#THE ECHOING WORDS. i wanted to do EXACTLY that but didn’t want to clog up the text. that is literally the exact effect.

[dadsbongos]

dungeon meshi gave me an excuse to write clone porn

2.6 k words / warnings - readers have boobs and vagina, oral (laios + reader receiving), thigh fucking, porn without plot like none at all, not proofread + written while sleep deprived

summary - on your honeymoon, you and laios have a special kind of shapeshifter encounter

~~~

“Who keeps two towels in the whole house?” you grumble, pulling on the shoes you’d kicked off just minutes ago.

“Like I said, they probably keep some in the shed,” Laios is directly behind you, shoes on and wired to step outside, “Vacation houses out here are rare, but their sheds are more useful for storage than farming tools.”

“Still, did they not think to prepare a little more?” your frustration is not so easily tempered, “They knew a king was coming, didn’t they?”

“I’m sure they did,” Laios opens the front door for you, ushering you outside, “Marcille seemed pretty sure she set this up nicely for us. It’s just a short walk around the back, I could go by myself if you want to finish showering?”

His suggestion makes you sigh, you shake your head, huddling closer to him as chilled wind scathes your damp skin, “I’m just annoyed, it’s nothing for me to be so hostile about… Sorry for losing my mind.”

“I don’t mind,” he smooches the crown of your head and ventures around the house. You chase after, having to keep a hand dragging along the wall to avoid tripping.

“Laios!” you wail, unable to make him out with gray clogging your whole vision, “Laios!”

“Yeah?” you slam into his chest, letting out a muted ‘oomf!’ at the impact.

“It’s so foggy out here,” you grumble.

“It is, guess I forgot how terrible it could be.”

“Dunno how you could forget anything like this.”

Laios groans in irritation at the weather, blindly reaching out until he’s got a hand on your shoulder. Once he’s certain of your position, he reaches out again, “Here, take my hand, I don’t want you to get separated from me.”

You take the hand extended and let Laios tug you towards the shed. By the time you’re inside and the hanging overhead lantern is lit, a sudden discovery is made.

There are two extra bodies among you. You hold one Laios, and the Laios across from you holds the hand of your copy.

A gasp echoes through the room, distinctly Laios-like in passion.

Seems a monster has crossed your paths.

One Laios is taller, a mere two inches, and you think if you really stare that same Laios’ chest is slightly bigger too. He’s also smiling, beaming really, right off the bat while the second Laios’ excitement is more contained to shaking hands and meek giggles. To be fair to both, they thought they’d never see a monster again so you let the strange giddy slide.

However, your duplicate is scary in how precisely Laios remembers you. Your hair is a bit bouncier and lips more glossy than current, but she’s undeniably accurate. Its legs, the swell of its breasts, the mold of its waist -- almost as though you’re gazing through a mirror.

“This would probably be easier if it wasn’t just us,” you think aloud, looking at the two Laioses only to see them poking and prodding at one another.

“They don’t seem too keen on figuring out which is which,” your copy mumbles, earning a glare from you.

“It’s a shapeshifter!” the slightly shorter Laios (who you’re now electing to dub Laios A) shouts, “I haven’t seen one of these in forever! I thought I never would again!”

The other one, Laios B, nods and yanks Laios A’s hair experimentally, then groping his bicep, “It really feels just like I do! Soft, but firm skin and the hair texture’s exactly right!”

As if thinking in sync, the pair slowly turn towards the yous. Four hands turn unto you both to squeeze and roll down the planes of your body. Or, bodies, considering they’re petting down your copy as well.

“Practically identical!” Laios A squeals, kissing your cheek then your copy’s, “Even the plumpness of their cheeks feel the same!”

“Glad you’re having fun,” your dupe cuts in, “but shouldn’t we try getting rid of the fakes before they get rid of us?”

Oh, that little wench.

“Let Laios have fun,” you smack its arm, “You should know this is rare for him now.”

“That attitude’s terrible! He could die if we keep messing around!” it glares at you with an accusatory finger-wag, “I bet you want us to waste time, you fake!”

“You’re the fake, you fake!”

Laios A has to restrain you with both arms around your waist -- while Laios B does the same for your shifter -- to prevent you from knocking a fist into its stupid, fake face.

“There’s gotta be a way to figure out which ones the real one without breaking into fights,” Laios B fusses, hugging the shifter tighter to soothe her. Which, in turn, only agitates you more because what if that Laios is the real one, and he’s in horrible danger holding that monster?!

“We can’t just cut ourselves open,” Laios A’s chest reverberates at your back, then his hand skims down the front of your stomach, fingertips dipping just beneath your waistband, “But maybe we could tell each other’s behaviors apart some other way…”

“Oh, so it’s like that?” you tilt your head back to stare up at Laios A.

He nods, terminally serious despite the pinkish hue trailing from his cheeks to his neck, “It’s like that,” he then darts his eyes between you and your copy, “Can we?”

The real question seems to be: can you two get along for now?

Are you so devoted to Laios that you’re willing to play nice with something so grating?

You sigh and reach up to cup Laios A’s cheek, “Yeah, we can.”

Both Laioses rush to undo the tie of their trousers, only to be stopped by you and your copy -- the two of you falling onto your knees, creeping hands under Laios’ shirt and beneath his pants.

Yanking the soft material down to unveil thick thighs, Laios A above you gasps quietly at the cool air brushing his exposed skin. Your lips climb the meat of his leg, noting that Laios B’s thighs are looking a little rounder. Not that it matters, you’ll gladly bite and suck both.

Fingers dancing along the apple of your cheek redirect your attention, Laios A’s face tinged crimson. You smooch the bone of his hip, nails scaling along the back of his thighs to pull him closer. Beside your face, his cock hardens, color deepening towards his mushroom tip; he keens for more attention, unintentionally smearing leaky precum over your face as his erection twitches. You smooth a thumb along his underside before chastly pecking the weepy head.

Laios B’s hands strip your copy’s shirt, lifting it to paw at its breasts. He kisses down the column of its neck before reaching out for you as well. Rising onto your feet, you run your hands up Laios B’s back to shirk off his top -- Laios A awkwardly lingering behind your clone. His hands find the waistband of its pants, snaking beneath the lip to plunge into its panties.

You press a kiss to Laios B, he doesn’t turn to return the affection, but you recover quickly by pulling down both you and your duplicate’s bottoms. Laios A’s neck cranes over your copy’s shoulder to snatch your lips for himself. Laios B’s hands warm and calloused from labor as they careen up your waist to rid you of your shirt as well. He sucks a violet array from your shoulder to jaw, grinding his turgid girth between your thighs -- your wetness welcoming him.

Laios A moans at the sight of himself thrusting along your soaked slit, fingers quickening inside your copy until its own slick is rolling towards the floor. While Laios B releases muted groans and puffs into your ear.

“Need to be inside you,” Laios A whines, kissing your copy’s lips before striding past all three of you towards the center of the room. Laios B and you tilt to watch him.

Laios A quickly flattens his back against the floor, cobblestone acclimating to his rising body heat, he pulls you down by the waist -- then beckoning your copy via wave. One of his hands cradles your waist while the other smoothes along your copy’s thigh. Silently urging it to kneel over his face, all while his twitching cock bobs toward the apex of your thighs.

“Want to know if here’s the same, too,” Laios A murmurs into your dupe’s thighs, sharply jerking his hips towards yours.

Suddenly, large hands are burrowing into the thicket of your hair, swerving your eyes to Laios B. Your tongue lulls in time with your copy, lips brushing hers around the base of Laios B’s flushed head. Needily, he mushes your faces together, thrusting between the wet cavern of your mouths. Hands just as soft as yours slither beneath you to work Laios A inside you. Laios A snaps his knees up, feet on the floor, to aid your copy’s effort. His hips buck up, punching air from your chest as he pops into your hole.

A louder mewl slithers past your copy’s lips, Laios A’s tongue lathering its slit before pausing at its clit, bathing the bud in extra attention. His thumbs splay it open just for easier access to tongue-fuck. Meanwhile, your sleepy bouncing rhythm is interrupted by abrupt, sharp humping throwing you off balance. The only reason you don’t fall over is Laios B stubbornly holds your head still, fucking the sodden gap between yours and your clone’s faces; otherwise leaving you to your own devices. You manage to catch yourself on Laios A’s chest, firm muscles flexing beneath your palms with his throaty hums and whimpers of pleasure.

Your tongue clashes with your clone’s -- soft and wet and warm.

Pulling both your heads back, Laios B rearranges you so your clone is left squealing around his balls while he slaps the meaty weight of his cock on your tongue. Sliding toward the back of your throat, his face flushes as he hungrily coaxes your head further down. Until your molten cheeks meet the protrusions of his pelvic bones.

A hand bigger than yours (though smaller than the one in your hair) rests on your flexing tummy, pressing against the bulging evidence of which Laios is inside you. Laios A groans at the feeling, and you quickly fumble your hand over his, pressing harder with a delighted gasp that ends in a gag and choke. Their sizes are indecipherable, and if the mood were different you could almost be ashamed by how perverted it makes you seem.

Laios B throws his head back as your throat spasms around his tip, lip cinched between his teeth and brows furrowed. He forces your head side-to-side, reveling in the bend of your muscles shifting to accommodate his dick. Laios A, however, stretches his hand (a little uncomfortably) so his thumb can swish messily against your clit. Your volume grows, quickly overpowering both Laios B and your own duplicate. Spurring Laios A to hasten, jostling you with his powerful drilling paired with stimulating your clit.

The other hand of Laios A has found one of your clone’s tits, squeezing and padding the nipple with his thumb. She’s grinding down against his nose, hips jumping and muffled mewls just barely scratching past its lips into the sensitive sack of Laios B’s balls. Spit gurgling down its chin, drying against its breasts and Laios A’s hand.

Drool steadily pools at the pucker of your own lips, pushed out everytime B shoves in -- saliva splatters his hips, dripping down his thighs and soaking his base as well as your entire lower face. The quicker he fucks your face, the sloppier and wetter it gets. Which is certainly in character for Laios.

But so is the way the one on his back is staving off his burgeoning orgasm to make sure (both of) you finish first. Something he always tries.

Laios A’s hips snap up firmly, crooking up into you midair, deep as possible to ensure all his cum is milked by your cunt. He moans into your clone’s cunt, now content to let his tongue hang out as it fucks his face -- his hand still squishing its tit.

Yet something he always fails.

Laios usually cums before you, but he’s also got the stamina to soldier on until you drop.

Determined, Laios swirls your clit, fevered thrusts slowing to meet your bouncing on his cock. Another slush of saliva oozes past your lips, lubing the shapeshifter as you cry around its erection. Laios fucks you through your orgasm, evidently loving how cum spews from your weeping cunt -- leaking down his cock, over his nuts, and spilling onto the cobblestone below.

Faux Laios spits cum down your throat with a few final aggressive jerks. Your clone is the last, and the quietest, shy huffs scarcely audible between skin on skin and both you and Laios’ noisy crooning.

The shapeshifters tumble off, thoroughly exhausted, and you fare no better collapsing into Laios’ chest. He leisurely jabs the last of your energy from you before pulling out altogether. Sweetly pecking your forehead, Laios murmurs something you don’t quite catch before he rises -- still naked -- to drive off the imposters.

Snagging both by the back of their necks, Laios herds the pair towards the back wall, then scooping you up to carry towards the main house. Once your doppelgangers are locked outside, Laios can focus on getting you in bed.

You pinch the juncture of his neck, yawning into his chest, “Clothes…”

“I know, I know,” he slumps against the door upon getting inside, laying his head over yours -- eyes fluttering with drowsiness as soon as he crosses into the master bed, “I’ll go back when the shapeshifter’s dealt with. You brought more clothes, right?”

You nod clumsily. Then peek at him through heavy lashes, “How do you know I’m the right one anyway?”

(you trust him to know which you was which, you just want him to bask in this)

Laios grins, visibly excited to share as he slips you beneath the sheets, “You’re always loud when we have sex, so I knew the version of you trying to be quiet couldn’t be it. And it was too shy about sitting on my face -- we’ve been together a while so you should be used to it by now,” his expression grows somehow brighter before disappearing from your sight, voice lively from the bathroom, “Could you tell which me was me?”

“Mhm,” you wait for him to return with a damp washcloth before mumbling your own reasoning, “The other one was too rough, kept shovin’ my head. And he never kissed me,” you fling a hand out, and Laios moves his head so your palm lands on his cheek, “Which was very unlike you.”

“You’re so smart,” he muses, shifting to kiss your palm before lacing his free hand with yours and retucking it in bed so he can properly clean the mixed cum between your thighs. Then, suddenly, he’s frowning.

“Aw, what’s wrong?”

“This might actually be my last time seeing a monster, unless it's a corpse Izutsumi brings me…”

“Poor baby,” you’ll never understand his fascination -- monsters are deadly and terrible and most are ugly as sin, but you’re useless to denying Laios anything so you always indulge him, “You could sing me the mermaids’ song, would that help you feel better?”

Laios sits up straighter, finishing cleaning you off, “Can I sing to the end? I never get to finish it.”

“Of course, you can.”

Quiet, hysterical giggles leave Laios’ mouth as he slides into bed beside you, hugging you into his chest before clearing his throat to begin singing.

(you have to keep pinching yourself awake to actually let Laios finish the song before falling asleep, but his grateful little kisses on your hairline are enough thanks)

[braisedhoney]

HELLO??? WHAT THE HELL?? H E L L O?????.?!?!?

HOW DID YOU MAKE THIS SO QUICKLY?!

(commentary in the tags because Holy Shit.)

[SCENARIO CONTINUED FROM HERE.]

You select the second oldest of the available files. An observation log — COLONY keeps these, or so you assume. He never leaves commentary or notes to organize them. He probably just memorizes them instead. The terminal beeps beneath your fingertips, every click practically a gunshot in the quiet room. Thanks to your pass you are technically permitted to be here by the system — but you know better. There are security measures here that were not to be violated. If you are discovered, if THIS is discovered, you would likely be in trouble. The screen loads. Text fills the margins. After a moment, you realize that it is not just a file; it’s a transcript and an audio sample. There’s also a small attachment of some kind, likely an image. You play the audio.

[LOADING. . . (A short period of complete silence. Then, rustling as footsteps approach, and the familiar whir of a door. A familiar voice fades in with them.) “… I told you, it isn’t going to work.” “So you’ve said, Captain.” (The door whirs again. Locks.) “Please don’t call me that. Everyone keeps calling me that. Really I mean, I don’t even know what to do with…” (The sound of movement. Footsteps, slightly heavier but more measured than the first. The sound of something opening with a mechanical hiss — a containment unit?) (A quiet sigh. It’s barely audible.) “That… isn’t what I think. Right? Another one?” (A chuckle.) “Don’t sound so unenthusiastic. It’s terrible for morale.” “Le—“ “Just put them on, won’t you? It can’t hurt. One more trial.” “… Fine! Fine.” (The footsteps draw closer.) “Good. Now grab my hand.” (A clang, like somebody knocked into something.) “No.” “Trust me.” (Rapidly receding footsteps joined by another set.) “No!”(A loud bang, like a fist slamming against metal. The footsteps stop.) “No.” “It’ll be fine.” “You don’t know that.” “I’m right.” “This isn’t the answer. It isn’t going to — it’ll never be the answer, Leander, and I don’t even know what it — you know you can’t, right? Can’t come back? Doing this won’t let you see her agai——!“ “Captain.” (Silence.) “… shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” “Prove it.” ”Leander, please.” “Grab my hand. This will work.” “…” “I swear.” (The seconds tick by. Then.) “You...” (Another chuckle. Warmer in tone.) “Didn’t I say I would do it? Didn’t I promise?” (Laughter. Loud, nearly hysterical laughter interrupts him. It’s boisterous, disruptive.) “You did! You did, you… you magnificent bastard, you really found a way to———“] The audio ends. You stare at the screen. No matter how long you look at it, the text does not continue, the audio file does not extend. All that remains is a single attachment. Frustration makes your jaw tense, but you don’t have time to waste being angry. You’re running out the clock as it is. You click it. [LOADING. . .]

And then the screen goes dark. No. Not just the screen — the whole room blacks out. Every terminal flickers off, every bulb extinguishes. For a moment, there is total, unfamiliar silence. Even the faint electric buzzing that comes with electronics is gone. You are completely alone. You turn, grasping blindly at the records pass, the imprint of the screen still on your eyes. You stumble for the door, and to your surprise the pass blinks green, the only light left in the room. It opens and you shove your way through into the hall — Only to slam into a barrier. You look around. There is no hallway. Of all times for the paths to shift… The room you are in is tiny. The door behind you closes, and there is no scanner on your side, nor a handle. It is completely featureless. There is no way to open it. You call for COLONY. There is no answer. You call for the Captain. There is no answer. You call for help. You call for help. You call. You call. you. c a l l. . . . . . . . . . [YOU CANNOT BE TRUSTED.] [. . . ] [THE CAPTAIN WILL LOOK FOR YOU.] [. . .] [BUT THE CAPTAIN WILL NOT FIND YOU.] [ . . . ] [I AM SORRY.] [I AM SURE THAT MEANS LITTLE. BUT I AM.] [CURIOSITY IS NOT A TERRIBLE THING.] [BUT I WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT HUMANS QUITE LIKED CATS.] [. . .] [A POOR JOKE.] [I CAN’T HELP BUT WONDER IF IT WAS WORTH IT.] [I DOUBT IT.] [BUT I DO HOPE.]

(Scenario End. Ending: “Status Quo”.)

[pricelessemotion]

sweet dreams, tennessee

summary: [4.5k] Upon visiting your grandma for the summer, you're greeted by more than one familiar face.

pairing: cowboy!steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: references to alcohol and death of a parent, childhood friends to lovers, slow burn (?)

series masterlist | navigation

Chapter One: Welcome home, Honeybee

An hour or so outside of Nashville is a town called Sweet Dreams, too small to show up on any map. The ones who want to make it out, bask in the irony. They say this town is exactly the place where dreams go to die. 

Most people who have the privilege of leaving Sweet Dreams don’t come back. They watch the dust kick up in the rear-view mirror and say good riddance. But you’re not like most people. 

You tip the taxi driver extra, even though he’s dropping you off at the edge of the property and you have to tug two suitcases and a backpack through a quarter mile of dusty road. The walk gives you time to think. Time to breathe. The air is different here, fresher. You can’t remember the last time you got to walk outside in the middle of the day and only have birdsong to keep your thoughts company. You’d thought that the vast emptiness would be a good change of scenery. You’d thought that the neverending din of the city was clogging up your brain, making your thoughts scramble like eggs in a hot skillet on Sunday. Now, they echo back to you, sung back in the form of mockingbirds. You don’t know if it's better. It’s just different. 

By the time you make it to the paved driveway, your arms are aching and there’s a current of sweat making its way down your back. You’re barely twenty feet from the door when Nana appears in the open front doorway. Upon catching sight of you, she’s barreling down the porch steps, holding her sun hat to the top of her head so that it doesn’t fly off. Dropping the handles of your bags, you allow the woman who basically raised you to engulf you in the best hug this side of the Mississippi. She smells like fresh soil, powdery perfume, and everything that’s good about the world. 

“You’re here! I told you that I’d pick you up at the airport! You didn’t have to call a cab,” She admonishes, before smacking kisses all over your face. “I missed you sweet pea.”

She looks older now, and the thought tugs at your chest. Her hair is more silver than anything and the lines around her eyes and mouth are deeper than in your memory. It’s only been a few years, but your grandmother wears an entire new lifetime lived without you on her face.

“I missed you too.” You let out a laugh but there’s a melancholy feeling to your words. You know that if you stir on them just a little bit more tears will start flowing out and never stop. You bury your face into the collar of her blouse, willing yourself not to cry.

“Well,” She says, taking a step back and putting her calloused hands on your shoulders. “Let me get a good look at you.” 

You smile, doing a little spin for her amusement. 

“Just like I thought. Even more gorgeous than the last time I saw you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks in response. You never quite knew how to take her constant compliments. Not only about your beauty, but your intelligence. 

“How’s your daddy doin’?” Her words are casual but her tone is clipped. Her lips curl in and she busies herself with brushing imaginary dust off your bare shoulders, looking at you like she’s trying to commit the sight to memory. 

You breathe out a sigh, “As good as he’s ever doing.” Which is usually not good, you think but don’t say. 

Nana only purses her lips, nodding in agreement. 

Both of you know that your dad hasn’t been the same since Mama died. Mama was a realist. That’s why she left Sweet Dreams in the first place. Your dad was a dreamer. Without your mom to anchor him to this world he was adrift. He was careless with what he had when he had it. Now, he doesn’t know what to do now that it’s gone. 

You fiddle with the strap of your backpack, feeling the weight of everything you brought with you digging into your shoulders. You should probably call him to let him know that you got here safely. 

“You must be exhausted after traveling,” Nana says, breaking you out of your reverie. “Let me just put my gardening stuff aside real quick, you can go ahead into the kitchen and I’ll fix you up something to eat.”

You nod and step inside the house, taking your baggage with you.

—

The fridge, or as Nana likes to call it the frigidaire, looks exactly the same as you remember it. Magnetic alphabet letters are used to hang up reminders and photos. She still has the same drawing that you gave her for Mother’s Day all those years ago, the crude crayon stick figures of the two of you standing side by side in a wide-open field. Now, there are signs of aging, the paper yellowed and curled at the edges. 

Aside from your childhood art, there are wedding announcements and Christmas cards a plenty. You recognize one of the faces. James wasn’t related to you but that didn’t matter. In Sweet Dreams, everyone was family. He was getting married to a woman named Elizabeth at the end of the summer. You can’t help but smile at the picture of him, his future wife, and his daughter. 

The last time you saw Winnie, James’ daughter, her mother had still been alive. The news of her untimely demise and James’ sudden status as not only a young widower but a single father had caused aftershocks that made their way all the way out to you in California. It was nice to see how happy the three of them looked together. You remind yourself to let Nana know that you want to see them soon. 

“Miss Mellie? I’m done with the car. There was something wrong with the fuel tank.” A man comes into the kitchen through the back door, dressed in a white tank top and blue jeans, wiping the grease from his hands with a rag.

He stops, eyeing you curiously. “You’re not Miss Mellie.” 

“I’m not,” You say, dropping your backpack onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table. 

Just then the screen on the kitchen door bursts open. The bottom has been busted for years and never repaired, for the benefit of the four-legged basset hound that’s bounding towards you. You light up at the sight of him, but your joy is cut short by the comment of the strange man who has yet to introduce himself.

“Careful. Jackson gets nervous around strangers.”

Jackson only pants in response to the man’s statement, gleefully sniffing your shoes before licking the exposed skin of your calves. 

“Well then, it’s a good thing I’m not a stranger.” You mutter leaning down to scratch the dog behind his ears. “You don’t have to tell me about my dog, I was there the day he was born.” 

Jackson was the runt of the litter. You had picked him out, seeing how he was weaker and smaller, being trampled over by his brothers and sisters. Your father had given you a funny look when you pointed at the weak little thing and said that one! The look quickly went away once Nana gave him a look of her own.

“No shit.” The man leans back on the counter with all of the comforts of someone who knows this house like the back of his hand. He puts down the greasy rag, running a now clean hand along the sharp line of his jaw, his expression a mixture of disbelief and recognition. 

“Now,” You huff, standing straight again much to the chagrin of the dog still panting at your feet. “Are you gonna tell me what you’re doing in my house?”

Your snippy attitude doesn’t seem to have the desired effect because he only looks right back at you with an easy smile. 

“Y’know, I’m a little offended that you don’t remember me, Honeybee.” 

Despite the heat of the Tennessee summer, you’re frozen. Only a handful of people have ever called you that. One of them bursts through the kitchen doors, holding a stack of mail in her hands. 

