you don’t owe him a damn thing,” he says.

You utter a laugh, though you try to keep it quiet. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

You’re about to thank him for real when a low, gravel-filled growl echoes through the kitchen. You and Sam raise your heads to the doorway, where Dean stands in a plain shirt and a pair of sweatpants. His hair is mussed in sleep, but his face is firm with a tired frown. His gaze is homed in on Sam’s hand resting on your arm.

Sam slowly takes his hand back, quirking a brow at his brother.

“Alpha?” you carefully ask your mate.

Dean blinks a few times once your voice registers in his mind. He seems to come back to himself, shaking his head a bit. He clears his throat and pads over to you guys on bare feet. He drops a hand across your shoulder and down your back. You’re not sure if it’s meant to be possessive or not, but it almost makes you laugh. You manage to hold it in though.

“Hey,” Dean says.

Sam lets out an incredulous chuckle. You understand why. Was Dean really just going to try and pretend nothing just happened?

“Did you just growl at me?” Sam says.

Dean’s lips purse, but he doesn’t answer right away.

Yeah, he was totally going to try and pretend nothing just happened. You bite your lip against a smile.

“Sorry,” Dean says, scratching at the back of his neck. “Uh…so what’s up? You guys having some sort of insomnia party out here?”

Sam snorts. “No. I’m heading to bed actually. Good night, guys.”

“Good night, Sam,” you say. The two of you share an amused look before he leaves. It’s quick, but it’s enough to make Dean roll his eyes as he fights his embarrassment.

You begin to stand up from the table, reaching for your crutch. Dean helps you instead and settles both hands on your waist. You slip your hands up his forearms and curl them around his biceps.

“We were just talking,” you say knowingly. Then, a teasing smile plays on your lips. “About you actually.”

Dean raises a brow. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips. “All good things. So you can relax.”

His green eyes are a shade or two darker, his inner alpha having risen to the surface. Half-asleep as he’d been when he walked into the kitchen, his instincts were more dominant than his brain in that moment, especially at seeing you and his brother looking a little too chummy.

Dean wraps his arms around your waist and gathers you to his chest.

You can’t help purring in response. He grins, his eyes half-lidded as his gaze roams over you.

“What if I don’t wanna relax?” he says. The depths in his voice make you shiver, and even smile, but you give him a warning look.

“You’re shameless, you know that? We’re in your brother’s house.”

“Aw, he won’t mind.”

You scoff in disbelief. Dean tilts his head with half a smile. He knew you wouldn’t buy that one.

“Eh, it’s all right. He knows how I am,” he says, right before he bows his head for a nipping kiss along your neck. A breathless squeal escapes you, even though you try to contain it. You swat his shoulder.

“Alpha,” you warn. Once again, you try to temper your smile. Dean is only encouraged. His lips and warm breath tease along the edge of your mating gland on purpose, buckling your knees a little. A short whine escapes your lips, and a tremble of arousal pools slick between your legs. You don’t want to let him win on this one, but damn him, he’s playing dirty.

You grab his head, tangling your fingers in his hair, and pull him to your lips for a proper kiss. There he licks into your mouth and pulls a soft moan from deep inside you.

“Okay,” you give up. “But we have to be—”

Dean hooks his arms around your shoulders and under your knees and swiftly carries you up, forgetting your crutches behind. You have to smother your giggles with both hands while he takes you back to bed.

AN: lol Dean's insatiable, but we all knew that. 😆 I know it's been a while, but I hope you guys enjoy this little epilogue for ATW! In my head, she and Dean go on to have little adventures together after he meets her family. Like little dates and road trips to all the places Dean has enjoyed the most on his cross-country travels.

(And then maybe a couple of kids once they get settled in their own little cabin.) 🧡

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[worlds-we-write]

Shelter in the Storm

Chapter 1: Ashen

pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: She came to Jackson broken and half-alive, carrying more weight than anyone could see. Joel didn’t mean to get close—but some things don’t give you a choice.

Chapter WC: 4.3 K

story warnings: This story contains themes of trauma, PTSD, and emotional recovery. Future chapters will include depictions of hostage situations, non-consensual sexual assault (referenced, not graphically detailed), and non-consensual pregnancy resulting from that event. Please read with care. Tags and warnings will be updated as the story progresses.

Tags: Joel Miller x Reader, Jackson era, slow burn, hurt/comfort, trauma recovery, emotional baggage, found family, protective Joel Miller, reader is a survivor, reader has PTSD, past hostage situation (implied), PREGNANCY reveal, soft moments in a harsh world, Joel cares in his own way™, gentle intimacy, angst with hopeful undertones, canon-typical violence (referenced), no smut (yet).

AN: Hi friends — this fic is very close to my heart. It’s a slow burn set during the Jackson era, centered around healing, found family, and the kind of care that doesn’t always come with words. Chapter 1 deals with trauma and emotional recovery, and future chapters will include sensitive themes (please read the content warnings beforehand). This is a story about survival, softness, and what it means to let someone stay when everything in you wants to run. Thank you so much for reading — comments, reblogs, and gentle thoughts are always welcome. 🤍

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The first thing you remembered about Jackson was the cold.

Not the kind that came with winter. That you could handle. Snowfall didn’t scare you. Ice could be scraped away. Fires could be built, layers piled on. That kind of cold was honest.

But the cold you carried inside? That was something else. Something you didn’t talk about, didn’t even have the words for. A silence that seeped into your bones. That stuck even when the fire burned hot, and the blankets were thick and someone kind left food on your doorstep every morning.

That cold lived in you now. Since them. Since the days you didn’t count and the nights you didn’t sleep.

They found you in the snow just before dusk.

You weren’t sure how far you’d walked. You didn’t remember crawling to the tree line or collapsing just outside the gates. Someone said it was Tommy’s patrol who spotted you first—bloodied, shoeless, stumbling through the woods like a ghost.

They thought you were infected at first. You couldn’t blame them. You probably looked infected. Blank eyes. Slow steps. Covered in dried blood and ash and things that didn’t belong to you.

Then you collapsed.

Face-first into the snow. No weapon. No fight left.

Just a girl with torn clothes and hollow eyes.

And somehow… still alive.

You woke up in Jackson.

Everything after that was fog and firelight.

You woke up in a bed, but it took a long time to realize that’s what it was.

At first, all you felt was warmth. It surrounded you—thick, unfamiliar. Something wrapped tight around your shoulders, tucked beneath your chin. Your body ached. Your lips were cracked. Your throat felt raw. But for the first time in days, you weren’t cold.

