#because! lets remember that for all the fucked up FUCKED up violent and disturbing urges shauna has

[lottieurl]

depending on how they handle shauna in the next two eps i can accept the characterization in s2 btw

[sparkling-moonbeam]

💜Scaramouche x Reader💜

A/N: This is an idea that suddenly popped out of my mind so I decided to write it. The reader is gender-neutral and this is a fluff. Enjoy reading and have a nice day!

Oh and there are some curse words cause it's Scara.

💜🔮💜🔮💜🔮💜🔮💜🔮💜🔮💜🔮💜🔮💜🔮💜🔮💜🔮💜

Being a harbinger is something you can’t be fully proud of. At least, that’s how you feel upon staring at the badge the Tsaritsa gave you. But you don’t really have a choice, you can’t just pass an opportunity of making your life a bit easier. Even if you try to deny the offer, your head would be a target for the Fatui. Surviving in the cold weather of Snezhnaya is already a pain in the back, you don’t want to make it worse.

Your job as a harbinger is really simple. You seldom cut someone’s throat as you’re more often assigned in “gathering information from the inside” type of missions. When it comes to highly secured territories, you’re the one to take the lead. You don’t need assistance or anything as you mostly take the act you also planned and set it in motion. Maybe it’s from the experience of once working in front of many people, wearing a mask to suit everyone’s taste, pursuing them to trust you.

As the Tsaritsa told you, you’re competent. A people pleaser like you can read people so easily that one look can immediately give you an inference on the personality you will need to portray on your target. When it comes to finishing someone, you do it quickly. As soon as you got their trust, it was also the time to sing them a lullaby to their own doom.

A sigh escaped your lips, being a harbinger sets you in the boundary of everything. It always felt like you’re in between of opposing arguments. It’s thrilling but also confusing, maybe it’s just your morals kicking you in the guts but it’s too late for that. The moment you bow down in front of the Tsaritsa’s throne, it was all gone.

“I never knew a deaf could be a harbinger.”

Your eyes shifted from your badge to the source of the voice. The sixth harbinger, casually hanging out in your office’s couch. He must have entered your office while you’re busy paying attention on your thoughts.

“Do you have any idea how many times I knocked on your door? I would’ve thought you’ve been killed in your office if I didn’t know you any better,” he continued.

“I’m thinking about important stuff, I didn’t notice.”

He scoffed. “You didn’t even bother to apologize, how rude.”

You blinked at him, staring to his eyes. Scaramouche, or also known as Balladeer has been the one to always barge into your office like it was his own for the first months. The first time you met him was just like this, except the fact that you’re working on paper documents that time and he didn’t knocked, he just barged in. You remember how he didn’t ask your name and where you from, just straight up gave the file the Tsaritsa wanted to give to you, informing you with a bunch of small insults here and there before leaving and slamming the door.

Your first thought was maybe he didn’t like you or your impression, not that it matters anyway. Until you found out that he also does that to other harbingers, especially when he’s having too much to work with in his plate.

“You know, no matter how long you looked at that badge, it won’t disappear.”

You look at the balladeer with his statement. He stood up, slowly walking towards your table as he crossed his arms. “I’ve been wanting to ask you this since it’s disturbing my thoughts, are you really…chickening out? After being here for so long, that’s quite disappointing.”

You let out a scoff at his question, your eyes narrowing at his glinted eyes. You know how Scaramouche is, the way he works with his words to initiate tension. You won’t fall for it but still you wanted to admit how well he can cause tension and get away from it.

“You’re asking…me? What happened to your ‘good intuition’, the sixth harbinger?” You retorted, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled. “That’s more like you. I just hate how you always look at your stupid badge every time I see you, it irks me.”

“That’s more like your problem, not mine.”

“I hate it still, so I will need an explanation.”

“Wow, is this manipulation 101?”

“Y/n.” He sternly called your name, his eyes softening a bit. “I wanted to know if something is bugging your mind, I’ll help if I can.”

You remained silent as a sigh escaped your lips. You reached for the file you’re supposed to read a while ago if only you didn’t space out. “It was nine days ago..”

He hummed urging you to continue. He sat down on the chair opposite to yours, waiting for your next words.

“When I learned something about a certain topic, it’s…quite bizarre.”

You looked at him seriously, his indigo orbs meeting yours. You can see how his trying to listen…how his patience is slowly thinning out on your slow words and his own pretention.

A smile formed your lips. “Gaslighting. Oh, what a bizarre topic and thing to do, right Scaramouche?”

You dramatically placed your hand on your chest as you gave him a look of pity. He clicked his tongue before standing up, fixing his hat in the process.

“Fuck you and your stupid badge.”

You laughed. His visible frustration is entertaining, especially when he cussed. Something about his cussing words just hits deeply, you can’t help but laugh.

“I waste my time for this stupid shit. I should’ve known.”

As he took a step away from table, you quickly stood up, reaching for his hand to stop him. He looked back at you with an annoyed expression. He was about to slap your hands off him but he stopped as soon as he heard you talk.

“Wait, alright. I’m sorry. I mean, I’m not half wrong but..I get the glimpse of what you’re trying to do. Just sit down. I promise, no more jokes.”

It took a couple of seconds before he spoke up. “No more fucking jokes.”

You nodded. He let out a sigh before he propped down on the chair again. You sat again too as you compose yourself.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

You bit the insides from your cheek to prevent yourself from chuckling. That’s more like him, you thought.

“This badge isn’t mine, dumbass.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is it from an agent? A traitor perhaps? Just say the word and I’ll finish them off-”

“No need for violence, it was from a harbinger.”

His eyes widened a bit. “Did you…killed a harbinger? Y/n, that’s not how you raise your rank. You’re a trai-”

“I didn’t kill someone, why are you insisting that?”

He shrugged, leaning on the chair as he hums. He must have been playing with you as a revenge from earlier. What a child.