“Steven!” Nana exclaims, confirming your suspicions. “You all done with the car?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Oh please Steven, you know you don’t need to call me that.” Her tone is lightly scolding but from the curl of her lips, you can tell that she likes it. Nana has always been a stickler for good manners. “I see you’ve found my grandbaby. Isn’t she a beauty?”

His smirk only grows deeper as he tips his head. “Must run in the family.” 

She turns her attention to you. “You remember Steven, don’t you sweet pea? The truck was making a noise that was something awful. He offered to fix it up for me.” 

Steve looks decidedly bashful, shaking his head and casting his gaze down to the floor. “It was nothing.” 

Nana doesn’t even take into account his modesty, instead barreling through the rest of the conversation like she always does. It’s a wonder that she’s thrived in such a slow and peaceful town all her life when she constantly lives and talks at twice the speed of everyone around her. Everyone else is left trying desperately to keep up. “The two of you used to be thick as thieves, I swear. Could never find one without the other.” 

“I remember,” You murmur, only chancing a glance at the boy across the room who seems to have turned into a man overnight. You guess that’s what six years apart will get you.  

You remember Steve’s mother. She was a sweet woman when she wanted to be, if a little self-absorbed. Every summer they spent in Sweet Dreams her accent would fall into its natural rhythm and syncopation, annoying the hell out of Mr. Harrington. He always had a sneer on his face, screwed up like he had just taken a bite out of a lemon and was waiting for the sting to subside. He only showed up for the first and last week of the season, to usher his family in and out of his wife’s hometown. 

Steve always acted a bit tougher with his father around, puffed out his chest, and forced his voice to go deeper. You once pointed this out to him and he gave you a nasty look and told you that he had no idea what you were talking about. 

You apologized and Steve forgave you in the way that kids do, over brown lunch bag trading sessions, with plastic-wrapped treats being exchanged between sticky fingers. You never brought up his father again. For all of his father’s watchful eyes, his mother was the complete opposite. She was one of those people who believed that children shouldn’t be seen or heard. So, she pawned Steve off to the dusty streets of Sweet Dreams, knowing that whatever trouble he could possibly amount to was limited by the fact that the town was so small. 

But Sweet Dreams didn’t always feel so small. In fact, when you were a kid the entire world seemed only to exist in a twenty-mile radius. 

Steve clears his throat. “Well, if that’s everything I’ll go get cleaned up.” 

“Oh! Actually, could you be a dear and take the luggage that’s by the front door into the guest room?” Nana asks. 

Steve flashes an award-winning smile. “Anything for you, Miss Mellie.”

Nana shoos him out of the kitchen with promises of a good dinner and even more thanks. You’re still stuck on the fact that Steve Harrington is in Sweet Dreams and apparently has been for a while if the way your grandmother was interacting with him was any indication. 

“He’s staying in the old shed.” She explains, sensing your confusion. She’s already opening the fridge, pulling out a pitcher of iced tea that immediately starts sweating in the Tennessee heat. Your mind is stuck on the soft thudding of heavy footsteps on the wooden staircase. The sixth step still creaks after all this time. “Fixed it up and everything. It already had a bathroom and a waterline, so all he had to do was make it livable.”

You can only think of offering a hum in response, grabbing one of the floral glasses from the cabinet, and pouring yourself a cup. It tastes like home. 

“I’ve got you all set up in your Mama’s old room. Figured you’d like the sunlight. I pulled out the yellow bedspread, I remember that one being your favorite.”

Tears collect in your eyes. It’s been a while since anyone has paid attention to you long enough to remember anything insignificant about you. Nana collects every small detail like they’re precious, saving them for a rainy day so she can show you just how much you mean to her. 

“Thank you, Nana.” You manage to choke out. You want to say more. You want to give her an explanation for why you dropped everything and showed up at her door. You’re not ready for any of that. 

“Of course, darlin’.” She says simply, planting a kiss on the top of your head. “It’s good to have you home.” 

“It’s good to be home.”

—

Nana tells you to go upstairs and unpack–she purposefully set today aside for you to relax and unwind, knowing that you would probably be exhausted after traveling for so long. The reprieve is temporary, though. She’s assured you that the entire town has been informed of your stay and that her birthday party will also serve as a welcome home party for you.

Despite your insistence that you don’t want to take away the spotlight from her, she only winked and told you no one can take the spotlight from me, sweetie. Everything’s been prepared for the party tomorrow night. You’re already dreading the questions that you don’t have the answers to. 

You make your way upstairs, avoiding that creaky sixth step. The walk to the room is daunting. The bedroom door has been left slightly ajar, and rays of sun are peeking through the crack, the only source of light in the dark hallway. 

Taking a deep breath, you push the door open. It looks exactly as you remember it. The curtains are drawn, allowing the north-facing windows to showcase the wide-open fields and dusty roads that you know and love. 

The yellow bedspread is there, just like Nana said it would be. It’s sunbleached after so many years, but it still feels soft and comforting. 

Your mother’s painting is still in the same spot. Looking at it, you can tell it’s never been moved the way the corners of the wallpaper around it give it away. Anyone with a keen eye can see how the pale sage green walls were once deep and rich, having faded away like so many other things in Sweet Dreams do. By sitting right where it always was.

Taking a deep breath, you move to unpack everything. The drawers in the vanity are all empty, except the one in the very center. It’s locked, and despite your best efforts, remains that way. 

On the vanity, there’s an old picture frame. The photograph inside is of a memory you cannot believe you’d forgotten. You’re sitting cuddled up next to your mom. It was the day that you’d gotten Jackson, and he was so small you could still hold him in your little eight-year-old hands. 

You’d refrained from smiling for weeks at that point, utterly mortified at the gaps in your mouth from losing your two front teeth at the same time. In that moment, though, you were smiling so wide. Jackson had gone from sitting quietly in your lap, to jumping up to lick you on the chin. The shock and subsequent squeal of laughter had been captured and kept. 

You move the frame to the bedside table. It’s good to be home, you tell yourself. For the first time today, you’re not quite sure if you mean it.

—

“Is James coming tonight?” You ask in between bites of fresh strawberries and buttered toast.

The temperature in the kitchen is nothing less than sweltering. You’d been spoiled out in California, living near the bay and rarely having to worry about the weather climbing above seventy-five degrees. The room is in a state of organized chaos, with all of the food being prepared and cooked for the party. Nana stands at the back end of the kitchen, her back to you. She’s been up since the crack of dawn, placating your insistence to help her with food and conversation.

“Oh, I’m sorry honey. He called this morning. Winnie’s got a toothache and he and Betty decided to stay home with her. I know you were looking forward to seeing them.”

“It’s okay,” You assure her. “Just would’ve been nice to see a friendly face.” 

She turns the dough on the counter before folding it over and kneading it. There’s flour all up and down her forearms and most likely butter under her fingernails. “Steven’s coming,” She reminds you as if that fact is supposed to be reassuring.

“Right, of course.” You try to keep the apprehension out of your voice. “Steven.”

The truth is that you don’t know where you stand with him. You’d heard his voice from the top of the stairs last night, all full of polite regret that something had come up and he couldn’t attend dinner. The next sight you caught of him was his back as he rode off into the distance.

“He’s single, y’know,” Nana says, punching circles into the dough and setting them onto a baking tray. “He’s been working on the farm for about a year now. Real helpful.” 

You know the farm isn’t what it used to be. After the passing of your grandfather, a lot of the acreage was sliced up and sold off to neighboring farms. They give your Nana tiny cuts of the profit, something to do with southern hospitality and it being a widow’s homestead. She’s still gardening, though she probably shouldn’t given her old age. Trying to take gardening gloves from Nana Monroe is like trying to wrangle a wild horse. Still, Steve’s wage must be meager, all things considered. No wonder why he’s living in a shed. 

“Nana, I didn’t come here to date.”

“Well, what did you come here for?” She says, turning around and crossing her arms. Then, realizing the harshness of her words, she sighs. Dusting flour off of her palms and onto her worn apron, she rubs her thumb across your cheekbone. You can’t help but revel in the gesture. “You know I love having you around darlin’, but I know you didn’t decide to come spend the summer with your grandma just for kicks.”

The truth of the matter wasn’t easy. It was hard to swallow and tasted a lot like failure.

“I haven’t figured it out just yet, but when I do I’ll let you know.” 

—

Drinks have been poured, food has been served, and the birthday cake has been cut. It seems the entire population of Sweet Dreams has overtaken the living and dining rooms, and you wouldn’t be shocked if that ended up being the case. If you had to count the number of inane conversations where you repeated the same five facts about yourself to people who haven’t seen you since you were fifteen, you might combust.

Everyone assumes that just because you go to school in California, you must be living the high life. Beaches and parties and sunsets on the West Coast seemed like a dream to those who live and die in land-locked states, yearning for the smell of salt air and sand beneath their toes.

You know better. California does have all the glitz and glam and charm that they seem to think it does, but it also is an agricultural state. The cities that aren’t highly populated, with bustling nightlife and celebrity mansions, are mostly cow towns. You’ve seen these places while driving down the 5 highway. It doesn’t escape your notice that the exact places that remind you the most of home, are the same ones that people pass by in hopes of getting to somewhere better. They sit in their air-conditioned cars and breathe through their mouths, hoping to drown out the stench of cow manure. 

Never mind the fact that the curtains for your dorm were too sheer to block out the city lights, leaving you up for all hours of the night. Or the fact that, while you loved the beach, sometimes you longed for freshwater and mud between your toes rather than salt and sand. You still brought back pictures from when you and your friends decided to take a weekend trip, forking over small amounts of gas money and bartering meal plans in lieu of cash. The pictures spin a different story. One of a girl who knows what she’s doing and living her best life. Never mind that the thread being spun felt more like you were coming unraveled. 

The back porch has always been your refuge when parties get too loud and the temperature inside gets so hot that it seems like even the floral wallpaper has started wilting. You sneak out through the kitchen door, relieved that there’s no one there to catch you. Nana usually would have noticed your absence by now, but she’s distracted. Uncle Chuck brought out his acoustic guitar and your grandmother has never passed up an opportunity to perform for others. 

You sigh, taking one last bite of rhubarb pie before setting the paper plate down on the ground next to you. Testing the porch swing, you’re delighted to find that it’s still just as sturdy as ever. It used to be that you’d have to sit at the very edge of the seat in order to get it to swing without help, the tips of your sneakers barely grazing the ground. Now, you lean back and your feet are planted steady on the wooden planks below. 

You and Steve used to play pirates here, pretending that the sway of the swing was the rocking of the ocean against a mighty ship. You’ve never felt more unmoored.  

The screen door creaks as it swings open, and you brace yourself for Nana’s lilting voice, telling you to come inside and entertain guests. It doesn’t come. Instead, a deep timbre casts itself out into the night air. Despite the lingering warmth of the day’s heat and the lack of a night breeze, you feel goosebumps rise up on your arms. 

“Not having a good time?” Steve asks. His figure is backlit, bathed in the golden light of the kitchen.

“No, I am. Just–” You take a moment to think of an explanation that won’t give too much away. “Needed a breather, I guess.”

He hesitates. “Maybe I should go then.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been told I take people’s breath away.” 

You roll your eyes in annoyance, but you can barely hide the smile that tugs at your lips. “You are insufferable, Steve Harrington.”

The smirk on his face grows into a full-blown grin. “It’s one of my better qualities.” 

Steve sidles up next to you, hand wrapped around a beer. It’s amazing to think that the last time you saw him, the two of you would have to bend backward to sneak the bitter liquor out of the coolers without anyone noticing. Now, you’re both of age to where nobody blinks an eye. The thought makes your chest feel tight. 

“So why are you out here?”

“Do you mean why am I in Tennessee? Or why am I on the porch?”

He shrugs. “Either one.”

You shrug your shoulders, sitting back and letting your feet swing and scrape across the wooden floorboards of the porch. “I just felt like I needed to come back. Remind myself of some things I felt like I was forgetting.”

Steve nods like he gets it, and opens his mouth as if to say something but decides against it. What instead comes out is an olive branch. 

“I’m sorry if I offended you with the whole Jackson thing yesterday.” He offers sincerely. “And about missing dinner. I was so busy working on the car yesterday that I forgot I had to fix the Tillman’s chicken coop.”

You put on an air of faux contemplation. “I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you.” 

“Thank god, I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t.” He playfully puts his hand over his heart before letting it drop to his side, lingering in the limited space between you. “Took me a second to recognize you–you look so different.”

Steve looks different, too. Baby fat has melted away to reveal high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. Once gangly limbs have filled out into broad shoulders and muscles that strain against the cotton of his t-shirt. He was always cute, you’d be remiss to pretend that he wasn’t. But the year in Sweet Dreams seems to have been treating him well because now he resides on this side of ruggedly handsome. 

“Good different or bad different?” There’s an underlying current of something in your question, but you’re not sure what. 

“Good different.” He casts a sidelong glance at you before looking out at the backyard, saying the next statement into the lip of his beer bottle. “Same bratty attitude though.” 

“Hey!” You squeal in mock offense, lightly smacking the back of your hand against his chest. The movement comes like a second nature, remnants from childhood squabbles. In the microseconds it takes for you to draw your hand away, you take notice of the solid mass of muscles hidden underneath his white t-shirt.

He’s full-on smirking now. “Nice to know some things never change.” 

“You’re one to talk,” You retort. He quirks a brow at you. “You’ve always been such a charmer. I’m pretty sure you’ve got the entire female population of Sweet Dreams wrapped around your finger.”

He gives you a meaningful look. “Not the entire female population.”

You have a sharp reply sitting at the tip of your tongue, pointing directly at Steve, when someone calls his name from inside. It’s Uncle Chuck, insisting that the man sitting next to you join him in a duet.

“Well,” He stands up, brushing his palms on his denim-clad legs. “I should probably head back inside.” 

You hum in acknowledgment, only ever so slightly disappointed, but make no move to leave your spot on the porch swing. “Don’t let me keep you.” 

Steve opens the screen door but props it open with his foot. The golden light from the kitchen is on his face now, and you can see the soft edges of the boy you once knew.

“Welcome home, honeybee,” He says simply, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

With that, he steps back inside and the screen door slams shut. You’re left alone on the back porch, breathless. 

—

likes are appreciated, comments and reblogs are cherished ♥️

taglist: @corrodedseraphine

[aheckinmess]

Movie Magic [Aizawa] (Fluff)

(One-Shot 8/? in a collection of My Hero Academia one-shots posted regularly on Saturdays and sometimes Sundays.)

Read on AO3.

Tags: Aizawa x OC, Pro Hero Eraserhead x OC, Shouta Aizawa, Original Female Character, Ichijiku Aoki, Aizawa Fluff, Protective Shouta Aizawa, Tired Shouta Aizawa, Aizawa is Good at Feelings, Aizawa is a Good Significant Other, Movie Nights are the Best Nights, OC is an Empath, Aizawa is a Logic Boy, Let's See What Happens

Word Count: 1,052 words

Summary: Ichijiku has a domestic night in with Shouta watching a movie. It results in tears and comfort, as well as a few surprises.

Ichijiku (Tigress)

Soft, serious music echoes through the house as Shouta and I curl up on the couch. I absently throw a handful of popcorn in my mouth every few minutes, invested in the fate of my fictional friends. I don’t even realize I’ve involuntarily tucked my cold feet between Shouta’s bare calves.

“Gah! What are you doing?”

“...my feet are cold.”

“Those are your feet?” He chuckles and lifts the covers, tossing some more over us to make sure I’m thoroughly covered. “I thought those were ice cubes. Why didn’t you say something? I can turn the heat up.”

“No! I want you to stay here.” I pout, before giggling when he snuggles closer. “Thank you, love.”

He swipes a piece of popcorn from my bowl and I stick out my tongue at him, before tilting it back to him.

“You want some more?”

“Hm? Oh, no. I just took a piece as payment for my service acting as a space heater.” He teases, kissing my cheek and rubbing his thumb over my side.

We’re both distracted as the music on screen turns intense and dramatic. My chewing stops as I hone in on the dramatic fight between my favorite character and the antagonist. I exhale deeply when the worst seems over and my character makes it out mostly unscathed.

I set my popcorn bowl aside when another wave of fighting ensues, and I grip Shouta’s hand, my heart thumping fearfully in my chest as I fear for the worst. The movie’s almost over. No. It’s closing in on the end and he’s outnumbered. He can’t die!

When I see his best friend pop up on the screen I know it’s over. My tears start their descent. No, he’s going to sacrifice himself! Stop! He shoves his sword into the spaceship to send him and the remaining aliens up into the atmosphere, leaving his friend safe and unmarred.

His eyes close and the camera pans out in slow motion as bright light turns the screen white. When it fades to black, the next scene shows us a group in black gathered around a grave.

“NO!” I cry. “That’s not fair!”

Shouta pulls me close to him while I watch the funeral through blurry tears. I hug his side tightly and I whimper softly until the credits roll. Only then do I tuck my face in his chest and wail out my sorrow. Shouta’s chest shudders through his own emotions, but even when it eventually ceases I’m still crying.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay, Kitten.” He coos, coaxing my head up to run his fingers through the sides of my hair.

I sniffle through my clogged nose and try to get quieter. It results in a trembling of my chest.

“I’m sorry…” I cough. “I’m sorry for being too emotional.”

“That’s not anything to be sorry for. You impress and inspire me every day with just how compassionate your heart is.” He caresses my cheek, his brown eyes rimmed red. “He was your comfort character. I’m not surprised his death hit so hard.”

“I was hoping that of all the characters he would be the one to survive!” I whine. “There were thirty other main characters to choose from!”

“I know, Kitten.” He frowns. “I understand more than you know.”

“I know, Shouta-kun.” I kiss his cheek, knowing exactly who he’s referring to. “Will you hold me for a bit?”

“I’ve been holding you,” He jokes to lighten the mood. It sounds more amusing because of his dry tone.

After a cool down and some much needed cuddles, I sigh into his neck and start moving off of him. I grab my popcorn bowl to take to the kitchen and tug Shouta’s hand to signal him to follow.

“Do you want me to make some kake udon for dinner?” I call, dumping the popcorn kernels and setting the bowl in the sink.

“You don’t have to. We had popcorn and snacks for the movie. I know making the dashi takes a bit.” He hugs me from behind and kisses my cheek. “I’ll be right back. Bathroom.”

“I’ll make some. I’m feeling a bit peckish and it’ll mean you have something for lunch tomorrow.” I decide, warming under his attention. When he heads to the back, I start preparing the dashi.

It’s only been cooking for a few minutes when I hear his footsteps down the hall. I turn to the sink to wash out my bowl while I wait for the kombu to boil. When his footsteps reach me, I turn around.

“Do you want–oh my gosh, what are you doing?” I gasp, taking a step back when I see him on his knee.

The world seems frozen in time as he smiles and pulls out a small box. He pulls open the top to reveal a simple but stunning diamond ring, just my style. I cover my mouth as my eyes widen.

“Ichijiku, you know…I wasn’t planning on asking you, but I’ve come to realize life is short. I wanted to make this moment more surreal to match your ethereal beauty in all ways, but I can’t wait anymore. We’re both heroes, we never know when we’ll breathe our last. So, Ichijiku Aoki…” He takes a deep breath with glistening vulnerable eyes. “Will you marry me?”

I forget to breathe. Carefully, I kneel down and pull him in my arms, squeezing him as tightly as I dare.

“Yes.” I breathe. “Yes, Shouta, of course I’ll marry you.”

His heavy breath rattles through both of us as he sighs in relief, arms tightening around me.

“I’m so glad.”

When we pull back, he slides the ring on my finger and I stare at it in awe. I cup his face in my hands and kiss him. We gaze at each other, smiles painting a glow around us as the world falls away. Shouta and I are all that exists.

At least until a hissing sound reminds me that my kombu is boiling over.

“Ah! The dashi!” I screech, pulling back and heading over to turn down the heat and add katsuobushi.

Shouta laughs and gets back on his feet to return to my side. He rests his head on my shoulder.

“Ichijiku Aizawa has a nice ring to it.” He hums.

“It does.”

Want More Aizawa? Try: Stormy Salsa - The Tiger Tango

[carpsurprise]

 ˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗ flower shop!au sam ... !

→ gender neutral — (they/them pronouns)

→ notes: ok tbh, this is more of a home depot!au because it made more sense for a farmer. but he DOES mention making flower arrangements. give me a break. under a read more so i don’t clog the main tag. tell me if this is boring?? also i’m posting this to ao3. 

→ word count: 1.5k

The deep clinging of brass bells echoed above the farmer’s head as they entered the flower shop, already tinged with sweat on the back of their neck from the weight of the summer. Inside, a boy hunched over on a frail wooden stool sat on his console, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth in unaltered concentration. The farmer idly wandered about the store, window shopping to see if any fertilizer would come to mind, or if a bird feeder they had dreamed of happened to appear. 

“Oh, hey! DIdn’t see ya come in, my bad!”

The farmer turned around, face-to-face with the boy from behind the counter. He was sweating, just as they were, a thick pink soaked into his cheeks and neck from working in the sun. The air conditioning was working over itself, whirring out in pained cries to fill the tiny shop with some solace from the outside air. 

“Don’t worry about it.” They smiled kindly. “I’m just looking around.”

He nodded, stepping back from them. His apron was an airy lavender, with the name ‘SAM’ written sloppily above the shallow pocket— thick lines and squiggles danced around his name in a joyous, child-like harmony. Gold stars lined up under his name, some peeling off from the mix of canvas fabric and sweat. The farmer had frequented the shop enough before to know that the employees were not rewarded with gold stars. Ignoring their odd realization, they returned their attention back to the lined shelves, stocked full and neat with fertilizers and bird seed.

“I can make arrangements, too, if you’re in the business for those,” he said, almost stuttering with urgency. The farmer looked at him, assuring him with another friendly smile. Their hopes that he would take this silent cue and step away had wilted. “I can get you one for free. Like, a free sample.”

“It’s okay, I’m really just here to look for some flower pots. I got a little distracted looking at these.”

Sam turned his head, allowing the almost pitiful way he tied his hair up off of his neck to finally be shown. The farmer could not even fault him, not with the way the heat had become near parasitic to the land. Even with the air conditioning roaring above them, the weight of the humidity had still managed to crawl into the shop. Excusing themselves, the farmer made their way to the outdoor section.

“Do you need me to show you where the pots are?” Sam called out, standing on the tips of his toes to see above the display stands.

The farmer turned to face him, waving their hand dismissively. “No, thank you! I’m fine,” they yelled back. “Thank you, though!”

They knew exactly where they needed to be: the spinning rack of seeds and the empty pots. Their time looking for seeds was short, immediately retrieving their learned (by trial and error, unfortunately) knowledge of what seeds would work with the amount of time they had left in the season. The shops’ assortment of pots had expanded since the last time they visited, all beautifully crafter and shaped in fun, different ways. 

Wanting some difference for their garden, they strayed from the terracotta pots and into the fancier ones. Even with tight funds, there was never a more opportune time to treat oneself than when buying plants. The glazed ceramic pots stood out against their company, shining in the sun with its finish and large size.

The farmer’s fingers gripped the lipped edges, spinning the pot around to look for any hidden scratches or gashes. Deciding the pot was beautiful as is, they pulled it out into the walkway further, bending down in preparation to lift it. Despite its hollow center, it carried the weight of solid brick. The soreness that accompanied them radiated in their lower back and arms, eliciting a wince and muffled groan from the back of their throat. 

After pushing a deep breath from their nose, their body still bent over the clay pot, they raised their head to peer into the dark windows of the flower shop. Sam was so floaty before their separation, following the farmer’s heels like a loyal dog— or a late-day shadow— and when they needed him most, he seemed to have vanished. His silhouette inside of the shop was pinpointed easily, with his spiked hair out of his small ponytail, towering in height, and in constant motion. Standing in front of him was a smaller shadow, holding up two bird feeders in their hands.