You weren’t cold.

That realization hit harder than it should’ve.

There were voices—low murmurs. A woman’s, calm and steady. A man’s, deeper, sharper. They spoke like they didn’t want to wake you. You didn’t move. Couldn’t, really.

But you listened.

“She was half-dead out there.”

“She’s dehydrated, bruised. Some older wounds too. Malnourished. Whoever left her out there didn’t expect her to make it.” 

“Do we know what happened?”

“She hasn’t said a word.”

They didn’t push you.

That surprised you.

The room was warm. You remembered that. The smell of antiseptic, the rustle of clean sheets, someone pressing a damp cloth to your forehead. You didn’t open your eyes for two whole days, barely aware of the voices nearby.

“She’s lucky. The temperature dropped below freezing last night.”

“Lucky” didn’t feel like the right word.

The second time you woke, there was soup.

Someone—maybe that same woman—pressed a chipped ceramic bowl into your hands. You stared at it for a long time before bringing it to your lips. Your hands shook so badly half of it spilled down your front.

But she didn’t take it away.

She just handed you a cloth and said, “Take your time.”

You couldn’t remember the last time someone said that to you.

You stayed in the infirmary for a week.

They bandaged your wrists, stitched the cut above your eyebrow, checked for infection. They didn’t ask for details, though you knew they had questions. You were an outsider. You showed up bloody and half-frozen, too thin and too quiet.

But no one pressed.

They didn’t ask questions, not at first. Maria, one of the leaders, introduced herself with soft eyes and a strong presence. “You’re safe now,” she said. “You don’t have to talk if you’re not ready.”

You weren’t.

They gave you a cabin near the edge of town.

Small, but warm. A bed. A stove. A door that locked.

That last part mattered the most.

You checked it every night. Once. Twice. Sometimes more. You listened for footsteps in the snow. For the creak of a floorboard. For someone breathing where they shouldn’t be.

But no one came.

No one shouted. No one dragged you from your bed. No one tried to break the lock.

You were alone.

And it was the most terrifying relief you’d ever felt.

The days blurred.

Sometimes people knocked on your door. Left food. Clothing. A new pair of boots. A bar of soap wrapped in cloth.

You never opened the door until they were gone.

There were kids outside sometimes, throwing snowballs, laughing so loudly it made your chest ache. You watched from behind the curtain, heart pounding like they might turn their attention on you.

They never did.

No one did.

Except him.

He was just a shadow at first.

A man in flannel and denim, stacking wood outside the cabin across from yours. Broad shoulders. Quiet steps. Always outside, even in the snow. You noticed the way people spoke to him—careful, respectful. Like he had history.

You didn’t know his name.

But he nodded at you once, when you ventured outside to get firewood.

You didn’t nod back.

The next day, you found your wood pile stacked for you. Neat. Freshly chopped.

You didn’t ask who did it.

But you knew.

The first week, you barely left. You stared at the walls and listened to the sounds of the town beyond your window – boots crunching snow, kids laughing, wood being chopped, dogs barking. Life, loud and insistent, kept moving.

You didn’t feel like part of it.

Then there was Joel Miller.

You didn’t know his name at first. Just the man across the path. Always outside. Fixing things. Splitting logs with a quiet precision. Sometimes walking with a girl who looked too young to be his but clung to him like she trusted him more than anyone else on earth.

You liked watching him. He moved like someone who had been through hell and learned to live with the scars.

He never tried to talk to you. Never asked what happened.

But he saw you.

Really saw you.

You weren’t used to that.

You began walking late at night.

The cold helped. It reminded you; you were still here. Still breathing. Still real. You walked the perimeter of the community, gloves tucked deep in your sleeves, scarf pulled over your mouth, eyes scanning the tree line out of habit.

No one followed you.

No one chased you back inside.

You walked until your legs gave out, then stumbled back into bed and slept like the dead.

Sometimes you dreamed.

Sometimes you didn’t.

And then, one morning, you stepped out to find Maria standing on your porch, holding a steaming thermos and a pair of worn leather gloves.

“You good with animals?” she asked.

You shrugged.

She handed you the gloves. “Stables are short-staffed. You look like you could use something to keep your hands busy.”

You hesitated.

“I’ll pay you in food. Trade for firewood if you want. But more than that,” she added, eyes softening, “it’ll help. Routine does that.”

You didn’t know why—but you believed her.

So the next morning, you showed up at the stables.

And for the first time since before, you did something that didn’t feel like survival.

It felt like living.

The stables smelled like hay and sweat and old leather.

It should’ve overwhelmed you – but instead, it calmed you. It smelled like life. Like routine. Like something not trying to hurt you.

You didn’t say much that first day. Just nodded when spoken to, kept your eyes down, followed instructions. You mucked stalls, filled buckets, shoveled snow out of the paddocks. By midday your arms ached, your legs burned, and you were sure you were going to collapse.

But when Dusty – the gray mare in stall three – nuzzled her head against your shoulder, something in you cracked open.

You hadn’t been touched gently in months, if not years.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and brushed her coat like your life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

You settled into a rhythm after that.

Up before sunrise. Gloves on. Stable doors creaking open. Work until your muscles scream. Quiet nods from the others, small smiles when you earn them.

Horses didn’t need small talk. They didn’t expect you to explain why you flinched at sudden movements or why your hands sometimes shook. They just were. Present. Real.

Dusty became your shadow. She’d huff if you passed her stall without stopping. You whispered to her in the quiet moments – stories she didn’t understand, truths you hadn’t said out loud. Sometimes you cried while brushing her mane. She never minded.

That horse saved your life. And you never even told her.

Joel showed up more than you expected.

Sometimes he came to help Ellie, the girl who called him “old man” with affection. You didn’t know the full story there—only that she was sharp, loyal, and didn’t seem to take shit from anyone.

She’d shout across the paddock, complain about chores, then race off when Joel called her on it. You liked watching them. It felt… normal.

Safe.

Occasionally, Joel would stick around after Ellie left. He’d mend a fence post or help move hay. He never pushed you into conversation. Just gave you space. You appreciated that more than you could ever say.

Once, you caught him glancing at your hands as you struggled with a frozen latch. He didn’t say anything. Just stepped in, popped it open, and left without a word.

That was Joel’s way.

Showing up without making a show of it.

He always gives you space.

But he was always there.

You liked that more than you were willing to admit.

One morning, you sipped on a patch of ice just outside the barn.

Didn’t fall, just jolted hard and caught yourself on the wall.

