#and then maybe... well. maybe that best part will turn up on his doorstep again and he won’t be ashamed to meet her

[lunesviolettes]

Void - 010.

(This series was originally posted on my Wattpad, so I’m bringing it over here)

pairing: MCU!bucky barnes x MCU!female reader

word count: 6.4k

summary: Y/N was far from any normal girl in Brooklyn during the 1940s. Her physical and mental strength were far from ordinary and her mother and father were nothing short of strange, just like her. Secrets and strange occurrences were all that she had ever known and with the approach of a second global war, it seemed that everything would only become stranger. A powerful organization, a target on the back of a young girl, a serum, and an infinity stone were all that it would take to change everything she knew about her world.

chapter warnings:

a/n: This fanfic follows the course of the MCU movies (The First Avenger - Thunderbolts). It’s more focused on the story aspect of the MCU and is very much a slow burn type of story with not a lot of focus on smut.

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"The Hydra camp is in Krausberg, tucked between these two mountain ranges. It's a factory of some kind." You turned away from the window, eyes following Agent Carter as she handed a rolled up map to Steve. Clouds passed by in a blur and the sky was dark - smoke-filled. Part of you almost wished you had stayed on the ground.

It wasn’t that you doubted Howard’s skills - you would never admit that out loud, but you weren’t sure how well you could handle all of it. This was different…real. You were heading right into enemy lines, on your own accord. From here you could see the realities of war - hear the distant booms. At any moment you could be shot out of the sky. This was the realization that had your heart battering against your ribs.

You were not brave…not to this extent. Standing up to a thick-headed brute was where your courage ended. Working with toxic and radioactive chemicals was far more simple than the complexities of war. Or maybe it wasn’t so complicated. Out here…it was kill or be killed.

"We should be able to drop you right on the doorstep." Howard shouted from the front end of the aircraft. "Just get me as close as you can," Steve replied. His voice lowered as he turned back to Peggy. "You know, you three are gonna be in a lot of trouble at the lab." He wasn’t wrong. The three of them were disobeying direct orders from Colonel Phillips. But you knew - and Steve knew too, that this was what Dr. Erskine wanted. He wanted a brave and true-hearted soldier. Not a performer.

It wouldn’t just be the three of them getting scolded. Steve was as you said, a performer…and he was late. "And you won't be?" You asked. If the time was correct, he was about three hours late for his next performance. You could envision it now - all four of your heads on a pike. Time and time again, doing the right thing somehow felt so wrong.

"Where I'm goin', if anybody yells at me I can just shoot 'em." He said humorously - his smile soon disappearing when neither you nor Peggy shed a single grin. You’d always admired Steve for it, despite how concerned it made you. He was undeniably and annoyingly brave. "They will undoubtedly shoot back." Peggy reminded him.

Steve stuck his arm out, rasping his knuckles against the crest-shaped shield that was perched on the seat to his right. "Well let's hope it's good for somethin'."

"Agent Carter, if we're not in too much of a hurry I thought we could stop off in Lucerne for a late-night fondue." You looked up from your lap, watching the exchange between Peggy and Steve - or rather the silent exchange. His expression clouded over - something akin to confusion…and maybe even jealousy? The air had grown heavy with tension - spurred on as Peggy shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"Stark is the best civilian pilot I've ever seen. He's mad enough to brave this airspace, we're lucky to have him."

The only unusual thing about the interaction was Peggy’s response. Working with Howard for as little of time as you did showed you one thing; he was a flirt. And most women were perceptive to it, but you already knew that Agent Carter had her eyes on someone else. You saw it clear as day when Steve shouted from within the chamber. She had grown to care for the man while he was fighting to claim his spot in Project Rebirth. She, like everyone Steve encountered, came to be aware of his true spirit.

"So are you two...? Do you...? Fondue?" You snorted, failing to stifle it which earned you a sharp glare from Peggy. She didn’t respond, instead pulling out a small device from her coat pocket. “This is your transponder. Activate it when you're ready and the signal will lead us straight to you."

Steve examined it carefully, seemingly unsure of it. It was small and light - which weren’t exactly telltale signs to something working. He directed his attention to the pilot seat where Howard sat. "Are you sure this thing works?"

"It's been tested more than you, pal." From the corner of your vision came a flash of light. You grimaced, looking towards the window. By the time recognition flickered within you, it was too late. It was bright and powerful - striking the aircraft with a force that nearly sent you flying off the seat. The circuit board in front of Howard lit up like a christmas tree. Each blast was seemingly stronger than the last. It was a wonder you hadn’t been knocked out of the sky.

Steve rose up on unsteady feet, pushing himself toward the exit. "Get back here!" Peggy shouted, reaching for his arm. "We're taking you all the way in!" You stood as well, bracing yourself against the seat. "As soon as I'm free, you turn this thing around and get the hell outta here!" Your face was scrunched up as you fought to hear him over the blasts that struck the side of the aircraft.

“You can't give me orders!" Agent Carter commanded. "The hell I can't! I'm a Captain!" He spared you both a grin before turning to the door. You stepped forward first as he tugged the goggles over his eyes. Peggy was at your right, peering out from the edge of the doorframe as Steve dove from the aircraft. Your hand was braced against the edge, wincing as he narrowly evaded each blast from below the tree line. But then again…they weren’t exactly aiming for him.

You spotted it nearing. Your eyes widened, mouth falling agape. A warning shout escaped you as you pushed Peggy back. The blast struck its target, shaking the aircraft. Your grip loosened, your foot lost purchase and soon the ground disappeared from beneath you. Your stomach plummeted as you descended faster and faster. The wind whipped all around you, making something as simple as breathing entirely impossible. You could see nothing but the darkened sky above.

Each blast was a mere echo in the distance. You could think of nothing but your impending doom. As the ground came closer and closer, you knew the end was near. The biting winds had your eyes filling with tears. With blurred vision, you were unaware of the blue sheen that sprouted from your skin. You could see nothing of the tendrils of energy that slithered along your frame. Only when it brightened had you come to be aware of it. Dust kicked up around you as you fell through the trees. Your eyes were no longer visible - instead hidden within depths of bright light as you made contact with the Earth.

There was a deafening boom. The energy that had curled itself around you went soaring outward. What you thought would be a fatal fall had been anything but. When the dust finally settled, you moved to sit up. Beneath you was a large crater, carved out in the Earth from the force of your fall. As you looked down at yourself, you found nothing but the gentle gleam of smokey light as it sank back into your skin. You appeared fine, as if the events that occurred moments prior did not transpire at all.

The only evidence of your fall was the hollowed out dirt you sat in and the few trees around you that had been uprooted. They sat there, leaning from the force of energy that billowed through them. You were vaguely aware of the hissed call of your name from somewhere behind you. Steve moved around you, nearly tripping through the ditch as he sank to a knee in front of you. “What the hell are you doing here?” He whisper-shouted.

You blinked, the furrow in between your brows smoothing out as you finally came to register the sounds existing around you. Steve looked you up and down once - partly unnerved at the notion that there was not a single external injury on you. “I-“ Your voice was soft, almost hoarse. “I fell.” You said finally.

“Yeah I saw. And heard. Every single person in Germany heard you fall. We gotta move. Soldiers are gonna be running guns blazing through here.” He pulled you to your feet and you took an unsteady step forward. You swallowed down a gulp and followed after him. His steps were quick - silent. Yours were loud and you were slowly falling behind. You panted, chest heaving. With a wince you jumped and pushed yourself over a fallen tree.

Once again, you were reminded of a very painful fact. You were human. The kind of human that had never trained a day in their life to race through a forest for their life. The type that was completely unprepared to fight their way into a Nazi base. Steve must have sensed your apprehension as he slowed his once quick pace. “You alright?”

You shook your head, bracing against a tree. Your skin was covered in a sheen layer of sweat. “I can’t do this Steve. Maybe I should just stay behind and wait.” Your heart was pounding against the confines of your chest. You swore you could barely hear anything over the roaring of blood in your ears. It was all too much. This wasn’t supposed to be your life. You weren’t supposed to even be in Germany. Steve was the brave one - not you.

“I can’t risk that, Y/N. I can protect us both okay? I won’t let you get hurt, I promise.” He placed a hand atop your shoulder - a strange gesture considering he once was never able to look down at you. It was strange to see him like this, though you never really seemed to notice it before. In the silence of the woods, with no distractions, you could see it now. The outside finally matched the inside.

Only then did you come to realize that Steve was always brave. Even with his seemingly never ending list of health concerns, he never seemed to let it stop him. He was 5’4 and 95 pounds and leapt on top of a grenade like it was nothing. He had nothing and acted like he had everything. If he could do it then…you could do it now.

The two of you skidded to a stop, crouching behind a mass of overgrowth. Your legs burned and your lungs ached for a break. But finally, it seemed as if you made it. Just ahead was a dirt path, occupied by an approaching vehicle. You ducked down behind the shrubs, hoping they would shield you from the headlights. Behind a towering chain link fence sat the Hydra base. There was a watchtower and a never ending supply of guards stationed along the fence. How you would get in was certainly a mystery.

A small tap on your arm had you silently following after Steve. He led the two of you to the last vehicle in the line of those entering the facility. Without disrupting the silence, he dove through the tarp first and you soon followed. The two of you landed at the feet of not one, but two Hydra soldiers. You froze, eyes boring into the soulless helmets.

With a small mustered greeting from Steve, they dove forward. You bared your teeth, grunting as you kicked upward at the nearest soldier. He was knocked back, stumbling against the seat he once sat on. As he recovered, Steve was there at the ready. His elbow struck the side of his temple and the man crumpled. Another kick had him falling past the tarp, landing on the dirt outside the vehicle alongside the other unconscious soldier.

Your hands never stopped shaking. Your nerves only seemed to grow as the vehicle slowed, a single breath escaping you when it came to a full stop. You met Steve’s eyes briefly and he nodded assuredly. You were in it now. There was no time to be hesitant. Every move you made would either kill you or keep you alive.

You had no real life training. No weapons. Nothing but a power source within you that threatened to suck the life out of you.

"On my mark." Steve whispered, breaking you from your inner turmoil. Light seeped into the small space as the tarp was lifted. There were no shouts - no warnings. Steve threw his arm forward in a single breath, knocking back the German soldier.

You dropped down from the vehicle into a low crouch, trying to ignore the twinge of pain that hit your ankles as you landed. You tried your best to ignore the panic that filled you when you spotted the seemingly never ending line of tanks. Any one of them could obliterate you in a second. One second and you would meet the same fate as your father. Your entire body was covered in a cold sweat - your chest almost painful from your rapidly beating heart.

There was no denying that you were dead weight. But Steve made no mention of it. Part of you believed he didn’t even think it himself. Not as he turned, pulling you up onto the hood of the tank. Not as he waited for you to make your way up onto the roof. You had never felt so helpless, but in Steve’s mind, his only concern was your safety. “You alright?” He asked, drawing a single breathless response from you.

Just up ahead sat a security door. Steve pressed his back against the wall to its right, a short curt knock following before the guard inside turned. You winced, pressing yourself closer against the wall, watching as the guard’s face peered through the open door. Steve grabbed onto its edge, slamming it into the side of his head. He gave a short grunt in pain, but quickly collapsed after a fist struck the center of his face.

Steve was quick to drag his crumpled form into the hall and shut the door behind him. The room was heavily occupied with Hydra soldiers. They were at every turn. It was a wonder the two of you were not spotted as you crept from machinery to bombs. Your brows furrowed, following the retreating figure of the guard. In his hands was a weapon - one you had become fairly acquainted with.

There it was. The dark veil creeping up behind you. Your blood turned to ice. Within the twisted depths of your mind, you could hear its faraway blast - the charging up that filled you with instant dread. There you were, surrounded by the very thing responsible for killing your father. The very thing that laid dormant within you. Or maybe not. As you looked upon its blue glow, you felt it within you. Pulsating. Reverberating. Your eyes reflected its same hues.

Your head spun - skin tingling. Something within you was pulling towards it. Like a tether. You tilted your head, face scrunched up in concentration. Within the glowing depths of light, you became lost. As the world around you blurred, you swore you could hear it calling to you. The hand on your arm did little to release you from your mental prison.

Finally, Steve tugged on your arm lightly. Your head snapped up and you looked back. He regarded you with concern, like he half expected you to wrap your hands around his neck and choke the life out of him. Maybe he had a reason to, because as you looked back at him, your eyes contained blue unlike anything he’d ever seen. There was nothing natural about it. It was bright, glowing…almost sickly. “Let’s keep moving.” He said finally.

The longer you were in that facility trailing after Steve, the worse you felt. You were sweating. You could feel it on the back of your neck - on your palms. Your head was growing foggy and each thought became less concise than the last. There was nothing you could focus on other than the thrumming of energy around you. It was everywhere. Every weapon. Every machine.

But you couldn’t understand why you felt this way. If it was calling to you, why did you feel so sick? Like you could no longer keep yourself upright? None of your questions could be answered. There were far more pressing matters at hand.

The lights dimmed noticeably as the pair of you entered the holding room. A number of cages lined the small space, packed tightly with war prisoners. A guard was surveying them from above, but your eyes could focus on nothing but the weapon in his hand.

A single breath escaped you. You were there again. Crouched behind that wall, throwing your hands over your ears as the beam of light struck its target. The memories left as quickly as they had come as Steve disarmed the man. A single blow had him crumpling. A booming clatter followed his fall. The prisoners all looked up from the commotion, finding a man dressed in red white and blue staring down at them.

You quickly moved forward, crouching beside the guard as you fiddled through his pocket for keys. “Who are you supposed to be?” One man asked. “I’m…Captain America.” Steve said breathlessly. You quickly tossed the keys to Steve and he jumped down from atop the cages. The force that his boots hit the ground had drawn the men to their feet. When you finally managed to scramble down the cage, clinging to its bars - you eyed each prisoner as they passed. Within their faces you found that not a single one bore any resemblance to the one you were searching for.

Dread filled you as you searched amongst the sea of soldiers. Bile rose in your throat. Skin growing cold. Eyes brimming with tears. You looked to Steve - worry written all over his once determined face. Your shoulders deflated, but hope was not entirely lost yet. “Is there anybody else? We're looking for a Sergeant James Barnes."

"There's an isolation ward in the factory, but no one's ever come back from it." Your expression grew solemn. You didn’t like the implication. Whatever they were doing to these men for some to never return couldn’t have been good. You’d only hoped Bucky would be there - in one piece. You couldn’t handle another loss. You didn’t think you could return without him. If he wasn’t here perhaps you would just walk into the line of fire on one of those tanks. Grieving was something you could no longer pretend to attempt.

"All right. The tree line is northwest, 80 yards past the gate. Get out fast and give 'em hell. I'll meet you guys in the clearing with anybody else I find."

"Wait! You know what you're doin'?" A soldier called out, drawing Steve to a slow stop. He turned. In truth…he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. But Steve was never one to back down when the ones he cared for were in danger. "Yeah. I've knocked out Adolf Hitler over two hundred times." There was a long pause among the men as they processed his declaration.

Alarms blared as the two of you raced through the main floor. The walls shook with each blast from outside. You could only hope those blasts would come with your victory. You were not alone as the German soldiers charged forward. Dozens of U.S soldiers raced through the doors, armed with weapons they had managed to wrestle from the arms of their enemies. You couldn’t focus. Not while your vision blurred with the rapidly firing bursts of blue light around you.

You panted - chest heaving when a Hydra soldier advanced towards you. In your mind, you could see the scraps of metal rolling towards you. Their metal arms swung at you rapidly. It was just like training. Don’t forget your training. You said to yourself, arms raising. You winced, your chest growing almost painfully heavy as a wave of blue energy seeped from your skin. It swirled around you, moving to your palms.

The soldier pointed his gun, finger tightening down on the trigger. They came towards you fast, but as you crossed your arms over your face - they dissipated. It was like a forcefield - glistening and crackling between you and the man. The bullets struck it and turned to a fine grey mist that settled at your feet.

With teeth bared, you threw your arm forward. Light curled around the weapon, tossing it high into the air. Despite being disarmed, he still charged forward. Your eyes widened as he dove past the forcefield, hands going for your throat. You were thrown to the ground, the wind forcefully knocked from your lungs. Panic filled within you when you found yourself unable to breathe. You kicked and thrashed beneath him.

Your hands came up, tightening around his wrists. But your death had not followed. Your eyes brightened - blinding like the golden beams of light from the sun. The man bellowed out in pain, yanking his arms back. The skin around his wrists was burnt. But not the type of burn you’d expected. His skin had turned bright red in some spots, but the rest was purely black. The type of blackness that reminded you of decay.

He stared down in horror at his hands - visibly shaking. You rose up slowly, almost hesitant as you regarded the man. There was no time to truly process what had occurred. Another soldier descended upon you, a familiar weapon in his grasp. You heard it from somewhere behind you, eyes widening, back tensing. It charged up. The low hum sent a chill down your spine. With a shrill ring, it burst from the barrel of the weapon.

Steve flicked his head over in alarm, defenses lowered as he raced for you. A shout clawed up his throat but quickly died off as the blast struck its target. There was no pain. Nothing but an overwhelming warmth. You fell forward, your knee braced against the ground. As the beam of energy struck your back, it sizzled, crawling along your skin. Your eyes were squeezed shut, fighting against the force of power that surrounded you. It sank into your skin - burrowing deep.

You rose back up on unsteady feet. You could feel it within you. Power. That was the only way it could be described. A living, breathing power that subsided the pounding in your head. Finally you understood why that tether within you was so strong. It called to itself. Vaguely you recalled the tendrils that seemed to reach towards you when you prodded at the small speck of light from the energy cartridge.

Your hands shook as you turned. The man lowered his weapon, taking a hesitant step back. You took a daring step towards him, your knees wobbling. It bubbled underneath your skin, the low hum growing louder. It seeped steadily from you now. There was no voice over the loudspeakers telling you to go easy. No warnings to not use too much.

There was nothing now but the string of whispers circling around you. They were clearer now. They spoke one word. More. Over and over. Hissing and seething as if the voices were truly starved. You made no moves to harm the man. You could hardly concentrate on anything other than keeping yourself upright. Each step was more impossible than the last.

His weapon clattered against the ground - a crack left behind in the concrete from the weight of its fall. There was something in your stare that terrified him. Your eyes were not visible, replaced by the blinding light. But the space around was sunken in, like the force of power was making you waste away. And maybe it was. It pooled at your feet, swirling around and back into your skin. Each breath was treacherous, like there was simply not enough strength within your lungs to take it.

You grunting, throwing your arm forward. A burst of energy charged from your arm, striking the man’s chest. He was thrown back, a terrified scream somehow audible before he hit the ground. He stirred, but made no further moves to get up. Your eyes scanned the space around you. Death met you at every shift of your head.

Soldiers on either side went down quickly. With surprising speed, you spun out of the way of a fist that swung for you. Light danced along your forearm as you struck the side of the man’s head. The force of it echoed within the vast room and he was thrown back, striking a nearby column. It cracked underneath his weight, crumbling down over him as he slid to the floor.

Amidst the chaos, you brought about your own. You battled down each guard who entered your field of vision. Blinding blue light swirled around your fists. Your lungs burned - aching with each treacherous breath. But that was a mere afterthought as the power took control. It was so incredibly potent, it almost made you sick. You threw your arm out, but very quickly sunk to a knee as your leg gave out from beneath you.

You could barely hold yourself up on your shaking arms. Blood dripped onto the floor beneath you and as you wiped your nose, it was smeared across your hand. Bright red blood - a stark contrast to the blue that surrounded you. A weakness. A reminder of your near fatal flaw. Mortality.

However, Steve was there. He was unaffected by the sizzling waves of light as he lugged you up and onto your feet. “Stay with me, Y/N.” He muttered, holding tight to you. You nodded, head lolling to the side as you grunted. The two of you approached a bridge, met by a single guard who bared no weapon in his hands.

Your head lifted and you pushed away from Steve. One arm was braced against the metal railing as you raised the other. Your fingers were tensed, palm facing toward him. A tendril of blue energy curled around his neck. A choked sound escaped him as he was lifted from the bridge. His legs kicked as he fought for air. His hands clawed at the force around his neck.

With a mere flick of your hand, he was thrown from the bridge, soaring down to the concrete below. The room echoed with the force at which his body cracked against the ground. Despite your wobbly legs, you made it to the other side of the railing and peered over the edge. From the high distance above, you could see it. Red. Pooling underneath his helmet, staining the concrete. In an instant, the fire within you simmered.

The light dimmed, sinking back into your skin. Your face was visible now, brows furrowed as you stared down at the man. You didn’t grieve for this man. You couldn’t. Not without thinking of all the soldiers he had killed in this war. A war so meaningless - based on the cruelest hatred you could ever envision. There was no sadness as you stared down at him - no regret. You were clouded by another emotion entirely. Fear.

You were frightened - not because you had taken a life, but because you had enjoyed it. You couldn’t admit that out loud, so you swallowed down your bile, wiped the blood from your face, and pushed away from the railing.

Walking was easier now. Before you had felt as if you were weighed down by the force of its power. It was still quite difficult to keep up with Steve. Your head was throbbing, legs aching, chest heaving. The humidity within this new hallway was certainly not helping. It was dim and yellow. The air was thick with the putrid aroma of death and decay. You couldn’t imagine the type of horrors that occurred for it to smell that way.

The footfalls that echoed against the walls of the isolation ward came to a sudden stop as a short, stocky man scrambled from a hidden hallway. With his hands full and an eagerness to not fight either of you, he scurried in the other direction. You spotted the briefcase in his hands, eyes darkening. Steve took after him first, and you just behind, but it was a low groan that had you skidding to a stop. You nearly slipped against the dampness of the concrete, but the doorframe held you upright as you clung to it.

Moonlight came in through the streaky, fogged windows, cast over the figure laid atop the medical bed. Leather straps were pulled over their chest and legs. Incoherent mumbling filled the room, a single shaky gasp escaping you as it registered within you. “Oh my god.” You moved with urgency toward the table. Despite your blurred vision from the tears that pooled in your eyes, you could see him.

As you stared down at his face, you finally felt as if you could truly breathe. Bucky - alive. Your hand was on his chest, but he stared blankly up at the ceiling. Part of you wondered if he was even aware you were there.

You grunted, wrestling with the buckled restraints. That finally seemed to rouse him, his eyes flicking to your face. “Bucky.” You breathed out, lip quivering as you placed a hand against the side of his face. He said your name softly - his voice groggy and slurred. Despite his state, he still managed to smile. “Steve’s here too.” You said sniffling.

It was Steve who helped him off the table and onto his feet. When you were sure he was stable against the man, you moved towards him with urgency, wrapping your arms tightly around him. His scent was foreign now - sickly, nearly choking you with its severity. And still, you paid no mind to it. He was alive and seemingly well and that was all that mattered.

"We thought you were dead." Steve whispered, and it was only then that Bucky finally seemed to register his new appearance. He blinked, as if he had been imagining it. "I thought you were smaller."

With you in the lead, the three of you ran back the way you came, the faraway sound of gunfire bouncing off the walls. "What happened to you?" Bucky mumbled, slouched over as he all but clung onto Steve for support. "I joined the army." You couldn’t imagine what the reaction would be when he found out what had happened to you. The seemingly impossible had become possible. It had been a long few months - for all of you. The three of you had been changed in ways that many couldn’t begin to comprehend.

The walls shook with the force of a chain of explosions below. You winced, bringing your arm up and over your face to shield it from the assault of heat that came up. The entire ground floor was destroyed, flames rising higher with each explosion. He rigged the ground to explode. So that none could get their hands on his prized weapons.

With your original path of escape covered in a pit of fire, the three of you were forced to retreat upwards. You raced up the stairs, one hand holding tight to the railing as if you expected to trip on a step at any moment. “Captain America!” You’d nearly crashed into Bucky as they skidded to a stop. Finally you saw him. The man Dr. Erskine had described in his stories paled in comparison to the man you spotted across the bridge. He appeared entirely ordinary, but you swore you could feel the madness seeping from him.

"How exciting! I am a great fan of your films!" You took a slow step forward, your hand on Bucky’s arm. Your scowl deepened, rage building as you moved in front of him. Johann Schmidt approached slowly, his demeanor fully relaxed despite the fiery destruction below.

"So, Dr. Erskine managed it after all. Not exactly an improvement, but still, impressive. And I see you brought your friend! We've had our eyes on you for a while now. My dearest condolences to your father." Steve drew his arm back and struck Schmidt. The force of his blow had the man stumbling back, clutching to the railing for support. Surprise was evident on his face as he held the site of impact. You moved to take a step forward but Bucky placed his hand over the one braced on the railing, shaking his head.

As you looked back at Schmidt, your eyes narrowed. “What the hell?” You whispered. The area underneath his eyes was red - blood red. His skin seemed more wrinkled than before, particularly at the edges. In quick retaliation, Johann Schmidt returned the blow, his fist meeting the hard material of Steve's shield. It bent underneath the impact, leaving an imprint of his knuckles behind.

Just as Steve reached for the pistol in his holster, Schmidt struck again, sending the blonde flying back against the walkway. His weapon skidded along the ground, falling victim to the flames below. With Steve on his back and his weapon discarded, Schmidt saw his opportunity. He approached with intent to harm, but Steve was faster. He kicked the man back across the bridge.

The smaller man across the landing held tight to a lever, yanking it down. What once was a complete walkway began to separate, pulling the two men apart.

"No matter what lies Erskine told you, you see I was his greatest success!" His right hand reached across his face, fingers digging into the skin at the base of his jaw. Your eyes widened in horror, stomach flipping as he peeled away at his flesh. You winced, unprepared to see the true horrors Dr. Erskine held back from you.

It was all red. Every inch of skin on his face was bright red. The outer layers of tissue appeared to be gone - melted away until you could see the outline of his skull. "You don't have one of those do you?" Bucky mumbled, eyes glazed over in a state of shock.