“It’s from a harbinger that’s been bugging me. Not in a bad way,” you cleared out before he can even decide to say a violent statement again.

“Bugging you but not in a bad way? What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

You mentally facepalmed, of course he wouldn’t know. He probably never felt that way for someone too. Now, you’re rethinking your decisions on telling him. Time for a more direct approach.

“I think I like someone.”

Silence.

You were replied by silence for almost a minute before a chuckled erupted from him. You shook your head as you listen to his laugh.

“You like someone? And you stole their badge because you like them? What a creepy move, are you a stalker?”

You rolled your eyes before you stand up, holding the file on your arms. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ll need to submit this file before dinner time, bye.”

As you held the doorknob, you can still hear his laughter from your back. Maybe, you’ll tell him some other time but, you promised yourself. You even practice on the mirror on what to say, it’s ridiculous. Your eyes landed on the badge. Every time you look at it, it reminds you of the glint in his eyes then you’ll see your reflection, making you ask yourself on how did you get yourself into this.

“Hey, Scara.”

You turned around, his laughed slowly stopped as he looked at you.

“Remember the camp last month?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Why are you asking me about such a horrible day.”

“Childe accidentally took your badge then replace it since you were pretty mad that day. It won’t be a good result if you’ve known he touched some of your belongings.”

He blinked. “And you didn’t tell me? That rascal, good thing he know what will happen.”

“I actually found it so here you go.”

You hummed, taking a last look on the badge before you throw it to him. He easily caught it with one hand, staring at it for a second. You saw how his eyes widen a bit before glancing at you again.

“This badge…is mine and what you said about it earlier…”

Your throat felt dry the moment you meet each other eyes. You tried to smile, forcing yourself to formulate some words your mind came up with.

“You’re making me feel complicated things, it’s unfitting for a harbinger.”

[athenadione]

‘you are mine (and I am yours)’

In which you can find out the hard way that demons don't like sharing. @vi-la-vi

AthenaDione and I did a thing! Everyone loves jealous Damian, but hear us out....jealous Raven? Hope you enjoy! -Vi

I’m so incredibly honored to participate in this collab. Vi practically paved the way for me to give you all the delicious demon Raven smut that ensues and did a superb job writing the majority of this piece, as always. If you enjoy and feel so inclined, you can leave a kudos HERE on A03. Vi— thank you for allowing me to be a part of your writing process. You’re such a talented writer and I’m happy to have found you :) -AD

She couldn’t stop staring at him. Not just because it had been years since she last saw him, but because ever since she met him, Anna Vandergilt had thought of little else. 

Damian Wayne. 

They’d met at a benefit when both were sixteen years old, and it had been love at first sight. The elusive heir finally returned to Gotham after five years abroad, doing god knows what. She’d collected every bit of information she could about him, academic transcripts, tabloids, medical and legal records. Vandergilt influence ran deep and she had no compunction about using it to fuel her obsession. Securing an internship at Wayne Enterprises as Tim Drake’s assistant was just the latest step.

And now he’s here, and I won’t let him get away again. 

Damian had to remember her, the spark when their eyes met, the unbreakable connection they’d made. He didn’t acknowledge it when they were introduced, but that was fine. He was an intense, secretive man and likely just didn’t want to make a scene. 

Green eyes flashed to hers and narrowed, catching her staring. She willed herself to keep it together, sitting up straighter and crossing her legs in an attempt to draw his attention to the slit in her pencil skirt. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and leggy, she knew how to make men stare.

Or so she thought. Damian had turned his attention back to Tim’s presentation, arms crossed and expression impatient. So serious. She planned ways she might be able to get him alone, with no one and nothing to distract him from her. After today, I’ll have more than just fantasies. She’d been looking for an opening to approach him all day and was sure she couldn’t wait much longer.

They broke for lunch, but just as she moved towards him she was intercepted by Tim. 

“Hey Anna, can you run up to my office and grab my blue flash drive? I forgot to bring it down earlier.”

Get it yourself! she wanted to snap. An assistant position was well beneath her pedigree, and she hated taking instructions from common-born Tim Drake. Swallowing her irritation, she smiled and nodded. 

When she finally returned, Damian had already gone, apparently having had a lunch appointment with someone else. Anna sighed. I’ll speak to him after work, I’m sure he wouldn’t say no to dinner and drinks. No man had ever refused her.

She spied him later as she was returning to the conference room, speaking to a dark-haired woman she didn’t know outside of his office. She took a moment to admire him in his suit, noting curiously that the girl with him was only casually dressed in black jeans and an off-shoulder top with a band logo. Unprofessional much? He’s probably scolding her about the dress code.

Just as the thought solidified, she leaned up and pressed a kiss to the underside of Damian’s jaw, tugging his tie playfully as she did so.  

It was as though a bucket of freezing water had been dumped over her head. Anna stood stock-still, mouth falling open in horror. Who the fuck...how dare…?

The woman whispered something in his ear, kissing his jaw again as Damian rolled his eyes and smirked. She continued to stare, waiting for him to shove her away, glare, do something. She heard someone approach from behind. 

“Ugh, those two,” Tim groaned. 

“Who is that?” Her voice was tight and strained, and the man next to her gave her a curious glance. 

“That’s Rachel, Damian’s girlfriend.”

“Oh,” she said, at a loss for anything else. 

It’s not fair. I planned...I’ve been waiting…

She shook her head, determination moving in. A minor setback. He just needs to know there’s something better on the market. Vandergilts were practically royalty, after all. Her beauty and breeding were no doubt superior. She bit back her anger as Damian dropped a kiss on the other woman’s forehead before walking away.

Just a minor setback, she mentally repeated.