Joel appeared out of nowhere, hand steadying your elbow, his brow furrowed deep.

“You alright?”

His voice was low, rough, familiar now.

You nodded.

He didn’t move for a second. His hand stayed, warm and strong, before slowly releasing you.

“Careful out here. Snow’s slicker than it looks.”

Then he walked off like it didn’t mean anything.

But it did.

You thought about that touch for the rest of the day.

It started with dizziness.

You blamed the long shifts, the heavy lifting. You hadn’t eaten much. Appetite was unpredictable these days.

Then came the nausea.

You brushed it off as nerves. You hadn’t been sleeping. The nightmares had returned—flashes of the cabin, the screams, the smell of smoke and blood.

It got worse.

By the third day, you could barely keep down a cup of broth. Your skin felt clammy, your limbs weak. You worked through it, teeth gritted, determined not to give the others any reason to worry. You didn’t want attention. Didn’t want questions.

You just wanted to feel in control again.

Because deep down, the truth was starting to whisper to you. And you didn’t want to hear it.

You shoved it down.

Hard.

The morning started like any other.

Snow drifted lazily from the sky, dusting the roofs and walkways of Jackson. You bundled into your thickest layers, tugged your gloved over trembling fingers, and stepped out into the biting cold. The air was sharp, slicing into your lungs with each breath, but it kept you grounded.

You hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of toast that morning. Your stomach had turned against you – again. But you were determined to work through it. If you stopped moving, you were afraid the silence would catch up to you again.

The stables were quieter than usual. Most of the volunteers were helping repair a fence on the east side. It left you mostly alone, just you and the horses and the sound of your boots crunching through old hay.

You brushed Dusty first, her familiar snort greeting you as you slipped into her stall. She leaned her head into your chest, and you rested your cheek against her mane, closing your eyes just for a second.

Just a second.

Then came the wave.

Sudden. Sharp. Wrong.

Your knees buckled.

The world tilted sideways.

You staggered back into the wooden wall of the stall, your breath catching as a sharp pain bloomed low in your abdomen. Your vision blurred. Darkness crept in at the edges, slow and terrifying.

You tried to call out, but your throat refused to work. The tools you’d been using slipped from your grasp, landing in the hay with a dull clatter.

And then – nothing.

Your body crumpled.

He’d noticed she wasn’t right for days.

The way she moved—slower, like she was walking through water. The way her hands shook when she thought no one was watching. The dark circles under her eyes weren’t from bad sleep. He knew what starvation looked like. He knew what it looked like when someone was trying to outrun their own body.

She was pale that morning. Paler than usual.

And Joel didn’t like it.

He’d stopped by the stables under the excuse of checking on one of the broken latches. Ellie had run off after ten minutes—some excuse about helping Tommy haul lumber. Joel stayed behind.

He found her in Dusty’s stall, hunched slightly, brushing the mare with slow, careful strokes.

Something about the way she was swaying—like the ground underneath her was moving—twisted in his gut.

He was about to say something. Ask if she needed water. A break. Anything.

Then it happened.

Her brush hit the ground with a thud.

Her knees buckled.

“Hey—!”

Joel was across the barn before he even realized he’d moved.

She collapsed hard, her body hitting the cold-packed ground, limbs tangled in on themselves. Her head nearly struck the corner of the stall—he caught her just before it did.

He was beside her before he realized he’d moved.

“Shit,” he breathed, kneeling in the slush. Snow soaking through his jeans. Her body limp in the hay.

“Hey, sweetheart—hey. Come on. You with me?”

No response. Her skin was cold. Face too pale. Lips slightly parted, like she was trying to say something but couldn’t get the words out.

He brushed the hair from her face with one shaking hand. The other was already cradling her head. God, she looked small like this. Fragile in a way he hated seeing.

“Stay with me,” he muttered, more to himself than her.

Someone shouted behind him. He didn’t even look.

She was the only thing that mattered.

He wrapped his coat around her, fingers fumbling with the buttons. When her head lolled to the side and her eyelids fluttered, he nearly lost it right there.

“I got you,” he said softly. “You're okay.”

But he didn’t believe it—not yet.

Not until she opened her eyes.

Voices in the background. Someone shouting for help. Ellie’s voice. Distant.

But all he could see was her.

The pain on her face.

The tremble in her lips.

The way she didn’t fight him when he gathered her up in his arms—like she didn’t have the strength left to resist.

She weighed less than she should’ve. Too light. Too fragile.

His coat came off without a second thought. He wrapped it around her like it was the last thing he could offer.

The next moment came in pieces.

Boots pounding against the frozen ground. Shouts. Distant. Fuzzy.

“Shit – hey! Get someone!”

Then closer, louder.

“Hey – hey – hey. You with me?”

Warm hands touched your shoulders, your back. Steady, careful. A voice cut through the fog, low and rough and familiar.

“C’mon. Open your eyes, sweetheart. Don’t you do this.”

Joel.

You blinked. Once. Twice. The world swam in to view, color too bright, the light too sharp. The snow had soaked through your pants. Your back was cold. The air bit at your skin.

But his voice was there. Steady. A tether.

“I got you,” Joel muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He slid an arm beneath your back, lifting you with a gentleness that didn’t match the strength in his body. His jaw was tight, the muscles twitching like he was trying to stay calm. But you could hear it – just beneath his breath. Panic. Buried, but there.

You tried to speak. Your lips moved, but no sound came out.

Joel noticed. He leaned closer, brow furrowed deep. “You’re alright. Don’t talk, just breathe. Stay with me.”

He pulled off his coat and wrapped it around you, tucking it close like it could stop the shaking that had taken over your body. His hands were big, warm, and rough. And when he pressed one against your cheek, you leaned into it without thinking.

“Shit, you’re burning up,” he muttered.

“Joel?” Ellie’s voice called from across the paddock. You could barely register it.

“She passed out,” he called over his shoulder. “Go get the doc. Now.”

You felt your body slipping again, the world beginning to fade. But Joel pulled you closer, cradling you like something precious.

“Stay with me,” he whispered. “Please.”

You’d never heard him sound like that.

You didn’t want to let go.

He carried you all the way to the infirmary himself.

Held you like it wasn’t a question.

Held you like someone who’d already lost too much and couldn’t lose one more thing.

And even as you drifted in and out, slipping beneath the waves, you heard his voice in the distance – raw, breaking just slightly –

He didn’t remember kicking the door open—just the sound it made when it slammed against the wall, and the nurse’s startled gasp as he crossed the threshold with her in his arms.