"You are deluded, Captain. You pretend to be a simple soldier, but in reality you are just afraid to admit that we have left humanity behind. Unlike you, I embrace it proudly. Without fear!"

"Then how come you're running?" Steve earned nothing but a twisted smile in return as the elevator doors shut in front of Schmidt and the shorter man. There was a look of disgust on your face as you fought to clear your mind on the imagery. When Dr. Erskine told you that it had gone wrong - you couldn’t have imagined it to be to that extent. You had never seen anything like it before, and you hoped you would never have to again.

Another explosion rocked the sides of the building, bits of concrete raining down on you. You braced yourself against the railing, looking up with squinted eyes. "Come on, let's go. Up." Steve grabbed onto both of you. urging you two up the stairs. He had spotted another escape, but the path to it was not a true path.

It was instead a long, thin gantry stretching over the flames below. "Let's go. One at a time." You paused, heart racing as you looked over the edge. “Steve, no. I can’t.” You turned to him shaking your head. He held tight to both of your shoulders, forcing your eyes onto his. “Yes you can! Trust yourself. Use it if you have to.” He eyed you knowingly. Use the power if you have to.

Despite your shaky legs and the nausea building up within the depths of your stomach - you nodded. There was nothing but apprehension as you climbed over the railing and onto the gantry. You could hardly breathe, and the smoke rising from below was not helping in the slightest. Each step was impossibly slow - each blast from below causing your heart to skip. Death awaited you down below…and you could only hope you were lucky enough to not meet it.

You exhaled finally as you reached the other side, pulling yourself over the railing to safety. It was Bucky who went next, and he - like you - walked on unsteady feet. He met your gaze from the other side and you nodded as assuredly as you could possibly muster. When he reached the middle of the gantry, one deafening blast, in particular, had nearly shaken him off.

The gantry shook and you looked down - a single low creak having caught your attention. Each blast from below had it coming loose. Bucky sped up, propelling himself off the platform just as it gave way. “No!” You shouted, leaning over the railing. Your arm reached forward, a blinding flash of light pooling from your palm. It soared towards the gantry, curling around it and pulling it back up from the flames.

You grunted, teeth bared as you braced. There was not a single breath that escaped you as you fought to pull the gantry back into place. It was heavy. You could feel it without touching it. Beads of sweat lined your forehead, a single dot of blood dripping onto the railing from your nose. “What the hell?” Bucky said, leaning over the railing. His brows were furrowed, eyeing you with a look you could hardly describe. Something halfway between confusion and pure insanity. Bright blue tendrils of energy surrounded the entire length of your arm, pulsating and rumbling despite the deafening blasts from below. “You ain’t seen nothing yet!” You grunted.

Steve climbed up and onto the railing, nodding once at you. His trek was much more steady than yours or Bucky’s had been, and he walked with near ease to the other side. Only when he was safely back on the other side of the railing had you released your hold on the gantry. It disappeared into the flames, the sound of its collision with the ground failing to overpower the roaring explosions.

You gasped, your legs giving out beneath you. The only thing keeping you upright was your tight hold on the rails. There was a quick shout of your name from Steve as he hoisted you back up. There was a look of pain on your face, features wound tight together. Your vision swirled, darkness creeping in at the edges. “Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on!” Bucky shouted. Your head lolled to the side, held up by Steve’s arm as he pulled you closer. “It’s a long story.” He said simply.

Next Chapter

[girl-lostconnection]

Concept of a concept time:

On my delusional and creepy men shenanigans again. Last time I brought you Ghost, today I bring you König.

König who spends his rare leave in his cabin in Alps, far away from people that could stare, even further from clients or teammates. Just a little time for his own to heal up after the last unfortunate op.

Reconnect with nature, chop some wood, reassemble the rifle for the fifteenth time this week. Nothing exciting, but also nothing unpredictable.

Quiet controlled environment where nothing out of the ordinary happens. No gunshots, no blood, no death.

Just him, thick woods and mountains.

König who gets two people on his doorstep and yeah, he should have guessed that if there is a road nearby, there will be tourists stranded in the snow storm.

His mistake, next year he will take care of it and demolish that fucking thing once and for all.

Still he notices you just behind the friend of yours, your eyes the only thing that he can see — lower part of your face wrapped in scarf and that’s smart, the winters are vicious in the mountains and you probably would like your nose to not get a frost bite.

König who lets the two of you in his house, not stepping aside so you have to squeeze past him, his eyes a little manic as he tries to see a little more of you. What are you doing this deep in the mountain?

What brought you to König’s doorstep?

He thinks about it for a moment, staring down at you while your friend chats him up filling the thick silence. You do your best not to look at the menacing giant of a man who locked and deadbolted the door as soon as you stepped in.

You try not to think about him pocketing the key.

Would you like to stay for dinner?

König watches you in the reflection of the small window above his sink, corner of his lips twitching when you finally shed you coat. And nothing else.

Your scarf stays on, wrapped securely, nor do you pull off your gloves

Skittish. Wary. Careful.

Good girl.

You shouldn’t trust a stranger.

And you definitely shouldn’t trust König.

Not when you stumble right into his den, shaking and tense, your gut telling you that something is wrong.

Not when he has locked all three locks on his doors the moment you and your unfortunate…who is that guy by the way, Schatzi?

Doesn’t seem to be a husband since there is no ring, hardly a boyfriend with how little he checks on you (or a really bad one and therefore he should be gone anyway) and König doesn’t see any resemblance for you to be family so…a friend maybe?

Well, that’s just too bad. König doesn’t need this many people in his house.

König watches your reflection, his eyes drinking into obvious roundness to your figure. Shoulders broad and legs strong, even in that thick woollen sweater and full winter gear.

König forces himself to look away, his fingers twitching, when he shifts his weight from one leg to another, his cock chubbing up.

Pretty girl with body that makes his mouth water. Pretty girl on whose thighs alone König could feast all winter.

Oh, that is so fucking good.

Mother used to say that those who wait patiently get what they yearn for and it seems like König just got exactly what he wanted

Danke, Mutter, danke shön. You were right as always.

König who hums, offering you to wait out the storm in here, while he pretends to make you and your friend some tea.

König who slips a knife of his in the sleeve and turns around, his voice cracking like a faulty vinyl record when you look him in the eyes again.

Your friend will have to go, Schatzi.

But don’t worry, your König will take care of everything. Your König will take care of you, he promises. You won’t need for anything, süße.

After all, what kind of husband would he make if he neglected a wife that fate dropped right in his hands? It was meant to be, Schatzi, he just knows it.

And so will you. Even if it takes time.

But not to worry, you will have it in abundance. After all, you are home now. And this is where you will stay.

[wcnderlnds]

don't look back [part two] | kwon ji-yong (g dragon)

・❥・ summary: after walking out on jiyong, you were heartbroken hiding away in your house until you get an unexpected visitor on your doorstep. ・❥・word count: 1.6k ・❥・warnings: nothing, really! angst and fluff ・❥・ authors note: this is part two to a collab with my best friend and the ultimate g dragon lover @ldydeath <3 PART ONE HERE

Weeks had passed since the last conversation with Jiyong. The second you had given him his ring back, you’d walked away and never turned back. The way he’d treated you, the way he’d talked to you — it wasn’t okay. Maybe leaving had been an overreaction but he had hurt you. Tour was stressful and Jiyong always put so much pressure on himself but all you had wanted was to be there for him. Instead, it had turned into the worst trip of your life. What had meant to be a happy few weeks with the love of your life had turned into you losing him.  There were no words to describe the ache in your heart. It was like someone had taken a hammer and smashed it into little pieces. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t piece it back together. Only one person could but you hadn’t heard a word from him since that day.

Your friends had told you he was miserable — working himself to the bone so that he didn’t have to think about what he’d lost. The second he stopped was the second he realised his life was worthless without you in it. What could he do, though? He has been awful to you when all you had done was care about him. He didn’t mean it; you had caught him on a really bad day and he’d let his emotions get the better of him. He’d never forgive himself for how he’d treated you.

As the days passed it only became more and more evident to you how badly you needed him. He was a part of you, a part of everything you held so dear and close. It felt like something was missing, emptiness consuming your every thought. The idea of flying to wherever he was and trying to talk to him had floated around in your head but you couldn’t. What if he didn’t want to see you? It could end up like last time and make everything so much worse. Actually, maybe you had done that by giving him the ring back. Now all you could do was sit and get lost in your own pit of self loathing and misery. Time heals all wounds — that’s what everyone said but you weren’t sure it would heal this one.

Cocooning yourself in your blankets on the couch surrounded by all your favourite snacks had become your routine. Thank the stars that work had decided you could keep working from home. There was no way you were in any fit state to go into the office and be face to face with anyone. In fact, when you had come home, you’d taken those first few days off which was unusual for you. There was nothing that usually stopped you but apparently a broken heart could tear even the strongest people down.

There was a knock on the door which caused your head to snap up instantly. Who could that even be? As far as you knew you weren’t expecting anything and most people knew not to bother you right now. The first thought was to ignore it so you kept your eyes glued to the television screen until the knock sounded again. Okay, whoever it was they were being persistent. Very reluctantly, you got to your feet, holding your hoodie – well, it was actually Jiyong’s that you’d stolen weeks ago to sleep in while he was gone – tight to you, the sleeves coming past your hands.

Opening the door, your eyes almost comically widened at the person stood in front of you.

Jiyong.

There he stood, a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand, shyly glancing at you. All it took was one look at him to know that he was nervous, more so than usual. He was the last person you had expected to show up on the doorstep. Sure, it was your shared place – you both lived there and he could’ve easily let himself in but he still had tour dates left overseas. He shouldn’t be here. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you took in his appearance. The dark bags under his eyes showed that he wasn’t sleeping, he wasn’t taking care of himself and that hurt more than anything else. All you ever wanted was the best for him despite everything that happened.

“What are you doing here?” You couldn’t help the quiet question falling from your lips. 

“...I needed to see you,” he took a step forward, his shaky hands holding out the flowers for you. “I know it’s stupid and flowers aren’t going to make up for everything I said but…”

Gently, you took them from his hand, your fingers lightly brushing against his; that spark that always ignited whenever you touched him shooting through your body. “They’re beautiful.”

Silence fell between you, the air thick with tension. There was so much to say, so many things that had been left unspoken. Your eyes found the ring that he still had on his pinky finger. At least he hadn’t taken it off or got rid of it. 

“I’m so-”

“You can come in. It’s your place, too.”

You didn’t mean to cut him off but you couldn’t hear the words ‘I’m sorry’. Anyone could say them but it didn’t make them true. Actions and words spoke louder than a simple phrase. Turning your back, you headed towards the kitchen to place the flowers down. Once they were on the counter, you were about to grab a vase to place them in but Jiyong’s fingers wrapped around your arm softly, turning you to face him. Your breath caught in your throat as you almost pressed against his chest. It had been so long since you’d been this close to him. Every nerve ending was on fire, it was hard to not reach out and caress him especially with that sad frown plastered on his face.

“Nothing will ever make up for what I said to you and I’m so, so sorry that I acted the way I did. That isn’t me – you know it isn’t. If there's one thing in this world that I know, it’s that I love you. I want a life with you. Everything I have is meaningless without you by my side and I messed that up. I hurt your feelings, I said things that I didn’t mean. I was just… in a bad place. I should’ve talked to you instead of pushing you away but I did the worst thing imaginable. I’ll spend forever making it up to you if I have to,” his words were rushed, quiet. The emotion weighed heavy in them, you could see how much he meant them, how much pain he was in just by the look in his eyes.

“You basically said what I was giving you wasn’t good enough, Jiyong. I was giving you everything and so much more and if that’s not good enough, I don’t know what is. I love you so much but is that enough for you?” Tears had started to fall without you even realising. It only made it worse when Jiyong stepped closer, the pad of his thumb brushing away the tears from your cheeks. “I want to be with you but I need to know that it’s enough. That I’m enough.”

“You are enough. You are more than enough. I’m just an idiot. I was caught up in my own head and letting the bad thoughts win. How you make me feel, what you give to me? It’s always been enough. Please trust me when I say that. I want to be with you. I want a life with you. I want to marry you, give you everything you deserve.”

Knowing Jiyong for as long as you had, you could tell when he was lying and right now? He was more than telling the truth. He was bearing his heart and soul, putting all his feelings out there. Being vulnerable was hard for anyone but especially for Jiyong so to see him standing there trying, it made it a little better. Just a little. There was still a long way to go yet.

“I wish you’d just talk to me when you get those thoughts. Stop hiding in yourself. I’m here for you. I don’t care if we’re in different countries or timezones, you can always call me. I need you to keep being open with me like this. If things are going to work with us again then we need an open line of communication and honesty.”

“I will, I swear from now on, I will. What happened will never happen again. I promise to you, baby. If I ever treat you that way again, I’ll get Youngbae to beat me up.”

That caused you to giggle a little. The tension slowly easing from the room, a feeling of ease once again settling between you. “He is the third best fighter after all.”

Jiyong smiled, a real smile, one of his hands slowly sliding down to rest on your hip. “Does this mean I have another chance?”

“Yeah, I love you Kwon Jiyong but mess up again and that’s it.”

He didn’t say another word but instead he dropped down to one knee, taking the ring off his pinky finger as he held your hand. The stupidest grin was plastered on his tired face as he looked up at you. “Will you marry this stupid idiot?”

“Yes, now get up, you idiot,” you laughed, taking his face in your hands and pressing your lips to his for the first time in weeks. His arms winded around you, pulling you flush against him. A sigh of content passed his lips, his eyes closing as he let himself get lost in you. This was where he was always meant to be. With you and he’d make sure to never, ever mess that up again.

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @mattsturniolosbabymama

[wh0re43van]

Boyfriend (Warren Lipka X Reader)

Summary: you reunite with an old friend while making a delivery for your shitty boyfriend

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: smut, throat fucking, weed, cheating, not proof read

A/n: I have no idea how much weed costed in 2003 bc I was two years old. Also, I apologize if your name is Chelsea bc you will be slandered in this fic. Thank you for reading! <3

Pt 2 , Pt 3

I slam my boyfriends shitty car door, stepping out into the cold November rain, running towards the brick house, an 8th of weed shoved in my bra. I can’t believe my idiot boyfriend is too lazy to get out of his car to make his delivery. I’ve never even met this customer and his dumbass is having me waltz right up this random man’s house, while he’s parked a block away.

I pound on the wooden door before stepping back a bit. I shift back and forth on my feet as I rub my hands up and down on my arms trying to warm myself with the friction. After a couple of minutes, the door swings open, a man with unkempt brown hair and tired eyes steps out, looking a bit surprised. Those eyes. I know them. I cant put my finger on it, but I know him from somewhere.

“Uhm can I help you? Are you alright?” he asks, stepping out onto the porch closing the door behind him, looking me up and down, maybe trying to figure out why some strange girl is stood sopping wet on his doorstep, or maybe he recognizes me as well.

“Of course that dumbass didn’t tell you,” I sigh. “I’m delivering for Dakota,” I explain, pulling the plastic baggie out of my bra.

“Ah, okay,” he opens the door again, ignoring my hand offering the weed. “Why don’t you come in, get out of the cold?” he offers, holding the door open for me. I consider his offer; He seems kind, and he doesn’t appear to have the money on him anyway. I might as well wait inside while he retrieves it before I catch my death out here.

“Thank you,” I smile, stepping into the warm living room, part of me hoping that Dakota can see me going into the random man’s house. He leads me down to the basement, explaining that this is his bedroom.

“Make yourself at home,” he smiles, showing two familiar dimples on either cheek as he gestures to his couch. I smile back, happily taking a seat. He walks into the bathroom, coming back with a towel in his hand.

“Did you go to Tates Creek Highschool by chance?” he asks, offering me the grey bath towel.

“I did,” I smile. “Only for freshman year though, my family moved the next county over after that,” I explain. That must be where I know him from.

“Y/n, I thought that was you,” he smiles taking a seat next to me.

“Yeah,” I smile back. “You look familiar, but I’m sorry I can’t remember your name,” I blush, a bit embarrassed that I don’t remember him.

“Ouch,” He chuckles. “I thought getting detention together for stealing the teachers’ cigarettes would have been a bit more memorable,” he says, leaning back on the couch. Then it dawns on me.

“Warren?” I ask, shocked. “Little Warren Lipka?” I turn on the couch to face him, getting a better look- the best look I can get in the dim yellow lighting. I don’t believe it! He laughs at my reaction.

“I guess if you remember me as little Warren, I can see why you didn’t recognize me,” he says, reaching for his grinder and papers laying on the coffee table. “You got that 8th, beautiful?” he asks casually. I blush at the comment, pulling the weed out of my bra once again. I hand him the warm baggie.

“That’ll be 7 bucks, sir,” I grin. All the memories come flooding back to me when our hands touch as we exchange the substance for the cash. All the classes we skipped together, all the many hours in detention we spent alongside each other, the cigarettes that we would smoke under the bleachers. He was shorter than me then, he always had his hair buzzed and wore oversized clothes to hide his small frame. I guess he was a late bloomer, because the only remnants of that little boy are the deep brown eyes and dimples displayed like artwork on the handsome grown man in front of me.

“You look really good,” he breaks me out of my thoughts, sparking the joint he’s just rolled.

“Thank you,” I smile. He passes me the paper. I take a hit. “You look good yourself,” I exhale through my nose, handing the joint back to warren.

“So you’re a friend of Dakotas?” He asks, after sucking in a breath of smoke as he stretches his arm over the back of the couch and behind my shoulders.

“His girlfriend, actually,” My response catches him off guard, making him choke on the smoke.

“Holy shit,” he laughs in between coughs. “How the hell did that goon bag you?” he asks, flabbergasted. I can’t help but giggle, taking another drag off the joint.

“Sometimes I wonder the same thing,” I answer honestly. Dakota isn’t exactly the best boyfriend in the world. We’ve been dating almost two years and I’ve caught him with other girls multiple times. He doesn’t respect my boundaries or my aspirations, yet somehow, he always convinces me to stay. I guess when you’re as attractive as he is and as insecure as I am, it isn’t hard for him to convince me that he’s the best I’ll ever have.

“So what’s wrong with Dakota? Why couldn’t he make the delivery himself?” Warren asks, looking down at the joint between his lips as it glows crimson. “Not that I’m complaining,” he clarifies.

“He said he was tired and didn’t want to get his shoes wet,” I laugh, feeling the THC start to take effect. “Can you believe that?” I ask, laying a hand on warrens thigh in my fit of giggles. “He’s just sitting in his shit box a block away,” I say, feeling my eyelids begin to get heavy. Warren raises his eyebrows, looking at me with glossy eyes.

“Wow,” he scoffs. “I actually don’t believe that. I couldn’t imagine having your girl make deliveries for you. Thats some serious pussy shit,” he rolls his eyes, holding the joint up to my mouth. I take a hit from the hot paper between his fingers. I look down at the spliff, then back at him to find his eyes already fixed on me. “If I was your boyfriend, I wouldn’t let you make deliveries for me,” he says in a much quieter tone, the moment is almost intimate as I blow the smoke into his face that’s closer to mine than I realized, but I can’t bring myself to back away. “And I sure as hell wouldn’t want you smoking with me,” he adds, bringing the joint to his lips to take the final hit.

“Why’s that?” I ask in a whisper with butterflies in my stomach, breathing in the smoke that’s slowly rolling off his lips.

“Because it gives me the opportunity to do something I’ve wanted to do since freshman year,” he matches my tone, glancing at my lips, bringing his finger and thumb around my chin, tilting my head up towards him. My heart begins to race at his proximity, I know I should pull away from him, but I can’t. I don’t want to. Just as his lips barely brush against mine, my Nokia rings out, sounding like an alarm, making me jump in surprise, scrabbling to find the small cellphone on the couch.

“Hey babe,” Warren answers the phone, winking at me. My stomach drops. Fuck. I reach for the phone, but warren stands up. “Nah man she’s good she’s right here. I just gave her the mon- hey. Hey!” I hear warren begin to shout. I cease my struggle to grab the phone. “Is there a fucking problem man?” Warren seethes into the phone. I hear my boyfriend’s muffled speech. “Yeah, I didn’t fuckin think so,” he hangs up the phone, handing the small plastic brick to me.

“You look pretty stoned,” he says picking up a coat off the couch, wrapping it around my shoulders. “Let me walk you out. You remember where his car is?” he asks, putting his hand on the small of my back, ushering me to the steps. I nod my head yes, staring at him with wide eyes trying to process what just happened.

“Lead the way then, beautiful,” he grins, and just like that, the butterflies are back. I don’t dare respond, not knowing what will come out of my mouth.

The walk to Dakota’s car is silent but comfortable, still pretty baked, I feel the rain coming down in sheets. vibrating calmly in my bones. I stare up at the orange glow of the streetlights in the night sky in awe. Everything looks so beautiful when you’re high.

“Here he is,” Warren says approaching the small rust bucket of a car that my boyfriend drives. He opens the passenger door for me. After I’m seated, he leans in to look at Dakota. “Don’t have your girl make trips for you anymore, man. What the fuck is wrong with you?” he says calmly but it comes across like a threat, before tossing a couple folded bills at Dakota and closing the door. I’m glad he remembered the money. Dakota would have killed me if I had left it down there.

 My boyfriend is quiet. Much more quiet than he normally is when someone threatens his masculinity. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s scarred of Warren.

As Dakota pulls off, his Insane Clown Posse CD playing quietly, I look out the side mirror to see warren standing with his hands in his pockets, getting soaked in the rain in nothing other than his t-shirt and jeans, watching me ride away. As Dakota begins to bitch and complain my ear, all I can think about is when ill see Warren again, then I remember; I have his coat. It would be rude of me to keep it. I’ll just have to return it to him.

•

•

It’s been a week since my interaction with Warren, and I can’t stop thinking about him.

‘Is it so wrong that I want to catch up with an old friend?’ I ask myself. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with visiting a friend, the issue lies in the fact that the thoughts I’m having of him aren’t exactly platonic.

‘I’ll just drop his coat off, thanking him for the kind gesture and be on my way.’ I tell myself as I climb into my car. ‘Okay, maybe I could make some small talk with him, that’s innocent enough. Yeah, ill ask him about his job, if he’s going to school now, stuff like that’ I manage to convince myself that this will be a short, polite visit with an old friend, but a part of me must know the truth because I tell Dakota that I’m going out with my mother for lunch.

I park my vehicle on a side street near the Lipka house, just in case Dakota drives down here for whatever reason. I grab Warrens coat and walk up to the porch.

‘Maybe he’s not home and I’ll just hand it to his parents,’ I think as I knock on the door. The thought disappoints me, but maybe it’s for the b-

“Y/n!” Warren exclaims as the door swings open. “What a pleasant surprise,” he crunches on a Cheeto, crinkling the bag as he folds it shut.

“Hey Warren,” I smile at the man standing in front of me while he licks the Cheeto dust off his fingers.

“Come in, its freezing,” he steps aside so I can enter. I frown a bit.

“Well, actually I’m just here to return your coat,” I hold out the slick material.

“How kind,” he flashes his dimples. “Are you in a rush?” He asks as he retrieves his jacket.

“Well, no…” I trail off, trying to think of an excuse, but its hard to excuse yourself from something you want more than anything else.

“Then come inside real quick, darling, just to warm up,” he winks at me and I cant help but giggle. I surrender, stepping into his warm home once again,and following him down to his room.

I sit down on his couch as Invader Zim plays on his box tv.

“This may be a bold assumption,” Warren starts as he sits down on the cushion next to me. “But I think you may have come back for something more than the raincoat,” he suggests, looking into my eyes.

“Warren-“ I begin, but I don’t know what to say. He’s right. I want to desperately finish what we almost started last week. Just the faint brushing of his lips against mine has made me feel something I’ve never experienced before. I need to feel him-

“Free weed, right?” He grins picking up the rolling tray.

Oh.

 I can’t help but blush. I thought for a moment that Warren had already forgotten about our last encounter, but the wink he sends my way suggests that he meant exactly what I thought he meant.

“It’s not often that I don’t have to match,” I admit, pulling my legs up to my chest.

“You mean with friends, right?” Warren asks before he licks the thin rolling paper, holding my gaze as his tongue slowly slides across the wrap.

“Uh,” my breath hitches in my throat. Damn he looks so good. I’ve never wanted to be a rolling paper so bad in my life. “No, I mean in general. Dakota says he’s, uhm, running a business. So I have to pay or match what I smoke every time we, uh, spark. Or else I’m stealing from him,” I mutter out. Warren smirks at the pink raising in my cheeks once again. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Thank God he can’t see the pool forming in my underwear.

“No offense y/n,” he sparks the joint, inhaling a hit of hot smoke. “But Dakotas pathetic,” he breaths out.

“None taken,” I laugh as I take the paper from his hand.

“I mean for more than just the way he treats you,” he explains as I pass the joint back to him. “I’ve known him for a while. We met through a mutual friend, a few years ago. Started smoking together, then started dealing together and breaking into the chain stores around here, ya know, the ones that just throw shit away while people are starving,” he begins to explain as he sinks into the couch, leaning his head back, blowing a cloud of smoke towards the drop ceiling tiles of his bedroom. I stare at him, taking another hit, hanging on to his every word. I could listen to his voice all day. “Soon he started shorting people on weed, over charging behind my back, he was jealous of how well I was doing, always trying to one up me, bragging about how he’s making more money than me, not caring how he achieved it. Then one night, he decided he was going to try and break into a store by himself, of course he chose the corner store down the street, the one owned by the little old lady,” he chuckles. “I beat the shit out of him as soon as I found out,” he takes a hit. “Pussy didn’t throw a single punch back. Just curled up on the ground. Worst part is; he didn’t even get anything. She chased him off with a broom,” he runs a hand through his long brown hair, finally looking at me as he hands me the spliff.

“Wow, I guess that’s why he seemed so scared the other day,” I giggle. I should feel bad, this guy just told me he beat my boyfriend up, but I almost want to thank him.

