#and blaze wouldn’t talk enough for strangers to know her deal

[somemobianpunk]

Hey do you know what's up with that white hedgehog who is sometimes seen around sonic.

Most of the sonic spotters I have asked on this topic either haven't seen him or don't know anything about him.

There are only like 10 images of them, and about half of them have objects floating around them. There's even an image of them in a field completely covered in soot despite the person who took it saying there isn't a factory or powerplant around for miles!

Do you have any ideas who this individual is or any theories about who they can be?

Hey! That sounds like Silver the Hedgehog, an ally of Sonic. He shows up occasionally, and while rather forceful when on missions, has talked to the public on occasion, which is how we know his name.

The soot is probably a result of his pyrokinesis. He’s frequently spotted with a purple cat, who was probably levitating the objects you mentioned with her psychokinesis. Both of them show up infrequently enough that they probably hail from somewhere internationally.

-Izzy

[2baddiesfanfics]

The Best Medicine

Pairing: Jean x Lisa

Tags: First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Scars, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Self-Doubt

Summary:

When Jean comes back injured from a mission, Lisa, as always, is the one to patch her back up. After instructing the Acting Grand Master to take it easy…of course, she doesn’t. The mage comes back to check on her, and attempts to help ease Jean’s worries about her appearance. Reassuring her that scars are not something to be ashamed of, Lisa shows her beauty is so much more than how one looks.

Read on Ao3

“Damn it! I almost had-OW! Ow! SHIT! Lisa, give me a moment,” Jean shouted as the mage tried to clean her wound as carefully as she could.

“I’m doing my best here, darling, but you really got yourself in quite the jam this time,” Lisa replied with a reproachful click of her tongue.

Jean winced as she felt the disinfecting liquid Lisa had concocted seep into one of the many open cuts on her shoulder. The commission from the Adventurer’s Guild had seemed simple enough. All she had to do was escort a high-ranking diplomat visiting from Liyue to Mondstadt. No big deal - she could do quests like that in her sleep.

What she hadn’t foreseen was an impromptu encounter with a Blazing Axe Mitachurl. In a desperate attempt to slice off one of its arms, she’d miscalculated its reach and took a hit. It was deep, but thankfully hadn’t reached bone. Jean let out the breath she’d been holding.

“Sorry, Lisa. I appreciate your help. It’s just…so frustrating. If I had thought things through a little more, I wouldn’t have come back looking like this.” She closed her eyes, ashamed of how weak this must make her look in the eyes of one of her closest coworkers.

Lisa sensed Jean could probably use some time to herself. “Sweetie, it’s ok. We all have our moments. You can’t win them all…though I know you think you ought to,” she said as she lightly rubbed her back. “I’ll be right down the hall if you need anything. Don’t you dare jump back into paperwork. You’re done for the day. I better not hear a single scribble of a quill. Do you hear me?”

The corner of Jean’s mouth twitched up in a knowing smirk. “I’ll try my best,” she murmured. Lisa rolled her eyes and smiled back as she took her leave.

Jean winced as she rose to her feet after hearing the door click shut. Walking over to the mirror on the opposite side of the room, she carefully examined the damage. She was no stranger to cuts, bangs, and bruises. This was all in a day’s work for a Knight of Favonius. It was inevitable - what she had signed up for.

Thankfully, Lisa was extremely skilled in creating various brews to help patch her up every time she came back with some new injury. The Acting Grand Master didn’t know what she’d do without her. While her potions always took away aches and pains, no amount of magic would be able to dissolve the scars left behind. Jean tenderly traced her newest badge of honor with the tips of her fingers.

What’s one more? Not like anyone but me will see it anyway.

She’d been hurt physically plenty of times. Emotionally…she’d rather not talk about it. Traces on her body she could deal with. The heart was another matter. She didn’t have the time or energy to maintain an intimate relationship, and, despite the pride she took in her job, there was a part of her that had always been self-conscious about the toll her role took on her body.

Shaking her head clear, she swiftly covered her bare shoulder and considered what she could do to distract herself from such thoughts. “Hmm…I’ve still got some time. What’s the harm in filling in a couple more signatures?” She took a seat at her desk and began sorting through the never-ending stack of papers that needed her attention.

A couple of hours had passed since Lisa last checked in on Jean. She didn’t want to seem like she was doting on her, but the mage was always worried she was constantly putting the well-being of the citizens of Mondstadt before her own.

It couldn’t hurt to just take a peek, right? Someone needs to make sure she’s not suffering because archons know she won’t stop once she starts.

She approached Jean’s office once more and pushed the door open just a crack. Sure enough, there she was elbows deep in a stack of requests that had come in that morning while she was out.

That woman! She never listens to me, I swear!

Her eyes drifted to the wounded shoulder she had helped treat earlier. A quiet gasp escaped her as she noticed the bleeding had started once more and was staining her undershirt. Jean was concentrating so hard she hadn’t even noticed.

Lisa slipped through, locking the door behind her. She knew she was the only person Jean didn’t mind sharing moments of vulnerability with, and didn’t want Kaeya or, even worse, Klee, to see her in such a state.

As silently as she could, she approached her from behind. Sliding her arms around her waist, she felt Jean jump in surprise.

“Lisa? What’s wrong? You scared me! I didn’t even hear you come in.”

Lisa pulled her into her, resting her forehead delicately on her back. “Dear…I thought I told you no more work for the day. Look, you’ve aggravated your injury. Let me see…”

“Oh, I didn’t…” Jean’s voice drifted off and caught in her throat as she felt Lisa’s fingers move her undershirt off her shoulder and affectionately trace the skin there. Lisa had always been the one to treat her as more of an equal, but this time something felt…different. Her heart was thudding in her chest at the feeling of being treated so…gently. Like she wasn’t the invincible Acting Grand Master, but a normal woman who had been hurt.

“Lisa, this really isn’t necessary…I-I still have work to do.” She wanted to kick herself for how her voice faltered. There hadn’t been many times in her life that she’d cried in front of another person, but that total was about to rise. She could feel a burn in her throat as she tried to hold back tears.

“Shhhh. Jean…please. Let me take care of you,” she whispered as she muttered a healing incantation to clean the cut for good. Once it had stitched itself back up, Jean shivered as she felt Lisa’s soft lips on her shoulder.

“Lisa…” Jean couldn’t stop herself from moaning at the unfamiliar but welcome feeling.

Kissing around the bruised skin of her new injury, Lisa slowly guided Jean out of her top. “L-Lisa…wait…we…I haven’t,” Jean couldn’t find her words as she softened under the mage’s touch. This was something she’d wanted for ages but had locked away in the depths of her mind thinking it impossible. How could someone as stunning as Lisa ever find a woman as rough and marred as her desirable?

“Shh…I know, sweetie. You don’t need to explain yourself. I’ve got you,” Lisa whispered into her ear. With a snap of her fingers, the curtains on the windows in the office snapped shut. The blankets and pillows scattered on the couch flew over to where they stood and landed neatly on the rug next to them.

Slowly turning to face Lisa, Jean looked into the violet eyes shining back at her. “May I continue, or do you want to stop?” Lisa asked.

Unable to formulate into words how she never wanted her to stop, she settled for a nod of her head. Lisa cupped her face and calmly brought her lips to hers. Jean thought her heart was going to explode. She had pictured this same scenario many, many times in the privacy of her quarters, but hadn’t imagined how much better the real thing would actually feel.

When she pulled away, Jean licked her lips, savoring the taste. The flavor of black tea and Wolfhook lingered on her taste buds. With a giggle, Lisa leaned in and captured her tongue with hers as she unclasped Jean’s belt and started to unbutton her pants.

Pulling away slightly out of embarrassment, Jean stammered, “I-I can do it.”

Lisa placed a tender kiss on her cheek. “Very well, dear. I’ll make things comfortable down here.” With a wave of her hand, she rearranged the blankets and pillows to her liking as Jean stripped out of the rest of her clothes. Stealing a glimpse of herself in the mirror once more, Jean couldn’t help but wince.

Scars marred her body in an endless roadmap, and she was now acutely aware of how awful she must look to Lisa. Years of fighting battles had taken their toll, and she was sure this was just Lisa’s way of showing she felt sorry for her. Picking up one of the blankets, she draped it over herself to try and mitigate the amount of skin on display.

“Ok lovely, I think we’re just about ready. Go ahead and get comfortable. This way your back doesn’t rub itself raw on the carpet and we won’t have to stop to patch you back up again,” Lisa said as she placed her hat on the desk and removed her own clothes.

Jean propped herself up against the pillows and clutched the blanket to her chest. Slack-jawed, she stared in bewilderment at Lisa in all her unblemished glory. She bore no signs of severe struggle or miscalculated accidents. A deep red washed over Jean’s face as she gawked at the mage’s perfect form.

“Sweetie…can you remove the blanket? I want to see all of you,” Lisa requested as she lay down to join her.

Jean sheepishly did as she was told and glanced down at the floor. Tears formed at the corner of her eyes.

“Jean! Love, what’s the matter? We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable…” Lisa gently tilted Jean’s chin upwards and guided her to meet her gaze.

Tears streamed down Jean’s face. “You’re…so perfect. And I look like a disaster. Nobody wants to see these,” she sobbed as she held up her arm as an example.

Lisa wiped away her tears and leaned in for a kiss. Guiding her to lean back further, she kissed down her neck to her shoulder where she catered to her newest mark. As she traced each scar, memories of how Jean got them flooded both of their minds.

Ribs. Protecting Klee from one of her bombs gone awry. Hip. Shielding Lisa from a Fatui agent. Back. Not from running away, but from guarding the city both of them loved and called home.

Jean gasped at each touch. Lisa nuzzled her legs open and sat between them as she took in the sight below her. “Your scars tell the story of who you are, dear. They sing of your bravery and chivalrous deeds as a knight. There’s nothing wrong with them or you, love,” Lisa reassured her as she kissed her once again…only this time with more intensity.

Lisa’s hand wandered to Jean’s breast and kneaded it, eliciting a moan from her. She descended to her other breast, taking her nipple in her mouth. Jean brought her hand to her face so no sounds would escape and betray her vulnerability.

“Let go, Jean. I put a silencing spell on the room. No one can hear us, and we can’t hear them. Allow yourself to relax and enjoy this,” Lisa chastised. Jean could feel static emanating off Lisa’s tongue and pulses of electro from her fingertips as she teased her.

Letting her hand fall to her side, the Acting Grand Master moaned Lisa’s name and wrapped her legs around her waist. “My, my…for someone who has never done this, you sure know what you want,” Lisa said with a giggle as she ghosted her hand down Jean’s toned body. The static coming off her fingers caused goosebumps to rise across her skin.

Finally, she met with the slick bud between her thighs. Electro lightly pulsed against her clit adding pressure to the sensitive area.

“Oooh, Lisa!” Jean groaned in surprise.

“Just trust me, cutie,” Lisa seductively whispered as she peppered kisses up and down Jean’s neck.

She could feel Jean’s arousal building, her slick already coating her fingers and dripping down her palm. Lisa prodded one finger at her entrance. Jean’s breath hitched at the feeling of the unfamiliar intrusion. The mage gently thrust one digit in and out of her, and, hearing Jean’s unmistakable reaction, added another.

“That’s my good girl. You’re taking me so well,” Lisa encouraged as she curled her fingers and quickened her pace. After a few more thrusts, she found the spot she knew would make Jean teeter on the edge.

“L-Lisa…s-something feels different,” Jean panted as she clenched around Lisa’s fingers.

“Just go with it, sweetie. You’re almost there,” Lisa reassured her. With a few more pumps of her wrist, Jean’s body shook. Her back arched off the pillows as her orgasm coursed through her. Lisa whispered words of encouragement and reassurance to help guide her through the new sensations.

“That’s right, baby. I’m here,” she said as she held Jean close. She’d never seen the leader of the Knights of Favonius looking so…vulnerable. Although she knew Jean was inexperienced physically, it hadn’t escaped her notice that she consistently borrowed from the library’s collection of romance novels.

Lisa had always admired the Acting Grand Master, but admiration soon evolved into a longing for more than close friendship. If she could get her to experience how deeply she cared for her, perhaps Jean’s perspective of herself might also change. Was it so hard for her to believe she, too, was worthy of the love found in those tales she was so infatuated with?

Her focus snapped back to Jean when she heard her mutter something.

“Sorry, sweetie. What were you saying?”

Jean looked up at her, cheeks flushed and pupils dilated. Lisa felt her pulse surge. Seeing her mussed up like this was extremely arousing - normally Jean took pride in always looking prim and proper, as befitted a knight of her standing.

She cleared her throat, clearly fighting through embarrassment. “…it’s your turn.” Lisa’s melodious laughter filled the room while Jean looked at her in confusion.

“Ha! I’m sorry, love! You’re just so…cute,” she explained as she tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “It’s ok, really. I just wanted to help you feel a bit better after such a rough mission. You don’t need to feel obligated to repay me.” Lisa placed a kiss on her forehead.

She was taken by surprise when she felt Jean shift beside her. “Wait, what are you doing? Jean, I just said it wasn’t necessary,” the mage chastised as Jean moved to straddle her hips.

“As a knight, it’s my duty to repay your kindness with my own,” Jean said with newfound confidence. “That being said…you’ll have to let me know if what I’m doing is not to your liking. I’m…I don’t…”

Lisa put a finger to her lips, interrupting her. “It’s ok. You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Jean. We’ll take it slow,” she reassured her. Jean nodded her head in understanding. She knew what she lacked in experience, she made up for in theory. Years of reading steamy scenes in books had taught her well…she just didn’t have anyone to put these techniques to the test with - until now.

Taking a deep breath, she mustered every ounce of courage she could. You’ve fought a variety of monsters all across Teyvat. You’ve got this, Jean. Her tongue slithered out from between her lips to take Lisa’s finger into her mouth. Lisa’s eyebrows shot up…this was certainly not what she expected. The warm wetness of her lips wrapping around the digit that had previously been soaked with Jean’s own arousal was too much even for her.

“Jean…” she moaned. Clearly, she knew more than she initially let on. Lisa’s response was better than she could have hoped for and continued to ease her apprehension. Grabbing her wrist, she pulled her forward and captured her mouth in a searing kiss. Lisa could swear she must be under some sort of spell. Her head swam as the fresh scent of dandelions and Whopperflower nectar permeated her senses.

See? This isn’t that hard! Just go with what you’ve read and surely you’ll satisfy her. Jean tried to shut off her inner monologue as she fought against her doubts. She hesitated shortly, drumming up anticipation for her next move. Lisa’s bottom lip slipped between Jean’s teeth as she stole panting breaths between kisses, and she took this as an invitation to give into her baser desires. Biting down slightly, Lisa let out a high-pitched whine of pleasure.

Jean put the one thing she was proud of, her strength, to good use. Pushing Lisa into the fluffy pillows behind her, she felt a need to convince the mage that - despite how inexperienced she may be - she wouldn’t break at the slightest touch. The two weren’t rough with each other by any means - but there was now an urgency behind Jean’s movements. A desperate need to prove herself worthy of someone like her.

Lisa looked up at her through lust-glazed eyes and Jean felt encouraged to take the next step. She took her time exploring the unknown territory beneath her, and Lisa urged her every step of the way.

“Ooooo, Jean, yesssss…just like that. That’s perfe-ahhhh,” she whispered as she spurred her on. The Acting Grand Master tested various movements, teasing, licking, and sucking every possible inch of her skin. She wanted to etch Lisa’s perfect breasts, slim waist, and sturdy hips into her memory in the event this would be her first and only experience in intimacy with someone she loved and trusted so deeply.

Soon, she found herself nestled between her legs. Her lips met the tender skin of her inner thigh and Lisa sighed deeply. Good…that must mean I’m doing something right, thank the archons…

She could feel Lisa squirming beneath her every touch, and she felt bad for keeping her waiting this long. Kissing up her thigh, her mouth descended to her warm, wet core. Tasting her arousal on her tongue, she couldn’t help but let out a moan herself. Unbeknownst to her, the vibration this sent up Lisa’s spine made her jolt upright, and Jean could feel her hand gripping the top of her head.

“Fuck! Jean!”

Her tongue worked furiously to lick up every bit of slick she could find. She could hardly believe she was the cause of this. Lisa’s legs held her in a vice grip, and she could tell she was about to reach the peak. Applying more pressure with her mouth, Lisa came shouting Jean’s name.

Jean couldn’t help but smile. Clearly, she wasn’t as bad at this as she thought she’d be.

“That was incredible, dear! But…oh my! I’ve made a mess of your face,” she teased. “Here, let me help you clean it up.” Jean turned a deep red as she realized what Lisa meant. Their lips met once more, Lisa slowly lapping up what remained of her juices.

The two lay down, hands laced together as they stared at the ceiling. “So…Lisa. Am I to assume I’ve repaid my debt to you?” Lisa let out a chuckle. Everything was always so transactional with the knight.

“Sweetie…you’re kidding, right? This has nothing to do with tit for tats. I’m hoping this won’t be the last time we use your office like this,” she said with a wink. Jean’s heart swelled. This wasn’t just a heated moment of passion, but perhaps the start of something more.

“You know you’re always welcome here,” she smiled back.

“Only now that I know you know what you’re doing, we’ll have to really put you to the test. I wonder what you’re capable of when you’re not injured,” Lisa murmured. “I’m definitely going to have to order more of those romance novels for the library.”

Jean looked at her and couldn’t help but laugh. Resting her head on her shoulder, she finally felt at ease.

Forget Mitachurls…this woman is going to be the death of me.

[neon-junkie]

White Smoke, Blue Lines

Summary: There are many things that the Jedi Order forbids: Attachments, specifically ones with Clones, and partaking in drugs - both of which you're about to break, when a certain clone helps you obtain the specific herb that you're after.

Pairing: Hardcase x Jedi Reader Reader Description: Reader is female and uses she/her pronouns. This fic does not include any descriptions of her appearance.

Warnings: Use of Drugs. Tags: Sharing a joint, Mutual pining, Flirting, Teasing, First time, Making out, First kiss, Shotgun kisses, Smut, Oral (receiving), Dirty talk, Grinding. Word count: 7.3k Notes: Personally, I'd like to think that most of the Jedi love getting blazed as fuck, especially Yoda, that little froggy bong-smoking fucker, but logically, they'd say no to drugs. Either way, I just want to share a joint with Hardcase, so here's the fic for it >:)

"Your girlfriend's heading our way, Hardcase," Jesse prods, slapping his brother's arm to get his attention.

"Hey! Wha- she's not my girlfriend," Hardcase huffs, pushing Jesse back, squabbling whilst still on the landing platform.

"Yeah, but you want her to be," Jesse snickers, and Fives joins in, giggling away as the pair begin to bash their skulls together.

You clear your throat, interrupting the presumably playful banter that is going on between two of the 501st boys. The 501st aren't your battalion, but they sure do feel like it, considering almost all of your missions are paired up with General Skywalker's. You have your own men, and he has his, but there's an unspoken agreement that when working together, they're both of your men, and all the clones are content with that.

That being said, you know each of Skywalker's men by name, ranking, personality and whatnot. You've spent the last few years quite literally by their side, squished together on gunships and cruisers, dragging each other from beneath rubble and fallen clankers, and there's even been a few incidents where they've had to carry your injured self from battle. Nasty memories, but you have the 501st to thank as your saviours.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," you say with a soft laugh, watching as their eyes go wide, locking onto yours. Jesse and Hardcase clear their throats, removing each other from their locked stances, and they straighten their backs as they greet you with a shy "General."

Your gaze turns to Hardcase as you politely ask, "Hardcase, may I have a word alone?"

Jesse begins chewing on his bottom lip in an attempt to mute his laughter, but a few snorts slip through. You've overheard Jesse and many others tease Hardcase for his apparent feelings towards you, and although you haven't sensed too much from him, whatever feelings he may have are mutual. However, war and order comes first, and the likelihood of a Clone dating a Jedi is, well... there is no likelihood. It's forbidden. End of debate.

"Uh, of course," Hardcase nods, and follows you from the landing platform, heading towards the Barracks entrance, but not slipping inside. It's quiet here, minus the few clones passing by, unloading the gunships at their own pace.

Your eyes trail around the perimeter before speaking up, not paying any mind to the clones nearby, but assuring that there are no other Jedi in this vicinity. "Hardcase... uh, I was hoping for your assistance in obtaining something," you begin talking, keeping your voice level just above a whisper.

"W-what can I help you with, General?" Hardcase gulps. His hands flex into fists, bunching up at his sides, and he attempts to mute his thoughts, praying that nothing lewd will spring into his mind... again.

"Call me by my name, please, Hardcase. We're off clock, and when it comes to something like this, I'd rather... forget about the Order," you exhale, your gaze finally meeting Hardcase's wide eyes. Nervousness is radiating from him, and it doesn't help that you're prolonging your question, rattling his anxiety as every second passes.

Hardcase mutters your name with a nod, and states that he's "not quite following."

"Before I ask, I just want to explain that I'm approaching you as a friend, and not as a General-" you mumble, prolonging the question even more.

Hardcase nods, and sighs anxiously when you continue rambling. "-And I am coming to you specifically about this because, well, I am under the assumption that you also partake in such activities."

"Please tell me what you're after already!" Hardcase blurts out. Both of your eyes turn wide at his outburst, and he's about to apologize for letting his emotions control his mouth, but you speak up before he can.

"Do you know any dealers?" you finally ask.

Hardcase pauses, still with the same wide-eyed expression. His brow slowly raise as he thinks that he knows what you're on about, but just to be certain, he asks, "dealers... for?"

"Drugs. Weed, specifically," you sheepishly state. "My last one dipped off the radar, I assume he was arrested, but I-"

"I didn't know you smoke," Hardcase softly laughs, flashing you a lop-sided and extremely cheeky grin. You roll your eyes, followed by playfully punching his upper arm, which only causes Hardcase to laugh even more.

"I'm going to take your answer as a 'yes,'" you state, folding your arms and looking up at the clone, who wears his cheeky smile with pride.

"Yeah, I can sort you out," he nods. "I've been buying off the same guy for a while now, but he's weary of strangers. Maybe I could put a good word in first, or-"

"-You could come with me?" you suggest. "To pick up, I mean. That would certainly ease his anxieties."

"Y-yeah, s-sure," Hardcase gulps. His flushed, vibrant red cheeks are hard not to notice, and you're quickly hit with a thick cloud of flustered energy, radiating from him. You've not spent much time around any of the clones outside of work, minus popping by their quarters to pass on information and whatnot, and that one incident where you ran into them at 79's, but that's as good as it gets.

"I'll meet you outside the front of the barracks at 19:00, but around the corner beside that small diner, just to be safe, if that's alright with you?" You question.

"Y-Yeah," Hardcase stutters again, nodding eagerly at your request. "I'll comm my guy and let him know that we're picking up later. He's not too far from here, just a few blocks away."

"Okay," you sweetly smile. "I'll leave you to it, thank you again!" You say your goodbyes, heading in the direction of the temple to continue your chores for the day, leaving Hardcase on the barracks landing platform.

He pinches himself. That just happened, didn't it? That lovely, sweet, and kind General just approached him to ask about drugs? And she trusts him enough to meet up with him, off the clock, and conduct a deal with him?

The trust. Hardcase could go and rat you out to the Order right now. He could knock on the temple's front door, demand to speak to the manager, and tattle on you for partaking in such illegal activities. But he doesn't - why would he?

Hardcase snaps from his daze as he overhears his name being called, and Jesse and Fives appear in his line of sight. Hardcase huffs, knowing what's in store for him, and begins approaching his brothers. They've already stripped themselves from their upper-armour, relaxing in their blacks, now leaving them defenceless from the upcoming brotherly play fight that will no-doubt happen once their teasing has begun.

"What did the General want?" Fives questions as Hardcase approaches, who decides to continue walking into the Barracks, praying that he can drag them back into their quarters fast enough to prevent their teasing. Rex is always there to break up their bickering, especially when it involves certain comments about certain Generals.

"She just asked me about some stuff, nothing important," Hardcase shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck with his gloved hand as he walks.

"That's not what it looked like when we walked past," Fives grins.

Jesse joins in on the smirking. "You both looked flustered, but you especially looked like a Cadet attempting to flirt."

"No, no. It wasn't like that-" Hardcase huffs. He debates telling them the truth, considering that they know and also partake in illicit activities, but is it worth the relentless teasing that he will face? Hardcase already knows his answer, and he already knows that his brothers will find out sooner or later - hopefully later when they catch him sneaking out of the Barracks unaccompanied.

"What was it like then?" Jesse raises a brow.

"S-She..." Hardcase stutters, and exhales heavily. He finally admits to the truth, and ensures that his tone of voice is hushed, not wanting anybody to overhear. "She asked me who to get stuff off, so I told her."

"Stuff?" Fives questions.

"He means..." Jesse explains with a wave of his hand.

"Ooooh!"

There's a pause from both of them, and for a brief moment, Hardcase assumes that that's the end of it. But he is unbelievably wrong.

"Wait- The General, a Jedi, asked you for..." Fives coughs. Both his, and Jesse's expression flicks between confused, concerned, and curious, and the pair keep their ears close to Hardcase as he continues explaining what just happened.

"Yeah," he sheepishly nods. "She basically said that she trusts me, and that I look like the kinda guy who knows where to get that stuff, so I said I'd help her out."

"Help her out how?" Jesse questions.

"Well, uh..." Hardcase stutters, rubbing the back of his neck once more. "You know what Dog is like, he's not too fond of strangers-"

"-Yeah, which is why he wouldn't sell to us at first," Jesse states the obvious, and Fives nods in confirmation.

"-So, uh, she's going to come with me later to pick up," Hardcase innocently shrugs. He bites his bottom lip, attempting to focus on walking down the corridor, rather than watching his brother's reactions. It's coming. Hardcase know's it's coming, and when the wave finally hits, it drowns him.

Fives and Jesse scream, instantly jumping on their brother to begin their playful teasing. "You have a date!" They begin barking at him, riling him up, unfazed by the curious onlookers that pass by. "It's a date, our boy Hardcase has a date!" They cheer, and Hardcase, attempting to mute his laughter, eventually pushes both of them off.

"It's not a date!" He instantly begins denying, only to be playfully shoved between both of them as they protest his protests.

"It's a date, Hardcase. You two are meeting up later for a date," Jesse purrs, wrapping his arm around Hardcase's neck as the trio turn the final corner to approach their quarters.

"What are you gonna wear? Something nice?" Fives questions, knowing that they own little to no personal clothing.

"Make sure you shave your balls, chicks love that," Jesse comments, raising a cheeky brow at his brother.

Hardcase finally shoves Jesse off him as he gags at his bold comment. He remains silent, as flustered as ever, quietly wishing that it is a date, rather than him accompanying you to pick up weed. His gaze turns to the quarters' door, and he quickly punches in the code, ensuring that his flustered expression is blocked from his brothers.

However, the second the door opens, Fives pushes him into the room, and proudly announces, "guess who's getting his dick wet later, boys!"

The torment has only just begun...

--------

Hardcase's pace is faster than usual, weaving his way through the endless sea of people that cover Coruscant. The diner is barely five minutes from the Barracks, but Hardcase is running late due to his brothers pestering him non-stop.

Their teasing was ruthless, exactly what you'd expect from a bunch of men, specifically siblings. Even Rex had joined in on the banter, but reminded his men that this definitely isn't a date as such things are forbidden, not to mention consuming drugs. The talk of his 'date' is not to leave the Barracks, and even when it is spoken about, it must be spoken in hushed tones to prevent by-passers overhearing it through the thick walls.

Hardcase tugs at his shirt again, cursing the smaller fit that he's borrowed off Tup. He's slightly thinner than Hardcase, and it seems that he buys his shirts even smaller to ensure that his best features are on display, pressed against the ironed fabric. Hardcase was originally going to meet up with you in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and his suggestion was met with a sea of tears as every single one of his brothers pushed him to wear something enticing.

"It is a date, after all," Dogma chimed in.

"It's not a date," Hardcase had replied. He had reached the point of auto-pilot, automatically reminding everyone that it's not a date whenever he heard those specific words.

His brothers ignored his declines, and collectively agreed that Hardcase is going on a date, whether he sees it as that, or not. They all helped doll him up; Tup loaned his navy blue shirt, sleeves rolled up at the elbows and the top few buttons undone, exposing his collarbones and teasing his toned pecs. Hardcase insisted that he wears black jeans, making his outfit seem more casual, rather than borrowing Dogma's suit pants.

Hardcase is assuming that he'll be back within half an hour, ready to tell his brothers "I told you so," when they ask why his 'date' didn't last long. He huffs to himself, finally reaching the destination, at to his surprise, you're already stood outside.

"There you are," you state as he appears in your line of vision. Hardcase, for once, manges to control his flustered expression as he locks on to what you're wearing; it's nothing fancy, casual attire, but you and Hardcase could easily be mistaken as a couple out on a date.

"Sorry I took so long," Hardcase sighs. "The boys were..."

"-being themselves?" you answer his statement, and he nods awkwardly in agreement. You playfully roll your eyes, knowing far too well how boisterous and bold his brothers are. "Anyway, lead the way," you gesture, and with that, Hardcase begins leading you on the short journey to his dealer's place.

"He doesn't live far from here," Hardcase reassures you, holding his hands up innocently.

"Good, hopefully he lives close to me," you say with a laugh, not wanting to trail too far.

"You mean... the temple?"

"Oh, no. I decided to get my own little apartment nearby. I needed my own space, the temple can feel over-bearing, and it's nice to... not feel like a Jedi, sometimes," you briefly explain, hoping that Hardcase understands your desire for self-isolation.

"Yeah, I can understand that," he shrugs. "At least you're able to get your own place. That sure would... be something," Hardcase sighs.

A gentle hand rests on Hardcase's forearm as he walks, and you give him a soft squeeze, reassuring him as you comment, "you know that I'm not fond of how the Republic treats clones."

"Yeah, I don't think there's many Jedi out there who are," he agrees. Hardcase exhales heavily, feeling your hand disappear from his forearm, and as he leads you down a side street, he decides to swiftly turn the conversation around. "He's just up here, I'll buzz for him to come down," Hardcase explains, and slips his comm link from his pocket, tapping away on the device.

"You know, I was going to suggest you come back to my apartment and share a joint with me. My way of saying thank you for helping me out," you suggest.

Hardcase almost drops his comm link, catching it before it hits the floor, preventing the device from being carelessly trampled on by his own boots. He lightly coughs, and his gaze meets yours as he replies, "we don't have to, I don't mind. I-I mean, I'm always happy to help out-"

"-Hardcase," you cut his babbling off. "I'd love to have a smoke with you, if you'd like to."

This time, Hardcase can't hide his flustered expressions. His cheeks begin contrasting heavily against his bold, blue tattoos, decorating his warm face; his pupils are wide, both with a mixture of nervousness and lust, and his mouth remains parted, forgetting how to breathe. Hardcase is so fixated on the thought of being around you, sharing a joint with you, going back to your apartment, that he doesn't overhear his name being called out, at first.

Hardcase finally snaps out of his startled state to see his dealer approaching, and heavily clearly his throat before introducing you to Dog. He's your stereotypical dealer, attempting to keep the exchange swift and quiet, and seems fond of you when you purchase a hefty amount of weed, wanting to ensure that you have more than enough to last.

Dog exchanges his comm link number with you before dipping off, ensuring that you can pick up off him any time. "Any friend of Hardcase's, is a friend of mine," he states. Huh, yeah. A friend.

Silence fills the air as you overlook the few grams that you've purchased before slipping it into your pocket, turning your gaze to Hardcase, who has zoned out once more. You raise a brow, and Hardcase suddenly remembers that he never answered your offer. "Y-yeah, we can go and share a joint at yours," he eagerly nods, followed by licking his drying lips.

"C'mon then," you playfully nudge, and begin leading the way to your apartment.

----

The journey home is short, filled with Hardcase's rambling rant about how a few of his brothers irritated him on the last series of missions. You questioned what was on his mind, and not wanting to admit the overwhelming array of emotions that he feels towards you, he decided to fill up the silence with bitching instead. It's a win-win; Hardcase gets to let off some steam, and you get to laugh along and enjoy Hardcase's rambling, something that he does when given the opportunity to.

Hardcase, especially now, sometimes forgets your abilities, and just how prominent they truly are. You know exactly how he feels towards you, and now that you're here, entering your apartment with him, you can forget about both of your statuses the second your apartment door closes. Right now, you're two friends hanging out, sitting on the couch after grabbing a drink for both of you.

Using your weed, Hardcase begins rolling a joint, putting his calloused fingers to work. He pauses his work to take a hefty gulp of his drink, parched from earlier when he felt the life draining from him at the idea of going back to yours. However, now that he's actually here, he feels content; maybe it's because your apartment is so welcoming and cosy, or maybe it's because your general presence often soothes him (when it's not riling him up,) but either way, he's finally comfortable.

You put some background music on, just loud enough to sit comfortably in your ears, and Hardcase announces that he's finished rolling. "Beautiful, isn't she?" he playfully states, holding the pristine joint up to your vision.

"Of course, she is. She's your creation," you smile. Hardcase flashes you a playful, puppy-like grin at your compliment, and you laugh at his warm expression. "Spark up," you state, and leave your seat to go and open some windows.

The joint is lit when you return, and your eyes lock onto the thick smoke flocking from Hardcase's lips as you take your seat beside him. "Here," he mutters, passing you the joint. Hardcase lubricates his mouth as you occupy yourself, smoking at your own pace, and the poor man almost spits water on you when he turns to see you exhaling, the cloud of smoke slowly trickling from your lips.

"What?" you question.

"N-Nothing," Hardcase coughs, attempting to clear his throat. "Went down the wrong way," he explains, and you pretend to understand his response. Your Jedi senses picked up the overwhelming attraction Hardcase felt when he locked his sights onto you smoking; you understand the attraction to the act of smoking, but never have you considered that somebody could feel such a way towards you.

That knowledge settles in the back of your mind, ready to be picked up on later on, hopefully when you've attained more confidence and relaxed even more. "Your turn," you state as you pass the joint back, your fingertips brushing against Hardcase's as he takes it from you.

Minutes pass as you two continue sharing the single joint, eventually being stubbed out in your ashtray. "How're you feeling?" Hardcase questions as he relaxes back on your couch, finding comfort in your variety of pillows.

"Good," you confirm with a nod. "I completely forgot to ask him what strain of weed this is," you sigh, coming to terms with the fact that you're going into this high blind.

Hardcase picks up the bag of weed on your coffee table, and looks it over before laughing to himself. You raise a brow, and he explains, "I don't know why I'm looking it over. It's not like I can tell."

You chuckle with him, already beginning to feel the swift effects of the mystery strain. Your hand runs through your hair, sweeping a few strands back off your face, and when you look up from the floor, your eyes instantly feel heavy. "Kriff," you curse.

"Good stuff?" Hardcase questions with a light laugh, melting into your couch. You turn to gaze at him, instantly noticing his lopsided smile; a deep red colour appears on his cheeks, and you dread to think what thoughts must be running through his mind if he's blushing at you.

"Yeah, good stuff," you confirm with a nod. Shuffling back onto the couch more, you get comfortable, tucking your legs against the pillows.

"You wanna stretch your legs out?" Hardcase questions, patting his toned thighs, maybe a little too eagerly.

You nod, and prop your legs up on Hardcase's lap, who instantly rests his forearms on top of them. He hands begin playing with the fabric of your pants, fiddling mindlessly, trailing his calloused fingertips up and down your shins. You chuckle at the image, seeing some of yourself in him; Hardcase overhears your laughter, and raises as a brow as he smiles and asks, "what?"

"You're a fidgeter too, huh?" you state.

Hardcase grins as he shakes his head, looking like a happy puppy. "Yeah," he confirms. "I've been told that back on Kamino, my growth chamber leaked. That's why I can never sit still," he shrugs, and adds, "not that I mind."

"I like that," you smile. "I love seeing how different all you clones are. Makes me forget that you're actually clones."

"Yeah, me too," Hardcase sighs. He looks away for a brief moment, silently reminding himself about the situation that he's currently in. As of right now, he's content and calm, enjoying a joint with a Jedi - an odd scenario, but Hardcase is fond of oddities. However, come tomorrow, he'll be back on the field, wiping out clankers with his chaingun; at least he can enjoy this moment before it passes.