“She passed out,” he barked. “She’s burnin’ up. Somethin’s wrong.”

“Over here!” someone called, motioning him to the cot near the fire.

He laid her down carefully, but his hands didn’t want to let go. She looked worse under the lights—skin pale and slick with cold sweat, mouth parted like she couldn’t quite catch her breath. He felt useless the second they started checking her vitals, calling out numbers, moving around her like she was already halfway gone.

He stood back, heart in his throat, arms crossed so tight over his chest it felt like he might snap something.

He hated this.

Helplessness.

It felt too damn familiar.

Ellie showed up minutes later, breathless and wide-eyed, hovering near the door. “Is she—?”

“I don’t know,” Joel said, voice low, sharp. “Go wait outside.”

She didn’t argue.

Joel sat down next to the bed once the nurses backed off. Said she was stable for now. Just needed fluids, rest. Bloodwork results soon.

None of it helped. Not really.

So, he sat. One hand curled into a fist on his knee, the other twitching with the urge to do something. Fix something.

Anything.

But all he could do was wait.

And watch.

Her face twitched in her sleep—tiny things, micro-reactions. He wondered if she was dreaming. If the pain was still chasing her in the dark. If the past was dragging her under even now.

He wanted to take it from her. All of it.

But that wasn’t something he could do.

So, he stayed.

Because that was the one thing he could do.

You woke in a haze.

Your throat was dry. The light above you soft and flickering.

The infirmary again.

For a second, you panicked. You weren’t sure where you were. Then a familiar voice reached you, low and rough and steady.

“Easy. You’re alright.”

Joel.

You turned your head slowly.

He was sitting next to your bed, legs spread, arms resting on his thighs, leaning forward just enough to feel close but not overwhelming. His jacket was just with snow, hair slightly damp, like he’d come straight her from outside.

He looked like he hadn’t moved in hours.

“You passed out,” he said. “Scared the hell outta everyone.”

You blinked slowly. “I’m… I’m fine.”

His eyes narrowed just slightly. “You ain’t. But you will be.”

He reached for a cup on the nearby table and held it out. You struggled to lift your arm, and he moved without hesitation, helping you drink without spilling.

The warmth hit your throat and settled in your chest.

You closed your eyes.

“Why are you here?” you asked, voice rasped.

Joel didn’t answer right away.

“Was close by. Heard what happened. Figured you wouldn’t want a crowd.”

You opened your eyes again. His gaze was steady, unreadable.

He shifted slightly. “The doc ran some bloodwork. Just to check for infection. Came back with somethin’ else.”

You stared at him.

He hesitated.

“You’re pregnant.”

It didn’t register.

Not at first.

The words felt far away. Like someone else’s news.

Then everything clicked.

The nausea. The fatigue. The cold.

Your hands went to your stomach, trembling.

“No,” you said softly.

Joel didn’t correct you. Just let the silence settle.

“No,” you said again. Louder this time. “I can’t – that’s not – I didn’t – “

“I know,” he said gently.

The tears came fast and hot, and you hated them. Hated how weak they made you feel. How exposed. You turned away from him, shoulders shaking.

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t try to touch you.

But he didn’t leave.

When your voice finally came back, it was barley a whisper.

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“I know.”

“I don’t even know if I can… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Joel’s voice was quiet. Firm. Grounded.

“You don’t gotta know. Not yet. You just take the next breath. Then the next one. I’ll help with the rest.”

You turned back toward him, eyes red, breath hitching.

“Why?” you asked. “Why would you care?”

He leaned back slightly, his jaw flexing, something dark passing behind his eyes.

“Because I know what it’s like,” he said. “To lose control. To think you ain’t got anyone left. To be handed something heavy when you’re already broken.”

You stared at him.

Joel’s voice softened.

“You don’t gotta carry it alone.”

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t look away.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were drowning.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed in the infirmary after that.

An hour. Maybe two. Time felt strange – warped by exhaustion, by fear, by the ache blooming in your chest that had nothing to do with injury.

The nurse, Laura, came in eventually. She was kind, but brisk. The kind of kindness that didn’t smother you. She checked your vitals, spoke gently, didn’t ask any questions. When she mentioned Maria had stopped by, you felt your chest tighten, expecting judgment.

“She left a coat for you,” Laura said instead. “Said it’s colder tonight. You’ll need it.”

Joel hadn’t moved the entire time.

When Laura left, he finally leaned back, cracking his neck like he’d been in that same position for far too long.

“You should go,” you said, voice hoarse. You didn’t look at him. “You’ve been here for hours.”

“I know,” he said.

 You waited for him to leave.

He didn’t.

“Don’t gotta talk if you don’t want to,” he said after a beat. “I’ll just sit. If that’s alright.”

You weren’t sure why, but something inside you loosened at those words. You nodded – barley.

He didn’t say anything else. Just settled in the chair again, one hand resting on his thigh, the other draped over the armrest. Watching the fire. Breathing slowly.

Eventually, your eyes drifted closed again.

And this time, the cold didn’t follow you into sleep.

The next morning, Maria showed up in person.

You’d just finished changing out of the infirmary gown and into clean clothes when the door creaked open and she stepped inside, holding a thermos of coffee and the coat Laura had mentioned.

She was already talking before you could speak. “It’s insulated. The coat. Might not be the prettiest, but it’ll keep you warm through the next few months.”

You stared at her.

She stared back.

Then, gently, she added, “You don’t owe me an explanation. I just came to bring you this – and to say I’m glad you’re okay.”’

You didn’t know what to say.

So you nodded.

She handed you the coat, gave a small smile, and paused at the door.

“I know you’ve been through hell,” she said. “But you’re not alone here. Not unless you choose to be.”

And then she left.

You walked home in a daze.

The cold bit at your cheeks. The snow crunched beneath your boots.

Everything felt louder than usual. Sharper. Like the world had moved on while you were stuck in place.

You could still feel Joel’s presence beside your bed. The weight of his voice, steady and unflinching.

“You don’t gotta carry it alone.”

Why did he care?

What did he see in you?

You didn’t have answers.

But you knew one thing: when the bottom fell out, he didn’t run. He didn’t try to fix you. He didn’t promise you that everything would be alright.

He just stayed.

And somehow, that meant everything.

Later that night, you stood in the doorway of your cabin, staring across at his porch. The lamp beside his window was still on, casting a low glow against the snow.

You thought about walking over.

Saying thank you.

Asking him to stay again.

But your feet wouldn’t move.

Instead, you turned back inside, wrapped the new coat around your body, and sat on the edge of your bed.