“That’s also why I get a discount,” he grins as smoke rolls out of his nostrils. “But for once,” he leans in closer to me. “I’m jealous of him,” I can feel his breath on my face. “Seeing you ride off in that car with him last week was painful to watch. You should have been right here with me,” he pushes a loose strand of hair out of my face, and I melt into his touch.

“Well,” I take in a shaky breath, unable to resist those coffee-colored eyes. “I’m here now, Warren.” And with that, the world ceases to spin as he crashes his lips into mine. I’m suddenly aware of my quick heartbeat, every ounce of blood flowing throw my veins, the electricity that shoots from Warrens hands into my body. The smell of smoke on his breath and the slightly stale air in the basement invades my senses. The kiss is desperate and hungry; something I haven’t felt in years. I moan into his mouth as he pulls me into his lap to straddle him.

“This is wrong, Warren,” I pull away reluctantly.

“No beautiful, it was wrong when he called me asking for Chelsea’s contact last month,” he pants. The mention of that whores name makes my blood boil. She’s his most recent side piece. “Had I known he was with you, I would have beat his ass again instead of sending it,” he says honestly, as his hand runs gently up my hip. My mind is made up in an instant. I take the joint out of his hand, inhaling one last hit before I set it in the ash tray. I slide down to the floor on my knees in between his legs before I take my sweater off, tossing it to the side.

“You’re right,” I grin as I reach for his buckle. The pop of the metal releasing ringing through my ears as I shimmy the jeans off his body. I look up at Warren through my lashes, his eyes wide staring down at me with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. The sight makes my core tingle.

“May I?” I ask palming him through his plaid boxers, feeling his dick stiffen under my touch.

“I insist,” he grins, helping me slide the boxers off. My eyes widen at his length in front of me. He’s perfect. I take him into my hand, holding his gaze as I let spit drip from my kiss bruised lips onto his tip, allowing me to stroke him easier. He curses under his breath as I move my hand up and down his now rock hard dick. I smile to myself before wrapping my mouth around his tip, slowly moving down his length until he hits the back of my throat, then I hollow out my cheeks, as I begin to bob up and down. Warren lifts his head to take in the sight below him. He rests a gentle hand on the back of my head.

“Fuck, you look so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he groans, instinctively moving his hips in rhythm with my head. I hum in response as I bring my other hand underneath his length to massage his balls, earning a low moan from him.

Soon he takes over, holding my head as he thrusts into my mouth. I push him in as far as possible, gagging on his length. He stands up so he can properly fuck my throat. This isn’t something that I normally do, I never allow Dakota to use me like this. But right now, I think I would let warren do absolutely anything he desires, and I would enjoy every second of it. This is the first time I’ve ever been so turned on from pleasing someone else. My underwear is soaked my arousal and he’s barely touched me. The praise and moans coming from Warren is enough to get me off. The way his eyes peer into mine as he violates my throat, bringing a gentle thumb up to wipe the tears that creep out of my eyes makes my heart flutter.

“Come here baby,” Warren pulls out of my mouth, I gasp for air as he picks my up to carry me to his bed. He pulls his shirt over his head and asks permission to pull my pants off. I nod quickly, earning a chuckle from him. “You did so good for me,” he lays a kiss on my forehead, using his shirt to wipe the tears and spit from my face, I smile at the sweet gesture. He pulls me into a kiss after climbing on top of me, both of us now completely naked. Warrens hand wonders down to my heat, dipping a finger into my entrance, I whimper at the contact. “You really got off to me fucking your throat, huh?” He smiles against my lips, feeling how wet I am for him.

“Please just fuck me Warren,” I beg. He smirks as he lines himself up with me.

“You ready, beautiful?” He asks. I nod, impatiently scooting closer to him, begging for contact. He chuckles as he slowly pushes into me. Being stretched out has never felt so good. There’s almost no pain as I easily take him, a loud moan escapes my lips

“Shh,” he smirks as he continues to push into me, stifling his own moans. “My folks are upstairs baby, not so loud,” he explains.

“I’m sorry,” I giggle. “You just feel so fucking go-“ I cut myself off with another loud moan as he begins rocking his hips at a steady pace. I clamp my hands over my mouth to muffle my moans. Warren looks down at me as he he pounds into me, a hand reaching down to hold my breast’s that are moving in rhythm with his hips.

“God, you’re so stunning,” he praises as he uses his other hand to push his curls out of his face. The sight of Warren on top of me is something that I never want to forget. If this is the last time he has his way with me, I want to remember this moment for the rest of my life. His hungry eyes that take the time to admire every inch of my body. The way his hair bounces as his cock pounds deeper inside me than anyone has ever been.

Suddenly, he pulls away, leaving me feeling empty as he lays down beside me.

“Come here darling,” he rests his back on the head board as he pulls me on top of him. “I want you to ride me. Can you do that for me baby,” he asks as he lays sloppy kisses on my neck. I giggle in response as I straddle him, happily allowing him to fill me once again. I let out a moan of relief as that void in my stomach is satisfied.

“Fuck,” Warren grunts. “You take me so well, beautiful,” he whispers as I bounce up and down on his cock. I lean forward to kiss him, muffling the moans coming from both of us. I move my hips in unison with his as his hand grips onto my ass spreading me open so he can pound as deep in me as possible. Im positive he’s leaving fingernail makes in the soft skin, but I don’t dare stop him. Warren reaches a finger down to rub circles on my clit, giving me just what I need to approach my release.

“Fuck,” I moan into our desperate, wet kiss. “Just like that Warren please,” I beg. Feeling my body heat up and my swollen cunt begin to throb. As Warren thrusts exactly where I need him, I come undone around him as I erupt in a fit of moans and praises. The euphoria quickly filling my body as my release drips onto Warrens twitching dick. He quickly throws me off of him, cum shooting up onto my chest and on to his stomach. I swiftly dip my head down, bringing him into my mouth to milk every last drop out of him.

“Fuck y/n!” He moans in surprise. Now it’s his turn to cover his mouth as he rides out his orgasm. I pull away to lay next to Warren, our chests heaving in unison.

“Holly shit,” he laughs after few minutes of comfortable silence. “That was…you were…wow,” he turns his head to smile at me, already looking at him.

“I can say the same to you,” I giggle, running my hand over his chest. He brings me in for one last kiss, this one gentle and kind.

“You can use my shower if you’d like, I’ve made quite the mess of you,” he smirks.

“Thank you,” I smile standing up. “Uhm, we’re definitely not going to tell Dakota about this, right?” I ask, suddenly feeling… not guilty… but nervous and almost excited in a strange way.

“My lips are sealed, beautiful,” he winks, taking my hand to guide me to his bathroom.

[hyunsvngs]

𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐲 - lee minho x gn!afab reader

wc: 6.1k

rating: 18+. MDNI

cw: alcohol, normalisation of getting very wasted, smut (specific smut warnings under the cut, again minors please do not interact!)

synopsis: the best surprises come from the most unexpected sources - like having your crush corner you in a frat party after hearing you confess your deepest desires of him in the background of a video.

a/n: part one of the fratboy series. fratboy lee minho has now taken over my entire brain, my heart, and also my life, so i hope you all enjoy. PLEASE feel free to stop by our askbox to chat to me abt him because truly, i am obsessed.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: swearing, dirty talk, sexy mean minho, no seriously he’s mean, thigh riding, nipple play, begging, dumbification, degradation, penetration with a finger & dick simultaneously, talks about sex slaves (maybe only slightly serious), lovely aftercare

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

When the opening notes of Half Moon by Dean met your ears, you couldn’t help but groan. You loved the song, but it signalled an incoming call that you’d been expecting all day. You flipped your phone over, confirming your suspicions; Jisung’s squishy cheeks flashed on your screen as his contact icon showed up.

“What do you want?” you asked as you answered the call, despite knowing very well what he wanted. 

At the beginning of the semester, your best friends had joined a fraternity, Sigma Kappa Zeta. It was an absolute dream - on paper at least. You didn’t have to commit to the endless fraternity obligations, which are often ridiculous and sometimes downright dangerous; although you still had regular invites to the blowout parties, owing to your connections to Felix and Jisung. You’d attended a few of these parties and enjoyed them thoroughly. Being pretty meant you got free booze, and what could be better than getting wasted for free, with two of your favourite people? While ogling their endless hoard of stupidly attractive friends, of course.

Your taste in men could be summarised as… unfortunate. You had an affinity for frat boys, the bigger and stupider the better. Muscular guys, with stupid goofy grins and sleeveless tees, bulging biceps and empty heads. Something about them really got you going, and it frustrated you to no end. But you loved to indulge yourself, and Felix and Jisung knew this all too well. And so, they were left baffled when you very quickly stopped attending these parties. Baffled, disappointed, and worst of all, persistent.

“Hey, angel,” Felix’s voice rang out from your speaker.

“You aren’t Jisung,” you stated.

“Very observant,” he responded, leading you to roll your eyes. You didn't even bother to question why he was calling you from Jisung’s phone. “Anyways, I assume you’ll be in attendance tonight?”

You snorted. “Obviously not.” 

“Y/N!” Felix’s deep voice gave way to a drawn-out whine. “Why not?”

“Cause I don’t want to spend time in your disgusting frat house,” you huffed. 

“Not even for me?” he pleaded with you.

“This isn’t working. You can’t guilt-trip me when I can’t actually see your stupid adorable face,” you pointed out.

“Fine, I’ll turn my camera on-”

“No. Look, why don’t you and Ji come drink with me in my dorm? Like the good ol’ days?” you suggested. Good ol’ days referring to a few months ago, before they’d joined the fraternity.

Felix paused for a few moments. “Fine. Maybe. Only because we miss you!”

“Come over then. See you soon!” You hung up before he could argue any more - you all knew you’d won. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Just moments after Jisung and Felix showed up at your door, you began to consider the possibility that maybe you didn’t win after all.

“Y/N!” Jisung cried, before proceeding to push past you and collapse onto your bed. “Why do you never hang out with us any more?!” 

You turned to Felix. “What have you brought to my doorstep?”

Felix shrugged. “He chugged like, three beers before we even left.”

"I guess we'd better catch up then." 

It wasn't long before you were all feeling merry, though it would be amiss to say you'd caught up with Jisung, given that he often seemed intoxicated even when he was sober.

"I miss you guys, too!" you insisted, hushing the boys' griping. And you really did miss them. Since classes had ended, and people had limited obligations, the frat seemed like a 24/7 party house at the moment, which meant you hardly ever saw them. "I just… these frat parties, it's not really my scene."

The look Felix sent you told you that he didn't buy it, not one bit. The look Jisung sent you, on the other hand, told you that he was currently so drunk that he had a very tenuous grasp on reality, and was just happy to be involved.

"I've seen you eye up at least three guys at the frat. Not your scene? Nothing has ever been more your scene," Felix said, his tone accusatory. "I know it's nothing to do with us. So spill. Why are you avoiding the frat?"

Jisung had wandered off to the other side of your room, where he seemed to be making a concoction of different beverages. He didn't seem to be making a mess, so you thought it best to leave him while he was quiet.

You huffed. "Fine. One of your stupid little frat bro's is driving me insane. But I won't say who!" you added hastily.

Felix's eyes glinted. "Driving you insane? In what way? Like, someone's pissed you off? Or they're making you insanely horny and you don't know how to handle it."

You hid your face in your hands with a groan. "You know me too well, Lix."

Felix laughed gleefully. "Changbin?"

"Don't start guessing! I'm not gonna tell you!"

"Chan?"

"No!"

Felix paused, thinking hard. "It's Minho."

"It’s not Minho!"

He cackled. "You're an open book, it's Minho! You're horny for Minho!"

You let out a weak whimper in protest. "I just… God, nobody's ever affected me like this before, Lix! I don't even wanna be around him 'cause I know I'll say something stupid. Or maybe just start drooling on him."

Felix shrugged. "I guess I can't blame you. He is a gorgeous guy."

"Understatement of the century," you scoffed. "If I had to choose between solving world hunger and sucking his dick, I'd choose his dick. A thousand times."

Felix, in that beautiful drunken phase where everything was utterly hilarious, was clutching his stomach, in complete stitches on your floor.

"I'm not even joking, Lix! I'd devote the rest of my life to being his sex slave. He wouldn't even need to feed me, I'll survive off his cum if I have to!"

Felix wiped a tear from his eye. "Stop, stop. You're killing me." He turned to Jisung, who was still apparently playing potions with various different drinks.

"And that," Jisung said to no one in particular, "Is how you make a Hanji Supreme."

"What the fuck are you doing, Ji? Are you vlogging over there? Get your ass over here and listen to what Y/N has to say about Lee Minho."

"Okay, bye!" Jisung said, still seemingly speaking to thin air. He turned to you, eyebrows raised. "Minho? Y/N has the hots for Minho?"

"Unfortunately," you confirmed.

"We could probably set you up with him," Jisung proposed, a dastardly grin on his face.

"No," you quickly denied. "Never. Under no circumstances do you ever mention my name in Minho's presence. Got it?"

Jisung pouted. "But then your dreams are never gonna come true!"

You chewed on your lip. "I feel like a stuttering mess whenever I even think about him. I can't imagine what'd happen if I actually spoke to him."

"Wait, you've never spoken to him?" Felix clarified, and you shook your head. He smirked. "You were saying some pretty vulgar stuff, considering he's practically a stranger."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm a creep and a perv. That's why he can never find out about this. Seriously," you said sternly, directing this last part at Jisung. He wasn't exactly known for keeping secrets. 

Felix looked him up and down. "I don't think he's even going to remember this tomorrow, if I'm being honest."

"Yeah," you agreed. "He seems like he's done for the night." The boy was lying flat on his back, the brim of his beanie pulled over his eyes. His phone was buzzing away on his chest, notification tone pinging every few seconds.

Felix sighed. "I just hope he doesn't get one of those second winds."

“Jisung, honey, is someone trying to get hold of you?” you asked, the chiming of his phone growing irritating. You figured he’d texted one of his many booty calls and then instantly forgotten about it.

“Huh?” he asked, clearly not really listening.

Felix’s phone began to buzz on the floor. “Someone’s trying to get hold of me.” He brought the phone to his ear. "Hey, what’s up? He's - he's what?" Felix covered his other ear. "It's really loud over there, did you say he's on the table? Christ - okay, okay, we'll be right over." 

"What was that?" you asked. "Is everything okay?" 

Felix sighed. "Hyunjin's partying a little too hard. Seungmin can't deal with him alone. C'mon, we gotta go wrangle him."

"We just went over this - I'm not stepping foot in Minho's territory, not even for a second," you said adamantly. 

"Relax, he's partying with Theta Chi Theta tonight," Jisung slurred happily, sitting upright and fixing his beanie. "C'mon, Y/N, come party with us!"

Felix looked to you pleadingly. "I can't deal with drunk Jisung and drunk Hyunjin without you. Please."

Fuck. Felix knew you could never say no to his puppy-dog eyes.

"Fine."

Even with the knowledge that Minho was preoccupied somewhere else, you still felt a little wary as you stepped into the house. It did occur to you that you could be a little too terrified of this man, but you knew all too well that both your horniness and your stupidity were utterly limitless, which was always a recipe for disaster.

You heard Hyunjin before you saw him - "Why can't I get naked, though? It's so hot in here!" 

You snickered. He was still on the table, although he looked a little wobbly so you doubted it'd be too long until he came tumbling down. Jisung wandered off, probably up to no good, whilst you and Felix hurried over.

Seungmin breathed a visible sigh of relief when he saw you. "So glad you're here. Okay, I'm off duty. Good luck." He had vanished within seconds. 

Hyunjin waved excitedly when he caught sight of you both. "Hi Lix! Hi Lix's pretty friend!" 

You laughed at his drunken boldness. "It's Y/N," you corrected him.

"I know." He grinned down at you from the table, eyes disappearing into crescents. "You're brave, too," he crooned.

"Brave?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"If I was you, I probably wouldn't show my face around here until the end of the semester, at least," he went on.

Felix narrowed his eyes at the boy. "What are you talking about?"

Hyunjin stared at Felix for a moment. Then switched his gaze to you. Then back to Felix. Before erupting into a fit of giggles.

"Oh my god, please sit down before you fall and crack your damn skull," Felix pleaded with the boy.

"Yeah, and more importantly, explain yourself," you added. 

Hyunjin sat obediently, pulling out his phone and handing it to Felix. 

"Oh fuck," Felix breathed. "I have the group chat muted right now." 

"The group chat?" you enquired anxiously. "Please tell me what's going on." Your paranoia was getting the best of you, and while you stood waiting for someone to fucking explain, you were slowly convincing yourself that you'd stolen Felix's phone and confessed your attraction to Minho in the most crass and unrefined terms.

This wasn't too far from the truth.

Felix opened up a video, skipping towards the end. You noticed Jisung, sitting cross-legged on the floor of your dorm room, chattering away about various beverages. More prominently, however, you heard your own voice, from the other side of the room. 

“I’ll survive off his cum if I have to!”

Your heart plummets to the ground as the memory comes rushing back. Fuck. 

You grab Felix’s arm, holding on for dear life. “Tell me this isn’t happening. Tell me Jisung only sent that to Hyunjin and no one else.”

Felix handed the phone back to Hyunjin and placed his hands on your shoulders, steadying you. “Look, it’s going to be okay. People say stupid shit like this all the time-”

“Oh look, Minho’s read the messages!” Hyunjin calls out.

You put a hand over your mouth. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“He’s typing!”

“No!” you wailed.

Hyunjin turned his phone around once more. You peered at the screen in turmoil as three dastardly little letters popped up.

lol

"Oh, Y/N, you're so lucky he's not here tonight," Felix said, sounding relieved. Distantly, you felt a shred of relief too, although that was nothing compared to the complete and utter dread you were experiencing. Oh, the consequences of your own drunken, horny actions. Was there anything worse?

"Oh," Felix murmured, pulling his buzzing phone out of his pocket. "Oh." 

"What?" you asked.

"He's calling me." 

You called out "Don't answer it!" just as Hyunjin yelled "Answer it!"

Felix accepted the call, bringing the phone to his ear.

"Oh my god, I'm scared. Hold my hand." You scrambled for Hyunjin, who grasped your hand in his before giggling.

"Your hands are soft," he commented, apparently having forgotten the Minho debacle already. You swiftly hushed him.

Felix also raised a finger to his lips in a shh motion, before putting the call on speakerphone.

"Are you at the house? Is Y/N with you?" Minho’s voice came through the speaker.

Felix paused, looking at you with wide eyes. You shook your head furiously. 

"Uh, yeah," he answered, the traitor. You fought hard not to scream.

"Can you pass a message across?" you heard Minho ask.

"Sure."

"I'm on my way." The line clicked dead.

Your heart was hammering in your chest. “LEE FELIX WHY THE FUCK DID YOU TELL HIM I'M HERE?" 

"I DON'T KNOW, I PANICKED!" he shrieked back, sounding equally as alarmed as you.

“This is crazy,” Hyunjin commented with a dazed grin.

“You are far too drunk to understand the absolute catastrophe I’m in right now!” you accused him. “Oh my god, what am I gonna do? I need to go - immediately.”

“Not so fast.”

You spun around in complete and utter horror, terrified that Minho had somehow materialised from his other party right back to the frat. Only to find Seungmin standing before you - just slightly less threatening.

“Jisung is far too drunk, and he’s begging for you,” he explained.

“God, what is in the air tonight?” you observed. “Do you guys need to do a fraternity-wide detox?”

Seungmin snorted. “Like that’s ever gonna happen. Go on, Jisung’s in his room.” 

God fucking damn it, why were you such a good friend? You tore up the stairs, bee-lining for Jisung’s room, fully intending on hiding in his bedroom for the rest of the night. Minho wouldn’t find you in there if you locked the door, right? You were even willing to put up with your best friend’s snoring.

"Hey, Sungie," you said gently as you walked into his room. You found him curled on his bed, still dressed in his hoodie, cargos and beanie. 

"Y/N… You're finally here…" he mumbled.

"You sound sleepy. Is it bedtime?" you asked, sitting down on the bed beside him. You tugged the beanie off his head, and ran your hand through his hair, scratching his scalp gently. 

"Bedtime? Hmm… No… It's still party time for now." His words were slurred, and you knew he was just minutes from dozing off - seconds, maybe. 

"Sure," you said, as it was typically better to just agree with him. "You wanna get your pyjamas on? We can have a pyjama party."

"No. I'm comfy like this." You seriously doubted it, but didn't have it in you to battle him right now.

Sure enough, he was snoring less than thirty seconds later. You wondered if it was worth shoving him a bit, to climb in bed beside him, or whether it'd be best to just run home. But you didn't know how far away Minho was, and the thought of bumping into him was too much to bear. 

You deliberated for a few moments, but Jisung's snoring was driving you insane, and you quickly realised that you weren't equipped to deal with it tonight.

You pulled out your phone, opening Felix's contact.

[10:44pm] You: lixie do u have minho's location?

[10:44pm] You: lix please please please

[10:44pm] You: felix pls i need to know how far he is

You sat on the edge of Jisung's bed, leg bouncing with nerves. Why was Felix always muting his damn notifications?

[10:48pm] Lix: idk sorry :( i think his party was nearby though

[10:48pm] Lix: look, just run to my room

[10:49pm] Lix: you'll be safe there

You weighed up your options. 

Option one: stay here with Jisung, awake all night owing to his snoring and his complete domineering of 90% of the bed space, stressing about Lee fucking Minho.

Option two: run out of the frat house, and all the way home to safety, but risk bumping into Minho on your way out.

Option three: run down the hall to Felix's room, where you can vent to him all night and then eventually fall asleep with his sunshine cuddles.

It could only be option three.

His room was just down the hall, you reasoned. You would yank open the door, tear down the hallway, and land safely in Felix's bedroom. It would be easy. 

You took a deep breath, before pulling open the door and preparing to run.

“Ah. Look who it is.” 

Shit.

Minho stood in the hall with an unreadable expression. His eyes scanned your whole frame, and he took his time with his scalding gaze. His eyes crawled all the way up your legs, lingering up your thighs. Slowly moving from your hips, to your waist, to your chest. Before landing on your eyes - that’s where his inspection burned the most. You couldn’t even breathe. 

“All bark and no bite, hm?” 

“I… I just…” you stammered weakly.

He continued to stare at you, waiting for you to finish. “You just?”

“I’m sorry!” you managed, your voice barely above a squeak.

He folded his arms across his chest, looking amused. “What, pray tell, are you sorry for? For blabbing about my dick to anyone who’ll listen? Manners mean everything, sweetheart, you could’ve just asked me nicely. There was no reason to bring everyone into our business, now, was there?”

You simply blinked at him. You weren’t capable of anything more. He was clearly waiting for a response, though, smirking over at you expectantly. “W-What?” you managed eventually.

“Or are you apologising for your dirty mouth? Honestly, I didn’t expect that from you. You look so sweet, who knew you could be so… improper.”

You felt dizzy. “Improper?”

He pouted at you, and it was dripping with condescension. “Can you speak, darling? Or are you so cock-hungry you can’t manage more than a one-word answer?”

“I-I just don’t know what to say, is all,” you whispered.

“Just give me a yes or a no,” he invited you, holding his hand out for you to take.

You gave him a slow nod, placing your hand in his shakily. He smiled as if to say ‘right answer,’ before opening the door right next to Jisung's, and leading you into his bedroom. The room was remarkably neat and tidy, and you would’ve been impressed if you could even begin to process it. All of your mental energy was focused on not combusting - or coming on the spot. 

He allowed you to step into the room before closing the door behind you. You were then quickly pushed up against it, Minho pinning you against the wood with his hips. Had that squeal really just come from your mouth?

His eyes were transfixed on your lips. You waited, heart hammering in your chest, while he had you trapped there. Until this point, you really hadn't been sure whether he was angry at you for saying such explicit things about him. The look in his eyes revealed everything - he wanted you just as badly.

He leaned in slowly. Torturously slowly - evidently, he was going to take his time with you. His lips met yours in a gentle peck, which he repeated, again and again. You sighed against his lips, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt and pulling him closer, but he merely smirked against your pout.

"Please," you breathed.

"You're so desperate," he said with a low laugh. "I could give you what you want, Y/N, but I know you wouldn't be able to handle it."

"I can take it," you protested, your voice sounding much whinier than you wanted it to.

"You can?" he asked, cocking his head and looking down at you condescendingly. You nodded insistently. "Okay."

Minho picked up the pace. His lips were soft but they bit at yours harshly. His tongue entered your mouth and you savoured his taste, sucking on his tongue gently.

Your hands went to the button of his jeans, swiftly unbuttoning it. Minho pulled away, stepping back and leaving you pouting once more. He laughed, that awful patronising sound yet again, that made your palms sweat and your thighs sticky. 

"What, you think you're gonna get my dick that easily?" he asked, cocking his head at you. "No, honey." 

"Please?" you asked. It sounded pitiful, even to you.

You watched as he went to his neatly made bed, tugging off jeans and laying back. "Come here," he instructed, lounging back against the wall. "Take your clothes off for me."

"T-Take my clothes off?" you asked meekly. It sounded pitiful even to your ears.

The look he gave you was scathing, although he did seem rather amused by the pathetic show of stupid desperation you were unfortunately displaying. "Well you can't expect to stay fully clothed if I'm gonna fuck you, right?"

You nodded, standing in front of him and looking down at your feet. "I… I feel shy all of a sudden."

"You feel shy? I don't know if you'd make such a good sex slave after all." He laughed before growing serious. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to. I'll look after you, if we do, but the choice is yours."

His kinder tone set you at ease, and made you realise that you really wanted this, you were ready for this. It also brought about the realisation that you much preferred it when he was mean. You didn't want to dwell on what that meant, though. 

You gathered your courage and slowly pulled your clothes off, standing before him in nothing but your underwear. Minho said nothing, but you felt as though you were on fire under his gaze. 