“Dammit,” the farmer cursed under their breath, recognizing the shape of one they held up. 

Feeling envious of another customer snagging what was supposed to become a treat for themself, they channeled their energy into their shoulders in one more attempt to lift the pot. A sharp pain pulsed in their shoulder once more. They rolled both shoulders forward and backward, looking back into the shop for any hope to catch Sam and flag him down.

Sam’s saving grace had appeared after a few minutes, his head poking out from the shop door. “Hey, they, are you still doing alright out here?”

The farmer’s head lifted, snapped up as if they had been dozing off, beaded with sweat and red in the face. He caught on with an immediate rush, breaching himself into the sun and over to the pot anchored in front of the farmer’s feet. His legs separated from each other, ready to brace the weight of solid clay, just before he paused— with his hand held up to his customer— before letting out a sudden sneeze into his elbow.

Their eyebrows furrowed for a split second, before regaining their composure. “Bless you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Sam responded, lowering himself to cradle the curves of the pot, lifting it and suspending the weight onto the center of his stomach. The farmer jogged before him, holding the door open for him as they returned to the haven of the shop. He thanked them in a strained voice, before continuing to speak. “I’m just allergic to flowers.”

They looked at him carefully, admiring the curves of his face. “Why do you work at a flower shop if you’re allergic to flowers?”

He muttered something under his breath, carefully setting the pot against the counter before dropping it with a thud, retracting his bony fingers quickly. The counter shook under the force of the drop, and Sam hurried himself back to the register with a shaky smile. “I just think they’re pretty cool.”

“Yeah,” the farmer responded simply, looking at the finish on their new pot with a blank look. “I guess so.”

“And my mom really likes them,” he added. 

Picking up the price scanner, he splayed his hands around the curve of the pot, spinning it around. After scanning the same seed packet a few times, he started poking at the buttons of the cash register. The farmer, left to their own devices in their patient waiting, had peeked around the store, looking for any one object to jump out at them— scream their importance— or jog their memory of any forgotten needs. A hanging pot of vibrant red flowers had caught their wandering eye. The bulbs nearly spilled over the sides, vibrant and full of life.

Biting back a surprised gasp, the farmer lifted their finger up to Sam. “So sorry, just give me one moment!” 

Hurrying themself over towards the flowers, they carefully lifted the plastic hook from its hanging home and supported the weight with an opposite hand placed gently underneath it. They returned to Sam’s counter, placing them with the utmost tender care of a gardener. Sam raised his head from the register, looked to the flowers curiously, then back to the farmer. His hand cradled the tag, his eyes scanning across their scientific name in a small, italicized font, with the price and barcode just below it, and the sun bleached caring instructions. Letting go of the tag, Sam reached to grab a paper bag.

“That comes out to,” he paused, looking back at the screen, “seventeen gold.”

The farmer moved their hand to turn the price tag to verify the price.

“Don’t worry about that!” He grinned. “Those are on me.”

“Oh,” they cried out, moving their hand to touch one of the velvet petals. “Thank you so much, that’s so kind.”

Sam shook his head, handing their bag to them with a gentle hand. “I can help you get that out to your care, if you need me to.”

The farmer hummed, eyeing the deep blue of the pot before placing their bag inside of it, setting their new flowers on top. Hugging it awkwardly, they lifted it from the counter. While the pain in their back began to rip into their muscles, it was not nearly as agonizing as lifting from the ground. Sticking their head out from around the pot, they let a strained smile stretch across their face. “I got it, I think. Thank you, though.”

He smiled at them, still pink in the cheeks. “Anytime.” The farmer kept their grin, watching the pink of his face deepen into a reddish tone. “Come back to the shop soon.”

“I guess I’ll have to, huh?”

[barnesbabee]

[B]reeding Kink || C.S

[ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴇɴᴄʏᴄʟᴏᴘᴇᴅɪᴀ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ʙ]

Summary: He broke into your house, and now he’s breaking you. (it's not fucking consentual non-con it's just inmate!San istg)

Pairing: Choi San x Reader

Words: my fairy godmother said it was 4311 words

Genre: Smut

⚠ mention of drugs, breeding kink, mentions of blood, mentions of violence, inmate!San ⚠

  You woke up with loud banging on your door. It was so sudden, you didn’t know what time it was, what was happening, or where you were. It took you a quick second to scan your surroundings. 

    It was 2am, or so said the clock on your bedside table, and you were sitting up in your bed, startled and confused about the booming sound echoing through your house.

    You got up from the bed and hurriedly wrapped your robe around your body, however, just as you were getting to the living room to look through the peephole, the door burst open. You covered your mouth with your hand to prevent any noise from coming out and hid behind the sofa, praying to whatever wanted to help you that he hadn’t seen you.

    You closed your eyes tightly and started breathing heavily as you heard the loud footsteps roam around your house. 

    It was hard to breathe and you felt as if someone was pressing on your chest. 

    You opened your eyes slowly and peeked behind the couch. You could see a man… His appearance wasn’t clear as the whole place was dark, the only thing illuminating the room being the moon. He had a broad back and dark hair, that you noticed, and he wore heavy, black boots, that left a trail of dirt wherever he walked. 

   Who was he? What did he want? Why was he in your apartment?

   You hid back and waited until you could no longer hear him.

    The silence of his steps felt unsettling… Your chest rose and fell rapidly, and it took all of the courage you had to peek around the couch once more. 

    However, this time you were met with a man’s face. He wore a wide, Cheshire Cat-like smile on his face as he stared right at you. You could almost feel his warm breath hit your face…

    “Hello, doll!” 

    You opened your mouth to scream but the male was faster. He slapped his hand over your face, preventing you from yelling for help or anything of the sort. 

    The male approached his lips to your ears.

   “I’m gonna need your help doll…”

   You took a look at his appearance. He had on a white, stained, and slightly ripped wife-beater, along with a flashy orange jumpsuit. You examined his body carefully. His hair was damp and his inked, very well-built arms were shiny, he had been running. You were inspecting everything as carefully as you possibly could.. when you noticed.

     Was that blood!? 

     There were little spots and splatters of dried, red liquid all over his clothes, which made you widen your eyes. What the fuck had he done!? 

     He noticed your sudden change of emotions and realized you had seen the state of his clothes.

     “Listen, I don’t wanna hurt you. I need you to hide me, I’ll explain everything but you’re not in danger, yet.”

     The ‘yet’ at the end of his sentence sparked something in you and you began struggling under his hold. He gripped your arm and forced you to stop shifting.

    “Calm. Down. You’re not in danger, but if you call the police on me, if you yell for help, you will be. All you have to do is be a good girl and cooperate, because if anything goes wrong, all you need to know is that there are eight of us, if I get caught it won’t be looking too pretty for you.”

    You looked at him, eyes still widened and breathing very heavily.

    “You got it?” He asked.

     He slowly removed his hand from your mouth and placed it on his thigh. You were full-on crying in fear at that point. 

    The male said nothing, he just sighed and ran his hand through his sweaty hair. He also didn’t know what to do. He had no idea where the other seven were, he had no idea if they were still alive and he honestly didn’t know what happened next.

    “Y-you should take a shower.” You told him, as you finally felt the reek coming from him. 

   He looked down at himself and nodded. The male stood up and looked at you.

   “I can’t trust you though.”

   “W-what then? You’re just going to stink forever? Are you going to make me sit in the bathroom while you wash?”

   You were just mocking him, but from the way he shrugged you could tell he didn’t mind one bit to have you in the bathroom with him. You refused at first, but you didn’t really have much choice as he dragged you around looking for the bathroom.

    You sat on the toilet, facing the wall as you crossed your arms in front of your chest.

    “I can’t believe you’re okay with this.” You complained. 

   “I was in prison, doll, I had hundreds of men looking at my ass every day when I showered, having a girl in a bathroom with me isn’t exactly a nightmare.”

    You were both silent. The sound of the water hitting the floor echoed in the room and the water was so hot that the atmosphere around you two became foggy. 

    “Fuck, this is heaven…”

    You would’ve chuckled if you weren’t so scared and uncomfortable.

    “You know, we have warm water in there, but there are so many people taking showers at the same time so it just ends up being cold all the time. The showerheads are also really old, so they get clogged all the time and there’s barely any water coming out… You come out looking mustier than when you went in.”

    You smiled at that. You could tell he was a people person, he was comfortable enough in this situation to tell life stories and maybe that was the purpose, but you started slowly feeling a little at ease. So much so that you gained the courage to ask the question you were scared of. 

    “What were you in there for?”

    You had to know. You couldn’t have a conversation with him, you couldn’t not feel uncomfortable and uneasy without at least knowing. 

    There was silence, and the water turned off.

    “Murder.”

    Your eyes widened from the nth time that night and you felt all blood be drained from your body. The sense of fear and anxiety washed over you once more, and you didn’t know how to react. Should you run? Should you stay? Should you speak, or should you be quiet? 

    A little childish giggle sounded in the bathroom almost forcing you to look behind. He pulled the shower curtain to the side, and although this man was naked from head to toe right in front of you, your eyes were glued to his face. The giggling was creepy, you hated it.

    “I’m joking, I went in for drug abuse and distribution.”

    You took a deep, shaky breath and closed your eyes, letting your head fall forward. You shed a couple of tears out of stress and relief. 

    “You… fucking idiot.” You cursed at him, still feeling a little lightheaded.

    He giggled once more and wrapped a towel around his waist, after roaming about the bathroom looking for one.

    “Why… Did you have blood all over you then?” 

    He pointed at his abdomen, where a deep cut that your eyes had completely missed stood.

   “It was mine. Mostly… Listen escaping prison isn’t that easy and there’s trap wire and people shooting, if you’re not bleeding it’s because you’re Michael Scofield, and sadly we’re all kind of stupid.”

  Although he moved like the wound didn’t hurt, you couldn’t help but worry about it. You pointed at the ripped flesh.

  “Can I… Can I fix it for you?”

  He cocked his head to the side as he looked at you, silently questioning himself as to why you would want to help him. He shrugged, nevertheless. He wasn’t about to decline help…

   “I’d like that.”

    He tied the towel tighter around his hips so it wouldn’t fall, and sat down on the toilet you were previously resting on. You reached for the cabinet over the sink and took the medical supplies from it.

   “This is going to hurt a bit so just, distract yourself by telling me about you.”

   The male scoffed at your words.

   “I’ve been to prison, I don’t think I’ll be hurt by- oh f-fuck!”

   You giggled at his little curse as you pressed the gauze with hydrogen peroxide against his wounded skin.

   He rested his head against the wall and flexed his abdomen.

   “O-okay so, my name is San I’ve been in there for 2 years and- fucking Hell go easy on me!”

  You giggled and mumbled a soft ‘sorry’ as you listened to his stories. You tried very hard to focus on your job, but your eyes would sometimes wander around his torso and covered thighs.

  “I uh, I started selling drugs when I was eighteen, I got thrown out of the orphanage and my little sister came with me, and I wanted to make good money so she could go to university.” he paused for a second, wincing as you switched products “It was fine for a while, I made some friends there which was nice. I never really had friends, cause I kept moving from the orphanage to foster houses back and forth, so I never stayed in one place long enough to make lasting friendships… B-but it didn’t go so well cause I got caught in a swoop and the eight of us went in.”

  When he finished the story you had no idea what to say… You felt a little bad about what he had just told you. 

   “I’m sorry…”

   “It’s fine, life isn’t always kind. Plus,” he stopped to grab your chin and bring your gaze up to his “I never said I was a good person, doll. I just said I was tryna get my sister to a better place.” 

   You stared into his eyes for a second, before snapping back to reality. You stood up and mumbled something along the lines of ‘I’ll get you some clothes’ as you walked off.

  Some of your larger garments fit him quite well. A pair of large, black joggers and a yellow hoodie that looked stupidly big on you. He had to go commando however, since you didn’t happen to have a pair of boxers lying around.  

   You set up the couch for him to sleep in as you weren’t about to give up your bed for an inmate that had just broken in, but he seemed pretty content in the comfort of your couch. 

    “You sure you don’t need some company in there, doll?” 

    You chuckled at his bold attempt and pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek. 

    “Yes San, I’d rather keep the convict at least one hallway away.” You joked.

    Although you felt a little more comfortable around him, knowing that he wasn’t 100% a scumbag, you couldn’t let your guard down. 

    Your theory was proven when you woke up not much later after you fell asleep with a shadow looking straight at you from the doorway. Not remembering that you had a guest, you yelled. 

    He immediately came rushing to your side and shut you up with his hand.

   “Why did you scream!?” San asked, panicking.

   You removed his hand from your face harshly.

   “Because a huge shadow man was standing in my doorway like a lunatic! What are you doing!?” 

  “It’s… It’s 7am I’m hungry.”

 You shot daggers at him through your sleepy, hooded eyes.

  “Do you not sleep?”

   “Not really…  We have a lot of sleep deprivation in there.”

   Somehow he had this habit of making you do things by making you feel bad. And this was no exception. 

   You groaned and dragged yourself off of the bed, feeling kind of embarrassed about how terrible you looked compared to him. Although his hair was messy, it still made him look good, as it further defined his jawline.

  You didn’t know what he wanted to eat, so you just pointed at your cabinets and began teaching him what was inside of each of them.

   As you did all of this, you realized how often he’d brush his dark locks back, in order to get them out of his face. You looked at your wrist and surely enough there was a spare hair tie on it. You offered it to San, who gladly accepted the item and tied his hair in a small ponytail.

  You started walking back to your bedroom, to resume your interrupted sleep, but a pertinent question popped in your mind, and sleep was no longer your biggest preoccupation.

   You turned around and walked back to the kitchen, to find San shoving his hand down the cereal box and eating it dry.

    “San… What’s your plan here? I mean, in the long run. You can’t just crash in my sofa forever.”

    The male in question looked at you, a suggestive gaze playing in his eyes.

   “I can always crash on your bed.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you as he said this.

   “I’m serious, San. This can be really problematic for me! Do you realize the trouble this could put me in? If someone finds out you’re here I’ll have so many legal complications! I’m on the fourth floor, why did you even choose my apartment!?”

   San went quiet for a second and looked at the floor.

   “You’re the 69th apartment…” He replied quietly.

   You rolled your eyes and turned around, stressed out about his response, while rubbing your temples.

  Before you could get very far, however, the man grabbed your wrist and made you turn around.

   “You’re right, I’m sorry… We agreed to meet up in an abandoned building a couple blocks down from where we lived. We needed to lay low for at least a couple of hours. I got lucky I managed to lose the coppers, but I don’t know about them…”

    He had sat down by the dining table and buried his head in his hands. For some reason, 

you felt as if you should comfort him, so you approached the male softly and pet his head slowly.

    “I can try to help with the smaller things!”

    But little did you know that that statement would soon come back to bite you in the ass, when you came home later in the day, after your very tiring night shift, and found eight very big men sitting around your living room, just chatting it up as if it was their own house.

    Ignoring the possibly dangerous men sprawled on your floor and couch, you closed the door and walked towards San.

    “What… The fuck.” You said through gritted teeth, trying to remain calm.

    “Well, you said you could help with the smaller things, and that side of the town was flooding with cops looking for us, so I figured we could come here to lay low!” He said, gesturing to his friends.

    You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply. 

    “When I said small things I meant maybe food or warm water to shower with. I didn’t mean I’d be the shelter for eight hooligans!”

    “What did you just call us?” One of them calmly asked. 

   You looked behind San to face the bleached haired male, who had a mixture of angry and offended on his face. It suddenly hit you that all of these escapee inmates were in your house, staring at you as you insulted them, and nervous tears started brimming in your eyes.

    “I-I’m sorry Sir, but you are sitting on my rug and you came from jail I think I’m entitled to be upset right now.” You told him, holding up your index finger.

     “Listen I’m sorry but overstaying my welcome-”

     “Oh, you think you’re overstaying!?” 

    Already sick of your snappy attitude, San gripped your arm and pushed you back against the wall, causing you to wince and drop your keys. His face was millimeters away from yours, so close you could feel his breath on you.

    “Listen doll, I don’t think anybody wants eight wanted criminals in their living room but you don’t have a choice, okay!? Neither of us would be here if we had a better choice but we fucking don’t, so why don’t you make this easier for all of us and cooperate?”

    You had no choice but to nod, as you swallowed nervously. San let go of you and sighed, disappointed that he had to resource to violence.

   There was an awkward silence, that the male you had known the longest felt the obligation to fill. 

    “So, uhm, these are my friends… “ He said and began introducing them one by one.

    Some of the men remained expressionless, only giving you a nod as a greeting, while a couple smiled politely and the rest chimed a small ‘hello’. 

   “Did you… All go in for the same thing?”

   “Friendship goals, right?” The male you now knew to be named Mingi said, stealing a smile out of you. 

   There was the heavy silence again… And you searched deep in your head for what could solve the awkwardness.

    “Are you guys hungry? I don’t have enough food here but I could go out and buy some chicken. I don’t think it’s safe to have people deliver.”

    They all agreed and so you went on your way, to buy food for all the unwanted guests. It was probably a bad idea to go out on your own and carry all this chicken and alcohol (that you bought hoping that the eight men would become bubblier and less threatening after consuming it) but you still thought that was a better scenario than being caught in public with a wanted criminal. So after about forty-five minutes of struggling, you managed to get into the house with three huge bags: two for the chicken and one for the drinks. 

    Their eyes all lit up once you stepped foot inside of the house and suddenly they resembled little kids. The men instantly attacked the food, proceeding to hurriedly unwrap the chicken.

    “Damn Y/N, were you in jail too?” San asked when he saw you hungrily devour the food. It seemed like you too hadn’t eaten anything that good in years.

    You quickly flipped him off and continued eating. 

  Your speculations were correct, and as the empty alcohol bottles started piling up, the room started echoing with happy chatter and laughter. 

   All of the stress and panic about the situation started washing off from them as the hours passed by and you had to admit, hadn’t they been wanted criminals you wouldn’t have minded being a part of their odd friend group.

    “H-hey Y/N, you should sit here, it’s more comfortable.” San joked with a sly smirk, as he patted his lap.

     “Keep trying, lover boy.” You told him as you rolled your eyes.

     San then placed his hands around your waist and pulled you to sit on his lap, keeping a slight grip on your body, soft enough for you to leave if you were uncomfortable. 

    “Was this a good enough try, doll?” He whispered in your ear.

    You said nothing, and your silence made him chuckle as he pulled you back, until your back hit his chest. Somehow he was right. It did feel more comfortable… And maybe it was the alcohol, or the fact that San was actually insanely hot, but all of the tension left in your body evaporated, and you felt yourself melt into his touch. 

    All of the sounds started fading into the background and you didn’t even acknowledge the rest of the boys, as all you could feel was the way San was drawing shapes on your thighs with his long fingers, and how you wanted them a little farther up your body. You pressed your thighs against each other, and this action didn’t go unnoticed by San, who squeezed them tighter in his hold and groaned in your ear. 

    You could feel a hard-on beginning to form in San’s pants, as it began poking your ass. You shifted in his lap, causing his boner to harden by the second. He gripped his waist tighter and pressed you down on his growing problem. 

     “I really want you, doll, I think you want me too…” He whispered in your ear. 

     “You’re imagining things San.” 

      He rolled his hips up and held you in place, so you could feel every curve of his fully hardened member press against you. Of course he noticed the way you inhaled shakily and giggled. Giggled. 

     San was indeed an intriguing person…

     He kissed a couple of spots on your neck, and bit down on an area he found softer, managing to steal a small whimper out of you. 

     A couple of heads turned towards you and they smirked, acknowledging what was happening, but not wanting to bother or steal the moment away. They turned their attention back to the other men, leaving you two isolated once more. 

    “Please, let me fuck you, doll… I wanna feel how well you clench around me. Will you let me do that?”

    Your mind was clouded by pleasure and curiosity, and so you stood up and grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards your bedroom, not even bothering to give him a verbal response.

    The second the male heard the door click, he pushed you against it with his body and smashed his lips against yours. His hands were obsessed with your hips and thighs, constantly squeezing them as you grinded against his crotch. 

     He tapped the back of your legs and you wrapped them around him. San carried you to the bed as if you were made of feathers, and even though his tongue was harsh against yours, the way he let you down on the bed was soft.

      The two of you only pulled away when the confinement of your clothes started becoming unbearable. You peeled the work clothes (that you had never changed from) hastily from your body. San undressed just as quickly, and he couldn’t believe his view. After all that time being incarcerated he managed to have someone so good looking so willing to fuck him… He smirked and slapped your thighs, proceeding to grab them as he kissed your jaw, then your neck, then your chest, then your stomach, only stopping when his lips were dangerously close to a place you’d be wishing for him to touch you. He stopped and looked up at you. God, he wished he could take a picture of you right now… All jittery and messy, needy and aching for his touch. 

   "F-Fuck San, please!“ You begged, finally, when the teasing became too much. 

   "Anythin’ for you, doll." 

  He teased your entrance with his tongue before entering two fingers, as to prepare you for what was to come. San squeezed and bit your thighs as his fingers entered you in a high speed. 

    "Oh my G-God, San- I want you in me." 

    He groaned at your neediness, and shoved the fingers that had previously been in you past your lips. 

    You maintained eye contact as you sucked slowly on his digits.

    San lined up his cock with your entrance and pushed into you slowly, causing you to wince slightly and bite his fingers. 

    The male immediately removed his hand and moved both his hands to rest on your waist. 

    "Y-you okay, doll?” He asked, afraid he’d hurt you. 

    "Yes- yes, move…" 

     San bottomed out inside you with a loud groan. He didn’t move for a second, trying to take in how tight you were and how good he felt. And even though he tried to hold back by starting to thrust into you slowly, he soon lost control. His hips snapped against yours uncontrollably fast and neither of you cared if the moans and whimpers could be heard in the next room. 

    "S-shit, look at you doll, taking my cock like a good girl-“ 

     You gripped his arms, digging your nails into his skin, loving the way he talked to you. 

    Something about seeing all of those artworks in san’s body made you feel more attracted to the male. 

   "You feel so good inside me Sannie.”

    The pet name and the little praise caused his cock to twitch inside of you, and you could tell he was almost there, by the sloppiness of his thrusts. 

    You wanted to see what he looked like in pure lust, you wanted to do the dirtiest things with this man, his sinful figure bigging out someone you didn’t even know you had in you. 

     "I-I need to cum doll, where do you want me to-“ 

    "Inside me! Please, please cum inside me San!” You begged as you clung onto him for dear life. 

    His cock twitched once more, and he looked at you with a mix of surprise and lust in his eyes. 

    "Y/N are you sure cause-“ 

    "Fucking breed me, San! I want your cum dripping out of me, please!" 

   The intensity of his thrusts increased as did the grip he had on you. 

    "You want me to breed you? Hm? Make you mine forever? Turn you into a bad girl for me? Y-you’re so dirty…”

   "Y-yes! God yes!“ 

    "Oh f-fuck!” Was the last thing he managed to yell as he buried his member deep inside of you, shooting white spurts of cum that covered your walls. 

    It was the way his body trembled and the way his mouth fell open with small whimpers that caused you to climax right after him. 

   His sweaty body collapsed on top of yours as he slowly pulled out, and you could feel the cum drip out of your hole. 

   For a couple of seconds all that could be heard was the heavy panting, until San lifted his head and looked at you. 

    "Fuck, I guess you belong to me now…“

[wetwareproblem]

@shyocean I’m moving this to a new post because a) the OP doesn’t need us clogging his notes with a tangential discussion and b) that post was already getting p long and this is a new tangent.