"Fancy another?" Hardcase questions as he turns back to you, and smirks as he adds, "if you can handle it."

"Of course, I can handle it. You don't have to baby me," you scoff. "Maybe I should baby you instead, seeing as you're almost falling asleep on my couch," gesturing to Hardcase's extremely cosy state.

"No, I'm not," Hardcase scoffs in return, sitting upright instantly. "Your couch is comfortable," he innocently shrugs, and begins rolling another joint once you've moved your legs off his lap. "And how would you baby me, huh?"

A large, bright, and interesting lightbulb lights up in your mind; you've wanted to break the thick, tense ice between you two for so long, but given the circumstances, you've never been able to. Now is your chance!

"I'll show you how to properly smoke," you flirtatiously smirk.

Hardcase raises a brow as he meets your gaze, and he rolls his eyes at your remark. "I know how to smoke, sweetheart," he sighs, the pet name escaping without him realising. "But go on, let's see what you've got."

"Alright," you nod.

Hardcase rushes to roll the second joint, soon revealing a slightly crinkled joint, but that doesn't make it not smokeable. Rather than lighting it, he passes it to you instead, and watched curiously as you begin sparking up, puffing on the end to get the good stuff flowing. You eventually begin exhaling thick clouds of smoke, blowing them from your vision.

"Ready?" you question, and Hardcase eagerly nods, attempting to bite back on his laughter. He's so smug, certain that there's no way you can smoke better than him, and his smug expression remains as you intake an average amount.

Holding the smoke between your closed lips, you shuffle closer to Hardcase, pressing your thighs together, your shoulders tapping against each other before Hardcase turns his upper body to peer down at you. Your eyes meet his, and since your mouth is occupied and unable to instruct him, you resort to moving him into position.

You lightly grab his chin, and Hardcase follows your movement as you bring his lips towards yours. Your thumb brushes over his bottom lip, and Hardcase understands what you're signalling for. His lips part slightly, just enough for you to press your lips against his and blow the smoke into his mouth.

Hardcase shudders, and takes his time moving away from your lips to eventually blow out his share of the smoke. A sigh follows behind his exhale, and when he finally turns back to look at you, his eyes are half-lidded, but open enough to show his wide, lustful pupils, decorated by his amber irises.

"Good?" you simply question.

A cheeky grin covers Hardcase's lips as he nods eagerly, but it slips away as fast as it appeared, and he pouts as he replies. "I don't think I got much smoke, you'll have to try again."

You giggle, and Hardcase joins in, almost patting himself on the back for his boldly flirtatious comment. "Alright," you agree. The joint is pressed to your lips again, and you inhale heavily, holding the smoke in your mouth as you signal for Hardcase to get into position. He's cheekily grinning as he parts his lips, pressing them lightly to yours, and his eyes flutter shut as you begin blowing smoke into his mouth.

Hardcase can't help but swiftly kiss you before pulling away, turning his head in the other direction to exhale the smoke. He's grinning again as he turns back to you, his tattoos slowly turning purple as his cheeks begin turning up. "My turn," he chuckles, and takes the joint from your grasp.

Hardcase repeats your fluid movements, and he's now plucked up the courage to hold your jawline in the palm of his hand as he dips his head down to kiss you. This is definitely a kiss with smoke trailing between your lips; you don't even bother inhaling, watching through slowly-shutting eyes as the smoke disappears between kisses, fanning out into the room.

The smoke soon leaves, and you're still locking lips with Hardcase, feeling the faint, light stubble of his facial hair on your upper lip. His soft kisses quickly become firmer, desperate, hungry, and the hand that was once on your jaw slides up to entwine in your hair. You're not sure if Hardcase is a naturally good kisser, or if the weed in your system is making you more sensitive than usual, a burn forming between your thighs as the kiss deepens once more.

Boldly, you break the kiss and pluck the joint from between Hardcase's fingers, stubbing it out in your ashtray. He watches through half-lidded eyes as you straddle him, your knees resting on either side of his hips, introducing your crotch to his growing erection. He's still smirking, and his smile remains as he pulls you down to kiss him once more, this time with added mewls and moans, escaping whenever your lips slightly part.

"Hardcase?" you call out between kisses, and Hardcase lets out a softly grunted, "huh?" when you call his name.

"I wanna know something," you continue, your tone of voice thick with lust.

"Oh yeah? What?" Hardcase raises a brow, breaking the kiss so he can gaze up at you with his slightly red eyes.

"Do your tattoos cover all of your body?" you question, and instantly, Hardcase begins chuckling at your words.

"Why don't you find out for yourself, sweetheart?" he invites you in. You lick your lips as your hands move from his shoulders, finding the buttons on his shirt, and at an agonizingly slow pace, you begin unfastening each of them. Hardcase almost rips the shirt off once it's finally unfastened, discarding it on the other side of your couch, revealing his delicious form.

Hardcase is a meal of a man, toned from years of work and fighting. His tanned skin looks lush, contrasting against his blue tattoos that continue over his chest and arms, disappearing into the waistband of his pants. Your hands begin trailing over each line, admiring the flawless line work; they hook around the waistband of his pants, and your eyes meet Hardcase's as you continue talking.

"Can I take these off?" you question.

Hardcase playfully tuts as his hands find your waist, kneading at the fabric of your shirt. "Not until this comes off. Fair's fair, right?"

"Of course," you agree with a nod. This time, Hardcase is the one gawking over his form once your top comes off; his hands follow the flow of your body, every dip and crevice, every curve and bump. Just when he thinks this day couldn't get any better, you smile as you reach your hands behind your back, unclasping your bra and letting it slip down over your shoulders.

Hardcase's face literally lights up, grinning playfully as he moves his hands up to cup your breasts. "Mesh'laaaa," he slurs his words, followed by mumbling a series of phrases in Mando'a, and you can only assume that from his given expression, they're all words of affection. Hardcase, whilst still smiling, dips his head down to latch his mouth onto a nipple, flicking his tongue over the bud and sucking gently. He kisses along your chest when switching between each nipple, and rolls his hips as a way of encouraging you to get closer.

Slowly and softly, you begin rutting your hips, grinding down against his growing erection. Hardcase begins letting out the softest of moans, sucking on your nipples more firmly, his hands tightening their grip around your waist. "Karking hell," Hardcase grunts, moving his lips from your breasts to look up at you. "These have got to come off, please?" he both asks and suggests.

You swiftly nod, shuffling off Hardcase's lap. You undo your pants, shimmying them down to your ankles, and step out of them, leaving you almost bare. Hardcase goes to reach out, to grab you once again, but you tut and offer him your hand instead. "Are you coming?" you offer, and Hardcase swiftly grabs your hand before you can even finish your question.

You begin leading him towards your bedroom, your hand slipping from his as Hardcase shuffles out of his pants. He almost trips over his pants legs as he kicks them off, leaving them in a jumbled pile on the floor. His tattoos do continue even lower, partially hidden under his boxers, but you'll soon see for yourself.

You sit on the edge of the bed, offering your hand out once more to drag Hardcase on with you, but he rejects your offer. Whilst shaking his head, Hardcase settles onto his knees, his hands finding your thighs as he hungrily spreads them apart. Oh. He groans at the sight of your spread legs, despite still having panties on; you're uncertain if it's the weed effects taking place, or if Hardcase really is working this fast, but he rushes to kiss down both of your thighs, stopping just before your cunt and moving cheekily onto the other one. He's teasing you, but it's clear that his patience is running thin.

Hardcase groans as he finally licks a firm stripe over your clothed cunt, faintly tasting your slick through the thin fabric. He repeats the motion a few more times, teasing himself more than you, and swiftly decides that he needs your underwear off. Now. They're quickly removed, tossed onto the floor that he's settled on, and once again, Hardcase is the one groaning as he finally begins lapping at your folds.

Everything feels so rushed, your head spinning ever so slightly as you lie back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling between your fluttering lashes. Hardcase is a messy eater, unfazed by the sounds of wetness and slurping, lapping at your cunt like a starving man. He flicks between a series of motions, but always ensures that when he sucks your clit, he does it hard, chuckling to himself as you begin squirming on the bed from his actions.

"So karking good," Hardcase mumbles against you. "I can't believe I've finally got my head between your thighs," he groans, and slips his tongue into your entrance, tongue-fucking you a few times before deciding that you deserve something firmer to fill you up. You're unbelievably soaked, more than slick enough to fit two of Hardcase's thick fingers, pushing them slowly until he reaches his knuckles.

With his lips around your clit, Hardcase begins pumping his fingers, curling them to ensure that they brush against your g-spot with every thrust. You don't even realise that he's shaking at first, until you prop yourself up onto your elbows to notice that his other hand is moving rapidly. Hardcase has managed to free his cock, pumping it in time with his thrusting fingers.

His cock is gorgeous, girthy with a blue stripe running down the middle. Hardcase notices you staring and raises a playful brow, only for his expression to turn into concern as you smirk maliciously. Without saying a word, you raise your hand, and use your special abilities to begin jerking Hardcase's cock for him. He's forced to move his lips off your cunt, letting out a heavy groan as you begin jerking his cock.

"Karking hell!" Hardcase yelps, moaning hungrily as you pump his length. "I always forget you have those abilities," he chuckles, and returns to eating your pussy. Despite being occupied, his own words sink into his mind even deeper - you're a Jedi. He's hooking up with a Jedi. Hardcase is the lucky Clone who gets to enjoy seeing what else you can do with your Jedi powers. Kriff.

You sense the realisation from Hardcase, his thoughts barely clouded from the smoke that's still lingering in his system. You've become swiftly adjusted to the sensation of being high, but now that those thoughts are present, you realise how utterly blazed you are. Your head is, thankfully, no longer spinning, but your eyes are half-lidded, and you're almost constantly grinning, giving away your dazed state. Hardcase is the same, finally relaxing as smugness takes over, proud of himself for achieving such an unimaginable goal.

"Ughh," Hardcase grumbles against your folds. "Taste so good, you feel so good around my cock too! Well, I mean your... uh, the force feels good?" Hardcase stutters, raising a brow as he attempts to explain the new sensations washing over him.

"Why don't you come up here, and find out how good I feel around your cock?" you flirt.

Hardcase grins, scrambling up to his feet. He shuffles up onto the bed, toned arms resting on either side of your head, pinning you beneath him. Your juices are all over his chin, his blue tattoos glistening whenever the street lights through your bedroom window hit his face at the right angle. With a laugh, you clean him up, and the second you're done, he dips his head down to crash his lips against yours.

Your hands trail over his shoulders, admiring how toned and defined he is. Hardcase is softly mewling between kisses, expressing his hunger and desperation for you. He begins grinding his solid length against your folds, slicking himself up, but teasing himself more than he's teasing you. Either he's naturally sensitive, or the weed has cranked his sensitivity levels up tenfold.

Hardcase begins angling his hips, attempting to catch your pussy at the right angle and push his cock in; he breaks the kiss in order to concentrate, refusing to give up on his desires. Eventually, Hardcase manages, and lets out a heavy moan as he finally pushes himself into your tight cunt.

"Heh, no hands," Hardcase chuckles once he's fully sheathed. He holds himself there, and you're uncertain if it's because he's letting you adjust to his size, or because he needs a moment to collect himself. Both, possibly? Given his calming expression.

You swiftly grow impatient, and lock onto his gaze as you groan, "Hardcase, move."

"Yes, General," Hardcase cheekily replies, and you roll your eyes at his audacity.

But that playfully frustrated expression on your face is quickly wiped away, your brows turning upwards, and your mouth parting as Hardcase begins thrusting himself deep into you. He's girthy, stretching your walls with every thrust, filling you up with no room to spare. Hardcase seems to be moaning than you are, possibly, it's hard to tell, given your stoned state, and the fact that you're moaning just as loud.

Hardcase's thrusts are delicious, firm and fast, slowly bruising your inner thighs; you wrap your legs around his waist, ankles crossing over, and lightly grind your heel into his lower back as a way of spurring him on. Hardcase chuckles, and comments, "needy thing," before following your order and slamming into you even harder.

You're moaning way too loud, certain that you'll receive a noise complaint tomorrow. Whatever. You remind yourself that you don't care, that you need this, that you've been pining after this Clone for way too long. He's not letting you down, he never has, despite not being in your ranks. No doubt, you'll spend the next few days walking funny, receiving concerned expressions from Jedi and Clones alike; it doesn't take a genius to put two and two together, since Hardcase will definitely be walking with a limp.

Hardcase dips his head down, leaving purple marks along your collarbone. He's muttering between kisses, barely audible through his heavy breaths as he continues slamming into you. "C-Can't believe we're doing this," he grunts. "Been after you for so long, so kriffing long. You have no idea!"

You let out a soft laugh, "you don't exactly keep your feelings hidden."

Hardcase's cock comes to a halt, twitching deep inside you. He props himself up on his forearms, peering down at you as he asks, "you knew?"

"Everybody knows," you chuckle. You pull his head down for a kiss, reassuring him that the feelings are mutual. "Wouldn't be here if I didn't feel the same," you mutter against his lips.

Hardcase breaks the kiss, raising a brow as he jokingly replies, "you wouldn't be here? But this is your apartment-"

His words are cut off as you let out a laugh, and Hardcase laughs along with you, soon returning his lips to yours. He has you pinned perfectly to the bed, his hips rolling ever so slightly as he introduces his tongue to yours, swallowing down your moans whenever the kiss briefly breaks.

As Hardcase pulls away from the kiss, he slips his cock from your slickness, and lets out a grunt as he pushes himself up onto his knees. He eagerly pats the bed as he orders, "on your hands and knees, sweetheart."

Whilst smirking at him, you shuffle into the new position, peering over your shoulder once ready. Hardcase licks his lips at the sight, his large hands kneading as your ass, enjoying everything you have to offer. He spends a few moments simply playing with your ass, one hand moving from the mound of flesh to run his thumb over your folds, finding your clit and grinding over it.

"Hardcase," you mutter.

"I know, I know," he chuckles as he moves his hands away, lining himself up. "Hard not to do that, you just look so good," he grunts, and finally begins pushing into you again.

A firm pair of hands find your hips, wrapping around them, holding you tightly. Hardcase jumps back into his rushed pace, eager to feel your walls fluttering around his cock once more. His whines and moans start up again, matching your own, the sound of skin against skin echoes around the room.

Hardcase begins muttering sweet praise, "sweet girl, my perfect girl, so karking tight around me-" he lets out a grunt. "Kriff, I'm not gonna last long, babe," Hardcase informs you.

You reach down between your thighs, fingertips about to touch your clit, but Hardcase chuckles as he redirects your hands. "Here, let me," he says with a smile. Hardcase wraps his large palm around both of your wrists, pinning them behind your back, your head dropping onto the duvet. His other hand slips beneath you, firm fingertips begin rubbing eagerly at your clit.

Needless to say, Hardcase has a lot on his plate, and his thrusts become somewhat sloppy, but more than enough to get you off. "Come on, girl, cum on this cock," Hardcase instructs through gritted teeth. His cock begins twitching inside you, an orgasm sitting on the edge, but like the gentleman that he is, he waits for you to hit peak first.

You cry out his name, part of your words muffled from your face being smothered against the duvet. Your orgasm finally hits, your walls clenching tightly around Hardcase's thick length. He grunts, and swiftly removes his hands from you, rushing to pull out his length. His release lands on your back, grunting and sighing heavily as he paints you white.

"Kriff, oh, babe," Hardcase sighs, jerking his length slowly to push his final drops of cum onto your bare body. "Wait here," he mutters, and rushes to climb off the bed. Hardcase almost trips over his own feet, his legs turning into jelly in his post-orgasm phase, along with whatever weed is still pumping throughout his body.

Hardcase returns moments later with a damp towel, and cleans you up whilst humming playfully. He lands a light slap on your rear as he announces, "done!"

You roll onto your back, star fishing on your bed; your chest is rising and falling heavily, matching Hardcase's deep breaths, who joins you on the bed after tidying himself up. He's slightly sweaty from his workout, but still wears that usual cheeky grip as he props himself up on his elbow, lying on his side, looking down at you.

"Did you have fun?" Hardcase asks, the audacity.

You roll your eyes, laughing lightly as your hand moves up to wrap around his neck. "Come here, you," you flirt, and pull him down into a tender kiss, reassuring him that you definitely had fun.

Hardcase's hand finds your waist, fingertips running along your skin whilst he shares a tender moment with you. The kiss isn't rushed and heated like earlier, but soft and loving, warming your chest, and sending shivers along your skin. As it breaks, Hardcase flashes you a grin, then kisses the tip of your nose before falling back on your pillows.

"C'mere," he mutters, waving his hand. You follow his lead, settling in the curve of his neck, sprawling yourself over him whilst still regaining your breath. There's silence for a while, a welcoming silence, shared between two people who have finally broken the ice. Hardcase eventually fills up the silence as he asks, "you'll let me take you out for dinner some time, won't you?"

You move your head off his chest, peering up to see his warm brown pleading eyes, his bottom lip slightly sticking out. "Yeah, of course, I will," you agree with a sweet smile.

Hardcase hums happily as he places a tender kiss on your forehead, his hand moving up to direct your head back onto his chest. Neither of you say anything after that, content with the silence that once again fills the room, later complimented by light snores as you both drift off to sleep.

[redrobin-detective]

The 101 Deaths of Danny Phantom

AO3 link

One of the first things people learned about dealing with ghosts, other than not to try and date them, is to never asks about their death or obsessions. That doesn’t mean the citizens of Amity Park aren’t curious though, especially about their resident ghostly hero and the confusing and concerning comments he sometimes makes.

“Are you okay?” Phantom asked Maisie as she shook and tried to hold back tears after that car had almost slammed into her. She sometimes joked about getting hit crossing the street of her college campus to pay her obnoxious loans but it was another thing entirely to almost experience it herself. Maisie was nearly twenty, she shouldn’t be comforted by someone younger than her little step sister but here she was, shaking like a lead and leaning into Phantom’s comforting, chilly touch. 

“Sorry,” she stuttered, “thank you, I’m sorry I’m just-”

“Hey, it’s okay to be upset that was very scary. The thought of dying is very scary.” Through her adrenaline and her tears, she took in the ghost’s unnatural glow, his faded, barely visible appearance and the fact that he was floating a foot off the ground. Maisie knows this ghost, this boy, knows more than she ever could about death. 

“And getting run over by a car sure is a bad way to go,” the ghost kid chuckled awkwardly, taking his cold hand off her shoulder to scratch at the back of his neck. “You should see how my dad drives or my mom or my sister if she’s running late enough,” Phantom paused in thought. “No one in my family should have a license now that I think about it. Anyway,” he dismissed with a wave. 

“My sister and I were getting ready to head out to school and my dad was backing out of driveway too fast and didn’t see us and uh, luckily I got my sister out of the way in time haha,” Phantom trailed off awkwardly. Was it because of the uncomfortable conversation or because he noticed her dawning horror.

Her best friend ran the community college’s Phan club so Maisie was a member by default. Phantom’s death was sometimes talked about late at night, everything from wrongful murder to a freak accident. She never in her worst nightmares imagined being him being runover in front of his own house by parental ignorance. It was so normal, a quick mistake and a life lost.

“Oh my god,” he said with an adorable little green blush. “Why am I babbling about that? You almost got hit by a car, I’m probably retraumatizing you or something. I should probably go get the jerk who almost hit you,” he said before disappearing into thin air. 

“Tia is not going to believe this,” she whispered to no one. All she knew is that for the rest of her damned life she was going to look both ways when crossing the street. She’d seen first hand what a single moment of reckless driving could cause.

XxX

Matthew, not Matt or Matty or Hughie, Matthew shivered from the cold. He was only in his boxers with little Pacman on them. It had been fine when he’d gone to bed considering it was mid-August but Phantom and this stupid flaming mecha ghost had tussled outside the summer camp he was working at. He could see some of the kids snickering at his state of undress though he was just extremely glad they were alive enough to disrespect him like this.

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” the ghost kid said with big, sad eyes that looked so human despite the fact that they were literally glowing. He looked around at all the snow and ice left over from his fight. “Jeez you guys must be freezing, I wish I could warm you all up but all I can do is make things colder.”

“S’okay,” Matthew said through his chattering teeth. “Teaching the kids how to start a fire was supposed to be next week but we can get a jump on it.” That got a smile out of the ghost and within a half hour, the other counselors were distributing blankets and hot beverages to the kids clustered around multiple fires. They didn’t seem particularly upset by the potentially fatal attack, Matthew will breakdown about that at a later time when he was alone. For now, he just smiled as the children chattered happily with the ghost while he cleaned up as much of the damage as possible.

“So you spend all day fighting ghosts?” Zoe asked with stars in her eyes.

“A lot of the nights too,” Phantom nodded, “I do other stuff but yeah it seems ghost fighting takes up most of my time.”

“Where’d you learn those cool powers?” Zuri asked, miming a punch.

“Comes with being a ghost,” Phantom shrugged, “my ice powers came in later though so I still struggle a bit with them but I’m getting better every day.”

“Why ice though?” Morris said with his cocked curiously to the side. “I see some ghosts use fire or shadows, why do you have ice?”

“Ah that’s a little personal,” Phantom chuckled but his posture was easy despite the invasive question. “Specialty powers like my ice require special circumstances and a certain uh connection to the ghost. Someone like me couldn’t use fire or electricity or plants, ice is in my soul, it’s who I am.”

Matthew paused in drinking his lukewarm coffee as a horrible thought came to mind. He’s been an outdoorsman all his life, practically from the time he could walk. He’d been a deep woods camping guide for a decade before switching to working at summer camps. But the years working in the relative comfort of a stable camp didn’t erase his knowledge of how unforgiving and deadly the woods in the winter could be. A grown man, much less a young teen, would freeze to death in 20 minutes if it was cold enough. 

It made sense for ghosts to develop powers related to their deaths. Had Phantom been one of the dozens of unfortunate kids he read about every year who ran away in the middle of winter only to found later as a frozen corpse. He eyed the boy’s snow white hair and frigid aura he exuded with mournful trepidation. God, what a horrible way to die. 

“I’d get chilly with ice powers,” Tabby said with a shudder, she held out her cup of cocoa. “You want some of my cocoa to warm you up?”

“No thanks,” Phantom said with a soft smile that was warm despite everything. “The cold hasn’t bothered me for a while.”

XxX

Ghost attacks may be the norm but, if there was one good thing that came out of whole mess it was the fact that violent human crimes went down drastically. So when the rare murder did happen, the shock and fear rippled through the whole town. 

Stanford Newton had only been sheriff of Amity Park for eight months after the last guy had gone gray overnight and moved to Florida the next day. It was a daunting position but one he bore proudly. This wouldn’t be his first murder investigation having initially cut his teeth as a beat cop in Chicago but it would be the first in Amity. And it certainly was the first in which the dead served in an active capacity.

“Amanda Chastain, 27. Officially she was a waitress down at Spengler’s Diner but she’s been picked up for prostitution twice in the last year,” Stan said calmly, ignoring the cold, angry presence over his shoulder. “History of polysubstance abuse as well, not that either of those things mean she deserved this.” Used, beaten to death and then dumped in the trash like yesterday’s paper. 

He wondered if she’d come back a ghost or if she’d finally get some peace this world hadn’t offered her. “We don’t have many leads right now, I’m afraid. Acting illegally as they are, there’s not a lot of resources these poor girls have to turn to.”

“I’ll find them,” The Phantom said with blazing conviction, his voice thick and sharp as ice. “I’ll find and bring them to justice and make sure no one else is hurt again.”

“I believe you,” Stan nodded, shutting his notebook as he finally turned to face the teenage superhero haunting his town. He can’t say he liked what he saw. The Phantom looked even less human than usual, his aura flaring and flickering like the foggy mist before a heavy snowstorm. His unnatural green eyes glowered, painting his too young face in a terrifying light. 

The kid looked furious, clearly taking this death to heart. He’d read the Fenton’s memos about obsessions and such but this seemed beyond that. “But don’t hurt anyone to do it, or yourself while you’re at it.”

“I won’t, I’ll make sure they’ll face human justice and don’t worry,” Phantom gave a snarling smile. “No mortal can hurt me, not like this,” he growled causing the hairs on Stan’s arms and neck to stand on end. He flew off after that, presumably to track down Amanda’s killer.

“Not like this,” Stan mumbled to him, pulling out his handkerchief and wiping his brow where a cold sweat had broken out. “Jesus Christ that poor kid.” Stan had seen plenty of murdered and mutilated bodies in his lifetime, some of them even kids. He just never got to talk to them after they’d had their life forcibly snatched away. It would explain the ghost’s near fanatical determination to save others, why he took a stranger’s murder so personally. 

“I hope your own murderer is behind bars,” Stan said as he tucked his handkerchief back into his coat pocket. “Or even six feet under, for killing a good kid like you.” Stan made his way back to his squad car so he could head back to the station and move forward with the official investigation. But he’d eat his hat if there wasn’t a stammering lowlife there by tomorrow ready to turn themselves in.

 Maybe after all this was settled down, he’d delve into some of the cold cases stacked in the cellar. Maybe in there he’ll find a picture of a smiling, carefree teen who’d disappeared and returned with the power now to ensure no one else suffered as he had.

XxX

“Yes, I know about the Phantom,” Luis Oliveira will say to anyone who so much as brings up the ghost kid. Locals know better by now but the tourists eat it up every time. He twists his finely combed mustache and gestures to the floor where his audience is standing. “He died right there oh ten or eleven years ago.”

Luis has worked his way all across the the United States since he emigrated from Brazil in the 70s. He finally settled in Amity Park about twelve years ago. He’d never intended to stay in the small Midwest town but the fatal shooting of a young customer kept his little corner market open.

“He was a nice kid, always said hi to me and paid in exact change. Was big fan of the snacks I made, would stop by after school and take half my inventory. He had big brown eyes and a crooked nose,” Luis would smile at the memory before closing his eyes and frowning sadly. “One day, he came late. His teacher made him stay after to go over a failed test, I remember he complained. He was pulling out his money when robber burst in, demanding my money. I fumbled for the register key, dropped it. I bent down to grab it and I hear shots going off. Two over my head, another right into the boy’s throat.”

Luis will hear the sound of that sweet boy’s guttural choking sounds as he drowned in his own blood until the day he himself died. The robber left after the shot, Luis called the police and held the young man’s hand as he died. The would be thief were never found and Luis never did learn anything about the boy who’d died on his floor for getting hungry after school.

“As soon as I saw Phantom on the TV,” Luis would say, perking up after his moment of somber grief, “I knew it was that boy come back. Those kind eyes, I’d recognize them anywhere. He’s never come here but one day he will and I will be able to pass on my regret on not being able to save his life that day.”

XxX

“I think he killed himself,” Mikey whispered to Lester during lunch period, angling his voice low. “The jocks may love Phantom for his powers but I just know he was one of us, an unwanted nerd. I’ve seen him chatting up a ghost I’m pretty sure is Poindexter, Casper’s suicide kid. They’re probably bonding over their similar deaths and the circumstances that led to it.”

“That’s pretty dark,” Lester whispered back. “I also get unpopular vibes from him but I don’t think he’s the time do uh do that to himself; he’s too stubborn and protective. But I bet he was the victim of a prank gone wrong. Dash locked Fenton in the Janitor’s closet last Wednesday, he got out okay somehow but maybe something like that happened to Phantom. He always looks kind of annoyed at the A-listers, maybe they remind him of old bullies.”

“Nuh-uh,” Clara said, pushing up her glasses with her middle finger. “The ghost kid totally got electrocuted or something. He was fighting that weather ghost and he sent lightning bolts his way and Phantom flinched. He fought the Ghost King and yet a little electricity scares him? It might not’ve even been a lightning strike but something manmade like a machine backfiring or something.”

“Get real,” Mikey scoffed, sipping his milk with an eyeroll. “I’m sure we’d have heard about some poor kid getting zapped to death; this town isn’t that big.”

“We’d have heard about a suicide too,” Lester noted with a wry grin.

“Shut up Mr. I base my theories around Fenton who’s a known weirdo”.

XxX

“I’m telling you, the ghost kid died of some debilitating illness,” Abbie McMillian, retired school teacher and three year reigning champ at the Tristate area’s Daylily Competition. She sipped her tea and spoke with as much confidence as she had back in the day wrangling Amity’s impressionable youths. “The superhero thing is clear wish childhood fulfillment, a chance to live and be free like he never got to in life. You see how happy and carefree that young man looks while flying? Clearly he spent his formative years sick and weak.”

“No way,” Greta von Martin frowned as she aggressively stirred her own tea to show her displeasure. “I worked in a hospital for close to 30 years and I know what chronically sick kids look like and Phantom doesn’t fit the bill. I will agree he’s carefree when he’s not battling spooks but he acts like a stupid teen. I’m telling you, the boy got into his parent’s liquor cabinet or took a few too many of whatever pill was going around his school. Tragic but something that happens every day.”

“Greta, dearie,” Abbie said with a pinched frown. “We’ve been friends since grade school and I love you like a sister but you are wrong and until you admit it, I won’t share anymore of my recipes.”

“You’re just being stubborn because you can’t see what’s right in front of you even after working with kids half of your life, Abbie, love,” Greta sniffed. “And you can kiss my grandson’s help weeding you garden goodbye until you relent.”

XxX

Perhaps one of the most human traits is curiosity, especially about what comes after death. Now the good people of Amity Park know a great deal about the dead so the lives before is what attracts their attention and none so more than the ghost boy. Maybe it’s because he’s their hero or maybe it’s because he’s so young. Or perhaps it’s because Phantom is such a mess of contradictions that it’s very hard to guess how the unfortunate boy met his end. But everyone has their own theories, from the mundane to the fantastic, some with evidence backing them up and others pure poppycock. 

But for all their curiosity, as much as it burns them to know, they’ll never ask. They don’t want to risk the powerful ghost’s wrath but, moreover, it seemed in poor taste. The boy risked his afterlife to keep them safe, they couldn’t ask what traumatic and miserable circumstances had led to this point.

And besides, it was so much more fun to look up at ghostly figure as he sped through the skies and wonder.

[saphirered]

Can I request the Mighty Nein funding out the reader had been hiding a kinda injury

I hope it turned out the way you wanted it! Thanks for requesting 😘

(Caleb)

Caleb is no stranger to physical injury and has embraced his squishy wizard nature. You however have covered up many injuries in the past, letting them heal on their own as you always had before you had handy clerics around to fix you up. Old habits die hard and unlucky for you, when he’s not nose deep in a book Caleb will see right through your brave face act.

Upon finding out you’re injured Caleb would simply sit you down. He’ll take it upon himself to tend to your injury despite your best efforts to convince him you’re fine and it’s just a scratch. He knows better.

Silence. You’ve never managed to get a word out of the wizard when he’s caring for your ailment. He’s completely focussed but will listen to you talk so his silence is not rooted in concentration.

Caleb won’t mention your injury to anyone. It will be your little secret but you’ll be able to catch him staring at you, and when you meet his eye he’ll give you a little half smile; a nonverbal ask to see if you’re alright.

(Beau)

Training accidents happen but hardly ever exceed bruises. A sparring match gone wrong may have ended with you getting a bo-staff to the ribs with a little too much force but you play it cool. It’ll be fine. Just some bruises. You assure Beau you’ll sleep it off and it wasn’t that bad.

Beau’s not entirely convinced and definitely pries until you come clean. Persuasion isn’t Beau’s strong suit but she makes some solid arguments, and threats that leave you forced to reveal your secret.

Upon seeing the injury Beau will curse like a sailor, telling you you should have told her. Best not to mention the trouble breathing… Wether you want to or not she’ll go get the clerics to fix you up despite any and all protests.

Beau will keep grilling you for weeks, bringing your injury up as ammo in any argument she needs won and will keep a close eye out. She’ll refuse to spar with you but we all know Beau likes her training and with you being one of the very few actually able to keep up (sorry Fjord) she’ll give in and beg you to train with her again, this time more mindful of her actions.

(Fjord)

Fjord may play cool but he tends to be a worrywart and when he already has enough on his plate you be mindful not to stress him out by facing him with anything else. That includes you getting a pretty heavy hit from an enemy in combat.

Back on the ship you resign yourself to the lower deck and cargo hold duties as to stay clear of Fjord’s direct line of sight. You’d take the crows nest but an injured leg will do you no good climbing.

Bad weather and a leg injury at sea do not mix well and you, being slammed into the side of the ship unable to get back up sends Fjord in overdrive. He’ll help you below deck to a safe spot and prepare for basic care until one of the clerics can come fix you.

Fjord’s seen enough injuries; others’ and his own and knows well enough what you got didn’t come from your little tumble. He’ll be extra tentative but scold you for not saying anything and telling you you should tell him in the future.

Regardless of the clerics’ opinions he puts you on bedrest for the next few days until he feels like you’ve learned your lesson. Don’t count on being allowed to go up to the crow’s nest for a while though.

(Veth)

Having taken a tumble down the stairs while reading a book and conversing with Caleb (who you had to swear to secrecy) you deliberately stayed clear of Veth unless you had any sort of object to lean on to support yourself.

It’s more out of embarrassment you’re hiding this one even though your ankle hurts like a bitch. Every time you, Caleb and Veth are in the same room you’re sending the wizard death glares when he holds back a comment or laugh at your desperate attempts to keep this a secret.

Veth’s a mom and if there’s one thing moms are good at it’s figuring out when someone’s hurt. The moment your facade falls through, she’ll go into overdrive, pushing you to lay down on a couch or similar soft surface area, rushing to get you extra pillows and the likes.

Be prepared to have Veth hoover over you until you’re in the clear. She’ll do whatever she can to make you comfortable and brings you some trinkets to pass the time. Maybe don’t ask where she got them because they were definitely not in her previous possession.

(Jester)

It was gonna be an epic move! You’d jump down, weapon at the ready to stab down into the creature; death from above! Didn’t go as planned as you got swatted out of the air by the creature before you could strike down.

Luckily no one saw. After the battle you just claimed the plan fell through and you had to improvise. Meaning, you gritted through the pain of being rag-dolled into a cavern wall, got back up through the pain and back to battle.

If only Jester hadn’t asked you to help harvest the monster parts so you could sell them. You could barely carry your weapon, swinging it; different story. But Jester is persistent and you couldn’t just refuse the cute blue tiefling so you obliged gritting through the pain hoping no one would notice you taking a quick breather every so often.

Jester did notice and came to inspect your work, with a tap on your shoulder you feel a radiant warmth spread through you, making breathing and moving in general a lot easier. A thanks is in order and you’re sort of glad Jester keeps this on the down-low.

“Next time just tell me, okay?” Jester makes you pinky promise and you know that’s binding so you better keep your promise.

(Caduceus)

There’s a reason why you leave the cooking to Caduceus. You’ll happily cut some vegetables but try to stay away from anything else throughout the process of preparing food. When Caduceus asked you to watch the stove and add some spices to the food as he rushed to the pantry to get some more ingredients you were worried…

What should you do? Caduceus didn’t tell you how much to add of anything. Maybe you can just sniff the spices? Yeah, that sounds right. Opening the small jars and pouches one by one go through. You add a little of the fragrant ones and a bit more of the neutral spices.

One sniff of a red flaky powder sends you into a coughing fit, your airways burning like a blazing fire. Water doesn’t help. If anything it makes it worse. You get your breathing and cough under control but you do not trust your voice and scalding throat so when the firbolg returns you keep quiet.

No responses from you are a bit odd and what were you thinking you could keep anything from this man. Caduceus calls you out on your behaviour asking questions that need words and not nods, shakes, shrugs or the likes.

Upon you trying to talk he immediately knows what happened. Putting on a quick brew, in a short time you’re presented some tea to remedy your burning throat. It may not be your worst injury ever but it surely is an uncomfortable one. You gain a new appreciation for the dead people tea.

(Yasha)

You felt like you couldn’t do anything but try to hide the bleeding gash on your side, luckily covered by your clothing. Yasha had already gone through enough, last you needed her to deal with is the knowledge she injured you severely when under the control of someone else.

Back to normal you head into the next fight. For some reason you’re faltering and making mistakes you otherwise wouldn’t. Yasha notices and will be at your side in an instance to defend you but a single enemy blow sends you unconscious.