He wasn't the only one who was enjoying the view. Your eyes traversed his toned thighs, mouth watering as you thought about how it'd feel if he were to press one between your legs. He wore plain white briefs, and you couldn't help but stare at the prominent bulge inside them. Even semi-hard it looked huge. You noticed it twitch ever so slightly, as he looked over your exposed body.

Minho spread his legs slightly, before tapping his left thigh. "Come on, darling. I know what you want."

Was he a mind reader? You wasted no time, climbing onto the bed, straddling his thigh and beginning to slowly grind. He tensed it, so firm and strong beneath you. The perfect platform for you to drag your clit across. 

Minho's hands went to your waist, holding you gently, guiding you as you rolled your hips.

"That's it, baby, there you go," he encouraged you. The friction was enough to make you sweat, the pleasure overwhelming you. He was right - maybe you couldn't handle this. You couldn't even imagine how overwhelming it would be to actually feel his hands on you, feel his dick inside you. 

His dick.

You could see it growing harder in his briefs, a small damp circle near the head where precum had leaked. You couldn't resist the temptation any longer; your hand reached out almost involuntarily, cupping his bulge gently. It was firm, and warm, and growing bigger seemingly by the second.

Minho took your hand, instantly re-directing it. "No, no, don't touch. Not until I say you can."

"But I can see how hard you're getting," you said. "You want it, Minho!"

"Unlike you, I know how to restrain myself." He patted your waist gently. "Keep riding."

You gave a frustrated huff, but did as he said. 

Minho brought a slender finger down to your crotch, hooking it around the fabric of your underwear and moving it out of the way. "Let me see that pretty pussy," he murmured.

The new exposure made you moan aloud, hands gripping Minho's shoulders firmly as you rode him.

"Please," you whispered. "Please, Minho."

"Please, what? Use your words."

"Please fuck me," you asked.

He pretended to consider it for a moment. "Hmm… No. Not yet."

You groaned. "I need it, though!"

Minho snickered. "Don't be such a brat. I want to take my time with you, okay?"

"You can take your time next time! Just - please - fuck, please, I need it."

He raised an eyebrow with you. "Oh, so there's gonna be a next time, is there?" 

You ignored his quip. If you couldn't get in his pants just yet, you'd focus your attention elsewhere. You lifted his shirt slowly, revealing his stomach, where you found lightly toned abs that only made you more desperate to feel him. Miraculously, he humoured you, pulling his shirt over his head.

You gasped, running your hands down his chest. He was beautiful, tight pecs and perfect little nipples that stood to attention in the open air of his bedroom. You ghosted a finger over one of them, entranced.

"I thought that'd shut you up," Minho commented under his breath.

"Beautiful tits," you muttered unintentionally as you admired his pecs.

Minho smiled. "I could say the same thing about you, angel." He placed a hand on your back, pulling you closer and bringing one of your nipples into his mouth. He wasn't gentle about it, sucking and biting without holding back. You cried out, your hips pausing their grinding motions, your system completely overloaded by his harsh actions on your sensitive nipple.

"Keep riding," he mumbled, not even taking your nipple out of his mouth as he spoke. 

You dragged your clit across his muscular thigh, whimpering loudly as you went. "Oh god, please, Minho! I need you inside me." 

"Then beg for it."

You wasted no time. "Please, Minho, please, please! I need your cock, I've never needed anything this bad. I know I'm just a filthy little slut but please give me what I need, fuck, I'll die if you don't!" 

"You really are a filthy slut," he agreed, lifting you from his thigh and laying you on his bed. 

"Yes, yes, please Minho!" you babbled.

He pulled your underwear down, leaving you completely naked before him, before tugging his own briefs off. 

Holy fucking shit, you thought.

His dick was beautiful. That was the only way to describe it - fucking beautiful. It was long, with a vein running along the underside, and the girth was decent too. The head was thick, and red, and if you weren't so desperate to be fucked you would've sucked on it for hours. 

"I know you want it," Minho said. "But do you deserve it?" He stroked his dick slowly, and you watched as the head disappeared into his fist, emerging again as his hand ran along his shaft.

"I don't know, but I need it," you insisted. "I'll do anything." 

Minho shook his head, but he looked smug. "Alright, baby. If you need it that badly."

"Yes, yes, yes," you chattered, intoxicated by a dick that you hadn't even felt yet.

He pushed your knees up to your chest, and you hooked your arms around them, holding them in position and peering down to watch his motions. "Such a perfect pussy." He rubbed the head of his dick across your clit, and you whined loudly. Distantly, you wondered if the sounds of the frat party below would even be enough to drown out your incessant noises of pleasure. It was irrelevant, though; you didn't care enough to stop.

He dragged his dick through your folds, over your hole, back up to your clit. Minutes ago, you would've killed a man to have Minho touch your pussy, but already you wanted more. He made you so greedy. It felt good but your thirst for more was unbearable, intolerable.

"Alright, baby, are you ready?"

"Yes!" you cried out.

Slowly, he sunk the tip of his dick inside you - just the tip. Thick as it was, it slid in with hardly any protest. He sighed as it went in, clearly needing the sensation more than he let on.

"More," you pleaded.

"You'll take what I give you, when I'm ready to give you it." Minho saw you roll your eyes at this, but said nothing.

He pushed the head in and out of your hole, never putting more than two inches inside. 

"Please give me the whole thing, Minho!"

He simply shook his head. "You wouldn't be able to handle it. Dumb baby."

"I can handle it!" you insisted. "I swear I can!" 

He looked at you, raising an eyebrow that told you he was unconvinced. "You can?" You nodded. "You're gonna cry like a little baby." 

"Just give me your stupid dick right now!" 

Minho laughed, shaking his head. "Alright, baby. Here comes my stupid dick."

He held your legs down against your chest, and slammed his whole length inside you. You saw stars. He thrusted, hard and fast, and you were somewhat aware that you were moaning probably louder than you ever had before, but all you could truly focus on was his cock filling you up. He was hitting your g-spot on every single thrust, grunting as he fucked you.

"God, you're tight," he groaned. He re-positioned his hips, and somehow managed to hit deeper. You felt him against your cervix, and cried out in pain.

"Too much," you weakly protested as your eyes filled with tears. 

"I thought you could handle it?" he said, his voice lacking any sympathy. "Fucking pathetic, begging for a cock you couldn't even take." 

"I-I can, just not so deep."

Minho smirked down at you. "It's not my fault my dick's so big," he said, but adjusted his thrusts slightly anyway. 

"I can take it," you promised. "I-I can take anything you give me, Minho."

"That's right, baby. My filthy little whore." His voice was calm, but his eyebrows were furrowed and sweat was dripping down his forehead - the pleasure was overwhelming him just as much as it was destroying you. 

Minho leaned down, connecting his mouth to yours as he fucked you. You sighed happily, wrapping your arms around his neck and taking his tongue into your mouth. You couldn't help but moan. His dick fucking your pussy, his tongue fucking your mouth. This was heaven, you were sure of it.

He pulled away. "You think you could take some more?" 

"More?" you asked, eyes wide. 

"Just a little more. For me?"

You nodded hesitantly.

Minho paused his thrusts, but before you could whine in protest, you felt his finger rubbing at your opening. Slowly, he pushed his index finger inside, along with his dick. The painful stretch was incredible, and you whimpered at the feeling. 

"There you go, babe," he said, beginning to thrust once more. He closed his eyes, losing himself to the sensation. "Fuck, this is nice and tight."

You were barely even lucid at this point. You babbled incoherently, unaware of what you were even trying to say. You were completely and utterly spellbound by his dick, by the sweet burning stretch. 

"Touch yourself for me, baby," Minho directed you. 

"F-Fuck- I don't know if I can-"

"I thought you wanted to be my sex slave, hm? Pretty little slaves do as they're told." 

You whined, but obeyed his command. "M-Minho… I'm gonna cum if I keep going."

Minho barked out a laugh. "Cum then. I don't care. But don't take your fingers off that pussy, not even for a second."

You were beginning to think that maybe you weren't cut out for this. You hadn't even reached your climax yet, and already the overstimulation was too much. Your stretched out pussy was throbbing, and you jolted each time Minho's dick pounded your g-spot. You were drenched, covered in your own sweat as well as Minho's, which was dripping onto you from his hair, his forehead, his neck. The air in the room was thick, and smelled entirely of Minho - you were covered in him. He looked like a god above you, fucking into you like it was his life's mission.

It was too much for you to handle, without a doubt. And yet, you'd be happy to spend the rest of your life underneath him. Or on top of him. Or in any position which meant his dick could be inside you.

"Minho… Minho!" you whimpered.

"C'mon, baby," he encouraged you, his voice strained. From the sounds of it, he wasn't far from finishing either - although you got the sense he could keep going all night if he willed himself to. "Cum around my cock like the dirty little whore you are." 

That was all the prompting you needed.

Your ears started ringing. You let the almost unbearable feeling of ecstasy wash over you, flooding Minho’s cock. You knew you were crying out maybe a bit too loudly - but you didn’t care, thrashing in Minho’s hold and grasping the bedsheets for dear life as he fucked you through it. He didn’t slow his pace, riding out your intense orgasm caused by the man of your dreams and making you feel as if you’d been set on fire.

"Does that feel good, baby?" Minho crooned, continuing to fuck you as he went after his own orgasm. You could only manage a high-pitched whine in response. "Just a little longer, baby, you can do it. Just lie there and let me use your tight little pussy, that's it." His voice was hoarse, and the veins on his neck were prominent. You knew he was going to cum soon, but you didn't know if you could hold on. You were over-sensitive to the point of pain, hands gripping Minho's bed sheets.

"Cum - give me your cum," you urged Minho. "Now, please."

His eyes widened. Your command had seemed to catch him off guard a bit. He pulled out of you, and you watched as thick ribbons of pearly white cum oozed onto your abdomen. You gasped gently as you watched. It was perhaps the most beautifully erotic thing you'd ever seen. His dick was definitely a contender for the prettiest one you'd ever fucked, and his cum was thick and heavy, dripping from the tip like a waterfall.

"Thank you," you whispered. He leaned in, kissing you deeply. He tasted like sweat, hot and sticky, and you moaned. 

He pulled away, before planting one more kiss on your forehead. "You're welcome."

Minho stood, going to the other side of his room. You tried to follow him with your eyes, but you felt so weak and tired that they slipped shut immediately. He returned seconds later, and you lay still, sighing as he cleaned you up. His touch was so gentle, so soothing, so different than it had been just minutes before.

"That better?" he asked, discarding the towel.

You nodded. "You want me to go crash with Felix?" you asked, unsure of what exactly this arrangement was.

"Nah, you reek of sex. Felix wouldn't want you." He helped you climb under the covers. "Plus, I wouldn't mind some company tonight." He slid into bed beside you, and you rolled over, laying your head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, and you felt incredibly safe secure, especially considering just how utterly terrified you'd been of this man a few hours ago.

You giggled softly, so tired and fucked out that you felt a little delirious. "Can't believe you fucked me, Minho."

Minho gave a short laugh. "Can't believe you convinced me to fuck you so easily. You're a little minx. I really wanted to play with you some more."

You nestled into his chest. "I guess there'll have to be a next time then, huh?" 

"Yeah," he agreed. "If you're lucky."

"You wanna fuck me again, Minho, I know you do," you mumbled. "I saw the look in your eyes when you came. You need my pussy."

Minho was silent for a few seconds. "You're awfully bold for someone who was crying on my cock ten minutes ago."

"...Yeah." 

"Get some sleep, sweetheart." No more than ten seconds later, you were sleeping in his arms. 

You slipped into the land of dreams, where you went on to fantasise about Minho - his thighs, his neck, his tummy, his hands. His kisses, his touches, his dick in your throat, in your holes. Minho everywhere. Were you completely insatiable? Maybe. But it seemed very likely that he'd give it to you again. In your sleep, you smiled.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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[niby-skaje]

Emmrich shouldn't be allowed to become a Lich if romanced.

Okay. Hear me out.

Regardless of our personal views as a player/Rook on a subject of lichdom, I feel, given what we've learned, that lich lords of Necropolis should not allow Emmrich to become a lich if he has a beloved.

Lichdom is important. It is rare - so rare that Emmrich himself mentions that he was the lords' first living petitioner in a long time. There aren't many liches there I suppose. We only get to see a maximum of three at a time. It is not something to be trifled with, as the process is some high, advanced magic with the soul sifting required and the journey one has to partake - journey of self-discovery and learning to even be considered worthy. And then it still can go wrong. Our soul may still fail the final test (I assume it must be a possibility).

And then, the burden - the burden of knowledge, of power and responsibility that they have. We know that if we choose to bring Manfred back, then lichdom is lost for Emmrich forever for it shows that he cannot accept that others, those dear to him, will inevitably die, and that would mean that he might be susceptible to the abuse of power, as the lich we speak to states. Such power in the wrong hands could easily lead to tyranny.

But when Emmrich is romanced, he becomes even less able to accept mortality - this time not only his own, but Rook's as well. And while lichdom may take away the fear of death he's felt all his life (if in a healthy way, that's another matter entirely), it replaces it with something new - the fear of losing his love. And not just fear - the knowledge, the certainty, that Rook WILL die. If not now, then someday, in twenty, maybe forty years. But it will. It is as certain as life and death itself.

And Emmrich has waited so long for the love of his life! Even if we omit all the banter and all the little things in the game, he himself tells us that we are the best thing that has ever happened to him. Most magnificent, in his own words. And from the little bits here and there we get to know that he longed for that kind of love all his life.He has turned to other things, to the pursuit of knowledge and immortality, because he has given up hope - only for love to find him so late, right on the doorstep of his lichdom. He accepts it, he allows himself to be swayed by that love, he immerses himself in it completely, like a besotted fool (again, in his own words).

With all that, we know that once the time comes, he cannot and will not let Rook go. He may have slight doubts and we may talk to him about it, but we know that he cannot really choose and in the end he refuses to do so, assuring us that his love will be unchanged even as a lich. But that is not true, for now his love is different, as he now knows that we will be parted and he will remain. The dread he's felt all his life now changes its target, and the love and the fear become so intertwined, so painful, in a way he didn't even expect.

Very, very dangerous for someone with such immense power.

And then, after being trapped in the Fade he tells us that he will allow nothing to part us again. "Not in this, nor any other world". He will find a way, no matter the cost. Even as a lich, though some of his senses may be altered or dulled, he still feels, the emotions still flow within him as they did when he was mortal, perhaps even more so. He loves Rook more than anything in the world, he dreads the time when they will be separated, he dreads how he would go on without them, how he would mourn them for eternity... though now he has all the power and knowledge and time of the lich. He may be able to find a way - even if it is an abuse of the responsibility of his new position. He is blinded by love, even in a state that should transcend all things mortal.

Lich lords are not supposed to care about themselves, for they are meant to serve the Necropolis, to thwart any dangers outside of mortals' grasps, they are to guide and protect. A higher purpose, not of the flesh and the heart, but of wisdom and reason.

With all that in mind, with all the potential for abuse of power he is given, I cannot fathom how the lich lords could entrust such power to romanced Emmrich - or anyone else, for that matter, who is unwilling to sever their ties with the mortal world once and for all. For me, there should be no doubt that to ascend as a lich, one must shed all mortal ties, whatever they may be - and that includes love.

Emmrich's obligatory tax.

[theonottsbxtch]

WHATS LEFT BEHIND PT.4 | MV1

an: GROVELLLINGGG i need me a bull rider max verstappen i swear to god his little smile and UGH i would commit crimes for him, anyway enjoy!

summary: when max verstappen left his childhood girlfriend behind to face her career ending injury alone to chase his dreams of being the best bull rider the country has ever seen, he thought it would be easy. except it wasn't, he was back in town and they hated him, for one reason. they hurt their star barrel racer.

wc: 5.5k

part one | part two | part three |

Max had no idea why he thought this was a good idea, but at 5:45 a.m., he was standing on her doorstep, holding her favourite coffee and breakfast sandwich in hand. His heart hammered in his chest, and his breath clouded in the cool early morning air. The bag of food rustled in his grip as he shifted on his feet, hoping that this wouldn’t completely backfire.

He was well aware that one breakfast wouldn’t erase years of hurt, but it was a start. He had to start somewhere.

The sky was still tinged with the last hints of night, the town barely stirring awake. He’d spent too many sleepless nights replaying their kiss, feeling the weight of her hurt and all the things left unsaid. This was his first step toward making things right—showing up and proving that he was here to stay.

Her house was quiet, no sign of movement behind the windows. He glanced at his watch again. She was an early riser, always had been, and he hoped he hadn’t miscalculated the time.

Just as he was considering leaving the coffee on her porch and making a quiet retreat, he heard the creak of the front door behind him. He turned to see her stepping out, her hair still damp from the shower, looking as though she hadn’t quite woken up yet but was ready for the day. She paused when she saw him standing there, her eyes narrowing.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone flat, but he could see the flicker of curiosity in her gaze.

Max swallowed, forcing a small smile as he held out the coffee cup. “I, uh… thought I’d bring you breakfast.”

She stared at him, her eyes moving from the cup to the sandwich bag in his other hand, then back to his face. Her lips parted as if she was about to say something, but then she shook her head and moved past him toward her truck, saying nothing at all.

Well, that went about as well as he expected.

“Sweetheart,” he called after her, stepping forward quickly. “It’s your favourite. Black coffee, no sugar. And an egg and bacon sandwich, just like you used to get.”

She didn’t turn around, didn’t even slow down. But when she reached her truck, she paused. For a split second, she glanced over her shoulder, her gaze landing on the coffee. Without a word, she extended her hand, and he quickly passed her the cup.

Max watched as she took a sip, her face giving nothing away. She pulled open the truck door, still silent, and tossed the coffee into the cupholder as if it were an afterthought. She slid into the driver's seat, and the engine roared to life.

He stood there, watching her pull out, unsure if he had made any progress at all. But just before she turned onto the main road, he saw it—the faintest glimmer of something.

Her fingers curled around the coffee cup as she took another sip.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as she drove away. She hadn’t slammed the door in his face or told him to go to hell, and she hadn’t thrown the coffee out the window. For now, that was a win. Maybe a small one, but a win all the same.

As Max watched her truck disappear down the road, he let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. The quiet rumble of the engine faded, leaving only the early morning sounds of birds beginning to stir and the rustle of leaves in the wind.

He turned to head back to his own truck, feeling that faint flicker of hope from the coffee exchange still lingering in his chest. But as he passed the barn, something caught his eye—the door to her stable was hanging at an awkward angle, one of the hinges loose and the wood splintered. He paused, frowning.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he wandered over to inspect it closer. The damage wasn’t new; the wood around the hinge looked worn and cracked. The entire stall looked neglected—the bedding inside hadn’t been mucked out in a while, the hay was scattered and half-moulded. The familiar smell of manure and damp straw clung to the air, stronger than it should’ve been for a stall that was regularly cared for.

Max thought back to the other day where he’d seen Luna in Leslie’s barn. It made sense now. She must’ve been using Leslie’s stable because her own had fallen into disrepair. A wave of something unfamiliar hit him—guilt, maybe, or regret. This wasn’t like her. She used to take pride in everything being just right when it came to her horses.

He chewed his lip, standing in front of the broken stall door for a moment longer, then made a decision.

Maybe she didn’t want his help, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give it.

Without another thought, Max turned back toward his truck, digging through the back where he kept his toolbox. Years of being on the rodeo circuit had taught him a thing or two about fixing up stables, trailers, and anything else that came with working with horses. He pulled out what he needed—tools, nails, and looked around her barn to find some spare wood boards—then headed back to her stable.

The first thing he did was unscrew the damaged hinge, pulling it free and tossing it aside. The wood creaked as he worked, but his hands were steady, focused. His mind, on the other hand, was a mess. He thought about her, about the years he’d been gone, and how much he had missed seeing her in this very barn, laughing, mucking out stables, grooming her horse with such care.

He had abandoned that world—their world. And looking at this neglected stable now felt like a reminder of how he’d left things with her: broken and unattended.

As he worked, time passed quickly. He replaced the hinge, secured the door, and patched up the splintered wood with the boards he’d brought. Once the door was fixed, he moved inside, mucking out the old straw and replacing it with fresh bedding. The smell of clean straw filled the stall, and by the time he finished, the stable looked almost new again—like the way she used to keep it.

Standing back to admire his work, Max wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The sun had fully risen by now, casting warm light across the barn. The job wasn’t perfect, but it was something. It was a start.

He wasn’t sure how she would react when she found out, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the right thing to do. Fixing her stable was one small way to show her that he wanted to help, that he wasn’t going to run away this time.

Sliding his toolbox back into his truck, he stood by the driver’s side door for a moment, staring at the barn in the soft morning light. He felt a strange sense of satisfaction, mixed with nerves. He hadn’t planned to stick around after dropping off the coffee, but now that he’d done this, he felt like he’d left a small piece of himself behind.

Maybe that was what he needed to do—piece by piece, action by action, until he could finally prove to her that he was here to stay.

Max was just about to leave when he noticed something else—a porch step leading up to her house was cracked. One of the wooden boards was split right down the middle, dipping slightly under pressure. He walked up to it and stepped on it, the wood groaning, threatening to give way.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. How long had she been stepping over this, risking a fall every time? He knew her leg wasn’t perfect again, it was dangerous for her to have that there like that.

It didn’t take much convincing for him to grab his toolbox again. He couldn’t just leave it like this. First the stable, now the porch… How much more had she been shouldering on her own all these years?

With a quick glance at the time, he decided he had enough daylight left to fix the step before she got home for lunch. But he’d need more wood. He hopped into his truck and headed down to the local hardware store, grabbing a few planks of wood and some extra supplies for good measure. By the time he returned, the sun was sitting higher in the sky, marking the late morning, and he got to work.

He started by removing the old board, carefully prying it loose without damaging the other steps. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he worked, and each crack of the wood sent memories rushing back—of him helping her dad fix things around the ranch when they were kids, of them sitting on this very porch, laughing, planning their futures. A future that had been so easy to leave behind, yet so impossible to forget.

Halfway through installing the new step, the sound of an engine approaching caught his attention. Max looked up just as her truck pulled into the driveway. His stomach twisted with nerves, but he forced himself to keep working, pretending not to notice.

The truck door slammed shut, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stepping out, wearing the same expression she’d had that morning—guarded, unsure, but somehow less cold than before. She paused by the porch, noticing the tools, the new plank of wood in his hands.

“You fixing my porch now too?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Max straightened up, wiping his hands on his jeans, a small smile playing at the edges of his lips. “Figured it was about time someone did.”

She glanced at the half-repaired step, then back at him. For a second, she just stood there, as if she wasn’t sure what to say. Then, without a word, she smiled—a real smile, small but genuine—and with a light hop, she stepped over the broken porch board and headed for the door.

That smile hit him harder than any of her glares or icy words ever had.

Max grinned, watching her as she disappeared inside. That tiny, almost imperceptible smile was more than he’d hoped for when he started all this. He stood there, hammer in hand, his heart thudding with satisfaction.

Progress. Small, sure. But progress nonetheless.

He bent back down to finish the job, feeling lighter than he had in days. If this was what it took to win her back, he’d fix every damn thing in her life until there was nothing left to fix. And even then, he wasn’t going anywhere.

As he hammered the last nail into the new step, the front door creaked open again. She stepped out, a water bottle in hand. She leaned against the doorframe, watching him work.

"Didn't think you'd be so handy after all these years," she said casually, taking a sip of water.

Max looked up, wiping his brow. "Guess I never forgot how to fix things, even if I broke a lot more than I fixed."

She looked at him for a long moment, the playful glint in her eyes softening. She didn’t respond, but that silence between them felt...different. Less tense. More open.

She gave him a quick nod before hopping back over the repaired step and heading to her truck. As she climbed in, she took one long look at him and smiled again. Max couldn’t help but smile as she drove away, the fresh scent of wood still hanging in the air.

It was just a smile. Just a sip of coffee. But to him, it felt like the first real win he’d had in years.

The following morning arrived with the kind of early light that made the world feel fresh and new. Max pulled into her driveway just after sunrise, the quiet hum of his truck the only sound in the peaceful stillness of the ranch. He parked, glancing over at the house, making sure there were no signs she was up yet.

He slid out of the truck, balancing two cups of coffee and a brown paper bag filled with her favourite breakfast. He placed them carefully on the porch, positioning the bag next to the coffee with a little note tucked under it that simply read: "Enjoy. - M."

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the note,taking a sip of his own coffee as he hoped this small gesture would get him another one of those smiles. Maybe even a thank you this time. But he wasn’t expecting anything. Not yet.

Turning away from the porch, he eyed her truck parked beside the barn. It was filthy, covered in dust, and dried mud clung to the tires from her trips across the ranch. Without thinking twice, Max grabbed some cleaning supplies he knew she kept in the shed behind her house—bucket, sponge, soap—and got to work.

The cool water sloshed in the bucket as he soaked the sponge and started scrubbing away the grime. His muscles ached from the last few days of manual labour, but it felt good. Every swipe of the sponge felt like another step toward redemption. Maybe this was how he could prove himself—not through words but by doing the things she didn’t ask for but needed.

He was halfway through washing the windows when he heard the creak of the screen door. He glanced up, and there she was.

She stepped out onto the porch, barefoot, hair messy from sleep. His heart thudded once, hard, as his eyes travelled downward. She was wearing one of his old flannels—oversized on her, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows—paired with short sleep shorts that left her long legs bare in the morning sunlight. For a split second, his brain stalled, eyes glued to the familiar sight of her in his shirt, like some vivid memory had sprung to life in front of him.

Shit.

He snapped his gaze away, focusing on the task at hand, but it was too late. His pulse had already spiked, and his hands fumbled slightly as he wrung out the sponge. He told himself not to let his mind go there—not after everything they’d been through. But damn, it was hard not to think about how good she looked.