First off, I want to thank you for publicly stepping up and admitting your mistakes. That takes strength of character that’s all too rare. It’s pretty clear that you’re well-intentioned, at least, so I’ll try to respond in kind. Putting it under the fold to spare my followers’ dashes; this is going to be long, because it’s important to me to communicate it all clearly.

I want to open this by acknowledging that you have apologized and no longer stand by your earlier posts. I would accept your apology if it were my place to, but I am not the wronged party; I have no further quarrel with you. Nothing I say here is intended to cast blame or judgment; I’m not interested in that, so much as unpacking the patterns of thought that brought us to this juncture. You love rhetoric, right? As do I. Words are beautiful, powerful things; and both of us put a lot of thought and care into the words we choose and the impact we want them to have. Words matter, you’re absolutely right about that; and I wish that more people thought that way.

But if we compare the words you criticize to the words you use... there’s something that leaps off the page, to me. A distinct and marked difference in the lenses you apply to men and non-men. I don’t think this is deliberate by any stretch, but... the patterns are there.

Take a look at how you talk about me vs how you talk about Saint, for instance: I was “triggered into a fight response,” but Saint was “excoriating” that poor cis woman. Except... I’ve read and reread and re-reread Saint’s comments in those screenshots, and I don’t see excoriation. I don’t even see belligerence. Saint is a little prickly, but frankly showing laudable restraint and civility, keeping to a strict factual explanation of the problems with what the cis respondent is saying.

I, on the other hand, wasn’t “triggered” at all - I was pulling aggro. I was making a deliberate and conscious choice to be loud and aggressive and hostile in the hopes that the apparent bully would come after me instead of the folks they were targeting. So we have a woman deliberately being a belligerent pain in the ass, and a man who’s being remarkably civil in response to direct provocation... but it’s the man you’re challenging as out of line, and the woman you’re excusing because triggers. Why do you think that might be?

Or let’s look at the inciting incident itself: Avery vents and makes a boundary statement, and this is echoing abuse because it’s Guaranteed to get a response. Saying "you’re echoing abusive rhetoric” to an abuse survivor venting about the trauma he’s exposed to seems... pretty likely to get a Not Great response from where I’m sitting.

Or look at who’s entitled to what spaces: Avery‘s personal blog is effectively public because a cis woman might hear it, but said cis woman is not at fault for doing exactly the thing she’s been asked not to in notes that are pushed to the guy who specifically said he didn’t want to see it.

And then there’s the big one: Saint is “excoriating” the poor cis woman, who can’t help but have a “fawn response.”

If there’s one part of this post you give your full attention to, please make it this one.

Take gender out of the equation and focus on the words and interpersonal power dynamics, and a very different picture emerges. Let me try to illustrate using an axis of marginalization we can both speak to:

Avery: I don’t care about [singlet]’s feelings on issues related to [plural systems]! [Singlet]: Not even if they’re positive? Saint: Correct! Because [singlets] need to stop speaking over [plural systems], if they want to be positive and uplifiting then they need to be uplifting our voices. [Plural systems]’ issues are not about [singlets] and we don’t need their opinions on our lives! We need them to help us get the resources, medical care, legal support, and platform that we lack.

To my eye, there’s nothing hostile or aggressive in what Saint is saying here; quite the contrary, he’s being very polite, just firm. He answers the question, explains his reasoning, and ends on telling her what she can do if she feels a need to Do Trans Man Positivity.

[Singlet]: My opinion is that [plural systems] are [people]. That’s it. I’m not trying to over speak with that opinion. I want them to feel valid. My opinion is that they are valid.

*record scratch* What the fuck? Red flag, red flag, red flag, red flag. While the sentiments are nice on the surface, literally the only sentence of this response that doesn’t reek of aggression and abuse is “That’s it.” The first two should be obvious; the third and fourth are subtler. “My opinion is...” the thing she was just explicitly asked not to give here. She’s very directly stating that Avery and Saint’s boundaries matter less than her getting to say what she wants. “I’m not trying to...” She’s literally speaking over them with that comment; I hate how the word “gaslighting” gets thrown around but this is a pretty blatant example.

“I want them to feel valid. My opinion is that they are valid.” How can this be aggressive, you might ask? It’s validating, isn’t it? Saint already touched on this, but... there’s an interesting rhetorical trick at play here: If you present something not as a new idea, but as assumed background information, people have a very strong tendency to accept it without question. It’s part of our pack and groupthink tendencies - nobody wants to be the one dumbass who didn’t get the memo. Skilled orators, abusers, and manipulators alike will use this as a weapon.

And indeed, that’s exactly the pattern that repeats through the rest of the exchange. Saint again tells her, civilly but firmly, that she is speaking over trans men in harmful ways. She doubles down on it. To (admittedly uncharitably) paraphrase what I’m seeing in her response:

“I would never question the validity of trans men because I’m so supportive, but it’s definitely a matter of debate. Isn’t that just awful, how your very existence is totally questioned? Not that I’m questioning it, I’m just supporting trans men by focusing on what’s important: The fact that your existence is up for debate.”

This is a pattern of abuse. What’s more, it’s one that tends to be more common, in my experience, among women who abuse than men. She’s trying to undermine his firm stance by introducing the ‘question’ of his legitimacy, trying to establish control over the focus and direction of the discussion (ignoring his issues to talk about unrelated ones), and most insidiously laying the groundwork for a DARVO. She’s the beleaguered martyr just trying to be helpful and supportive to those mean, nasty, ungrateful men. Which conveniently gets reinforced by the biases we, as a society, bring to the conversation: Men are active and aggressive, while women are passive and submissive. In the hands of an abuser, (white) female victimhood becomes a weapon.

That is what I meant when I said you had the abuser:survivor rhetoric relationship backward. Abusers wield the rhetoric and status of victims like knives.

[wallwriterstuff]

Guilty Souls ||Demetri Volturi x Female reader||

Warnings: Descriptions of fear and guilt but nothing particularly noteworthy.

Words: 4257 

Taglist: @thelastemzy​ @a-avaunce​ @college-is-coming​ @alecvolturiswifeforever​ @broskibowser​ @volturidoll13​ @raindancer2004​ 

Summary: A request for @kpopgirlbtssvt​

Demetri just wanted to feed. His food fighting back was never a problem before, and this is the first time he's ever lost that fight.

“We can meet back at the jet once dinner is done.”

“I shall see you there.” Demetri agreed. Felix was gone in an instant, eyes near black and his grin slightly feral. The tracker shook his head, unable to fight his amusement – he was glad he wasn’t a human on the streets tonight. Truthfully, he was tired. The mission was never going to be easy to start with, not with a psychopathic nomad attempting to become the UK’s next biggest serial killer. The murders had been brutal and attracted far too much attention, but she covered her tracks well and with no one left alive to steal the tenor from it had taken some old school tracking, some (falsified) detective work, and a little bit of luck for them to even begin to track down their killer. Now she was ash on the wind the lack of time to rest was really starting to show for the both of them.

Demetri could feel the burn much more prominently now that he had nothing else to focus on, like a ball of thorns rolling up and down his throat with every swallow. With a grimace, he turned his nose to the sky and closed his eyes. Felix was clearly in a good mood after the kill, eager to enjoy the hunt, but Demetri just wanted something within quick reach. Stretching his senses, he scoured the area, the sounds and smells of a city at night hitting him full force.  He could hear traffic rumbling along the road, late night television and music pouring from apartments, people making war and making love and the faint shutting of doors as places closed up for the night. The air smelled crisper and somewhat damp, indicating rain was on the way, and the foul scent of pollution clogged his nostrils momentarily until he forced his mind to work through it and smell what lingered beneath. Tulips in bloom in the city gardens, greasy food from the chip shop across the road and…oh.

Demetri’s head turned swiftly, eyes snapping open and feet already moving in the direction of something truly mouth-watering. It made his throat burn fiercely, venom pooling in his mouth. It took him little time to find the source of the smell two streets over, moving swiftly away from him down the pavement with her backpack slung over one shoulder, the bag strap held in both hands. She seemed to glance about as she walked, the smell of old pages clinging to her. It failed to smother her mouth-watering scent, and Demetri was more than sure he had found himself quite the delicacy for the evening. There was something incredibly addictive about her scent, something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on but wanted to drown in. He would have played with her if he wasn’t so damn thirsty, tainted that delicious smell with adrenaline and fear for the twang it would give her blood, but the raging fire in his throat needed soothing.

Given the goings on he shouldn’t have been surprised that she sensed him behind her. He was tailing her at a very normal, human pace so as not to arouse suspicion from the many windows she passed. The woman was smart enough to stay in public view, but it would be no match for Demetri’s speed once he saw an opening, and there was just the opening he needed coming up. The moment she neared the mouth of the alleyway he moved, his speed propelling him so fast no one would see him as any more than a blur – and that was if they really looked. His grip on her shoulder was tight and he hauled her with him with ease, spinning her straight into the brick and clamping a hand over her mouth before she could scream. It didn’t stop her from trying, the muffled noise vibrating against his hand as wide eyes rapidly grew wet, spilling tears against his palm. Demetri inhaled deeply, baring his teeth as the thirst grew to unbearable levels, but he couldn’t look away from those eyes.

Shimmering Y/E/C stared at him with so much terror, his reflection in her tears absolutely monstrous. She shook like a leaf in a violent wind, struggling frantically against him in an effort to get away. He pressed close with a snarl, desperate to ease the ache in his throat, but even when he moved his mouth closer to the throbbing pulse in her throat he couldn’t bring himself to bite down. His grip on her jaw tightened ever so slightly, his frustrated growl echoing off of the brick he had pushed her against. Her quiet whimper made him pull back.

“Stop struggling!” he hissed. She was trying to shake her head, still pushing futilely at his chest. He had to admire the fight in her and the way she fit so perfectly against him would have been sinfully delicious in any other circumstance, but not while she was looking at him like that. Those wide eyes were terrified, so incredibly frightened of him, and it made his stomach churn. He just wanted to feed dammit! Why was she making this so hard! Her heart was pounding in his ears, her blood roaring and racing beneath the surface of her skin, so why couldn’t he just indulge in it?

“Hel-“ his hand had slipped without him realising and he quickly covered her mouth back up as he tried to fight with himself. The frenzy was lapping at the back of his mind, clouding his senses and his thoughts, but the last vestiges of his sanity were clinging to her desperate attempts to preserve her life. He studied her facial features, trying to spot anything familiar. Maybe he was struggling because she looked like someone he knew? There was nothing there he recognised. Her hands must have been sore by now, his skin was literally crystallised for petes sake, yet still she didn’t let up the barrage of slaps and punches to his chest she had been delivering since he had attacked her. With a growl he brought his mouth to her throat once more, his teeth hovering right over the vein he needed to break.

One bite, just one little bite and she is all mine, I just have to bring my teeth together he thought.

Her muffled screaming picked up again, her body trembling so hard against his own his entire frame was starting to vibrate. With a groan, he flopped forward and hit his head a few times off of the brick behind her. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t feed from her. He so badly wanted to, but he couldn’t. She stilled suddenly, his low moaning seemingly startling her. For a moment, all he could hear was her shaky, rapid breathing and the pounding of her heart, his own pained filled moans and the quiet sobs he was muffling still with his hand. She never stopped trembling and Demetri couldn’t stand it. He wrapped both arms around her tight, hoping to restrict her movements.

“Stop it, stop it stop moving…please stop moving.” He begged. He was slowly losing his sanity it seemed but all he could do was watch like an out of body experience was taking place, his mind spinning and falling away from him before it surged forward and all he could acknowledge was her fear and his hatred of it. She whimpered in his ear, her neck stretched so her chin rested on his shoulder awkwardly, but even the prominent way the vein stood against the thin skin of her throat couldn’t tempt him. Her scent had soured, no longer sweet and inviting but filled with the bitter twang of fear. Usually he would enjoy it. He could still feel the predator in the back of his mind howling in delight, but he couldn’t let the monster loose.

“P-please, please let me go, l-let me go please, please.” She chanted in his ear like a siren calling him to his doom, and like she had brainwashed him with four simple words he did exactly as asked. She looked shell-shocked he had relinquished her from his grip, and he could only imagine the bruises that were going to blemish on her skin from where he had touched her – another pang of self-loathing hit him. How could he have hurt her so badly? She was beautiful, even in the darkness of the alleyway with her face covered in tears, tracking mascara down her cheeks, he could see the beauty in every feature. How could he hurt a face so angelic?

“Go.” He ground out. There was absolutely no sense in him letting her go, but he was thirsty by now he didn’t want to risk anything happening to her. As muddled as his mind would that was the only clear thing that stood out to him. Demetri wasn’t sure he understood any of what was transpiring, but after another sharp order to move she was gone, leaving her backpack behind and fleeing the alleyway as he crunched a fist into the wall.

“You alright mate?” it was a man’s voice from the opposite end of the alleyway. He didn’t have her kind of sweetness, but it would do. The tracker pulled his fist out of the brick, the rubble falling to his feet and dust coating his jacket sleeve.

“No.” he said, because truthfully he wasn’t. He never let his prey escape, not once, not even on accident. Feeding was instinctual and natural, something every vampire learned to do from their very first day, so how on Earth after 2000 years of this life had failed at it so badly tonight? Footsteps alerted him to the oncoming man, and the thumping of his heart was enough to send Demetri reeling. His lips curled back over his teeth, thirst flaring once more and the frenzy rapidly flooding his mind.

“Here mate, why don’t we-“ Demetri’s teeth in his windpipe cut him off. They tore viciously through the flesh and muscle, a burst of hot, sweet blood gushing down his throat and soothing the inferno that was raging there. It wouldn’t be enough on its own but for the few moments Demetri let his mind go elsewhere, let his instincts finally take over. This was natural. This was normal. So why the hell hadn’t he been able to do it earlier? Only when his veins were dry did Demetri drop him to the ground with a relieved sigh. With the burn minimised it was easier to think, and the more he thought the more he realised what a mistake he’d made. That woman could easily run to the police and give an accurate description of his face, his clothing. He grimaced. He’d been absolutely foolish, letting her go like that.

Her backpack remained near his feet and he rifled through the contents briefly, looking for anything that might give him any indication as to what was so special about her, where he might start looking for her. There was a work badge stating her name and the logo of a bookstore he had passed while tailing her, and a quick rummage through her wallet gave him a full driver’s license and some debit cards with her signature on the back.

Y/N L/N.

He had been so caught up in the frenzy lapping at his mind he couldn’t honestly say which tenor in his repertoire was her’s, so he was going to have to track the old fashioned way. Inhaling, he winced at the irritating scratchiness in his throat when he caught her scent. He’d need to hunt again on the way but nobody would miss the drunk old man stumbling home from the corner pub would they? He didn’t think so anyway, and nobody would find him anytime soon given the lucky proximity of a wheelie bin. She must have ran part of the way, crossing more ground than he thought she could, but he did inevitably catch up. She was still snivelling, shaking with her arms wrapped around her as she stumbled along. Demetri felt his gut twist again at the noise. She was still so afraid…

“Miss L/N.” he called.

He should have guessed she’d scream.

“Someone-“ he zipped forward and quickly covered her mouth again, his expression pained. The guilt that ate him alive was less frustrating and more exasperating now. He would give anything to stop feeling this way. Heaven forbid he was turning into a self-righteous Cullen – Felix would never forgive him.

“Please do not scream, please, I just – your backpack, I needed to return your things.” He groaned. She stopped screaming abruptly, and Demetri held her backpack up between them. Her eyes snapped up to his, and with his mind clearer now it suddenly felt so obvious to him what had stopped him feeding on her before. Something in his abdomen snapped, his breath escaping him in a sharp exhale. Left dumbstruck, his hand dropped from her mouth and he was left gawping at her like a fish out of water. Her scent enveloped him not to taunt his thirst, but to comfort him like a warm hug, his mind halting dead in its tracks to clear all messy thoughts from his head like the clouds breaking to finally reveal the sun.

Mate.

She was his mate.

And she had just kneed him in the balls.

He crumpled like a puppet with the strings cut, grunting in pain while venom stung his eyes – even vampires were not immune to this particular trick. His groin aching horribly, he struggled to force himself to stand as she sprinted flat out away from him, her backpack in hand and ready to swing. Demetri tried to push to his knees and collapsed twice more before he finally found his footing again, swearing under his breath.

“Hey, hey!” She was frantically waving towards a passing cab. He groaned, stumbling forward a few steps until the pain receded enough for him to run after her. Demetri reminded himself to be gentle with her as he tugged her to his side.

“Please, if I let you go now far worse people than me will come for you and I cannot have you hurt by them. Tell him I have booked us an uber, his help is unnecessary.” He urged. She tried to pull her wrist back, her eyes welling with tears again. This was too public a place for this and the way her backpack swung in an arc towards his face was far too suspicious. She would hardly attack a friend or a lover after all.

“Just let me go, no one has to know, I won’t tell I swear.” She pleaded.

“I cannot, they will know, they always know! Please tesoro, do not make this harder, I am trying to keep you safe now and no more innocent lives need be implicated in this.” Demetri insisted, his eyes flickering to the cab driver as he started to pull up. Y/N tried to twist away again with a whimper so he did the only thing he could think to do. He had to cut through the fear, make her feel the same pull he did, even if her human heart felt it to a lesser degree. She squeaked in surprise when his arm curled around her waist to haul her in close, but even if her mind screamed no she melted into his embrace when his lips moulded to hers, her instincts overriding all common sense because he was her mate and with him, she was safe. His embrace was soothing and sweet, his body created solely for the purpose of protecting hers, and the way his mouth slanted across her own was something she couldn’t refuse.

The way they fit together was undeniable, the chemistry behind the simple movement of his lips, so chaste and so respectful with just the right hint of tongue when he was sure he had her following his lead was sublime in ways it had no right to be. It shouldn’t have felt so right to kiss a stranger, especially not a kiss that had been forced upon her, but she couldn’t honestly that, if asked if she’d like another just like it, she would refuse him.

“Miss? Did you need a ride miss?” the driver was leaning across the passenger seat now, the window rolled down. Demetri pulled back to stare at her, tenderly caressing her cheek.

“Say no.” he coaxed.

She swallowed thickly. “No.”

“Are you sure?” the driver asked, his suspicion aroused. Demetri kept his eyes locked on hers, his mouth pressed together in the hopes she would say the right thing. He didn’t want to manipulate her again. Y/N had yet to blink, still mesmerised by his vibrantly red eyes and the soul-shocking feeling of his lips he guessed. He had felt it to, his whole body coming alive for what felt like the first time in all the millennia he’d been alive. The sweet ecstasy in his veins had replaced any thoughts of the thirst he was still minorly enduring and he wanted nothing more than to satiate his every need in her. Demetri wasn’t foolish enough to think she would so much as let him look at her for some time yet.

“Y-yes, sorry, we’ve got an uber coming.” She stammered, blinking herself out of the daze. Grumbling under his breath, the driver pulled away again, and Demetri only let her go when he was far enough out of sight it wouldn’t be a bother anymore if she decided to assault him again.

“Good, you did well. You have to-“ she cut him off with a sharp slap to the face, one that left minimal impact on him but made her cry out and cradle her hand close.

“Don’t you ever, kiss me without my permission again! Just who are you!” she demanded. Demetri frowned slightly. How was he supposed to tell her? If she knew anything about him, even his name, she would become a target the minute Aro read his thoughts. Hell, she was already a target. She’d seen him, been attacked by him. The shame that bloomed in his gut was almost too much to bear and he tensed under her angry glare. He hadn’t done this right at all and Demetri knew he would have a lot to make up for in the centuries to come if she accepted him. Right now…right now he had no choice but to make the situation worse.

“I need you to believe that I truly am sorry,” he said earnestly, “That this was not the way I wished to meet you, that I truly wish you no harm, but understand that I have no choice. I am bound by laws you have to yet understand and the consequences for breaking them are severe. You must come with me now - please do not fuss! I will make your comfort my utmost priority but I cannot leave you here for either of our sakes.” He reached for her hand but she snatched it back, face pale as she took a step away from him. Demetri felt his heart shatter. The physical rejection stung even if she had no clue what she had done.

“I’m not going anywhere with you you nutjob!” she snapped.

“We have no choice. Please do not make me force you.” Demetri pleaded. He didn’t want to lay a hand on his mate but the choices before them were simple. Either Y/N came with him now and travelled in comfort to Volterra with them, or someone else would be sent to fetch her before she could cause any damage to the Volturi, and they would be far less gentle.

“Force me? You’re off your meds, you – you have to be crazy to think I’d go anywhere with you!” she took another step back, and Demetri took one forward. His expression was nothing but sorrowful, the anguish obvious on his face. He really didn’t want to force her to do anything, but she really wasn’t making his life any easier. Granted, he had forced them both into this situation but surely the mate pull should have been enough for her to trust him at least a little? The fact she was to overwhelmed by her fear of him to feel it was heart-breaking. That she had already rejected him because she would rather fear him then know him…

“Please, please Y/N.” he whispered, extending a hand to her. She shook her head, ready to take off running again, and Demetri closed the gap between them with ease. His arm curled around her throat, his lips moving to her temple. She was so fragile and it took a lot of concentration he honestly didn’t have to cut off enough oxygen that she would pass out.

“Stop -ah!” she cried out, squirming in his grip. Demetri winced.

“I had no desire to hurt you. I am so sorry.” He whispered, voice wavering slightly. As she slumped in his grip he buried his nose in her hair, closing his eyes. He didn’t need to be a genius to know he had probably ruined everything with her before it had even began, but what could he do? He had no other viable option to him available, or he would have taken it in a heartbeat. He couldn’t stand the disapproving look on Felix’s face when he walked onto the jet with an unconscious woman in his arms.

“If you think I am listening to you play with your food all the way home-“

“She is not my food! She happens to be my mate, though I am sure when she wakes up she would much rather throw herself out of this jet than come anywhere near me.” He snapped. Felix remained oddly silent after his outburst, and with a heavy heart Demetri made sure she was settled in one of the plush leather chairs, her backpack within arms reach and a belt secure around her waist for the take off. Once he was sure she was safe in her seat he slammed the door shut and locked himself in the bathroom, desperate to clear his head of her dizzying scent and bring some clarity to the negative thoughts swarming him. Felix watched him go in mild astonishment. The tracker was usually the cool, calm, collected one of the group. He had never seen his old friend this upset before.

Demetri didn’t remerge from the bathroom by the time she woke up either, stirring slowly and scrunching her nose and eyes when the light hit her full force. Her eyes wandered right over him, not really registering the giant’s presence the first time around. Felix tilted his head when her head snapped back in his direction, her heart picking up in her chest and grip on the armrests tightening.

“I – wh-where are we? You, your eyes…” she breathed.

“I’m a vampire.” Felix told her bluntly. A snort escaped her before her hand slapped over her mouth. She had to take a minute to study him, see if he was lying.

“Your as crazy as your friend. Oh god…oh god where it the demented bastard?” she whispered, curling her knees up as tears welled in her eyes, “What’s h-he going to do to me?” Felix couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Would you like the short or the long version?” he asked.

She gulped. “Sh-short?”

“He’s going to turn you into one of us as the law demands and love you like no other man ever could for the rest of eternity.” Felix shrugged. It was amusing to him, how her jaw dropped open. She couldn’t hear the way Demetri growled at him to shut up from the bathroom. Her hands immediately scrabbled for the belt at her waist and his eyebrows rose.

“You’re all crazy!” she snapped.

“Where do you plan on going? It’s a long way down, little human.” He chuckled.

“The bathroom! Away from the crazy!” she cried. Felix’s laughter echoed about the jet.

“There’s a crazy man in the bathroom to.” he promised. Demetri appeared in a flash, his expression furious.

“Could you at least attempt to be courteous? She is terrified enough.” He hissed. The giant leaned back in his seat, looking thoroughly amused at the way she immediately swung her backpack into his face. “And will you stop hitting me with that bag!” he cried exasperatedly.

“You kidnapped me you freak!” she yelled.