Your hand went to your stomach.

You didn’t know what the next day would bring. Or the day after that. But for the firs time since the woods, since the blood and the screaming and the silence –

You didn’t feel entirely alone.

And in this world, that was the closest thing to hope you’d known in a long time.

[witchesverse]

The Shelter : AgathaRio AU

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

This AU consists of dark and mature themes such as noncon, kidnapping, mental/and physical abuse, and much more. Each chapter will have its own warning.

This series is ONGOING

Pairing: Dark!AgathaRio x Werewolf!Reader

Summary: Agatha Harkness killed your pack and chased you into the forbidden forest. You thought your torment would end there, but she and Rio Vidal kept you as their pet.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Main Story

(1) Run, Little One, Though the Pack May Follow

(2) You Bitches are my Pups

[heartfullofleeches]

Toxic Yuri Damsel Yan playing the role of an "innocent" young bride escaping an arranged marriage and Trans Fem Priest Darling, in this essay i will-

[forrestfanfics]

So This is Love || Age of Ultron 12: “Neoma's Debut ”

“So This is Love” Masterlist

Previous Chapter  ||   Next Chapter (Civil War)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The sight of the Helicarrier made me forget about my numbing body. A glimmer of hope arose within me, and I forgot about their previous plan to blow themselves up. 

All that mattered now was getting these civilians to safety. 

"This way! Careful!"

Family after family ran past me as my eyes frantically scanned the area. But the panic in me kept me from tracking how many people I'd let in.

We couldn't leave anyone behind.

Not one.

When a lifeboat was filled, we guide them to the next and so on.

"Neoma, status update."

I tapped my visor. "So far, we're in the clear," I responded to my dad.

"Roger-... Crap."

Comms went static.

"Stark senior?" I paused.

"Dad?"

Nothing.

Then suddenly, a loud explosion sounded off and everyone around me started panicking.

The town square quickly turned into pandemonium.

I turned to the source of the blast and spotted my dad zooming into the sky towards a falling lifeboat.

One of its thrusters had been taken out by a mini Ultron.

Iron Man closed in on the boat, ready to catch it, when an Ultron bot cut him off, tackling him away.

"Fuck!"

On instinct, I ran for the edge of the floating island and threw my arms back, launching myself up into the air and to the boat.

The wind roaring in my ears couldn't drown out the screams of the passengers.

When I got close enough, I put my arms out to my sides and pushed, forming the same bubble I always had. Letting out a whine, I tried to push further, managing to catch half the boat with the other half still dangling out.

It was starting to hurt. My arms were shaking as I forced myself to keep going, keeping the bubble as stable as I possibly could.

The frazzled screams of the passengers were the only thing keeping me from dropping the boat.

I felt like I was choking on air.

But, I wasn't done yet. Half the ship was still weighing me down, and I had to keep going, keep pushing.

I let out a strained yell, pushing the bubble to grow bigger and bigger until it enclosed the entire boat, keeping it completely stable while I waited for my dad to get back up on his feet.

It was pure torture. My brain was growing fuzzy, and I could taste the blood dripping from my nose and onto my tongue.

I might as well have been shot in the spine at this point.

I wanted to let go.

I wanted to give up and end my suffering.

This pain... It made me want to die.

"Jesus Christ!"

I was too far gone to focus on the voices coming from comms. All I could hear was my own heavy breathing and the sudden silence from the boat I had within my bubble.

"Hang on just a little longer, Peanut!"

I cried out in pure agony as my body started to burn up.

"Let go, Neoma!"

Without any hesitation, I dropped my arms and allowed myself to fall.

In the corner of my eye —and through small gaps in my hair—, my dad had caught the boat right as the bubble dispersed.

My vision darkened while I continued to fall.

●    ◉    ◎    ◈    ◎    ◉    ●

"Come on, kid, wake up. Dammit!"

My ears twitched as the echoey sound of Steve's voice stirred me awake.

I rapidly blinked my eyes open, only to squeeze them shut at the bright beam of sunlight.

Someone took my visor off.

My whole suit had been retracted into the silver slip around my neck.

I couldn't feel my arms and legs, and the metallic taste of blood was still present on my tongue.

"Hey. There you are," Steve put a hand on my cheek soothingly. "It's okay, kid. Relax."

"Everything hurts," I managed to murmur under my breath.

"I know, I know."

"Am I... dead?" I felt like the more I spoke, the quieter my voice got.

"We're on a lifeboat, Y/N. Everyone got off safely. Most of them because of you. You're a lifesaver, kid."

I get that he was trying to make me feel better, but I wasn't absorbing his words in that state. I couldn't even open my eyes properly. I don't think I could even breathe.

"Where's... Dad?" I asked.

"He's... Well-"

A huge blast shook the boat for a moment as if on cue.

My eyes snapped open, and I started breathing heavily, hyperventilating from exhaustion and panic as I tried to sit up in vain.

"Hey, hey, hey! Stay down! Your vitals are beyond abnormal!"

His words were white noise to me as I continued to panic, trying to push myself up off the floor.

From the corner of my eye, I could see the edge of the boat where smoke and the debris of the demolished island came raining down. Into the ocean below us most likely.

I panted and finally got myself up, stumbling and losing balance as my knees shook and trembled. I frantically searched the skies for any sign of my father or Thor flying around.

With shaky hands, I quickly reached into my pocket and found my visor, putting it on and scanning the area.

I tried comms, but I couldn't hear anyone.

I tried to move closer to the edge to jump off, but Steve's hand got hold of my arms, effortlessly picking me up and moving us away from the edge. "You push yourself any further, you're down."

He totally meant death...

I was completely useless at this point.

I was just some kid in her pyjamas and a visor, too weak to stand on her own.

It was suddenly quiet and I started to relax, allowing my eyes to close and my body to relax as Steve kept me in his arms like I was a child again.

"Hey, Peanut."

My eyes snapped open and I reached up to tap my visor. "Dad?"

"Good work out there."

"Wow..." I sighed, relieved to hear his voice.

"You played a big part in our victory today, Y/N. I'm proud of you. I'll see you on the ground."

Comms clicked off.

Finally.

I made my dad proud.

"Wait..." I mutter and look up at Steve.

"You won?" I asked.

The man smiled down at me, adjusting his arms to keep me from falling.

"We did, Neoma."

We did.

We won.

I'm part of the team.

The moment the lifeboat landed on the Helicarrier, I fell from Steve's arms and ran to my dad, colliding with him in a hug.