You can confidently say that opening your eyes to a raging barbarian pouring the contents of a healing potion down your throat is one of the most terrifying and admirable moment’s you’ve witnessed in your life.

Yasha asks when you got the cut since your bloodstained clothes don’t 100% add up. Tempted to come up with an excuse Yasha has you figured out. Prepare for endless apologies and a guardian angel watching over your shoulder threatening anyone with even remotely malicious intent into thinking twice about their actions.

(Mollymauk)

Molly will pretend he hasn’t noticed you’re hiding anything when he’s caught on you are being secretive. You’re entitled to your secrets.When he finds out you’re injured that’s no different. Unless it’s something that could be the death of you he’ll play along. You’re stubborn so you get to feel the consequences of your stubbornness.

He’d ask you to help him with this new routine he’s been working on or push you to spar with him. He’d make sure you have to pay extra mind as to not make it hurt as bad as your injury does when resting because that’s when the severity of your injury becomes clear to him.

Molly would deliberately make everyday tasks a little harder. You’re doing dishes? could you carry the heavy tub of water? Setting up camp? Keep pressure on this or hammer that into the ground. Will put your things out of your reach where you’d have to climb or jump to get them.

He’ll keep these shenanigans going until either you come clean about your injury or he really gets worried to the point he’ll have to step in for your own wellbeing. The former usually occurs leaving him smug and willing to carry you claiming to be your daring saviour.

Depending on the severity of the injury he’ll be a pretty decent caretaker spending time with you and assisting you whenever you need it. When it’s not as bad anymore he’ll be teasing you as much as he can. He won’t make you forget your stubbornness and pride gets in your way of admitting defeat and we all know he loves winning the game.

[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Part 7

Summary: Ransom makes good on his promise and your parents arrive for dinner. But then, you discover something that brings your entire world shattering down around you once more…

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap and violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So here it is, the last chapter to this series! I can’t believe all this spun from @jtargaryen18​‘s Halloween challenge last year, and here we are 6 months later! Of course, I’d love to thank my writing partner from the earlier chapters, but sadly she’s no longer on Tumblr. Without her none of this would have been possible. I love you SG wherever you are. Thank you to everyone who has read and engaged so far and I hope you’ve enjoyed it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing. The Epilogue will follow next week and trust me, you do NOT want to miss that!!

In this, the reader has a sister, however feel free to interpret the Y/S/N element as sibling instead, if that appeals to you.

Word Count: 8.5k (I’m sorry I don’t do short fics, really I am!!)

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ me if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 6

 “Will you relax?” Ransom drawled from where he sat, sprawled back on the sofa in the main lounge of the house, his denim clad legs crossed at the ankles, his black cashmere sweater torso melting against the cushions. “It’s just your parents, what’s the big deal?” You weighed your reply but instead smiled, he couldn't possibly understand. He wouldn't. "Let me just have this moment, please." He looked at you, his eyebrow arched before he scoffed, “whatever, Sweetheart. But if you’re gonna keep pacing up and down, can you do it in the hallway? The wood flooring is a lot more hardwearing.” With a roll of your eyes you left the lounge, wringing your hands together. This was the first time in months you'd be seeing your parents and it wasn't lost on you the charade you'd have to keep up despite wanting to somehow plea for a rescue. It was also worrying how they were going to react. Especially following the call you’d made a week or so ago, just before New Year’s Eve.

When you’d dialled the number you knew off by heart, your mother had answered. And upon hearing your voice she had shrieked and then the line had gone quiet until your father had spoken your name with a trembling voice. You’d been unable to answer straight away, your own voice catching, before a sob had burst from your throat and the tears had poured down your face. You’d managed a few, choked words of apologies until Ransom had pushed himself up from the seat he had been perched in, silently observing. He curled his arm over your shoulder, giving you a squeeze as you composed yourself. Eventually, you’d managed to calm yourself down and thankfully your dad hadn’t asked too many questions but had accepted your invite to dinner.

And now, here you were, nervously awaiting their arrival.

It wasn’t lost on you that, in their eyes, the fact you had cut them off was your decision, not forced on you by the man you were now sharing a bed with. And that was your other worry, you had no idea how he was going to behave. If Ransom showed your family the same contempt he displayed to his own, your dad wasn’t the type of man who would stand for it. And then what? But you had zero time to think on it as the doorbell rang. Your heart leapt to your throat and your stomach turned acidic. Ransom poked his head out of the lounge and looked at you expectantly, like you were to answer. Adjusting your sweater dress for the millionth time, you walked to the front door and reached for the knob with a shaky hand. You steeled your nerves and blinked hard to dissipate the tears, and opened the door. For the first time in months you looked back into the familiar eyes of your parents. Your mom’s face was pinched, as if she was chewing the inside of her cheeks and as you glanced to your dad you already noticed the daggers he was shooting at the man behind you. To anyone else it would be enough to make them quake in their shoes, but not Ransom. “Mom, Dad.” Your voice sounded alien as you spoke quietly, your fingers grabbing at the bottom of your sleeves as one of Ransom’s hands curled over your shoulder. "Y/N," your dad replied, and the awkwardness officially set in.

"Aren't you going to invite them in, Sweetheart?" Ransom's voice made you jump a bit.

"Yes, please, come in," you stepped aside for them to enter. "Welcome to, erm, our home."

Calling it that felt all sorts of wrong, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it. Besides, it wasn’t like you could call it what it was, your prison. Your father stepped inside followed by your mother, the foyer now feeling a little crowded. Your mother was quick to pull you in for a hug. But it was brief and not the way she used to hug you, no, this hug felt like it came from a stranger. Your dad’s embrace, however, was everything you remembered. Safety, strength and love and you felt yourself melt into his arms, choking back a sob as you pressed your face into his chest. "We appreciate you coming to dinner," Ransom spoke, breaking the embrace you shared with your father. "It's nice to finally meet you both. I'm Ransom." Your dad looked at you as you nodded, wiping the tears from your eyes as he looked to Ransom. “We know who you are. With the news, the papers and Y/N's article, we've probably become more acquainted than you're aware.” He spoke calmly but cooly, gripping Ransom’s outstretched hand with a less than friendly shake, one that would make a lesser man wince. Instead, you saw what you thought was a flicker of amusement on Ransom's face before your dad released his hand and you introduced your mother. She didn’t offer her hand. Instead she gave a sniff and took a deep breath, getting straight to the point as she always did. “Well, this is all very nice and everything but what the hell do you think you’re playing at, Y/N? You disappeared with no trace, we thought you were dead, and then we find out you're not. Instead you’re, with him, choosing not to contact us or speak to us? Forgive me for the brash and abrupt approach, but before we sit down for dinner, we deserve some answers.” Her voice gathered pace and volume as she continued to rail at you, telling you how worried and sick the entire family had been, how thanksgiving and Christmas without you had been awful and whatever else she had on her mind as she spewed her words at you, her face an eyes blazing with anger. You felt sick, never had you meant for any of this to happen, clearly. And you'd secretly hoped Ransom would have seen the devastation he'd caused by his actions, however you knew that was an ill-fated hope just as well. You struggled to speak, the words jumbling around in your head and your mouth bone dry. "I'm so sorry," Ransom sighed. "Why don't we come into the lounge and have a drink or two and we can talk all about it? I know that Y/N was looking forward to your visit and clearing the air."

He looked at you as he ushered towards the lounge, a hidden smugness to his face that only you could detect. He thought he'd just played the hero, the prince saving his distressed princess. “Good idea,” your dad nodded, his hand gently on the base of your mother’s spine, “come on, Honey.” “Straight down, second on your right.” Ransom informed as your parents headed off a little ahead of you.

“Now, remember, what you tell them has to match what you said to Blanc.” Ransom took your hand in his and spoke quietly as you both began to follow your parents. “I. Know.” You grit though your teeth and jerked your hand free of his. He stopped dead and turned to face you, and for the first time ever you saw something akin to fear on his face, you were resisting that much anger. “Y/N...” he started but you shook your head. “You have no idea how much you’ve hurt them or me do you? That or you simply still don’t care.” You hissed before you took a deep breath and drew yourself up tall. “But, we’ll just go in there, spin a load of more lies and that’s it, all done isn’t it?” He blinked before his jaw set and he shook his head. “I’m warning you...” “What else is new?” You sighed. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything and I’ll still be here when they leave.” You stepped a pace or two in front of him and entered the lounge. Your parents were sitting on the couch you'd become very familiar with while Ransom moved straight for the drink cart. "Mr. Y/L/N, can I interest you in a top shelf scotch?" "Mom," you said softly as the conversation between your dad and Ransom faded out, "Ransom and I have a great white wine if you'd like or..." "Scotch is fine," she interrupted you, a stone cold look to her disappointed face. Ransom served the drinks, handing you your preferred wine with a kiss to your head. You watched how your parents interacted with him, the way your father watched every calculated step, the way your mother shot daggers in the two of you as you sat opposite them on the love seat. You leaned forward so as to move a bit away from Ransom, however, he was quick to put his arm over the back of the love seat, his hand able to still touch you. “So, erm, how’s....” “Your sister? Nanna? Granddad? Who would you like to start with?” Your mom took a sip of her drink and you dropped your eyes, your gaze focussed on your hands as they rubbed together. 

"I'm sorry, okay?” You stuttered, shaking your head. “I know you’re angry and upset and you have every right to be but... I didn’t do any of this on purpose.” “That detective man, Blanc, and the police... they said you didn’t want us to know where you were...” “I didn’t.” You choked on the lie a little. “My head was a mess and...” you sniffed as you felt Ransom’s fingers graze the skin on the back of your neck as you looked at your mom. “Mom, please, please don't make tonight continue with vicious jabs and vile glares. I'm sorry, to you, to everyone. I was...." you stopped and centred yourself. "I was lost and I didn't know what to do." "Why don't we just get this out of the way then maybe we can move on with our evening?" Ransom suggested and your father nodded in shocking agreement. "Let's let her explain, Dear. She said she made a mistake and there were good reasons she couldn't come to us, I'm sure. Let's just hear her out." Your father was always the more sensible one. You mother took a shaky breath and looked at you and you swallowed before you started to talk, the lie you had rehearsed in your head slipping from your lips. “I erm, I was having a bit of trouble at work and everything just got too much and... well, I don’t know what happened, a breakdown or whatever,” you took a deep breath, “I just needed to get away, from everything.” “Including us?” Your mom asked and you shook your head. “I wasn’t thinking straight, I just...” "You know, it doesn’t matter what you say to explain because frankly, I won't understand but I do hope that you never have to experience what we went through. Ever." She deadpanned. "I do believe that is my fault, Mrs. Y/L/N. I encouraged her approach and didn't discourage the fact that she wasn't contacting you or anyone she was close with." Ransom sighed, feigning concern for your parents.

You knew what he was doing, the Master Manipulator was coming out in him and you knew there was no going back, no. It was as if Ransom said 'challenge accepted' in winning your parents over. Just, so you assumed, the night would end and you'd be happy in his arms and they'd never think twice about your brief disappearance again. “We hadn’t been seeing each other that long, and my reputation isn’t the greatest. But I should have put my own concerns aside and seen that the way we were going about things was wrong and I should have insisted she reached out. You see, me and my family aren’t close and I sometimes forget that we’re the ones that aren’t normal.” "We hadn't known she was seeing anyone," your mum stated. She was out with her claws, not going to let Ransom nor you off so easily.

"Well, I'm not like Y/S/N, Mom. I don't just bring home whomever I'm taking to bed that month." You'd said it before you could stop it. Never had you said something like that before about your sister, nor spoken to your mother like that. And you didn't miss the twitch of a smirk to the corner of Ransom's lips, telling you he was a bit proud. Surely, you didn't want him to be rubbing off on you in that way. "I'm sorry, that wasn't how I meant it. I just knew I had to be more careful in sharing everything. Like he said, he's not got the best rap, but, after my interview on him, well I guess I just found him intriguing and-“ “Ah, yes," your father now spoke up, cutting you off, “the smear and redact. Believe me, Ransom, we're very familiar with your reputation and our daughter's initial thoughts on you. Which is why you can see how we were a little surprised, once the initial shock of her supposed death wore off, that the two of you were... together." “I understand.” Ransom nodded. “And I would feel the same in your shoes. But, well, I guess after the interview things just kind of spiralled from there. I don’t really know how it happened myself, to be honest, I’m just glad it did.” As if he was sealing the deal, he leaned toward you and pressed his lips to your temple. You sighed and gave him a smile. This bastard was smug enough to start shifting the tone in the room with a metaphorical snap of his fucking fingers and you watched it work on your parents. The ice slowly melting away, the glacial peak softening around your mother. And then the metaphorical snap became a real one as he moved his arm from round you, clicked the fingers of both hands and then slapped his left palm with the underside of his right fist with a flourish as he flashed a smile round the room. “Okay, so....who’s hungry?”

Your parents both raised their eyebrows and as your mom looked at your dad, you saw him shake his head ever so slightly and she took a deep breath, before she turned back to Ransom and you, a small smile on her face. “Dinner sounds great.” "Sweetheart, after you," Ransom politely shifted to the side so you could rise and lead the way. He turned back to your parents, "we wanted to make sure we were able to spend as much time together without the chore of preparing and cleaning up after so we had dinner brought in. Y/N had it all set just before you arrived." You shot him a glare as you moved by him, your mother and father behind you, Ransom pulling up the rear. Sure enough, still warm and catered were four place settings at the table in the large dining room across and down a bit from the lounge. Your parents sat down across the table from where you and Ransom stood, silver dome lids obscuring your eyeline as you sat. Oddly, you'd never eaten in the dining room before. It was your room in the basement, the kitchen table or the coffee table in the lounge. Red wine and cutlery were already set along with water. Your parents and Ransom set their scotch glasses near the wine. Your dad arched an eyebrow at the ostentatious nature of it all and you caught his gaze as he gave you a kneeling smirk. With a laugh, you realized that someone should at least remove the lids, and since you were the host, you rose from your chair and bent over the table a little, reaching for the knobs of their domes. You stacked them together and sat back down, pulling yours and Ransom's as you went.

As you settled down to eat, your parents both complimented the food before a little silence fell as you all ate, the occasional clanking of cutlery against the porcelain plates ringing out across the large room. Ransom made a few comments here and there about the food from the company you’d ordered from being good, as usual, your parents agreeing before a light conversation struck up about the holidays and various other mundane topics, all as if you were close and the conversation prior hadn't happened. Like it was a regular Sunday family dinner. All the time, you spotted your parents growing more and more comfortable with the situation, and you felt yourself relax a little, hoping and praying that things would keep amicable.

And then, after another spell of silence you heard your mother clear her throat. "So, Ransom, what is you do? I never gathered that from…well, from…” she trailed off and Ransom took a dep breath. “To be honest with you, Mrs. Y/L/N, not a great deal until recently. Just another way Y/N managed to help me change my life around." He looked at you with appreciation. "She made me see that living my life riding off people’s coat tails wasn’t really anything to be proud of.” He paused to take a sip of his scotch before he cut another piece of his steak. “Now I’m writing. I have a couple of things on the go and a few from my grandfather that he never finished so, hopefully, they’ll take off.” This bastard! You could not believe the bullshit that so easily sprang from his mouth. It was fascinating and yet absolutely disgusting at once. You found yourself convinced, and not for the first time, that he actually believed the shit he talked. "What's your book about, if you don’t mind me asking?" You father queried, after swallowing down his steak with his wine, saving his scotch for after. “Not at all,” Ransom swallowed his food. “Another area I’ve taken inspiration from, it’s based on a private detective.” He gave a chuckle. “I’ll be handing out a lot of royalties and dedications at this rate.” "Just a private detective?" You pressed, having wondered yourself as he'd told you once before you were an inspiration. He looked at you, smirking a little. “I’ve told you, Princess, I’ll let you read it when the first draft is done.”

Your father eyed you as Ransom spoke of pet names and inspirations. Your eyes flitted away from his gaze, entertaining Ransom's portion of the conversation but you found them quickly fluttering back to those kind eyes that matched yours. At that point, your dad shot you a sweet father-like wink before clearing his throat and speaking.  "So, let's not beat around the obvious, this is awkward." He paused to emphasize his point. "I'll just come right out with it. What could your future intentions be with my daughter?"

"Jesus Christ, Dad!" You surely hadn't seen that coming.  Ransom blinked a little before he cleared his throat. “I’ll keep her as long as I can, Sir.”

At that, his hand curled over your knee, giving a gentle squeeze and you took a deep breath, drawing your back up straight as his hand gently started to trail further up towards your thigh, fingers still hot on your skin through the layer of your thick tights. You cleared your throat, and moved a little, and Ransom removed his hand, a smirk blatantly evident on his face.

“Good to know.” Your dad reached for his wine again, a teasing smile on his face. “I mean the lease has gone on her apartment now and we turned her room into a gym the moment she moved out.”

“Oh purlease!” Your mom scoffed, “a gym. By that he means he has a rowing machine and a bunch of weights that serve as nothing more than expensive door stops.”

At that Ransom gave a full belly laugh, his head tipping back with just the right amount of humour. Not too much to appear fake, but enough to seem like the exchange had genuinely amused him. He almost had you fooled too.

Bastard.

The rest of the dinner past with fairly amicable chat, the ice well and truly broken. Ransom and your father struck up a pleasant conversation about football and then baseball, Ransom confessing that he hadn’t been following either sport much recently but also nodding when your dad suggested that perhaps they could catch a game sometime soon, in a bar. At that you had smirked into your glass, as you knew the thought of going to a place surrounded by a load of loud, drunken members of the public would be Ransom’s idea of hell. The idea that he might just have to follow through on your promise amused you, a lot.

Eventually, your parents both announced that they should be going, and the warmth and happiness that had descended on you began to slowly seep away as you hugged them both good bye. As they headed down to their car, you stifled down a sob as you waved them away, realising you had no idea when you’d be seeing them again. That was on Ransom, for him to decide when and if you deserved it.

But, you’d played his game. You’d behaved. He said he wanted you to trust him, to be content with him. Surely, he would realise that this was the happiest you’d been since he snatched you, and if you continued to behave then he would have no reason to keep you from seeing them for so long again.

With a sigh you turn away from the door and step back inside, Ransom just behind you. You stopped and waited for him to close the door and lock it. He gave you a little twitch of a smile. 

“Well, that wasn’t as painful as I expected.”

You rolled your eyes.

"You were great, Sweetheart."

"Yeah, well, you won them over. I doubt they suspected anything by the time they left." Your words didn't cut him, they cut you. You cleared your throat and shook your head, "anyway, I'm going to go clean up. I'll meet you upstairs."

"What, no 'thank you'?" He piqued.

You turned back to him, "Thank you, Ransom. For allowing my parents to come over."

“That wouldn’t be sarcasm, now would it?” He arched a brow, his arms folding across his chest.

"Oh, no, not at all," you overly pouted, stepping up to him, running your hands over his chest to seal your own sarcastic ploy.

His hands were quick to grab your wrists and oddly there was an air of excitement to your eyes.

“What on earth is there to possibly be sarcastic about?” You continued and he scoffed.

“It’s a good thing I kinda like your sass.”

You simply quirk your eyebrows and give a small shrug before attempting to turn away. However, Ransom still had a hold of your wrists and he kept you rooted near by.

“Ransom, what...”

“Leave the dishes, the maid comes tomorrow. I pay her enough, she can deal with it.”

You scoffed, “you’re such an asshole.”

"Come to bed with me," he asked more than suggested.

Since your little tryst in his precious car a week ago, he'd been far more touchy-feely, needy even. And in your eyes, Ransom Drysdale didn't do needy. However, this neediness served a purpose. You were able to keep him soft in all but one place, manipulating his needs for your own.

“You want me to come to bed with you?” You playfully quipped, cocking your head to one side.

“You want me to beg or something, Y/N?” His voice lowered as he narrowed his eyes. “Because I can make it a demand not a request.”

“Not beg, no.” You ignored his threat. “But a please wouldn’t go amiss.”

His controlling hands moved your arms around his neck before they fell away to your waist. His forehead bent into yours and his nose brushed against the tip of your own. "Please, come to bed with me, baby," he whispered against you.

You were smirking inside as his lips met yours in a deep kiss, his tongue gently flicking through your lips and sliding against yours. 

“Since you asked so nicely.”

It was a quick swoop, one that completely caught you off guard as he pulled you off your feet, his arm around your back while the other was hooked under your legs. His lips were on yours as he carried you to the staircase, not ever missing a beat or step, his tongue gliding over yours as he walked.

You didn't know how the two of you had made it up to your bedroom, and without incident but, the next thing you knew, you were led flat over your bed, his body caging you in.

“You said I did well.” You looked at him and he blinked, his brow furrowing a little. “How well?”

Silently as you waited, hoping he would take the bait.

And he did.

“Very well.” his eyes searched yours and you bit your lip.

“Well enough for me to see them again?”

"If you want, maybe lunch with your mother," he answered, kissing over your jaw and down your neck between each phrase.

You stilled, shock hitting your system and just how easily he had offered that up, you hadn’t even had to try. Noticing your change in body language Ransom paused and looked at you. “What? Don’t you want to?”

“No, I mean yes, of course I do. I just wasn’t expecting you to say that. I mean...” you stopped yourself short of saying what you had been about to, that you were his damned prisoner and until a week or so ago hadn’t left the grounds at all in months. You swallowed as Ransom sighed.

"Trust, remember, baby," he leaned back on his knees between your legs. "Call her in a couple of days, set up lunch."

“And you trust me to do that?” You swallowed. “No stupid tricks or mind games?”

"I won't be far behind." There it was, the stipulation. That silent warning heeding a tone left unsaid. “That said, I’m kinda hoping we’re past the point of me having to remind you about certain things to make you come back.”

"I understand."

Ransom shook his head, licking his lips. “No, I don’t think you do.” 

There was a tone of sadness almost to his voice and you watched him, his eyes locked onto yours and then you understood.

This went right back to the core of all this. He wanted you to want to come back. Not to simply do it because you have to. It was the ever present chink in his armour, the one thing you’d been able to exploit.

And, if you were being totally honest, could more than likely learn to live with the situation if you could have some kind of grasp and control, because that’s what this was about. That ever present power struggle and desperation he has within him to be more than people simply assumed him to be.

In a twisted way, you were almost proud to see the difference in his behaviour over the last few months was insurmountable. Whether that was directly down to you or not, you couldn’t be sure, but something had made him tap into that part of himself that could show reasonableness, rationality and, dare you suggest it, compassion.

Whilst you knew you’d never forget how he had taken you, against your will, or the pain and violence he had inflicted upon your body, maybe, in time, you could forgive. 

Because he simply hadn’t known any better.

"I'm not going anywhere," you spoke softly, sitting up to caress his cheek. His evening stubble scratched at your palm.

His eyes squinted shut, holding back an emotional response to her promise. There was so much he wanted to say but he couldn't. He physically could not bring the words out from his throat. So he did what he had always done, or thought he could, and that was to show her. Show her what he wanted to say. His lips pressed into the palm of her hand and as her fingers rubbed along his ear and behind his head, his lips travelled the length of the soft skin of her forearm until he pressed a delicate kiss to the crook of her elbow.

Turning his head, he caught her lips in a soft kiss which grew deeper as he pressed his body into hers, grinding his hardness against her groin. He felt the exhale from her nose against his cheek as his tongue muted the groan from her throat. His free hand skated up her thigh, to the hem of her sweater dress, bunching it in his fist. At that point, her hand gently wrapped around his wrist and he stopped, pulling away to look at her, his brow creased in puzzlement.

“Let me.” She whispered.

He swallowed hard and gave a short nod. She sat up and he leant back as she did, her hand against his chest, guiding him how she wanted him. As her hands fiddled with his flies, his eyes never left hers. When she tugged on the waistband of his jeans, he raised his hips slightly to allow her to pull them down, taking his boxers with them and he gave a slight sigh at the relief his rock hard dick was now free from it’s constraints.

“Feel good?” She smirked at the sound he made.

He nodded, “yes”, his voice gruff and gravelly.

No sooner had she said it, she’d taken him in her mouth. Instinctively, he bucked upwards, his hands settling in her hair, head falling back against the pillow as he hissed.

When his hips rutted upwards a second time, she moved back, releasing him with a pop and he glanced down at her, his face full of frustration but she simply smirked at him.

“Stop moving." 

The control of the situation wasn't his, it was hers and he was fully aware of it as she changed her pace, quick-quick-slow and if he squirmed she stopped.

A roll of his balls between her hand made him shudder. “Jesus Christ,” he groaned, “fuck, Y/N!”

She responded by taking him to the back of her throat, and the noise that came from his was halfway between a growl and a whimper as it stumbled from his mouth.

On and on this went, and every time she brought him to the edge and he couldn’t control his movements she stopped. It was a delicious torture, but one he was fast reaching his limit with.

“Fuck, baby, I…” his hands raked through her hair as she bobbed up and down on his shaft, her tongue pressing against the thick vein on the underside of his cock. He moaned loudly, “I gotta…”

"No," she purred, kitten licking the slit in his head, the precum dripping onto her tongue. Her lips enclosed over him again, short bobs until she was making long strides at deep throating him. 

She squealed as his hands tightened around her hair, squeezing at the strands to pull her back but she kept her pace, his hips giving way to a violent thrust to the back of her throat as he came hard, his spend shooting deep, coating her inside. His chest heaved as he came down from his high, not letting up on his grip until he was done trembling in euphoria. 

Then in a beat he flipped her to her back and hand his hands over the waistband of her tights, "that wasn't smart, Sweetheart," he growled. 

His eyes flashed in challenge as she giggled and whispered, "I thought it was." 

The force of him tearing her tights as he pulled them away from her legs bothered neither of them, her thin panties soaked and leaving a wet trail down her leg as he removed them, had him salivating. 

"You think it's funny? I'm gonna see how you like it," he challenged. 

Ransom wasted no time in taking a fast swipe at her leaking cunt with his tongue and Y/N cried out as he flicked the tip of his tongue over her swollen and throbbing clit. Her hands went straight to his hair, her knees practically boxing his ears as she curled her body towards his ample assault. 

His long arm slid up her body, over her tummy between her beasts as his splayed his fingers open across her skin, trying to press her back into the mattress. As she complied, she gave a gripping tug to his longer locks and Ransom emitted an elicit growl against her pussy. 

"Jesus Christ," she cried out, the sound sweet in his ears. 

"You taste so fucking good, baby," he spoke against just above her mounded flesh, whilst his fingers sought a wet refuge. He wasted no time in sliding two in, middle and ring fingers, slipping in a first, then second knuckle deep then scissoring inside her until they were all the way in. 

His lips curled around her clit as hers had done to his head, humming over the bud of pleasure, a pressure she nearly exploded over. 

"Oh, no, you don't get to do that yet," he stated firmly. The command made her twitch under him, her breath audibly hitching in her chest. "You're gonna cum on my cock as I fill that pussy up."

"Fuck, Ransom, please," she begged. 

"It's not funny now is it?" He slipped away from her body, sitting back on his heels and removed his own sweater. "Get naked, Princess."

He watched as she struggled to strip of the heavy sweater dress she wore, a stark difference to the fearful prize he had to himself months ago. Now she was his and he loved every single moment of it. From her sassy, smart mouth to the way she took his dick on demand. Ransom slipped his pants away, the two of them both naked and awaiting what was next. He wanted to flip her onto her tummy, rail her from behind while she took it on her hands and knees, keening at him as he thrust into her. 

But instead, he spread her legs wide and slotted his thick cock between her legs, her ankles locking around his narrow hips as he thrust in and gave a naughty twist of his hips. Slow, deep, nasty ruts into her core bounced her tits just a little and he found the wanton cries of her need to be enticing enough to lap at her nipples and breasts, licking and nipping at her skin. Grinding into her as he licked and kissed his way up her neck to that spot that made her cave in at the base of her jaw, jointed just below her ear. 

Her hands wound their way into his hair again and she gripped the strands, giving a pull back, restraining his neck a bit before she let up, allowing his head to drop a pinch. 

Chills covered his sweat sheened skin as she whispered, "harder" into his ear. His body quivered and his stomach fluttered. 

"Fuck, yes." He pulled out and flipped her to her tummy, like he'd wanted to do before. "On your knees, baby. Let me see that pussy."

She positioned like he demanded, a little sway of her hips telling him she was ready. A swift spank to her rounded ass and she cried out as he slammed home. 

"Oh, baby," she mewled as he filled her from behind, bruising fingertips pressing into her hips. 

Her lips praising him, using his nickname for her on him ignited a fire in his belly, his hips snapping harshly against her, his balls slapping against her clit. But it wasn't his pace and the pressure building in his body that was causing him to bury deep inside her, his head rubbing that g-spot that was making her moan filthy words. No, it was the look she gave as she turned her head to just peer over her should the same minute he was throbbing to cum inside her. 

"I'm...fuck, fucking cum, baby girl," he whimpered, desperately holding back so she could cream over his cock. 

And cum she did, her pulsating walls gripping him in a tight squeeze as she pulled him in with a force, literally crying out his name as she came. Her body practically convulsing in pleasure as he filled her up with his seed. The two of them collapsing against the expensive sheets, his body led over hers, still sheathed inside her as they both sagged and panted. 

As if high on the throws of their ecstasy, Ransom kissed along her back with heavy lips and hooded eyes. He could taste the saltiness of her skin, the dampness of sweet sweat a leaving a wet coating over his lips. And when he could feel the blood return to his extremities, he ever so gently pulled out of her, his body sore and tired. She whined at the feeling of his weight escaping her body, but he was quick to fill that void, replacing it with the heat of his frame as he pulled her close, allowing her head to rest against his bare and sculpted chest. He pressed his lips onto the crown of her head. 

"Sleep, baby," he whispered. "Just relax and sleep."

***** For weeks things were good, maybe even really good. Ransom was giving you more freedom, not yet unattended, but you weren't locked away. He'd made do on his promise. 

You had a great lunch with your mother, at the Country Club, in which he'd set up. He'd driven you there, waited in the bar but could easily keep an eye on you. Whilst he might have had ulterior motives that were slightly more sinister than merely being there to keep an eye on you in case you had a panic attack (the excuse you gave to your mother), all in all you didn’t mind. You, too, didn't doubt he paid the waiter a hefty tip to stay nearby as he'd checked on your table more often than most or necessary, again, you didn't mind. 

But despite his hovering, a point you'd made when you'd returned, he promised he trusted you so to save the pains of an argument, you let it go. You'd kept your own promise, never to drop a hint to your mother or anyone else that you weren't less than a free woman.

As the days neared Valentine's Day, Ransom seemed to be more touchy than usual and more than once you'd caught him softly staring at you. His eyes conveying more emotion than they did. Not unlike the first few nights when things had drastically changed between you in November. And when the day arrived, you both exchanged gifts after an early morning wakeup call that you most certainly did not mind. Ransom seemed genuinely pleased with the new silk scarf you’d ordered, having thought it would be a nice replacement for the one he had left at the mansion and point blank refused to return to collect.

For your gift, he handed you a small white envelope. Giving him a puzzled look, you opened it and pulled out a small card.

‘In our favourite room you'll find, your gift my beautiful Valentine.’

Instantly you felt an uncomfortable cold feeling in the pit of your stomach and you swallowed a little. It was a clue, exactly like the ones he had set for you all that time ago on Halloween the previous year. But, as you blinked and looked at him, you saw the expectation on his face and had to remind yourself that this was different.

This was not the same man.

"Is it at least wrapped in a bow, so I know it's mine?" You asked and he smirked a little, leaning back against the headboard of the bed.

 "Trust me, you'll know when you see it."

With a final look at him, you climbed out of bed and pulled on your silk slip before you headed down the stairs. As soon as you’d read the clue, you knew he meant the study. But, when you opened the door, you started to wonder if you’d made a mistake as there was nothing there jumping out at you, at all.

You started rummaging through the stack of things on the desk, looking for anything that resembled a gift. In your haste, you accidentally knocked small stack of notebooks over the edge of the desk. You rushed to get them and straighten them up, hoping not to mess up the order of things he'd had piled together. The moment the leather-bound journal like book touched your fingers, a jolt of curiosity ran through you. 

You opened the cover and ran your fingertips over the dried ink that sat engraved on the pages, a bold and all capitalized print to the handwriting. Not a surprise from a man who's harsh overture played constantly on the surface. Your eyes scanned and scanned the scroll, a frown creased your brow as you registered the meaning of all his notes.

These weren't just any sort of notes, these were his footnotes for his book. And that now disorganized stack of papers that moments ago littered the floor, you looked at them again and realized there among the typed and printed pieces of paper, was his manuscript. 

Hesitating, you picked it up. The front page was plain bar the words. ‘Murder, He Wrote’ and you scoffed at the fact that was the title of the article that had gotten you into this situation in the first place. Mind you, he had said you were a muse of sorts so maybe that was his way of tribute.

You flipped through, skimming the pages, finding yourself strangely proud if you will, that he’d actually finished it, well what appeared to be the first draft anyway. It was indeed about a private detective, by the name of Arnie Bronze, who was hot on the tale of a missing woman called Lucy Roberts who had vanished in mysterious circumstances.

You skipped on a few pages, the narrative shifted to that of focussing on the so called killer, a man named Riley, and you realised that Lucy wasn’t dead as anticipated, she was being held captive. 

In Riley’s basement.

You felt your stomach clench as you focussed in on a small snippet of dialogue, one that was extremely familiar.

 ‘I like this,’ Riley toyed with the straps to the bra Lucy was wearing, his middle finger tracing the outline of the strap against her skin before his lips followed the same path.

‘You should, you chose it,’ her voice was quiet, but still there it was, that unmistakable undercurrent of disdain she carried for him visibly present, as always.

Riley merely chuckled, ‘like I chose you, huh.’ At that, she blinked and looked at him, and he flashed her a smile. Oh, if only she understood exactly why…

What. The. Fuck?

Was he writing about you? Or had he already written this and was merely acting out his sick fucking fantasy. The answer to that became apparent when you tossed the manuscript down and reached for his book of notes.

It was littered with note after note, graphic accounts of the things he’d done to you, along with little questions and observations, how he could turn that into passages for his book. Your breath began to quicken and you turned the pages faster and faster, not needing to read his notes in the slightest as you could remember every sordid little detail for yourself.

Eventually you found the last page. This one contained two simple lines, the first from the night of Harlan’s memorial when he’d arrived home completely soaked.

Memorial was a shit show, as anything is when the fucking Thrombey’s are involved. Y/N made hot chocolate. Held a conversation I actually enjoyed.

This contained no side note as to how this could be used within his book, almost as if it was simply a journal entry, but you didn’t really have time to dwell on that, as your eyes flicked to the line underneath which carried no date.

Original plan changed, no longer going to get rid of when purpose served. Storyline of book will diverge at this point.

'When purpose served'. Well, it didn’t take a genius to work that out.

You threw the book down onto the desk, the room swimming around you as both your hands covered your mouth in shock and horror. You were sick to your stomach, the bile acid in your stomach turning acrid, and you wanted to wretch. 

He’d meant to kill you.

“So, do you like my gift?”

The voice made you scream and you jumped, turning to face the doorway where Ransom was stood, his sweats hung low on his hips, arms folded over his bare chest as he leaned against the frame.

“What?” you blinked, swallowing, the word nothing more than a trembling whisper. “You mean you wanted me to find this?”

“You asked me about being my muse.” He shrugged. “As you can see, you were much more than that. Happy Valentine’s Day, Sweetheart.”

You couldn't hold back the gag in your throat and you quickly turned into the waste bin by the desk, spewing your empty stomach into it. The bile burned your throat as it came up. With a shaky back of your hand, you wiped away the remnants of your episode and leaned forward on the desk, your free hand palm flat against the mahogany.

You were disgusted, that much was painfully true, but you were now terribly afraid for your life. A feeling that hadn't come over you in four months. You felt just as you had that very night, terrified, alone, and fighting a sense of chill that crept through your body and deep into your bones. Your eyes, big and brimming with tears looked up at him and your mind went numb in processing the situation. No quicker than you had just vomited, you felt a pang of hurt, your heart ripping from your chest as everything settled within you. You had accepted this, this fate that had been laid out for you. You were accepting him and the life you were being forced to live. You accepted the beast that had begun to care. But he was merely a wolf in sheep's clothing, the true monster you'd always known to lie in wait just under the surface. 