“I did what I had to to save your life!”

“You were the one who put my life in danger! You – you –“

“Now now children play nicely.” Felix drawled. They both shot him frustrated looks, and he couldn’t hide his grin when he realised just how similar they appeared. He had no doubt that this rocky start was going to haunt Demetri for a while yet, if only because his mate seemed quite unwilling to let it go, and yet... Felix watched them argue with keen eyes, the pair going back and forth as Demetri quite honestly told her his motivation for the attack and subsequent kidnapping. Occasionally he would chime in with something witty only to be told to shut up, but it was quite obvious to him what neither of them seemed to notice what he did. With every angry word they seemed to smash through a barrier, the pair gravitating towards each other like magnets.

He doubted they’d last a week apart.

[gumnut-logic]

Wire (Bit 14)

Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Bit 4 | Bit 5 | Bit 6   | Bit 7 | Bit 8  | Bit 9  | Bit 10

Bit 11 | Bit 12 | Bit 13 | Bit 14

Wanted to write more, but I’m tired and sitting here staring at words that aren’t writing. This bit was written in the car, I think. Possibly at lunch today. This is the state of my brain at the moment.

Many thanks to @janetm74 @scribbles97 and @tsarinatorment for the read through and support.

I go fall on my face now.

-o-o-o-

“Virgil.” Her voice was like the breeze, a whisper of memory. Every smile, every kind word, every single image his brain possessed that had been reviewed again and again throughout his life dare he forget could not prepare him.

She was exactly as he remembered her.

Her dark hair glittered in the sunlight, her eyes, so much like his, like Gordy’s, were lit like tiger-eye, frowning up at him.

“Virgil, what are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be in the cornfield, you know that.”

“I...”

Her hand reached up and cupped his cheek.

He leant into her touch. Mom. Emotion clogged his throat. His last memory of her was nightmare material as she let go and was swallowed by snow.

Saving him.

“Mom.”

“Why didn’t you listen to your grandfather?”

Grandpa.

Grandpa had been here.

He drew in a shaky breath. “I’ve missed you.”

Her expression crumpled. “I know, sweetie, but you can’t be here.”

“I...” Where were his words?

A snake slithered over his boots.

He jumped backwards. God.

His mother ignored the reptile and closed the distance between her and him. Her hands resting on his biceps. “Sweetie, you need to return to your brothers.”

Scott. Scott had been yelling. Virgil had tried to reach him, to run back to the farmhouse, but now he was here...

“They need you.”

Gordon. He had been looking after Gordon!

She picked up on his sudden agitation, her grip tightening on his arms. “They need you and you need them.”

It was his turn to reach out and touch her. Her skin was soft against his callused fingertips. Her hair brushed his knuckles in the breeze.

She reached up and placed her hand over his, drawing it away and clasping it in both of hers. She stared up at him a moment, everything, just everything in her eyes as she brought that hand up and kissed the back of his fingers. “You need to go, Virgil. It is not your time.”

He broke and pulled her into a hug ever so tight. “Mom...” It seemed to be the only word he could say.

“I’m so proud of you!” It was muffled into his shirt and for a moment she was clinging as much as he, but then she began to struggle, pushing him away. “Virgil, you need to go now. Before it is too late.”

He loosened his grip and she stepped back. There were tears on her face, but resolution as well. “Think of what this is doing to your brothers.”

His brothers.

Scott’s voice was suddenly riding the breeze, despairing and desperate, calling Virgil’s name.

Corn plants rattled as if in warning and his mother’s eyes widened. “You need to go now, Virgil, please.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Please, sweetie, you need to go.” She pushed at him gently.

“I love you, Mom.”

“I know. Now go!” This time she shoved him and he staggered, barely catching himself. But then she pushed at him again and he was suddenly falling.

“I love you, Virgil.”

But it was little more than a whisper, an echo of words said oh so long ago as she fell away from him into the roaring snow.

Except this time, he was the one falling.

-o-o-o-

Next

[spice-chan]

I Wish

Tags : @sacro---sainte @pixxiesdust @ererokii @etegomanere​

Word count : 7 k 

pairings : Kirishima x reader  previous Bakugou x reader  

You were kicked out of Bakugo’s majestic and overrated castle. That’s fine, you find your footing somewhere better, and build a future anew with a handsome, shark toothed dragon.

warnings : angst, implied violence, mentions of slavery ( very brief), eventual happy ending. 

…...…….. 

Bakugou has had this thought for a while. A thought that plagued him whenever he laid in bed with you, whenever he strolled in his lavish gardens with you in the dim hours of the night.

This shouldn’t last.

Even as he reluctantly relents to your requests to meet up, spend time together, this thought plagues him. He was a king, and you were not royal, not even of rich descent. You were just...you. He was an ambitious king with plans for generations to come, enhanced senses and powers, a genius among geniuses. You were just a scholar who happened to intrigue him. Who got too close for comfort.

Bakugou, who’s mind was usually logical and unclouded, was seeing the world through rose coloured lenses.

A rabbit, with nothing on her name, and him.

But this was no fairytale, the struggle will just be ripping the bandaid off. Bakugou knows it will sting, but it will fade away with time, just like those ridiculous feelings.

“What is this about ?” You asked vehemently, trying to reason yourself out of thinking that this is true, willing yourself to believe in him.

“It’s exactly what you think.” Bakugou replied carelessly. Apathetically.

It’ll be just like ripping a bandaid off.

So why did it feel like a blue flames’ burn ?

Why did it sting like a snake’s bite ?

Time will tell, but until then, fake it till you make it. Maybe the apathy his face shows will eventually become all that he feels for you.

You just stared at him in disbelief, bottom lip quivering, eyebrows furrowing in a pained glare, sight getting blurrier.

You wanted him to tell you it’s a joke, that you’re the one that he wants to spend the rest of his life with, not a pompous, rich princess from a fairytale like kingdom. You wished he’d take you into his arms and tease you that you ‘liked him that much huh ?’

He rolled his eyes.

You wished he’d express his melancholy at parting ways with you. You wished he’d give you half hearted reasons why he’s marrying someone else. You clung to the hope that he’d lie to you, but he’d done enough lying. He broke every single promise he made to you. Still, you clung to the hope like a tiny child clings to the side of the pool, afraid of the traitorous waters.

“While you’re at it, pack your shitty things and leave, I don’t want to see you here anymore.” He ordered, moving to grab his writing quill and paper.

Writing away as if you didn’t exist.

You wished, but wishes don’t always come true. Your future with him was going to be one of those wishes, made to wither away with time.

You didn’t offer him any words of heart break, he wished you’d at least shout at him, maybe that way he��d hear your voice one last time.

No, the only thing he heard was your footsteps padding away, not even stomping, just softly enough that if his pen fell if would deafen him to the sound of you walking away.

The clock ticked, his door opened. The bandaid ripped.

And you left. 

You walked aimlessly on an unfamiliar path. Your eyes looked cold, dead, their bright glow lost along with the faint yellow light in the sky. The grass crunched beneath your feet, and the trees were growing ominously large, their spine looming over you.

But you continued walking, aimlessly, and without direction. But that was the last thing that plagued your mind.

He broke up with you, he kicked you out, without hesitation. You didn’t shed a tear, but you knew the dam was going to burst.

It was your fault for having naive expectations, he was a king after all, and who were you ? A nobody compared to him.

You were probably just a distraction, seeing as he didn’t seem to have a hair out of place when he told you to leave.

You just thought he was above arranged marriages, that he was capable of keeping his kingdom solid without the aid of another. But you supposed the deal wasn’t half bad.

While you were lost in your head, you didn’t notice the camouflaged figures that began to appear around you, slowly forming a caging circle.

A hand clamped around your mouth, silencing your shrieks, while your eyes widened in fright.

You attempted to pry his filthy hands off you, your muffled shouting and crying ringing out with an echo throughout the deadly forest. That is, until the frog like man around you started to laugh, mocking how easy it was to “capture a bunny that will bring them thousands”. You dreaded the implication of their words.

You writhed in futile effort to get away, but your efforts were rewarded when you heard a growl a few feet away. A growl that certainly doesn’t belong to anyone here.

Your eyes glistened in uncertain hope, turning your eyes to look at the approaching stranger.

Now that he was closer, you could clearly see that he was a dragon, his shark like teeth bared threateningly at the man around you, his tall and buff figure dwarfing the strangers around you.

“What are you trying to do to her ?” He questioned, his red eyes holding a bloody promise. Some wouldn’t bother for a mere stranger, but Kirishima wasn’t some. When he heard cackles and distorted crying, he hoped his keen ears were deceiving him, but his eyes testified.

“Nothing, move along.” Spoke the ‘leader’, who kept his hands around your mouth, his bravado was crumpling though, his hands were growing lax, but he still tried to keep the situation in his favor. Futile effort.

You shook your head desperately, your eyes bleeding his, watching them turn grim.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

“Close your eyes, you might not wanna see this!” He suggested way too cheerfully, giving you another look at his dragon teeth.

Nevertheless, you heeded his advice, closing your eyes tightly, the darkness slightly comforting, however, the loss of sight amplified your other senses, and you were once again painfully aware of the grimy hand pressed against your mouth.

With your eyes shut, you missed Kirishima’s throat turning red as he conjured fire, the blistering rage leaving his throat and burning  the man holding you. You quickly moved away when the hand left your mouth, but kept your eyes closed when you heard a painful screech. The fire of a dragon being the purest and most potent of its kind quickly transformed the man to ash.

You opened your eyes to see the remains of the man flying around the forest, disappearing into nothing along with his presence. By that point, the circle that previously surrounded you was obsolete, the cowards having fled to save their life.

You felt sick, having never witnessed something like this before, but you eased the guilt by reminding yourself that this man was going to sell you, make you a slave for some perverted and cruel old owner. Maybe even put you in a brothel with no escape. You should have been more careful, but now the lesson was seared in your head.

You could remember the barbaric laughs that rung all around you, finding humor in stealing your life, your future. They thought your struggle for freedom was comical.

They deserve to die, you bet they caused many others to wish they could. The life of slavery was a hard, inescapable one. The life of sex slaves even more so.

They deserve to die.

They do.

But that doesn’t stop your stomach from churning painfully, for your mind to keep replying the events in a loop, making you feel lower then dirt, even if you shouldn’t.

You felt nauseous.

You saw the dragon approach carefully, and despite your sickened state, you willed yourself to look at him.

“Thank you for helping me.” You said, giving him the best grateful tone you could muster.

It felt like an invisible weight was lifted from your shoulders when you saw him smile, but the sharpness of his teeth still served as a reminder of what he’s capable off.

He approached you slowly, tentatively, as if scared you might suddenly flee. Being a former knight, he was well trained into how to use his fire powers and such, so he made sure not to hurt you, but he was sure that something like that might be traumatizing for you, but it was the fastest way to ensure your safety.

When he stopped in front of you, you could clearly see his intimidating height, he towered over you, but it was hard to find him scary with that smile he sported.

“Hey, I’m sorry about that, are you ok ?” He questioned in a low voice, attempting not to sound intimidating. He visibly exhaled when he saw you nod.

“What are you doing here at night all alone ? Are you trying to reach the town ? I can escort you there.” He tried to berate you for your carelessness, but he saw how shaken you looked, so toned he down the scolding. He saw how the soft rabbit ears you had were droopy, the fluffy appendages signifying your mood.

“I don’t know where I’m going.” You confessed.

A minute passed, carrying the ongoing silence with it as you nervously fidgeted.

“Huh ?” Came the dragon’s dumbfounded response.

You lifted your head, your eyes looking up at him blankly.

“You heard me.” Came your brisk reply.

Kirishima furrowed his brows, trying to formulate a reply that wouldn’t offend you or worsen your state, but the frown on his lips showed how much progress he was making in that regard.

A chilly breeze swept past the area, making you feel frozen, even your bones felt iced. The forest was suddenly wider then ever, and you were suddenly just alone as you had been when you were 7. The moon shone, but it didn’t provide any light.

Your throat felt clogged, you tried to snap your self out of it, to say you were ‘fine’, and that ‘yes, I am going to town’. But the words wouldn’t come out, the lies refused to leave your lips.

Because no, you weren’t alright, the man you loved, the man you helped win wars, the one you woke up every morning wondering what the day held for the two of you, the one you sometimes spent leisurely nights with, planning your future, and making promises to love faithfully despite his flaws; is marrying someone else.

He said he doesn’t care that you aren’t royal, told you to stop pestering yourself with  those troublesome thoughts, because he belongs to you and only you. But he lied, he strung you along, then told you to leave. Callously showed you the truth in a letter he wrote accepting to marry a princess from a prosperous land.

It felt like the weight of the world was sitting on your heart, crushing the already bruised organ.

A breeze came by again, but your face felt especially cold. You lifted a hand up, softly touching your face and feeling wetness coating it.

Oh... you were crying.

A hand clasped your shoulder, squeezing assuringly. He more or less got the picture.

“Let it out, it’s ok.” He said. You felt overwhelmed by the kindness of a complete stranger, and -

the dam broke.

Your shoulders shook violently, tears streamed down your face in endless waves, and just when a wave crashed against the shore, another, more powerful one replaced it.

The man enveloped you in a hug, his warmth cocooning you tightly, making the looming trees seem shorter and meeker, and the biting wind a little less cold. You stained his clothes, but whenever you tried to force yourself to talk amidst your tears, to apologize to him, to thank him, he would shush you and tell you to talk later.

Eventually, the onslaught of tears died down to harmless hiccups. Even tears were turbulent, and emotions were sometimes out of control, but the warmth of a complete stranger anchored you.

And when the hiccups stopped, you had a feeling that the everything will be alright.

.....

“- and he told me to leave and never show him my face again.” You finished with red rimmed eyes. The man, who you learned was called Kirishima, nodded in understanding, but his eyes help a solemn anger towards that pompous jackass. Your heart hardened at the memory of your ex lover, remembering his emotionless face as told you to read it. Knives stabbed into your heart as you remembered the words of his letter, how willing he was to set himself a wedding date even though you were the one that always stood by him and offered him endless support and love.

You ground your teeth in frustration, anger taking root where the sadness festered. But the ambers of the fire illuminating the rubies in front of you smoothened it out.

“He reeks of douchebag, totally unmanly. You’re better off without him.” Kirishima said, nodding to himself in agreement.

It was beyond his imagination how someone could not only do that, but take your home away from you for his own convenience.

“Do you have a place to stay ?”

You sighed, shaking your head. You had no one. He knew you had no one. Nowhere.

“That’s fine ! You can stay in my cave with me, I’d love some company !” He exclaimed cheerfully, trying to put you at ease. Truthfully, he really didn’t mind the company. After he quit being a knight to indulge in his natural instincts, he found an uninhabited cave, as mature dragons often do, and begun hoarding in it. The cave is meant to eventually be their own family home until the hatchlings reached a mature age and moved to their own caves.

Kirishima was trying to memorize how to get to his cave by foot, and he was glad he chose today, otherwise he didn’t want to think about what could have happened to you. You seemed like a really nice person, and regardless, nobody deserves to be taken advantage of.

He didn’t know where this sense of protectiveness came from, it could be his knight instincts making a reappearance, but he didn’t want you to get hurt at all.

He could help you get back on your feet, after all, there’s nothing that Kirishima loves more then seeing people smile in true happiness, and he has yet to see yours. He somehow felt sure it will be enchanting. But you were frowning now and looking all mopey and sad so he can’t tell.

“Would you like me to shish kebab something for you ? Food always helps me ! I can shish kebab a deer or a chicken, or a rab- no thats cannibalism for you right ? Uhh I can roast some carrots !” He rambled, watching as your stare got more and more weirded out. He started to feel self deprecating knowing he probably made you feel worse.

You laughed at his attempt to cheer you up, your mood lightening up by his intentions alone. You saw him go quiet and thought you’d better talk before he thought he weirded you out.

“You know what, I think I did bring some comfort carrots with me.” You said, reaching for your bag and pulling out some peeled carrots in a container. You gave the container to him, trying to muster a smile, although it probably looked awkward.

He seemed to brighten up, his dragon teeth making a reappearance as he grinned at you while enthusiastically taking the carrots from  you.

“You can shish kebab the carrots, or whatever it is.” You said awkwardly, having never paid attention to those foods before.

He pulled out some stickes from his own bag, sticking it in the middle of the carrot so he can roast them comfortably.

Rabbit food, but he was too tired and cautious to haunt.

The carrots were clumsily made, but they tasted sweet after the roast, Kirishima appreciated the taste, although he still wanted meat. You, on the other hand, had your comfort food, but it felt like sandpaper as your mind kept replying the events of the day. Just yesterday, you felt like you had the world in your palm.

Everything passed by in a blur, you finished eating and then started walking, because sleeping here in dangerous.

You could see a faint trickle of light as the previously black sky begun turning into navy blue, and only then did you arrive to his cave. The cave that looked so high to seemed to be touching the clouds.

“If you tell me we are climbing that I’m going back to the forest.”

“Whaaat ?! No, no, I’ll fly us up there no problem !” He declared making your eyes widen in fright.

“No what the heck ?!  You’ll destroy the trees !” You exclaimed in shock, unable to believe he’d be so willing to shift here and damage the beautiful trees.

His eyes widened, he shook his head rapidly while he rushed to explain “No ! I can semi transform, don’t worry.”

Your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape, suddenly seeing Kirishima in a new light. It takes an extreme amount of practice and mastery for a dragon shifter to do that. God, you really hope he doesn’t kidnap you. Maybe this was unwise, but you really wanted to sleep, and the streets were just as dangerous for all you know.

Kirishima impressively sprouted wings from his back, two horns grew on his forehead, and his skin pigmentation turning red, a clue to his dragon colour.

He carried you and flew up to his cave in ease, enjoying the familiar rush of air as he soured up to the sky, and the warm comfort of being back to his abode.

He saw the wonder in your pretty eyes as you took in the place, your eyes lingering on his massive hoard, whipping your face to him as you pointed a finger in its direction.

“You gathered all that ?!” You asked, making Kirishima puff up his chest proudly, who nodded at your question. Said hoard contained jewels unseen by the eyes of many in their lifetimes. It contained gold, rubies, emeralds, hand carved rings and hand made necklaces. Among many others.

Immeasurable to the untrained eye, but Kirishima knew everything about his hoard, down to the most minuscule jewels, because a dragons hoard is a sacred thing, a part of them, one could say.

But while every piece is cherished, one is irreplaceable. Kirishima walks over to his hoard, digging seemingly aimlessly, until he pulls out a golden ring with a ruby jewel incrusted in the middle, the first handmade jewel made by him, and the heart of his hoard. Without it, Kirishima would go crazy.

The ruby, which still shone immaculately, was his birth jewel given to him by his father.

He put it own, suddenly feeling content and safer with the weight of the familiar ring on his finger.

You looked on curiously, thinking that the red of the ruby complemented him pretty well, it brought the colour of his eyes out.

“It’s very pretty, did you make it ?” You questioned, peering at him inquisitively.

He nodded vigorously, moving his hand unconsciously to let you admire his ring better.

“I made all of those”

You did read something about dragons being hoard enthusiasts, you just didn’t imagine it’s to this extend.

Kirishima offered you some feather blankets to make your night more comfortable while you slept. Soon, you slumbered peacefully, feeling more content and safer then you have this whole day.

Life was more... anticlimactic after that day. But it a good way. You lived with Kirishima, due to his insistence and your situation, he persisted saying that you can stay with him as long as you need until you get your life back together.

He took you down the next day, as per your request, and escorted you to the town. He went to do his own thing, something about meeting old friends, while you searched for a job.

The town was full of all sorts of people, from mages to shifters, it was a very diverse place, you could even see some rabbits like you here and there. Back at the castle, there was a few rabbits that worked in logistics and the like, you were among them, as rabbits were great and distinguished problem solvers and thinkers.

Being a genius among already intelligent rabbits, you were given the opportunity to study at the age of 9 in the castle, and work there, which you did, but you guessed now you weren’t needed anymore.

Before you could get desponded, you walked  around, taking the place around you but still careful not to get lost and stray to far from the meeting place.

You saw someone exist a place with two thick books clutched tight to their chest. You glanced at the door behind them, seeing an ‘open’ sign. You stopped in your tracks.

You could start there.

You pushed the door open, hearing a bell jingle, alerting a bespectacled tall man of your presence.

It was a large library, and from what you could see, there was only the man in front of you working, while a couple of others sat in the seating area reading quietly.

You approached him, making him smile politely and adjust his glasses which slipped down the bridge of his nose.

“Can I help you miss ?” He asked, his back straight as a rod.

“Yeah um, are you possibly hiring ?” You replied, getting straight to the point. He faltered for a moment, before contemplating quietly.

“I suppose it is incredibly hard to manage on my own...” he murmured.

“Very well then, can you come back tomorrow around this time ?”

You kept your excitement at bay as you reunited with Kirishima later on, who didn’t question you, assuming you came back with no luck.

This time, he made you fly on his back as he lead you back to his cave, and only when he came back did let the excitement take over. You put rationality on hold for a moment, overtook by the moment, and tackled him in a hug, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

Kirishima felt the wing knocked out of him, hugging you back awkwardly as he felt his face flush. ‘Damn, what happened ?’

You practically heard unasked question, and decided to elaborate.

“I got a job, and it was the first place I walked into ! It’s in a library.” You gushed. You liked libraries.

Kirishima’s cheeks quirked up, his eyes looking at you proudly, “I knew you could do it ! You’re so manly !” He gushed excitedly.

Manly ?...

“Huh, manly ?”

“Yes, To be manly you have to have a resilient spirit and courageous heart !” He explained, making you nod. Although you doubted his meaning, it was endearing, he was a pretty quirky dragon.

“Guess I’m pretty manly.” You mused.

...........

A while after working at the library, you managed to feel like you were finally getting back on your feet. You still think about Bakugo sometimes, and it still hurts, but the wound was scabbing, and the hurt was no longer threatening to pour out.

Throughout all of this, one thing was constant: Kirishima.

You will forever wonder what compelled him to offer his kindness to you for so long, but you will forever be grateful to him. When your heart was threatening to harden and ice over, he was be there to bring you warmth and melt it away, like a gentle flare he can breath out so effortlessly.

You never experienced having a friend like that, but you can admit that Kirishima was the best friend you ever had. He was different, but the more differences, the more things you can appreciate and learn about. He was not a man to shy away from helping someone, a quality he told you was hard earned; it’s something he had to implement into himself.

And when the moment came that you can move out, you didn’t expect it to hurt so much.

It almost felt like you were leaving your second home.

“What ? But you don’t have to go !” Kirishima said, quite loudly, that it bordered on shouting. He felt himself getting agitated, and his dragon become unsettled at the thought of you leaving. You don’t have to go.

“But, I’ve intruded long enough, I can’t take advantage of your hospitality any longer.” You coaxed, feeling yourself become upset too at seeing Kirishima’s frown. You never saw him so upset, he was always your cheerful, manly pillar.

“But you’re not intruding, I can’t even remember what it was like to live in this cave without you.” He persisted. But you had to stand your stance on this.

“You know I’ll still visit you, right ?”

His shoulders slumped, sighing, before nodding his head reluctantly.

It felt like he was parting away from his hoard for good, but he had to remember that you aren’t cutting ties with him. His adorable, bunny friend will still be around.

And so, you guys hugged goodbye, but with a promise of seeing each other.

He helped you move your stuff over to your new place, a small sharing house, you and one roommate. You accumulated quite a few things during your stay with Kirishima, along the things you took from ... that place.