-

Tim’s assistant had a serious staring problem, and Damian was relieved when he was finally able to retire to his office. Annoying. The older man had joked earlier that Damian’s constant absence in Gotham and avoidance of the public eye elevated him to mythical status among some of his father’s employees. He longed for this week to end, eager to be back in Jump and away from the Wayne gawkers. 

His phone buzzed, distracting him from the revenue charts in front of him. 

“Stephanie is insane.”

Damian smiled, eyes darting to his watch to see how much longer he’d be stuck in this office. As necessary as it was that he be here for the audit, he felt bad abandoning Raven to his siblings. Next time they came to Gotham he’d make sure it was purely recreational and personally show her the sights.

“A half hour more, then I will come rescue you.”

Then two days more, and they would be home. 

A knock on the door called his attention. “Mr. Wayne? Could I borrow you for a moment. I need a second pair of eyes on this file.”

He looked up, raising an eyebrow at the worshipful expression on her face. The scent of expensive perfume assailed him and Damian fought the urge to wrinkle his nose. She looked at him hopefully, blinking rapidly.

“Ask Drake.”

She shifted, reaching up to toy with her platinum blonde hair. “Oh...he just has so much on his plate. I wanted to avoid bothering him,” she replied, voice high and lilting. 

Strange woman. Damian wondered where his older brother had found this one. He hadn’t really been paying attention when they were introduced, Vander-something or other.

He sighed. “Fine.”

“Oh, thank you,” she breathed.

She circled around the desk to stand next to him, laying the file in front of him and bending low. A fall of blonde hair brushed his shoulder and Damian shifted slightly to put some distance between them. He spent so little time in normal society it was easy to forget how bad most people were with personal space. 

“What exactly did you need help with?”

“This.”

Without warning, she sat on his lap and pressed her lips forcefully against his, throwing one arm around his neck for good measure. Damian completely froze, protests firing rapidly through his mind. She tugged on the waistband of his pants and it was enough to break his paralysis. He shoved her off of him violently and she caught herself on the desk, shifting it several inches back.

“What are you doing?!”

The alarm on her face lasted only a second before being replaced with a coy smile. “Don’t be shy, I know you remember me. It’s been years, but you’re all I’ve thought about, Damian. I swear.”

“I - don’t…” Damian felt uncharacteristically frazzled. “I have - no. I’m not interested,” he finally managed.

“Please, Damian.” She tried to take a step forward and he instinctively backed away. He hated the way she said his name, he realized distantly.

“I have a girlfriend,” he said, hard edge in his voice. One who would kill you and probably me if she was here right now. Raven did not share.

The woman sniffed. “Her. Don’t be ridiculous, you’re a Wayne. She can’t possibly-”

“Enough.”

He glared fiercely, daring her to try and continue. Tears swam in her blue eyes and Damian felt a touch of relief that he finally managed to get through.

“I...hmph, fine. Keep her on the side if you must. My father had a mistress. Just keep her out of my sight.”

She’s insane. What the fuck kind of vetting process do you have, Drake?

He closed his eyes and exhaled before meeting her watery gaze once again. 

“Listen very carefully. I. Am. Not. Interested. I want you out of this building in the next five minutes or I’ll call security.”

“I - but - we…” She straightened, eyes glassy with disbelief as she tried to compose herself. “I see.”

Damian kept his glare on as she left the room, feeling a headache build behind his eyes. He grabbed his phone again, feeling a pang of guilt when he saw Raven's name, and called his brother.

"I fired your assistant. You're welcome."

"What? Damian, you can't just show up and start firing people!"

"I'll...explain later." Vaguely, and with as few details as I can manage.

The hint of discomfort in his voice must have given him away. "Seriously? No wonder she was staring at you all day.”

"Drop it."

"Alright, alright. Her dad's going to be pissed though, he pushed Bruce for months to take her on here. Sounds like you got your very first stalker."

Well that was a disturbing thought. Damian shook it off. "Just tell him it didn't work out." He didn't want any rumors getting back to Raven if he could help it. 

-

Lying to an empath is easier said than done.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

"I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She snorted disbelievingly, eyes glued on the book in her hand. “Why do you feel so guilty?”

“It was a long day. I felt bad for you.” Half-truths were the only semi-effective way he’d found of getting around her lie detector. Normally Damian would smother inconvenient questions with lips, hands, and other parts of him that Raven was always deliciously responsive to, but touching her would have felt wrong right now. She deserved to know the truth before she decided how near she wanted him.

She rolled onto her side then, burrowing down against her pillow and studying him curiously. “You don’t have to spend every second with me, Damian. I’m pretty self-sufficient, in case you haven’t noticed.”

He shrugged, laying back and closing his eyes. “I’ll just be glad to get out of here. People in Gotham are a different breed.”

Raven hummed. “Fine, don’t tell me what’s actually bothering you.” 

With that, she leaned over to kiss him goodnight. Damian flinched at the contact before responding in kind, and pretended he didn’t see the confused look in her eyes. 

“I love you,” he said, focusing the emotion to make sure she felt it as well. 

She closed her eyes, slightly mollified. “I love you, too.”

I'll tell her when we get home, he promised himself. As much as he hated keeping secrets, he knew she was going to be upset and preferred a controlled setting. Damian remembered an incident shortly after they began dating when the ticket-taker at the theater had slipped him her phone number. Raven said nothing at first, but the night ended in a supply closet instead of a screening room.

"I don't share," she whispered dangerously, legs tightening around his hips to draw him in deeper. Red flickered across her purple irises. “You’re mine.”

He smirked at the memory. We never did get to see that movie.

Definitely safer for all involved to wait until they'd left Gotham.

-

Anna stared at her discreetly from the park bench. He’s loyal, that’s all. And I wouldn’t have him any other way.

She grudgingly admitted to herself that the other woman was pretty, if unconventional. Pale purple eyes and dark purple hair - hadn’t anyone told her the punk rock look was out of date? She had nothing on the blonde’s classical beauty.