I hissed when I crashed into his metal suit, causing him to laugh. "I can't believe that's the stupidest thing you did today."

"That was so cool," I tilted my head up.

His metal hand gently patted my back. 

After my outburst, my adrenaline faded and I felt my body shaking again. "I'm gonna pass out now."

●    ◉    ◎    ◈    ◎    ◉    ●

"I'll carry you back."

"Okay." With that, I let myself go.

I was forced to stay in a hospital for a few weeks to recover and was so graciously visited by my dad every once in a blue moon with a tub of ice cream and a tail of paparazzi.

I don't know what exactly he used as an excuse to explain the fact that his daughter just so happened to be hospitalised right after the Avengers were in a battle in Sokovia.

But I believe that he told them that I downed a bottle of bleach after I walked in on... Something.

"Sure are a lot of trees," I commented with a soft giggle, looking down at the holographic image of the new Avengers compound from my hospital bed, the cookie dough ice cream tub sitting on my lap.

"Isn't that what you wanted, Rapunzel?"

"This isn't exactly a cozy little house but you got the prairie part down," I shook my head, handing him back the tablet and picking up the tub to stuff cookie dough into my mouth.

"There's just no satisfying you, is there?" My dad sighed teasingly as he tapped away at the tablet.

"Oh, I'm pretty satisfied. I think the only thing left is for me to go to school," I shrugged.

"Yeah?" My dad spared a glance. "MIT, right?"

"Yeah. Just like you."

"Well, my dad did get me an interview there... And since you're just like me..." He trailed off.

I jumped in excitement and practically screamed. "You got me an interview at MIT?!" My dad quickly reached out to catch the ice cream tub that I threw into the air at my sudden outburst. "... Sorry."

He sighed and shook his head, putting the tub on the nightstand next to my bed.

"I'm not comfortable with you staying in Massachusetts, so we'll try to come up with a compromise for the commute."

"Holy shit! Dad, you're the best!" I laughed excitedly, making sure to keep my excitement better contained this time.

"I've been waiting my whole life to hear those words."

I purse my lips, smiling as I nervously fiddle with my fingers.

"What?" My dad put the tablet down, noticing my antics.

"Did I... Was I..." I pause, gathering my thoughts to form into words. "Did I do good in Sokovia?"

He sighed and sat on the edge of my bed, reaching up to gently run his fingers through my hair, his voice shifting into something softer.

"You were beyond exceptional, Peanut. I can't express how proud I am of you. Albeit, I was scared to death, and you have a very inconvenient weakness... But... You proved yourself to be strong enough to handle it."

"Thank you for this," I mumbled, smiling genuinely. No hint of mischief or mockery. Just absolute sincerity and gratitude.

"What?" He asked.

"Putting up with me. And for letting me do this," I leaned forward, doing little grabby hands.

My dad scooted forward to wrap his arms around me, kissing the top of my head. "If I'm being honest, your persistence and stubbornness are your best qualities. Especially as a future Avenger."

I pulled away and looked up into his eyes with pure disbelief. "Holy shit-"

"Don't swear."

"HOLY FUCKING SHIT!" I exclaimed, jumping in excitement in my spot on the bed. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

My dad sighed. "Not yet. You're still very new to this. But with the proper training-"

"I will not let you down, Dad!" I jumped with my arms in the air before lunging forward for another hug. "Thank you."

"Welcome to the team, Neoma."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[bunnis-monsters]

Hybrid Shelter Prologue

warning: mentions of abuse, injuries, some yandereish behavior, and violence

You’ve been working at the hybrid shelter for a few weeks now. It wasn’t an easy job, tending to injured, abused, and scared hybrids, but you did your best.

This was just a part time job until you were able to find something better. Of course you cared about the hybrids, but the money you made wasn’t enough.

You had two other part time jobs that took your time away, and although you loved working at the hybrid shelter, it was only a temporary thing.

Most days were full of games, movies marathons, the occasional check up, and lots of bonding. After all, the goal was to help these hybrids figure out what they wanted. If they wanted to be independent, be a pet, or return/live in the wild.

Today was a bad day, though.

You woke up at 3 am to a call, asking you to come into the shelter early.

“It’s an emergency,” your boss said, taking a moment to breathe before continuing. “A new hybrid came in… you’ll understand when you get here.”

And your boss was right, you understood the second you walked in.

In the corner of the lounge was a cat hybrid. He was backed against the wall, hissing and spitting as his tail puffed up.

“Stay away from me, don’t you dare get any closer!”

All the other workers were covered in scratches, glancing at one another in concern.

“His file,” your boss said from behind you, handing you a folder. “A tale as old as time. Human buys a cat hybrid from a backyard breeder, doesn’t know how to take care of him. The owner abused the poor thing then dropped him off at our door… he was scared and confused, and when we said his owner abandoned him…”

Your nods gestured to the cat hybrid, sighing. “This happened.”

You took a moment to read his file, frowning before you handed the folder back. “Alright, I’ll give it a try. Get a room ready in the infirmary, we’ll need to do a checkup and make sure his vaccinations are up to date.”

The cat hybrid’s ears pinned back as you approached, his tail lashing dangerously. “Don’t take another step closer, I’ll-“

His ears unfolded when you sat down a few feet away from him, giving the scared hybrid a kind smile. “Alright, I’ll stay right here then. Is that alright?”

Though his tail continued to sway erratically, the cat hybrid slowly lowered himself to the ground to match your stance.

“…”

He stayed quiet, eyeing you. All you did was sit there, watching his body language and slowly scooting closer.

“You don’t have to be afraid. I know it can be scary coming to a new place, but there’s other cat hybrids just like you here. They’re all happy, and I take care of them myself.”

He sniffed the air to confirm your words, picking up the scent of other hybrids on you. “… and… you don’t hit them?”

Those words tore at your heart, but you didn’t let it show. You kept a calm smile on your face as you nodded slowly. “No… there’s no hitting here. No punishments either.”

He hesitantly reached out a hand, placing it on your leg before pulling it back. Testing the waters was a good sign. “Will my owner come back?”

“Most likely not… and even if we did, we wouldn’t let them hurt you. Never again.”

With that, he slowly moved forward, leaning until his head rested on your lap, a sign of trust. You gently scratched behind his ears, a soft purr coming from him.

“There you go… that’s a good boy.”

Your boss watched this interaction from a distance, picking up his phone. “Yeah, I think she’s the one. I’ve never seen a hybrid calm down so quickly, she might have the thing we’ve been looking for.”

The rest of the day, the cat hybrid cling to your side, enduring the medical exam only if it meant he got to hold onto your arm.