Now, you got your own place, your own job, and an amazing friend, life was finally back on track, although very different from what you previously thought It’d be, this one somehow reminds you that you are still self sufficient, and even if a jerk didn’t see the point in having you around, you’ll still live a much better life then he can imagine. Even through the simplicity of it. And that, will be the best revenge.

A few months prior however, a certain hotheads mind wasn’t as lackadaisical about your parting as one would presume.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck

Did he really have to do that ?

Bakugo can remembers the heartbroken and betrayed look on your face and grimaces. He lost you forever now, didn’t he ?

Just like ripping a bandaid off, but it feels like his own heart was ripped out.

He stared at his wall, replaying his words.

He looked at his parchments, the courting letter he made you read flashes before his minds eye.

He tries to sleep, he remembers your adorable figure huddled up to him, demanding him to share his warmth, even though your own was so powerful, it seeped through to his very own blood.

He’s a king, he should behave like it and cut out those child like fantasies.

But then he thinks back to how he imaged you’d look ruling beside him. He always thought you’d look like a goddess with a crown adorning your head and a thron-

Bakugo grabs the nearest object, and throws it across the room, the chosen vase, unfortunately, shatters to it’s demise, it’s previous shape nearly unrecognizable, some pieces were so small, they were almost powder.

Bakugo grabs something else, throwing mindlessly, a beast who lost his sense of reason. He chose what he wanted to do, but his heart was protesting, urging him to go and fix things with you, to kiss you and tell you that you’re the only one for him.

Words that he spoke before, but didn’t live up to.

He looked at his room, panting in the wake of destruction.

Glass shards filled the floor, ink littered it, and blood was splattered, and Bakugou could vaguely feel a sting on his feet and hands, he wasn’t even what just occurred.

The servants cleaned it, and he finally managed to sleep, albeit restlessly.

When he woke up, a couple of hours earlier then he usually would, he sent for the butler, checking whether you were still here.

His heart fell when he heard that you left last night.

Fuck. Fuck. “Fuck.”

Where did you even go ? Bakugo processed the weight of his cruel actions. He sent you away from your only home, where was he expecting you to stay ? Was he stupid ? God, he must be a new, downgraded breed because what dickhead in their right mind would do this to the women they love ?  

His chest ached, he urgently sent guards to the nearby forest and all neighboring places to look for you.

While they were busy, he busied himself with something of his own. He crabbed his quill and a paper, writing an apology letter and cancellation of the wedding. He doesn’t want to marry some pompous princess, and he certainly doesn’t really need to. He only needs you, with your support, he can achieve more then what a measly partnership through marriage can give him-

“We found no trace of her, my king.”

- but he’d already written you off his future.

A heavy weight pressed against his chest. If only he can do things over.

And a month later, he married a princess whose name he didn’t even bother to know.

He saw you you in every corner of the walls, he saw your nose buried in a book in the library, saw your eyes as the moon shone down on you. Even the flowers in his garden remind him of how they looked tucked on your ear.

His ... wife, he supposes, although he despised calling her that, was just as pompous, bratty and arrogant as he assumed. But her kingdom was powerful, now he can reap the benefits, hooray.

She always tries to get him in her bed ( Bakugo couldn’t share a room with her, a requested a separate room a week after they wed) and looks down on anyone, declaring them beneath her and not worth her time with an egocentric huff and an eye roll.

You’d never do that, you were always so compassionate.

The familiar weight pressed down even harder.

He wonders how you’re doing now. Are you happier without him ? Or are you still pining like he is. Did you... find someone else, God, he hopes not, as selfish as it is.

Just like ripping off a bandaid, he thought.

Which brings us back to here.

You sat on your bed, exhausted, but feeling as rejuvenated as ever. This is the first time you lived truly alone, and while is was slightly lonely, it gave you the feeling of freedom you never had back in the castle, or with Kirishima.

You felt like you wanted to take advantage of that, but instead you opted to sleep.

You slowly but surely adapted to your new routine, waking up, doing your shift, visiting Kirishima when you can, and spending the rest of the day lounging at home. Utterly mundane, and your roommate disapproves.

You weren’t exactly close to her, she spent her mornings somewhere unknown, and her nights partying, only coming home to sleep and eat.

Somehow, even though you moved out from Kirishima’s cave, it felt as if you’d gotten closer.

His red hair and crimson eyes made your heart do flips, and his toothy smile caused your stomach to do summersaults. It was a familiar feeling, it caused your heart to ache with a familiar warmth, but the organ was bruised.

Kirishima felt close to you, but so unreachable, he was a free spirit, who where you to bind his wings ?

So, this caused you to do the stupidest, and most cliche move ever. Yes, you avoided him. You stopped going to see him, bringing him trinkets.

God knows you missed his virile musk and familiar warmth, you missed even lounging on top of his hoard, something he insisted on you doing whenever you went to choose a spot to indulge in reading.

You used to compare him to Bakugo a lot, used to sometimes miss the blond man through Kirishima’s actions, but the moment you stopped doing that, the moment you thought about Kirishima whenever you pictured a future, it should’ve warned you, but you were too busy turning to an apple whenever he caught your stare and -

No. “Stop that” you muttered to yourself, putting away the last book in the return pile to it’s

section.

“Good work for today, (L/N) !, see you again tomorrow !” Exclaimed your employer, Iida, making you smile and nod as you walked, leaving the bookshelves behind you and bidding the bespectacled man behind the counter goodbye.

You opened the door, hearing the jingle that you became accustomed to as you closed the door behind you. You only managed to take two steps before your feet were lifted off the earth.

You gasped, instinctively hitting randomly, but relaxing your muscles when you heard a familiar voice.

“Heeey, no need for violence, or did you forget me already !” Although his tone was cheerful, there was a slight bitter note in it that you couldn’t ignore of laugh off.

“How could I forget you, Eiji ?” You replied sombrely, glancing but at him with a small smile, which didn’t manage to fully brighten the seriousness your eyes.

Eiji held on tightly to your midsection as he flew you guys up towards the sky, and it felt like he was carrying you to heaven. The pedestrians nearby stared in astonishment at what seemed to be something akin to an abduction. It happened way to fast for the moment to have been real.

Eiji brought you so high, everyone else looked to be the size of ants, their existence irrelevant, but coexisting with yours and Eiji’s. Everything below looked so unimportant, but the hands around you kelt you rooted to reality as wind whipped through your hair, and his muscular chest pressed against your back, making you scared of making the slightest movements that could shatter the moment.

Suddenly, the landscape beneath you was scrapped and replaced with rippling blue waves and sand. The blue looked so pure and unadulterated, that when Eiji brought you closer to it, you kept almost see your reflection. What a reflection, wide eyes with a mouth to match, and a sexy hunk staring back at you through the glacier mirror. You brought a finger down, touching the water and creating a small, unnoticeable ripple in the huge ocean, afraid of touching it with your whole palm and tainting it’s purity. A small white ripple as you flew was the only fleeting evidence that you ever made contact with something so divine.

How ethereal beauty is, Kirishima mused. He wasn’t about to let you be ethereal in his life though, because although enchanting, you stumbled upon him to stay.

Eventually, he landed down on the sand, putting you down to your feet gently, but already missing your contact.

You guys sat down, uncaring whether your clothes got sand all over them.

Kirishima didn’t try to mask his displeasure anymore, frowning at you grumpily.

“Care to explain why you’ve been avoiding me you silly bunny ?” He asked. The ocean continued to coexist beside you, but Kirishima was once again the only existence you cared about.

You felt the urge to pour your heart out to him, the words traveling from your brain, down to your vocal cords and to the tip of your tongue, and before after-thoughts could plague you and render you voiceless, you took the plunge.

“I like you, no scratch that, I love you.” You confessed, your eyes looking away from his, missing the crimson becoming as intense as a volcano at your confession. You loved him too ? A feeling so euphoric traveled through Kirishima, his fantasies of a future with you were now more than mere fantasies.

Your nervousness spurred you on, making you grab one of your fuzzy ears and caressing it as heated words came out like word vomit. You spoke and spoke, but Kirishima remained silent.

Suddenly, he lunged at you ferociously, stealing the very words from your mouth.

He brought his lips to yours, kissing you roughly yet passionately, as if he was pouring all his repressed desires into locking lips with you. His slightly chapped lips created just the right amount of friction as amorous sounds filled the otherwise empty ocean around you. You brought your hand to the back of his head and pulled him closer, taking his bottom lip and sucking on it gently, and he understood your cue, opening his mouth to let you kiss him deeper.

It felt before like you stood up steady in the dark, finding your footing after stumbling, now, it was like the whole world was being showcased in a clear white light.

You moved back to Kirishima’s cave, his words being ‘no mate of mine is going go be staying far’, you had to complaints. Finally, you can call this familiar place your home. While Kirishima used to be something of a freelancer, he eventually opened his own jewellery store, as per your suggestion. It became incredibly prosperous, but nothing can compare to the incredible jewels of his hoard. Or the incredible mating gift he gave you, a more feminine version of his ruby ring, hand made by him, every time you looked at your hand, you remembered his eyes and a rush of happiness would coarse through you.

Although the income was pretty high, Kirishima would never leave his cave, it was already humongous, so it wouldn’t have trouble fitting family. The business was only there to provide for your future kids with no trouble.

And as another year went by, a hatchling joined your little family. It was a baby boy with black hair and red eyes. Kirishima eventually told you that he wasn’t really a red head, but you could already spot the black roots showing so it wasn’t any surprise. You assured him that his natural hair colour was already manly. He never died his hair again. The baby boy, Eito sprouted wings at the age of two, and managed to fully shift then. Quite early, bit we made do.

The process of teaching him how to fly was frightening for you and Eito though.

You had to have him shift, then throw him off , kind of like teaching a bird how to fly.

Eiji waited down just in case, but your nervousness vanished when Eiichi flapped his wings and soared.

A year later, you gave the three year old Eito a baby sister. A gorgeous baby with red eyes and your (h/c).

Finally, the huge nest Eiji created could be out to use.

.......

Bakugo finally found a reason to divorce his wife after a year of marriage. He found her giving the head night flirty looks, and his suspensions were later confirmed when he caught them in bed in her chambers.

The divorce was quite swift as her kingdom sought to keep the shameful scandal under wraps.

Now, Bakugo could mask in his memories of you in peace.

Four years passed by in a blur for Bakugo. It’s been five years since he last saw you, and weight on his chest didn’t get any lighter. It still hurts to think about the future he scrapped, the things he could’ve been doing with you had he not gotten arrogant and decided marrying a princess was better than pursuing his future with you.

He never searched for you again after that night, you’re better off without him. What would he say to you anyway ?

He’s pathetic, still pining after a woman who he hasn’t seen in 5 years.

........

Bakugo was in a nearby village, looking for any suspicious activity relating to the recent abductions. He wasn’t required to be here, but he had nothing better to do. He’s always at the top of his work.

He walked around, straining his senses to try and capture anything conspicuous or otherwise.

He eventually found himself at a tiny playground for kids. Although by the time he arrived there, the sky was painted a hue of orange, and the park was empty save for one lone figure on a swing. He would have turned around, but he was out for anything, and being at a kids park was slightly odd.

He looked at the figure, and his throat felt as dry as a Sahara. His heart palpitated wildly when he saw your familiar figure parched on a swing cooing at a bundle in your arms.

He always thought imagined what you’d look like with a baby in your arms, but seeing it now caused him un imaginable pain. His heart burnt, as if a dagger coated with poison kept stabbing him time and time again.

Before he knew it, his feet carried him over to you, and now his shadow loomed over your figure.

You looked up, your pupils shrinking upon seeing his familiar face, hooded with a pessimistic sheen. You’ve never seen him look like this, even when he kicked you out, its a foreign look on his face, like looking at a piece of art you’ve long given up on.

“(Y/n), is it yours ?” His strained voice asked, so softly, if could have disappeared with the passing wind. He was staring at you, his vermilion eyes seeing yours for the first time in years. You’d gotten even prettier.

“Yes, her name is Eiko.” His heart dropped at your answer. You seemed fo live her a lot, you probably loved her father a lot too. A pang went through him at the thought of the lucky bastard.

He looked down at the girl, he could pretend for a moment that her red eyes were his.

How ironic for your daughter to have the same - or at least similar - eye colour as him.

It’s definitely a slap in the gut when he sees a dragon’s mating mark on your neck, and then to see said dragon himself.

“Heey babe, I got you crepes !” He said, kissing you on the cheek as if you’re the only person he sees. Which is proven when he say Bakugo and frowned, turning to you.

“Babe, who’s that ?” He asked innocently, making Bakugo grind his jaw. His head felt shaky when he saw a short boy come out from behind his dad’s legs. He looked a lot like his father. You had what seemed to be the picture perfect family.

“It’s nobody Eiji.”

[rantingwriter]

Accidentally in Love (Hawks x Civilian Reader) pt. 2

Trigger Warning: Strong language, long hospital stay, lots of anger, depression, and more angst than last time. I swear there will be fluff later...starting in pt. 4.

 “Damn it,” you grumble as you try to support your weight with the parallel bars. 

“You are doing great, [y/n], just a little bit more.” Mayu, one of the physical therapists helping you with your recovery does her best to encourage you. 

The door slams open and you lose your concentration, collapsing to the floor. “Fuck!” 

Mayu cringes at the angered tone, “Ryo!!” 

The man who barged into the room bows apologetically, “I’m so sorry, I was running late,” he hurries off to the changing room for the employees. 

You feel your frustration boiling over, “this is pointless!” 

Mayu turns her attention back to you and her features soften, “Please don’t say that, you’ve only been at this for a week and you are making good progress.” Her positivity only serves to frustrate you more.

“What progress?! I can’t even stand for longer than a couple minutes at a time!”

“I understand your frustration-” 

“How could you possibly understand this?!” You gesture wildly at your legs. “You can stand and walk and you still have both of your feet!” Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you glare at the therapist. 

She simply sits on the floor with you and gives you a very soft smile. “You are right, I will never understand fully what you are going through. So, tell me, what is causing the most frustration and I can do what I can to help.” 

“All of it!” You raise your arms up like you are surrendering. “Trying to stand on these limp noodles, trying to get out of my stupid wheel chair, even getting out of bed…” Your anger quickly morphs to sadness, “it’s just too hard…” Mayu gently pats your shoulder. 

“It’s a process,” She shifts to sit next to you. “Healing can be a very long and difficult process, especially when you lose an ability you’ve been able to do so easily until now.” You feel a lump form in your throat, trying really hard not to cry...again. “I’m not going to lie and say this is easy, but I know you can do this.” 

You wipe your eyes and sniffle, “I’m sorry for yelling…” 

“It’s alright, I understand you are frustrated, but I am here to help.” The employee door opens again. “So is Ryo when he actually shows up on time.” The teasing tone and Ryo’s exaggerated response brings out a soft ghost of a laugh. “Are you ready to give it another try?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” she helps to get you off the floor and on your shaky feet. You grab the parallel bars and repeat the exercise you’ve been doing all morning. A light tap on the window near your station alerts both yourself and your physical therapist to a note on the glass. “What does it say?” You feel your arms give out, but you are able to land in your wheelchair this time.

“Let’s see,” The older woman walks up to read it aloud, “when you are free, please come to the roof. HaWkS!?” Her voice cracks at the name, “who, wait, who is he talking about?!” 

You hold your hand up, “probably me, he said he was going to pop by once I was awake.” You were starting to think he forgot about you. 

“Oh my goodness!” Mayu covers her mouth and looks at you, “are you two friends? Are you dating?!” She gets closer with each question, her eyes shiny diamonds that scream ‘tell me everything!’ 

“He kind of gave me a concussion,” you watch her expression drop into one of horror. “Not on purpose, it was during that big fight that landed me here.” 

“I see, well, we are actually done for today if you want to head on up.” She goes to grab her clipboard and record the progress from today. 

“Does the elevator even reach the roof?” You can feel a knot form in your stomach, why are you so nervous? 

“Yes, the recreational therapy team has a community garden up there for the patients. I can get you some information if you would like to join them for a session.” You never heard of such a thing, it does strike a cord of curiosity, but that is for another time. 

“Sure, just send some to my room when you have the time,” you wheel your way to the exit. “Oh, and uh...thanks for the pep talk.” You rub the back of your neck to hide your embarrassment. 

“No problem, if you need anything just let me know.” Mayu smiles and waves as you leave to go up to the roof. Sure enough, the elevator opens right in front of the door. You push the button to get the door open and find rows of box gardens, some raised, some lowered. 

“Wow, this is neat,” you take a closer look at some of the plants bearing fruit, when you spot your mystery visitor. Your eyes are instantly drawn to the huge red wings on his back. The same ones you saw before you went into your coma. You clench the wheels of your chair and swallow your nerves. “Um…” He appears distracted by something, as he scans the city streets below, his feet hovering off the ground. “Hello? Are you Hawks?” He looks over his shoulder and his features light up with recognition. 

“Hey! Glad to see you up and about!” He lands and folds his wings in a bit before approaching you.

“Yeah, mostly…” You weren’t entirely sure what to say to him. 

He doesn’t seem too sure either as he pockets his gloved hands. “Uh, what’s your name?” 

“[Y/n].” More silence follows, wow the awkward tension is a little too palpable. “Why exactly are you here?” 

He looks taken aback, his wings puffing up a small bit, “I just wanted to see how you were doing.” 

“Well, as you can see, I’m doing just great.” You can’t help the sarcasm as you move your wheelchair. 

His features fall, his eyes aimed towards what’s left of your feet. “I’m so sorry, I made a bad judgment call and you got hurt because of it. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” 

“Unless you have some means to turn back time, there isn’t much you can do.” 

“There has to be something,” he lifts his gaze back up to plead with you. “I’ll do anything, just say the word.” 

You can’t tell if he is being genuine or not, before you can open your mouth a glint of something from the nearby building catches your attention. You wheel closer to the fence that lines the top of the building and spot a man with a camera aimed at the two of you. You whip your head around to face him, “is this some kind of joke to you?!” 

“What?” His golden-brown hues are full of confusion as you struggle to turn your wheelchair around. 

“Look, if you just came to Peacock for the camera’s or throw some kind of a pity party for yourself. I don’t want any part of it!” He looks between you and the nearby building, his feathers get ruffled at the sight of the camera. 

“No, wait, this isn’t what it looks like!” He holds a hand out to try and stop you from leaving. 

“Thanks for checking in, you can leave now.” You try to wheel your way back inside, but something is caught in one of your wheels. 

“I swear I’m not with that guy, he must have noticed me fly up here after I left my note.”

You aren’t paying any attention to him, you are too focused on getting away. “Stupid thing,” you try to muscle through the clog, but you end up tipping the whole thing over and landing on the hard surface of the roof. “Son of a bitch!” You slam a closed fist on the ground as you push yourself up. Tears of frustration and pain leak from your [e/c] pools. You feel a gloved hand on your shoulder but you quickly shove it away. “Don’t touch me!” 

“Please just let me help you,” he tries to reach for you again, but you stop him in his tracks.

“I’ve had enough of your help! Your ‘help’ is the reason I’m here!!” Your voice echoes around you, you wouldn’t be surprised if the camera man heard you. 

You can see the hurt in the hero's eyes as he backs away, his wings drooping as your words settle somewhere deep within himself. 

“Just go away…” you get your wheelchair back up and haul yourself into it again. You can hear the sound of his wings as he takes off, the force of the air blows your hair all over the place. You cover your face as you allow the tears to flow freely. If you were completely honest with yourself, you didn’t truly blame him. It was just easier than accepting your rotten luck. A couple of nurses hurry onto the roof and rush over to you. Apparently someone on the street heard you and told the staff in the lobby. You are immediately wheeled back to your room to rest and have your vitals checked. Your body is exhausted and so was the rest of you. You look out your window at the clouds rolling in, “nurse?” 

“Yes?” The kind man responds as he gets your table ready for dinner. 

“Would it be possible to send a letter to a hero agency?” 

He hums in thought for a moment, “I believe so, why?” 

“I...was just curious…” The nurse drops the topic and leaves you to your thoughts. “Doubt it would make a difference anyways.” You roll onto your side as your eyelids drooped, the sound of rain lulling you to sleep. Your dinner is left for you on the little table, along with a can of coffee with another note. ‘I still owe you a coffee, good luck with your recovery. -Hawks.’

[pagesoflauren]

The Riveter Ch. 4

Steve Rogers x mechanic!reader

Summary: After escaping Hydra, you assist Dr. Erskine in helping Steve Rogers become Captain America. When Erskine is assassinated, you think your WWII career is over. Unfortunately, the SSR and Hydra are not done with you yet.

Warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of death, canon-typical violence, mentions of trauma, slow burn, dialogue-heavy chapters, comic book science

A/N: I hope you enjoy this. I had fun writing it!  Thank you to @seeevans and @dbnightingale24 for helping me with this! Major shoutout to @writeyourmindaway for creating such wonderful and beautiful dividers! 

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

You’re jostled awake, shaken as you lay at the end of a truck bed, spotting the shaky view of the road. The sky is filled with smoke, the bitter smell filling your lungs, beckoning you away from dreamland. 

Though, your sleep was dreamless nonetheless. 

You can’t recall anything immediately, only feeling the urgent need to get off the truck you’re on. As your senses slowly become acute, you can hear some soldiers speaking German behind you. 

“It’s amazing it’s still asleep,” one mutters. 

“I wonder what Herr Schmidt did,” another voice responds. 

“That’s not important,” the first one speaks up again. “We should not concern ourselves with such matters too much. All we need to know is it’s vital to us winning the war.”

You cringe at the pronoun they use for you, but ignore it as you begin to devise a plan to escape. 

Slitting your eyes open, you spy the switch used to drop the tailgate. Stretching your leg under the guise of fidgeting in your sleep, your toe just reaches the lever. You don’t hear or sense any movement from the men, so you keep your foot poised there. 

A few minutes later, you hear exactly what you were hoping for: “Hold on, men!” the driver calls from the cab. 

There’s a rough patch in the road and you kick. The other objects and the metal rack above the bed rattle too, masking the sound of the tailgate dropping. With it down, you’re exposed to the breeze.

You’re tossed this way and that and the men seem distracted with securing whatever else is being transported with you. You take that as your opportunity, rolling out and bracing yourself quickly. 

Falling on the bumpy dirt road knocks the breath out of you, but you gulp and turn to your front to get to your feet. Before the men can recognize that you’re gone, you’ve disappeared into the treeline. 

Leaning against a trunk, you catch your breath and try to orient yourself, but you don’t have much direction. What began as confusion between east and west grew into not knowing which way is up or down. Sliding down to sit, you lean your head back. When you close your eyes, you hear Zola’s voice echoing in your head. 

-----

Celebrations were underway, Steve still receiving congratulations while the captured men reunited with their friends, lovers, and commanders. He even received the Medal of Valor, which he didn’t attend the ceremony for. 

Not only was there so much to do in London, he knew in his heart he couldn’t accept it. While he succeeded in saving Bucky and the rest of the 107th, he failed to make sure his partner was safe as the two of you carried out your mission. 

In idle moments, he hears you screaming; behind shut eyes, he sees your face. When he doesn’t see you, he sees Peggy and Howard, somber expressions. Where Agent Carter is normally composed, her lip wobbles at the thought of you. Howard ran a hand down his face, eyes shiny and voice clogged as he asked if there was a chance you were alive. 

Steve didn’t know, and he still doesn’t. He was sent to England less than a day after returning from Austria. Peggy was called too but requested an extension to continue working with Howard in Italy. 

Work continued, but it was slower without her intelligence contributions in devising a plan to take down the Hydra bases he made note of. After a long day of nothing, Colonel Phillips dismisses the meeting. 

“Rogers, before you hit the hay,” the older man says, “You may want to visit the infirmary before their visiting hours end.” 