A hefty bribe to the Wayne's chauffeur had given her knowledge of the woman's - Rachel's - movements throughout the day. She was ordinarily accompanied by Tim's banshee of a girlfriend and one of Bruce's orphans, but had separated from them earlier in the day to visit Gotham’s Arts District. Anna waited until she saw her enter the nearly empty arboretum before making her move. If Damian couldn’t be persuaded to break things off, this one could. An affair with the office hottie - tale as old as time.

“Pardon me?” She adopted a nervous affect as she approached, eyes downcast. “You’re Rachel, right?”

The other woman tore her gaze from the plaque in front of her, violet eyes locking on baby blue. “Do I know you?”

“Anna. I work - worked at Wayne Enterprises. I’m really sorry to do this, but...there’s something you need to know.”

She regarded her silently and the blonde fought the urge to fidget. There's something off about her. What were you thinking, Damian? Finally, Rachel nodded once, crossing her arms. Anna smiled internally and fiddled anxiously with her hands, doing her best to look miserable.

“I was Tim’s assistant until Damian fired me yesterday,” she began, voice weepy. “Tim’s the one who told me about you, I swear I didn’t know before.”

Rachel’s eyes narrowed, something dark and inscrutable flashing in and out of her gaze. “...Excuse me?”

Anna took the low anger in her voice as an encouraging sign and continued. She dropped her eyes again and let out a harsh sob. “I’m not the kind of person who fools around with other women’s boyfriends, and-"

A massive burst of black and red interrupted her thoughtfully planned speech, demolishing the stone plaque next to them and knocking her to the ground. She screamed, covering her head  with her arms. A bomb? What’s happening?

Before she could get her bearings, something hauled her up by the throat, slamming her painfully against a tree. She blinked against the white spots in her vision and the dust in the air, squinting to see what held her. 

Four slitted golden eyes met her own, radiating fury so thick she could almost taste it. I’m seeing things. I hit my head and I’m seeing things. The devil tightened its hold on her neck and stepped closer, heat pouring off its red skin. Terrified beyond anything she’d ever felt, Anna felt her bladder let go. 

“Did you fuck Damian?” it - she - asked in a deadly calm voice.

“Wh-what?” she croaked. No way...what the fuck is she?!

“Answer, mortal.”

She sobbed in her grasp, all her carefully crafted lies flying away in the wake of her terror. “No! I just kissed him!”

The claws (claws?!) around her neck tightened and she felt warm trickles of blood start to seep down into her collar. 

“That - that’s all! That’s all I did! I’m sorry!” she cried, “I’m so sorry! It won’t happen again!”

“I know.”

Shadows wrapped around the two of them and she screamed.

-

Stupid, stupid woman, Damian thought furiously, raising his eyes from the weeping figure on the floor. He’d put it together fairly quickly after walking in the door, and was currently kicking himself for not considering this possibility. She’s clearly deranged, I shouldn’t be surprised she approached Raven.

The woman in question sat in a nearby armchair, looking every bit the queen of hell she was. Her demonic appearance and the regal way she carried herself in this form lent their mundane bedroom at Wayne Manor the feel of some macabre court.

“Something to confess?” his demoness asked lowly. 

“I was going to tell you when we returned home. This is the exact situation I was trying to avoid.” Sparks of black and red magic at her fingertips told him that was the wrong thing to say. 

“You think a couple hundred miles would have saved her from me when I found out? I would cross entire universes.”

The woman before her seemed to curl in further on herself, as if trying to become a smaller target. Prayers fell from her lips, whispered and unintelligible.

 “She’s not worth it. I would have made you see that.”

“That’s not your decision to make. You are mine, this was a challenge to me. A proper demon would have brought just the head.”

A loud wail met her words and golden eyes flicked downwards, oozing contempt. Damian felt a thrill race down his spine. He'd never seen her this angry - possessive. The idea that he was the catalyst, that his composed, serene Raven was burning so brightly over a stolen kiss made his blood tingle. 

Apparently feeling the weight of the demon’s stare, she covered her head with her hands and tried to choke back her cries. A prey-like instinct to hide taking root. 

He swallowed before speaking, mindful of the thin ice he was on. “I know you’re upset, but you can’t kill her.”

An amused sound escaped her, and Damian wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret it. “Beloved?”

She finally met his eyes again, clearly unhappy with the situation. “Fine. But if I ever see or sense this creature near you again, I will tear her apart slowly. Testor ego eam.”

With that, she waved a hand and the other woman vanished in a rush of black. He didn’t bother to ask where, not wanting to push his luck with Raven right now. Hysterical as the other woman was, no one would believe anything she had to say anyways. 

The demoness crossed her arms, studying him silently. She seemed to have no intention of changing back to her human form. Oh. 

“I suppose I’m in trouble as well?”

“Lies deserve punishment. And you need to be reminded who you belong to.”

“You, habibti. Always.”

Her smile offered nothing but trouble and his heart started to pick up. "That’s a start."

“Oh?” he asked her, not moving from the spot where he stood. It seemed that court was still in session, and her final judgement on his own transgressions had not yet passed. 

She picked at a claw unhurriedly, hooded eyes flicking over his figure. Not one to back down, he met her appraising stare inch for inch.

“Did you know that demons mate for life?” she asked without warning. 

“No, beloved,” he breathed. The information was new but it hardly mattered. He had already decided that he was going to spend the rest of his life with her long before they ended up together. He just wondered why she felt it necessary to mention now. 

“It’s a sacred bond. Actually sacred, unlike human marriages. Challenging it is the worst insult one demon can deal to another.” Her eyes narrowed, and her claws seemed to sharpen before his eyes.

“She wasn’t a-”

“No one will threaten our bond. Do you understand, mate?”

Dear gods. 