Your brows creased and your heart raced. You felt the bubbling of a scream start deep in your churning belly, your own monster vying to climb its up your chest and out of your throat. You were angrily screaming on the inside long before your voice sounded to the outside, piercing the room in a shattering, blood-curdling banshee cry of anger. 

“This…” you picked up the notebook in your right hand, throwing it at him violently, “this is the reason you took me?”

“Yes.” He didn't even dodge the thickly bound object as it hit him square in the chest before falling to the ground. 

“You...fucking asshole.” You spat, angrily swiping your arm across the desk. The neatly stacked piles of papers scattered like leaves falling from a tree as they fluttered to the floor. “And to think, I actually started to believe myself that there was more to you than everyone said, that underneath all of that bravado and narcissistic, downright nasty bastard exterior there was something or someone that maybe, just maybe was worthy of caring for! ” Your voice was loud, echoing off the wall of his study as you screamed at him. “But you kidnapped and raped and hurt me in ways I never thought possible for what? So you could write a goddamned book?”

Hot tears coursed down your face as you trembled, staring back at the utter monster who stood before you, his face stony as you wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand. “And then you planned to kill me once I no longer served a purpose? Well, tell me, how long have I got?”

“It’s not like that anymore.” Ransom took a deep breath as he stepped forward. He was calm, too calm and instantly you took a step back. “That was my initial plan, yeah, but what I wasn’t banking on was how being around you would make me feel.” He swallowed as he licked his lips. “I couldn’t get rid of you like I originally planned once you served your purpose. Because I love you.” Your mouth dropped open at his confession, utter horror coursing through your veins as you realised what he was saying. The chances of you getting out of this were depleting by the second. He really was completely fucked in the head. “No, no you don’t!” You shook your head, “this...is not love, Ransom, this is obsession, it’s...” He cut you off as he surged forward, his lips pressing to yours. You placed your hands on his chest, shoving hard as you turned your face away, screaming loudly at him to leave you alone. In an easy movement he spun you round, his arms clamping around yours pulling them behind you as he held you in place, your back pressed to his chest as he pressed his lips to your neck. “I know deep down you love me too...” his breath was hot on your neck, voice still eerily calm as his hips pushed forward and you could feel his erection digging into the curve of your spine. “Fuck, this is what you’ve done to me, feel that, Sweetheart? You wrecked me, and now I need you. It’s that simple.” At that he pushed you forward, harshly bending you over his desk, one large hand securing both of yours being your back, your body twisted in a warped recreation of that time he’d used your sweater to restrain you all those months ago. You struggled but he simply twisted your arm further, causing you to cry out in pain and desperation as his other hand roughly hoisted up your night-dress. “You’ll say it eventually.” He stated calmly as you heard that tell-tale rustle of fabric as he pushed down his sweats. “It might take another spell in the basement to make you realise, but you’ll come round.” “It doesn’t work like that.” You sobbed, your voice cracking as his hand let go of your arms and slid up to your neck, reaching round your throat. His fingers curled round your neck as he pulled your head back, his mouth nipping at your neck before he pulled back, his face inches from yours as his icy blues stared locked onto your eyes. They were cold, dangerous and you shook your head, tears pouring down your face.  Your lip trembled as you closer your eyes, taking a deep breath before you opened them again, resigning yourself to the fact that this next line might just seal your fate and wind up with you losing your life. But right now, that would be a blessed way out.  “I can’t love you simply because that’s what you want.” “Oh Sweetheart,” he chuckled, his lips ghosting over yours, “I know that. I know I can’t force you to feel something you don’t, but the only person you’re fooling is yourself. I just want you to admit it.”

“I won’t.” You stuttered, “never, Ransom.”

“Oh, Y/N. Haven’t you learned by now? I always get what I want, including this, you’ll see.” With a harsh thrust forward he pushed inside you, making you scream at the burn thanks to the fact you weren’t ready for him, at all. He gave a groan as he grabbed at your hips, your pelvis jolting painfully into the edge of the hard wooden desk you were bent over. “As my granddad used to quote,” he pulled back before delivering another deep thrust harshly into you, his fingers digging into your flesh as you closed your eyes, scrunching them shut as your cheek rest against the desk, tears leaking from your eyes, “we all become stories in the end.” 

He gave another deep rut forward as he ground into you, his breathing deep.

“Now it’s time to rewrite ours, Princess.”

*****

Epilogue

[sylvies-chen]

Can you do 64 or 67 for brettsey please?

Prompt 64 can be found here!!

67. “If you don’t want to talk about it then say so. Don’t lie and pretend to be fine when you clearly aren’t.”

Matt should have seen this coming.

His mom's not exactly young. He doesn't know where she's been or how she's been doing these past few years, frankly. He's had no record of whether she's been staying healthy-- through no fault of his own, seeing as how his mom's always been less than reliable since getting out of prison. Hell, even before getting arrested she'd been letting him and Christie down in smaller ways.

So when he gets the call that Nancy Casey has passed away from a heart attack at the ripe age of 68, he thinks it's just one more way in which his mother has let him down; one more member of the Casey family carrying their overwhelming amount of secrets to the grave.

He should feel sad, he knows that, but all he feels is numbness and a slight annoyance at having to deal with the funeral and all her belongings.

Her belongings aren't actually all that numerous, he realizes soon enough, which he assumes is a perk of being so flakey. All he gets is a box of things. He doesn't know what things, exactly. He'd gone to her place, shoved everything he could find into a cardboard box without paying attention to any of it, and left before he had the change to boil over with rage at all the things she'd kept from him and Christie-- the apartment included.

He should book time off or something. Or maybe visit her grave. He hasn't been there since the funeral a week ago (at which he, Sylvie, and Christie had pretty much been the sole attendants), maybe it'd do him some good in theory. But right now, every normal way of grieving flies out the door for him. He feels himself reverting back to the Casey family tradition: internalizing your feelings and keeping them secret until the day you die. Literally. It's not fun, not pleasant, and certainly not healthy. But in some weird way, it feels like his own way of honouring his mother, so he doesn't fight it. He should, but he doesn't.

Until Sylvie notices, and manages to tear down his walls in one fowl, beautifully agonizing swoop.

She picks up on it pretty quickly. He drifts off a lot during shift, he looks even more serious than usual, and he refuses to talk about it all that much whenever she asks how he's feeling-- which isn't for lack of trying, but how the hell can he put every complex little emotion he's feeling into words? Doing that will take time.

She's over to the loft one night, petting gently at his hair with her legs sprawled across his lap as they mindlessly watch TV, when she notices the box of his mom's things collecting dust by the by the basketball machine. Stella and Severide are out and Sylvie knows he's not paying attention to what's on anyway, so she turns the TV off. It manages to get his attention and he looks to her, confused.

Her attention isn't on him though, only on the box. Its flaps are taped shut at the top, his mom's name in black sharpie fading slowly. "You still haven't opened the box of your mom’s stuff?"

"No," he admits.

“Matt…” she sighs, taking her legs off his lap to sit upright on the couch. “You’ve been retreating into yourself ever since your mom passed away. Please don’t shut me out. I’m here, you know that, right?”

“I do. But Sylvie, I’m fine,” he insists. “My mom knew exactly what she wanted in life once she got out of prison and I wasn’t exaclty a part of that. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her, I probably don’t know half of what’s in that box anyway. She hid her new life from me and Christie. She’s just next in a long line of people in my family who’ve taken their secrets to the grave, that’s all.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it then say so. Don’t lie and pretend to be fine when you clearly aren’t.”

Her tone is sympathetic but has a slight edge to it. She wants him to open up, he knows that. That’s, along with the surprising frustration in her eye, is enough to make Matt want to. So he tries.

“I want to,” he assures her. “But there’s nothing to say. She was gone before, and she’s gone now. It’s just more permanent now.”

“But don’t you think opening that box will give you some— I don’t know… closure?”

“I know it probably will, but I've been busy with contracting work and the firehouse has been busy and... I don't know, it just slipped my mind."

She gives him a look as if to say she doesn't buy it for a second, only it turns quickly into a look of sympathy. Because it always does. Sylvie, through thick and thin, good and bad, just always understands him. That goes both ways, which makes it even better, but it also means he knows exactly what she's thinking right now.

"What's keeping you from doing it now then?"

"Now?" His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his arm stretching out against the back edge of the couch and rubbing at her far shoulder. "Well for one, I'm having a relaxing night with you, and I'd rather not ruin that with memories of my less than reliable mother. And second, I just... I'm...."

Matt finds himself choking on his words, unable to admit to himself the one word he's looking for. He doesn’t know where this sudden seriousness comes from, this abrupt inability to keep things in. It’s like an old habit, and normally those die hard. Except Sylvie’s lifting a gentle hand to caress his face, is giving him that warm and comforting look, and he knows exactly why it’s hard.

It’s hard because it’s her. It’s Sylvie, and trying to internalize things around her at this point is pointless— even if he wanted to. And he doesn’t want to. He’s stripped of all his walls when he’s around her and honestly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Scared?” She finishes his sentence for him, giving him an expectant look.

He nods, because yes. Matt Casey, a firefighter who’s faced blazing fires and near-death experiences, is scared of opening a tiny little box. It takes a lot for him to admit that but he’s with her, which makes it ten times easier. “Yeah,” he confirms. “I know it sounds silly, but I can’t bring myself to look at all the things from her life that she left me and Christie out of. I’m scared I’ll look in there and realize just how much of a stranger she was to me— and of how much I miss her anyway.”

Sylvie exhales quietly, eyeing him achingly for a moment while she gnaws at her lip the way she only does when she’s thinking hard. Then, she gives his knee a comforting squeeze before standing up. He shifts on the couch, elbows moving to his knees as he scrunches his brow in a pensive and painful train of thought of his own. He thinks Sylvie is just getting a glass of water or a tissue or something else, honestly. But when he looks up from his brooding, he sees her over by the basketball machine, picking up the box and bringing it over.

“Here,” she says, placing it on the table in front of them and sitting back down in her spot next to him. Their legs press together, leaving no space between them on the couch.

“No,” he shakes his head as he responds. “No, I can’t do it.”

“You can,” Sylvie assures him. “We can do it. Together. You don’t have to go through any of this alone, Matt. So if you have to sit here for a minute before opening it, or ten minutes, or an hour even, then you can do that. I’ll be here the entire time.”

Her eyes twinkle kindly at him and Matt swears, in that moment, that he’s the luckiest man alive. Something about everything she just told him strikes him harder than usual, acting as a sharp and wonderful reminder that they’re meant for each other.

“I am so in love with you,” he utters softly.

Sylvie lets out a quiet giggle, moving to hold his hand and lace their fingers together. “I love you too.”

She presses a tender kiss to his cheek as he sucks in a sharp breath, his attention now turning to the box in front of them. The box looks back at him, almost as if challenging him. Only now, miraculously, it seems more manageable to him. It’s still scary, still carries a lot of emotional weight for Matt. But he feels Sylvie’s hand in his and it gives him the strength to do this.

He lets go of Sylvie’s hand for a moment to tear the flaps of the box open. His hand finds hers again as soon as its done, relying on her for more strength as he moves to peer inside the box.

His heart stops.

With his spare hand, he pulls out the first thing in the box, at the very top— the very thing that made his heart stop. Nothing else in the box matters now, he thinks. Because sitting there, in the palm of his hand, is a picture of him, Christie, and his mom. Nancy Casey sits in the center of the picture, with Matt and Christie at her sides. He remembers the day well; it was his fourteenth birthday, after all. There’s a cake in front of them in the picture to prove it. Matt doesn’t ever remember looking and feeling so young. Admittedly, he doesn’t remember being that happy around his family either. Normally, birthdays were sort of a mess for him, a constant struggle of battling with his father over how they should celebrate it that alwaus left Matt grumpy and hurt. But in the picture, his mom’s hand is tickling his side, as well as Christie’s, and the moment captures the exact moment that he and Christie reflexively lean into her chest from the laughter. His mom’s smile is bright and wide— something he rarely saw around his household.

They were happy once. They were a family, no matter how messed up everything got between them. Maybe Nancy Casey wasn’t such a stranger to him after all. That fact alone sends those million complicated little emotions swirling around in his chest.

Only this time, he doesn’t bury them. This time, they all come pouring out at once and the dam breaks. He doesn’t know when the tears started, but they flow now with a painful ease.

Sylvie lets go of his hand and pulls him in, holding onto him tight and close as his head rests on her chest. He feels tears of her own drip on the back of his head as she strokes his hair gently. He so rarely cries like this and yet now that he’s started— now that he has someone like Sylvie who lets him be vulnerable— he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop.

Only she tightens his grip on him, whispers soothing hushes and gentle reassurances that everything will be okay, and he knows that he’ll stop soon enough.

[wallwriterstuff]

Hi! I have a second request if that’s okay! (Let me know if it’s too much or too detailed!). Can I please request a Demetri x Newborn vampire!fem!reader where when Demetri, Felix, Jane, and Alec come to Seattle to see Victoria’s Newborn Army, Demetri sees Y/n from where they’re standing, and she’s all huddled up in the corner, scared as can be because she just woke up from her vampire transformation and is now a newborn, but she has much more control than the others and she’s absolutely terrified, so she hasn’t left her corner, not even to feed. Demetri can sense that she’s his mate, so he goes to her and is able to coax her out of her corner because she also feels the mate pull, therefore immediately trusting him, and he brings her with him back to Volturra. Aro would be so excited that Dem found him mate omg. Also do you think they would tell her that she’s the only vampire that they left alive?

So this one got away from me a bit to and I totally added in a character purely because I wanted to in the moment, but here we go, a day earlier than planned! 

Little Rabbit ||Demetri Volturi x Female Reader||

Part 2: Still Learning

Warnings: Descriptions of violence, a bit of gore, nothing you wouldn’t expect from the Volturi to be honest. 

Words: 5603

Summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission; newborns break the law, newborns deal with the consequences. It was a sentence they’d carried out multiple times before with flawless execution, but this time there’s a problem…what on Earth is Demetri supposed to do with you? 

There were laws for a reason.

For centuries the Romanians has subjugated humankind, and after the Volturi had overthrown them, it became clear that making humans forget they ever existed would be for the best. Humans were weak and stupid yes, but they were also very angry; angry at being used as slaves and breeding stock, angry they had been mistreated and lost loved ones to Romanian cruelty. Angry humans meant rebellion and the Volturi would most certainly win that war. They couldn’t afford to decimate the human population, not when it would cause infighting amongst their kind with too many competing for a limited food source. So they had, for centuries, cultivated the myths that became popular fantasy tropes in human media. Slowly but surely those who remembered the Romanian cruelty died out, and their stories died with them, warped into fiction by carefully placed rumours and some flamboyant acting certain people had been quite happy to engage in.

In the 21st century vampires had become highly romanticised. There was a mystery about them that was glamourous, sexy, addictive. It was a form of perfection that was unobtainable – or so it was supposed to be. Vampires were most certainly still graceful, flawlessly beautiful in a way that screamed inhuman, but they were nothing like the movies made them out to be. Your last night as a human was a bit of a blur and only seeming further away by the minute. There was a street shrouded in darkness, with a flickering streetlight that did little to illuminate the concrete beneath your feet, and a breeze, something cold. The only thing you clearly remembered from that night was Riley, and that was only because he was one of the first things you saw with your new eyes when you awoke for the last time.

He was still as pretty as your murky memories dictated when you saw him the second time round, but now you were so much more sensitive to things it was easy to pick up on the more sinister aspects of his personality your human-self had simply ignored, too dazzled by this pretty man with his silver-tongue. He’d set you on fire, literally, and the burning just hadn’t stopped. It had once been a whole-body ache, nerve endings blazing and muscles twitching as you tried to outrun an internal kind of agony that scorched away your very soul. It was a futile attempt because only one thing would ease your suffering…not that you knew it. At least, you didn’t seem to.

From their perch in a multistorey car park the Guard had been watching the newborn’s make a mess for the past ten minutes. It was something straight out of the grisliest horror film, though the majority of screaming had died to wet gurgles now as the victims of their reign of terror drowned in their own blood. Most were feeding, some were fighting. A metallic screech rent the air and Felix smirked slightly as another newborn went down, his arm twisted off while he howled in agony.

“They’ve already drawn too much attention.” Demetri muttered, eyes narrowed in distaste at the scene. His stare had been drawn back to you on many an occasion. There was something…different, not quite right. The feeding frenzy was clearly affecting you, your body leaning forward in a desperate attempt to get you to feed while your mind simply refused to let you move, yet you were so obviously suffering. He couldn’t fathom why you hadn’t joined them yet when your hand was clawing at your throat, like you hoped you could rip the fire out of it maybe. You were quite obviously the deer in the headlights of the group, the least experienced, the youngest, and he felt a pang of sympathy for you. Did you even know what was happening to you right now? Had you fed before? Your body knew what it wanted and what to do so why weren’t you simply following your instincts?

A body landed in front of you, the head caved in from another’s fist, and he heard you whimper despite the distance. It made his stomach twist, brows furrowing deeply as a strange sort of longing to go to you arose in him. He was beaten to it by the ringleader, the man obviously in charge of it all with much more control and experience. He watched him crouch before you, the way you recoiled setting a fire in his gut that urged him to move move move.

“You…you’re confusing.” He admitted, head tilting as he regarded you. Demetri’s lip curled upward, body tense. What if the ringleader moved before he could get to you? You were hardly a soldier, not a fighter at all; you were curled up in the corner afraid of your own shadow, they didn’t have a place for people like you in a newborn army.

“W-what did you…d-do to me?” you rasped, your throat dry and on fire. Demetri heard the pain it caused you to so much as talk. To think of the amount of pain breathing must have caused you…

“I told you already there’s a way to make it better…we’ll find you someone to drink.” The ringleader promised, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes were alight with fury, a cold kind of anger radiating from him when he saw the state of the place. Fires were springing up now, the dangerous proximity of the flames making him cringe. You immediately scuttled away from the scene and Demetri was moving before any of the others could stop him. Maybe his gift was going haywire, but your tenor had to be the brightest, most beautiful thing he had ever come across, and it had a life of it’s own. Usually the tenors were cold, something he could manipulate at will in his mind, but yours? Yours was warm and vibrant and instead of him doing the pulling it was you pulling him. Following you was instinctual, as easy as breathing.

He’d never seen a vampire trip over their own feet before.

You were like a little rabbit, skittish and terrified. Your senses told you you were being followed but you hadn’t seen your pursuer yet, though you were almost sure it was Riley coming to drag you back to that awful house you’d woken up in. It wasn’t even a home really, the rotting foundations of a cabin long since destroyed was not your old, cosy apartment. Could you even go back there? You weren’t sure anymore. Even as far from the main high street as you were now it was so loud, every sound crystal clear and the few lights so bright it should have hurt your eyes.

The smell of salt was overpowering at the docks, the waves crashing against the pier and something electric in the air that sizzled on your tongue but did nothing to soothe the burn in your throat. Once your knees had hit the floor, jeans tearing in a way your skin no longer could, you had scrambled behind the cold, metallic wall of a dry dock. Hands pressed to your ears, you prayed for this nightmare to come to an end.

“Oh young one…there is no need to suffer.” His voice was as smooth and sweet as honey, spreading warm and thick through your body from the moment it hit your ears and relaxing some very tense muscles. Still, you didn’t know this stranger and all vampires were made to be charming, weren’t they? Look at Riley…he’d stolen your life with a single sentence. The person before you was a man though, not a boy. His features were far more refined, sharp angles that could cut glass and a piercing, knowing stare behind eyes the colour of red wine. He was crouched before you, head somewhat tilted so his throat was exposed enough that should you swipe a hand out, you could easily decapitate him. It was almost like he was submitting to you, trying to show he was no threat.

Demetri couldn’t stand to see you so torn apart by pain and fear. His heart was physically tearing in to, unable to beat yet breaking in his chest. Your wide eyes were pure black, the pupil practically invisible and swallowed by your hunger. He could only imagine how bad the burn must be by now. The moment you had locked eyes with him though it was very obvious to a man of his age and experience exactly why he had followed you, why your tenor was so irresistible to him. The world settled. Hell, it might have crashed and burned around him but he wouldn’t have noticed, not when you were looking at him like that. He had craved many things before in life, lusting for blood and flesh and all the luxuries his immortality could offer, but he had never felt a craving quite as intense as the desire he felt simply to ease your pain. It was everything to him in that moment.

You winced, the sound lancing straight through his ears and making him frown sympathetically. Despite your pain you were still dangerous. Newborn’s acted more often than not on impulses and animalistic urges. He would have to be careful with you.

“I-it burns, th-there’s s-something in – in my throat.” You gasped, hunching over a little. Demetri nodded his head.

“I expect it does. Do you know what is happening to you right now?” he asked. You swallowed, as if that would help. Your hands moved up into your hair, gripping at the roots like they were a lifeline as you curled up even tighter.

“I don’t – he said – I can’t think!” you seemed to surprise yourself when you hissed and Demetri felt the ache in his chest intensify. Your distress was palpable to him and his fingers twitched, his desire to reach out and hold you to him intense.

Mate. Mate. Mine. Protect what’s mine.

“No need to think cara mia, let me do the thinking for both of us.” he suggested, sniffing at the air and listening past the crashing waves to try to find you someone, anyone, to drink from. His nose caught it first, the sweet scent of blood rushing through human veins, and then it was his ears. Laughter erupted somewhere just North-West of your position, and even if the location wasn’t precise it would be enough to get you fed, calm you somewhat.

With an audible thunk your head hit the wall behind you, denting it slightly. Your eyes were so hopeless when they met his own he was sure you would cry if you could, your mouth twisted into the ugliest pained grimace he never wished to see on your face again.

“It won’t stop.” You whispered. You sounded so tortured. Demetri knew the feeling well enough, he had been a newborn once to and the thirst was intense, unbearable, enough to drive a person insane. He shook his head, extending a hand to you.

“It can stop, and it will if you trust me. I can make the pain go away.” He promised. He kept his voice soft, hoping not to scare you further, but you still eyed his hand like it was a trap waiting to be sprung. Gulping, your hand trembled as if it wanted to reach out, and Demetri prayed you’d take it, that you’d see he had no ill intentions. He really did just want to help. On some level you knew that. His eyes weren’t like Riley’s. Riley’s were as hard and cold as rough-cut rubies but this man…this man had eyes like rose blossoms, gentle and tender as they watched you suffer, like he really did wish to just take your pain away. His hand hadn’t wavered and neither did his patience despite your indecision. You wanted to reach out, your hand itching to do so, but you couldn’t escape the lingering feeling of hesitation. The last time you trusted a stranger you had literally died after all.

“He promised the s-same thing.” Your breathing hitched as another river of fire shot down your throat and twisted your gut. You were starving, so very hungry, but you weren’t sure how to stop the pain. How were you ever going to eat anything when you had the world’s worst acid reflux right now? The man in front of you looked pained for a moment, as if your words had truly hurt him. How could you ever question his intentions towards you when he was so different to Riley? This man radiated an aura of safety, of calm. It was a relief just being near him after the mayhem in your life you had experience from the moment you awoke with a freckled, red-headed boy staring down at you with a sneer. You weren’t sure who he was but you’d knocked him away from you so hard he’d smashed through a wall – Riley had twisted his head off with ease when the boy lunged to attack you in revenge.

Your new life had been nothing but death and agony since you opened your eyes, but this man was different. He was a breath of fresh air, a promise of something better. He brought some calm to your turbulent thoughts.

“I am not him,” he said finally, “Breathe in for me, tell me what you smell.” His instruction was simple and would do you no harm, so you obeyed. The salt stung your nose but filtered in between the bitter and the fish was something far sweeter. You mouth pooled with what you thought was salvia, body tensing as you dragged in another lungful of that scent. It had saturated the air back at the car wreckage to but you’d never quite pinpointed where it was from, only that it made you ravenous and delirious with need.

“What – what is that?” you gasped, eyes opened wide while you inhaled like an addict getting their fix.

“Do not torture yourself now, the more you breathe the more it will burn. That is food cara mia, sustenance. It will put out the fire in your throat. I want to take you to it.” He coaxed you from against the wall like he was luring a wild beast out of its cage, his movements slow and cautious, non-threatening. You let him this time. The smell was too good, impossible to resist. You had to have it and he was promising to give it to you. Besides, you were apparently super-strong, you could fight him for it, right? No, no maybe not, the thought made you uncomfortable, you didn’t want to hurt this kind stranger. His hand was warm against your own, the skin smooth as silk and sending a jolt through your body. You didn’t want to let go of him ever. In the time it had taken you to blink you were on another side of the dock, your saviour stood behind you now with his hands on your shoulders.

“What-“

“Shhh, breathe in again and follow your nose,” He instructed, lips dangerously close to the shell of your ear. You wanted to follow the order but his breath was as fresh and warm as sweet mint, ghosting across your skin and making you shiver involuntarily. He chuckled against your hair, low and wistful. “Let nothing distract you, not even me.” He whispered. You had unconsciously leaned back into his touch and you missed him immediately when he stepped back just a little to give you some room to think. Breathe. He’d asked you to breathe. Inhaling deeply through your nose, you caught that intoxicating scent once more. It was a heady smell, befuddling all your thoughts, and your body moved to follow it without question. You needed more. You were somewhat aware of the stranger following you, his footsteps slow and casual in comparison to your own that were hurried, impatient to find the source of the smell. You didn’t understand when you turned a corner and found yourself on the main high street, immediately blinded by the streetlights’ glaring at you from every direction and assaulted by the thudding bass and buzzing chatter from all around. You fell back into the shadows with a wince, cringing into the brick work of an old pizzeria.

“I don’t understand, I – there’s nothing here.” You groaned. Your throat was trying to tear itself apart. The stranger peered out of the alleyway for a brief moment, hummed thoughtfully and drew up his hood. His face was even more beautiful like that, shrouded in darkness while the amber glow of the streetlights’ simply made the shadows of his cheekbones longer.

“Be patient, there is time enough to learn.” He promised you, and with that he was gone. Your jaw dropped open, unable to fully comprehend that he had just…left you there. Why? Had you done something wrong? What if…oh no, what if he’d led you straight back to Riley? Maybe he worked for her. You whimpered softly, not wanting to know what was going to happen next when he reappeared without warning. A woman lay unconscious on the floor near his feet, and he held a young man out towards you by the back of his shirt, body dangling limply. Your eyes widened.

“What are – what…what…” you couldn’t get your sentence out properly, the sweet smell invading your nose once more. Demetri knew the second he lost you to the frenzy in your mind. Your eyes were no longer trained on him, no longer filled with horror at what he’d done, but laser-focused on the pulse point that was no doubt thrumming in your ears by now. You watched him not as a threat to your safety but as a threat to your food, and Demetri simply tossed you the man like a lion tamer would throw the predator a steak before stepping back a bit. The mess was to be expected and only confirmed his suspicions that this was your first feed. Your teeth didn’t quite cut at the right angle nor at the right point, but you made sure not to waste anything, readjusting your bite to ensure the burst vein spouted the saccharine liquid into your mouth and not past your cheek.

His own desire to feed grew stronger as he watched you indulge but he forced the feeling back. He had to focus on you for now. Your grip was far too tight on your prey and he heard the bones snap before the man folded like a ragdoll, his spine shattered under the force of your fingers as his flesh grew pallid, the colour drained straight from it. The sound of your frantic gulps slowly died away, and when his veins ran dry you let him drop with such utter disgust on your face Demetri couldn’t help but chuckle. Your head snapped first one way, then the next, your thirst not satiated enough to allow you to focus on him for too long when there was another living, breathing human in the alleyway with you both. He inclined his head towards her and you edged forward, wary of him now.

“She is for you, go ahead.” He invited. For a moment longer you stared him down, trying to figure him out, and Demetri admired you fully. Half-crouched, Y/H/C hair in wild disarray around your face, you looked dangerous but oh so tempting, the predator in him itching to pin you down just to see what you might do. Your skin was flawless, glowing in the half-light cast from the streetlights’ beyond the alleyway, but you were covered in blood to. To anyone looking in you might have been the ghost of a murder victim perhaps, flawlessly encased in immortality and violence. The crimson liquid had soaked your shirt, your skin stained with it and lips a more vivid shade of ruby red than even Heidi’s extensive array of lipstick’s could have achieved. He was enraptured with you from the very start as you fell on your second victim of the night. He gave the man a quick once over, listening for a heartbeat just to be sure. When he found nothing, he removed any sort of valuables or possessions that might identify the corpse and threw them into the dumpster to his right, waiting patiently to do the same to the woman you were currently entertaining yourself with.

Part of him had expected the comedown after the euphoric high of your first feed, but another part of him had hoped you would be alright. Still, as you simply held the broken body in your arms, the quiet sense of horror that dawned in your eyes was enough to make Demetri move to intervene. You gripped her tighter, not wanting to let the body go, and he gently had to pry your fingers from her bruised skin.

“We – we have to…I didn’t mean…it was…” you struggled, eyes vividly red now as they stared into his own with so much guilt and grief it shattered his resolve for a moment.

“Would you like to close her eyes?” he asked. You nodded mutely, hand trembling slightly as you reached up and gently slid the delicate skin over glassy, vacant irises. It seemed to give you some small semblance of peace at least. “Does your throat still burn?” he asked. Swallowing thickly, you shook your head. Demetri nodded, satisfied he had looked after you well enough tonight. “Good. I will ensure these two are…buried…somewhere nice. Will you wait for me here? I promise you I will explain everything in full, help you understand what is happening right now.” He vowed, his free hand gently touching your messy chin while he hoisted the dead over his shoulder with the other. You gave another numb nod, because where were you supposed to go? You were a murderer now, a…vampire. You really hadn’t believed Riley when he told you, you realised now as the shock set in. The deaths of those two just to feed you…you should have been sobbing perhaps, on your knees and praying for penance maybe, but you just…couldn’t. It felt so good to finally be free of that agonising burn, the taste had been sublime, euphoric even, and you couldn’t regret it even though part of you knew you should. Still, it didn’t change the fact two people had lost their lives and the evidence was all over you.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there alone, silently longing for your newfound friend to come back and tell you what to do next while you stared at the blood drying on your hands and shirt. It was an odd feeling, to be so lost in a city you knew so well, but you truly had no idea where your place was anymore. How could you walk the streets knowing you had killed two of the people who were once so like you? Could you even go back to your apartment? You were a murderer, there’d be investigations and…what if you ate your landlord? You winced a bit at the thought, the old woman was too kind for that kind of fate.

“What is wrong with me?” you whispered.

“Nothing is wrong with you at all cara mia, you are perfection in every way.” The smooth voice you had longed for returned and you grimaced as you faced him.

“But I killed someone.” You protested.

“As have I, and many others like us,” Demetri pointed out neutrally. You looked distressed again and he stepped forward to place a hand at the small of your waist. “Come, this conversation can wait until you have cleaned yourself up. We have a-“

“I want to go home.” You squeezed your eyes closed and Demetri evaluated you for a moment, trying to gauge whether or not you could handle a trip home.

“Do you live alone?” he asked.

“No, well, yes, but –“

“Focus, young one, the question was simple, do you live alone?” he repeated gently. Your head was a mess, he could almost hear the gears of your mind turning. Few people mentioned how hard it was to adapt to the new speeds your mind worked at when you were turned, but Demetri understood your thoughts were spinning one to the next in a rapid cycle that made it easy to distract you.

“Yes.” You said finally. He nodded his head, satisfied with the answer.

“Then lead the way.” He gestured for you to go first, following close behind as you instinctually led him through the streets. Home would be familiar, comforting, he just hoped it wouldn’t be too much of a test for you to get some new clothes and a shower. You were utterly silent, lost in your own head and almost entirely unresponsive to any of his questions as you led him at an inhuman speed down the street. It was late enough and you were moving so fast he doubted anyone would notice the pair of you so he let it happen, but you didn’t seem to be aware of the speed you were moving at either. Demetri was slowly compiling a mental checklist of all the things he’d have to teach you and get you used to. He had only gleaned one key piece of information from you by the time you reached your apartment, and he’d been replaying it over and over in his mind ever since. Your name was Y/N, and you considered it a small miracle that the keys to your apartment were still in your pocket.

The stairwell lights were loud and bright, and by the time you’d put your key in the door you were desperate to be out of the highly stimulating environment, letting your new friend in. He’d told you his name now to, and you were enamoured with everything about him now, the package complete with a nice little bow. Demetri looked confused by the scratching sound for a moment before Sulu burst around the corner of your sofa and darted straight for your legs. His excited little yips were so loud in your sensitive ear’s, but he was familiar and comforting, he was home. Demetri stopped you before you could scoop up the little beagle puppy. You looked confused and he smiled apologetically.

“I think you have no concept of just how fast or strong you are right now Y/N…if you carried on going just now you might have put your hand right through him,” he informed you quietly. You winced, making a conscious effort to go slow as you reached down to pet him instead. Demetri watched you take extra care to stroke your hand over his fur, seemingly losing yourself in the smooth texture for a moment. It calmed you, he realised.

“Hey boy, I’m home. I’m sorry I was gone so long, are you hungry boy?” you whispered. Demetri watched you go through a careful routine of mixing dry and wet food, placing his small bowl on the floor. He crunched it like a dog half starved and Demetri wondered just how long you’d been gone.

“Go and shower. I can watch the dog.” He promised. He sat on the sofa, watching the little pup playfully eat his way around the bowl while the water ran behind him. Every now and then he heard you sigh softly. The dog looked quite content with a full stomach, pattering about his home confidently until he came to Demetri. Animals didn’t typically like vampires so to speak, but the pup was perhaps too young to have sensed anything out of the ordinary and came straight up to him, head tilting as he snuffled about his trouser legs. Demetri frowned, trying to shoo him away slightly, but the pup merely thought he wanted to play, tail starting to wag as he lowered his front to the floor and lunged for his hand with an excited little yip.

You hadn’t been expecting Demetri to be having a tug of war with your dog when you stepped out of the shower, a fresh change of clothes on and your hair wet but still, no matter how much you’d frisked it with a towel, flawless. Vampirism had some perks at least. Sulu growled playfully, tugging with all his might, and Demetri growled back, a wicked grin on his face as he held the toy still with minimal effort. Your eyebrows rose.

“Are you that determined to beat a puppy?” you asked finally. Demetri glanced at you, brows furrowing slightly before he nodded and pulled Sulu in closer, his claws scratching against the wood. You winced at the sound but felt your heart melt a bit when he scooped him up with a chuckle and scratched at his tummy.

“You put up a good fight boy, but I am better.” He murmured. Good with animals and gorgeous? Was there anything this man couldn’t do? You sat beside him, wary when Sulu immediately padded over to your lap. You’d found him abandoned on a street corner in a box with a few siblings and immediately taken them all to the nearest vet, the costs be damned. They’d managed to rehome two of the five in the box, one of them being your Sulu, but you’d never heard what happened to the others sadly. He was cuddly from the get-go, desperate for contact apparently after his abandonment, and so far he had been fairly easy to train. You didn’t want to hurt your baby boy and Demetri seemed to sense it, watching you awkwardly hold your hands above his small body while Sulu tried to nudge his head into your palm.

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

“You won’t if you are gentle enough,” Demetri promised you, “Very gentle now.” You managed to settle into a rhythm as Demetri spoke, explaining exactly what had happened to you that night. There were times you couldn’t quite keep the outbursts in, your frustration bursting through. Why you? You had a good life! You tried to be good and kind and had dreams and it wasn’t fair that Riley had chosen you that night. Sulu skittered form your lap into Demetri’s in those moments, but the man never held them against you, simply letting you rant and nodding along sympathetically while he explained the laws, the Volturi. You shivered, knowing deep down if he hadn’t decided to help you he would have been your executioner instead of your friend.

“So what now? I…” Don’t want to leave you. It was on the tip of your tongue. You felt lost, adrift on an endless sea. You had no clue how you were supposed to cope with all of this without someone more experienced showing you the way – your throat was already starting to burn again. It all seemed so hopeless when you’d been alone in the shower, everything crashing in on you and drowning you all at once, but Demetri was a lighthouse that held you steady and guided you to shore. Demetri tilted his head.