Confused and concerned, Steve nods and makes his way out of the situation room, navigating the narrow halls to the medical wing.

He sees Howard first, sitting across from a head of brown curls that Steve can deduce is Agent Carter. There’s a doctor at the foot of the bed relaying information to the patient. 

You lay there, scratches adorning your face and eyes heavily lidded. 

Steve’s heart is light with disbelief and repose for feeling calm at the sight of you safe in an Allied facility. 

“...I’ll leave you to rest.” 

“Thank you, doctor,” you smile. 

Howard spots him in the doorway, nodding in greeting, “Hey, Cap.”

Stepping in awkwardly, Steve feels shy seeing you. He stands in the place the doctor once occupied, hands folded behind your back. 

“I’d venture to say dress greens suit you better than tights,” you joke, voice gravelly. You laugh then groan and Steve is concerned again. 

“You can’t laugh, love,” Peggy reminds you.

“What happened?” he wonders.

You rattle off your injuries: scratches, dislocated shoulder from falling out of the truck, bruised ribs, and major fatigue from lack of food and water. 

“How’s your head?” Howard prods.

“Better now that I’ve rested.”

Steve likes hearing that you’ve been better, but he can’t imagine what you’ve been through that was worse. “When did you get here?” 

“We arrived at a little past noon. The doctor thinks she was out in the Austrian forest for a little over twelve hours before we found her,” Peggy answers for you. “We’ll give you two some time to catch up.” 

“Why do we have to--”

There’s a thud and Howard groans, face scrunching up in pain as he looks at Peggy. 

“Ouch! ...Okay. We’ll see you later, little miss,” he gets up, kissing your forehead. “Captain.” 

“Get some rest, love,” Peggy cradles your cheek.

“Thank you,” you say, grabbing her hand. “Thank you for finding me.”

“Of course,” she smiles. She turns back to Steve, regarding him with a nod.

When they both leave, your eyes are on him and he smiles nervously, pointing to the chair Peggy just vacated. You tilt your head towards it as if giving him permission to sit down.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he tells you honestly. “Must’ve been hell...being in there alone.” 

Your shoulder lifts slightly; a shrug of some sort. “Could’ve been worse. I think it goes without saying, though.” 

Pursing his lips, he considers your words for a moment. “Do you remember anything?”

You close your eyes and inhale slowly, wincing a little at the pain when your ribs move as you take in air. “Plenty.” Eyes opening, you look a little perplexed. “But at the same time, not a lot.” 

Steve cocks an eyebrow. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

Your mouth opens to speak, but you’re interrupted by nurses murmuring at a nearby table. “I’d explain but it’s classified.” 

“You’d keep secrets from me?” he smirks. “Thought we were friends.” 

You smile. “Only until we’re around people on a need-to-know basis. Phillips must’ve told you, right?” Steve tilts his head curiously. “Once I’m on my feet, I’m meant to debrief everything I remember.” 

He makes a mental note to ask Phillips about it. At the mention of you recovering, Steve thinks back to the injuries you mentioned. “Seems like you got outta Hydra with a lot of luck.” 

Your face doesn’t change, but he sees your eyes flick to the left. “Luck indeed.” 

“Could’ve been worse, like you said.” 

You purse your lips, nodding. 

Looking down, Steve decides to drop the subject. Howard and Peggy went all the way back to the factory to find you based on the slim chance that you were still alive. He can imagine them combing through dozens of trees before finding you. 

They trust you. Steve trusts you. 

But why wasn’t it worse for you?

“Captain Rogers, my apologies,” a nurse speaks as she approaches your bedside. “But it’s time for the infirmary to close to visitors.” 

Nodding to her, there’s an idle moment until she realizes she should give some space for him to say goodnight. 

“Well,” he says, standing up, “Feel better soon.” 

“Thanks, Steve.”

He pauses, fidgeting with the air as he contemplates bidding you goodbye in an additional way. You raise your eyebrows expectantly.

“Goodnight,” he blurts, turning on his heel and walking out. He can hear you saying it back as he leaves, a perplexed lilt in the word. 

Days later, Steve sits surrounded by other high-ranking officers. Howard is there too, studying a diagram of a Hydra weapon you drew. 

“...She suspects Schmidt is plotting something big, but she doesn’t know exactly what it is or where it could be headed,” Agent Carter concludes, standing at the head of the table. She debriefs the men while you continue to recover in the infirmary, not wanting the SSR to lose time while your body heals. “Questions, gentlemen?”

“This is everything she told you?” Colonel Phillips asks. 

“Yes. It’s all she remembers as well. That drawing is all we have of a blueprint that shows how the Hydra weapons work.” 

“Any information on where the power source is?” another man speaks up. 

“With power such as that, I think it’s safe to assume Schmidt would keep it close. Can’t imagine he’d want it possibly falling into the wrong hands.” 

“And she said it was a stone in a cube?” 

Peggy makes a show of looking at her notes, “Yes, those are Schmidt’s words to her.” 

“You think we can trust her?” he follows up quickly, speaking just as she finishes her sentence.

“I beg your pardon?” Her tone is taken aback as if the question was insulting to her. Steve can understand her offense, but if he’s honest, he wonders the same thing. 

How could someone fall out of a truck and get away with injuries like yours? He would’ve thought you had a head wound and broken bones.

“Why is she even alive?” His follow up question is accusatory. “This is Hydra we’re talking about. They built weapons that disintegrate men and captured a scientist to create a super-soldier serum. They’re led by a lunatic with a melted face. There’s no way they would have kidnapped a mechanic and keep her alive. She worked for them. She knows too much. Why would they risk her escaping and telling us what she knows?”

“If it’s her loyalty you’re questioning, sir, you have no reason to. Hydra has killed everyone she holds dear. She has no family and even her mentor was killed by them. You all saw it. She was taken from her home that didn’t even have any German connections other than the Hydra spy she fitted with a prosthetic arm. Hydra has done nothing for her.” She pauses, appearing to inhale deeply to gather herself. “I don’t think we have any reason to suspect she is undercover on their behalf. I believe Colonel Phillips knows this well; she refused coming to Europe for the SSR in fear that Hydra would find her.” 

He appears satisfied with her defense, raising his hands in surrender. 

“Any more questions?” she asks, crossing her arms, her tone somewhat challenging. 

After a moment, Colonel Phillips stands. “Thank you, Agent. Have a seat.” Nodding, she finds a chair next to Howard. “Now, we have decided to task our former mechanic with being Mr. Stark’s assistant in weapons and she’ll work with Agent Carter in tactics. She has good intel, but we don’t want her skills going to waste. I’m sure she can help think up some good ways to keep our boys safe. I will debrief with her again in the coming days to see if she remembers anything more.” 

After opening the floor to questions again, Phillips dismisses the meeting. Steve watches from his seat as everyone gets up, scattering to their respective workplaces. 

“Stark, Carter, get to work. We need to make sure Rogers and his men are well equipped and ready. Don’t wanna be sending our chorus girl into the fray in his little spangled suit.” 

Phillips looks proud of his joke as he smiles for a split second. His face straightens quickly and he nods before dismissing himself. 

“If you’ll excuse me, boys,” Peggy leaves shortly after. “Should attend to your tactics, Captain.” 

“I should get to working on your stuff,” Howard excuses himself and pats him on the shoulder. “I’ll make sure you don’t look as ridiculous as you do on the stage.”

“Actually,” Steve stops him, “I kinda liked that uniform.” 

Stark looks thoughtful for a minute before he laughs. “Well, I’ll find a compromise. The little miss absolutely hates that suit.” 

Tilting his head and squinting, Steve leaves and heads towards the canteen. 

-----

“I hear you hate my suit.”

The baritone of his voice pulls you from the pages you’re reading. 

He stands in his dress greens again, a dashing smirk on his face as the lights illuminate him from behind, making his hair look like a golden halo above his head. 

“Who told you that?” You close your book, looking at him curiously. Setting it on your bedside table, you sit up a little more. 

“Stark,” he states plainly.

You chuckle once, shaking your head. You expect him to be laughing too, but when you look back up at him, he’s shuffling from one foot to the other. 

“Um, did you--?” you begin, but he blurts out in the middle of your question, “Can I help you with anything?”

“I’m sorry?” you ask, confused. 

“Well, I just...I was wondering if you needed anything. Are you hungry? Or how’s your leg?”

“Oh--” 

“What about the pillow behind you, does that need to be fluffed? Maybe I could bring you another book.” 

“Steve--?”

“Just...anything you need?” 

You blink, waiting for him to continue. When he says nothing else, you pipe up. “Well, I’d love some water.” 

He’s quick to accommodate you, walking to the cart on the other side of the room to grab a pitcher and bring it over to your bedside. He picks up the glass next to your book and begins to pour. 

You’re not quite sure how it happened--perhaps some water got on the handle which made it slippery--but the metal vessel fell out of his grip and bounced on your mattress before clattering loudly on the floor. 

The water is making itself known as it seeps through your blanket and your hospital gown, making you cringe away. Steve’s eyes are wide and his cheeks are rosy, the bright color spreading all the way to his ears. 

“I’m so sorry!” He looks up at the hospital staff that heard the ruckus, “I’m sorry, it slipped. She needs a new gown...and bed.” 

They come to assist you, a nurse nudging him out of the way as she lays some rags down to soak up the puddle on the floor. 

“Excuse me, Captain,” she says politely. 

He steps back, watching as the team helps you out of bed to stand on your feet. His heart sinks at the pain you must be in from your ribs, but it doesn’t show on your face. 

“I’ll just,” he excuses himself, but no one is paying attention. 

Shaking his head, he goes to the canteen to sulk. 

---

“I’m back.” 

Steve’s next to your new bed, hands carrying a tray and you can imagine the precarious journey he took to get from the canteen to here. 

“You eat supper yet?” 

“No.” You’re a little relieved. Your nose detects the comforting scent of buttered mashed potatoes and baked chicken. Steve sets the tray in your lap and your eyes gobble the sight, bright orange carrots brilliant against your eyes and a warm bread roll with a pat of butter inviting you to take a bite. “This is the best,” you gush, “I’ve eaten ham sandwiches and Jell-O for the past five days.” 

You close your eyes at the feeling of airy, fluffy fresh bread in your mouth, loving the crunch of the crust between your teeth. 

You moan happily before turning to him. “Thank you,” you smile.

He nods, “Of course. I hope it makes up for my stupid blunder earlier. I’m really sorry about that.”

You observe him as you take another bite, watching him as he watches you. You can’t describe it, but his face manages to say it all.

“Somehow I feel like you’re not here to just apologize for the spilled water. It really wasn’t a huge problem, by the way. They just moved me and gave me a new gown.” 

“Well, I--” he gives a one-handed shrug before bringing his palm to the back of his neck, rubbing the skin there nervously. “I also just...wanted to say sorry.” 

You hum, reaching to the bedside table and sipping from the glass of water. “‘Sorry’ for what?” 

There’s a look in his eyes, something somber and guilt-ridden that makes the blue a little dull. “For leaving you. There. With them.” 

Your head stings, eyes squeezing shut. You can feel your body jolt and a word echoes as if it’s coming from above you. 

Befehl.

You shake your head vigorously, gasping a little. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yes,” you breathe. “Sorry, I’m not sure what happened.” 

“Should I call the doctor?”

“No, no. I’m okay.” You gave your head another small jostle before addressing his apology. “Steve, you have nothing to be sorry about. I knew what I was getting into when I jumped out of the plane with you. I’m here now, I’m okay.” 

“But I--”

“Steve, it was my choice.” 

Your sentence seems to stun him into silence. He closes his eyes and gives a reluctant smile. “I guess you’re right.” 

The corner of your mouth twitches up as he concedes. You eat for a few minutes, a little self conscious as you notice his watching you. 

“So...uh, what’s your favorite color?” 

You laugh. “Captain Rogers, why are you here other than to bring me dinner, give me a completely unnecessary apology, and ask me what my favorite color is?” 

“Howard and Peggy are working tonight,” he uses his thumb to point to the door. “I didn’t want you to be alone.” 

There’s a flutter in your stomach, a surge of warmth and happiness that blooms in your chest, and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your mouth or the heat that gathers in your face. 

“Well, thank you,” you say as calmly as you can, trying to deflect your emotions by feeding yourself more supper. “How’s your friend? Bucky?” 

He smiles, too, before diving into a story about him. 

He stays as long as he can, telling you stories as you eat and try to not squirt water out of your nose when he makes you laugh. You forget there’s a battle raging on above your heads and across the English Channel. You forget there’s a chance of a Blitz in the evening, or even during the day. 

Forgetting is dangerous. It’s a distraction from what’s really important and demands your attention. 

But you don’t see anything wrong here when you’re on bedrest. 

“They’ll be working again tomorrow,” he says as he gets up when visiting hours are over. “I don’t know when they’ll be free to visit. I could…” He hesitates, looking down and pursing his lips. “I could come by again. Bring you more dinner.” 

You don’t mind being alone, but you don’t tell him that. 

Permatag: @caffiend-queen @fckdeusername @lou-la-lou @bangtan-serendipity @stargazingfangirl18 @lovemarvelousfics @rainbowkisses31 @richonne4life @damnndeanndamnn @meetmeatyourworst @tinyplanet-explorer @vivien-1211 @unknownmystery22 @nerdygirl8203 @xoxabs88xox @mariaenchanted @gotnofucks @denisemarieangelina @myoxisbroken @kelbabyblue @pspice639 @maynay43 @just-another-wretched-egg @jennmurawski13 @avantgardium-leviosa @random-butterfly @rachelderivia @kenzieam @bluemusickid @asiaaisa77 @angrybirdcr @inactivewhore @velvetcardiganbucky

Chris tag: @onetwo3000 @patzammit @astheworlddturns @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @maeleeme @tvckerlance @thiskindahotkindamusic @fizzahocleirigh

Steve tag: @twittytelly

The Riveter Taglist: @redhairedfeistynerd @dbnightingale24​ @jamielea81 @chalametet @bluemusickid @nicholsanddhimes @rockyrogers  @iwantutobehapppier​ @ladynightshade30 @chase-your-dreams-away​ @searchforanotherway​ @brooklyn-1918​ @awesomerextyphoon​ @fanngirl19​ @pandawalnut​

[itskatastrophe-x]

Far Off Places (CH 3)

Chapter 2, Chapter 3 , Chapter 4

Word Count : 2,103

^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^

You woke up in a panic, sitting upright rapidly and crying out in pain. You winced and scrunched your face up, hands shooting up to your arms in a hug. You didn’t have any physical wounds, but you could still feel everything from the dream-state. This was the worst by far compared to any other dream you’ve had. None of them were as dangerous and harmful as this one, but you knew it had to be done. You tried to envision what the person looked like right before you woke up, but all you could remember was the lime green and concern in whatever the person was saying. That was another anomaly. The people in these kinds of visions would never be able to see you until you interacted with them, essentially NPC’s. So how was it that this one person could see you and talk to you. Out of the hundreds of dreams, this was the first time that this has ever happened. What made them so special?

A rapid, loud banging echoed in the house, and you didn’t realize what it was until you heard the door being busted in. Panic set in and you grabbed for your axe next to you, but set it down when you heard Techno’s voice ring out. You called out to give you a moment, prepared yourself quickly, then went downstairs to meet the three males in your doorway, panic evident on their features. “We heard screaming. What happened?” Techno walked further into the house, hand hovering over the hilt of his sword. “Did someone break in? No one should know where we are, ”Phil said, looking around the room in worry. You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly aware of how cold it had become. Techno came back and threw a blanket over you, huffing out a “clear” before standing next to Ranboo. “Maybe you guys could come in and I can explain. I’m not in danger, so you don’t have to worry, but I do have another thing I need to share.” They all looked at you curiously as they followed you to the den to light a fire and get comfy.

“I don’t know where the dreams came from or when they really started. I think they were always around, even as a kid. When something memorable happens, whether it’s good or bad, I can relive those moments through dreams. If they’re bad moments, I can essentially play detective to find what went wrong or find evidence of who did what specific thing. That’s what happened last night. The night my kingdom burned down I had no evidence, no clues, no information. Last night, I had one of my… Visions? Dreams? I’m not sure what you would call it. The only downside to these things is that any pain felt in the dream state, I feel in real life. The screaming you heard was probably because I was burning alive last night. The physical damage doesn’t stay, so visually I’m fine, but I still feel my skin stinging and it can last for hours, days, or even weeks.” You pause to let them process everything. “Questions?” They all shook their heads so you went into further detail.

“So last night I visited my kingdom as it burned down. I knew I had limited time and also knew the more damage I took, the harder it would be to recover in real life when I woke up. I had to speed run my search, essentially. I didn’t find much at all, honestly. I mainly spent the whole night running through flames and tripping over holes where the ground had been blown up. That is… Until I saw someone in the distance run past the road I was on. I followed the figure through the streets but ended up losing them. I had way too much happen and the smoke was clogging my lungs and I fell over. I almost passed out but heard rapid footsteps and a muffled voice, and right before I woke up I looked up and all I can remember… Is green. The strange thing is, though, is that in every single vision prior to this, the people are NPC’s. They don’t interact with me unless I interact with them first. So the fact that whoever this person was could see me and tried to talk to me is… Scary? I’m not sure if I should be worried about that or not. These visions never end up like that. That person is the only person I saw alive and unscathed and also tried to help me.” 

“You said… Green?” Ranboo’s voice was laced with concern and he seemed more panicky than he did before. He always seemed on edge, but now he looked downright terrified. It worried you and you nodded hesitantly. “And you only ever see people that were at the scene prior to the dreams?” You nodded again and they all looked at each other. “What? What’s wrong?” Phil scratched the back of his neck and Techno huffed loudly as he got up and left the house. Their responses were concerning, to say the least. “Well,” Phil started. He took a moment. “The only people we know that are or wear green are Sam… And Dream.” You could feel the air stiffen and Ranboo got visibly more upset. “We try not to talk about the latter, but seeing as you’re new around here and you could be facing something bad, we need to talk about it. Ranboo, if you need to leave, then you can.” He sighed but showed no signs of moving. “No, if anyone has information to share, it’s me.” Phil nodded and looked at you, Ranboo keeping his eyes on his hands that held the leather bound book he had shown you yesterday.

“Well, for starters, Sam is a prison guard. He also helped build the prison, as well as a lot of the other bigger builds in the main part of our cities. He’s normally a very neutral sided person, but lately his fears have been clouding his judgement and he’s been… Making questionable choices. He let a kid visitor die in the prison with the prisoner.” They both got quiet until Phil cleared his throat. “I mean, the kid, Tommy, was revived… By said prisoner… But the fact that Sam let it happen in the first place is horrible.” He stopped again and Ranboo sniffled. “So, who is this prisoner then?” Ranboo looked up at you, malice and hatred clear as day in his two toned eyes. “Dream.” You looked at him inquisitively. “But, if Dream is in prison then how would he be an option for who I saw? These people never show up in my dreams unless they were there at the place I visit. Who is he? Why is he in prison? I have so many questions.” 

“And we can answer them,” Ranboo stated. All sense of calm he had was completely gone. Just by his body language and the tone in his voice you knew already that what Dream had done to land himself in prison was horrible. “Dream is… Dream is possibly the worst person you could ever come in contact with. He’s murdered, stolen, manipulated. The list goes on. I’m sure you know of the three life rule.” You nod and he continues. “He took two of Tommy’s lives in wars in our lands. Tommy ended up putting Dream in jail after taking two of his lives. They decided that for some reason we still needed Dream. He said that Dream had… Some kind of revive book. We’ve lost a few people very dear to us so Tommy wanted to keep Dream around until they could get the book. Well, Tommy visited Dream in prison not too long ago, and while Tommy was in the cell with Dream explosions started going off and he was put into lockdown for a week. Remember the part where I said Dream was a literal murderer. He killed Tommy. Beat him to death. Then revived him.” He trailed off and you looked at him in shock. “There’s no way. Absolutely no way! After someone dies the third time that’s it! How could anyone revive someone?” Ranboo shrugged. 

“Tommy came to us after and… He’s not the same anymore. Something must have happened when he was dead. He was so worried about one of our friends being revived, like genuinely horrified. It takes a lot to scare Tommy but he changed. Dream is to be feared. He-” Ranboo stuttered and got a bit more finicky with his book. Phil looked at him and rubbed his shoulder to try to calm him down. “Dream has some sort of control over us. And me I think. I’m not exactly sure. I go into what I call ‘enderwalk’ sometimes. I can’t remember anything from when it happens but I don’t think it’s bad. I write in my journals a record of everything that happens since I lose memories. I also used to… Hear Dream’s voice inside my head. Now that he’s in prison, though, I hear him less… But I’m also going into this enderwalk state more often. Let me say it again, Dream is to be feared.” Ranboo looks up at you, his features looking more sad than before, almost sorry. You notice the scars on his face but decide to say nothing, as to not offend. “So then, how do you think he could be an option?” Ranboo relaxes slightly, but not all the way. 

“Dream has a counterpart to him. A second personality that we think is what gives him these abilities and all this power. Dream XD. Dream XD is a god, almost. It’s very possible he could have targeted you, for whatever reason, to enter your mind. I’m not sure how or why he would target you. You said your journey was three days long, which means you came from at least one hundred miles from here. How he would even know who you are, I’m not sure of that either. He could have reached out to find someone vulnerable or showing weakness, and that could have been you.” You let out an exasperated sigh and rest your elbows on your knees and put your head in your hands, trying to process all this new information. Phil put his hand on your shoulder, and you allowed the gentle touch to sooth you. “I’m worried about the next time you sleep,” he says quietly. “If it happens again… If you get to meet this person and if it is Dream, be very cautious. We don’t know what he wants or why he wants you. He’s dangerous and manipulative so please be very careful and think about what you want to say to him before you say it. Pick apart his words and don’t fall for anything.” You think for a moment and look up at them. 

“I hate to be like this, but I shouldn’t trust any of you either. And there’s no reason to trust me. Believe me, I want to fully trust you. You all seem so nice. But we’re still strangers. I’ve had my guard up here, too. Why should I trust anything you three have to say anyway?” The room goes quiet and Phil takes his hand back. Ranboo tries to disagree but Phil cuts him off. “No, Faer is right. You can’t trust us, as much as we can’t trust you. But you have to at least give us a shot. We can protect you. Techno is… A loose canon sometimes, but he means well and if he knows I mean to protect someone, then he protects too. He tried killing Ranboo when he first showed up here, but when he realized I had taken him in, he started protecting him with his own life. He means business.” You nod but stay silent, the only sound in the room being the crackling of the dying fire and dogs barking softly from a distance. Phil gets up from his seat and looks down at Ranboo, who was reading through the book on his lap, quill in hand, completely lost in thought. “Ranboo, are we going?” Ranboo doesn’t respond, too lost in thought to notice, so you speak up. “It’s ok. He can stay as long as he likes. I made this room as cozy as I could on purpose. I write as well and planned to use this as a sort of getaway.” Phil nods and you walk him to the door where you both say your goodbyes.

[rkrebreed]

Fixation

Pairing: Top!Chan x Reader

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: Blowjobs, Oral Fixation, Dirty Talk, Pet Names, Come Swallowing, Come Swapping, Slight Daddy Kink

There was nothing that felt better, nothing that could entrance you more than where you were right now; desperately sat between Chan’s spread legs, his cock pressed all the way into your mouth, the tip angrily stabbing at the back of your throat. He used his hands to grip tightly onto your hair, pulling when you licked along his length, tracing the bulging veins with your tongue. And when you pull off, attempting to breathe, he’d fuck his dick back into your mouth, relishing in the sound of you gagging. This was your favorite game to play and his to control. 