He resisted the urge to lick his lips, instead pressing them firmly together. “You should know that you will never be at risk of losing me, beloved.” 

“I know. I also know you will never lie to me again.” The demoness waved a clawed hand before resting it underneath her chin. She was waiting for him. He swallowed again.

“What can I do to make amends?” 

Her grin widened, boarding on malevolent, as if she finally found the answer she was looking for. Lifting effortlessly from her chair, she began to stride across the room to him with measured steps. 

“I have a few ideas.” She purred. 

“Oh?” he asked again, displeased at how out of breath he sounded. 

Golden eyes held his own, and she didn’t speak again until she was just an arm's length away from him. 

Then she pointed at her feet. “Kneel.” 

He felt his jaw go slack. She wants me to do what? 

She cocked her head at his hesitation. “You will not kneel for your demoness?” She clicked her tongue in distaste. “Don’t you want to remedy your indiscretions?”

He set his jaw, barely suppressing a wince.  When she put it that way, there was no reason not to kneel before her, even if the thought of doing so went against every instinct in his body. He did, after all, lie to her, and if this was what she wanted from him then who was he to deny her?

Besides, there would be an opportunity for her to return the favor. I’ll make sure of it. 

Revealing nothing, he stared at her impassively and slowly dropped to one knee, biting back a scowl as her smirk grew. 

Then, he watched as a slender leg poked out from the slit of the dress she was wearing, and a strappy, black heel. He gave her a simmering look, then took it in his hands without a word, and pressed a kiss to her ankle, trailing up the side of her calf. 

“That’s very nice, mate.” She murmured, resting a clawed hand onto this shoulder. “What else are you willing to do for me?” 

A light smirk replaced his features. She was asking him to seduce her. To fuck her. That was something he would be more than willing to oblige. 

He promptly stood to his feet and grabbed her wrist, pulling him into his chest. To his amused delight, she went pliant in his arms— nearly purring as he captured her lips with his. He kissed her thoroughly, drowning out the memory of the other gods-awful kiss that’d been forced upon him. 

Then a clawed hand traveled his cheek lightly, moving its way to the back of his head. She suddenly grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged downwards, tearing his lips from hers. He hissed when sharpened teeth latched themselves on his neck, nipping at the exposed flesh there before soothing it with her tongue. 

Then she began to walk forward, forcing him to step with her— until the back of his knees touched the mattress of their bed. 

“Meus es tu.” She said lowly, and she pushed at his chest, sending him backwards.

It turned into a battle for assertion. One that he admitted he thoroughly enjoyed— and intended on winning. 

He took her with him, grabbing her waist to position her underneath. His smile was smug when he peered down into four golden slits, obviously dissatisfied at the turn of events. 

Ignoring her bared teeth, he nudged open her legs with one knee before settling between them, then rolled against her in one swift movement, taking pleasure in the way she threw her head back with a growl. 

He continued his ministrations, trailing hot kisses down her neck, just as she did to his moments before. One hand reached up to graze her breast as his kisses went farther down the middle of her chest, while his other hand roamed over the swell of her hips. 

Raven in turn, was growing more frustrated with every second he kept her distracted with his teasing, light touches. 

“Enough.” It was a command.

By the time he managed to blink he found himself on his back and she was straddling his waist. 

Her hands encased with her dark magic. “Alliges duplicia.”

His arms lit up with her magic and they were forced above his head. When he tried to bring them back down he was met with resistance. What the hell? When he looked up his eyes widened with realization. She bound my fucking hands to the headboard. 

“Raven.” He snarled in warning, tugging on his bonds. The demoness was unperturbed by his outburst. 

“You will submit to me, mate.” A dangerous red swirled in those golden irises, and he clenched his jaw in response, then bit back a groan when she brushed against his length. 

“Let me go.” He glared. 

“I will not. This is your punishment. You will stay like this until you beg for me.”

“Tch.” 

He detested how painfully hard he was. His erection strained against his trousers, and he couldn’t contain his next groan when she palmed him. 

It didn’t matter how much he wished she’d slip her hand underneath his belt. He would not beg. 

She began to strip slowly, until she was completely bare before him, and then she peeled off his pants carefully— and then his shirt. His full erection was on display for her, and he released a strangled noise in the back of his throat when she settled her heated core against him.

She chuckled darkly when he twitched underneath her. “Say please.” 

“No.” he gritted out, breath hitching when her mouth latched onto one of his nipples, nipping roughly. Her tongue flicked it right after, mixing the pain she had caused with pleasure. 

“No?” Her claws wrapped around his throat, squeezing in warning. “You are in no position to deny me, mate.” 

He just glowered.

“Fine.” She relented, retracting her claws. “You will break eventually.” 

Her fingers lifted to her full breasts, reddened from her true form, and her fingers began to tease one darkened nipple into a tight peak. The bonds went taut when he pulled at them roughly in an attempt to reach out to her. She noticed this and smirked as she teased her other nipple, then rocked against him. They groaned together.

He watched as she then slipped one hand down to her core and began to tease herself, parting her folds before slipping a finger inside while grazing against his cock. 

She moaned, mouth parting slightly and he growled again in protest. That should be his fingers inside of her. 

“If you insist on not obeying me, then I will use you for my own pleasure.” She sunk down onto his cock and his head hit the wall with his groan. Fuck, she felt so damned good and the pace she was setting set him on a steady course towards an impending orgasm, regardless of how much he despised not being in control. 

“Beloved.” He growled when she brought him to the brink all too soon, then slowed back down while teasing her clit with her own fingers. Quick, circling motions that revealed her own need to him— that she was nearing her own orgasm. 

He caught her hitched breath. She was losing resolve, caught in her own wave of pleasure. 

“Release me.” He tugged on his bonds again and bucked his hips into her for good measure. “I want to be the one to fuck you when you come.” 