She didn’t say anything. She glanced at the coffee and breakfast on the porch, her lips twitching in what might have been the start of a smile, and then she looked back at him. He felt her eyes on him as he worked, and even though she didn’t say a word, the silence between them felt... different. Less guarded.

She disappeared inside for a few moments, and he figured that was that—another day, another quiet gesture, and he’d let it be. But when she came back out, she placed a bottle of water on the porch rail near where he was working, almost like an unspoken acknowledgment.

“Thanks for the coffee,” she said finally, her voice soft but clear in the morning stillness.

Max nodded, not trusting his voice just yet. His throat was tight, the sight of her in his old flannel still rattling around in his mind, so he just gave her a small smile and kept scrubbing the truck, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of the way his heart was hammering.

She lingered for a second longer before heading back inside, the screen door shutting gently behind her. He exhaled, finally letting out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

He glanced at the bottle of water she’d left out for him. It wasn’t much—just a simple gesture. But it was more than he’d expected, and the fact that she’d noticed, that she’d even bothered to leave it out for him, felt like a victory.

His grin widened as he finished cleaning the truck, knowing that, slowly but surely, he was getting to her.

Max was just finishing up, wiping the last few streaks off her truck windows, when he heard her voice drift through the open kitchen window. He didn’t mean to listen, but her tone caught his attention, and before he knew it, he was eavesdropping on her conversation.

“No, Mum, I was going to make the banana bread today,” she said, frustration lacing her words. “But I just realised I don’t have enough flour...or eggs. And these bananas are already overripe. If I don’t use them soon, they’ll go to waste.”

There was a pause, and Max could imagine her pacing back and forth, probably chewing her bottom lip the way she always did when she was annoyed.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll figure something out,” she sighed. “Maybe I’ll go to the store later... I just don’t feel like leaving the house right now.”

Max couldn’t help the small smile creeping across his face. He remembered how much she loved baking, especially on the weekends when she had some downtime. Banana bread was one of her favourites—something she used to make for him when they were younger, back when things were simpler.

An idea sparked in his mind. It wasn’t much, but if he could help her out in some small way, maybe it would chip away at that wall she’d built around herself.

He tossed the rag into the bucket and glanced toward her house one more time before heading for his truck. He made a quick stop at the local grocery store, grabbing the essentials she’d mentioned—flour, eggs, and a few other things he thought she might need. But as he walked down the produce aisle, something else caught his eye: a small bouquet of sunflowers. Her favourite. Without a second thought, he added them to his cart.

By the time he got back to her place, the house was still quiet. He could hear faint music playing from inside, but there was no sign of her coming outside anytime soon.

Perfect.

Max quietly made his way up to the porch, placing the grocery bag down by the door. He carefully arranged the bouquet of sunflowers next to the bag, making sure they were the first thing she’d see when she opened the door. He didn’t leave a note this time. He didn’t need to. The gesture was enough.

For a moment, he hesitated, wanting to stick around and see her reaction. But no—that wasn’t the point. He didn’t want her to feel pressured or obligated. This was about showing her, bit by bit, that he was serious. That he could be the man she needed him to be.

With one last glance at the flowers, he turned and headed back to his truck, leaving the scene just as quietly as he had arrived.

Inside the house, she hung up the phone and glanced toward the window. She hadn’t heard Max leave, but the sight of her newly cleaned truck parked outside reminded her of his presence. There was something comforting in knowing he’d been there, even if she hadn’t asked him to be.

She stretched and decided to step outside for some fresh air. As she opened the door, her gaze immediately fell on the bag at her feet and the bright splash of yellow sunflowers.

She blinked, surprised, and crouched down to inspect the bag. Flour, eggs, even some sugar—and the sunflowers, of course. Her heart gave a little flutter, and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t fight the small smile pulling at her lips.

It didn’t take much to realise who had left them. Only one person would know how much she loved sunflowers.

Max.

She stood in the doorway, staring at the bag of groceries and the sunflowers. She felt a strange warmth bloom in her chest as she reached down, brushing her fingers over the petals. For a second, she considered leaving everything there, maybe pretending she hadn’t seen it—but she couldn’t. The sight of those bright sunflowers, her favourite, was like a small crack in the carefully constructed wall she’d spent years building.

She sighed, picking up the bag and the bouquet, and headed back inside, the door creaking softly as it shut behind her. As she placed everything on the kitchen counter, her mind wandered back over the last few days. It had been relentless. The coffee, the fixed stable, the repaired porch, and now this.

Each gesture felt so simple, yet so intentional. Max wasn’t just showing up to apologise—he was showing up in all the ways she’d needed him to before, in all the ways she’d tried to move past. And that realisation hit her like a punch to the gut.

She pulled out the flour and eggs, setting them on the counter as she began gathering the rest of the ingredients. Banana bread. Her mom had suggested it, and she hadn’t even realised at the time that she was thinking of him when she’d decided to make it. It had always been his favourite.

Back when they were young, she used to bake for him every weekend. He’d come by after working the bulls or training, hungry and exhausted, and she’d have the kitchen smelling like cinnamon and bananas by the time he arrived. She’d never forget the way his eyes would light up when he saw the loaf cooling on the counter. That easy smile, the one that always made her heart race, even when she tried to pretend it didn’t.

Her hands moved on autopilot as she mashed the bananas, her mind playing through memories she hadn’t let herself revisit in years. She could almost hear his voice in the back of her mind, teasing her for adding too many walnuts one time, or for baking the bread just a little too long on another occasion.

He used to sneak slices before they’d even cooled, and she’d scold him playfully while he grinned like a kid getting away with something.

“Darlin’, you spoil me,” he’d always say, mouth full, and she’d roll her eyes but secretly love every second of it.

That was before. Before the injury. Before the fame. Before the day he’d left without saying goodbye.

She poured the batter into the loaf pan, her movements a little slower now as the memories tangled with the present. She couldn’t shake the image of him standing out in the driveway, washing her truck, fixing her porch, or that damn bouquet of sunflowers sitting on her counter now.

He was relentless, and she hated how much it was affecting her. It was so much easier to stay angry, to cling to the betrayal that had fueled her for years. But his persistence—it was wearing her down.

She wiped her hands on a towel and stared out the window above the sink. The sun was climbing higher now, lighting up the barn with soft golden hues. She glanced toward the porch, half-expecting to see him still there, but the driveway was empty.

She hadn’t asked for his help, not once. And yet, he kept showing up.

She could feel something shifting inside her, something that scared her more than she wanted to admit. He was getting through, bit by bit, and that made her angry—not at him, but at herself.

As she slid the loaf into the oven, she leaned against the counter, her arms crossed as she let out a frustrated breath.

“Why now, Max?” she muttered to herself, her eyes flicking toward the bouquet of sunflowers. “Why couldn’t you have done all this eight years ago?”

But deep down, she knew the answer. Back then, neither of them had been ready. He had been running from everything—his feelings, his fears, his dreams—and she’d been holding onto a fantasy that wasn’t real.

Now, things were different. They were both different. But was it too late?

As the smell of baking bananas and cinnamon filled the kitchen, she found herself lost in thought, wondering whether all of Max’s grovelling was just temporary—whether he’d stick around this time, or whether he’d bolt the second things got hard again.

She didn’t want to admit it, but the idea of him staying terrified her almost as much as the thought of him leaving again.

And the worst part? Despite everything, despite all the pain and resentment, she still cared. She still wanted to believe him.

As the oven timer ticked down, she glanced at the clock and sighed, grabbing her coffee from the counter. She took a sip, tasting the warmth and comfort of it, and for the briefest moment, a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Maybe, just maybe, Max was winning her over after all.

She stared at the golden-brown loaf cooling on the counter, the smell of freshly baked banana bread filling her kitchen. She’d sliced off a small piece for herself—just to check that it was done right, of course—and, as soon as the familiar taste hit her tongue, memories rushed in. It tasted exactly like it used to—like weekends spent laughing, teasing, and sharing moments with Max that had once felt like they would last forever.

A thought crossed her mind before she could stop it. Should she take him some?

She frowned, standing in the middle of her kitchen, arms crossed. There was no reason to give him anything. If anything, she should keep it all to herself. But then again, he’d done so much for her in the last few days. The coffee, the repairs, the quiet way he’d just...been there, even when she didn’t want him to be. And now here she was, thinking about doing something for him.

"Fine," she muttered to herself, grabbing some wax paper and wrapping a few slices of banana bread tightly. She placed them in a small container, shaking her head at how ridiculous this all felt. "Just a thank you. That’s all."

Before she could second-guess herself, she grabbed her truck keys and the small container and headed out the door.

The drive to Max’s place wasn’t long, but with every mile closer, her heart pounded a little harder. When she finally pulled up outside his cabin, she parked at the edge of his driveway and hesitated for a moment, gripping the steering wheel.

She wasn’t going to knock on the door. No way. This wasn’t some grand gesture or olive branch. It was just...banana bread.

Taking a deep breath, she hopped out of her truck and quietly walked up to his front porch. She placed the container right by the door, gave one last glance at the house, and turned quickly on her heel before she could change her mind.

She was back in her truck and driving away in seconds, leaving the small gesture behind her like a secret she wasn’t ready to face.

Max had spent the morning out in the barn, fixing a broken fence panel that had been bothering him for days. The work had done wonders for his mood, keeping his mind off her and everything swirling between them. He knew he had to be patient, that winning her back wasn’t something that would happen overnight. But damn, he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t hard.

As he finished up, the sun high in the sky, he walked back to the house, wiping the sweat from his brow. He was about to open the front door when something on the porch caught his eye.

A small plastic container, carefully wrapped, sat by the door. For a second, he just stared at it, confused. Then recognition clicked, and his heart did a little flip.

Banana bread.

He crouched down and picked it up, opening the lid to find a few perfectly sliced pieces, just like he remembered from years ago. It was the same banana bread she used to bake for him when they were kids—when they’d spend lazy weekends together, when things were easy and right.

He blinked, the realisation slowly settling in. She had brought this for him. After everything, she had taken the time to make something and leave it for him, even if she hadn’t stayed to say it herself.

His chest tightened, and for the first time in a long while, Max felt a rush of something that wasn’t guilt or regret. It was happiness, pure and unfiltered. She might not have said the words, but this was a step. A small one, but it was enough for him to hold onto.

He sat down on the porch, leaning back against the wall, and took a bite of the banana bread. The familiar sweetness hit his tongue, and it was like being transported back in time—to when she used to make it for him, to the laughter they’d shared, to the love they’d both felt before everything had gone so wrong.

Max smiled, closing his eyes and savouring the taste.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew there was still a long way to go before things could ever be right between them again. But this? This was a win. A quiet, small win, wrapped in wax paper and tied with memories of what they used to have.

For the first time in eight years, Max felt like things might just work out.

He finished the last bite of banana bread, letting the taste linger as he sat on the porch, the empty container beside him. His mood felt lighter than it had in days, like maybe things were finally starting to fall into place. With a satisfied sigh, he stood up, stretching his sore muscles before heading back inside.

His place was quiet, the kind of quiet that had always felt like a weight, but today it didn’t bother him as much. He tossed his sweaty shirt into the laundry basket and grabbed a towel, heading toward the shower. The hot water felt good, washing away the grime from the morning’s work. His mind wandered back to her —how she’d left the banana bread, how she was starting to soften, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

He smirked to himself, running his hands through his wet hair. He’d take it slow. He had to. But there was hope now, more than he’d had since he first came back.

Just as he stepped out of the shower, still dripping water, a loud pounding came from the front door. He grabbed a towel, wrapping it loosely around his waist, and frowned.

“Who the hell...?”

The pounding came again, louder this time, like whoever was on the other side had zero patience.

“I’m coming, hold your horses!” Max called out, running his hand over his face as he crossed the small hallway. He swung the door open to find Leslie standing there, arms crossed, looking as stern as ever.

“Les? Where’s the fire?” he asked, eyebrows raised, still clutching the towel around his waist.

Leslie’s eyes barely flicked down at his bare chest, clearly unimpressed. She held out a shirt—a work shirt.

“I don’t know how you pulled it off, but here.” She shoved the shirt into his chest. “You start tomorrow morning. Six o’clock. Don’t be late.”

It took a second for her words to register, but when they did, his eyes widened. He stared at her, blinking, his heart thudding in his chest.

“You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” Leslie didn’t crack a smile, but there was a glint in her eye. “Looks like someone finally decided to forgive you. Don’t make me regret it.”

Max felt a grin spread across his face, his chest swelling with relief and something close to joy. Forgiven. He’d finally been forgiven.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Les, I—thank you. I mean it.”

She stepped back, eyeing him up and down one last time. “Don’t thank me. You earned it—barely.” She turned to leave but paused before heading back down the steps. “Oh, and Max? Maybe next time, put on some damn pants before you open the door.”

Max laughed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Noted.”

Leslie waved him off and headed back to her truck, leaving Max standing in the doorway, shirt in hand, the towel barely holding on. He stepped back inside, shutting the door behind him, and let out a long, deep breath.

He’d done it. He’d actually done it.

Not just the job, but her. He knew Leslie wouldn’t have come to offer him work if she hadn’t forgiven him. It wasn’t much—maybe just a sliver of forgiveness—but it was enough.

A smile tugged at his lips as he walked back to his room, pulling on the shirt Leslie had brought, staring at her barn logo in the mirror. Tomorrow, at six in the morning, he’d be working at the barn, just like he’d wanted.

And, maybe even more important than that, she was finally letting him in—just a little, but enough to give him hope that there was still a chance for them. He wasn’t going to waste it.

He glanced at the clock. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

part five

[theshiniestgemstone]

would you do almost like a part two (2) to that request you got for the reader not having any family so jesse walks her down the aisle instead?

I was thinking that the reader is giving birth to ruthie, but the only person around to take her to the hospital is jesse. maybe the baby is like a month early and gideon is a few hours away at some important church thing and amber is out as well, so jesse gets a call from the reader asking for help and he’s like “I thought I was finished taking women to the hospital to give birth!”

I'm so soft for Jesse having a soft spot for his daughter in law fr.

Read the wedding fic here and about what I think their relationship is like here!! <3

Jesse can't even remember the last time he had the entire house to himself.

Pontius left after lunch, half-heartedly muttering that he'd be back in a few hours, only to send a text that he'd be home in the morning. Amber and Abraham were on the other side of the state at a wrestling competition for the littlest Gemstone. You and Gideon had long since moved out, one step closer to your own family. Gideon was off in Phoenix at a conference, taking up a few main slots to talk about the Lord to ministers nationwide. Jesse had been in his shoes once and trusted him enough. Still, Eli and Kelvin joined him.

Amber had your due date circled on the calendar since you announced your pregnancy. The family was ecstatic at the beginning of a new generation. Eli even sat Jesse down just like he did when they found out Amber was pregnant with Gideon, only this time he shared grandfatherly advice, mostly just reminders that Gideon would need him most now with a little one on the way. A guide to help him transition into fatherhood, reminders that it's not about him or even his wife anymore.

Jesse's eyes lingered on the due date just about a month away. He and Amber were going to help out for the first few weeks, taking care of laundry and dishes. They hadn't run it past you or Gideon, but Eli and Aimee Leigh had done it for them when Gideon was a newborn and they were going to carry on the tradition. He finished his late night sandwich, the one Amber never let him enjoy because if there was one thing she hated it was crumbs.

He settled into his side of the bed, turned on The Godfather and cleared his throat to begin his best Marlon Brando Impression.

"That I cannot do." Jesse scratched his chin. "We've known each other many years and this is the first time you came to me for counsel. I can't remember the last time that you invited me to your house for a cup of coffee, even though my wife is the godmother of your on-"

He jumped at the sound of the doorbell, cutting him off in the middle of his favorite monologue. He set his plate to the side and reached for the gun he kept in the nightstand. He tucked it into his pocket before making his way down the hall carefully. "Who the hell-"

The doorbell rang again, followed by insistent knocking. He peeked through the little window, spotting you on the doorstep. He ripped the door open.

"What-"

You were shiny in the moonlight, legs trembling. "I need you to drive me. My water broke."

"What?" Jesse asked, already reaching for his keys. "How did that happen?"

You groaned lowly, gripping the railing on the stairs. "This isn't really time for stories," you breathed out.

"Just let me get my wall-"

"NOW!" You shouted. "Or I'm driving that damned golf cart myself."

Jesse's face dropped, following behind you. One hand held yours as he helped you waddle down the stairs and to the car. You held onto him as you sat down.

"Don't you need bags or somethin'?" He started to ask.

"Jesse, I will pop your grandbaby out in this seat right fucking now," you seethed.

He rushed around to the other side of the car. He drove as calmly as he could, silent and focused on the road.

"Nothing else to say?" You said. "I'm sorry for snappin' at you."

Jesse chuckled, speeding through a yellow light. "I thought I was done driving women to have babies. I've been through this three times. I know when it's time to keep my mouth shut."

You sucked in a breath, gripping the side of the seat during another wave of pain. "I should go into labor more often then." You relaxed, running a hand over your bump. "Still, I'm sorry."

"This ain't nothin'. Amber threw a shoe at me when she was pregnant with Gideon."

"Really?"

"We were young," he said, smiling at the memory. "Had a black eye for weeks. She threw up on me twice with Pontius. With Abraham... you know, that one was the easiest. An hour tops. Just think that you're doin' this shit backwards."

You shook your head. "No fucking chance I'm doing this again."

He laughed at that one, a soft ha as he turned into the parking lot of the hospital. "I'll leave you at the door, park the car, call Gideon on my way in. Then I'll be right by your side until Gideon gets here, okay?"

You felt the tears in your eyes as you opened the door. "Thank you, Jesse."

"Anytime, sweetheart. Now go."

You smiled sheepishly. "I can't stand up."

"Damn this low car," he muttered. He unbuckled himself to round the car to help you stand. He gave you a quick hug, sending you off with a pat on the back. "I'll be right there. You've got this."

Jesse didn't lie when he said he'd stay there until Gideon could make it. He stood on the other side of the curtain when the doctor first checked your dilation. He brought you ice chips and called Gideon every ten minutes, texting him each update.

"Boy must be gettin' his beauty sleep," he joked when Gideon missed the fifteenth phone call.

Even when Amber and Abraham arrived, blinking with fatigue and still in their pajamas, a medal slung around Abraham's neck, Jesse stayed. When it came time to push, Amber stood on your left, Jesse on your right. Gideon was on his way, still stuck on a plane.

Ruthie was born, wailing loudly as the nurses carried her over to the examination table. He wiped his tears as he and Amber stood beside you until they brought over the swaddled newborn. Jesse gasped softly as you ran a gentle finger over her chin.

"She looks like Gideon."

Amber blinked back tears. "She does. So much."

You cried for a while, holding your daughter close as the nurses poked and prodded at both of you. Jesse still didn’t leave. Not when the nurse checked your blood pressure, not when Amber stepped out to call Gideon, not even when the lights dimmed and the room fell into that strange, quiet hum hospitals settle into at the tail end of miracles.

He stayed in the chair next to your bed, elbows on his knees, watching you rock the tiny bundle in your arms as though you’d been doing it for years instead of minutes.

You glanced over and caught his eye. “She’s so small.”

He smiled gently, resting his hand on the foot of the bed. “They come that way. Then they grow teeth and start demanding juice boxes and their own Spotify accounts.”

“She has a dimple,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over her cheek. “Just one.”

“Gideon’s got one too,” Jesse said. “Shows up every time he lies.”

You smiled down at Ruthie. "Got you figured out already." You looked at him. "Would you like to hold her?"

Jesse pretended to think about it. "I think Gideon should be the first to hold her."

It was fifteen minutes later when Gideon burst through the door, wild-eyed and breathless, still in a wrinkled hoodie and carrying his carry-on bag over one shoulder. He stopped dead when he saw you, then Jesse, then the baby in your arms.

You smiled sleepily. “You’re late.”

Gideon didn’t answer. He just crossed the room, kissed your forehead, and looked down at Jesse.

“You wanna hold your daughter?” Jesse asked, voice hoarse.

Gideon nodded, hands trembling slightly as you passed the tiny bundle over.

“She looks like you,” Jesse said again, and stepped back to give them space.

And just like that, the baton passed.

lil bonus because i can't help myself

Jesse thumbed through the mail he hadn't checked in days. Bills, coupons, and credit card advertisements. He paused on the cream colored envelope. He opened it with one finger, eyes skimming the card inside.

There, printed on soft cream cardstock, was a photo of Ruthie. She was swaddled in a sage green blanket, eyes barely cracked open, a faint smile curling her lips like she already knew something the rest of the world didn’t. Her tiny fist peeked out from under the wrap, knuckles dimply and delicate. Her lips pursed like Gideon's, a wrinkle over her brow just like yours.

Below the photo, in delicate gold script, it read:

Ruthie Leigh Jessie Gemstone Born 6lbs 12 oz | 19.5 inches Welcomed with love by Gideon & Y/N

Jesse blinked once. Then again.

He read her full name a second time.

Then a third.

A slow breath left him as his chest tightened, not in pain, but in something far softer, deeper. He didn’t say a word when Amber asked what he was looking at, just quietly stood up, walked to his home office, and slipped the announcement into a silver frame. He placed it just behind his desk, beside an old photo of his kids as toddlers, right where he could see it every day.

[bluey0petal]

Notes: Chapter rewrite || 3rd Person POV || Longer Chapter || Not proof read || snow day!

CW: Snotlout being an ass or whatever.

Tags: hiccup x reader, how to train your dragon, httyd, canon divergence, hiccup fanfic, hiccup haddock, httyd fanfic, httyd hiccup, Norse mythology, dragons

Word count: 6141

Masterlist

Part 7

“Disparate” — Chapter 6

ᛊᚾᛇᚱ

Somehow the two had ended up sticking together after training. Conversation was sprawled out, and random topics fluttered from their minds easily. (Name) wouldn't have ever expected to engage in conversation with Hiccup like she was now— it had only been three days since her mind suddenly flipped a switch, and it was still shocking how she'd suddenly eased into a semi-friendship with him.

The snow they trailed through went up to her ankles, while for him— it went up to the tip of his boots, soaking the leather in an uncomfortable cold chill. With training for the day over, they were free to do whatever they pleased— and since it was the first snow day of the year... everyone knows what that meant.

"Oh my Thor! We should build a snow Viking together!" (Name) suddenly cheered, stopping in her tracks and whirring to face the boy next to her, that of whom was slightly shivering thanks to his outfit that did not shelter him at all.

Hiccup paused to look at her with a flicker of hesitation, contemplating the idea thoroughly. It wasn't that he was opposed to the idea— it's just... he was unsure about it. He'd grown up without friends, watching the others play in the snow together that he'd never actually done so himself.

He didn't actually know how to build a snow Viking, not to mention he had a little project to get back to... but, did he really want to turn down an offer from the first 'friend' he'd had in ages? Well, they seemed to be becoming friends from what he could see at the very least.

Maybe it was time for him to join the snow day activities again. He did use to watch with such longing, staring from afar as the others pranced like foals in the snow, only to be shooed away any time he tried to join up with them.

With a bated breath, he nodded— the ever so slight curve of a smile rolling onto his face, stretching dimples into the apples of his freckle splattered cheeks. "Sure— just... I need to get my bigger coat," he accepted, gesturing to his house up the hill with his hands, and (Name) visibly brightened at his acceptance.

"Then let's go!" She chirped, grabbing onto his hand and dragging him through the snow, pouncing up the hill like an excited fox would when chasing after a rabbit in the snow. Despite the short distance, the trek up the hill did tire her a little— on top of training, jumping through ankle deep snow was a task in itself.

Hiccup's hut lay at the top of the village, next to the great hall and standing proud in all its two story glory. As the heir of Berk— it was only natural he lived up high, though... the reason wasn't really anything other than those of status lived higher up on the island.

Berk had a hierarchy— a little different than those found on the far away mainlands, but still rather similar at the least.

The farmers lived down near the cliffs by the paddocks, the constant stench of dung and straw plaguing their homes. Next came the regular citizens— living somewhere in the middle of the village for convenience. It was the easiest place to set up home markets and trade with one another in the town hall. Then came the warriors, those on Berk who were suited to guard lived up near the top of the island, leaving an advantage point for them and their families when raids struck. Then, the utilities would be just before the great hall. Things like the forge, carpenters and store houses were located up next to the chiefs house— and maybe it wasn't the best place, since the high vantage point allowed the dragons to sneak up with a lesser problem.

She had released his hand back to himself once they reached his doorstep, and he walked up to his front door— pushing it open and stepping inside. Snow was shook off of his boots with each step, and the small flakes fell onto the ground in a trail after him.

(Name) stood outside, waiting on the porch and peering inside as he went in. Maybe it wasn't the best idea, but she would get bored in the short amount of time standing out here— only focusing on the most exiting her mouth. So, she glanced inside, curiously taking in the furniture layout.

It was similar to her own families house, but it seemed a few things were changed. The loft, which in her own hut belonged to her parents, seemed to be owned by Hiccup— seeing as he crawled up the steps to the hanging spot above. The lower floor was a standard room, chairs centred around a fireplace— but one of them was a tall wooden throne, obviously belonging to the chief.

Her eyes stopped surveying the frigid insides of Hiccup's home, and instead focused on the boy who she could barely see in the dark upstairs, only the head of his slightly red tinted locks peeking through.

Hiccup had clambered up to his 'room', the open area loft containing both his bed— his desk and basically all his personal items within. A wooden chest held most of his things, and it was that chest that he walked over to, to begin searching.

He had pried open the lid, looking inside the cluster of items and peering through for what he needed. The box contained many things; a few small and old daggers, many sketch books and plans of inventions, both new and old— and finally, his winter clothes.

A thicker vest— the fur reaching the same lengths as the old one, but able to be buttoned up and the brown tousles of hair thicker than the other. Of course gloves were needed, if he didn't want his fingers to go a pale blue and fall of that is— and a knitted scarf given to him by one of the elder women many years ago.