Already he was scenting you, just like many of the other hybrids did. You were unaware how many had already put their “claim” on you, and how that would affect your future at the shelter.

Leaving wasn’t easy, the cat hybrid, who you named Midnight because of his dark hair, was attached to your hip. He cried and buried his face into your neck when you got ready to leave, only agreeing to let go of you with the promise you’d be back tomorrow.

“Mine… don’t want you to go…” he murmured, just quiet enough for you to not hear.

The next morning you woke up to a text message from your boss. Through your bleary vision you were barely able to make out what it said.

‘Dear (Name), you have been offered a chance to work as a full time employee. You’ll be paid $30 an hour, and you can start tomorrow. Please reply to confirm.’

Although you felt happy, something about the message felt off. Regardless, you needed the money and accepted immediately.

Soon your life would become hectic and full of mystery, but you wouldn’t find that out until later.

Now, you rolled back over and went to back to sleep until your shift began.

——————

Comment to be added to the Hybrid Shelter taglist. There may be some nsfw and yandere elements in the future! For now I’m using the nsfw taglist, but the next post I’ll be tagging those who comment.

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi

[promiscuousg1rl]

the one where rafe just won't take a hint.

pairing: sheltered!reader x rafe cameron

summary: despite your first conversation going horribly, rafe decides to track you down at school.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

You were such a cliche and you knew it. Spending your lunch hour sitting in the library like those nerdy characters on those stupid teen drama shows. But what can you say? It's your favorite place, the best thing this school had to offer.

Like always, you're sat criss-cross in between fiction and non-fiction sections of the tall shelves. Your half-eaten sandwich and chips right beside you atop of your backpack. Barely anyone was in here so luckily you didn't have to deal with frequent passer-byes who felt the need to stare at you like you were just so odd.

And now you're able to read your book in peace.

"Hey Bambi,"

Your eyes snap up from the chapter you just started to find him staring down at you with a crooked grin.

Well there goes your peaceful reading.

"What are you doing here?" You frown up at him as you set you book to the side.

You mean to look and sound hostile but it obviously does nothing to deter him as his stupid grin gets even bigger and he plops down across from you.

" 'been lookin' for you everywhere." Rafe drawls. "What's the book about?"

"Rafe." You deadpan. "What do you want?"

He sighs. "Look, I think you got the wrong idea the other day alright, it wasn't what you thought it was."

"You and your asshole friends trying to make me butt of your joke?" You roll your eyes. "Please."

Rafe blinks at you, the corner of his lips no longer stretched into that grin you hate to love. "I wouldn't do that to you."

It all sounds so sincere and maybe that's why his denial pisses you off. It's not like he doesn't know the people he chooses to surround himself with. He's cracked the same stupid jokes they have, laughed with them. So the fact that he has the nerve to sit in front of you and act so insulted is making you feel insulted.

You scoff, your face completely blank. "Because I didn't give you the chance to. And I won't now so you need to quit while you're ahead."

Rafe sits up, resting his elbows on his knees as he meets your stare dead on. "Bambi, I know you think you have me all figured out but I'm not like that."

"So you just happened to approach me in front of all of your friends because you randomly wanted to be friends?"

He shrugs. "Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Because you didn't seem to think I was worth a friendship in the last ten years that we've went to the same school." You counter, tilting your head in genuine confusion.

You two had went to the same elementary and middle schools, he was literally your classmate in the sixth grade. Granted back then you were more quiet then compared to now, but still, what has really changed between now and then? Despite the shred of backbone you'd grown, you were still the same person.

"I mean we don't exactly run in the same circles Bambi but I don't see why we can't—"

"Yeah, you don't but I do." You snap. "Your friends saw you talking to me and thought it was hilarious, that's how much we don't mix."

Amazingly his friends who were also your school mates back then have became bigger assholes since then. A superiority complex growing times ten within their group as did their needs to shit on anyone who didn't meet their standards.

It was insane to think that Rafe truly thought a friendship between the two of you would just be a total walk in the park.

"Why do you care what they think? Us being friends has nothing to do with them or anyone else." Rafe shakes his head.

"You're incredibly naive."

"And you're paranoid."

Wordlessly, you nod and start collecting your things. Your entire lunch now ruined.

"Wha—Bambi, where are you going?"

With a sharp exhale through your nose, you bring yourself to a stand. "Because you didn't get the hint at the diner that day, I'm gonna make this as clear as I can. Leave me alone Rafe."

And as he watches you walk away from him, the deja vu is all too real. But just like before, he promises himself that he won't let you walk away from him again.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

[matchpointfaist]

a love like religion ˚₊‧꒰ა♡໒꒱ ‧₊˚

sheltered! art x flirty reader pt iii

the third time he saw you, art couldn’t decide between happy and horrified. he’d been doing his best to stay focused on his studies, his faith, and his training; on anything but you. his thoughts drifted, sure, but for the most part he thought he was doing pretty well. an entire week passed, and he managed to avoid you on campus, ignoring his fleeting thoughts of wishing to see you, even for just a moment.

he knew, in the back of his mind, that attending his teammates birthday party was a mistake. he knew you were in the same social circle, that you’d probably be there, all gorgeous and flirty and drunk and- it was just best if he didn’t see you.

he told himself he wasn’t taking extra care in his appearance for you; he just wanted to look good, that’s all. a birthday party is a big deal. so he got dressed in a button up and jeans, made sure his hair was perfect and his cologne wasn’t too strong, and tried to keep his head high as he entered the already too loud party.

almost immediately, his eyes fell to you. everyone’s did, though, he couldn’t blame himself. you were a vision of pink and silver shimmer, your hair falling down the dangerously low back of your dress. his breath quickened, his mind racing with excuses on how to get out of here before you noticed- and then, your sharp eyes were on his, a dangerous little smile on your glossy lips.

“donaldson!” your voice carried over the music like a melody, like some sort of siren call crafted just for him, rendering him helpless, “cmere!” and he practically floated to your side, a nervous smile on his lip, “uh, hi, hey. i didn’t know you’d be here,” he managed, biting the inside of his cheek and hoping he didn’t think too stupid.

“course id be here,” you grinned, “what’re you drinkin? i can get you a refill,” he shook his head, “no, i don’t drink, i can just get a water,” “you don’t drink?” you laughed, like it was the most insane thing in the world, “cmon, artie. come with me,”

so he followed you to the kitchen, let you pour him a cup of stale beer even though he knew it was wrong, it was stupid, it was a sin. “it’s cheap shit, but it’s fine,” you sounded almost apologetic as he sniffed it, trying to keep his nose from scrunching, taking a shy sip. “you look pretty,” he said after a moment, choking down the beer with what he hoped was only a slight grimace.