“You come home with me.” He said simply, like it made the most sense. Somehow, it did. Demetri was somewhat surprised at how willingly you simply packed up and left, pulling some emergency cash out form somewhere and leaving it in an envelope for your landlord. The only slight problem was Sulu, but he didn’t let you worry about that for long. Sulu wasn’t particularly sure about the plush carpets of the Volturi’s private jet, but he quite enjoyed running around on the tarmac while you waited for Demetri to return from his duties, whatever they may be.

“Why would you not tell her, she has a right to know.” Alec pointed out as they strolled back across the grass languidly. Demetri hummed.

“She does, but right now she is overwhelmed, she needs a chance to settle before I tell her of our bond. In the meantime, it will not stop me caring for her as I should. Please, all of you, be kind, you know how hard this first year can be.” He sighed, looking almost imploringly at the twins. He knew he could trust Felix with you (mostly, maybe…okay he’d have to keep any eye on that situation) but the twins were a little more…unpredictable. Jane rolled her eyes slightly.

“You say that as though we intend to sabotage your happiness.” she quipped, but her voice was as dead as the grave. Demetri saw through it; he had known them long enough. Apathy was the twins go to but it always conveyed something more if you bothered to look beyond the surface. He gave her a grateful smile and she diligently ignored it, but the unspoken agreement had already been made that they would stand by their friend when they reached Volterra.

“Oh there is one more thing.” Demetri started. He never got chance to finish his sentence before Alec opened the door to the jet. The smell of blood hit them instantly and Sulu bolted straight for Demetri, recognising his scent and excited to see him home. You were stood amongst the ruins, looking a little bashful and covered in blood once more. The pilot was at your feet, contorted and drained.

“Oops?”

Sulu had left little bloody paw prints in his wake but had quickly scrambled back towards you once he’d bumped into Alec’s threatening aura. The boy turned to look at the tracker, his expression devoid of emotion but his eyes alight with mischief.

“I cannot wait to see the look on Caius’s face when we get home.”

[napeoftheneck]

Rivers of Crimson (Ymir x Reader)

I absolutely can bestie!  I had a hard time trying to find out what I could do for some angst without being yk. One of those “I’m not Christa :(“ fics, so here’s some hurt/comfort w/ some extra angst mixed in !! Angst is my absolute favourite to write, I’m so elated that it’s is my first request. Especially with Ymir, too !! Thank u <3<3 

Title: Rivers of crimson  Genre: Angst w/happy ending, hurt/comfort  Warnings: Canon-typical violence, descriptions of injuries, angst, swearing, Ymir being kind of a meanie, fighting, implied comphet if you really REALLY squint  Word count: ~1.7k

IMPLIED SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 OF ATTACK ON TITAN !! 

(There was no specific request for a WLW reader, so I tried to keep it as gender-neutral as I can :>) 

-

Ymir had never really felt helpless since her youth. Even then, in those moments, she felt as though she had been ruling, that whatever she could do would bring praise and gratitude and triumph. It was only after she had been adjudged when she realised that the reason she sought after that feeling of authority for so long was because of just how dependent she had actually convinced herself she was. 

Becoming a god was the loneliest feeling in the world, but solitude brought a power not many had; it brought independence. She never had to worry about others. 

She often found herself watching her fellow cadets when they returned from battle. Ymir would often follow as they broke down, crumbling to their knees in wracked sobs upon hearing of the demise of their loved ones. She would listen to the hums of commiseration from other soldiers or watch as they would help the mourning fighter to their feet and lead them away from others' scrutinising eyes. She wouldn't pity them. The feeling of sympathy was foreign to her.

Ymir had been fighting for a grand portion of her life now. She had held herself to those same beliefs since her first day of training, so she was specifically surprised when she had taken such a liking to you.

She fought it for a while. Whenever you would sit with her at lunch, she would make an effort to seem uninterested when you spoke of your day. When you stumbled during training, she would correct you, but would mask whatever tenderness that found her voice with a sigh or a comment implying that you “need to suck it up”. 

Yet, despite how she pushed and strayed from you, you remained a constant in her life of inconsistencies. Eventually, you were the closest to what she could call a friend. 

Ymir ignored how, whenever you would patch her wounds or link to her on cold nights or how often you would sleep in the same bed, she was far too mercenary to label you as something other than a friend. Even that was stretching it. 

Though, in moments like these, Ymir wished that she was raw enough to let you know. Because, in moments like these, she would be terrified to misspeak. 

You wouldn’t fight often. Not like this. 

You had mentioned having to “get up early” off-handedly during dinner when excusing yourself from the table. Ymir asked about it and you mentioned a scout that had been injured, whom you volunteered yourself to replace for an outer-walls mission. You said it all so casually. Ymir couldn’t grasp any sarcasm in your voice or crack in your authored facade as you brushed through your hair in the mirror of her chambers. She didn’t see you make eye contact with her once. You spoke to her coolly about how happy you were to finally be able to sleep, about the dinner and how it was cold that day, about how Jean had snuck some of your apple at lunch that day.

Ymir just stood in silence, considering and rejecting things to say in response. 

“Were you gonna tell me about how you’re leaving tomorrow, or was I just supposed to wake up without you and put it together myself?” She spoke before thinking. You hesitated, hovering over your cupboard.  “Ymir, it’s not a big deal,” you finally sigh, running a hand through your hair the moment it’s freed. “I said it was just a capture mission. Hange said we won’t go far-“  “You can't go.”  You narrow your eyes. You had now frozen in your tracks completely; no longer pacing around the room to place things in their correct spaces.  “I’m not a child,” you speak gently, as if to a rabid dog. The blaze in her eyes was enough to pardon it. “I don’t have to ask your approval to work. I don’t need you next to me,” you deride lightly, insignificantly, as you turn your back to her. You didn’t plan to sound so dismissive.  “Are you seriously being this fucking petty right now? You could die out there,” Ymir, however, fully intended her venomous rhythm. She towers over you, if not just in her tone alone. “You’re being stupid. You know you're not strong enough to fight with that squad.” Your breath hitches in your throat. Ymir regrets her words immediately, but she doesn’t waver in her stance. “What the fuck is your problem?” you sneer. “You insist on how little you care about me, but as soon as I do anything without your permission you yell at me?”  “That’s not what this is about, (y/n)-”  “Then what is it about, Ymir? Why are you so scared?”  “I don't give a shit about what happens to you! I'm just-” Ymir catches herself before she can finish her sentence. “No, I-”  “Exactly,” before she can correct herself, though, you are biting y our lip the way you do when you're biting back tears and you are in front of her. “Move. I need to go to bed.” 

She is wordless as she steps to the side and allowing you to pass her. It isn't until she hears your footsteps down the hall when she speaks. 

“If you come back, I won’t be here.” She hears you stop. Ymir doesn't expect you to come running to her, arms open and folded clothing discarded into a pile on the hallway floor. She isn't entirely sure why she's digging such a hole for herself - she doesn't mean what she's saying - of course she doesn't, she adores you, so why is she so set on pushing you as far away as she possibly can? Why does she feel that she needs to?  “Good.” you reply. The footsteps continue, then you are gone.

You are gone for three days. 

Ymir, at first, didn’t count the hours.  She stewed in her angst alone for a grand portion of the morning without you; she dutifully avoided talking about whatever mission you had left for at the table that morning. 

Despite herself, Ymir had to eventually confront her weakness after the third consecutive “Are you okay?” Of that day that she wasn’t doing as good of a job of hiding her worry as she had thought. 

She thought she didn’t seem too bothered when your name was mentioned at the breakfast table. 

She thought she didn’t look too obviously intrigued when, 30 hours since you left (she swore she hadn’t counted), she heard Captain Levi murmur something about a retrieval squad. She thought she didn’t sound so desperate when she attempted to bring it casually up in conversation, yet she couldn’t fight the cracks in her voice and she couldn’t stop herself from wringing her hands over her wrists in worry when she thought nobody was looking. Helplessness went from being a stranger to a thorn at her side in a matter of hours.

It had been the dawn of the fourth day when Ymir was awoken by a creek by her door. She remained stiff as she listened to light footsteps approach her bed, but she softens when she hears you. When she sat up, unsure of whether you were actually there or if she had just been consumed by grief and began to hallucinate, you winced. 

She blinks. 

There are no words exchanged. Ymir debates speaking, though her body moves before she can and, in minutes, you are sat in the bathroom and she is kneeling in front of you.

Ymir isn’t certain (it seems like she hadn’t been certain about anything at all for the past week) why she wasn’t crying. She isn’t sure why she’s so terrified to touch you, or to speak, or to maintain eye contact for longer than a millisecond. 

You were in frightening shape. Had she not been petrified to talk, Ymir would be swearing under each breath.  Blood still seeped from your open wounds, cascading in small, splitting rivers of crimson down the side of your face. It had likely been far too long since you had fought any kind of titan, Ymir thought. Their blood would've been long since steamed. It was your blood. You must have noticed her hesitance as she wiped it, gently, dreading that she would uncover another wound, because you broke the abundant, pregnant stillness

“They lost two scouts.” “Oh.” Ymir responds. An unfamiliar feeling settles uncomfortably in her gut. “I’m sorry.” You nod, then you are silent again. 

Ymir takes a moment to resume her conscientious work. 

There is no obligation between either of you to say anything more. Your eyes are fixed downward, resting heavily on Ymir as she squints at the cap of some kind of disinfectant. She’s biting her tongue.  “I didn’t mean anything I said,” Ymir spoke to you suddenly and without looking you in the eyes. You’re thankful because it told you that you weren’t the only one too frightened to do so. “I do give a shit about what happens to you,” You laugh insignificantly, shaking your head. “I thought you died. I thought I lost you and the last things I said to you was that I wouldn’t be here, but I will. I’ll always be here.” She is desperate, rambling until she realises it and lulls herself. 

You would say something dismissively comforting had it not been for the silence Ymir’s hand brought as it raised to your cheek and gently brushed a stray tear away. It is so small and trifling, yet it is gracious and fragile and kind and it means the universe to you. 

“I know,” you respond.  You don’t need to hear a long-drawn, significant plea. You don’t need it because, truthfully, you knew you likely wouldn’t get it from Ymir in the first place.  However, as she guides you gently back into her bed, engulfing you in the white sheets, and places a small kiss on your forehead, something settles within you. 

It was a feeling one would associate with the moments after receiving an apology; it is warm, tender, relieving. 

You were home. You were safe. 

You were loved. 

Although she hadn’t said it, it wasn’t needed, because as Ymir’s arms tighten around you, you certainly felt it enough to maintain a sleepy smile as you drifted off alongside her.

[sableflynn]

Felivy - The Choice

Soooo after a solid week of constant gushing about this au with @whumpopology I decided to try writing a bit of it! I'm uh pretty much completely obsessed with this au at this point, the amount of brainstorming we've done is incredible and soooo much fun.

Very brief context: AU where Felicia and Ivy both end up at Volkan's mean man estate together. The girls bond, Volkan is mean, the teams try to find them. Volkan decides to spice things up, contacts the teams and tells them they can choose one girl to have sent home and he'll keep the other. This is the timeline where they choose Ivy to come home.

cw: drugging, noncon kiss/touch, general noncon implications (none happens), whumper pov. ao3 link here.

---

The girl was strapped into a chair, thick leather cuffs tight on wrists that strained against the imprisonment. Even with the needle still in her arm, the drug coursing through her bloodstream, she fought; she had fought from the moment he first showed her just how he planned to transport her back to her team.

Red, Harrison had called her, for the striking color of her thick curls, but her hair color wasn’t enough to set her apart here. That fighting spirit, though; that was something his healer lacked, a tenacity bordering on feral that kept things interesting in a way Felicia couldn’t. And yet all it took was one wandering touch, one comment dripping with innuendo, one look, and she fell apart. Beneath all her bluster and bravado, Ivy was a scared little girl, and he was happy to remind her of that every time.

Her head began to droop and he thought that was it, until she snapped back to full alertness with fresh fire in her eyes. “You’re—” Her words were slurred, the effort to get them out visible in her face. “You’re fucking sick.”

He smiled and inclined his head in acknowledgement. “You should relax,” he said, and just to make sure she couldn’t relax, he leaned over her where she sat, one hand rising to brush strands of hair from her face. “Just let this happen. Next thing you know, you’ll be waking up in your boyfriend’s arms.”

“Nuh—” Despite the determination blazing in her eyes, she shuddered. A thin sheen of sweat broke out across her forehead, and he imagined he could see the drug working its way through her body, slowing her nervous system until she succumbed. Yet she still fought it; she couldn’t not, not with the needle still in her, and the knowledge that there wasn’t a single thing she could do to stop him from taking anything he wanted.

He leaned in for a kiss, and she was still awake enough to snap at him. Pulling back with a grin, he watched the terror dancing in her eyes, drank in the soft hitch of her breath as his hand caressed her cheek before traveling down further. His second kiss dipped lower, lips tracing the curve of her neck, sucking hard enough to bruise until he pulled a weak sob from her. Her pulse was racing beneath his tongue; every touch from him would send the drug through her body faster, which would make her more and more vulnerable to his touch. A delicious feedback loop of her suffering.

He lifted his head to meet her gaze, and the fire he’d seen there moments before was snuffed out. She was breathing heavily, eyes glimmering with unshed tears, mouth working as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t push the words out. He took her in another kiss and she whimpered against him, and god, he was going to miss this. Her fear was so different from Felicia’s, tinged with frustration at her own helplessness, and he could spend months drawing it out, showing her again and again that she was small and weak and nothing. But he had made a deal, and he was a man of his word. Better to leave her a sweet memory to remember him by, then.

When he pulled back from the kiss, he let his hand drift lower, until his thumb fretted with the fastenings of her pants. He hadn’t thought she could become more despairing than she already was, but at that touch she let out another sob, her head shaking weakly, slurring out words that might’ve been stop, please, no, don’t. He didn’t particularly care what they were. Fingers deftly undoing the button of her pants, other hand rising to press a harsh thumb into the bruise he’d kissed into her, he took her mouth in his one more time. She had no resistance left, and his tongue touched hers, his teeth dragging along her lower lip as he tasted her once again.

Her cry left her in a rush of air, and she slid into oblivion.

He studied her face, hands still on her body. In sleep, her features softened, the panic and desperation of moments before dulled to the slightest downward curve of her lips. So different from the wild thing who’d spat blood in his face, laughed under the threat of his knife, fought against him with everything in her. So much more fitting for the weak, terrified girl she became whenever he began to undress her, the lost thing he knew she was deep inside.

Refastening her pants, he took his hands from her body and began undoing the leather cuffs holding her in place. She had somewhere she needed to be, and it wouldn’t do for her to be late.

***

Felicia blinked, and stared at the bare white wall of her room, and fought a losing battle with her emotions.

One of us is going home. Volkan had dropped that bomb on them, and then dragged them off to their separate rooms before they could fully process. Before they could think to ask a single question. Before they could say goodbye.

She couldn’t hope. She couldn’t dare to hope, because if she went home, that would mean Ivy was staying here, and if Ivy stayed here alone she would be dead within the week.

She couldn’t hope, because she wouldn’t be strong enough to survive if her hope shattered and Ivy went home and she was left here, alone, with him.

There was no solution; only branching paths that ended in different flavors of heartbreak. Even when he offered them freedom, he twisted it into a weapon against them. Her heart raged against the unfairness of it all, and she crushed that feeling down, closing herself off, a few stray tears leaking from eyes squeezed shut.

The door to her room creaked open and she gripped the edges of the cot she sat on. He filled the frame, silhouetted against the hallway lights. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, and yet she knew she had to. His expression was unreadable. Maybe she just didn’t want to read it.

“Come with me,” he said, and walked away without waiting for a response. She rose and followed him.

He brought her to his lounge, all dark leather and polished wood and a fire crackling in the hearth. At a gesture from him, she sank into the couch and he poured two glasses of amber liquor, handing one to her. He sat across from her, and in his eyes she saw that look, that fucking look that meant he was savoring the anticipation of breaking her down in some new way, and that was how she knew to prepare herself a heartbeat before he said, “Why do you think they chose her over you?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line and willed herself not to feel. From the moment she had woken up in his office, some part of her had always known she was going to die here. This changed nothing. At least Ivy was safe. She could take this.

He gestured at the glass in her hand, the drink within untouched. “Drink. It’ll help you relax.” She stared through him, setting the glass on the table without a word, and he took a sip of his own liquor. “I just want to talk tonight. I know you must have a lot of mixed feelings right now.”

She shifted her gaze to look him in the eye, and his face crinkled with a genuine smile. “I wish I could’ve been there for the discussion,” he mused. “What do you think was the deciding factor? What was it that pushed them over the edge, made them realize that Ivy was worth more than you?”

He wasn’t going to let up. She bit down the urge to say they made the right choice—self-deprecation was only playing into his hands. And she couldn’t do it, couldn’t dwell on what sort of conversation must have taken place, so she said, “I don’t know.”

“No theories at all?” He raised a skeptical brow. “You have no idea what might’ve led your girlfriend to look me in the eye and tell me that she was choosing to leave you here with me in favor of a stranger?”

Elyse. Her face flashed in Felicia’s mind, and shit, a few tears welled up before she could close herself off to the feeling, and then her chest ached with longing and grief and despair, and her fingers dug into the leather of the couch as her breath hitched in a sob, and then another.

Volkan shushed her with a faux-soothing hum, his hand like fire against her skin as he tucked her stray strands of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I know this must hurt.” Through the haze of tears, the smirk on his face was infuriating. “If it helps, I think their choice makes sense.”

“Nothing about this makes sense, and you know that, you—” Now that she’d started, the sobs kept coming, racking her body with shudders. “You know, because you rigged this fucking game from the start, because that’s what you do, you—”

“Shhh.” He pressed a finger to her lips as he shushed her this time, and she flinched. “You’re getting emotional. Try to think about this logically. I’m sure your team did when they made their decision.” He sipped his drink again, considering. “Ivy’s a strong girl. A much better fighter. She doesn’t just roll over and submit at the first threat of pain. Although,” and his smile turned mocking, conspiratory, “you and I both know she’s not as tough as she likes to pretend. For a girl with two boyfriends, she sure fell apart quickly as soon as I—”

“You don’t know a goddamn thing about her,” Felicia lashed, stomach churning. Her skin warmed with the memory of Ivy’s touch, the only kind thing about this place. Ivy’s beautiful fierceness as she fought Volkan in every way. Ivy’s smile, and her tears, and her whispered promises in the night. “She’s—she’s so brave, and she’s good, and she’s not going to just leave me here.” Please.

Volkan’s eyes sparkled with delight. “Adorable. She already did.”

The flash of Ivy’s hazel eyes, wide with shock as she was dragged to her own room to wait for a decision to be made. “She didn’t leave. You took her.”

He chuckled. “Technically, you’re correct. Would you prefer she was still here with you?”

“I—” Felicia hated herself, then, for how close she came to saying yes, and she hated him even more for the slight quirk of his lips as he saw the indecision play across her face, as he read her like a book. “I’m glad she’ll be safe now,” she managed at last.

“Safe is a relative term,” Volkan said, setting his empty glass down on the table. “But I’m sure we can both agree she’s in a better place than you are.” He leaned in closer to her, pressing her against the couch, and his arms surrounding her were the jaws of a trap closing in on her.

[kiribakuficrecs]

hello!!! im going on a very long trip at the end of april and I'm looking for some very long fics to download to keep me entertained! i dont care what they're about as long as there's no major character death or mentions of non-con. ur blog is a godsend ilysm and you do such a good job thank you so much 🙏

hi there!! i definitely have a lot of good lengthy fics i can recommend to you!

quote love unquote by newamsterdam 

Sero nods. “It’s the chance of a lifetime, really,” he says. “We want you to date Bakugou, for the sake of his reputation with the press. Some public appearances, a few ‘candid’ photos. For at least a couple of months.”

“Bakugou sent you to ask me to date him?” Kirishima asks, baffled.

“Of course not. We, his people, are asking you to date him. He’s going to have to get on board, if he wants his career to survive. And in the bargain, Riot will get all sorts of publicity, because their lyricist will be dating one of the industry’s hottest stars. A win for everyone.”

When Kirishima Eijirou's band hits the big time, he's not prepared for his newfound fame. He's even less prepared to meet the actor he's been crushing on for years, or to start dating him as a publicity stunt. The closer Kirishima gets to Bakugou Katsuki, the more he realizes he's in over his head. But it's hard to stop, once his heart is in it.

acceptance and denial by poteto

It all goes okay when Kirishima decides to come out to his friends and it all goes wrong when decides that Bakugou is the best fake boyfriend material.

cause the darks not taking prisoners tonight by imatrisarahtops

“Are those soba noodles?” Kirishima asked.

Again Bakugou’s only reply was a grunt. He offered no further explanation—not that Kirishima honestly expected one—as though making soba noodles from scratch at half past four in the morning wasn’t at all a bizarre occurrence and made complete and total sense. For a fleeting moment, Kirishima even wondered if maybe he was the odd one here. Besides, he’d already decided it was generally not in his best interest to question these types of things with Bakugou, especially when it was something essentially harmless.

When Kirishima has a nightmare and is unable to fall back asleep, he accepts defeat and decides to study in the common area of the dorms. What he doesn't expect to find is Bakugou, also very much awake, and Kirishima can't help but think that maybe they're both having the same problems with sleeping. If he's worried, it's just because they're friends. (Right?)

the weight of your hand by kamin

That night, to the citizens, the explosions were a jolt of fear at every blast, but to the heroes and the students of UA, they were punches and swings, fierce fighting and loud strength. The explosions were the pulse of the battle, and the power of a boy that would never back down.

One after another, explosions set a chorus through the shuddering city.

And then, suddenly—the explosions stopped.

(In which Bakugou’s kidnapping goes a little differently, and just a few seconds could change so much.)

so take my hand (your life will be brighter) by multiclassmaps

When a stranger shows up at the ice rink during Bakugou's usually private training sessions, Bakugou expects to hate him. He doesn't expect to develop feelings that become increasingly difficult to deny, or for them to help each other sort through their emotional baggage. - Bakugou really didn't like Kirishima's smile. There was something about it that made his stomach hurt, something about it that made it difficult to focus. He definitely hadn't thought about that smile on his way to the ice rink that day. He definitely hadn't.

distance makes the heart grow fonder (false) by dragontrappedinhumanskin

When Bakugo and Kirishima get hit by a quirk that forces them to literally stick together or face the less then desirable consequences, how the fuck is Bakugo supposed to keep his crush hidden?! Well, turns out he never needed to.

-- “Well, this fucking sucks, how are we supposed to train?!” "Really closely?"

perihelion by tauontauoff

Bakugou was a comet, blazing out of reach. Kirishima knew he was stupidly lucky that his furious trajectory went by close enough that his fingertips got to graze the cowl of fire. It was enough.

During Christmas Class 1A and 1B spend a laid-back week learning about extreme environment hero work in the Alps. Kirishima was used to keeping part of his feelings for Bakugou hidden, and had every intention of keeping it that way, but things don't always go according to plan.

fight me by mr_todoroki

Bright red, spiky hair. Annoyingly bright smile. Clothes that radiate ‘look at me’ vibes. Neon yellow tank top with black shorts. And those were definitely crocs on his fucking feet.

Yeah, Katsuki hated this guy.

-

Bakugou gets a new roommate.

quietly by chezka

“We’ve been taking the same way to and from school for weeks,” Kirishima grinned, and then when Bakugou frowned at him he put on an affected pout, tilted his head so that he was looking at him through his thick, long lashes, “you never noticed? Am I that easy to miss?”

He could barely finish the sentence before a laugh escaped his lips, and Bakugou rolled his eyes, hit him with a shoulder a little more violently than necessary.

“You stick out like a sore thumb, broom-head,” he grumbled, promptly ignoring Kirishima's whining about his hairstyle when it started coming, “I didn’t notice ‘cause I didn’t care.”

“And now you do?”

everyone knows that cats are independent by purplepersnickety

Eijirou enjoys his job, working the graveyard shift at a 24/7 coffee shop. His daemon Riot is always there to keep him company, and he likes meeting the early-morning patrons and giving them the best possible kick-start to their day. It's been his routine for about a year now.

Then one day, a grouchy guy with a daemon in the form of a lion walks into the shop in the dead of night, and Eijirou decides to strike up a conversation with him.

punks not dead by wrunic

“So you want to use me to piss off your mom?” Kirishima summarized, raising one pierced eyebrow at Katsuki.

“Look, if you want to be all fucking judgy about it, I take cash,” Katsuki said, dropping his hand palm up on the table.

“Hey now,” Kirishima said, raising his hands in surrender, “I didn’t say I wasn’t doing it. I’m always down for a little chaos.” He flashed a grin, showing off his ridiculous shark teeth.

“Good,” Katsuki said. “We start tomorrow."

sent, delivered, read, loved by kiribakuhappiness

Kirishima E. [6.49pm]: ur okay for such an angry dude bakugou! :)

Bakugou K. [7.12pm]: FUCK YOU!

Kirishima E. [7.14pm]: haha! :D ttyl!

Bakugou K. [7.48pm]: FUCKING WHAT DO THOSE DUMB LETTERS MEAN???

Bakugou K. [7.52pm]: I JUST LOOKED IT UP DONT FUCKING TALK TO ME LATER!

Bakugou K. [7.52pm]: STOP TXTING ME!!!

- OR -

Bakugou's and Kirishima's relationship develops from classmates to friends to more, as told through their text conversations.

flicker by mr_todoroki

He was starting to feel depressed. Life was so uninteresting. It was so mundane and forgettable. He had no one to hang out with besides Kota, his family didn’t even live in the city.

He grew his hair out as some sort of rebellion, some sort of stand to make his life the slightest bit more interesting. But he could already feel himself giving in to the pressure of cutting it. He needed to work to live. Without a job, he’d truly have nothing.

OR

Kirishima never applied to UA, therefore never became a hero.

let’s get down to business by kjelfalconer

Katsuki Bakugou, one of the brightest rising stars on wall street, is in need of a new personal assistant. Again. Could Eijirou Kirishima finally be the one to last more than two months?

Katsuki's long suffering HR department sure hope so.

something about us by bigstupidjellyfish

nothing like being in highschool and having no idea how to deal with emotions

fireproof by inkbender

Four years after a classmate nobody seems to remember is kidnapped by the League of Villains, Kirishima drags an amnesiac hobo he found washed up on the beach into his apartment, attempts to teach him how to adult (with varying degrees of success), and discovers along the way that the line between heroism and villainy is quite fine indeed. Plot-divergent after episode 45, the Forest Training Camp arc.

blood riot by magicallee (alternatively)

Kirishima from a universe with no quirks is mind-swapped with an alternate universe version of himself where there are superpowers.

And in that universe he’s a super villain.

And Bakugou is the superhero who caught Evil-Kirishima and put him in prison.

blindside by drowclericpelor

“You’re the first guy friend I’ve had that I can just like, be friends with. You’re either the most unthirstiest boy ever...” Camie shrugged and made another wobbly illusion appear between her hands. It looked like a sparkly rainbow with the word ‘friendship’ beneath it, accompanied by what Bakugou assumed was supposed to be a twinkling sound effect, but it had a tinny quality to it and sounded far away. “...or I just ain’t got the kinda straw you like to ssssip.”

Carefully, Bakugou considered the strange turn this conversation had taken.

He had never been asked, point blank, if he was gay before. And he honestly had never thought about how he would respond. Lying about himself didn’t sit right with him. But he’d always wanted to wait until he was the number one hero - when he stood above everyone else - before coming out. Though he’d had times when he’d thought about doing it before then and had almost gone through with it once. But being the number one hero came first. It wouldn’t matter what people would say about it then as long as he’d risen to the top.

Bakugou knew his lack of a response would give Camie all the answers she needed.

flour power by wingsonghalo

“I’m telling you now, Shitty Hair,” the blonde growled, “I am not gonna play house with you. We will cart this stupid flour around for a week like the assignment says. But some of our idiot classmates are naming the thing and setting up ‘playdates’ and dressing it and I am not doing anything that stupid. Got it?”

Kirishima and Bakugou are paired up to take care of a flour sack for a week. It would be so simple, except nothing with Bakugou is ever simple. Also Kirishima might be kinda sorta completely head over heels for him.

sunchaser by chonideno

that feeling when you suddenly want to jump off a cliff for no reason but instead of a cliff it’s your best friend and instead of jumping it’s growing feelings out of nowhere

or how Bakugou has to try really hard not to throw everything to the wind, and Kirishima doesn't help

i also have a tag specifically for fics that reach somewhere between 30k-70k words long if you wanted to check that out as well! i hope you enjoy the fics here and that i was able to help, ily enjoy your trip!!! :D 

[binniesthighs]

two tails | reader x minho |

Three 

Pairing: self insert, female reader x lee minho 

Genre: strangers to lovers, neighbors to lovers, fluff 

Tags: neighbors au, comfort fic, catowner!minho, catowner!reader, author!reader, bestfriend!seungmin, floristnpunk!jisung, gradstudent!jeongin, agedup!skz, slow burn, plot driven, gradual romance, lil bit of angst, strained parental relationship, explicit language, mentions of food and alcohol, mentions of previous kinda sad relationships 

Word count: 5.4k (y e e h a w) 

Tagging: @lauraneuuh​

Chapters 

P | ONE | TWO | THREE | ?

zeal noun 

: eagerness and ardent interest in the pursuit of something: fervor 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

Seungmin never liked your cooking, or at least, he’d often mumble this into his spoon while beginning his second serving. He was probably just being nice, or respectful. Your best friend of four years had never been less. 

Aside from the fact the he had a 70 pound golden retriever, never had you once seen a strand of that golden hair cling to the cloth of his winter coats. In the autumn, he would drive you in his hand-me-down ‘91 Mitsubishi to the city where you would tutor the English students just so you wouldn’t have to bear the cold of the subway. In the summers he would toss soju down his throat with you, sitting on the carpet of your living room and turning his head to the side with a hand raised to hide his glass. In the spring, he would remember your birthday--several months before his--and take you to coffee shops and bookstores, then the grocery store (which he knew you hated) and would buy for you the most expensive beef he could find. 

You would cook the meat for the two of you, and he would say that he liked it...even if you had charred it black on the edges. 

Seungmin flicked at the little aluminum tab on his beer can while he watched you murder yet another plate of perfectly fine vegetables on your stovetop. 

“At least it smells nice.” You flipped the circle of white onion. 

“It does.” He returned, nonchalant, flicking the beer tab a little poink. 

“You’re being uncharacteristically quiet. Too tired to complain about those dicks from the marketing team? They put you on a shitty pitch again didn’t they?” 

“Every pitch is a shitty pitch there. God, you wouldn’t believe the kinds of slogans that they make me say sometimes. It’s humiliating.” 

“Hey, you’re the one that took the pay raise over that job at that high school.” 

“Well, you didn’t have rent staring you dead in the face and a dog that’s practically active and sentient enough to be a real child.” He slugged down a sip of his drink. “I’m a single father you know.” 

“As if!” You choked out your laughter. “Since when did you turn into Hyunjin? You were never one for dramatics anyway.” 

“Go get your vegetables, they’ll burn.” He nodded his head to the stove. The thing was, they were already burnt. 

You salvaged what you could of the vegetables then placed them over your rice balls (not intended to be balls in the first place) and the chicken strips which had undoubtedly been seasoned just a little too much. You slid the ceramic bowl in front of him. At least it was steaming. That was a good sign. 

Seungmin nodded a little in thanks, then let out a less than obvious sigh before taking his first bite. 

“Spicy...but good.” 

The way that his breath sounded thin made it convincing enough to you that it wasn’t just “spicy.” 

He scrunched up his face in that adorably puppy-like way that you had long gotten used to. 

“Really. Tell me. It isn’t the pitches. Don’t pretend like I can’t read you.” 

Your best friend squeezed his eyes shut with a rather generous slug of his beer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Whaaaat?” You whined a little while opening up your own can. “Oh my god. It’s that girl from the art division. She has a boyfriend doesn’t she? Dammit.” 

“No.” Your friend drew the disdain in his eyes up to you from the chicken that had made his nose start to run. He wiped at it quickly. 

“I hope it’s not my mother that’s getting to you. She’s too damn nosy for her own good and twice as cocky as she should be. Don’t listen to her. What did she tell you anyway?” 

Seungmin poked at his food with his fork then twisted a crispy-tipped red pepper. “Have you talked to him again?”

“--Minho?”

You shied at the memory of meeting him on his morning run two days prior. He would go out at nearly 8:00 on the dot every morning, just when the sun started to peek into the dewy pink and blue mornings.

“You should put on a sweater if you’re going to get up this early for those plants of yours. Don’t want you catching a cold.”

“Yes.” You answered your friend. A tiny ache pinged at your chest--and it wasn’t the kind that felt all twisted. “He asked me to watch the meteor shower with him this weekend. I hope I can cook something edible for him.”

Seungmin’s knee bounced, “Aren’t you at least at little suspicious of him?”

“Suspicious? Why would I be?”

“You hardly even know anything about him, or where he came from, what he does for a living--”

“--Now you’re starting to sound like my mother Seung. Relax. Besides, sometimes it doesn’t take much to feel...comfortable around a person. I mean, look at us! Soju nights started like, three weeks after we met. And I do know where he works. He works for a company that makes windows; fancy ones.” 

“Windows?” He cocked a brow. 

“He did say that it was kind of boring...” 

“I just--” Your friend sighed out, resting anxious hands on his knees. Here he was again, being nice and respectful, like always. “--You could get hurt if you’re not careful.” 

“What?”

“I’m saying, don’t get your hopes up.” 

“Geez Seung...” Your voice trailed off with a different pain in your chest. This was the kind that twisted. 

His expression softened, and he lent a hand to your shoulder, lingering, squeezing lightly. “Your mom...she told me to look after you...not like I do that already with you falling all over yourself and burning things...I don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

“Hm. Thanks.” 

“You’re also miserable to deal with when you’re sad. You make me blow my grocery budget with how much frickin’ ice cream and freezer tater tots you force me to get.” 

“You like those tater tots too though.” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

Bomi purred in your lap swaddled into a little ball of white, orange, black and brown. She was napping, or rather, trying to nap with the way that her little cat-shaped eyes blinked slowly. You tried your best to soak every little moment of it up: you knew that with her, it would be fleeting. There was something supremely calming about being close to your little furball like this. After all the love that you poured over her in the form of useless cat toys and new cat food every week, this somehow made it all worth it. 

You tapped lightly at your keyboard, not too harshly, just lightly enough so that you wouldn’t startle your sleeping cat. The tips of your toes were cold, but you didn’t dare to move to grab a blanket to ruin the moment. Outside, a light spring rain befell on your small cement patio. Droplets of the warm showers patted at the roof of your home softly. 

Your eyes had grown tired and dry at this late hour, but the end of the chapter was near. One more time you hovered your mouse over the little notification bar, clicking at it for that one last push of motivation: 

~ 

Bomi needs to quit MESSING AROUND. Blaze is right in front of her!!! Ahhhh I want them to get together soooo bad 

Is Herbie okay?? Poor bb, its so cute how we would do anything for Bomi. 

Bomi: 

Blaze: 

*now kiss* 

Are we really getting to the end of Book 1??? This has been such an amazing story N/n, I always look forward to your updates <3 they make my Thursdays hehe 

I can feel like something big and bad is coming...oh no...I hope that Blaze and Bomi make it through  

~ 

A thankful little chuckle hummed on your lips, then you pressed enter to start a new paragraph. 

“Oh Bomi,” You exhaled, “If only Blaze knew how you felt too.” 

Chapter 27 

...The group journeyed through the cavern with flickering white flames dancing and casting shadows on the stone walls dripping in stalactites. Bomi held on to the hilt of her sword tighter with a sense of dread creeping up her throat. Blaze looked onward, much as he had been doing these days. 

His leg was wrapped in a bloodied bandage: a reminder of the battle won against the Boar in Hilgram. He had jumped in front of her as he had countless times before. 

“Hello??” Blaze’s voice echoed against the long and winding chambers of the cave. In his tone he was confident, but his shoulders still shook with an uncertainty. 