He swapped his current vest for the newer and warmer one, feeling the warmth leave him as the already mellowed cloth was replaced by the newer vest— still yet to be warmed. The gloves slipped onto his hands one by one, muffling his palms in a gentle caress that kept his stiff hands from freezing off like his nose might.

Then finally, he pulled out the tangle of cotton from the chest, the red scarf slightly itchy from being worn over time, but he'd take an itch over hypothermia anytime. He tied it around his neck, letting the excess drape over his form before standing back up and letting the chest fall shut.

Instinctively, his gloved hand reached up and wiped at his cheeks, still dirtied from when they'd been pressed against the ground— and he managed to get the top layer of crush removed from his flesh, only leaving subtle stains of grey dusting his cheeks.

He turned, sauntering back down the steps and seeing (Name) still standing in the open doorway— awaiting his return. Her eyes turned to him once she'd heard the thuds of his steps, taking in his new appearance, and a stifled laugh got caught in her throat at the sight of him.

Honestly— he looked kind of funny, wrapped in the scarf produced from nalebinding. The newer and warmer winter wear looked heavy on him, but it seemed to have no effect on his pace as he stepped back outside into the freezing cold, shutting his huts door behind him.

"Done?" She asked, and in reply she received a confirming nod, the ever so smallest of smiles peeking out from beneath his scarf. "Then let's go—!" She squealed, grabbing his hand again and dragging him back down the slope, both of them now dressed in their winter wear.

She had pulled him along, his feet stumbling at first before they joined pace with hers and came to run in sync, both of them tumbling through the village hand it hand. To her, she just seemed excited to build a snow Viking with the boy— but Hiccup was a flustered mess inside.

It was no surprise to those around that Hiccup hadn't had friends for years, but a girl—? That was a whole different story. He didn't want to make it weird by getting all awkward, but he had to admit he was nervous around her, and maybe a little confused at his own feelings.

Just three days ago, she'd embarrassed him in front of the village— and technically, others had done that too... but what made her different was that she apologised. She actually apologised to him, and something about how she did so set something off in him.

He never expected an apology, let alone for that person who'd apologised to keep talking to him. Him. Hiccup the Useless had gotten a friend. It made him happy, an indescribable joy fluttering inside his heart at the prospect that after five years, he'd gotten a friend.

They ran past the upper layers of houses, trudging through the snow filled paths of the empty village together and slowly growing lower down and closer to the cliffs, the sound of distant waves bashing against the rocks below growing louder the closer they got.

Not only did sheep bleat, but laughs of a certain group grew louder, accompanied by short panicked screams.

The sheep pens were the common place for the kids to play and muck-around during winter, seeing as they harboured the most area, and the sheep and yaks stayed inside the barn during the cold months, leaving the paddocks a free for all zone that was taken up by eager kids.

Inside the wooden barricades walls of snow were built sloppily, crumbling when hardened and compressed balls of glittery snow bashed into it after being thrown. Snotlout hid behind one of these said walls, grabbing snow up within his hands and forming it into a lop-sided ball within his hands.

Next to him sat Fishlegs, the boy nervously peeking over the top of the wall— only to duck back down when a snowball flew right where his head had been, narrowly missing the helmet of the chattering boy.

On the opposite side of the two, Astrid was hidden behind her own wall— a pile of snowballs built and at the ready as she continued to make more, stocking up her supply and making sure that she'd never run out of ammo to throw in the direction of the enemies (Snotlout and Fishlegs).

In the middle, another wall was built, and it wasn't exactly easy to see who was on the other side, but from the identical horns sticking out, it was easy to assumed the twins hid behind it, plotting whatever menacing Loki trick they'd managed to come up with.

A snowball fight. A common tradition amongst the youngsters, and also a messy one. Sometimes the games would grow far too competitive, and someone would come home with a bruised face or ever a broken bone. No idea how that happens.

Anywho, (Name) and Hiccup weren't here to watch the others game, they were here to build a snow Viking.

She let go of his hand, approaching the fence and easily pulling herself over it, landing swiftly in the crunched snow on the other side. Hiccup approached the fence after, the wooden barricade nearly being as tall as the short boy— and he had to use a lot more force to lift himself over the barricade, rolling over and falling down into the snow, an unstable but working landing.

(Name) laughed as he pulled himself out of the snow, some flakes still caught in his hair and scarf. He shook his head roughly, tousling his hair but effectively removing most of the stray snow specks from his hair, the rest melting into him and disappearing into nothing more than water.

"That was graceful," she snorted, a smile stretching her lips wide from ear to ear forcefully, and to drown out the subtle embarrassment, Hiccup returned with his own sarcastic comment. "Thanks, I've been practicing," he shrugged, dusting off the front of his vest that also happened to pick up snow when he fell.

The two stifled their laughs and instead moved to a part of the sheep paddock away from the war between the others, stopping in their own peaceful undisturbed spot that was ready to be filled with a snow Viking.

"So uh... how do we build one?" He stood awkwardly, staring down at the ground with confusion— and (Name) took the liberty of explaining how to do so to him. "Just roll the snow into giant balls, and I'll explain from there," she began, already crouching down to the ground and beginning to roll snow beneath her palms.

He watched her, her form crouched low to the ground and gathering snow— observing how her hands scooped up some of the fluffy white flakes before trying to replicated her movements. He crouched, beginning to gather snow in his hands, the chill nipping at his fingers and stinging a little, but he kept gathering snow nonetheless.

They both looked like those yakdung beetles, slowly growing their balls of snow and rolling them larger and larger. (Name) began to roll her large snow ball easily, turning to have to push it with both hands as it grew too larger for only one hand.

Hiccup was following down the same path, rolling his own snowball through a winding trail and building it up until it reached his hips, the hefty ball being a struggle to roll now. He pushed it, and kept doing so until he reached back to (Name), stopping his ball right down on the floor.

"Is this big enough?" He patted the snowball, the firm and condensed ball reaching just above his hips, thanks to his extra rolling. (Name) stopped, staring at the large snowball with wide eyes, slowly nodding as she took in the fact he had managed to roll a snowball bigger than hers.

"That's perfect! So, now we just... stack— this one," she grunted as she began to pick up her snowball, lifting it up with a struggle before planting it firmly on the top of Hiccup's, forming the body of their snow Viking.

"Now, we need an even smaller one for the head," she finished, dusting off her hands that had become tipped with red as the blood began to congregate in the tips.

Over to the side, the group who'd been waging a faux war on one another noticed the duo happily rolling snow, turning to face the scene with curiosity as a temporary truce was formed momentarily.

"...Is that—? (Name) and Hiccup?" Snotlout gaped, blinking rapidly as if the scene before him would chance when he did so. The twins had moved out from their midway post, and had come to peer at the two building their snow Viking as well, curiosity swelling in the group.

"Ew. Why's she hanging out with him?" Ruffnut gagged.

"I can smell him from here," she continued, pinching her nose together as if to block out the 'smell' that was supposedly coming from Hiccup as she claimed.

"That's just me. I forgot to bathe again," Tuffnut shrugged nonchalantly, receiving an elbow from the girl, her bone slamming hard into the feeble side of his ribcage.

"You're disgusting! It's been five weeks," she sneered, shuffling away from her brother who merely pulled himself back off of the floor, shaking the snow off of him that had stuck to his clothing.

"Shut up you two!" Snotlout hissed, snapping at the twins and while they both sent him glares in response, they shut up anyway, letting Snotlout turn back around to watch (Name) and Hiccup hanging out together.

For one, he was shocked, very shocked. How could she choose to hang out with Hiccup over them!? That runt—. The scrawny little Hiccup the Useless. He just couldn't wrap his mind around it.

They were merely a few paces away, building a snow Viking together, on the first snow of the year! Did she forget how special this was! You're always meant to play with your real friends on the first snow of the year! Albeit... it wasn't a real tradition, something the small group had come up with— but it didn't matter! She was breaking friend code. And maybe a little bit of his heart too.

Snotlout kept his glare steeled on Hiccup, the boy wrapped in warm furs and smiling happily as they began to roll up a new ball of snow. So— disgusting. Hiccup didn't deserve to smile like that. Not in his books at least. He should've been sent off to sea when he was born. That's what Snotlout thought at least.

Though, it didn't matter how happy they were, they still won't be able to see what hit them.

"Ow!" Hiccup yelped, a rather heavy ball of snow slamming into the side of his face and dissolving on impact, whipping his head to the side.

He froze for a moment, registering the blow before turning his head to the distant snickers, spotting the group of other teens hiding behind the wall and giggling. Well— more precisely, Snotlout and the twins were giggling, Fishlegs was giving him a look of pity while Astrid was nowhere to be seen.

"Oops! Sorry Useless, my hand slipped!" Snotlout called out, and his obvious mockery pulled a frown out of Hiccup, the scowl tugging at his lips and brows, pulling them downwards.

"..."

"Don't worry! I'd expect it too!" He spat back, standing up to his full— but still small— height. A chorus of 'oohs' came from the twins, the giggles and snickering growing louder.

The two didn't seem to care who was getting hurt or who was throwing the punches, just as long as someone was getting hit in the process. "You might need some ice for that burn Snotlout," Tuffnut giggled, juggling a snowball within his hand as to add to the point he was making.

Snotlout snatched the ball from the other boys hand, resulting in a protest from the twin— but he couldn't even do much as Snotlout throttled the snowball in Hiccup's direction, once again hitting him bullseye in the face.

"Snotlout— what the hell!?" (Name) looked between Hiccup and the boy who was for some reason both agitated and aggressive, already preparing another snowball to be launched from his grip.

Hiccup was shaking more snow from his hair and outfit, the side of his face turning a subtle red thanks to the sting of ice burning his skin, not to mention the fact he'd just been hit twice in the side of the face with a snowball.

"What? Like I said! My hand slipped," he shrugged, not even sparing a glance to the girl protesting his actions, instead reeling his hand back to throw his newly formed snowball. As he readjusted his grip, he targeted his aim onto Hiccup again— and he was so focused he didn't even see the snowball heading his way.

It slammed it his face, throwing him off for a moment, and he turned in the direction the attack came from.

(Name).

She'd managed to quickly form a sloppy snowball and throw it at his head, just in time to stop his third shot. Already, she was gathering another shot, scooping snow within her hands and readying another ball.

"Stop protecting that loser!" Snotlout growled, dropping the snowball in his fit of rage.

"I'm not, my hand slipped," she shrugged, a smirk tugging onto her face as she pulled her hand back again, before swinging it forward and releasing her grasp on the new ball, successfully letting it fly towards Snotlout's face, making the boy duck.

"Snowball fight!" Tuffnut yelled, and it wasn't long before the silly scuffle between three teens turned into an all out battle ground between every one of them. Hiccup and (Name) had teamed up with one another, managing to form an alliance with Astrid thanks to her being (Name's) best friend— and the three had begun to plan their attack on the others.

"So... (Name), you distract them at the front here— while I'll sneak around the sides and ambush them... and Hiccup, you keep making more ammo... and I guess throw some if you want," Astrid grumbled the last part, but despite her reservations about the boy from earlier; and the awkward air between them, she had put aside her thoughts to win this game.

They weren't going to be beat by the others, now way in hel would she allow that. She'd rather get married off before she let Snotlout beat her in anything other than the Thawfest games.

(Name) nodded to the plan, easily accepting the planned out organisation of them all— while Hiccup seemed a tad disappointed, his shoulders dropping as he was appointed to stay back.

He could do more than stay back, surely. He'd find some way to make himself more useful than an ammo loader... he just had to get a good grasp on his surroundings.

"Alright, let's go," Astrid nodded with them in sync, and while Hiccup and (Name) began to get to work on their own plans, Astrid had begun sneaking around the side of the wall, using the twins middle grounds as her own hiding post to keep herself hidden.

The ground was made of tiny flakes, melting when they came into contact with the others hands— and Hiccup made sure to pack the balls heavy with ice, both keeping them from melting, and making sure the impact on Snotlout's face would be that much harder.

Taunts were thrown from either side, and the impact of snowballs from the opposing side kept slamming into their protective wall, thudding heavily and slowly but surely crumbling the snow barricade.

While Hiccup and (Name) were on the same team right now, they weren't exactly communicating with one another. They were both building their own ammo supply and planning their own ways to make the other side forfeit, making them the winners.

(Name) was focused on the job Astrid had given her, making sure to have plenty of Snowballs built so that she'd never run out once she got to rapidly throttling them through the air. Meanwhile, Hiccup was plotting down a plan in his head, working out various combinations of ways to get the other team without having to use his strength.

If he decided to try and out throw them, he'd definitely loose... so he'd have to make the cookie crumble some other way. Open attacks were a no go, he'd be spotted and sent right to the ground the moment he showed his face— so... he had to devise another way to unleash his attack.

If Astrid was working on creeping closer, and (Name) was currently working on distraction... he could build off of that. He too could use a sneak attack. After all, who would suspect two ambushes one after another?

First, he'd use most of his ammo... leaving only a few balls left— and making sure they thought he was refuelling. The snowballs were blindly thrown, seeing as he didn't want to risk becoming the main target and giving away his position.

He kept hiding, hurling snowball after snowball as well as he could without seeing, and he kept going even as he heard snickers of his terrible aim from the other side. Most didn't hit their mark, and he didn't really mind as he dwindled down to a low stock of only four snowballs, having had enough for his plan to roll into motion.

Next, he crept around (Name), using his small size to his advantage and peering around the corner. Snotlout and the others weren't visible, but he could see Astrid with snowballs in her arm, ready to jump around the corner— and he knew he had to be quick.

He scurried behind the middle break, hearing the twins bickering on the other side of the thick snow and making sure to keep quiet, keeping himself pressed tightly down.

Maybe there was one upside to being the runt... he could hide in places that others couldn't.

He waited, stilling for a few seconds before he heard a loud war cry, Astrid's voice bellowing as girlish shrieks were released from both Snotlout and Fishlegs' throat, the two being ambushed by Astrid.

He dashed, quickly using this small amount of window provided to him to stumbled around to the other side, a snowball already in hand and raised high above.

Astrid caught sight of him, her eyes widening in shock, and she only had time to register his presence before he threw the snowball, the close range compact ball of cold ice shrapnels slamming right into the side of the Snotlout's face, exploding and shattering into tiny specks upon impact.

Snotlout was still reeling from the aftermath of both Hiccup's and Astrid's attack, but once he noticed that not only had Astrid ambushed him— but Hiccup too.. he ever so slowly turned his head, nearly creaking his bones as he face Hiccup.

The small boy froze, another ball at the ready— and on instinct he launched it, landing right smash in the middle of Snotlout's face.

Oh Þór... he was probably dead.

"You're going to regret that 'Useless'," Snotlout hissed, slowly standing from where he'd been sat behind his own fortification. His anger simmered off of him in waves, and despite the stocky teen nearly being Hiccup's height— he certainly wasn't as skinny.

"Am I?" Hiccup smiled innocently, showing off his crooked teeth in a gesture to both find the situation somewhat humorous and tease the boy, which only resulted in Snotlout lunging for him like a rabid animal.

Hiccup cried in surprise, the shrill sound trilling in his throat as he leapt out of the way just in time, narrowly missing the ferocious hands that reached out for his, desperate to grab him by the stick like neck of his and strangle him until no more air remained in his lungs.

Snotlout scrambled back up, already running back for Hiccup, and so a chase began.

Maybe Hiccup wasn't strong, he wasn't so good at lifting things or throwing punches— but damn could his little legs run. The scrawny sticks that usually stumbled over his own steps, they carried him alone with the adrenaline.

He wasn't sure how he was avoiding Snotlout as the boy chased after him in a ferocious fury of embarrassment, desperate for revenge, but Hiccup wasn't stopping to find out. With adrenaline thudding through his muscles, he jumped the sheep paddocks fence— nearly slipping on the icy floor before regaining his footing once more.

Snotlout struggled a little behind him as well, and the two disappeared into the winding town of the village, leaving the snowball fight that had been interrupted by both of them. Mainly Snotlout.

"You think he'll catch him?" Ruffnut stared from her shared shelter with Tuffnut, staring at the spot afar where the two had been running around like idiots, and shrugs came from all around.

"Nah, Hiccup never gets caught, even in Hiccup hunting. He's so fast for someone so small..." Tuffnut muttered the last part to himself, shaking his head while swiftly picking up a snowball from the hundreds he and his sister had been crafting within their tower.

The ball was shoved into Ruffnut's face, and the girl whipped around to glare at the boy, a scowl on her face before she tackled him into the ground, shoving him into the floor and destroying the left side of their wall in the process as he wasn't pushed into the cold floor, eventually receiving a thorough beating from the girl.

❝Uh oh...❞

Night had fallen in a gentle caress over the land, gracing the soft snow filled 'wonderland' with the quiet of chirping crickets and the soft crackle of fire the class had come to sit around. It was warm, keeping away the biting winter breeze and forming a protective mellow shield around the chittering group, mist still exiting their mouths with every puff of air.

The chase from earlier today had ended with Hiccup somehow managing to loose Snotlout, and from then on— the boy had disappeared the rest of the afternoon, slinking away to a place nobody knew of, nor could find.

Though, despite his previous absence, now he sat around the fire with the rest of the others, roasting chicken over the open flame and pretending to ignore the dark scowl being sent his way by a certain Viking who still held a grudge over a few hits from earlier.

Gobber was boasting a story, using his hand(s) to act out as he continued to speak, recounting the events as if they were acts committed by Óðinn himself. The chicken on the other end of his stick seemed to be taking a trip through the air as the smith waved it around, and surprisingly— it somehow made his story all the more intriguing.

"T'en wit' one mighty twist— it took me hand and swallowed it whole! I could see the look on its face; I was delicious! That devil must've passed the word, because it wasn't a month before another one of those beasts took me leg!" His story was wild, and frankly— he spoke rather easily about the loss of him limbs, seeing them as trophies of his survival rather than organs to mourn the loss of.

Despite the engaging story, it brought on rather disturbing thoughts. Dragons were large beasts, vicious and unforgiving in the world they inhabited. They'd torn many limbs from the bodies of fellow comrades in arms, and most didn't make it out alive.

Gobber was lucky— that much was obvious. Maybe he was tough... that was an option too. But, to survive not only the huge amount of blood loss, but the fevers that were said to come after amputation? It was a feat, and maybe that's why he spoke so highly of the loss. It was a win, it was a win over those things.

They'd tried to knock him down, remove him from the battle field, but he'd gotten right back up, equip with more knowledge and an even heavier drive pushing him than before.

"Isn't it kind of weird to think that your hand was inside of a dragon? Like— if your mind had still been in control of it, you could have crushed the dragons heart from the inside!" Fishlegs bestowed the vivid imagery formed in his mind upon the others, blessing them with the description and now plaguing them with images of that idea.

That was just weird.

Not to mention impossible.

What kind of supernatural ideas is Fishlegs thinking of? The prospect of an amputated hand being alive within a stomach wasn't pretty, and nobody bit the twins wanted to delve deeper into that image, and thank fully— Snotlout stepped in, for once he was actually helpful.

"I swear to Þór! I'm so angry right now. I'll take revenge for your beautiful hand and your... beautiful foot!" He hesitated for a moment, but finished his sentence with as mighty of a determination as he had started, jutting his leg of chicken towards the fire before taking an angry bite out of it when he paused.

"I'll cut off the legs of every dragon I fight— with my face!" He declared, raising his hand holding the severed roast chicken in hand as if to make some sort of toast, hoping for the others around to join in; but he only got silence and disturbed blinks owlishly staring at his stood form.

Snotlout glanced around, noticing the crickets getting louder, even from where the sat high in the watchtower and took his seat again, a faint blush of embarrassment flooding over the apples of his cheeks as he did so.

"Ah ah! Not the legs. It's t'e wings n' tails yer want. If it can't fly, it can't get away," Gobber interrupted the boy, prying a piece of white meat from his own chicken leg and tossing it into his mouth, chewing the deliciously toasted meat within his mouth.

"A downed dragon, is a dead dragon," he finished, and the air seemed to grow thick, for (Name) and Hiccup at least. Hiccup knew why he grew tense at those words, flashes of only a singular onyx fin repeating in his mind, while (Name) remained curious over her empathy towards the idea, trying to brush it away as she drew her eyes to her chicken roasting over the fire.

"Righty'o! I'm off to bed. Yer lot should be too. We've got more trainin' tomorrow. In the afternoon, we move onto the big boys! Slowly but surely workin' our way up to the Monstrous Nightmare... but— who will win the honour of killing it?" Gobber's ominous voice sent a chitter of excitement wavering through the teens, giddy and hopeful to gain such an honour.

The old smith hobbled away after his short speech, leaving down the spiral steps of the tower— and had it not been for her observation skills, (Name) wouldn't have noticed how Hiccup slipped away just after him as well.

The group began to discuss who would win the honour, everyone obviously voting for themselves— leaning closer together as they bickered over who would bring their blade down on the dragons neck, ending its futile life. Though, (Name) had stood from her seat, brows creased and jogging over to the steps, watching Hiccup disappear at the bottom.

Just what was he up too?

No matter how much she was becoming his friend, that didn't rid her of suspicion.

He'd been investigating the Night Fury an awful lot since that fateful night, questions slipping from his lips, tugging at Gobber and the books he found for answers, and she couldn't help but be curious as to why.

Sure, he'd been obsessed with the Night Fury before, but that was about shooting it down. He'd claimed he took down the dragon, only for it to return next raid— never had he asked about its habits, behavioural patterns or if anyone had seen one.

Had he lied that day? Told her it had gotten away, when truly it hadn't? Had it attacked him? Was that why he was so reluctant to talk about it? Because it was another failure?

So many questions bombarded her mind, and she couldn't seemed to find an answer to any of them, chicken skewer still in hand as she trotted down the stairs, following after the vague figure of the boy as he disappeared into the night.

He didn't trek far, only walking his way through the village towards the direction of the Meade hall— and she assumed he may be going to be like Gobber had suggested, but that was ruled out when he worked his way into the forge.

The forge? What could he possibly be using the forge for this late at night?

There were no witnesses, nobody around to tell the boy to get inside— and the raids had finally ended for the season; winter being an era of safety for a few months, allowing them to replenish what was lost over the years past.

He was just in the forge alone, shuffling in and out of some back room she'd never really seen before, materials in hand and tools in his grasp. He moved with a fluent drive that made him out to be a skilled craftsman, but he was only an apprentice still.

He blew the bellows, brushing up the fire in the forge and relighting the dimming blaze, heating the coals slowly back up to their original temperature, smoke beginning to pile out of the chimney as the flames began to flutter alive with the oxygen feeding into it.

He kept going, clanging metal against metal and working on some sort of project that she could see from her view behind a hut— and as much as she'd like to spy on him all night, for reasons that will not be stated, she had to retreat back to her home.

Though, even as she returned to the comforting warmth of her hut, she didn't let up on the memories of him working away after hours in the forge. Wasting away inside the blacksmith as he hammered iron and cooled glowing metal.

She'd figure out what he was up to... after she became friends with him though— she still wanted to be friends with him.

...

Why were emotions so confusing!?

[feyhunter78]

Flowers on Your Doorstep

Art cred: Panprika (y'all have no idea how long I searched for this pic, I was losing my mind)

Description: After you bail on lunch, Miguel finds himself seeking advice on how to deal with your cold shoulder.

You’re ignoring him, phone on do not disturb, dodging him on campus and you’re even skipping lab. Of course, the TA said you emailed saying you were sick, but Miguel doesn’t believe it.

He knows you, knows you always push through, that you never skip lab because you’re too afraid you’ll miss something important, and your grades will slip. You’re not sick, this is something else. Something that you won’t tell him, and Brett won’t tell him either.

So, he turns to his next best option, Mina. She’s laying on Gabriel’s bed like she owns it, phone in hand, the room smelling faintly of weed. First, she glares at him, and then clicks her tongue disappointedly, sighing, “you just had to go running around with Ava again, huh?”

“Bro really?” Gabriel groans from his desk, spinning around in his chair to face Miguel. “She’s the fucking worst.”

“She just needed someone to talk to, she doesn’t trust anyone else, I was just being nice.” He says, massaging his temples as Mina continues to click her tongue, the tsk, tsk, tsk sound starting to give him a headache.

“You know what she does to you.” Mina chides, pushing herself up into a sitting position.

He does, he knows it all too well. Ava brings out the worst in him, she corrupted him, as you might say. But she’s still a person he once cared about, even if she stomped on his heart and threw it in a gutter, all the while laughing with her new boyfriend.

“She’s changed, she and Kyle broke up.” He shouldn’t be defending her, he knows that, but there’s still a part of him that wants to prove it wasn’t a mistake to love her.

“Oh again? What is this the twelfth time? I’m sure it’ll last this time around.” She deadpans, raising a perfectly arched brow at him.

Gabriel snickers, then gives Miguel a half-hearted apologetic look.

“What does this have to do with y/n, Mina?” He says tersely, running a hand through his hair, frustration burning, licking at his heels. He just wants to leave, to find you and beg you to tell him what he did wrong.

“She likes you, dumbass, and then she found out you’ve been hanging around Ava, while you’ve been hanging with her. What do you think that looks to her?” Mina asks, her expression making it clear to him that the answer should be obvious, and that she thinks he’s stupid.

He’s going to be sick.

“I—I would never—it’s not like that, I don’t want Ava back, I was just trying to be nice, I didn’t think…”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Mina scoffs, going back to her phone and tapping it a few times.

His stomach churns as he thinks back to earlier this week, the way Ava dragged him away, distracted him with stories from back when they were dating, good ones, funny ones. It was only meant to be a short conversation, you were supposed to get lunch, like always, he wanted to get lunch with you, like always.

He can picture it now, you hiding behind the Sig Epp letters watching him, watching the way Ava still didn’t understand boundaries and put her hands all over him. He could hear the tears coating your voice when he called you, it was like a knife through his chest and he just wanted to go to you. Wanted to wipe away your tears and do something, anything he could, to make it better.