“you too,” you smiled, and for just a brief second, it seemed real. not like that fake, mocking smile you gave everyone else. in a flash, though, it was gone, replaced by the coyness you showed the rest of the world, “nice shirt. green looks good on you,” you trailed your fingers over the collar of his shirt, and he almost lost it right there in the crowded kitchen, his head swimming. “my grandma got it for me,” his cheeks flushed, acutely aware that was not the right thing to say, but you didn’t seem to mind.

“cute,” you just smiled, “here, finish that and i’ll make you another, kay?” he shook his head, already regretting the first round, “no, i really can’t, i’m sorry,” he rambled, “i have class tomorrow and i don’t drink anyway and-“ “don’t worry about it,” you rested a hand on his shoulder, “it’s fine, artie. we’ll have fun anyway, yeah? you can just watch me drink,” you teased. and oh, he did watch you. all night, you practically dragged him around the party, inches from you at all times.

he watched you laugh, watched you dance, watched you drink and smoke and all the things he’d always be too afraid to do. he watched you in rare moments of your true form as you interacted with your girl friends, watched you shut down the guys that tried to dance too close to you. he watched so intently he felt like he had learned who you really were in just a few short hours, like he’d cracked some sort of code he must have missed before.

at 11, he debated leaving without even saying goodbye, just leaving you to your dancing and talking. but as he turned to leave, you were calling his name, a little pout on your lips that sent him reeling. “i’ll walk you home,” you offered, and he took note of your heels in your hand, your bare feet on the floor. “no, that’s alright,” he smiled slightly, “thank you, though. that’s kind of you,”

“let me,” you pressed, “at least let me walk you out, art,” so he did, of course, like he did everything else you asked of him. you walked with him to his dorm, and when you asked to come in, he let you do that, too. even when his head was screaming at him to stop, that this wouldn’t end well, that temptation was the gateway to sin.

you just looked so fucking pretty, sitting there on his bed, your heels tossed in the floor and the skirt of your dress on his comforter. he wished he could memorize the moment, bottle it up and save it for when this night ended. surely you’d never be back there, he told himself, this was just one time. a lapse in judgment, on both your parts.

but then he was sitting beside you, and your perfume was so sweet, and your words were even sweeter when you asked him about his hometown and his family and the pictures on his bookcase. you sounded like you really cared, like you thought he was interesting. you, of all people.

“you can relax,” you told him, and his heart nearly stopped as you pressed your leg to his, scooting closer on his bed, “jesus, you’re so tense. i’m not gonna bite you, yknow. not unless you like that,” you winked again, and his cheeks were flushed, his mind working overtime to form words that just wouldn’t come.

“you shouldn’t be in here,” he finally blurted out, his eyes wide with fear of the way it sounded, like he didn’t want you there when that could not be further from the truth, “sorry- that came out wrong. i just- i can’t be with anyone, and you’re in my room and it’s late-“

“you can’t be with anyone?” you repeated, a laugh on your lips, “why not, hm? is the devil gonna getcha if you slip up?” and then your hand was back on his necklace like all those days before, touching it, burning into his skin, “live a little, art,”

and then you were kissing him, and oh god, oh god, oh god. it was heaven and hell and a mistake and bliss and burning and soothing and everything he’d been too afraid to admit he’d ever wanted. you tasted like vodka and cotton candy and sacrilege and he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t hold back the sounds leaving him from the simple act of your kiss, couldn’t stop his hands from wandering and fuck, you were so warm and so soft and he could’ve died right there when you climbed into his lap, kissing him dizzy, tipping his jaw open with your fingers and dipping your tongue into his mouth.

he would’ve let you do anything in that moment, would’ve let you ruin the path he’d been on for so many years, would’ve let you dismantle all his plans and his faith and anything you wanted if you just kept grinding against him, kept kissing him so sweetly, so dangerously.

and then you sank to your knees off the bed, your hands pulling at his belt and your eyes shining as you blinked up at him, a sultry little smile on your swollen lips. “you’re so hard,” you hummed, sounding content as you pulled down his jeans, “has a girl ever touched you like this, hm?”

“no,” it came out like a whine, his hips bucking into your hand as you ghosted your fingers over his cock, “jesus- no, no one has,” you made a little noise, like you were pleased, and your eyes widened as you pulled down his boxers, taking him into your hand. “this is so- oh, this is so bad,” he hissed in half-pleasure, half-anguish as you pumped him slowly, your lips parting. “why’s it bad?” you asked, so innocently, so sweet, “just making you feel good, art. that’s all,”

“a sin,” he panted, eyes screwed shut, knowing full well if he looked at you he’d finish right there, just from your hand, “this is- sex before marriage is a sin and,” he trailed off, fucking into your hand despite himself, a little whine leaving his throat.

“oh, no,” you tsked, and when he dared to open his eyes, you were pouting up at him, “it’s okay, art. i’ll be good, yeah? i’ll make up for it,” he didn’t have time to question how before your tongue was on him, licking at the tip like a lollipop, and his eyes rolled back, his hands fisted in his sheets.

“forgive me father, for i have sinned,” you murmured, and he choked out a moan as you took him into your mouth fully, so warm and wet and close- fuck, he was so close. you pulled away with a pop!, “holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners,” and then his cock was down your throat, and you were humming around him and he was so fucking close- his hands were in your hair before he could think to stop himself, his hips bucking into your mouth, your name leaving his lips between moans and pleas.

he didn’t know what he was asking for, exactly. forgiveness, release, for you to slow down so this never stopped, but for you to make him cum down your throat like he’d imagined so many times before. one hand was in your hair, the other clutching his sheets as he came, panting and moaning and whining he opened his eyes in just enough time to see you licking your lips clean, wiping your chin with a grin, sucking your thumb into your mouth.

you leaned down, kissing him until all he could taste was salt and sweat and you, god, you, and then you were gone, his lips still hot. “amen,” you whispered against his ear, gathering your heels and pausing at the door, “see you around, art,”

and then, for the second time, you were gone. he looked down, and nearly fainted when he saw what was left in his floor. your pink lacy panties, complete with a little wet patch, bundled up just for him.

“forgive me father,” he mumbled to himself, picking up the lace and tucking it into his nightstand, not even bothering to clean himself up before curling up and drifting off, his mind busy with thoughts of you.