Herbie’s little hedgehog feet patted the damp floor, and he looked up at his Princess with fear in his soft black eyes. The little velvet banner wrapped around his body had been torn and tattered from one too many battles. 

Had it been darker, Bomi wondered if she had reached out for Blaze’s hand to find in him. She shook her head with her resolve, eyes painfully shut. It was only in the darkness that she allowed herself to want for him. 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

Today must be one of those spring-summer days.

Your warbled reflection chased after you in the blue glass of the university’s library windows. You had hoped that no one was on the other side watching you as you wrinkled up your nose to look like one of those devilish gargoyles that you had been writing of the night before. From the inside, rows and rows of books were lined up perfectly, however there were almost no students inside. It always did make you a little sad how few students would be there when you clocked in for your mandatory office hours.

Spring-summer days meant that the businesswomen on the sidewalks had exchanged with trousers with flowing skirts and little clicky ballet flats and each businessman had his tie and collar tugged down. There was a comforting warmth to the spring air that reminded you of your own college days when you and your friends--long gone now--had stayed up late to study, then would scour the buzzing streets for snacks. Things were much simplier then.

At the library’s entrance, budding tulips and geraniums of light purple hues were greeted by round bumblebees. Had the city not been as loud as it was, you could nearly hear the cicadas in the park on the east edge of the shining silver building.

You bowed slightly to the attendant at the desk who always would smile at you with adorable smiling eyes to match. She would often wear earrings of strange shapes that you had never seen before. She wore a lanyard too that had little cat paw prints decorating it; it was because of this you knew she was someone you could trust.

“Are you having a nice week?” You said to her customarily.

“Oh, I am. It’s always the same around here. My daughter will be having her baby soon! Sometimes I think that I’m more excited than she is.”

“You’ll have to tell me when that happens so I can bring her a gift, okay?”

The attendant smiled warmly, and nodded you off with a little oh, you don’t have to.

“Remember your key card this time?” She watched as you jingled around your own keys with the obsessive amount of plastic and silicon keychains.

You tsked. It seemed like nearly everyone in your life had now known how forgetful you tended to be sometimes.

“Yes. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be over there.”

Once more the two of you exchanged little bows and you made your way over to the back of the four storied library with the atrium of trees in between. There was a marble fountain encircled by the trees that had little oval shaped leaves. Two tiny birds, all black, bounced from branch to branch. It was your secret, but you had written about that fountain many times in your writing, but you were the only one who knew that it was real.

You tapped the reader to hear that familiar do-do doot along with the flash of the green lock. As always, the study room was a bit messy with eraser shavings sprinkled about and the odd dry marker laying next to the trashcan where someone had tried to toss it in, but had missed. The minute hand on the wall clock scooted right on to the 12.

“Are you busy?” That fluff on white hair peeked into your study room just like clockwork.

“For my favorite student? Do you even have to ask?”

Jeongin, the oldest and most attentive student in your class hopped in with his adorably boy-ish charm. Regardless of the fact that he was in the last year of his grad degree, it was impossible for him to look that old. You didn’t have the heart to tell him, but he technically shouldn’t have been in your class for undergrads, but you weren’t going to stop him.

“Why’d you decide to take this class anyway?” You would ask him.

He’d answer, “For fun.” with that cute little smile of his.

“I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“I just got here.” You pulled out a seat for him.

“Oh. Good. I was wondering if you could proof read my short story again. I’m having trouble with the ending. I just don’t think I understand all the way how to make it full circle like you said in lecture.”

He unzipped his leather backpack: obviously a gift from someone in his family that must have thought it would make him look his age. It didn’t. What didn’t help further was how he had adorned it with all kinds of keychains; much like your own keys. It was because of this that you knew he was someone you could trust.

His manuscript already had dozens of scribbles in his own handwriting with tons of question marks riddling the margins. 

“Let me take a look.”

You skimmed the pages of the short story--one which you had already read the week prior--for all of his new edits. The notes made it a bit hard to read, but you were used to how he would make a mess of his papers now. He leaned in close to you with glossy eyes that might have even twinkled a little like a cartoon. Both of his knees bounced furiously while he watched you read, and would look from the paper, to your face, then back to the paper, then back to your face...

“Is-is it good? Better?”

Jeongin had written a love story. His first one that you had known of. It was about a boy and a girl who had met on an airplane, and had been seated together. The two of them found out that they had shared so much about their two lives without ever meeting until this very moment. They had realized they went to the same high school, worked in the same building, and were travelling for the same reason: to meet up with someone that they had once loved. It was beautiful, tragic, and in some ways, familiar.

“I think that it’s wonderful Jeongin. The edits that you made to it from last week really help with the narrative flow as well as the vertical plot. You’re really good at asking the deeper questions behind the piece like “why are they really there,” and “why is it important that they are there.” All you need to do is tie it up.” 

“But howwww?” Jeongin slumped in his wheely chair. “What should I say?” 

“Well...” You tapped your pen to your lip. “The ending scene is when they land at the airport right? Why don’t you have your main character say something that calls back to all of their similarities and makes it seem like they’ve known eachother all along?” 

“But I don’t want it to seem like they’re going to forget eachother.” 

“They won’t. You established that they’ve both found something different than what they were looking for in the first place.” 

Your student’s face tangled up into concentrated knots and he puffed those thin strands of bleached white hair away from his eyes. 

“I could say...‘see you at home’? Or...maybe that’s too cheesy--” 

“--No it’s not! If you like it, I think that it also fits the story well. Its like, now they understand, and they’ve got something in eachother now that they hadn’t had before; also juxtaposing with your themes of travelling to make a reference to home.” 

“Damn, you’re much better at this kind of stuff than I am...” Jeongin wrote down the new ending on his print out. 

“Its just...what I like to do.” 

“I’m glad I came.” He grinned out with his mischievous and trademark smile. “How’s your story going by the way? Almost finished?” 

“Oh...” 

A heat rose in your cheeks. You had decided to tell Jeongin about Princess Bomi a few weeks back, but you had neglected to tell him exactly what the story was about. That was a secret better kept to yourself. 

“Its...good. I think. My readers seem to really like it.” 

“Maybe you’ll let me read it someday. I bet there would be tons of other people who would like to read it too, you know, outside of the internet.” 

“That’s what I’ve been told...” Hyunjin’s urgings echoed in your head. “Maybe...” Your eyes wandered to those scribblings of his. “How about we make a deal?” 

“What kind of deal?” 

“Once we get both of our stories sorted, lets submit them together. I’m sure people would like to read yours too.” 

“Mine?!” Your adorable student’s face flushed as deeply pink as the sweater he wore. “Oh no, no no no no no.” 

“I’m telling you it’s good! Its relatable, raw, well written. It never hurts to try. How about submitting it for the literary journal they do at the end of the semester?” 

“You mean the one that all the arts majors read and fuckin’ eviscerate?? Hell no.” 

“Hey, I could get eviscerated too by my chief editor.” 

Jeongin gulped with his terrified, brown, cartoon-character glistening eyes boring holes into his manuscript. 

You sang, “~Wanna go down together~?” 

“A-as long as we’re going down together...I guess it’s worth a shot.” 

“Alright then!!” 

He made a little sound of disgust, then shoved his papers back into his much-too-old-for-him bag. “That was all I needed to ask you for. Thank you.” He bowed with respect. “I won’t be bothering you for too long today.” 

“You wrote a good story Jeongin.” 

“Mm. Thank you.” His smile turned into a tiny flustered line. 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

STUPID NEW CAT FOOD. AGAIN. 

In one hand, you held the crinkled up grocery list with angry doodles of your cat folded into the corners of the page. You didn’t quite know if cats had eyebrows like the ones you had drawn onto your cat’s smug face, but you were for certain that this cat must’ve had them...and they were angry. 

Bomi had selfishly decided at the end of your week that she no longer liked the last brand of cat food that you had found on the shelves of the grocery store. It was the brand stored next to the one that you had nearly concussed Minho with. 

You were at your wits end. There must have been something wrong with your cat--to hell with her being a picky eater. Maybe she really was just a little alien inside there. A little alien that hated cat food. The image of you sitting at your dining table across from Bomi eating two plates of people food crossed your mind. She picked up the fork with her white paw and dabbed at her mouth with a cloth napkin. The idea didn’t seem the most out of reach. 

In your other hand was your phone opened to the maps app with the small blue dot leading you to the specialty pet store. 

“Damn spoiled, stuck up, good for nothing, pain in my as--” 

“Hey! Blossom??” 

Your head whipped around so fast you cracked the bones of your neck with a startling pop. You rubbed at your neck to ease the pain. 

“You okay?” 

At first you figured you must have dreamt him up in your neck-induced-pain. You cursed at your overactive imagination, still just as strong as it was when you had been small. 

Blaze in the flesh he was alllll the way from his battered Converse to his stupidly handsome curly hair. 

You laughed out incredulously with a hand still glued to the back of your neck. 

“Didn’t think that I would be seeing you around here again. Or at least, I was kind of hoping that I would.” 

He marched right up to you with that same smile you had pictured on Princess Bomi’s companion countless times before. Today he wore a leather jacket over the arms that you knew were covered in all kinds of flowers and vines. It hadn’t quite hit you yet that he had said he was hoping to see you. 

“Sorry if I startled you. I was just...really surprised.” 

“You’re fine, it’s fine.” 

You neck didn’t tell you it was fine. 

“What are you doing around here?” 

“Pet store.” Was all you could get out. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you, but for someone who worked at a flower shop, he did end up smelling an awful lot like flowers. It was a sweet aroma, much like your garden. 

“Ahh, I just got off.” 

You walked on, also not noticing that he had started to follow you a couple steps behind. 

“I realized I didn’t get your name last time.” 

“Oh. It’s Y/n.” 

He hummed with a smirk. “I do kinda like Blossom more.” He crammed his hands into his pants pockets with a wistful little sigh. “Pretty nickname for someone as pretty as yourself.” 

“Psh. Stop.” You had said it sarcastically, but you didn’t intend for your heart to skip as harshly as it did when he had said so. 

“You’ve got a pet then? Dog? Cat?” 

“Cat. Just one.” 

“I wish I could take care of a pet like that. Don’t think I would be too good at it though. I see myself as more of a plant person. They’re quiet, don’t do too much, and they sort of love you back in their own way.” 

“How's that?” 

“By growing. And flowering. Changing colors and looking good in your windowsill. Nothing too crazy.” 

“I...guess I can see what you mean.” 

He flicked at the black hoop pierced into his lip in the way that you certainly hadn’t forgotten; and you were one for forgetting much. 

“Mind if I go in with you? I don’t have a whole lot going on.” 

Jisung. You had also remembered his name. He carried Blaze with him in the way that he had that fiery glint in his eye like he knew he was getting away with something. He was brash and forward, and charming as all hell. The sunset of blood orange and cotton candy pink seemed to melt into his shoulders where he stood before you in the golden hour of the evening. A yellow carnation was tucked into the pocket of his jacket. 

“You don’t have to...” 

He had already made up his mind, and swung open the door to the pet shop neighboring the floral shop. You didn’t know how you had missed it. 

The squawking of birds chimed with the bells hung over the shop door. 

“You coming?” He held it open for you. 

You sheepishly entered before him, nearly tripping on the little incline to the entrance and catching yourself three seconds before disaster. 

Jisung prompted, “Lead the way.” 

Normally you would have been concerned over the cleanliness of the store, but that seemed insignificant compared to the way that he looked around all in his Blaze-like wonder. He widened his eyes at the rows of fish tanks and twiddled with the little feather cat toys at the ends of the isles. 

Granted, he seemed much more immersed in the kinds of aquatic plants and moss balls that they had rather than the cute bunnies and mice, but still, you couldn’t help but shy away when he caught your glances. 

“Glad that I joined ya Blossom.” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

There was something about Minho that felt like a lullaby. He wore a lavender colored sweater when he arrived at your doorstep: of course it was pooling into paws at his hands as always. The collar dipped deep enough for you to see the tops of his collarbones, and they were gorgeous and curved. His eyes wrinkled a little under his wire framed glasses when he would smile: that of which would also look like the little grin of a bunny. Effortlessly his brown hair kissed his forehead. 

He would speak softly and carefully, and listen to everything that you had said to him as if it was the most important thing in the world. His feet were too big for your spare pair of house slippers and he had a tiny hole in his khaki pants right by the waistline. Minho greeted Bomi with a tiny “aigoo” and she let him sweep her up into his arms where he bounced her lightly. She would never let you do that. Traitor. 

“Your home is very...you.” He had complimented. You had no idea what that meant. 

His lips were pink and glossy with drips of that peach soju that you had bought in the hopes that he would like it. It turned out that it was his favorite flavor. 

You wanted so badly to kiss the peachy flavor off of those lips. 

He had laughed a little at your array of cat-related home decor, laughing the most at your dish towels that had two fat cats on them that looked like chefs. He said that he had seen a movie once and the characters reminded him of that. 

The two of you sat outside on your patio on the wire chairs that would imprint designs into the back of your legs. The air mixed with the smell of your citronella candle and the scent of the roasted duck that you had attempted to make for him. You really shouldn’t have tried to make something for the first time when it was also his first time coming over. 

Maybe he was just being nice, but he had said it tasted good. 

It did not taste good, but rather harshly of salt and too much rosemary. 

Bomi rubbed at his legs under the table and even hiked herself up on two feet to peek into his lap. As much as it hurt to see your traitorous cat act this way, it was because of this that you knew he was someone that you could trust. Minho gave her head scratches and insisted to help you with the dishes--a mistake on his part. It took all of two minutes before you had a mishap with the detachable sink head, and soaked through his sweater. 

“Maybe I just shouldn’t trust you with water then?” He chuckled while dabbing away at the fabric. 

“That probably would be best.” 

Minho was a lullaby in the way that he laid down next to you on that quilt you had made in a crafting class some years ago. All of the patches were disjointed the the color scheme made very little sense, but it was stull functional. He kept his hands folded to his chest with reverence. His chest rose and fell calmly, and his body heat floated over to you. His presence was something familiar and still something that you couldn’t place. 

“Are you getting tired?” He asked you gently. 

You lied, “No, just resting my eyes.” 

“Maybe we shouldn’t have had that much soju then.” He joked into the open air.  

“How much longer?” 

“At least thirty more minutes.” 

He was so warm. Warmer than any chill of the spring night. 

First you would have kissed the peachy flavor on his lips. Then you would have cuddled all up into that lavender sweater which you imagined to be even softer than cat’s fur--or rather--it looked like it could have been. 

“Do you know any constellations?” Minho pointed up to the sky. 

“Not really.” 

“Well, that one is Ursa Major...and over there...that’s Leo. Can you see that it sort of looks like a triangle?” 

“Yes.” You had said, but really you didn’t have a clue, you liked it more hearing him talk about them. “Where did you learn about constellations?” 

“Long time ago. I think it was in school, but, that was so, so long ago.” 

The cool grass under the quilt rustled when he had leaned back up to sit, then dragged quilt attempt #2 over your body and his. 

“It was getting a little cold.” He quietly announced. 

His simple action of doing just that heated up your whole body now knowing that the two of you were trapped together, inches apart. 

Minho tucked his arms to prop up his head. “Thank you for cooking for me. I haven’t had someone other than my mother cook like that for me in a long while.” 

“I’m sorry...I know that it was pretty inedible--” 

“--And thank you for allowing me to come over too. I...realize...I don’t really know what I’m doing that well. I kind of invited myself...I hope that I’m not putting pressure on you or anything...” 

“--Doing what well?” Your heart leapt into your throat. 

“I just haven’t done this in a really long time.” 

This. 

What the hell was “this?” 

“I’m not following...” 

“Letting myself do something fun. Something nice and relaxing.” 

 You had formed a painful little “Oh.” on your lips. Your idea of this was different from his after all. 

“--Something nice and relaxing with you.” 

Another “Oh.” formed, but this one was a thankful one. 

“Can I tell you something?” Minho’s voice was barely in a whisper. 

“What is it?” You looked over at him and he was wrapped in the navy blue light of the night. You could have sworn that you could see the faintest inkling of stars in his eyes. 

He looked back at you in earnest. “I’ve been...scared, too, since moving back out here.” 

“W-why?” 

“There was something in me that was telling me that moving out here wouldn’t fix everything, and that I would be stuck forever on those things that happened, and the things that made me unhappy.” 

“Minho...what are you saying?” 

“-Got my heart broken. Back then. As cliché as the sounds.” He laughed, and it even sounded a twinge embarrassed. “I ran away from it to here. I had figured that it would give me time to get it all back together again.”  

“I-I’m so sorry.” 

“Running is good and all when you can physically remove yourself from what’s chasing you, but some things...” 

Your chest felt heavy. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.” 

“You do?” 

The first summer cicadas had started their nighttime chant, and their hisses ebbed and flowed like sea waves. 

“I feel like...these expectations that my family has of me, my mother...I can’t ever escape them. They’re always there and burned into my head. I think of them even when I don’t want to: get a better job that “contributes”, get married, have grandkids...” 

You paused with your own eyes cast up to the sky. The massive expanse seemed unfathomable. 

“Why is it that we can’t ever be happy doing the things that are supposed to make us happy?” 

The first meteor flew past your eyes with the speed of light, barely slow enough for you to catch it. 

The second was a bit slower, and traced after it a millisecond of white spectral dust. 

“Did you see that??” Without thinking, you poked once at Minho’s arm. 

You couldn’t see, but he had grinned with a weak smile. “I did.” 

All at once, the sky was illuminated with brilliant streaks of light and their white hot heads that would fade and dissapear just as quickly as they arrived. They tore through the sky with astonishing speed and you traced the outline of each line as fast as you could. 

“There’s so many.” You wondered aloud. 

Under the warmth of the haphazard blanket, fingers twisted into yours: careful and tentative, soft and curious.   

Minho breathed out, “I feel pretty happy right now.” 

[cant-think-of-anything]

Pirate AU (Part Three)

Cordelia and Alastair stood outside a small café, her hat dipped low to hide her face. Lucie had told her that she was bringing her cousin, so she thought it only fair to drag her brother along as well. Alastair seemed apprehensive, claiming Eugenia was already watchful of them but Cordelia countered by saying this could be a way to prove their innocence. 

The problem with waiting outside in London though was that it was pouring. Constantly. 

“I can’t believe you convinced me to do this,” Alastair said, scowling as he shook rain soaked dark hair from his eyes. 

“A few hours of being social will not kill you dadash.”

His eyebrows raised at the use of their native language. They spoke a mixture of English and Persian when they were at home, but using it anywhere else elicited dirty stares that made Cordelia want to stab something with Cortana. Alastair looked as if he was going to say something but a strong blow of icy water into their faces before he had the chance. 

Before Cordelia could contemplate unanchoring their ship and sailing somewhere warmer, she heard her name being called. Lucie and the presumed Eugenia Lightwood were hurrying towards them, umbrellas nearly being blown out of their hands. Cordelia propped the door open for them, offering a smile to Lucie who’s eyes were bright from the wind instead of tears. 

“I’m so happy you’re here,” Lucie said in an overjoyed whisper, a complete contrast to the last time they had spoken, though Cordelia suspected it was a front. Lucie’s cheerfulness was most definitely a pretense but Cordelia understood why she had it in place. “ Eugenia desperately needs a distraction and as do I.” 

Cordelia smiled, enjoying Lucie’s happiness as she watched Alastair and Eugenia have a sort of staring competition. “I had to drag Alas- my brother here. He isn’t fond of social outings.”

“So,” Eugenia said smoothly when they were seated, “Your brother here is rather good at slipping out of conversations isn’t he?” 

Alastair scowled as he usually did, as if he was trying to kill someone by looking at them. “Cornering new arrivals is something you do often then?”  

“What tea do you want!” Cordelia cut in brightly, waving the menu in their face. 

“Black.” They responded in unison, their glares intensifying. 

“Will Thomas be joining us?” Lucie asked her eyes darting between the two as if she either wanted to laugh or flee. 

At that Eugenia’s eyes went soft and worried. “He hasn’t returned home yet. He isn’t usually the reckless type but-” She cut herself off. 

“Who’s Thomas?” Cordelia asked gently, trying not to overstep. She felt Alastair lean forward as if he was interested in the answer as well. 

“My brother. He saw the note and took off.” 

“Note?”

Eugenia looked between Cordelia and Lucie, confusion clouding her face. “Lucie didn’t tell you? I thought the two of you were- oh. Well there was a note left in the Institute, by the killer,” Her voice hitched on that word, “or some cruel person who wants to make our lives more hellish.” 

“What did the note say?” Alastair asked, his voice low. 

Eugenia shrugged and pulled a paper from her pocket, sliding it across the table. Cordelia inhaled sharply and felt Alastair’s arm tense before she had the chance to read what the note said. The symbol at the bottom. She had seen it before. A crude jagged line that had been carved into numerous wrecked ships around the ocean. She’d watched those ships fall. 

As for who it belonged to, that was a mystery. 

Cordelia was getting tired of mysteries. 

Lucie, who had been watching Cordelia with a confused expression, stood up suddenly and grabbed her hand. 

“I- what?” Cordelia stammered, horror and confusion hazing her mind. 

“I think we have matters to discuss. 

Pulling Cordelia away from the table, she led the two of them into a dim hallway before whirling around, her cheeks faintly pink. 

“You’re lying to us aren’t you?” 

Cordelia drew back sharply, which seemed to give Lucie all the confirmation she needed. 

“You are,” She murmured. “Tell me it wasn’t you? You didn’t do this to my cousin?” 

“No-Goodness, Lucie no.” 

“You’re lying about something. How did you get on the guest list? Who are you? Did you have something to do with Barbra?” 

“I didn’t have anything to do with her, I swear it.” At Lucie’s intense stare she felt her resolve crumble a bit. 

“You need to prove it. Please.” 

Cordelia looked at Lucie again, her blue eyes were blazing. She told herself that this was an awful idea, that she had only known Lucie for one afternoon. She felt an odd sort of connection to her, that much was true, but was that really enough? Perhaps if she denied Lucie the truth then she would go to her parents, incriminating them even more. Cordelia knew all it took to get her imprisoned was a word claiming her guilt. 

Cordelia let out a soft sigh of defeat and lowered her voice. “I might have to show you. You wouldn’t believe it otherwise.” 

~~~

Alastair wondered what demon had possessed his sister to have made her sit alone at a table with Eugenia. He determinedly stared at the wall, praying she wouldn’t attempt at small talk. Not that she seemed like the type. 

“Why did you react that way?”

Alastair startled. “What?” 

“When I gave you the note you and your sister looked as if someone slapped you.” 

He internally cursed himself for allowing such a see-through expression, but he truly hadn’t been expecting it. It meant that the killer they were dealing with was a pirate, more than that, a pirate that belonged to one of the most dangerous crews known. 

“It was a startling note then,” He grumbled, casting a backwards glance at Cordelia who didn’t look anywhere near done talking. 

“The writing was too small for you to have read it that quickly.”

Privately, he was surprised that she noticed so much. It would be admirable if it wasn’t so aggravating.

“We aren’t responsible for what happened at the party,” he snapped instead. 

“I’m aware. I don’t believe you’re guilty, but I do believe that there’s something important you’re keeping from us.” 

“Of course. We’re strangers.” 

Eugenia rolled her eyes and leaned forward. “I don’t want your snark. I want your help.” 

Before Alastair could respond or even process what she said, Cordelia and Lucie arrived back at the table. 

“Am I to tell Eugenia?” Lucie asked. 

“Tell her what exactly?” Alastair muttered to Cordelia, who had a somewhat sheepish look on her face. 

“So Alastair do you have skulls on your masts?” Lucie chirped happily, taking a sip of her tea. “Eye patches? Maybe a peg leg?”

“Cordelia!”

The note lay forgotten between them as the siblings bickering took the attention. It’s words were scribbled in a suspicious red that grew darker the longer you looked. 

Your families have wronged mine in ways you couldn’t imagine. Vengeance must be taken and vengeance is often taken out on innocent people isn't it? Don’t assume that this is over. 

~~~

Kamala knelt in front of the telescope, her dark hair fluttering uncomfortably in the soft sea winds. The barely discernible block of land known as London lay little ways away. She plucked a quill from where it rested in it’s inkwell charting the estimated distance of her journey. She was something of a self proclaimed sailing master, charged by Tatiana to travel the seas in her name. It wasn’t a pleasant job exactly, but the pay was good. 

She absentmindedly rubbed the needle in her hand against the lodestone resting on the table, watching as it grew magnetized and swung to true north. A soft thud sounded behind her, but Kamala didn’t have to turn to know who it was. 

“London?” The girl’s voice was icy as always, nearly as sharp as the wind tearing through her thin blouse. 

“London. We have a job.” 

Grace scoffed and came up next to her to lean against her table, cluttered with maps and compasses. Tatiana had taken Grace when she had been very young, twisting and molding her into the girl she was now. Kamala had come soon after, hired from a village where she had been running out of money. Everyone came for selfish reasons she supposed, but she never understood Grace’s motives to stay. 

“What’s in London?” Grace asked, “Besides Tatiana.” 

Kamala winced. “The Herondales.” 

Grace’s face twisted into an unpleasant scowl, she turned on her heel and disappeared to enter the hold where their beds were kept. The Herondales were a touchy subject. She didn’t understand the full story, just knew that Tatiana made a public offer to marry off Grace and the Herondales declined; just as publicly. Then again Tatiana had a way of twisting the truth and Grace a way of believing it. 

Kamala steeled herself before rapping her knuckles on the door leading to the captain’s cabin. The door swung open rather quickly revealing the captain of their ship. A man named Belial. He had been aboard longer than even Grace, terrorizing the seas alongside Tatiana and the rest of their crew, but as far as Kamala knew there were no romantic ties. 

Belial, though she would never admit such a thing, frightened her. She relayed the direction they were meant to be headed and tried not to appear as if she was fleeing when she retreated into the hold. 

“Ms. Joshi.” Belial said, stopping her in her tracks. 

“Yes?” She asked, wondering what would happen if she pushed him overboard. 

“When we arrive in London there’s something I need you to do, since Tatiana will have her hands full with her vendetta against the Herondales” When she didn’t respond he continued. “ Our other ships have reported sightings of the Carstairs. In London.” 

Kamala stiffened. She’d only seen the Carstairs ship once, hadn’t seen their small crew at all but she’d heard enough about them. The boy with cold eyes and sharp daggers, the girl with red hair and a golden sword that marked their family. 

“What exactly is it that I’m meant to do?” She asked, clearing the roughness from her voice.  

“Lure them here. Locate them and bring them to this ship.” 

“You want me to capture them?” 

A cruel smile twisted his face. “No. I want you to kill them.”

Tagging: @adoravel-fenomeno and @barbra-lightwood

Props to Alastair for being able to canonically pick up a language he’d stopped speaking for several years, I still feel so awkward about talking in my native language.  

[writingletterstothefire]

She Loves Me

Chapter 1

A/N: Hi guys. It’s been a minute. Here is the long awaited (by no one) She Loves Me AU. I’m putting chapter 1 out here in the hopes that people waiting for updates will spark some creativity in me again. I’m sorry it’s short. If you enjoy, let me know

Word Count: 1703

Warnings: not proof read.

The sun was blazing down on you as you scurried down the busy New York sidewalk. The summer had decided to be blazing hot this wonderful morning, and you had decided to be extraordinarily late for work. Well, perhaps ‘decided’ isn’t the right word— you’d overslept on account of staying up extra late to finish a letter to your Special Friend.

There was no shame in using a dating service, you knew that, yet for some reason the very thought of joining one was something that you had scoffed at for so many years. “I want to meet someone organically,” you’d complain to your friends, “those services are full of strangers who have the weirdest quirks.” To be fair, that had been true in your brief experience using a dating service in college. It was definitely an odd time, figuring out exactly what ‘watersports’ meant. Needless to say, it had taken one single date for you to decide to withdraw your application and swear off dating services.

But you were getting older. And men seemed to just get more and more picky, the older they got. So, when you stumbled across an advertisement in your Sunday newspaper for a matchmaking service called ‘Special Friends’, you jumped at the opportunity. The directions were simple; you filled out the survey in the paper, mailed it to the listed address, and then your answers were compared with other submissions to find the best match for you. Once you received your match, you were to write a letter to them introducing yourself and signing off under the title of ‘Special Friend’. The two of you were given a specific P.O. box to drop your letters off to, provided by the matchmaking service. The only real rules were that the letter had to be handwritten, and you were only allowed to give real names if both parties agreed on it.

Your Special Friend was a true kindred spirit. It had been six months of trading letters back and forth, and the two of you spoke about everything, from your childhoods to your favorite books, from dream destinations to worst fears. About three months into this correspondence, you knew that, whoever this Special Friend was, you loved them. You stayed up until all hours of the night writing draft after draft until you formed the perfect letter. Because of this, you were often late for work in the morning.

Late. That’s right. You were very late. You willed your feet to move you as fast as they possibly could, cursing yourself for choosing this morning to wear heels. Finally, you managed to burst through the door just minutes before opening, scurrying to the back to drop off your bag. You made a mental note to yourself to start carrying flats in your purse, in case of emergency.

You’d just finished touching up your makeup in the small staff room mirror, when you felt someone sidle up beside you. You didn’t have to turn your head to know who it was. The smug energy emanating from his every pore was enough to confirm your suspicions of who was next to you. Santiago Garcia. Your worst nightmare in human form.

“Can I help you with something, Mr. Garcia?” You didn’t even spare him a glance as you finger-combed your hair, which was now windswept from your impromptu jog.

“Not at all, Miss Y/L/N,” Santiago flashed you a smile that, in any other circumstance, would have been charming. You, however, knew that pure contempt lurked behind those pearly white teeth. “I was just marveling at the rare sight of you, here, on time!”

“And why would that be something to marvel at, Mr. Garcia?” you scowled.

“Well, simply because it’s never happened before!” Santiago leaned against the wall, charming smile morphing into the smirk that often adorned his chiseled face. “You know, Miss Y/L/N, you may want to stop frowning so adamantly. At your age, those frown lines tend to stick around.”

“At my age?!” you nearly shrieked at him. “Mr. Garcia, need I remind you that you are older than I am!”

His smirk only widened. “Yes, but you seem to forget that one of us is ageing with grace, Miss Y/L/N.”

Your scowl deepened, and you shoved past him, making your way to the front of the store. You never did understand why Santiago didn’t like you. From the first moment you stepped into the department store, it seemed like he was trying to usher you out. Sure, when he thought you were a customer, he was the most charming man you’d ever spoken to. But once he had realized that you were trying to apply for the new salesperson position, he wanted nothing to do with you. He had insisted that there were no positions available, but Frankie Morales, his friend and co-worker, was quick to usher you to the owner’s office. Mr. Bailey had been a hard man to charm, but when you made your first sale to a woman who was insistent that she was just browsing, he hired you on the spot. After all, you’d gotten her to buy not one, not two, but five jars of various creams and lotions. None of Mr. Bailey’s workers had ever managed to sell that much in one go, not even his prized Mr. Garcia.

Making your way to the front of the store, you said hello and gave a kiss on the cheek to Frankie and each of the Miller brothers, Will and Benny. All three of the boys were quick to welcome you, despite Santi being the unspoken leader of the pack. They quickly became your protective band of brothers, something you’d long wished for as a young child.

“Good morning Frankie! How’s Elisa doing this morning?” You asked Frankie, your tone surprisingly chipper after dealing with Santi in the staff room.

“Round as ever!” Frankie exclaimed, a wide grin on his face. “The doctors estimate that the baby will be here in about a month, and Mr. Bailey’s been so kind as to let me have a month off after the baby arrives. I know it’s going to take a toll on Elisa, and I want to be there for her as much as I can.”

Sometimes, Frankie just melted your heart. It was so plain to see how much he loved his wife and their incoming baby. Their little family was everything you wanted. You only hoped that one day someone would love you just as much as Frankie and Elisa loved each other.

It was beginning to seem as though your Special Friend was never going to reveal himself to you. You had offered to meet for dinner on a few occasions, and each time he insisted that he had prior appointments. You didn’t want to assume anything, of course, but you were getting worried. Surely he wouldn’t lie to you about having a prior engagement, would he? But then, if he was so eager to meet you, as he claimed to be, then why did he never offer an alternative date?

On your way home from work, you stopped at the P.O. box. Your Special Friend had forgotten— or, well, neglected, you supposed— to write you the past two days, but you were adamant about writing at least every other day. You knew how much the letters meant to you, and if they brought him even half as much joy, you wanted to be sure he got it. Perhaps, if you hadn’t been so caught up in your own head, you would have looked up and seen the figure walking away from the wall of P.O. boxes.

To your surprise and delight, there was a letter waiting for you in the box when you finally opened it. If you hadn’t been so excited to read it, perhaps you’d have noticed the flash of a coat turning the corner as they walked away from the wall of boxes.

You hurried to open the letter.

Dear Friend,

I am so sorry to have not been able to write these past few days. Work has been an absolute train wreck, what with the most irritating co-worker constantly fumbling about. Somehow, the boss claims it’s my fault. Could you believe it? My fault that my imbecile of a co-worker is incapable of doing the simplest task that doesn’t involve talking a mile per minute?

But enough about that mess. I am supposed to be apologizing to you, my dear, sweet friend.

I know that you have been wanting to meet me. I am so sorry that I haven’t been able to make any of our appointments. As I’ve told you before, I was once in the army. An experience in war is one that I don’t wish on anyone. It takes a toll on you, emotionally, mentally, and physically. Because of my experience, I’ve decided to counsel other veterans and help them through their traumatic memories. On the nights you had wished to meet me, I’d had previously arranged counseling sessions, as well as one doctors appointment, a check up to see how I am recovering after all of my surgeries that I’ve told you about.

All of this to say, dear friend, that I’ve cleared my schedule for the night of the 27th. If you are available, I would love to meet you at the Ambrosia Garden down on the corner of 12th Avenue. I’ve made a reservation for two under the name Elizabeth Bennett, after you expressed how much you loved Jane Austen’s ‘Pride & Prejudice’. If you show, I will be wearing a purple rose on my lapel. I will look for you, where you will be holding a copy of ‘Pride & Prejudice’, with a purple rose tucked between the pages.

I sincerely hope to see you on the 27the, dear friend. I’ve been longing to meet you since we first exchanged letters, so many months ago.

Sincerely,

Your Special Friend

You had to meet him. You would get to the Ambrosia Garden on the 27th, no matter the cost. You’d find out who your Special Friend was if it was the last thing you did.

[orionwhispers]

Feels Like Home // Bucky Barnes 🍂

(a/n- ok holy shit ive finally finished my first bucky oneshot. its long as fuck but im so so happy with it. pls let me know what you think. i have lots of requests and peaky stuff coming up as well. love you guys SO much) probs loads of mistakes but its 12k words and im exhausted lol. (also this is inspired by the song feels like home by bea miller and jessie reyez. highly recommend)

warnings: slow burn, friends to lovers, HEAVILY implied smut, so much fluff your dentist will kill me, angst and canon level violence. 

Bucky Barnes had thought a lot about death.

He thought about it often during the war. Wondering if perhaps a bullet would pass through his gut as he ran through the trenches, or a bomb would explode under his feet as he walked across the battlefield. It was everywhere he looked, his fellow comrades bandaged and bloody, the nurses in the infirmary tent smelling of saline and strong, sweet, copper.

He thought about it more than anything with Hydra. Wishing that the torture would send him over the edge, pleading for the sweet release that death would give him. Thinking that what was waiting for him on the other side surely couldn’t be worse than what he was already dealing with.

Even when he moved into the tower, and into a routine with people who understood and trusted him, death had followed him for so long that it was like a friend.

He always thought his death would be something violent; something carnal and savage, almost poetic for him to die the same way that he had lived.

But who would have thought his demise would have been at the hands of the sleepy eyed, honey lipped, gentle girl that made him coffee and brought him raspberry donuts?

You turned his world upside down on a Thursday. He remembers it well, and thinks back to that autumn morning like it’s a picture he keeps in his wallet or a well thumbed book next to his bed. It doesn’t matter what the circumstances are - he could be in battle, bloody and bruised, or five thousand miles away from you on a mission in the depths of some town he doesn’t know the name of, feeling himself start to crumble - and the thought of you is enough to steady him, your light luring him back to rationality, his girl.