She gasped and clenched around him, drawing him even deeper. “I will come soon. If you want to fuck me, you must beg now.” 

He cursed. Goddamn her. 

“Please, habibti. I am yours.” 

With a victorious smirk, she waved a hand. That smirk was short-lived however, because as soon as the bonds disappeared he lunged for his little demoness, twisting them both before pulling out of her to roll her onto her stomach. 

“You are mine too, Beloved. I will also make sure of that,” he snarled into her ear, teasing his cock at her entrance. His hands held her pressed against the bed. 

The demoness laughed, then inhaled sharply when he pushed into her with one swift movement. They were both right at the edge, only a few more thrusts was all it would take to throw them both over.

“I can feel how close you are,” He reached a hand underneath her to press his thumb directly against her clit, “Come with me, now.” 

She cried out— a sound that was more animalistic than human, and she fluttered around him. He fell shortly after, nearly seeing stars. He continued to thrust languidly, drawing out their orgasms. Vaguely, he watched as Raven’s skin turned from red to flushed ivory. One pair of eyes turned to peer up at him instead of two, and the color of her irises receded to lavender. 

For a moment he watched her transform, breathless. 

She smiled up at him as her breathing returned to normal and he returned it before dropping his face to her neck. “I’m going to have to make you jealous more often,” Damian murmured into her skin. 

Raven snorted, lifting a hand to run through his sweat-soaked hair. “Unwise. Not only will I definitely kill the next one, it will hurt the entire time she is dying.”

“Green is a good color on you, habibti.”

She said nothing, but he could feel her contentment in the gentle run of her fingers across his hair and skin. As post-orgasmic clarity continued to take hold a question popped into his mind and he leaned up to regard her.

“When were you planning on telling me we were essentially demon-married?”

She flushed. “Eventually. Are you...did you not want…?”

He silenced her with a kiss, letting his actions and strength of his emotions answer her question. As though he could ever give this up, or stomach the idea of either of them being with someone else. 

After all, Damian didn’t share either.

[bxebxee]

What I have to say: This is really not what I typically write, but please allow me my self-indulgence. Also, I am rusty and unpracticed, but this made me happy to write. 

What this is: Yoongi has gone through twenty-seven phone numbers over the last ten years, and you haven’t changed yours since high school. 

What this wants to be: Romance

What this warrants: Rated R for Rotten Relationships (and other things) 

You hold your sister’s new baby reverently. The baby is so small, and you’re scared that your bad morals would somehow seep into the skin through contact diffusion. 

“I feel like I’m already the irresponsible aunt,” you whisper, shooting your sister a terrified look. The baby isn’t even sleeping, but what if your bellowing voice would upset him. “Are you sure-” 

“Yes,” she says firmly, “You’ll be a good godparent. There’s literally nothing to do except spoil your nephew every now and again.” She pauses, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “Unless we die. Then I guess you’d have to be more of a parental figure...” 

You and your brother-in-law interject at the same time in a cacophony of protest. 

“Okay, we are not dying,” he sighs as your octave increases by a half-step, “Please do not say that as I hold your offspring in my arms. I can’t feel them by the way. Seokjin, can you take him? I don’t want to drop him.” 

Seokjin takes the baby, and you feel bereft of warmth. It’s a weird feeling to note that considering your firm No Babies Policy. You miss the baby already. This is witchcraft. 

“It’s just a fucking hypothetical, relax,” your sister laughs, her eyes softening considerably as she sees Seokjin coo over his son. 

“If our baby’s first word is ‘fuck’ I am not taking responsibility,” Seokjin says mildly, eyes never leaving his baby. You don’t really blame him. 

“And you’re not blaming me either. I’ve been good,” you say. 

“Oh please, everyone curses younger these days anyway. I’d rather my son know than not know, you know?”  

“You’re pushing it,” Seokjin warns. 

“You’re such a dad,” she scoffs. 

“And you like it,” he counters. 

“Yeah,” she admits. “Yeah, I do.” 

You check your phone for the time, and it’s thirty minutes before the official start of the baby gathering. Time for you to leave. 

“Hey, it was good to see you guys. And the baby,” you tell them, hugging both lightly so as not to disturb the tenderness of the moment. Bear hugs were for a different day. “I have to head out, but I’ll come visit a lot, okay? I’ll even babysit. For free.” 

“Not staying for lunch?” your sister asks, looking very sad and disappointed, but you steel your heart. The two of you have inherited your mother’s knack of guilt-inducing looks, and you’re not about to fall for it. 

“Not today, no.” 

Seokjin nods, bidding you to take care. He knows why you want to leave before the crowd gets too heavy. 

Unfortunately for you, cosmic luck was not on your side because as soon as the front door shuts behind you, the elevator dings and Yoongi steps out, clad head to toe in celebrity black and holding five Burberry shopping bags. There’s no one around, so you don’t particularly feel the need to stand on the niceties of greetings and choose instead to brush past him in favor of the elevator. 

“And hello to you too.” he remarks sarcastically. 

“Go to hell,” you reply, wishing that you didn’t have to be in a close fucking hallway because you could smell his cologne. 

“Oh come on-” 

You press on the close door button rapidly, and the doors shut out Yoongi with a soft, muted click. 

Twelve hours later, you get a text from an unknown number. Coward is all it said. You stare at your phone screen in bed, seeing typing bubbles start and stop and start and stop. Mister Unknown Number finally settles on silence because nothing follows after the one-word epithet. 

It feels like a dare. 

--

Yoongi finally puts his phone down. You were too smart and too self-respecting to try this all over again with him, and he wants to kick himself for ever thinking that goading you would work when you were clearly over him-

His phone vibrates intensely and consistently. You’re calling him. 

“Hello,” Yoongi says, picking up the phone after just a single ring. Desperate, to be sure, but he wasn’t positive you’d wait for five rings anyway. 