Chan had noticed before you did. It had only started small, biting your nails or sucking on things like pencils, pens, straws or popsicle sticks. Then you began to suck on the TV remote or sucking on your thumb like a child. However, nothing was out of the ordinary to you so you continued your routine as normal while Chan observed. But as time would tell, the objects kept getting absurd and Chan finally brought it up when he came home from work to find you on the couch, fingers dripping in drool and bleeding sightly as your teeth dug small nicks into the flesh. The sound of him gasping had snapped you out of your hypnotic trance and you pulled your fingers away, staring at him blankly. He sat beside you and questioned you about it, surprised when you mentioned that you weren’t really aware of the habit occurring. He reassured you it would be okay and he would be there to help. So that night you both ordered take-out and brought your laptops out to do extensive research. 

An ‘Oral Fixation’ is what they called it. It wasn’t a bad thing and seemed pretty common and unharmful but Chan did make a good point that you were borderline committing cannibalism. You both erupted in laughter and spent the rest of the night drunk on the couch, kissing as cheesy romcom movies played in the background. 

Everything was fine at first and your fixation hadn’t caused any troubles; That was until the need for something more grew. Chewing gum or sucking pens didn’t feel as good anymore and you felt a craving for something bigger, something better. You didn’t want to bother Chan with your problems despite him wanting to help you with it, so you did your best to ignore the feeling while simultaneously searching for another object. 

It was a complete accident at first. Chan had come home stressed out and the circles surrounding his eyes were darker than ever. He plopped down on the couch next to you and tossed his head back, hands coming to rub along his face. Neither of you spoke for a while and you just stared at him, watching as he became lost in his train of thought. It was then that you just stood, clumsily sliding in between his spread out legs and falling onto your knees. He hadn’t registered your shift in positions until you were grabbing his belt to unbuckle it. He opened his lips to say something but you shushed him and smiled. 

“If you want me to stop then tell me, but if it’s anything else then save it. Let me make you feel good, you deserve it.” 

He nodded slowly and not long after you were deep-throating him to the best of your abilities, choking as he fucked up into your mouth, groans echoing in the small living room. When he finally came down your throat, grounding his hips into your face, you realized this was exactly the object you were looking for. God, were you truly fucked.

You stayed silent about your newfound discovery, trying to hide it but it was increasingly hard as you felt the need to initiate more blowjob sessions. Chan was started to put the puzzle pieces together and soon he had connected the dots. So here you two were again, another living room meeting about your fixation. He mentioned his theory and your face bloomed red as you ashamedly admitted he was right. He chuckled and told you it was okay and if it was what you needed or wanted then he had no objections. You still felt embarrassed slightly but he kept reassuring you with soft words and before the night was over he had fucked the embarrassment right out of you. 

And now, here you were present day, his cock nestled between your lips as you glanced up at him with teary eyes. He cooed and traced over your cheek with his thumb, pushing the plush flesh in slightly. You whined and swallowed around him, pleased to hear a guttural groan escape from him.

“You’re such a good girl, baby. You like daddy’s dick so much, don’t you? You’d probably die without it.” He teased, slightly rocking his hips and you nodded, moaning loudly as you attempted to bob your head. He pulled tight on your hair to stop you, tsking softly. “You know better, baby girl. Don’t make daddy mad or you’ll go without his cock for the rest of the week.” The threat was clear and well-meant and you shook your head the best you could, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks as you brokenly sobbed. Chan only smiles sickeningly sweet, eyes playful as he pulls your head back slowly. His cock pops free and you immediately try to suck it back in, tongue rolling out in a last desperate attempt. 

“It’s pathetic, really. Who would’ve known you’d become such a slut for my dick. It’s all you ever want, huh? You just want me to keep fucking your pretty mouth, filling you up with all my of my cum.” His words are cruel and the mocking tone in his voice has you rubbing your thighs together, frenetically searching for any form of release. He laughs in your face, watching you with a twinkle in his eyes. “What do you want, baby girl? Entertain daddy.” 

A gasp came before any words, broken and whiny. “P-please daddy, please fuck my throat. I’ve been your good girl, please I need it. I can’t live without your cock.” You lean closer, eyes wet as you feel his tip brush against your lips. 

“I guess you’ve been good. Keep being good for me, yeah? Open up, darling.” You quickly follow suit, mouth wide and inviting as he slowly slides back in to the hilt. You let out a straight-up pornographic moan, eyes crossing as he immediately begins to pull out, pushing back in roughly. The pace he sets is quick, erratic and so intoxicating. Every sense is clogged with Chan, Chan, Chan. It’s all you can breathe and feel. 

Chan is unforgiving in his thrusts, his grip on your hair causing a sharp throb to pound over your mind but you only moan, the pain amplifying the pleasure. You close your eyes but a heavy slap against your cheek has them opening wide, staring up into his own. “Eyes open, slut. Look at me.” You can tell he’s trying to maintain his calm, controlled exterior but the telltale signs of him losing it are clear as day, especially as his hips struggle to keep his steady pace. 

The room is filled with wet sounds and moans, loud and so very exhilarating and the noises only egg you both on, the whole filthiness of the situation so intense and wild that you can’t help but let out the loudest whine. And completely unstimulated, your eyes are rolling back, coming undone underneath Chan. When you’re finally back on Earth, Chan is holding your head between his hands and with one final thrust, he’s burying himself completely down your throat and releasing. His cum floods your mouth, coating every inch of it and you sputter around it, the liquid seeping out around his dick. You whimper quietly as he slowly begins to pull his softening cock out.

Before you can swallow his load, Chan is falling to your side, kissing you so passionately and pushing his tongue between your lips. You moan as you feel him licking around your mouth, his throat swallowing down his own come and your spit. It’s so filthy but so hot and you cling onto him, clambering into his lap as he grabs your ass with both hands. He pulls back slowly, gazing into your eyes with a smirk on his lips. “You’re absolutely going to be the death of me, baby. I swear.” His voice is nothing but a whisper, delicate and cracked. You giggle instead of responding, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head against his chest. And truly, there was nothing that felt better, nowhere that felt safer, than being here with Chan. 

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 6

Thomas X Reader

by @adventuresintooblivion

Word Count: 1929

Summary: Walking home in the cold is never fun. Thomas organizes a search party.

On the way back, they didn’t bother to put a bag over her head. They were more concerned about making sure her blood didn’t get on the backseat. Inspector Campbell wasn’t with them; he had stayed behind. 

Y/N was barely conscious. Everything ached. Her thoughts were sluggish at best as she was flung from side to side when they rounded tight corners too quickly. She forced her eyes open just enough to tell it was dark. Thomas should be looking for her by now. If he had noticed I was gone.

She banished that thought with a shaky breath and tried to reserve her strength. Y/N didn’t know how far she’d have to go on her own before someone found her. She just hoped they didn’t dump her in a pile of trash.

After what seemed like ages they came to a sudden halt. “So we just leave her here right?”

“Boss said we were supposed to take her clothes too. Make sure she’s only in her underclothes so she doesn’t violate any decency laws.”

“B...But it’s freezing out there.”

“You saw what she did to Matthew. I think that’s the point.”

Moments later she was tossed onto the ground, body trying to recoil from the freezing stone as it scraped her hot skin. The car drove off, leaving behind a noxious cloud of gas in its wake.

Y/N didn’t move despite the cold. Nowhere she could get to would be any warmer, and quite frankly she couldn’t get her body to move. They’d left the handcuffs on which meant she’d have to navigate around those to get anywhere useful.

After a long while she took a deep breath and sat up. Everything screamed. She was more than certain she at least had a couple of broken ribs. Slowly she lifted her hands, testing out each finger individually to see if they were broken. She thanked whatever Devil had been watching over her that her hands  were still intact at the very least.

Besides her ribs and maybe a toe, nothing seemed broken or bent too far out of place. However, she could literally feel the bullet nestled next to her spine. The muscles around it had inflamed so much that ,normally, she wouldn’t have dared to try and get out of bed. Not exactly an option right now.

She glanced around, and with her limited knowledge she realized she was on the very edge of Peaky Blinder territory. Which meant she had about five miles to cross before she could get to the Garrison if she was lucky.

Y/N used her hands to scoot backwards toward a wall. Every inch jostled her injuries. Bruises had already formed around most of her torso, and her left eye was beginning to swell shut. She braced her hands against the wall, placing her right leg beneath her and pushed. A roar tore from her lips as she forced herself to stand.

The pain made her shake so hard her teeth clattered together. Or maybe it was shivering from the cold. She didn’t know anymore. Tonight the air was not only cold but wet as well. It had rained sometime during her capture, making everything slick, but this also caused the type of cold to change to one that seeped into your bones and make you ache. As if she weren’t aching already.

To her right was the pile of trash she’d imagined them tossing her into. It became apparent why they hadn’t. Campbell wanted her alive and not more of a cripple than she already was. Beside her, a maimed ironing board jutted out awkwardly into the road. She sidled closer using the wall to hold most of her weight.

Her hand closed around the foot of the ironing board and she pulled. Her legs buckled under her and she collapsed.

Y/N screamed in frustration. She steeled herself. One. Two. THREE. She used all her weight to yank back on the leg of the ironing board, freeing it from the mess. 

She didn’t give herself time to celebrate her small victory before she scooted back to the wall and stood. The leg was long enough to act as a sort of crutch, something she desperately needed if she was to make it any distance. With a slow lean, she tested it out to see if it would hold her weight. It bowed slightly but would do well enough. With vengeance burning in her heart, Y/N began the long trek home.

~

Thomas thought he already knew what madness was. He was certain the nights he couldn’t sleep came pretty damn close when opium mixed with memories of war. This, on the other hand, was something entirely different, and he hated every second of it.

He’d stopped by the Garrison rather late to check up on Y/N, certain he’d get an earful for his stunt at the high class restaurant. He had said ‘hello’ to Harry and Grace, and asked if she was in. When the answer was no, he’d gone to wait at one of the tables. Evening gave way to dusk. Then dusk to night. Hell, Harry had handed him a key and told him to lock the door behind him on the way out as if he didn’t have two already.

When it hit eight o’clock, Thomas sprinted down the road to grab his brothers and the few men he could rouse at this hour. Now, he and half the gang were out searching for Y/N. There was nothing specific that told him something was wrong, just a gut feeling.

Thomas had sent men to each of the major directions people used to come into the area. They’d wait until word came for them to come home in case she was just out running errands or something. The rest fanned out starting from the pub and worked their way out systematically.

“You’re being paranoid Tommy,” Arthur grumbled for the hundredth time.

Thomas snapped, “My being paranoid has saved your skin on multiple occasions, so how about you shut it and keep your eyes peeled?”

He continued as if Thomas hadn’t spoken, “I just don’t get why you woke us up to go searching for some broad-”

His brother closed the distance between them in moments, lifting up Arthur by the collar as he shoved him against a nearby wall. Thomas’ voice was a low hiss in the night, “She is under my protection Arthur. Not the Peaky Blinders. Mine. I will not hear another word of disrespect out of your mouth, understood.”

“Geez Tommy, What the hell? If she’s just another piece of tail you’re chasing-”

“She’s not. Y/N saved my life and yours countless times.”

Arthur growled, “What’s she got to do with me? I never met her before the other day.”

“She was a Runner!” Thomas’ voice echoed off the deserted street.

Arthur’s face turned a ghostly white, “You mean she was up there distracting the Germans while we-”

“While we dug. Yes. Now stop your whining and help. Me. Find. Her.”

Thomas practically threw Arthur when he released him. Before he could apologize Thomas was already storming off into the night. What he’d told Arthur was only a partial truth, but he couldn’t say the words aloud again so soon after speaking them for the first time in years. If Arthur wanted the full story he could go find himself a reverend. 

A loud shuffling suddenly caught Thomas’ attention. It was coming from around the corner up ahead. He instinctively lifted his light, illuminating the street in front of him. He called out, “Who is that?”

There wasn’t an immediate answer, but the shuffling seemed to speed up ever so slightly. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity he watched as Y/N rounded the corner.  Her face was every shade of red, black and blue skin could possibly be. Y/N’s left eye was swollen shut. Her clothes were missing causing her skin to have a deathly pallor in the cold, but it also let him see more of her skin. The bruises covered the majority of her skin, and one of her toes looked swollen compared to the rest. She was leaning against what looked like a malformed house appliance as she gasped for breath.

Y/N flashed him a grin and immediately regretted her decision. “Hey Tommy.”

“Y/N!” He rushed forward, scooping her up into his arms. 

She let out a loud hiss as the most ginger of movements jostled her, but once she was off her feet a certain stress had left her features.

Thomas spun around as Arthur came into view. “Gather everyone up, I need anyone with medical experience at the Garrison, now!” 

Arthur’s eyes landed on Y/N’s figure, his eyes widening in horror before he sprinted off in the direction more of the men took.

“Y/N, talk to me ok? We’ll get you nice and fixed up once we’re back at the Pub. But I don’t want you passing out on me just yet.” Thomas began sprinting, the quake in his voice was the only hint that anything was wrong.

A shot rang out. Just one, but that's all it took. Tommy reached for her to pull her back to safety. He didn't even get to her in time to catch her collapsing body. Y/N hit the ground hard. 

Tommy was there in a heartbeat. He glanced around wildly. Dirt clogged his lungs as he gasped for breath. Searching. They were alone except for the dead. And the dying.

“No. Y/N. Hey, look at me. You can beat this alright? We just need to get you back to the med-tent.” the crack in his voice betrayed him. He was Thomas Shelby. He had to be strong.

Y/N shook her head, blood oozing slowly from her stomach. “Tommy if we move they’ll shoot you just as fast. I...I’ve some things to say-”

Thomas shook his head so hard his hair fell into his eyes, “You can’t talk like that. If you say stuff like that you’ve already lost.”

She placed a finger on his lips. It was covered in a thick layer of mud, but he knew the soft flesh that lay beneath. The gentle gesture caught him off guard amidst all of the chaos. Y/N spoke so low he had to lean forward to hear her.

When she didn’t answer he began to truly panic so he said the only thing that came to mind, “If we make it through this will you marry me?”

She slapped him. “Shelby I swear to God if you make that joke one more time I’m going to feed you your testicles and turn your ball sack into a coin purse.”

“It . . . Got us through a lot.” For the first time in recent memory, he sounded uncertain. 

Y/N turned her face toward his shirt. “That was before you meant it.”

Her voice broke; they both heard it. He had wondered if she remembered those last few minutes between the two of them. They had fucked before that fateful day, so the chemistry was no surprise. They had also been fast friends from the start; only her and Danny got along more famously.  

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “If it had gone as planned, would you have said yes?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to.” A soft sob escaped the fabric of his vest.

[jawritter]

Twelve Days Of Christmas

Chapter 6,

Summary: Dean never realized that Y/N missed Christmas until he turned off an annoying Christmas song on the radio on the way home from a hunt, now he will make it his personal mission to give her the Christmas he misses so much, and if he plays his cards right, maybe he will give her what he has wanted to give her for so many years, himself.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Written For: @spnchristmasbingo​​​​​

Square Field: Christmas Tree

Word Count: 2024

Warnings: Fluff, brief mention of past trauma, light angst.

A/N: This is to help me catch up on my SPN Christmas Bingo card lol Chapter 7 will post tomorrow! I knew chapter will post every day until Christmas! I know I’m insane lol. This is a real time fic collection and all mistakes will be my own! Please do not copy my work! Hope you all enjoy these!!

**SERIES MASTERLIST**    **MASTERLIST**    **BECOME A PATREON**

Snow, you had seriously never seen this much snow in your life. You were starting to think it was never going to stop snowing. It snowed all night long, finally slowing to light dusting somewhere around daybreak, and by the time you and Dean had pulled yourselves out of bed, it was evident no one was going anywhere until the snowplows came through to clear the roads, which could take a few days. 

You were totally fine with the idea of hanging around the cabin today. It had been a busy week already. Dean had gone above and beyond what anyone had ever done for you already, and if today was just a day where you hugged out and did nothing, that was okay. Not every day had to be some grand adventure for you. 

Dean, on the other hand, had been eyeing the cluster of small Canaan Firs on the back corner of the property all day. They were just big and full enough to make a small Christmas tree for the two of you. So, without much explanation other than, “get your coat and boots,” you followed Dean towards the little cluster of trees. The small ax he’d found in Baby’s trunk was swung over his shoulder as he trudged ahead of you through the almost kneed deep snow, making a path for you to easier walk in as he paved the way forward to his destination. 

From a few paces back you could see the white flurries land on his broad shoulders as well as the back of his jacket and sock hat as he went, his large silhouette standing out in stark contrast to the snow as he pushed on forward through the unforgiving cold. 

You could hear him humming along to a tune that you didn’t recognize as he turned over his shoulder giving you a little smirk while he watched you struggle to keep up with him through the deep snow. Being short wasn’t exactly working in your favor at the moment, and he paused, turning to fully face you with the ax still slung lazily over his shoulder much like he did his vampire machetes after a hunt. 

“Need me to carry you Y/N/N,” he called sarcastically, and you childishly stuck your tongue out at him before answering. 

“I’m doing just fine on my own Winchester!” 

“Okay, Sweetheart, I was just offering since the snow is almost as tall as you are. I was afraid you’d fall into a drift and I wouldn’t be able to find you until the snow melted,” he teased, and you rolled your eyes dramatically. 

“You just worry about getting us a tree cut down and stop worrying about me,” you tell him, earning a deep chuckle from him as he turned and started to make his way toward the tree line again. 

The sun was starting to go down, it was late but you and Dean both had been pretty lazy today. Doing nothing but watching Christmas movies, you pick this time, and eat as much artery-clogging food as you could manage since you didn’t have Sam the health nut breathing down your throat. The darkening sky overhead cast an almost postcard type feel to the scenery around you, but your gaze was on the back of Dean’s head as he hummed along his way.

He looked particularly smug with himself as he kept making his way towards his goal, still chuckling as your footsteps crunch along behind him. Your inner child was screaming at you to not let him get away with that. So reaching down as you went, you grabbed a handful of snow in your gloved hands and started to pound it into a ball. 

Just as Dean turned to make another comment about you talking all day to catch up to him, you launched the snowball, hitting him squarely in his broad chest, laughing as he looked grumpily from you to the show that still clung to the outer layer of jacket that was on his body before a smile carved by the devil himself appeared on those pink, wind kissed lips of his. 

“Oh Baby, it’s on now.”

Reaching down on the ground in front of him, Dean grabbed a handful of his own snow.

You turn to try and run back towards the house for safety, but it was no use, he was taller and faster than you were. Before you could even take three steps you were nailed in the back with a larger snowball, and Dean’s laugh echoed through the cold air around you as you staggered a little. 

You quickly try to gather up another snowball, but Dean was faster, quickly launching another and barely missing you as you ducked lower to the ground. 

Deciding to change your tactics a little, you charge at him, hurling two more snowballs in his directions. He rolled across the ground to escape them, laughing as you cursed and scrambled to gather up more snow.

“Oh, now you want to play dirty? Well, you shouldn’t write checks you can’t cash baby girl,” he growled playfully, looking up from his sprawled out position with his eyes almost glowing with a childlike excitement you had never seen in Dean before.

Without warning he jumped off the ground, running towards you at an impressive speed. The sudden change totally threw you, and all you could was stand there like an idiot for a moment before turning on your heels and bolting back in the opposite direction. 

Unfortunately, your pause was going to be your demise. Dean’s long legs carried him to you faster than you would have guessed possible, one long arm wrapping around your torso as the other grabbed a handful of fresh powder, dumping it down the back of your shirt and jacket. 

You twist and try to get away from the cold, screaming and laughing until your lungs hurt. If anyone was watching they were surely going to think he was killing you. Both of you were laughing so hard at this point that Dean lost his footing, falling down on his backside and pulling you down with him, both of you lying there in the snow as you tried to catch your breath from your little snowball fight. 

“Okay, truce?” Dean asked breathlessly, still smiling widely. The dim light of the winter evening casting the most gorgeous glow over the exposed skin of his face that you suddenly realized was very, very close to yours, and that you were still sitting on top of him. 

For just a moment you contemplated revenge, but decided better of it, knowing Dean could turn the tables on you in an instant and suddenly have the upper hand again. 

“Truce,” you agreed, slowly climbing off of him and helping him stand to his feet. 

Dean kept up with your pace this time as you made your way towards the tree line, looking at the trees there. While all of them were full and beautiful, they were all a little too big up close to bring into the cabin. 

“You know, there’s a box out in the woodshop labeled Christmas Stuff, bet there’s an artificial tree out there too,” Dean said, looking towards the shed that felt like it was a thousand miles away from you in the dimming light that stretched across the snow-covered lawn. 

“You know, I bet you’re right, cause even if we get one of these bad boys cut we’d have to drag it all the way back up there,” you point out in a huff of white fog, and Dean nodded in agreement. 

“Come on, hop up on my back and I’ll carry you there,” he offered as you gave him a shocked look. “Come on don't be stubborn.”

“Okay,” you agreed reluctantly as Dean knelt down in front of you in the snow for you to wrap your arms around his neck while his gloved hands came to your thighs, hoisting you up as if you weighed nothing at all.

It didn’t take him nearly as long as it would have taken the both of you walking to reach the woodshop, and as you slipped down from his back and turned on the light, you noticed the welding torch Dean had been using when he planned on taking the “big splash” still laying on the workbench and froze. 

Dean noticed your hesitation and followed your gaze with his own before pulling a heavy and on his shoulder. 

“Come on baby girl, let’s not dwell on the past okay? That’s not why we’re here.” 

You knew he was right, but the thought of him out in the middle of the ocean, buried in a metal coffin, trapped with Michael terrified you to this day. In fact, you still had nightmares about it even if you would never tell him that.

You let Dean guide you to the back of the shed, quickly finding boxes of decorations and Christmas lights of all sorts, and finally a tree. 

“Got it!” Dean yelled excited, producing a box marked “Christmas Tree,” and adding it to the growing pile of decorations on the ground. 

“Great, let’s get it to the cabin, I’m freezing,” you tell him. You weren’t really all that cold, but wanting to get away from this room where he’d almost literally created his sealed fate. Dean picked up on your hurry, and nodded, grabbing the boxes he could along with the Christmas tree and following you back into the warmth that awaited in the cabin. You didn’t really take a breath until you were back in its warm enclosure. 

Dean dropped his boxes on the ground, coming up and taking yours from you before slipping his arms around your waist and hugging you tight into him. 

“You okay Y/N,” he asked after you finally returned his hug, holding on to him like he might disappear in front of you if you let him go. 

“I’m fine,” you lie, but Dean saw through it, he knew you all too well, he knew that seeing that had bothered you even though you were trying to hide it. 

“Hey,” letting go of you he pulled a glove free of his hand with his teeth and placed it to the side of your face, making you look up into his astonishing green eyes. “I’m still here, and I don’t plan on going anywhere any time soon.” 

You nod and lean your head into his chest as his fingers glide their way through your hair and calm your racing heart a little. 

“Tell you what, that’s enough adventure for tonight. We can decorate tomorrow, right now I’m going to make you some Winchester Surprise for dinner and we can get drunk and prank call everyone that’s stone age enough to still have a number in the local phone book there.”

You hadn’t expected that, but the thought of Dean calling someone and asking them if their refrigerator was running had you cracking up in spite of yourself. Just like that, all the bad melted away as his lips pressed lightly to your forehead, and removed your jacket for you. Just like that, he chased away the bad memories again, leaving only a peace you had never felt until this moment in its wake. 

Sure the two of you had both been through your share of hell, in Dean’s case literally, but you had never seen it until right then how much you needed him and how you weren’t willing to live without him. He was your person, and you just wished you could be his. 

Even though the past tried to drag itself back up to haunt you, standing in the kitchen with Dean and helping him cook his favorite meal for the two of you felt so natural that you wouldn't have ended day 8 any other way. No matter what happened after Christmas was over, this memory would be your favorite of them all. Just you and Dean, being together in a rare slice of normal, what more could a hunter ask for?

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