His sweet girl.

He owed it all to you, and the way you changed his life on that rainy, dreary day and made him realise that home wasn’t a place, it was a person.

The compound was quiet. The Avengers all in a state of limbo; exhausted from hours of travelling, the ghost of bruises and cuts on their knuckles and blood under their fingernails. But more powerful than anything: the red hot relief to finally be back in the tower after two weeks.

The rest of the group fell into their own routines, their own little grooves that they had mastered over the however many years they had been saving the world. The showers were turned onto the highest setting, the smell of Sam’s ridiculously expensive mango shower gel and Nat’s deep, woody body scrub lingering across the floor. Comfort food was made in the kitchen, the throaty sound of laughter and bare feet on the tiles as popcorn sizzled and snapped on the stove. Blankets were draped across the sofas, mugs of hot chocolate and cans of sweet, dry beer passed around and over tangled limbs.

It was something they needed - something they craved. That comforting, warm feeling of family, something so trivial and domestic that it was enough to dull whatever they had been faced with, that for the evening they could think of terrible rom coms and laughter and teasing, rather than civilians dying and the smell of blood and the sound of gunshots. For those stolen moments of happiness after days of heart ache and exhaustion - it was enough.

Well, it was enough for almost everyone.

Whilst the others were arguing over the remote and whether peanut M&Ms were better than chocolate, Bucky was in his room with the lock bolted, methodically cleaning his weapons with surgical precision. He had been at the compound for almost six months, and despite the amenities and luxuries that came with his new home, he felt anything but comfortable.

He liked the people he lived and worked with - and most of them liked him too, but that didn’t do anything to dull the ache in his skull and the uncertainty deep in his gut. After so many years of not being in control of his own mind and body, of having his thoughts and feelings altered by people who saw him as nothing more than a weapon, he was struggling to adjust to his new life.

Amongst all of the chaos though, he had Steve.

The familiar sunshine haired boy that helped ease the storm. His best friend, his brother. The once scrawny teenager that he would follow to the end of the world, all guns blazing, no questions asked. Deep down, he knew that the golden boy was perhaps the only reason he was still at the tower, blending in with all the rest of the wonderful, shining eyed superhero’s around him, making him stick out like a sore thumb.

He knew they thought he could change, but he wasn’t so sure. Sometimes - like the times when he found himself grinning at something Clint said in the back of the jet, or when Nat patted his shoulder in thanks when he covered her in battle, or when he sat on the roof with Steve, talking about faded memories of pin up girls and Coney Island, he felt like perhaps he could be the man Steve thought he was. But then he caught sight of himself in the reflected surfaces of his bathroom, or felt the ricochet of his gun against his shoulder or the blood coating his hands and dripping down into his boots - and he remembered that sometimes people just don’t change.

He listened to the rain as he folded away his weapons that day. Listened to the way the patter of the water muffled the noises of laughter and playfulness coming from the lounge and dissolved into silence. It was too early to retire into bed, and besides, after a mission like the one they had come from sleep wouldn’t be on his mind for a while, his body was still racing with adrenaline.

Then, amongst the patter of raindrops and mingle of voices, he heard something.

A commotion in the hall. His body was finely tuned to pick up anything out of the ordinary, and he could hear the magnetic whir and clang of the elevator as it reached their floor. Everybody was crowded in the living room, which meant it would be somebody from outside the inner circle, and usually that would send cold chills down to his spine, but for some reason this time it didn’t.

Ghosts. Premonitions. Fortune telling. All a load of horse shit to him. He might have been to space and been frozen in time and met some really, really, bizarre people - but there were some things he just didn’t believe in.

Until that rainy day.

It was like a magnetic pull inside of him, when he wanted to lock himself away and not speak to anyone, something inside of him made him want to get up and join the rest of the crew in meeting the stranger.

Even before he saw your face you had him, hook, line and sinker.

So he begrudgingly got to his feet and stood in the doorway, his shoulder leaning against the frame, metal arm out of sight. Steve glanced at him quickly with his eyebrows raised but he ignored him, focusing his eyes on the elevator as it slowly started to open.

Tony looked up suddenly as the doors opened , furrowing his brow at the semi circle of avengers watching him intently. Rather then question it he rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly and stepping forward, gesturing wildly with his arms. “Gather round, gather round, circus freaks. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Because Tony’s personality took up almost the entire room by himself, he had to step to the side for everyone to even get a glimpse of who he was talking about. They waited patiently, with crossed arms and gentle smiles as you stepped out of the shadows.

Bucky felt himself freeze.

You looked so... scared. Not in the traditional sense, not like you were terrified of them or fearing for your life, but the kind of alarm that always trudged through his blood, the feeling of unease and instability, as though you didn’t really belong.

Everybody fell into their roles the way he knew they would. You were young, probably not much older than the Parker kid, and that was why Nat and Steve stepped forward instantly, very protective of you before they even knew your name.

Your hair was mused and loose, eyes wide and lips puffy, as if you had just woken up. You were dressed all in black, baggy clothes and no makeup, your fingers interlocked, your rapid heartbeat pulsing in his ears.

And for some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“Everyone, this is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Tony said, one arm resting gently on your shoulders, pushing you forward.

Bucky had to stop himself from saying your name aloud, wondering why he wanted to taste it on his tongue.

As everybody spoke, introducing themselves with just enough reservation to make you feel comfortable, your eyes met, and his heart stopped. Your eyes were more white than not, a little glossy and swimming with uncertainty, and he felt the urge to do something, anything, to make you feel even a little bit calmer.

The feeling was so foreign that he stepped back, tearing his gaze away from you, suddenly unnerved. He didn’t miss the way you exhaled, and he pretended not to notice the way his body seemed to pine for the warmth he had felt when your eyes met.

Bucky heard him whisper to Nat, his usually sardonic voice dripping with genuine concern. “Keep an eye on her, for me, please.”

And although he knew Tony would never ask that of him, he knew that without a doubt, he would.

—————————————————————-

Those next few days, you stayed hidden in your room - which just so happened to be opposite his own.

Despite that, he never saw you. Not even once.

You weren’t at any team meetings or debriefings, you were never nestled in one of the chairs in the lounge, never sat on the balcony watching the sunrise or slicing up strawberries and grapes in the nook in the kitchen.If it wasn’t for the small, barely there noises you made every so often, he would have thought you had left.

Through the vents he could occasionally hear the whine of your door and the gentle sound of your footsteps at midnight darting to the kitchen. Sometimes he heard Wanda speaking softly to you, so kind and gentle that he could even hear the anxiety leave your voice for a little while. He’d hear Tony’s loud and obnoxious knock in the middle of the night, the two of you leaving for the lab under the cover of darkness.

Bucky hardly slept. It had never come smoothly to him, slipped through his fingers too easily like grains of sand. He used to train to block out the noise, attacking a punching bag until all he could hear was the steady thump, thump, thump of his knuckles. Steve had taken him running whenever the nights got too long or too loud, sweating out the frustration he felt as they darted through the streets at midnight, but now he found another way to pass those hours in the dead of night.

There was something oddly comforting to him about laying upright in his bed, reading whatever novel somebody had leant him and told him was a classic, listening out for the shuffle of your footsteps from the other side of the hall. He remembered what it had been like for him when he first moved into the tower. He knew how hard it was, moving into a space that wasn’t your own.

So now he found solace under the breeze of his ceiling fan and the slow drip of that one leaky tap that he still hadn’t fixed and the low hum of whatever sitcom you were watching vibrating through the walls.

He liked to make sure that you were safe. You were obviously scared of something, or someone, and it made him feel better that he was keeping an ear out for anything out of the ordinary. He told himself that it was for the benefit of the whole tower, but that didn’t explain the ease he felt in his chest when he finally heard the quiet, even snores coming from your room, and the way that it made his own eyes start to close.

The next time he saw you in the flesh was almost a month after you had moved in.

He was in the lounge with the rest of the avengers that had slept most of the morning away, Sam nursing a cup of vanilla coffee and Steve watching the news as he made some kind of bizarre and disgusting protein shake. Bucky sat on the sofa with his back ramrod straight as he did the daily crossword, something about filling out the empty boxes comforting him.

It was a rare free day and he had slept in a little longer than usual, only falling asleep after he had heard the squeak of your bed frame and the whir of your fan flittering in his ears. When he had woken up your room was still, and he assumed you were still asleep as he headed out for his run, but by the sound of your voice in the stairwell you had obviously slipped out unnoticed, and he couldn’t help feeling impressed.

He perked up instantly when he heard you. He listened to the soft way you spoke against the sharp click of Pepper’s heels against the floor, his eyes darting to the doorway as he heard you approach. He saw the girls first, the three of them flanking you like a security detail. Wanda and Natasha at your sides, Pepper walking slightly ahead; gesturing with her jewellery clad hands as she spoke to you.

You faltered as you stepped forward, eyes widening like a deer in headlights as you noticed the boys watching you from the other side of the room. Sam awkwardly removed his hand from where he had shoved it down a cereal box, waving kindly with lucky charm marshmallows stuck to his fingers. Steve - ever the gentleman - gave you his classic golden retriever smile, greeting you as though you were an old friend.

You relaxed a little at that, and Bucky felt himself deflate. He would never be the most warm and welcoming person, not anymore, and he wondered why that bothered him so much when it came to you.

Pepper gently placed a hand on your shoulder, and you leaned into her touch like a cat. “Boys. You remember (Y/N).”

You looked up, waving a hand that was hidden by your oversized sweater sleeves. “Hello again.”

A shy smile. Big eyes. A voice like melted chocolate. Bucky felt fourteen again.

He wanted to say something to you, but he couldn’t get any words out. Pepper was on a mission though, perching her hand motherly on your shoulder and escorting you forward. “Right. The lab. This way!”

Bucky’s gaze followed you all the way down the hall, not stopping even when you faded into nothingness. He turned slowly, feeling Steve and Nat watching with matching smirks on their faces, their eyes flickering with childish glee.

He scoffed.

“Shut up.”

———————————————————

As the weeks passed, Bucky hardly caught a glimpse of you. He didn’t even realise he was searching for you, his eyes just flitting over the empty chair at meal times or trailing through the gym, wondering if he might make out the bounce of your hair or the curve of your lips.

Not that he had been thinking about your lips. He definitely hadn’t been thinking about your lips.

You had piqued his interest though. He thought of the way he had been when he first moved into the tower, and knew that the first few weeks were always the hardest. You spent the majority of the time in your room, occasionally leaving for Tony’s floor or the lab, but always hiding in the night and the shadows, falling just out of reach before he got lucky enough to see you.

Fortunately, there were enough recon missions to fill his days. He found distraction in snow capped mountains and dry, dusty deserts, searching for old HYDRA bases or intel that might have been missed. His mind was filled with coordinates and strategy plans, and that worked for a little while. Until the jet landed and he found himself wondering if you would be there with the rest of the team welcoming him back, and every time he was left feeling a quick, pang of disappointment when you weren’t.

Eventually though, things started to look up.

At three in the morning, like clockwork, he began hearing your door squeal as you opened it, and then the sound of sock clad feet padding through the hallways. The first time it happened his heart leapt and he jolted upright, convinced that something bad had happened. He didn’t relax until he heard Natasha speak, voice crystal clear despite the early hour.

“You ready?”

He soon discovered that Natasha had taken you under her wing, and was helping you spar at the times you felt the most comfortable - when the rest of the building was asleep. He knew he wasn’t the only person who was curious about you, wanting to know if you had any powers, and Nat had stopped Steve from asking a million different questions about you.

He didn’t want to make you retreat once again, so he left it alone.

Eventually, you started sleeping in, getting more comfortable and leaving your bed much later than before. The others still kept their distance, entering the gym just as you were leaving, drenched in sweat and smiling. The first time that Bucky saw you smile like that was after a run with Sam, and he swore his knees almost buckled at the sight of you, wide eyed and sparkling like a diamond, sucker punching the air right out of his gut.

It was just about dawn when he next saw you, the sun barely risen, the compound bathed in a golden, ethereal light. No matter how many early mornings they had had, the kitchen still smelt like triple shot espresso and cans of red bull every day, sleepy eyed avengers mumbling and grumbling as they fought over who got to use the coffee machine first. Bucky smiled smugly across his mug of instant grounds that Sam had so tastefully called, “disgusting cheap crap,” as his $3 coffee capsule got crushed once again.

Steve made some quick joke as he towelled off his hair from his shower, but his words crumbled into TV static when Bucky saw you coming off the elevator. You were limping, just a little, but enough to make his heart thunder in his chest. You were smiling though, wide and happily. As bright as the full sun, and Bucky wanted to stay in your warmth for a little bit longer. Natasha held onto you as though you weighed less than a newborn baby, and the two of you stumbled towards your room. Before you disappeared you shot a small and hesitant smile at the boys, one that pierced through Bucky like a steel bullet.

He wanted to keep quiet but he couldn’t. Not after he had seen you.

“You don’t think Natasha is being to hard on her?” He said finally, clearing his throat in an attempt to sound nonchalant.

“Why do you care?” Sam had asked, halfway through a breakfast burrito that was dropping more food on his shirt than into his mouth.

“Camaraderie.” He quipped.

“Camaraderie my ass. Remember that time I almost broke my leg sparring with you? You made me walk myself to the clinic.”

“That’s because you were being whiney and dramatic.”

“Oh? Well I’ll tell you what I think. I think that Mr Barnes here is - ”

“Alright. That’s enough.” Steve said finally, cutting the conversation short, knowing exactly where Sam was going with his thoughts and not wanting to put his best friend through any embarrassment about his... interest in you.

Sam gave him a glare that said that the conversation was definitely not over, but Bucky ignored him, his eyes trailing the hallway you had walked through, his belly aching and flipping from the way that you had looked at him, filling him with a warmth that didn’t dim even long after he had fallen asleep that night.

——————————————————————-

Things really started to change at midnight. When the sky went black and turned into a blanket of obsidian and twinkling stars, that was when both of you came alive.

The nightmares were back, and they were bad. Blood. Metal. Rust. The pain that felt as though his bones were snapping one by one. Gasping for air. Sweat. Fists. Gunshots. No longer could he stay asleep listening out for you, his body didn’t want him to feel comfortable, safe, whatever the way you made him feel. He wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of something as sweet as you. He was not a man that deserved good things, and he knew he certainly didn’t deserve you.

The compound was so big and he felt so small in his bed. Sometimes he swore he could feel the walls closing in, even though he knew his quarters were more than triple the size of some of the hellholes he had been trapped in. He needed space. He needed air. And that was what led him to wander the hallways like some kind of spectre as the city roared and thundered and thrived below him.

The rooftop had always been his favourite spot. Tony loved using it for parties, setting up a bar and filling the hot tub with champagne and hiring some idiot to blast stupid music that made Bucky want to smash his head against a brick wall. But it was often just used by the team, swimming laps in the pool and laughing under the summer sun, strawberries and wine in the spring and late night swims in the rain in the winter, making Clint jump in the frozen water naked after he lost a round of poker.

It was one of the rare places that Bucky felt truly safe. Out in the open air, watching the water sparkle teal under the stars, the city so big and beautiful, lights flickering and horns blaring. He came up when things went bad, losing himself in the noise and the ice cold air. He often pulled a chair out to the edge, drinking a beer that had no effect on him but somehow made him feel a little bit lighter, just watching the world go by.

He hadn’t been up there in a while. The nightmares had stopped for a while, incidentally the same time you arrived, but recently they had started to trickle back in, like rain at the end of summer.

He was in a pair of flannel pyjama pants and a henley with far too many holes in, cradling a mug of cocoa with a shot of dark rum as he stepped off the elevator, stopping suddenly when he noticed the outdoor lights shining brightly. He knew that everybody else was asleep, and his field instincts kicked in quickly, until he noticed the soft lilac hue of your satin pyjamas glistening under the moon.

Perhaps he should have left. He knew that you liked to keep your distance and God, did he understand that, but his feet seemed to stay cemented to the floor. You were luring him like a ship to a lighthouse, beckoning him to follow you, and who was he to resist?

You were bent over a row of plants and flowers, watering them from a buttercup yellow can, your fingers stained with mud. You moved gently, tentatively fondling the leaves and petals and clipping away any stray stems and weeds. He watched you with curious eyes, amazed at how something so simple could show so much about your character. After so long of not seeing you he felt lucky to catch a glimpse, and he didn’t want to do anything to scare you off.

That was, until his foot caught the edge of one of the sun loungers.

For a trained assassin, he could really be a dumbass sometimes.

You looked up quickly, eyes as wide as dinner plates, your face just starting to flush. He held up his free hand, all the air leaving his lungs like a balloon. He stepped back to leave you in peace, but then he heard you softly say:

“Wait.”

So he did.

You looked nervous but enchanting, with your mussed hair and fluffy slippers and long eyelashes. You smiled timidly, but warmly, and looked at him. Really looked at him. And something about that made him feel truly seen, for the first time in a long time.

“Bucky, right?” A pause lingered in the air, he was suddenly face to face with you and somehow all of his words dissolved into the night air. You mistook his turmoil for something else, and straightened up, the trowel in your hand spilling dirt onto the floor. “Oh I’m so sorry. Do you prefer James? Or...”

“Bucky!” He said, almost shouting, and then calmed himself down. He could feel a blush rising up his throat from his outburst, but if it meant you would look at him the way that you were, then he would happily embarrass himself forever.

A moment passed, the stars overhead round and full despite all of the pollution in the city air, and for once Bucky didn’t find them the most beautiful thing he had seen.

“What are you doing?” He asked before he could stop himself.

“Oh, um.” You were a little flustered, the apples of your cheeks rounding and your lips twitching up, like you were laughing at a joke he so desperately wanted to be a part of. It was infectious. You were infectious, and the ice cold assassin felt the frost around his heart start to thaw.

“Tony got them for me.” You said, barely meeting his gaze. “After everything.” You stopped awkwardly and cleared your throat. His interest was piqued but he knew better than to probe you, instead letting you ramble. “He thought it would be good for me to have something to take care of. Something to look after, you know?”

He nodded.

“It’s not much, but sometimes coming up here and watering them just takes my mind off of things, you know?” You said, somewhat absentmindedly. He watched as you stroked the petals, pushing your finger into a droplet of water on the leaves. He wasn’t much of a gardener but he recognised a few of the potted plants. Forget me nots, African violets, buttery yellow primrose and icy purple orchids. You had other things too, sweet mint and thyme and rosemary, and budding stems of strawberries and blackberries and tomatoes.

It was amazing how much life you had grown along the usually industrial looking balcony. It was rare to see something thrive amongst the smoke of the city,

“I like it up here too, it’s peaceful.” He said, looking out at the skyline and smelling the crisp, cool air.

You mistook his honesty for an annoyance at breaching his personal space, and held your hands up apologetically. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” You were about to make excuses and leave, not wanting to upset the very handsome man who had occupied far too much of your brain anymore, but he stepped forward and said quickly:

“No! In fact, I er - I think I like it much more now.”

You smiled, and oh boy, did Bucky know he was done for.

———————————————————-

Bucky started to like the nights.

After the first midnight meeting it somehow became unspoken for the two of you to meet up on the rooftop. Bucky never wanted to overstep or make you feel uncomfortable, but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to see you again in the privacy of the twilight, the moonlight casting gold flecks into your eyes.

It should have been awkward. An ex HYDRA puppet and a girl with a blurry past that had just joined the biggest crime fighting organisation in the world should have found it hard to open up to one another, but somehow that didn’t happen.

You both kept the conversation light, the silences were warm and comfortable, and everything felt bizarrely natural. You’d often be preening your plants and Bucky would be sat on a lounge chair, reading a book and sneaking glances at you. You talked about the city, he told you how much it had changed since the 40’s, and you told him about the crappy apartment with no heating and a nest of owls you lived in before Tony took you in.

Family never came up, it was a subject you danced around and Bucky respected your privacy. He told you about his though, it slipped out accidentally when he saw you preening foxgloves the colour of ripe and juicy plums - and how they reminded him of the ones his mother once had in the window box of their kitchen. Somehow the memory hit him like a sucker punch to the gut, and you expertly swerved the conversation onto something else. It lingered in his mind for the rest of the night, only dimming when he came home from a workout the following morning and saw a little vase filled with purple petals and a book titled “Caring For Foxgloves” left outside of his door.

His smile didn’t fade the whole rest of the day, even through Sam’s relentless teasing.

He remembered you talking about your favourite cafe off campus, and the white hot chocolate and raspberry donuts you would kill for, and took an hour detour from his running route to pick them up for you both to share later that night.

It was amazing, how this girl he only knew through the sounds from his wall was now sitting with him in the early hours of the morning, talking to him like he was a real person and not just some shitty science experiment. You exchanged books, giving him ones that you thought he would enjoy, and he devoured them in less than a week, finding traces of you between the pages.

The two of you never sat right beside one another. You knew his past and you were cautious not to overwhelm him, always leaving generous inches and metres between you both. For the first time in a long time Bucky didn’t want somebody to give him space, he craved those moments when your fingertips would brush as he helped you pot a plant, when your thighs would touch as you leant over him to watch the stars, when he could feel your warmth orbiting him like a planet.

He used to loathe the night time, but now, he spent the whole day aching for the sun to set so he could be with you.

Eventually, as you grew closer with him, you also grew closer with the team, and soon you were joining them sporadically for movie nights and “Friends” marathons and training. You mainly stayed with Wanda and Nat, the two girls sparring with you and showing you the ropes and coming from a place you could understand the best, but you always ended up back next to Bucky - and he loved it.

The rest of the team noticed too. The way that you brought Bucky out of his shell and he helped you to feel grounded. Steve instantly saw that the smile on his best friends face was wider than it had been in fifty years, and he enjoyed watching the two of you together, happy his best friend was happy.

Bucky felt his own change, too. He was no longer a blushing, stuttering mess around you, (well, not completely. He was still a wreck when you smiled at him, or laughed, or did basically anything) but he had found a comfortable middle ground in your friendship, the two of you able to tease and joke with each other like old friends. Finding ways to talk the whole night and day away, watching the sky turn from obsidian to sweet purple and then milky blue, both of you wondering how you had managed to once again miss an entire night quicker than a snap of fingers.

He knew that he was in deep when you got cleared for your first mission.

He remembered waking up, running with Steve, drinking coffee and making eggs, all whilst pretending he wasn’t looking over his shoulder waiting for you every few seconds. Sam came in with a smug smile and stole a slice of toast, buttering it until it was dripping and eating it in seconds, his brow furrowing a little as he watched Bucky.

“What?” Bucky asked, shooting him a curious glance.

“Aren’t you gonna say goodbye to your girl?”

“She not ‘my girl’.” Bucky said through a mouthful of coffee, hating how the words made him feel.

“Oh, right. Of course not. It’s not like the two of you don’t spend every second of every day and every night together, and it’s not like you’re totally head over heels -”

Bucky decided it would be easier to just cut him off, taking his frustration out on the eggs he was now whisking a little too hard. “Why would I say goodbye to her?”

“You didn’t hear?”

He shook his head, suddenly feeling a million tiny needles prickle his skin.

“Bruce signed her off. She’s heading to Madrid with Nat.”

“She’s what?”

That was all it took for him to leave, Sam watching him closely and smirking to himself. Not noticing until it was too late that the pan had started smoking, and the smell of burnt eggs wafted through the air, and Sam was left alone to grab the fire extinguisher and coat the meal in clouds of white foam.

Bucky stormed through the halls, he wasn’t quite sure what his plan was, his mind felt like a bowl of alphabet soup and he couldn’t quite place his anger or frustration, but that didn’t stop him from tearing through the rooms with a face like thunder. He found Tony in the conference room, finalising the mission plans and murmuring under his breath. Bucky feet moved him forward before he could even compute it.

“You signed her off?”

Tony exhaled loudly, and with obvious frustration spun round on his three hundred thousand dollar shoes.

“I was wondering when you would pitch in your two cents.”

“Do you think she’s ready?”

“Yes I do.”

“What if -? What if something happens? What if something goes wrong? What if - ”

“It won’t.”

“What if it does?”

“Look, Barnes. I know you and (Y/N) have been getting on well, and I know that she’s opened up a lot because of you -” He paused, mulling over the distaste in his mouth. “... As much as that might irritate me. But you don’t know what she’s like on the field, she’s brilliant.”

Bucky didn’t doubt that for a second, but his blood was as cold as ice. Missions went wrong all of the time, even a simple recon with Clint ended up with them both littered in bullets, and the mere thought of that made his head spin. He had no real reason to be so overprotective of you, but he truly couldn’t help it, everything in him was screaming at him to keep you safe.

“Are you even sure that...”

“Bucky?” He felt like a scarecrow shoved in a pool of mud, stuck straight and stiff as you said his name and rendered him totally tongue tied. He wondered how much you had heard, and he felt like there was an ice cube trailing down his spine.

“Aha! There she is! Superwoman!” Tony said, clapping his hands together, always knowing how to diffuse the tension.

He turned around and felt his heart jack hammer in his chest. He could see Nat, but his eyes totally passed over her, because you were there: your hair tied up and back from your face, subtle makeup with long eyelashes and syrupy lips, a black and powder pink tactical suit that fit and hugged every curve and bow of your body. His brain totally let him down, short circuiting at the mere sight of you. You looked so happy and healthy and glowing, and also like you could knock him out with a single punch - and good god would he let you.

“Bucky I was erm, I was looking for you. I wanted to say goodbye.” You clasped your hands together, appearing so sweet and shy, a total contrast to the femme fatale you portrayed.

“Natalia!” Tony said quickly, and for once Bucky was grateful for his interruption. “Come and look at this strange bird with me.”

All of you knew it was quite possibly the worst fake distraction ever but you ignored it. Nat just rolled her eyes and followed Tony to the balcony, but not before wiggling her eyebrows at Bucky.

You moved forward tentatively. “I wanted to tell you this morning but I couldn’t find you.” You weren’t quite sure why you were so cautious and apprehensive, desperate to speak to him. You had been travelling and fighting for as long as you could remember, you had spent many years alone and entered the battlefield countless times - and yet, that morning as Bruce gave you the all clear, the only person you wanted to see or speak to was Bucky.

“I was running, I’m sorry.”

You smiled, and it made him smile. “Well I’ve found you now.” You stepped forward, Bucky inhaled air so sharply it almost sliced the back of this throat. “I wanted to say goodbye, and that I’ll see you soon.” You paused, then blinked up at him almost cheekily. “Would you do me a favour? If you have time? Could you water the plants for me?”

He grinned, toothy and white. “Already on it.”

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

He put his hand on your shoulder, and he swore he could feel you melt into his touch, or maybe that was his knees buckling at his stupidity and the way that you were looking up at him. He wanted to say a million things, but instead he settled for: “Goodbye, (Y/N). Be safe, okay?”

“Of course.”

He watched as you packed your things and headed to the jet, the rest of the crew coming out to say their farewells and wish them luck. His eyes were trained on you as you spoke to Tony, nodding your head as you listened to him. He felt Natasha sidle up next to him, her hair shining copper in the sun.

“She’ll be alright, Barnes.”

“I know. But - ”

“I’ll take care of her. Promise.”

“Thank you, Nat. Good luck.”

“Don’t need it!”

Three hours later and he was in the gym, punching out his excess energy. The bag was splitting at the seams, and sand trailed sadly onto the floor. Bucky ignored it, his hits getting harder and faster, his blood pounding in his ears. Since you had left he had taken to pacing the floor and biting his nails down to the wick, hovering over Steve as he spoke to Nat through her wire. He only left when he realised that he was driving everybody else crazy with his obsessive twitching and marching, taking out his frustration on whatever he could rip apart with his fingers.

“Tony’s going to kill you if you break anymore punching bags.” Steve said from behind him, his voice echoing around the dark room.

“Hmph.”

He couldn’t stop. His hands were red raw and his knuckles were scraped but they would heal soon, and he’d go back to tearing them up all over again, anything to get rid of the adrenaline and nausea that had been swimming in him since the morning.

A minute passed. And then two. And then three. He exhaled, pausing, his hands midway in the air. He was about to say what he had always known, right from the second your eyes met that crisp autumn day, and Steve was the only one he could confide in.

“I think I’m falling in love with her.”

Steve hardly even blinked, just clapped a hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting, his brother.

“I know.”

Because of course he did. He knew it from the way Bucky smiled, the way he was lighter, brighter, like you had made him switch on and appreciate the little things around him. He had seen Bucky doe eyed and loopy over hundreds of girls back in the day, he knew how he got, but this... this was something bigger, magnetic, the clash of two electric people.

There wasn’t much Steve could say, he was great at saving people but not so good at the more personal side of things, he still turned into a puddle when Sharon looked at him. Instead he laughed, his teeth white as snow and his eyes playful and teasing. “You got it bad, dude.”

Despite everything Bucky smiled. Because yeah, he did.

————————— ————————————

You came back from the mission unharmed and euphoric.

And the second. And the third. And the fourth.

Bucky still tracked mud across all of the carpets and tapped his feet mindlessly for the entirety you were gone, but he was getting better. Steve had even bought him a joke present of a pear shaped and scented stress ball, but Bucky had ripped it in half when there was gunfire in the background of your coms, followed by an apologetic “Sorry!” from Sam. Bucky had then poured all of the tiny fruit smelling beads under the duvet in Sams bed, and then put all of his toilet paper on the holder backwards, knowing how annoyed he got about it.

Every time you came back you were exhausted and elated and beaming, and after having a nap and a shower you spent the rest of the day with the team, but the nights were reserved just for him. You grew even closer together. Steve had watched from the rooftop doorway gobsmacked one evening when he had left his phone up there, watching the way you two interacted, the way that he curled into your touch, never away from it. You got electric shocks when your fingers touched, you would blush when his knee playfully nudged yours at something stupid somebody had said at dinner, and you found yourself falling asleep to the image of chestnut hair and ocean eyes. You had crushes before, but this was all consuming, the kind of thing that made your stomach erupt in butterflies and your eyes turn into hearts.

You were worried that it might be one sided, but Bucky was totally, completely, smitten.

He watched you. Noticed the way that you smiled and laughed and tucked your hair behind your ear. He thought of the girls in the forties, with their painted lips and curled hair and immaculate clothes, and how you blew all of them out of the water, even in just your flannel pyjamas and bunny slippers. The coil in his belly when he looked at you reminded him of being sixteen and holding hands at the pictures, but that had just been a flicker, and this was a forest fire.

The first mission with the rest of the crew was when things went sour.

He got to see how you acted first hand. The way that you were quiet in the jet, but smiling strawberry red, taking in all of the orders that Steve meticulously laid out, your eyes wide and eager. He watched you as he helped Nat set up the guns and stock the ammo, the way that you toyed with the knife in your boot, the gears in your head turning and working on something he was desperate to discover.

He hadn’t been on a mission with you, not only because they way you looked in your suit and the way that you grinned would have led to him inadvertently getting a bullet in his head, but because from what he had heard, your fighting styles were totally different. Your powers and your skills were a mystery to him, one that he badly wanted to solve, but you kept that side of you hidden and guarded with barbed wire, and he respected that.

You were paired off with Sam. Nat with Clint. Bucky with Steve. Wanda with Vision. It was a simple mission, there was some intel locked in a safe of a seemingly abandoned factory in the south of Russia. Tony had discovered the place crawling with hidden members of a gang that specialised in human trafficking and organ farming, and he needed what was hidden below to help blow it out of the water.

It was going to take a lot of skill. There was no doubt that the enemies would be heavily armed, possibly even with illegally manufactured weapons, and all of you had to keep your heads straight the entire time. He had wanted desperately to be paired with you, to keep his eye on you, (not that you needed it) but he knew it was out of the question. Instead, as you all split up a few miles away in the woods, he grabbed your hand quickly and rubbed his finger across your knuckles, looking at you intently, his eyes swimming with sincerity.

“Be careful.” He said, his gaze locked on yours.

You smiled. “Always.”

He stuck his middle finger up at Steve’s smug face as they headed towards the factory.

Things were going well. As well as they could be when they were covered in blood and sweat and surrounded by the sound of gunfire and cracking bones. Nobody had been hurt so far, the coms quiet as the pairings cleared their sectors and worked their way down to the basement. Bucky had just pushed the last man over the railing and onto the concrete floor below when he heard the crackle of panicked voices in his ear, his eyes darting to Steve.

“Shit! Fuck!”

“Sam?”

“It’s (Y/N)! Fuck! One of them took her!”

“What?” Steve said instantly, switching straight from solider to captain, immediately alert.

“There was too many, it was an ambush!”

“Sam just stay there and - ” Steve tried to keep his voice steady and level, but it seemed as though the walls were closing in. To make matters worse, he saw a blur of black in his eye line, and watched helplessly as his best friend tore down the stairwell, his footsteps a clap of thunder. “Fuck! Bucky!”

Bucky knew that he was going to get one hell of a lecture and probably some six week course in impulse in the force, but all that he could think about was you, his blood was ice cold, his body numb and his brain conjuring up a million different pictures of you that made him feel sick to his stomach. He leapt over the bannister and landed haphazardly on the floor, his gun cocked and ready. His eyes were nothing but jet black pupils, scanning for your face through the halls.

He knew that you and Sam had been working through what used to be the laboratory, and that was on the other side of the building. His legs and arms moved almost mechanically, determined to get to you as quickly as possible, taking out anybody that stood in his way. He could hear Steve calling from behind him, and the sputter of the others in his earpiece, but his focus was on one thing. You.

The men were big and brawny and mean. Tattooed arms and shaved heads and gold teeth. Bucky shredded through them like they wore nothing. He flung them over tables, threw them through doorways and dragged them up by the roots of their hair. They were strong though, laughing at him through coffee stained teeth, loving his anger and desperation.

“Where is she?” He snarled at one particularly vicious thug brandishing two assault rifles.

“Who? Your whore? Dead.”

He snapped his neck like it was nothing but a twig.

He ran from room to room, his boots squealing across blood and stray bullets, his breath as ragged and sharp as glass. Everywhere was empty. Rows of vials and big glass cylinders and cages for animal testing, there was nothing, the place completely ransacked and bare. He hissed, getting ready to fight his way through another floor until he heard exasperated grunts and the clash of metal from a small room off to the side.

He skidded into the doorway with his rifle up at his shoulder, his finger right on the trigger, ready to shoot somebody’s fucking head off. Instead he paused, his mouth agape and his hands lowering, the whole room standing still. There was a freezer. Probably for samples and test tubes and whatever crazy fucking thing they kept in a place like this, but they had used it as a cage, the handles tied with thick copper chains and padlocks. Sam was using the butt of his gun to smash his way through, and they were old and rusty and starting to crumble easily, and Bucky watched helplessly as he finally busted in, clouds of ice puffing around him.

Bucky didn’t know why he couldn’t move. Couldn’t help. But his feet were as heavy as cinder blocks, and his heart was thundering in his ears. There was a small squeal, broken and half hearted, void of anything other than exhaustion, and then the smell of tears and blood, followed by sweet mint and wildflowers. Unmistakably you.

He wanted to run forward and scoop you in his arms, press your head against the crook of his neck and get you far, far away from this place, but he couldn’t move, and so he watched as Sam tugged you into him, running his fingers through your hair, cradling you like a child, soothing you as you cried hot, wet tears into his suit. And Bucky wished with everything in him that it was him instead.

He stayed back as you flew home with Sam. He kept away when you were in the hospital with Bruce, lurked in his room when you went over everything with Tony, locked himself away when you confided in Steve. He felt as though he had failed you, no matter what the others said. He felt as though he had let you down, and the noise you had made when Sam tugged you from the depths of that tiny little box, it played in his head like a warped record, haunting him and his dreams.

For a week he kept to himself. For a week he ran a different route and trained at a gym down by the water. For a week he took his motorbike out to a shitty diner in the bad part of town and ate soggy pancakes instead of having dinner with the team, for a week he did everything he could to not see you, thinking that would ease what you had been through, but instead it left you feeling torn and hurt and completely alone.

Tony made him come in to test out a new reloading system and so he reluctantly snuck down to the figuring range under the cover of darkness. He allowed himself to get lost in the sounds of carnage and the smell of metal, until he heard soft footsteps from behind him.