“You changed your number again,” you say without preamble. 

“I’ve actually had this number for two years now,” Yoongi says. “Been getting hacked less and less. Guess you never saved the number.” 

“Why would I?” you ask, petulance peppering every syllable of your words. 

“Why didn’t you stay for the luncheon?” he asks instead of answering your question. 

“And sit in a room with you for a couple of hours pretending everything’s normal? No thanks,” you scoff. “And luncheon? Really?”

“You missed out on the shrimp toast.” 

“I think I’ll live.” 

“So why’d you call?” 

You could take the easy way out. Save your pride and your face, and pretend that you still don’t carry a torch for Yoongi. You could lie and say you just wanted to call and make sure it really was him. But you were always a glutton for pain, and he was all too happy to oblige to your needs. 

“You wanna come over?” you offer, not feeling an ounce of trepidation that he’d reject you. Yoongi always came when you asked. 

“Where do you live?” 

“It’s the same place as last time.” It’s a test. Let’s see if he even remembers my address-

“Be there in thirty.” 

--

He’s late by a few minutes, but Yoongi explains through interrupted kisses and hasty undressing that there was traffic, and he showered- 

“You could have showered here, you know,” you mutter, pawing at his dick and biting down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Yoongi always like a little pain.

“I’ll shower here after.” (After he fucked you at least twice, minimum. After he got to see you naked and temporarily his. After he was somewhat satisfied but much too sweaty for sleep.) 

And then it’s No Talking Time for a short while because he has your face occupied with inhaling scant oxygen against the mattress while his own head was buried between your asscheeks and legs, lapping and sucking at you like he had something to prove. Could this count as some form of asphyxiation? Probably. You don’t expect his mouth to make you feel close to losing control. The act had always unnerved you, but you found yourself uncaring of past discomforts and losing yourself into the feeling of soft, insistent lips. 

Yoongi eats you out with soft grunts, hands holding your thighs apart and firm. Don’t move, his hands say. His tongue up your cunt isn’t any sort of giving on Yoongi’s part; this was all selfish. He wants you to cum and feel starstruck and ruined, wants you to get it through your head that your flesh craved his flesh in the same animalistic way he needed you. 

You turn your head around just enough to be able to get out, “You can sto-” 

But he silences you with a warning slap on the ass. You are not to be deterred. 

“Stop with the tongue,” you order. 

“You’re insane,” he hisses, pulling away and shamelessly licking his lips. “You can’t ever just let me-” 

“Put it in now,” you demand. 

Yoongi lets out a terse sigh. “I should just leave right now,” he grumbles, getting up on his knees to rub his dick against you and nudges the head on your opening. “I shouldn’t be here.” He presses inside at “here” and wrenches a moan from your lips. 

“Then leave,” you sigh, pressing your ass back against him, relishing in the feeling of being filled again by Yoongi. “Just go home and jerk off instead. That’s what you’re good at, right? Leaving me?” 

“You’re a bitch for bringing that up during sex,” Yoongi says, fucking into you steadily and slowly, resisting the urge to pound into you like his baser instincts demanded. He was going to enjoy you for as long as he wanted. He knew you wanted it rough and bordering on violent, but he wasn’t going to add more ammo to your already large arsenal of Reasons To Hate Min Yoongi. 

Yoongi leans over completely, letting his torso lay flush against your back, unbothered by your sweat as it mixed with his own. You were going to feel every last inch of him inside and out. He pumps in and out slowly, sucking on your neck and breathing into your hair with audible moans of enjoyment. 

“I’m not leaving,” he groans, reaching over to rub your lower stomach gently, as if comforting you. The intimacy of this wasn’t lost on you, but you can’t find the words to tell him off. You missed his heat and the familiar weight. You are only human, after all. 

Yoongi threads his fingers through your unkempt hair, stroking gently before balling his fists into a pronounced grip. He turns your head to the side and kisses you, your neck straining from the awkward, uncomfortable position. But it reminds you of the beginning - of the before times when things were easier in the shadows of his success and unavailability. 

It’s impossible not to feel things when he fucks you this way, and kisses you, and moans soft nothings into your ear like you’re the only woman he’s ever done this with. You are atrocious at protecting your heart, and even after two years of icing him out, Yoongi barges into you like it’s nothing. 

“Don’t stop,” you moan, heart thumping against your chest. You really, really can’t stand to want him so much. 

“I won’t,” Yoongi reassures, kissing the corner of your eye. He doesn’t speed up, and instead chooses to test the limits of your patience with languorous but firm strokes. “Not until you tell me to.” 

There was nothing that compared to this - not heated fucks with attractive strangers, or money, or getting crossfaded by the Han River. When Yoongi did this to you, you almost felt like he loved you. 

--

Yoongi sleeps silently besides you in the sunlight, completely worn out after an emotionally exhausting round of sex that made him cry when he came inside you. He’s usually sensitive to the light, but he’s out cold and completely drained. You hadn’t expected that part - the crying. You thought it was just sweat until you heard rattling breaths and a hiccup. 

You watch him breathe silently from your place in his arms, unwilling to leave the small cocoon of warmth. You’re the opposite of him, and right now, you’re wired. You’ll probably end up crashing sometime later in the day, but for right now, you’re content to just watch him sleep in your bed, on your pillows, smelling like your body wash. 

You’re too old to be scared, and yet this moment fills you with dread; that once the spell of sex and yearning was broken, everything would tilt back to its regular axis, and you’d be all alone again. If you were younger, you might have up and left already. Leave him before he leaves you. And it’s not like you haven’t done that before. Your entire relationship with Yoongi is always filled with one person leaving behind the other one because nothing about the two of you ever lined up properly. 

But this time, you’re too tired to run away. So you close your eyes and pretend to sleep until it finally comes to claim you. 