“Look Miguelito just apologize, maybe bring some flowers and wear that sad puppy dog look you’ve got perfected.” Gabriel chimes in, stretching his arms above his head, before standing and approaching him, squeezing his shoulder empathetically. “You can never go wrong with flowers.”

Gabriel was wrong, very, very wrong.

You take the flowers Miguel offers you as he stands on your doorstep, patient, anxious, stomach still twisted in knots.

“Did Ava not want these or…?” You ask, inspecting the flowers with a detached look.

“No—no, I mean, they’re for you, only for you.”

“Oh, okay so she got her own, cool, cool.” You say, placing the flowers on the entryway table next to your door and crossing your arms over your chest.

“I didn’t get Ava flowers.”

“Okay.” You say, foot tapping against the wood laminate of your doorway.

“She’s my ex-girlfriend, we dated for a while, she cheated on me.” He admits in a rush.

Your frigid expression melts into something softer. “I—I didn’t know that.”

He rubs his neck sheepishly. “I don’t like to talk about it. It was a really rough time in my life. But her and I are over, I don’t have any lingering feelings for her.”

“Brett told me. He’s seen you and her together, both before we got close, and after…” You wrap your arms around yourself, your eyes downcast. “If you still have feelings for her, I get it, she’s gorgeous, and you guys have a lot of history.”

“I don’t have feelings for her, we broke up the summer before my freshman year here. She just transferred in at the beginning of this year, and she’s been having problems with her boyfriend. I guess she hasn’t really made any friends, so she’s been leaning on me.”

“And you’re too nice to say no to her.” Your voice is soft, tainted with sadness.

“I told her to find someone else, after you canceled lunch, she wanted to keep talking, keep flirting with me because she knew her ex would see us. I said no.”

You look up at him, half in hope, half in disbelief, it’s written all over your face. “Yeah?”

He nods.

You bite your lip then release it slowly, picking the flowers back up. “These are really pretty.”

He gathers his courage. “Just like you.”

A smile flits across your face. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I gave you the wrong impression with Ava, I shouldn’t have left you stranded while I talked with her, we had prior plans, and I should have stuck to them.”

“It’s okay.” You tell him, holding the flowers to your chest.

He wants to ask you if what Mina said was true, if you feel the same way he does, but it feels wrong somehow. Like it would cheapen the moment.

“Do you want to come in and see our costumes for the dance?” You ask, taking a step back and allowing him entry.

Directly connected parts: Jealousy, Jealousy (previous part) and Semiformal Kisses and Cat Fights (takes place after this current part)

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer, @denzmallows, @36namey, @scoobysnakz, @ihateuguys, @idkbros-world @smartyren, @deputy-videogamer, @blackrose8425

[dorotheataylor]

Back to December

Pairing- Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

Summary- You broke up with him because you thought he deserved someone better than you. But here you stand, outside his door, apologising for that night, after realising you loved him too much to let him go. Based on Back to December (Taylor’s Version) by Taylor Swift.

Warnings- angstttt but fluff at the end, hurt/comfort, no curses!au, swearing (maybe), slight ooc suguru (hes called clumsy hehe), probably my english lol.

Word count- 2.3k (excluding lyrics)

A/N- atp yall just know how much big of a swiftie I am lol. So here’s a new fic based on another taylor song haha. And from now on I will write for JJK fandom too coz i’m obsessed lmao. Let me know if you find any mistakes coz this isn’t proofread and hope y’all enjoy.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You knocked three times on the door of the house you knew all too well as you picked your nails.

Will he want to see you? Will he shout at you? Will he tell you to get lost? Whatever he does, you knew you deserved it.

You stood outside his door impatiently, nerves getting the best of you while you waited for him to open the door. You could hear things falling down from behind it.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. He was always the clumsy one. One of his things which you missed too much. Your eyes fell on thought of this. Oh how much you wished for a change in your mind back then.

You heard the lock of the door being undone and you started to freak out from inside. Was it a good idea to come here? Maybe. You were about to find out.

“Sorry for the delay. I was caught up-” You heard his voice quiet down when he saw you. God how much you missed his voice. You could listen to his voice every second of the day if possible.

You’ve been good, busier than ever

"Y/N," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper as he took in your presence on his doorstep, as if he was making sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

The way he said your name, ached your heart. Because it wasn’t filled with love or warmth as before, instead it was more like recognising a stranger.

You took a deep breath before speaking, “long time no see, Suguru.” You smiled slightly.

He couldn’t believe it. He never thought he’d ever see you again after that unfaithful night. The wishes he made to see you every night before he went to bed actually came true. He could actually hear your voice after whole six months. He felt like he was about to cry.

Your guard is up and I know why

All he wanted to do at this moment was to take you in his arms and never let you go again. But he knew he couldn’t. What if you were here to make things even more awful than they already were? He couldn’t handle another heartbreak. So he stood his ground and decided to talk to you in a civil way.

“Come inside. It’ll start s-snowing soon.” He said, mentally cursing himself for stammering as he stepped aside to let you in.

“Thank you.” You muttered before entering his house. The familiar feeling came back to you. The aura and memories of his house, where you had spent countless nights together crashed into your mind like ocean waves. It was overwhelming and you did your best not to burst into tears.

“I’ll bring you something to drink. You can make yourself comfortable till then.” You heard him speak as he quickly walked into the kitchen.

Because the last time you saw me

Is still burned in the back of your mind

You knew he was doing his best to avoid a more than casual conversation with you. Because the last time you had talked, things turned bitter.

You gave me roses and I left them there to die

You still remembered that day like the back of your hand. He had showed up at your house with roses to surprise you and take you out on a surprise date. And you, being a stupid person, ruined it all.

“Here. I didn’t have anything else except for hot chocolate plus I know how much you love it.” He said handing you the cup filled with hot chocolate, his voice becoming a soft mutter at the last part.

‘He still remembers my likes and dislikes.’ You thought as you smiled softly at him and took the cup, your hands brushing a little. Your cheeks immediately turn red as you tried to hide them, while Suguru thanked the gods that his red cheeks won’t be obvious because it’s winter.

I’d go back to December, turn around and make it all right

But you knew him. You were slightly relieved you still had some effects on him like before. How much you regretted leaving him like that. If only you could go back time and make things right.

You took a sip of your hot chocolate before speaking, “thanks for the hot chocolate, Suguru.”

Geto thought he’d just die right now. The way you said his name, it made him want to forget everything that happened and just hold you into his arms, never letting you go again. But he knew he couldn’t do that.

After some long moments of silence, you decided to break it and said, “how have you been, Suguru?”

“I’ve been- good.” He said with a pause in between. He was lying, but he didn’t want you to know his mental state ever since you had left. “What about you?”

You couldn’t repeat his answer for this question, because you knew it was far from the truth. You couldn’t quite recall the last time you slept peacefully. Maybe it was when you were in Suguru’s arms, safe and loved.

Staying up playing back myself leaving

Your mind replayed memories of that unfaithful night, as if trying to torture you for what you had done. It had started to hurt physically. How much you just wanted apologise and hold him into your arms. But you knew you had lost that right. Why? Because of your stupid insecurities.

You had been in a few relationships in the past apart from Geto. And you were always called out for every little thing you did. Whether it was from the way you ate, or the way you talked, they’d make sure to remind you that you weren’t enough and weird, until they all left you alone. This lead you to believe the same, that you were the problem.

That was until you met Suguru. He was everything you could ask in a man. He was charming, a true gentleman, kind and caring boyfriend who never failed to remind you how much you mean to him.

And I think about Summer, all the beautiful times

You often daydreamed about all your memories from your relationship, from sneaking out at night to late night car drives, from celebrating each other’s birthdays to forgetting plans you’d made with your other friends. Your relationship with him was something you read in books about.

You still remembered the day when you realised that he was the guy you were going to marry someday. You had overheard him talking to Gojo about you. You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop but when he mentioned your name, your ears had perked up. And the way be kept on talking about how amazing you were and how much he loved you, you knew he was the one for you.

Then the cold came, the dark days when fear crept right into my mind

But of course you had to ruin it all. The ‘what if’ thoughts came back to you. The thought of losing him because you weren’t good enough for him, scared you. You had told him about your past relationships, and he always reminded you that you are more than enough for him and he loves you with all of his heart.

Fuck your stupid negativity. You tried to believe him, you really did. But your mind wouldn’t let you. So it lead you to the one thing which you knew you were going to regret for the rest of your life. You let him go. And you hated yourself for it.

You gave me all your love and all I gave you was goodbye

You still remembered the way his face had immediately fallen the moment you spoke those words. He had tried to reason with you, but you wouldn’t listen. And you had slammed the door shut on his face.

Geto didn’t stop bombarding your phone with countless texts and missed calls for days. But you didn’t reply to any of them. Until one day he stopped. Maybe he realised that he was just wasting time being after you. Maybe he realised that you were the problem after all.

It turns out freedom ain’t nothing but missing you

Wishing I’d realised what I had when you were mine

You thought you had did the right thing but turns out, you didn’t. You had only made things worse for both of you. Because you know what they say, you only realise the value of something when its gone. And it turns out that you had loved him too much. You couldn’t let him go. Because you had realised that he was too precious for you to let go and you couldn’t survive without him.

So here you were, six months later, on his couch, drinking hot chocolate. You slowly came out of your thoughts and said the only thing which came into your mind, “I’m sorry.”

To say Geto was surprised was an understanding. He expected anything but an apology from you tonight. Blame him for being conscious and hurt. He didn’t say anything, giving the cue to continue.

“I’m so sorry, Suguru.” You started, trying your best not to sob, “I know this is probably the last thing you expect from me and won’t believe me but I mean it. I’m really sorry. I’m such a fucked up person, who always makes things worse, ruins perfectly going on lives of people, who always lives in self-doubts.”

“Y/N, I-”, Geto started to say something but you cut him off before he could say it.

“Please let me finish.” Geto nodded in response.

I miss your tan skin, your sweet smile, so good to me so right

And how you held me in your arms that September night, the first time you ever saw me cry

“I miss everything about you, about us. I miss how every morning you didn’t fail to wish me ‘good morning’, I miss how you never forgot to check up on me, I miss how you always found a way to make me feel special. I miss how you always held me close to you whenever I didn’t feel like myself. And most of all, I miss the way you used to love me.” You said, tears now falling uncontrollably from your eyes but you don’t care, determined to make things right.

I’d go back in time and change it but I can’t

So you continued, “thing is that I love you, Suguru Geto. And I love you too much to let you go. I made a stupid move by letting you go when all I wanted to do was hold you into my arms. And I hate myself for it. These past six months, I’ve been terrible. There’s not been a single day where I have not wished for myself to be somehow able to go back in time and make things right, stop myself from leaving. But I know I can’t.” You took a deep breath.

So if the chain is on your door I understand

“I know my actions are not something to be easily forgiven, but I promise to do anything to win your trust and love back. I’m willing to change. I’m willing to make things up with you. I swear that if you take me back again, I will love you right and never let you go. Because I have realised my life is nothing if you’re not in it. Please take me back, Suguru. I promise to prove myself worthy of your love.” You couldn’t speak anything after this, sobs continuously escaping your mouth.

Geto stood there, tears in his eyes as well, contemplating what to say. Your apology had caught him off guard, but he knew you had meant every word. He knew that his life was incomplete without you too.

But this is me swallowing my pride

You didn’t hear him speak for a good few minutes, so you take his silence as rejection. Of course he would reject you. You had hurt him, why would he want to get back with someone like you. You let out a shaky breath as a sigh, disappointment for you escaping through it as you stood up.

Standing in front of you saying I’m sorry for that night

You attempted to smile through your tears. If this was going to be the last time you see him, might as well say goodbye with a smile.

“I got your answer, Suguru. Thank you for giving me best moments of my life. Maybe I didn’t get to have you back, but at least I can live on with your memories. Maybe I-” You didn’t get to finish your sentence as you felt a pair of all too familiar lips on yours, shutting you up.

It turns our freedom ain’t nothing but missing you

You widened your eyes from surprise but immediately shut them as you kissed back, your hands reaching to hug his neck, bringing him closer to you. Suguru wrapped his one arm around your waist and other made its way in your nape, holding you just like he always used to.

Both of you could taste salty tears as you kissed, but weren’t sure who’s they were. All that mattered in that moment was the two of you. You poured all of your love, apprehensions, bottled up feelings for him, regrets into this kiss. He kissed you with same passion. As if your lips were the only thing he needed to survive.

Few moments later, Geto pulled away, foreheads still attached to yours, as he looked into your eyes. “Y/N, in these six months, you made me realise that the only thing which can complete me whole is you. Not getting to tell you these was tearing me apart. I thought I had lost you for good, but then you showed up at my door and all those feelings I had for you doubled. I love all of you, Y/N and I always will. And I’m willing to give us another chance, just promise me that you will talk to me next time you have those negative thoughts.”

Your heart melted hearing his words as you nodded, “I promise.”

Suguru ran his hand through your hair as he spoke again, “and I-I’ll need some time to completely forgive you. I hope you understand that. I’m just scared that you’ll leave me again.”

You quickly shook your head, “I mean it this time, Suguru. I’d never even dream of leaving you. I just got you back. And it’s okay. Take your time. I’m willing to wait for you, even if it is for an eternity.”

Suguru smiled at your words and pulled you into his chest as he swayed you slowly, holding you tightly close to him, and you finally felt complete again. You kissed his neck as you returned his gesture, silently promising him and yourself to never give up on him and let him go ever again.

I’d go back to December all the time

________________________________________

Ahhh I loved writing angst sm but it always breaks my heart if it doesn’t end with fluff. Anyways hope y’all liked this and if you want, you can send in request for JJK characters too!

(I might’ve gotten a little carried away at the end but i think it was worth it lmao)

[nanaminokanojo]

BAD NEWS (part 58)

-just when you thought you were over your humongous crush on your older brother’s best friend, geto suguru, you couldn’t have been more dead wrong, except satoru doesn’t like suguru for you because he knows his kind all too well: a huge ass playboy who breaks hearts like he changes socks. but you think, MAYBE you’ll be the exception…maybe not.

CHARACTERS: drummer!geto suguru x you/afab reader | gojo satoru | various jjk characters

GENRE: full-length smau + prose | band au | college au | stupid pining | aged-up characters | friends to lovers (?) | smut

TW/CW: strong/mature language | adult content so mdni on some parts | mentions of alcohol, drugs | mentions of cheating, promiscuity, mild dubcon, etc. | god-awful pet names | toxic behavior | will add more if something arises

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER INDEX

<<prev part 58 next>>

A/N: Smutty things ahead, be warned. Panels 3 to 10 at the end. 😊

Red-bottoms in hand, you slung one arm over Mai's shoulder, both of you dissolving into giggles when you started dancing barefoot on the stone steps that led to your doorstep while her twin looked on in abject annoyance. It was mostly about Mai who insisted on coming out of the car to walk you to the door and you basically encouraging it. She didn't know what was worse, this or when you guys jumped into a loud discussion about your favorite pro footballers earlier during the ride.

"What's the code to the door, Y/N?" Maki asked you as she hoisted Mai over to her other side to split the two of you up.

"Code? Code..." You swayed dangerously towards the side of the elevated step by the door, and she was only able to pull you in time before you fell on the rose bushes. You laughed at how she rolled her eyes before stumbling towards the door, almost hitting your head against the hard wood. Still, you repeated the same word over and over again, thinking long and hard about what to punch on the glowing blue buttons.

"Well?"

"Ah!" you responded, raising your index finger up. "Toru...it's..." You swallowed hard, the action coming with a little hiccup that sent Mai into another round of giggles, also triggering you.

"His birthday?" Maki supplied for you and you nodded vigorously, about to raise your arms but you hit your shoe against the door, gasping as you checked for scuffs as if you could see straight.

Shaking her head, she punched the numbers into the keypad, successfully opening it. "Get inside. I'll help you to your room."

You waved your hands at her. "No, no...'m fine, Captain." You stepped in rather unsteadily.

"You sure?"

Again, you snickered at the way her brow arched but nodded nonetheless, doing a little dance as you said goodbye to Mai whom Makit dragged away to the car just as you were closing the door.

"Toru?" you called, but got no answer, swaying towards the stairs and haphazardly holding onto the banister whilst you still held onto your heels, careful not to drop them. One wobbly step at a time, you pulled your weight up, snickering when you nearly tripped. You did that halfway up and made it the rest of the way crawling on all fours.

You blindly made your way to the second room from the stairs, slowly and quietly pushing the door, or at least as quietly as you can in your drunken state. It's more like you pushed your way in, hand faltering several times on the knob. When you finally stumbled in, it was dark. You didn’t turn on the lights, you were not confident you can find the switch anyway, so you just started stripping your clothes off until you were just in the tiny, form-fitting dress you wore to the club, your heels dropping with loud thuds on the laminate floors.

You still had the mind to think about washing the makeup off of your face, marching towards the wall you knew your dresser was at, but you didn't see it there.

"Huh," you muttered under your breath, the effort you exerted trying to walk without falling making your head spin even more. There was no way you were making it anywhere else, so you opted for the bed which was closer, and finally fell into it.

You could have sworn you heard someone groan somewhere near you, but you couldn’t care less, giggling when you felt an irregular lump on where you had fallen. You nearly slipped off the bed, but somehow, you didn't, a warm, snug feeling engulfing you as you lay face down, comfortable on the spot you've chosen. You clung to that feeling of sleep starting to devour you, afraid that if you opened your eyes, your world would start spinning again so you screwed your eyes shut, and soon, you were dead to the world with nothing but the feeling of warm hands soothing your back.

Wait...hands?

The idea seemed ridiculous to you. You kept your eyes closed, thinking it was just the alcohol and that you were probably just imagining things. Very specific ones involving a man with beautiful, long, ebony hair and the way he smelled – smoky wind in a pine forest with hints of something akin to limes and sandalwood – along with that familiar warmth that reminded you of home and everything else familiar to you.

You were still too dizzy, but not without any coherent thoughts as you seemed to lack just moments ago. How long you've been trying to get sleep in the suddenly uncomfortable position you were in, you didn't know. But you were slowly realizing that something was amiss, making your heart thud heavily in your chest. You, however, couldn't pinpoint just what it was in your state of inebriation.

Just then, you felt the "bed" you were laying on shift, and you could have sworn you felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around your shoulder and waist, gently easing you to your back.

"Kitten?" came those deep mellow notes you'd know anywhere, and something seemed to click in your brain, the dress you were wearing suddenly feeling too tight as heat flared up all over your body. Ironically, you felt like shivering.

In the seconds that followed, the cogs in your brain moved and you realized you made a bed out of someone, and when you finally came to full awareness and opened your eyes, you were confronted by the face of your older brother's best friend, mere centimeters from yours, slowly breaking into that lopsided smile, faint dimples making themselves known as he looked down at you sleepily. The action enhanced his features even in the semi-darkness, hot-wiring your already addled brain.

You wanted to bolt right out of bed, but his steady amber gaze held you there, not to mention the alcohol in your system. “Su...suguru?” You chuckled, torn between thinking your seeing the real thing or some specter of your fantasies. But at that point, who cares?

You tilted your head to the side, flashing him a sultry smile even as his brows furrowed together. "Whatchu doin' here, sexy?" you slurred.

“I slept over,” he answered, grinning cheekily at you as he got rid of some stray hairs on your cheek, his cold fingers brushing over your skin. You inched towards his touch, humming in satisfaction. “What are you doing here, kitten?”

You did a little scoff or something close to it. “This is my room.”

“No, sweetheart, this is the guest room.” His voice sounded so velvety, making you shiver visibly.

“Well shit…” You chuckled as you closed your eyes, willing the nausea away. “Give me a sec.”

You felt Suguru move closer to you, your foreheads touching as he wrapped his arms tighter around you as he laid back down, guiding you to lie on your side. “I don’t mind.”

“Funnily enough, I don’t either.” You looked at him unsteadily, seemingly unable to focus as you blinked slowly, trying to make sense of what you were currently seeing. Without thinking, you placed a hand on his cheek, running the pad of your thumb over his skin. And then you broke into a smile. "I can never seem to reach you..."

Suguru placed a hand over yours. "What do you mean? I've always been here," he whispered back. "You'll always have me, kitten. You know that."

You shook your head. "No..."

"No?"

"Not..." You breathed in, moving your fingers over the line of his nose, trying to be gentle, afraid that he will disappear. But when he didn't, you dared to touch his cupid's bow, tracing along it as you slowly released your breath a little at a time. "Not like this."

Suguru looked at you in confusion now."Not like what, hm?" At that, he started nuzzling you on the cheek until your lips were mere millimeters away. "Care to explain that?"

"Like this."

"Mhmm?" He brushed his nose against yours.

"This close..."

This can't be real, you thought, your heart sinking in your chest. In the slowness of your mind, you suddenly had so many things making themselves evident. You hated how even in your drunken moments, it was only Geto Suguru that you could think off; how your longing was conjuring images in your head so damn real, it made your yearning even stronger. You've wanted him for so long that your brain is making things up.

You sat up, easing his arms off you gently, but then, the look of disappointment on his face made you stop.

"Y/N, what's wrong?"

"This whole thing – this...y-you, here, right now. This isn't right – You're not even real, why am I talking to you?"

He, too, sat up, his face inching closer towards you as if daring you to move farther from him, but you didn’t. "I am real, Y/N. I am in front of you."

You chuckled as you felt your resolve faltering, submitting to your daydreams and imagination, making you lose yourself enough to believe what this version of Suguru was telling you.

“I’m still drunk, right?”

Suguru snickered, nodding. “Pretty much.”

You leaned closer. “Good. At least I have an excuse.”

"Excuse for?"

Instead of an answer, you cupped his face as you rose to your knees, crashing your lips to his slightly parted ones, hoping and praying to every higher power that this was real, and not just happening inside your head.

**

How could you tell him he wasn't real? You weren't real. None of this was.

It's not real that you just strolled into the guest room Suguru happened to be in, drunk to your toes. It's not real that you just decided to make a bed out of him. It's not real, everything that you said to him. It's not –

Oh. But this felt real – the feeling of your skin against his, warm and flushed and so smooth under his calloused palms; your presence as you weighed down on him, hands firm at the sides of his head as you coveted him; the feel and taste of your plush lips, a cocktail of your lip gloss, alcohol and whatever you were made of, pressed against his, the air you were breathing one and the same.

This was real. It's happening. And he wanted it. Oh, how much he had longed for it...waited for it. Before he knew it, he was opening his mouth, fingers delving into your hair to hold you in place, returning every adamant movement of your lips, giving it back with his. It's been over a year since you left him with the taste of you lingering at the back of his mind and the tip of his tongue, thinking he will never have the pleasure of ever knowing it again. And yet there you were again, in his arms, him locked in yours, giving him what he's always wanted and filling that void that he tried so hard to fill when you went away without acknowledging matters between you.

"Suguru," you spoke against his mouth, almost begging, trapping him in a bewitching spell from which he never wanted to snap out of as if you were calling his very soul. He never thought his name ever sounded so good coming out of someone else's mouth, and yet you seemed to be giving it a whole new meaning.

Entranced and enchanted, he unconsciously took the initiative, recapturing your lips as he pulled you even closer to him. A nagging voice at the back of his head told him to stop, but it went unheard when you slid your tongue between his lips, the sound of your moaned out triumph rendering what's left of his capacity to reason useless. You took your fill of him, giggling when you found that piece of silver embedded on his tongue, reaching for it with yours.

With a whine, you anchored yourself on his shoulder, kneeling astride his lap and leveraging the tangle of sheets below you to push him backwards until he was lying against the pillows. You followed after him, in hot pursuit of his lips which momentarily detached from yours, eyes glazed and wild as you laughed quietly, the sound almost sounding like a purr.

Getting a bit of clarity, Suguru pushed himself up, steadying you by the waist to stop you from going even further. "Kitten," he shook his head, "Y/N, you're drunk – mmmff –!"

Huge mistake as you were having none of it, your lips immediately finding his like a homing missile that's got its target locked. And if that didn't make a hot mess out of him, you deliberately ground your hips against his, the fabric of his sweats and your underwear providing much of the friction both of you yearned for yet not enough. You gasped as the apex of your thighs rubbed precisely over his hardening length, but it didn't even take you a second to do it again, unable to get enough.

"Kitten, don't – holy shit, baby..."

"Want you," you mumbled against his lips as you continued to grind against him, your hand reaching underneath you as you grabbed fistfuls of his gray sweats, clawing at the fabric and along the skin of his iliac furrow, making him hiss as you managed to pull it off of him. He held onto your wrist in an attempt to stop you again, but to no avail.

Suguru knew you had a one-track mind, and like Satoru, if you wanted something, come hell or high water, you will get it. The means didn't matter. You were both such brats growing up that he knew as much. And it seems it didn't matter what state of mind you were in either. You sought and you took without thinking twice, the same way you saw your goals on the field and executed them. This time he was the field, and you were going to conquer him regardless.

You bent down, kissing him senseless again, your hand firm on his nape while the other one guided his hand under your dress. You smirked into the kiss, nipping at his lower lip before letting go and saying, "Take it off."

"A-are you –"

"Yes."

You didn't have to tell him twice. In the next second, your pesky underwear was out of the way and your bare, wetness was pressed down midway his cock, pinning it flat against his stomach. Your grip on his shirt was tight as you started to rock back and forth over his length, setting your rhythm.

Again, as much as he thought it wasn't really happening, that his mind was probably trapped in a perpetual oasis of dreams that were solely made of you, Suguru was much too awake to deny it, all his nerves firing within him as the realization dawned that you were there. Crazy drunk. On top of him. Chasing your pleasure and taking you with him.