“You’re avoiding me.”

You seemed so sad, and that made his heart clench.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

Silence. That had never been awkward between the two of you, ever, and yet now it was so thick you could cut through it with a knife.

You wrung your hands together, your eyes flitting around the room, never quite landing on his face. That hurt. After a moment you cleared your throat, using the toe of your sneaker to kick up dust from the floor. “Do you - do you know? I mean, has anybody said anything to you? About me?”

He shook his head. “No.” There had been a million times when it was on the tip of his tongue to pry the truth from Nat or Steve, but his respect for you was stronger than his need for answers.

He felt his stomach flip when you finally blinked up at him. You looked as though you hadn’t slept and he knew he looked worse. You were still so beautiful though, looking so young and angelic under the harsh lights and surrounded by all the weaponry. Like a powder pink rose amongst giant, violent thorns.

Unable to stop himself, he blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

“You said that.”

“Not for avoiding you. For letting you - For not being there for you.”

Your mouth was open, brows furrowed as you took in what he said. “What?”

“I should have helped you.” There was desperation in his voice, and he turned to face the targets rather than look at you, not wanting you to see him so weak.

You were silent for quite a while. It was difficult for you to digest his words, like swallowing glass. You had been under the impression that seeing you tearful and cowering and broken had scared him off, had made him look at you differently, but now you knew that he blamed himself. “Bucky...” You said, biting back emotion. “Its not your fault.” Your tone was definite. Strong. You wouldn’t let him feel guilty for something he had no control over.

He brushed you off, shifting his weight, turning playful. “Yeah I know. It was Sam’s.”

You rolled your eyes.

He clicked his tongue. He set the gun down on the table and turned to face you fully, his eyes solid and unwavering. “I am so sorry you got hurt.”

“I wasn’t - I.”Finding the right words was hard. You had so much you wanted to tell him but no idea how to, the sentences sticking to the roof of your mouth like peanut butter. “It was just...Can we? Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“The roof?”

“Yeah,” You smiled, and Bucky swore even the strongest industrial lights couldn’t even match your spark. “The roof.”

Under the stars and above the city as the cars raced and the sirens blared, you told him everything. Growing up as a lab rat, twisted and moulded by scientists and pumped full of chemicals. You told him of finding your powers and being forced to use them for vile things you couldn’t even repeat, and when he heard the tremor of your voice and saw the gloss on your eyes his whole body vibrated and turned a shade of red that it was almost black. You told him how the people that created you had wanted you back, and how Tony had saved you from being taken again, how you owed him your life.

He wasn’t good with comfort. He wasn’t good with words. He was good at tearing people apart limb from limb and shooting them from distances and breaking their bones like they were toothpicks, but for you, he would try. In a move so unlike him that it felt as though he might have been brainwashed once again, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close.

You froze at first, but eventually thawed and melted into him, grateful for his touch. You had wanted to be close to him since the first time you met but you held back, and now everything felt right, like the missing piece of a puzzle slotting into place. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he gave someone a bear hug, his nose buried in your hair, his fingers locked around you, desperate to keep you safe. Perhaps it was way back then, a time of uniforms and alleyways and candy floss and city smog, a time he used to long for with everything in him.

But now the memories of the past didn’t even compare to what he felt when he held you.

———————————————————

Everything came to a head on the first mission you had alone together.

Two months passed. Two months of subtle touches and shared smiles and inside jokes. Two months of rooftop laughter and midnight meetings and eating ice cream straight from the tub as you sat under the stars. Two months of utter, dreadful, aching, slow burning, and it was driving everybody else crazy.

Mostly Sam.

“I’m just saying,” Sam had murmured to Steve over chocolate eclairs one morning as they watched you teach a wide eyed, love struck Bucky how to play Mario Kart. “Can’t we just lock them in a room? Force them to kiss?”

“No.”

“It’s just so gross.”

Wanda flicked a grape at him, smiling cheekily as it bounced off his nose. “It’s sweet.”

He cocked a brow and tilted his head, his eyes filled with mild disgust. “Is it?”

Steve flicked through the files in his hand and licked whipped cream from his fingers. “He’s happy. Leave him be.”

“He’s a dumbass.”

“They both are.” Natasha interjected from behind them, wiping sweat from her brow and pulling off her boxing gloves. She was monotone and her face was straight, but even the black widow couldn’t bite back the smile she had as she watched the girl she now thought of as a sister and the once murderous, unbeatable assassin arguing about blue shells on the sofa.

The first mission you had been assigned together was in a small town in the Midwest somewhere. There had been unusual sightings in an airfield in the middle of nowhere, and a fugitive from Germany had been spotted in the bars that bordered the little village. Tony didn’t want to send too many people and blow the cover, just your powers of manipulation and telekinesis to apprehend the subject, and Bucky for added strength and precision.

Initially Tony was hesitant on pairing the two of you together, but there was no denying that you both worked brilliantly together. You understood one another on a level that nobody else did.

Bucky didn’t get nervous before a mission. In fact, he hardly felt anything. He spent the hours in the jet preparing himself and his weapons, going over maps and plans until they were drilled in his brain. But as the two of you took off, you with your rose blossom lips and eye watering suit and soft laughter, Bucky felt a warmth coiling in his stomach.

Apprehension.

You were staying at a cheap hotel a few blocks from the airfield. Tony had thought of everything and booked the two of you in rooms the opposite end of the hall from each other. Three floors apart. Bucky had slipped the receptionist a twenty for the room next to yours. For protection, of course.

Working undercover could be mind numbingly boring. Hours sat in a parked car in the dead of night, freezing to the bone as you watched an apartment from the bushes, trailing a suspect for days on end - but any time with you was a blessing for Bucky, even if it was sat behind the wheel of a cheap car with painful seats and broken heating.

The mission was a quiet one at first, you’d spotted the subject and had been following him, but all he seemed to do was eat crappy diner food and watch hours of cartoons. You both remained a safe distance but you managed to eventually bug his apartment when he spent the evening at a strip club. Tony and Steve updated you often, they had intercepted his phone calls and learnt that he was sending out a shipment late one night, and the two of you needed to stop it before it reached the air.

The rain was torrential when the two of you left the hotel. You smiled secretly to yourself as you walked through the slick streets, noticing how Bucky always made sure you were on the side away from the road, and how he moved so that you never got your feet in puddles. You were in the middle of nowhere following a criminal who spent far too much time eating potato chips and watching Rick and Morty, and yet you struggled to think of a time when you had been more content.

It meant everything to you.

Staying up late to listen into his apartment, Bucky buying practically the entire vending machine, the two of you pigging out and talking about nothing. You had breakfast at diners and communicated at night through knocks on the wall. Whenever you were out and the air was ice cold, Bucky would always move in close to you, his arm brushing against yours, his body your own personal heater. He wanted nothing more in those moments then to pull you into him and warm you up some other way, but instead he kept his eyes fixed forward, and bit the inside of his cheek until it bled.

You arrived at the airfield at midnight. The moon was high and the sky was dark and you both had to crouch low to be avoided by the overhead lights. You saw the suspect speaking to someone on his phone, and not long after a large white van pulled up towards him, the driver getting out and opening the boot.

“That’s it.” Bucky said pointing at the wooden crates. His voice was right by your ear, and you tried to ignore the way you shivered.“You ready?”

You nodded, smiling up at him. “Always.”

What happened next was mostly a blur. The two of you kept your heads down and your hands on your weapons, the pounding of the rain disguising your footsteps. You made it across the tarmac with Bucky covering you, his eyes alert and prepared for any imposing danger. You lifted your hands, ready to snap your fingers and apprehend the man rooting around the boxes, but before you could even feel the warm buzz of your powers through your veins, six men leapt out from the back of the van, guns raised and smoking.

“Fuck. Fuck! It’s a set up.”

Without even a second thought, Bucky pushed you aside. His body totally covered your own, and he hissed and swore, firing back at the bullets rapidly charging at you. You swung your hands and fought back, sending out flickers of fire and air, setting one of them alight and watching as he howled in pain. Bucky shot at everyone he could, sharp pierces right in the skull, always one hundred percent accurate, but his brain was whirring a mile a minute. He was trying his best to keep his eyes on you, his only goal was to make sure you were safe.

It wasn’t like he thought you were weak - far from it. He had seen you out on the field, been knocked on his ass from the aftershock of your powers more times than he could count, and he knew he had no real reason to be so worried but that did nothing to stop the prickling feeling across his skin like a million tiny little flames at the thought of you getting hurt.

You were determined to keep him safe as well though.You tossed back bullets and threw your knife through the air, smiling as it slashed through on of them, leaving him crumpled and crying on the floor. The two of you worked well together, playing off of each other’s attacks and combining your skills to get as many of them down as you could. Right when the last man hit the floor, you exhaled, and Bucky allowed himself a soft smile, looking beautiful and bruised in the middle of a rainstorm.

“Are you alright?” You heard him say, but his voice faded into static in your ears. Behind him one of them had struggled to his feet, blood spurting out from his neck, his face filled with nothing but venom, his eyes wild and vicious. You didn’t even blink, thrusting your hands forward and sending a wave of power through the air.

But it was too late.

He had already lifted his gun, a ripple of bullets flying towards you both. You leapt in front of Bucky, pushing his head down and trying to soften the impact, but his hands curled painfully around your waist, dragging you onto the floor and under him. The bullets missed the two of you by centimetres, piercing into the airplane behind you both. Your surge of power had knocked the man back and he was down once again, his body now pale and lifeless. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, and Bucky’s. He was fully on top of you, warm and solid and absolutely seething, his chest rising and falling above your own.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Bucky...” You inhaled, trying to get him to calm down and look at you but he merely shook his head, his body vibrating blood red.

“No. We’re leaving. Now.”

———————————————————-

After the ambush, it was too risky to return to the hotel, and so Steve sent out coordinates for a safe house an hour away. The ride there was completely silent. You didn’t even try to speak or diffuse the tension, you could practically feel Bucky’s anger, and the steering wheel had even started to bend from his grip.

The safe house was a small cottage. The only heat was from a tiny wood burner in the lounge, and the only food on the shelves were tinned peaches and cans of custard. Everything was oddly cosy. Pink knitted throws and round plush cushions and mismatched sofas, dried lavender tied to the wall and exposed brick and white, ceramic milk jugs. In any other circumstance you would have been happy to spend the night, but Bucky’s sour mood was quick to dim your spark.

You sighed as he threw his duffel bag onto the table, angrily heading to the sink and twisting the tab, exhaling loudly at the thin dribble of water that came out.

“Bucky.” You started to say, but he held his hand up as a warning.

“No.”

“Yes!” You snapped, needing him to understand you. “You have to listen to me.”

He dismissed you, too overcome with annoyance to even process your words. You could have died tonight, and you were acting as though it didn’t matter. “You were a goddamn idiot out there.”

“No I wasn’t!”

He slapped his hand on the wooden counter, a slap ringing through the small room.“You jumped in front of a bullet -“

“You almost got shot Bucky!”

“You almost got shot.”

“It was what was best for the mission.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the mission! I only care about you.”

“What?” Your voice was soft. A whisper. You could hear everything around you, feel him before he even stepped forward. Your breathing was shaky, adrenaline spiking through your body. The man you were in love with looking at you desperately and longingly, as though there was a physical ache inside of him.

He shrugged, because what else was there to say? He was looking deep into your own eyes, wanting to drown in them. His face was stern and hard and he was pissed, and yet, strangely, none of what had happened seemed to matter. He stepped towards you, his gaze running across your figure, looking for any cuts or bruises one of those fuckers might have left on you.

“Are you hurt?” He said finally, his face millimetres from your own.

“No.”

“Good.”

He kissed you. His hands went up and into your hair, his chest pressed against yours, his lips were warm and soft and hungry, ready to devour the one thing he had wanted since the very first time he laid eyes on you. You melted into his touch and he smiled. The kiss got more intense, teeth clashing and hands under sweaters and his body rolling against yours. You moaned in his mouth and he bit your lip and your pulses synced and raced and leapt. This was six months of pure longing and frustration and the need to portray everything that had gone unsaid for far too long.

It wasn’t long before you ended up on the floor. You were both too greedy and touch starved to even stop or make your way upstairs, you both needed the other like air, like addicts desperate for another hit. His lips were all over every bit of skin he could find, you lasted like sweat and cinnamon and vanilla and he swore he would give up everything he had if he got to feel you like this, whining and writhing and grabbing him, tugging him closer and kissing him like an angelic little devil.

He had once been a Casanova. He had once made ladies swoon and mothers blush and fathers clench their fists. Then he had been shattered, rebuilt in a way that wasn’t quite right, his body used for torture rather than pleasure. And yet, with you, the rain pelting the windows and your bodies intertwined and your lips tasting like summer strawberries and everything that he had ever dreamed of - he felt whole, for the first time in a long time. The noises you made were sinful, and his thoughts were nothing but you,you,you, the girl he had fallen in love with through the sounds in the wall and with the flowers on the roof, the girl that occupied his brain more than anything else.

Everything was too much and not enough, his head was buried in your neck, your legs were around his waist, pulling him tighter, urging him to go deeper. He had dreamt of this moment for a long time. He had imagined a candle lit dinner and red roses and awkward touches and itchy dress shirts, he wanted everything to be perfect, because you deserved the world. But in the living room of a safe house in the middle of nowhere, covered in sweat and blood and surrounded by thunder and clashing furniture seemed oddly magical for a couple with roots like yours.

After, you were cradled in the crook of his arm, with your hair splayed across his bare chest. Bucky was having a hard time controlling his rapid pulse and heavy breathing because holy shit he had just slept with the girl of his dreams, but one look at you under the moonlight looking ethereal and exhausted and everything else just dissolved into wisps or smoke.

He wanted to tell you in a better way, but he just couldn’t keep it in any longer. His brain was fizzled with pleasure and dizzy with euphoria, and he just wanted, needed you to know everything.

“I’m in love with you. I have been since I first saw you.”

You froze. After a beat, you buried your face into the flesh of his chest, your soft laughter tickling his abdomen, his fingers trailing loosely across your spine. You smiled like a child, looking up at him with big eyes and heart shaped lips.

“God. We’re both idiots. I’m so in love with you too, Buck.”

He grinned, and he felt like his heart might tear in two.

—————————————————————-

You arrived back at the compound with interlocked fingers and matching grins and Sam nearly collapsed with relief. Tony almost went into cardiac arrest.

For the first time in fifty years, happiness followed Bucky wherever he went. Things were easy, light. You were his. You crawled into his arms at the end of a bad day and you laughed into his shoulder and you held his hand and kissed him and killed him and resurrected him all at the same time. He had never felt home in this modern world, and now he looked forward to each day and whatever strange and inane adventure the two of you would end up on. The anvil that had been crushing his heart for so long had started to lighten, and he owed it all to you.

Still, there were hard days. When he woke up slick with sweat with eyes wider than the moon and an urge to wrap his hands around something, or when you thought of the past and became consumed by the memories, tears falling down your face before you could stop them. He got jealous, and he had multiple stern talks with Steve about “not threatening the interns just because they speak to your girlfriend,” you could be stubborn, take on more than you needed, return from a mission with a limp you tried to hide, one that eventually led to an argument about your reckless choices. But nothing ever lasted more than a day. You were always there for one another, with open arms and gentle smiles and the unconditional love that people would kill for.

He had been in a million different situations where he felt like he was drowning. Like something was pulling him under the depths, crushing his lungs and shattering his oesophagus. But nothing compared to how he felt around you. Nothing could match the way you consumed him completely. the electricity that coursed through his veins when your fingers brushed against his, there was nothing quite like the way his heartbeat would slow when you were around, the way that he suddenly felt warm and full whenever you laughed.

He had spent so long alone. He had spent so many years fighting a war he never signed up for, and he was exhausted. He was starved of attention but terrified of exposing himself, and he lived with a chain link fence around his heart. Your soft voice so soothing, the sweetness in your eyes and the innocent bat of your lashes disarmed him better than any soldier ever could. There was something about you - something magnetic, magical.

Your sweetness went straight to his brain. One look at you and his mind dizzied, a sugar rush that only you gave him.

Whenever somebody asked where he was from, he thought partly of Brooklyn, of his mother and Steve, of cobbled streets and dog tags and ink stained newspapers. He thought of darkness. Of being moulded and reshaped deep down in the depths of bad places, of iron and rust and metal, his hands coated in blood.

But mostly, he thought of you. Safe and warm and sweet and so good. How expensive mattresses and dim candles and hot chocolate didn’t make him feel half the way that you did. How you grounded him, calmed him, made everything feel light and coated in sunshine when he had spent so goddamn long being frozen.

So when somebody asked where he was from, he thought of you, because you were home.

[futurewriter2000]

Sweater

A/N: I actualy enjoyed reading this one but I never wanted to read it through because I’m really lazy. I know there are sentances and words I don’t like but idc. Hope you guys like it and all the love <3 (ALSO YOUNG JENSEN ACKLES AS REMUS?????? COME ON???? (he also hot now)) 

REQUEST: i'd like to request a one shot in which Sirius has a sister in ravenclaw who isn't prejudice like her family but isn't as loud mouthed accepting as her brother & they don't get along but some how she finds herself falling for her idiot brother's friend remus which she's baffled by because how could she like anyone stupid enough to tolerate her drama queen of a brother voluntarily 24/7 even if he's as smart & dreamy as remus

XX

It was as if you were strangers. It was as if all three of you were three different poles of the Earth. The youngest, Regulus, was the South pole, the oldest, Sirius, was North pole and you, the middle child, were the equator. The middle. The mediator. You weren’t as South orianted as Regulus was; always obeying, following and being the polished trophy on your parents’ shelf but you also weren’t as North as your brother Sirius- always pushing their buttons, waiting for your mother to explode and then feed on that. 

You obeyed... sometimes.

You rebelled... sometimes. 

You were neutral and sometimes that was a good thing, sometimes that was the loneliest feeling in the world. 

When Sirius was still living with you, there would be moments where your mother and father would praise Regulus and the two of you would just give each other that look- look that just tells everything and later tease little Reggie (as both of you liked to call him). But then again there would be moments where your parents would just scream and talk down on Sirius, leaving you and Regulus in an uncomfortable position. Sirius and Regulus would both be compared but you were just there. Like a void. Nobody paid attention to you, nobody acknowledged your presence. You could have murdered someone and they wouldn’t care in the world. And when Sirius left all of those moments were just giving you a lonely pit in your stomach. 

You were furious at your brother for leaving, crying, just being so aggrevated you wanted to murder him and James Potter but then you accepted it. Your brother wrote you and he kept writing you until you replied- which you eventually did, sending him a Howler. First day of school and he just burst in your comparment being annoying until you talked to him or laughed with him. He just annoyed the anger out of you. It didn’t leave, no, it was still there but it was smaller and you always goaded him with it. 

He hadn’t had much luck with Regulus. Mostly because he was a Slytherin and Sirius just couldn’t, for the love of God, deal with Slytherins, let alone be in their presence. You were a Ravenclaw, meaning you were easier to get to than your younger brother. 

You all still lived pretty divided life. You were close with both them, Sirius somehow more since Regulus despised that you and Sirius were on talking terms and he wasn’t. With months passing, he barely even talked to you. He did but it was so faint that it was worse than not talking. 

But again, you were the equator. The middle. 

“Oh how I love my little Ravenclaw sister, who has done nothing but bring me so much joy and love.” Sirius hugged you from behind, leaning his head on yours. “Beautiful, smart- just a peachy rainbow in the sky.” 

“You must be reading Poe.” you said unfazed, putting a spoonfull of mushroom-cream soup in your mouth. 

“Actually.” he breathed in a sharp breath, sitting beside you and smiling forcefully. “I’m not reading Poe and also not reading my Divination book, which has all the subjects and information for my Why do dreams affect wizards stronger than Muggles essay.” he leaned his head on the side, watching you with pleading eyes. 

“You must be keen on writing it.” you continued to play daft. 

“Funny... um...Well...I...” he tried to form a sentance. “I WAS planning on writing it, you know? For my good well-built brain but- khm.” he cleared his throat, leaning forward and looking at you with his eyes....his red, puffy eyes and you just knew.

“Oh Merlin.” you burried your head in your palms. “Again?” 

“It was one smoke, sissy.” he lied and after seeing your murderous glare, he corrected himself. “Maybe more than one. I stopped counting after one.” 

“You are an utter dumbass.” 

“Point proven on many occasions- so would you do what I ask you of??” his voice continued to get higher with each word, implying into you writing an essay for him, “Pleaseeee.” he whispered, dragging the letter ‘e’ with his breath. 

“Sirius...” you looked at him worriedly. “Why are you doing this?”

“Don’t sissy. Please.” he shook his head. “Later, please.” 

“I’ll murder you later. Why doesn’t one of your friends do it?”

“Who says they didn’t do this with me?” he forced a smile on his face again, acting so innocent but it was as looking mischief in it’s face. 

“I’ll do for you for the last time and in return we will have to talk. No outs, you have to promise me this, Sirius-” he grabbed your head by the sides and pulled it to kiss your forehead, beaming at you.

“I fooking love you, baby sis.” he jumped on his feet and started jumping away. “Love you!” 

You laughed, shaking your head at the idiot. 

“I wish he’d say that to me.” your friend said in front of you, letting you form a grimaced look on your face as she continued to look at him dreamily. “Imagine that bum-”

“oKAY!” you got up and grabbed your sweater. “I just lost my apetite. See you when you wash your brain.” you walked out of the Great Hall, grimacing at your friend back in the Great Hall and sobering up after feeling a cold breeze touching your bare arms and making you put your sweater on. 

But just as you pulled it over your head, you saw broad chest in front of you and before you could stop, it was too late- You were already in someone’s hold. 

“I’m so sorry-” you looked up to see his emerald eyes illuminating the crescent. “Remus.” you smiled and he took a step back, licking his lips and smiling back. 

He was attractive. You can give him that. He was wearing grey sweatpants, which he never wore and a red Gryffindor sweater that hung on his body just perfectly. His hair was for once messy and his eyes were not red as your brother’s but free- Yes, in one word...they were free.

“(y/n).” he said so lazily, rolling it off his tongue after letting it sit there for a taste. 

“You’re high.” you smiled cheekly and crossed your arms over your chest.

“And you’re cute.” he blurted out but continued to smile. Surprised, the smile on your cheeks disappeared and you felt an enormous amount of heat reach your cheeks. He took a step forward, stretching his long arm until his palm was against the wall. Excatly then you realized your back was against the cold white wall. “Really cute.” he continued to speak slowly, careful not to sound tongue-tied. 

“Remus- uhm.” you tried to speak but as soon as you looked up at those eyes, your stomach turned into a knot and your heart jumped to your throat. He was so attractive- his look was provocative, his smirk erroticaly dangerous. 

“Yes?” he tilted his head to the side, pretending to be confused when knowing just how much he flustered you. 

“I- I-” you stuttered as he kept coming close, his elbow resting where his palm did, his nose only a milimeter away, his breathing in sync with yours. His lips were so close to yours and they were pulling you closer- like a magnet you felt the pull on your lips and just before your upped lip could touch his, you heard a clattering sound from afar, sobering you up and making you pull away. “I gotta go.” you said, looking up at his grinning face and  slipping out of his hold. 

Your cheeks were so hot at the moment that the sweater felt like an oven.

“Wait!” you heard him shout, causing you to stop in your tracks and turn around. 

He was shirtliess. 

Why in hell was he shirtless?

“Take it.” he said, offering you his sweater. 

“Remus, I have a sweater.” you said, trying to keep your eyes away from his abs. 

How in hell can a man, who does nothing but seat behind books have such chiseled abs?

“I want you to have my sweater.” he said and at this point you could hear his words tripping over one another. 

“Why?” you asked, smiling at him- a bit confused a bit amused. 

He was close to you again, his chest against yours with only a ball of his sweater between the two of you. 

‘Merlin he smells good.’ - you heard yourself in your own head, taking a deep breath of his scent into your nostrills. 

“Because...” he looked down at his sweater, turning it in his hand. “I want you to look cute in my sweater.” 

“You want me to look cute in your sweater?” you quirked an eyebrow. 

He shook his head, narrowing his eyes and smirking again. “I want to see you in my sweater.” he said firmly and determined. 

“You’re high-” you tried to brush it off but his hand went up to your cheek, brushing away the fallen strand of your braid. You kept looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes and that just caused him to chuckle. 

“I’m high but at least I know what I want.” his voice got deep, husky and seductive. “And I’ve got my eyes on it for quite some time now.” he leaned forward. forcing the sweater in your hands and causing you to grab it with clenched fingers. “I want to see you in my sweater.” he growled, his eyes blazing into yours until he pulled away and started walking to his house, leaving you speechless and out of your mind. 

---

You got to your dorm with his sweater in your hands and mind stuck somewhere between what the fuck just happened and Remus’ abs. 

So many questions filled your head, so many pictures you have never thought until now and you were still like a boiling tomato. You walked to your bed and sat on it. His red Gryffindor sweater was in your lap and your eyes fixated on it. You got up, sat back down, got back up, looked on the sweater, thought of his abs, sat back down and laid on your back. 

“What the fuck?” you mumbled to yourself, smelling his scent come off his sweater. You turned your head to the side and saw it laying there, such an innocent object yet filled with so much... thoughts. 

Of course, you always had liked Remus since he seemed to be the most normal out of all four of them. He dated a girl or two but it never lasted. He used to be lanky boy with tidy hair, always smiling or with his nose buried in a book. He was the responsible one, he was the no trouble one- so who the hell was the person you just bumped into in the corridor because it definetly wasn’t the Remus you knew?

You kept smelling his scent- his wonderful masculine scent and it just drove you insane. You grabbed the sweater and threw it in your warderobe. 

You have to write an essay for your brother. You have to write an essay for his best best best best best friend in the world, your idiotic brother. 

---

You stood at the top of the stairs and just kept watching down. ‘What if Remus is in there? - Why should you care?- You shouldn’t. He probably does not remember. He was high on his ass.’

You took a few steps than stopped. 

‘But doesn’t he wonder why he was shirtless? - He could remember. It’s not like the cannabis plant can take away your memory. Its main psychoactive ingredient, THC, stimulates the part of your brain that responds to pleasure, like food and sex. That unleashes a chemical called dopamine, which gives you a euphoric, relaxed feeling.’ 

‘Yes. He was relaxed. He was chill. He was - fuck, he can remember. ‘

You turned around and went a step down, then stopped again. 

‘You know what? No.’ - you told yourself and turned back around. ‘I’m a chill person. I’m relaxed. I can play just as dirty as he can.’ you then turned back around went up to your dorm, took off your sweater and dragged his from your own warderobe. You put it on, letting his strong scent wash all over you and cause goosebumps to appear on your skin. Warmth washed your body like a hot shower and you felt a smile form on your lips.

Looking at the mirror and seeing your naive smile looking back at you, you sobered your infatuated expression and proudly walked to the Gryffindor tower. Your brother already sent you the password this morning so it was easy getting in. 

You didn’t even try to think, only knocked twice as you always did and barged in. 

All heads popped up and you tried to ignore all three of them, focusing on your brother and making your way towards him. 

A big bright smile appeared on his lips and he jumped off the bed. “Oh Merlin!” He kept jumping on his toes excitedly, taking the papers from your hands. “It looks so beautiful and so pure.” he kept jumping to his desk and put in in a drawer. “You deserve a hug, my dear sister.” 

“Sirius.” you put your hand up as he tried to approach you. “I will kick you if you try.” 

“Ah, come on. Sibling love.” he opened his arms again but you continued to narrow your eyes.

“I will kick you, Sirius Orion Black and you will not be able to get up.” you warned and he laughed. 

He turned to the others and pointed his finger at one of them. “She’s right. That happened already once. “ you followed the direction of his finger and locked your eyes with his emerald ones. 

Sirius voice became part of the background and all you could see was his seductive eyes, watching you with a playful curve on his lips. You crossed your arms over your chest, leaning back and raising an eyebrow, accepting his daring challange. 

He was surprised to say the least. The corner of his mouth draw closer to his cheek and a dimple formed on the side of it. He locked his fingers together and put his hands behind his head with his elbows pointing out. The hem of his shirt exposed his light skin, the biceps tensing and his shirt outlining his chest. 

You lost because you felt your whole body collapse from the sight. It was so innocent but so cruel. 

You turned your head to the side, seeing James saying something and when you unmuted the background you heard him arguing with Sirius. 

“It is unfair.”

“Life is unfair.”

“She’s a Ravenclaw and those spit on a paper and BAM! Essay!”

“She’s a gift.” Sirius turned to you with a prideful look in his eyes, smiling girlishly. 

“And you’re a pain in my arse.” you snarled, letting all four boys laugh. “You owe me, brother. “

“I really do not have talent for school but if you ever need a partner in crime, you can always give me a bell.” he winked, walking towards you and rufflinf your braid. 

“Ger’ off!” you pushed his arm away. “Twat.”

He turned his head to laugh at you but his eyes directed themselves on your sweater. He pointed his finger on it and narrowed his eyes. “That’s not my sweater.” he said seriously. “And it’s not theirs either because I wrote their initials on it with black ink.” 

You looked down on your sweater, innocently as you could.”Hmm...” you wondered. “Don’t know.” you looked up at him, smiling wickedly.

His face got extremely stern, humorless. “It’s a Gryffindor sweater, little sister.” 

“So I’ve noticed.”

“Who is it?” 

“None of your busniess.”

“None-” he scoffed. “NOne oF mY bUsinEsS.” he kept scoffing, shook and looking around. 

Your eyes glanced at Remus and he kept grinning, clearly enjoying the current scene in front of him. He winked at you, you smiled and turned back to Sirius. 

“I don’t go into your crazy business.”

“It’s different. Just tell me who it is. I won’t do-”

“Well, Sirius. You sort of left us so my business is clearly not to be shuffled by your long crooked nose especially when you get to call me only when you need something from me.” you snapped at him, leaving him speechless. “So yeah. It is none of your business.” and with that you left the dorm, feeling a pit eat your stomach. 

‘I should have just told him it was Remus’ . What could he do about it, anyway? Stop being my brother? He stopped being that the moment he decided  to leave and never come back.’

---

You felt the guilt eat you from the inside out. Of course, you and Sirius always poked each other but sometimes when he got under your skin, you spat out all the wrongs he ever done you. 

But it was true. Deep down inside you, you felt abandoned by your older brother, who has always had the need to protect both you and Regulus but he left. He left and that was selfish of him. 

“That was a bit harsh, what you said there.” someone snapped you out of your thoughts and before you could turn around, he was already next to you, smirking. 

You quirked your lip and looked down on your book. “About his long crooked nose? He’s probably looking at the mirror as we speak.” you said and he laughed beside you. 

“You know...” he put his head on his palm and smiled. “He did all morning.” he laughed and you joined him, giggling yourself and closing your book. 

“So what are you doing here?” you asked, placing your hands on the book in front. 

He looked down on them, seeing the sleeves of his sweater cover both of your palms, leaving only fingers curved in. He licked his lips, feeling such satisfaction of you in his oversized hoodie that he completely forgot on your question. 

“You know, if I didn’t clean this Gryffindor sweater, Sirius would flip out on both of us?” he said and you raised an eyebrow, amused by his sudden nervous act. 

“Why would he?” 

“Because you’re his little sister.”

“And you’re his best friend.” you said, crossing your arms and leaning on your chair. “Which I have always wondered how could someone as smart as you be with someone as idiotic as my brother?”

He mirrored your position and chuckled. “I’ve been wondering that same thing for all seven years but then again, when I look at your brother, I know that I can trust him.” he put his arms on his knees, crossing them and leaning forward to you. 

You tilted your head to the side and uncrossed your arms. “As if you have something to hide...” you narrowed your eyes, mirroring his position. “Do you, Remus John Lupin?” 

“Well, if you must know I’m a werewolf and we all go running through the woods on a full moon.” he said jokingly and you laughed. 

“Yeah right.” you leaned back. 

“It’s true. James is a stag, Peter is a mouse and Sirius is-”

“An ass.” 

“Unfortunately a dog.”

“Well, we all can’t get everything, can we?” 

“No.” he laughed, draping one hand over the chair and leaning on the side. His eyes locked on yours, digging deep inside with his green diamonds... smiling stealthily. “No, we can’t.” 

You felt bubbling in your stomach, your cheeks getting red due to his blazing gaze and your whole throat go sore. “Uhm-” you cleared your throat, looking away shly then locking back your eyes with his, this time bravely. “You still didn’t answer my question.”

“Which one?”

“What are you doing here?” 

“Oh.” he chuckled, leaning forward again so his eyes could dig into yours and his hands took a hold of your own. His fingers slid under the sleeves and his thumbs carrased the back of your hands.

You felt your fingers tangle with his long ones and the heat on your cheeks rise as he pulled you close. “So?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” he answered, getting closer until his nose brushed against yours. 

It was.

“No.” you smirked and he raised an eyebrow. “I think I’ll need more clues.” your fingers untangled from his and your arms slid up his thighs, triggering him to crash his lips into yours and pull you into his lap. His hands went to your hips as yours went up to his hair, deepening the kiss and feeling him smile. 

You pulled away, looking at his hungry eyes. “What?”

“That a good clue for you?” he stretched a grin on his face and you rolled your eyes, unable to stop smiling. 

“That was a clue?” you teased and he chuckled.

“Not good enough?” he started to kiss your neck and you felt your head fall back. You felt your fingers cramp from tugging his shirt so strongly, barely breathing but it wasn’t until you heard something fall among the shelves that caught both of your attention. 

Both of you turned your head to the source, both dazed and confused. 

“James?” you heard Remus in front of you. 

“Moony- what the fuck?” 

“Umm...” you heard Remus humm and looking up at you.

“Don’t look at me.” you laughed and his eyes narrowed.

“Pads’ sister? Really? From all the girls, you had to chose your best friend’s sister?” James started to scold him, leaving you to hold your laugh.

“Not my fault I am irresistable.” you got up from his lap and started grabbing your books. 

“I’m telling Padfoot.” said James, making Remus stand up and point his finger at James.

“You try that and I’ll kill you.” 

“Not if Pads kills your first.” James grinned, backing away and running out of the library. 

Remus tried to go after him but you took him by the arm and pulled him back. He turned to you as if ‘what the hell are you doing?’ but honestly, you didn’t care. “Let him go.”

“I’ll be dead.” 

“James won’t say a thing.”

“You clearly don’t know James.” 

“Probably but it’s not like this should be a secret- should it be?” you asked and he smiled, wrapping his arms around you. 

“I don’t know. I kind of like this.” he said, making you relax at the sound of his sincere voice. 

“You do?” you asked, clearly doubting his words, no matter how sincere they sounded. 

“Don’t you?”

“You keep answering my questions with questions.” you stated and he laughed. 

“Well, don’t you?” 

“I do.”

“Well, then so do I.” 

“And Sirius?” 

“I think Sirius would-”

“IT WAS YOUR SWEATER!” you heard a shout from the shelves and both of your turned to see Sirius standing there with wide, shocked eyes. 

“Speaking of the Devil.” you rolled your eyes. “Guess, I really was wrong about James.”

“And I was right... clearly.”

“YOU CLEANED THE INK?!” he continued to shout, pointing his finger at Remus. “IT WAS SUPPOSED TO MAKE US MATCH!!”

“And here you were worried about him being mad about you and me snogging in the library.” you smiled, leaving Remus chuckling. 

“Wait for it.”

“AND FROM ALL THE BOYS YOU DECIDED TO TAKE MY BOY?” 

“You’re mad at me?!” you perplexed, looking at your brother with wide eyes and hearing Remus laugh beside you. 

“BLOODY HELL I AM!” he started pointing his finger at you. “And my nose is not CROOKED!” 

“I think it’s a little crooked.” you started to tease.

“If I look closely, you might be right.” Remus joined you. 

Sirius gasped and took a hold of his nose. “You both deserve each other.” he stormed out of the room, leaving both of you laughing a few moments before returning back and taking a look at the two of you, smiling kindly. “I’m happy for both of you, just so you know.” 

You smiled at your brother, feeling Remus’ hand on your back as he pulled you close and look down on you. “ I’m happy too.”