His hands were all over you, not knowing where to touch until he finally found purchase on your ass, kneading your flesh as he directed your movements closer to his tip until it was repeatedly catching into your slick folds while also simultaneously stimulating your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your snagged breaths and airy moans made him want to just topple you into the bed and take over you, but Suguru kept his restraint, merely satisfying himself with the view of you dominating him, your lips parted as you threw your head back in pleasure.

This was about you, and he wouldn't have it any other way. If you wanted him, you can have him, use him to your heart's content even if it meant you will forget when you wake up.

Do you even realize what you were doing? He wondered at that, feeling a twinge on his chest at the thought that you'll slip from his grasp again when daylight comes.

No, he thought. Not this time.

He felt your movements grow erratic, your nails scratching at the skin of his chiseled abdomen.

"Fuck, baby, right there," he encouraged you, helping your movements as you evidently grew tired chasing your high. His fingers will bruise your hips with how tight he was gripping you, intensifying the heat between where you were touching until you were spasming and letting out high-pitched moans, your release fueling your movements as it dripped onto him.

"Sugu...ru..." you called his name, mostly broken parts of it as he let you ride your high, eventually leading to his own undoing.

"K-kitten – fuck!" he let out along with his stuttering breaths when he, too, came hard, staining his stomach and the inner side of your thighs.

He breathed deeply, sweat matting his skin. He let out a quiet chuckle as he watched you listing towards the side, all spent and succumbing to the exhaustion, coupled with the alcohol still in your system.

Before you could fall, Suguru got up, gently laying you down on the bed before removing his shirt and silently making his way to the bathroom, suddenly reminded that Satoru was just at the end of the hallway.

He's fucked, he knew that, but he couldn't help but smile to himself as he watched you squirm and groan in your sleep while he cleaned you up and changed your clothes, patiently removing your makeup even when you swatted at his hands irritably.

After all that, he carried you back to your room, making sure you were comfortable, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead, the act seemingly chaste and out of place after all that you two have done.

He sighed, much too awake to get back to sleep, his mind on the consequences of the night's events, but he couldn't care less, not even at the thought that Satoru might hate him.

Because Geto Suguru may be damned to the deepest pits of hell, but as long as he has you, he'll gladly suffer in the flames for it.

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© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI’S “JUJUTSU KAISEN”. [20240605]

PHOTOS/IMAGES/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS GO TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[nightmarerodent]

Letting a Caged Bird Free

A small gift for @running-with-the-feels for cementing best dad Hanzo into my subconscious for well over a year now.

- - -

Grandmaster Hasashi’s face was a stone mask when Johnny took his seat across from him, hastily made tea and a few files between them. Within the manilla folders, plans for what Johnny hopes will be the foundation of a brighter future for Earthrealm. Hanzo didn’t seem pleased though. It took a lot of begging to get this meeting and every favor Kenshi has ever owed the Hollywood star just to convince the ninja master to appear and, from the looks of it, Hanzo’s patience has already run out.

“I guess I’ll make this quick then,” Johnny tried to lighten the already tense mood, “I’m sure you have a lot of important ninjaing to do. Still, I’d like to thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I think you’ll enjoy this.”

Johnny wasn’t actually convinced Hanzo knew what joy even was.

Hanzo just gave a gruff nod in response, “Out with it then.”

“Right, well, as you know this realm’s relationship with Outworld has been pretty rocky since, well, forever really. Even with the Mortal Kombat tournament and a nonaggression pact in place, threats are still likely to occur.” Johnny explained.

“Shao Khan is dead, as are most of his top generals.” Hanzo stubbornly retorted.

“And we lost a lot of good men too. Half our friends are still kicking it in the NeatherRealm.”

“Your friends,” Hanzo corrected, “I’ve only fought along side their revenant shells when in service to Quan Chi.”

God, this guy loved being difficult. How ol’ Kenshi could stand being friends with this guy Johnny will never understand.

“Look, the point is the threat is always there,” Johnny tried again, “And our scouts have reported unrest within Outworld ever since. There’s a civil war on and we can’t count on all parties to abide by the Raiko Accords.”

Hanzo seemed receptive to that so Johnny continued, “So I did some ass kissing and got permission and funding to set up a joint task force: The Outworld Special Operations Team.”

“And you want me to be a part of this?”

“You? No. No offense but you and I, we’re old. It won’t be long until our bodies give out right from under us. We need to start thinking about what the next generation of Earthrealm fights is going to look like.”

“I see,” Hanzo stroked his beard, “You wish to recruit one of my warriors. I assume you already have one in mind.”

“As a matter of fact I do.” Johnny slid one of the files over to the yellow clad ninja, “We need the best of the best and Kenshi insists his son is up for the task. And since he’s an advisor and senior opp with the OIA, they’ll get to work together too.”

Hanzo’s face turned a bit sour at that but he said nothing, instead turning his attention to the other files before him, “And these are the other operatives you’ve chosen to work with my Chujin?”

His voice took on a possessive tone, clearly angered that Johnny would dare suggest Kenshi would have any sort of claim to his own flesh and blood after leaving the boy in Hanzo’s care for so long. Perhaps rightfully so. From Johnny’s limited understanding of the situation Kenshi had given up all parental rights after dropping Takeda on Hanzo’s doorstep. And Hanzo wasn’t given the option to say no. Hanzo doesn’t exactly have a reputation for giving things up so easily, especially people he’s grown attached to. Takeda might not be his by blood but he was still Hanzo’s kid too. And he’s lost enough children already.

Nervously clearing his throat, Johnny decided to follow the grandmaster’s lead and move on, “Yes, of course. Only the best. My own Cassie is among them. Don’t worry, there’s no nepotism here, though I admit I did put her hat into the ring. She passed every test we could think of giving her. And who knows, maybe she got her old man’s green glow too. Couldn’t hurt to have something like that on your side, right?”

Hanzo elected to ignore him and focus on the personal files instead, for which Johnny was grateful for. In his attempt to salvage the situation he had begun word vomiting, a habit he’s never been able to shake. He was desperate. They needed someone with Hanzo’s skill. Combined with Kenshi’s telepathic ability they’d be crazy not to have Takeda.

But he belonged to the Shirai Ryu. He belonged to Hanzo. It didn’t matter what anyone else said or did, the only voice that mattered on this subject was the grandmaster’s. His word was law and Takeda would follow it with devotion and unquestionable loyalty. So Johnny had to sell this. Hard.

Skimming through, Hanzo hummed and hawed over the details of every file, judging each selected operative with a critical eye.

“Kung Jin?” He finally spoke.

“Kung Lao’s nephew.” Johnny exclaimed, desperate to fill the air with something other than heavy silence, “You remember him from the tournament? And he was also turned into… well, I’m sure you remember him. Jin is a Shaolin too. An archer and an expert on Outworld cultures and history.”

“He is also a thief, quick tempered, and with a mouth that runs faster than his brain in most cases.” Hanzo added, closing his file to exaggerate his point.

Fuck.

“Well, I mean, we all have our pasts.” Johnny was cut off by the sound of Hanzo’s chair scraping against the floor as he stood up.

“He and Takeda have met on previous occasions. They seem to get along very well. A familiar face should help Takeda grow used to his new environment.” Said Hanzo.

“I had no idea. Wait, so you agree to have him join?” Johnny was certain he’d say no. Take that Sonya!

“Yes, but before that I need you to understand some things,” Hanzo’s face turned serious, “He isn’t just another Chujin trained amongst the clan, he is also my appearance, you understand this, yes? With that comes a great number of expectations and responsibilities. He is the clan’s future and others look to him for guidance and leadership.”

Johnny nodded and he continued, “That being said, it is a lonely life. Not even the Shirai Ryu is immune to political scheming. Even when he was young he was not treated as a normal boy should. He had his friends, of that I’m sure, but far more only wish to be close with him in hopes of currying favor from their future grandmaster.”

Ah. So that was it.

“Yeah, you get that in Hollywood too. It’s why I kept Cassie as far away from that life as possible. Way too many leaches and snakes,” For once, Johnny understood the former hellspawn completely, “You want what’s best for your kid. It’s why I joined up with Cass when she enlisted. Had to make sure she was safe.”

“That being said I expect him to be treated with at least a moniker of care. He is still my apprentice.” Hanzo stonewalled Johnny’s attempt at a bonding moment between the two fathers.

“I can’t promise Sonya will go easy on him, probably the opposite really, but I can keep an eye on him. Make sure he settles in alright and keep the hazing from the others to a minimum,” Johnny promised.

“That’ll do. I expect more details later.” Hanzo turned away and began making his way for the door, “Now if you’d excuse me, I have important ‘ninjaing’ to do.”

And with that, Hanzo Hasashi, Grandmaster of the Shirai Ryu, was gone.

Bastard didn’t even touch his tea.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Creature Craft

hi! your writing’s cool :) do you have any analogical fics in the works? (my fav is queerplatonic comfort/fluff, but anything is good!) – amateurmasksmith

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none

Pairings: analogical

Word Count: 1848

It's a strange service. It promises to help bring out the best in you by showing you your worst so you understand yourself better. Or at least that's what he understood from the drunk rambling phone call when his friends needed another person to sign up for it so they could all get the discount. *** Virgil finds himself an unwitting participant in one of the newest magical fads: a personal spell that will create a creature just for you. The service claims to offer each participant an insight into how they fit into the world's magic, what their strengths are, what their weaknesses are, areas for improvement. The process is...more than challenging, the outcome...perplexing.

It's a strange service.

It promises to help bring out the best in you by showing you your worst so you understand yourself better. Or at least that's what he understood from the drunk rambling phone call when his friends needed another person to sign up for it so they could all get the discount.

There's a confirmation email that explains a bit more about the program. Basically, the magic is shaped over two trial periods and the spell is completed by the end date. Everyone gets together to send out their last approval and spend the rest of the night drinking and gossiping about what fun it's going to be.

A small envelope arrives two days later.

He opens it up and tips the contents into his hand. A small seed falls out along with a scrap of paper. The sees is small, innocuous, almost a rock instead of a seed. He turns the piece of paper over to reveal a small printed note that just says 'Plant Me.'

"Hello, little one," he whispers as he holds up the seed, trying to figure out what it is, "may I look after you for a little while?"

He takes the seed to the store, asks what it could be, what it needs. He gets no clear answers but recommendations. He goes from store to store, and when even that doesn't help, he turns to the internet.

He never learns what seed it is, but resolves to try his best.

The others get plant seeds too and he learns about how beautiful their plants are. He's still waiting for it to sprout, but eventually, he gets a little green shoot. He sees the pictures the others send of their plants—vibrant colors, incredible blooms, vivid green leaves. He asks what they're doing and they give him answers like: oh, I just stuck it in any old soil and water it when I remember.

I prune all the ugly parts until it looks good again.

I told it it'd better grow well and it did.

He doesn't do any of that. He waters it when it looks like it needs more, the right amount of light, eventually it begins to grow more and more and the others start clamoring for pictures. He hesitates before sending them.

Maybe you just got pranked, they say, it looks ugly.

There are thorns everywhere, oh my god.

It's monstrous.

He doesn't mind not really. He tends to it just as carefully, whispering that it's okay, you don't need to be pretty, I'll still take care of you. It grows a little more.

Then, three months after it first arrived, the plant is gone and he has an email informing him that phase one is done.

Then, a crate appears on his doorstep.

He brings it carefully inside, looks at the label from the company and the simple card. He opens it to reveal the words: 'Take Me Home.'

The box hisses.

He carefully opens it, bit by bit, only to have his eyes almost scratched out as a blur of fur comes up and out of the box and off into his apartment.

Learning how to live with a feral cat is not easy, especially one that refuses to let him see it. He quickly tarted keeping his door closed to his room and asked a local pet shelter what best to feed the cat. He kept the food open on the floor—dishes were a no-go—and did his best to set up a litter box.

He didn't learn quick enough to hide his breakable things from the cat's wrath. He lost more than a few photos and vases. The cat hisses at him, scratches him bloody, and turns the house upside down.

Still, he tries to be patient.

He moves everything dangerous out of the way. He feeds the cat, cleans up after it, and respects its space. It's claimed an old closet and drags its prizes there, camping out like some army protecting its position. It's scared, he understands, it's just trying to feel safe.

The others, who are bragging about their own impeccably trained animals, say he's just doing it wrong.

Then one day, he's cleaning the kitchen when the cat bolts along the counter and knocks off a glass. He lunges forward, just managing to catch it, as water spills everywhere. He lets out a breath and turns to set it down.

As he turns, his elbow hits his favorite mug and knocks it off. It falls to the floor and shatters.

Slowly, he sets down the glass and sinks to the floor, burying his head in his hands. All the frustration and irritation about the cat, the seed, his friends for roping him into this, all of it starts to come out ion bitter tears. Soon he's sobbing, fists pressed to his eyes.

He didn't want to do this. He didn't want this, didn't want to care for a plant that grew to be monstrous, didn't want a cat that hated him and tore his house to shreds.

But how could he hold it against them? They didn't ask for this either.

For long minutes, he sits there and cries, refusing to take it out on anything other than himself, as cold tea drips to the floor.

Then something soft brushes his leg.

He moves his hands, eyes widening when he sees the cat nosing at his leg. It looks at him and does it again, for once gentle and seemingly unafraid of him, tail swishing back and forth.

Slowly, so slowly, he reaches out to offer his hand.

It sniffs it delicately and rubs its head against his palm.

"Hello, little one," he croaks, "may I look after you for a little while?"

The cat purrs.

Slowly, slowly, they learn. He gets off the floor and cleans up the remains of his shattered mug, throws it away and watches the cat walk off towards its den. It stays where he can see it that night, eating in front of him.

They navigate each other's space, understanding how to move around. Things begin to return from the den, back to the rest of the house. It begins to use the litter box, spending more time where he can see it. Sometimes he messes up. He gets scratched for his efforts but he never retaliates, always bandaging his wounds and making sure not to do it again. The cat is always wary for a while after those moments but forgives him when he leaves.

Then, one night, as he settles on the couch, it curls up in his lap and purrs.

He lowers his hand to its back slowly, as if at any minute claws will dig into his legs. But they don't and he brushes soft fur, feeling the purr intensify.

"Good kitty," he whispers, and the cat looks up at him, blinking real slow, "thank you."

He's almost sad a few days later when he comes home and the cat is gone, his apartment as though it had never been there—his favorite mug still broken, though, when he checks somewhat hysterically to make sure he hadn't imagined the whole thing—replaced with an email that says phase two is complete.

His friends are all excited, saying how they can't wait for their rewards at the end of this, ow much they've been looking forward to it. They look at him and his monstrous, feral magic and whisper that it won't end well for him.

When the final day comes, he learns that he can't make the scheduled appointment at the place because he's been called into work for an emergency. The company understands when he sends them an apologetic email, telling him that his spell needs a bit more time to settle, they were going to contact him saying as much anyway. The night before, he curls up in bed and lies awake for a while, staring at the spot on his windowsill where the plant once sat, where the cat would lie. There are deep grooves int he wood from its claws.

Despite how rough of a time he's had, he does find himself missing their presences just a little.

When he gets home from work on the day the others have their appointments, he looks at his phone and balks.

Mine tried to kill me, a friend says, it was awful! Like I would only listen if I was pinned against the wall!

They were horrifying, they had big pus filled things and warts all over them, says another, they looked like something out of a horror movie!

They stared at me and called me ugly!

They tried to order me around like I was their servant!

Thy tried to hurt me, said I was being misbehaved!

They were so mean to me, I wanted to cry.

I'm suing, they fucking ripped us off.

What happened to the nice flowers and animals? Didn't we do a good job training those?

I want those back. Those were nice. I could handle those!

He puts down the phone with shaking hands. He feels awful, the thought of his friends having to go through that, hearing all that abuse hurled at them. No one deserves that. Is it true? Is the spell a scam? It was always important to read though things first, but…

There's a smarting suspicion in the back of his mind that something more is going on here.

As he gets ready for bed that night, a horrifying thought crosses his mind.

If the others grew such beautiful plants and had such perfect animals and had spell results this awful…

…what on earth was his going to be?

Sleep doesn't come easily that night.

The company never specified when his spell results would be in, so he's caught completely by surprise when he comes home one day.

There's someone sitting in his living room.

They turn to look at him as he walks in and he breathes in sharply.

They're…they're really pretty.

Their hair is short, swept up off their face. They have glasses. They're dressed in a Henley and dark wash jeans. They look at each other in silence for a moment before he swallows, suddenly feeling terribly under dressed in his old hoodie and sneakers.

"Are…are you here for me?"

They nod and stand up.

God, they're tall.

He takes a deep breath, bracing himself to be insulted, hurt, even attacked, squaring his shoulders and setting his backpack on the floor.

They stop in front of him and he tries not to blush at how intensely they're staring at him.

….they're so fucking pretty.

Their hand moves.

Then the other.

Slowly, so slowly, and with enough tenderness that it almost threatens to make him cry, they cup his face and smile.

"Hello, little one," they murmur softly, "may I look after you for a little while?"

[sophswritingthings]

hi love!! i was wondering if i could put in a request for a hazel callahan fic where reader is chronically ill and is in a bad flare up so she hasn’t been to school in a few days so hazel comes over to take care of her and there’s just lots of fluff and cuddling <333

pairing: hazel callahan x chronically ill!fem!reader

a/n: I went and did a little research, and I hope I do this justice babe <33 please enjoy!

summary: you’re going through a bad flare up; you haven’t been to school in a while. hazel, your girlfriend, shows up at your doorstep with essential oils and snacks.

word count: 1,047 words / 5,645 characters

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

hazel was standing at her locker, pulling books and a backpack out of the long blue storage unit of a closet.

you hadn’t been in school the last few days; she could assume why. she knew of your illness; it wasn’t a secret you kept. you weren’t embarrassed about it, by any means, it was part of what she loved about you so god damn much. your confidence, your positivity.. they were things she didn’t have all the time. she admired you. as both a partner and a friend.

she practically slammed her locker shut, turning away with her backpack hanging on by one strap on her shoulder. she headed outside the school, the frosty wind hitting her face. she sighed, sprinkles of snow dancing on her hair and eyebrows. you always loved the snow; shame you weren’t to see it with her.

an idea pricked her mind.. she wanted to see you so, so bad. but was it right to go to your house, if you weren’t feeling well? she'd texted you, but you hadn’t responded. not that she excepted you to!

yet she still desperately wanted to care for you and love on you as much as she could; if that would make you feel better. she would do anything to make that happen.

hazel headed back to her own house, slipping in the house just to brush right past her mom and go to her room. she tossed her backpack on her desk chair, flopping down on her bed. she stared at the celling for what felt like hours; to which it was really only, tops, maybe thirty minutes. 

her head was racing a million miles a minute. 

how much pain were you in? was she wasting time just sitting here, when she could be there with you, easing your pain?

she groaned, rubbing her heads over her eyes. she jumped up out of her bed, grabbing her backpack again. she piled lavender essential oils into the bag, turning to a basket full of snacks. your favorite snacks, might she add, that she kept in her room for when you came over.

she piled those into her bag, too, and slung it over her shoulder again. grabbing her phone, she shoved it into her hoodie. which she'd probably have to remove later anyways because she planned to give her hoodie to you.

she sped down the steps, right past her mom again—who attempted to talk to her, but she swiftly ignored her and headed right out the front door.

your house, was luckily, not far from hers. it was maybe a block down; so she just opted to walk rather than waste her cars gas. that shit was getting expensive, anyways.

once at your house, she gazed at your front door for a minute. plain white door with a black circle window; the glass stained with color which she knew was all you. 

she walked up to the door, knocking gently. 

when a woman who wasn’t you answered the door, she put on her best smile, in case this woman was a doctor or someone who had been checking on you—or worse—your mother.

“ah,” the woman tapped her fingers against the door. “your (y/n)’s girlfriend, right? hazel?”

“uh, yup! o-one and only,” she chuckled nervously, her grip tightening on her bag strap.

“breathe. I’m her older sister,” she laughed, moving aside to let hazel in. “she’s upstairs in her room. not feelin’ too well.”

“yeah… I assumed,” hazel sighed, thanking her and heading up the stairs. a door that was covered in swatches of paint read “(y/n)’s room” painted in glitter rainbows and stars. 

she smiled. she knocked with the back of her knuckles on the door, peering inside. the door wasn’t fully shut, cracked open a little—she assumed it was so people could check on you.

you were lying on your bed, your frame curled up against your pillows. your face was scrunched up in pain, your hair tied into a messy bun. your hands were straddling the pillow as if you were holding on for dear life. you had your headphones in, and couldn’t hear her.

“(y/n).. baby..?” she calls out to you, making your eyes open wide. you tug out your headphones, looking so relived to see hazel standing in your doorway. 

“hazel!” you smiled as bright as you could, your expression still pained yet very happy to see her.

“hi, honey,” she smiles back, slipping into your room. she closed the door behind her, dropping the bag beside your door. “not feelin’ the best, I guess?”

“y-yeah, not at all,” you flinch, your body squirming in pain, “took some pain meds.. did some exercise, I-it didn’t really help much.”

“would cuddles make you feel better?” she cocked her head a little, raising an eyebrow.

“much better,” you slowly open your arms, making a grabbing motion at hazel. 

she laughs at your gesture, tugging her black hoodie over her head. she’s left in a sports bra only; tossing the hoodie to you. you caught it with a smile, slipping it over your head.

she bent down to grab her back, dropping it beside the bed so you could reach it comfortably. she climbed in behind you, wrapping her arms tight around your waist. she held you close, pressing your back into her chest.

you plug your headphones back in, offering one to hazel. she does the same as you; pressing a kiss against your collarbone. she slowly and tenderly took your hand placing kisses from your hand to your arm. you were a beauty to be worshipped; and she would do just that for you.

“your too sweet, actually,” you chuckle, crunching on what looked to be a bag of pretzels. “how did I get so lucky, huh?”

she laughs back, pressing a soft kiss against your jaw. 

“how did you get so lucky?” she scoffs, “how did I get so lucky! i mean, look at you, and than look at me. I’m like a lowly peasant and your a fucking goddess.”

you snicker, “your not a peasant!” you pat her head. “if I’m a goddess.. well your a goddesses girlfriend, than. see? not a peasant.”

she nuzzled into your neck, closing her eyes in the warmth, “guess I am, huh…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[wubudubu123]

"I thought about this before" bsf!Rafe x kook!reader part two

here's part one and part three, part four

a/n: hey guys I decided to do a part two of my last story lmk if you like it

warnings: curse words

words count: 842

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

My phone rang unexpectedly. I picked it up and saw that it was Sarah. It had been two days since the party, and I hadn’t heard from any of the Camerons.

"Hey Sarah, what’s up?" I answered.

"Hey girl, I’m sorry to call you, but I wanted to ask if you’ve seen Rafe lately. I can’t seem to find him anywhere. Maybe he’s at yours?"

I was shocked by what I heard. Did Rafe run away? "No, sorry, he hasn’t contacted me in the last two days. I’ll try to find him," I said.

"Thank you, y/n. It means so much to me. You know, with Ward gone, he’s unpredictable," she replied, her worry clear in her voice. I knew their relationship wasn’t perfect—they had always had a troublesome dynamic.

"No problem. I’ll keep you posted," I reassured her, ending the call. Immediately, I tried calling Rafe.

"Hi, you’ve reached Rafe Cameron. I can’t talk right now. Leave a message," his voicemail greeted me, followed by a loud beep. Frustrated, I decided to drive to Barry’s place—maybe he’d know where Rafe was.

Twenty minutes later, I parked my 2022 Porsche 718 outside Barry’s trailer. Stepping out, I closed the door and walked up to knock. After a minute, the door creaked open.

"Oh shit, look who the fuck showed up at my humble doorstep. What’s good, y/n?" Barry greeted me, his eyes scanning me up and down.

"Hey, is Rafe here?" I asked directly, not in the mood for his games.

"Hell yeah. Yo, Country Club! Look who’s here!" he shouted, and Rafe appeared almost instantly, stepping outside and closing the door behind him.

"Y/n, what’re you doing here?" he asked, looking surprised to see me.

"What I’m doing here?! What the hell are you doing here? Your sister called me—she said she can’t get a hold of you. Why are you ignoring her and me?" His attitude pissed me off, and I found myself yelling at him.

Rafe raised his hands in surrender, trying to calm me down. "Listen, I needed to get away from everything. I’m sorry I didn’t pick up. When I woke up after the party, I didn’t remember anything and decided I needed to get clean for a while. Tannyhill was stressing me out too much."

"And you thought a dealer’s place was the best place to crash? Jesus, Rafe, you could’ve let me know." I rubbed my forehead, trying to think. He stood there, looking at me apologetically.

"So wait, you don’t remember anything? Like during the party or… anything at all?" I asked cautiously, trying to figure out if he remembered our kiss.

"I mean, I remember being mad and throwing a party, and then I fucking blacked out. That’s all," he admitted. I didn’t know how to feel. Should I be relieved? I knew he was drunk when he kissed me, but a part of me wished he would do it again. The pit in my stomach grew heavier.

"Alright, well, I’m glad you’re okay. Don’t scare me like that again. I’ll let Sarah know," I said and turned to head back to my car.

"Wait, y/n! Can you drop me off at home? I don’t have my car here," he called out.

"Sure, get in," I replied, unlocking the door. A short while later, we were driving to Tannyhill in silence.

Rafe broke it first. "Why were you asking if I remember anything? Did something happen?" he asked, looking at me with curiosity.

I froze, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. "I mean, nothing of much significance. I just got you to bed and made sure everyone left shortly after that," I lied, keeping my eyes on the road.

"Oh shit, really? Hahaha, I wouldn’t know," he chuckled, clearly not remembering a thing. I prayed he wouldn’t ask me more questions.

I dropped him off, and the rest of my drive home was spent in blissful silence. Only my thoughts interrupted it.

Why was I thinking about him differently now? It was just a meaningless, drunken kiss. He’s just my friend. That’s all. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the feeling. How much longer could I keep lying to myself?

a/n: should I make a mood board for this🤭