[capriccio-con-espressione]

plz i have a sudden urge to corrupt jaemin 🤤🤤 ive never really thought about him and i think he’d look so good fucked - 💿

Nah plz I don’t know why but honestly I can’t sense any innocent vibes from Jaemin so sorry I can’t really corrupt him because all I know about him is his high painslut level. I personally think he’d be a great dirty-talker, may be initially doubtful about pegging, but when you’re doing wonders to his body, he would melt into a self-degrading mess and would beg you to use him for good, his questions about it long gone and you can taunt him to no end for that. Down below is my little drabble of this scenario:

  “You sure you wanna do this?” Jaemin’s brows furrow sarcastically. “You sure you can fuck me as good as I do-ah!” His question is cut short by a slap across his bare ass, leaving a smirk of enjoyment on his face as he rubbed the spanked flesh, eyes gazing darkly at your strap.

  “Of course I’d want to do this, and maybe enjoy this a little bit too much…” You condescendingly grinned while slapping his ass once again, earning a rather content yelp from him. “Wait until you getting fucked into a moaning senseless puddle and we’ll see...remember last time you taunted me into whipping you, and you end up thanking me to no end and enjoyed it perhaps a little bit too much?”

  “Hmm really?” Jaemin pouts, in an annoying attempt to feign innocence. “You sure I can take that big girthy thingy?” He licks his lips at your strap.

  “Of course you can, now just lie down and be a good boy and let me help you get ready for it…tell me when I reach your sweet spot.” You motion your boy to lie down, before placing one lubed finger into his lubricated entrance, exploring him with different angles.

  “Ohhhhhh…” Jaemin lets out a whimper at your thrusting finger, processing the still novel feeling to him. “You’re fucking me so deep-ahh right there!” He moans and jerks his whole body at the sudden electric sensation when you aim at the right spot.

  You simper at the new information, as you stretch him open with two fingers, then three fingers, every movement directing at the bull’s eye as Jaemin writhes and wantonly moans in euphoric bliss.

  “Now you like that, huh?” You inquire devilishly as you land a whack on his ass, spiking his senses again, before intruding him with your strap.

  Now Jaemin's body is shuddering violently against your merciless thrusts, hips swaying left and right attempting to maximize the already overwhelming sensation. His lips quirk up to form a gorgeous ecstatic arc, offering a new raunchy side of him that you've never seen before, as the few only things on his mind now are to indulge in the orgasmic bliss as well as look and sound pretty for you, in hopes of being rewarded with even intensified pleasure.

You noticed his lust-filled smile as well as his legs, shifting in all places in search of the correct position to heighten the stimuli since it was his very first time getting fucked like this.

  "Let me help you…" You smirk as you prop his legs up your shoulders as you allow yourself to have deeper access of your fucktoy. "Better hold onto me tight when I fuck you to cloud nine you insatiable slut…"

  Jaemin whimpers at the new feeling on his prostate as he finds himself driven over the edge even more. Normally bottoms will be reduced to an incoherently moaning and cursing mess under intense rapture like this, but as for your originally doubtful boy, his innate ability to sweet talk turns into self-degrading words as he sinks into his subspace even more.

  "Ah...aaahhhhh... Mistress please destroy my slutty tight fuckhole so I can't act up and whore up ever again hmmm pretty please…" Jaemin moans out between your vehement thrusts.

  “Says someone who was doubtful whether pegging is going to feel good or not…” You smirked.

  "S-split me in half with your mighty magical cock please Mistress hnnnn your pathetic little sex doll wants to be wrecked his brains out oohhh…"

  “My personal sex doll huh? Aren’t you the one that dared to challenge my capability to fuck you huh pretty slut?”

  "Hnngh I’m sorry...Mistress please use your cockslut so hard that I forget who I am because I am just a brainless pretty airhead who knows nothing but to be fucked mmmffff…"

  In response to Jaemin's filthy pleads, you speed up, the thought of wishing your cock can turn into a ruthless piston turn you on even more as you unleash all your frustrations on him until he's seeing stars, your title rattling off his tongue shamelessly as he cums blissfully.

After he finally recovers from the immensity, you're already done with clean-up, laying close beside him as you play with his strands. He cutely pouts, up for something to disturb the peace.

  "Mmmm Mistress it's all your fault~I don't think I'll be able to walk properly tomorrow hnngh"

  "Says someone who just literally begged me to destroy him. Still doubting what I can do huh?" You roll your eyes in amusement.

  “No I didn’t mean that…” After that weak defense, Jaemin still complains and whines on and on about how sore he is, but every single word of it underlies praises on how good your stamina is and you have to admit, it boosts your ego so much.

  "...You know, my life will be very incomplete without you…" His expressions suddenly turn serious from all the salacious sex talk before.

  "...Just like my slutty ass will be so empty without your massive dick!" He will be grinning triumphantly, seeing that you have been tricked into thinking he was going to make some sincere wholesome confession. 

  "You are impertinent." You facepalmed, but is secretly very delighted deep down.

  Jaemin giggles at your reaction and snuggle up even closer to you, as you two entangle like an adorable cocoon before relishing the post-passion bliss in your dreams.

  “We should do this often, Mistress.”

[uschi-the-listener]

Level 13 Group Home for Boys

The place where I did my practicum was making money by busing kids from group homes to the facility for group therapy. Unpaid interns ran groups under the supervision of a licensed practitioner, either an MSW or MFT or MFCC. I was a budding Marriage and Family Therapist, still in school, but experiencing the work firsthand, rather than from books. I had, and still have, a passion for the work.

If every story has a hero, I suppose I could be considered the hero of this one. It's not that kind of story, but if you asked, if anybody remembered me, I would be it. I'm sure that nobody remembers me. I was a cipher, a tiny cog in a huge machine. But I didn't break down when the system did.

That day, I was being supervised by the most recent low-bidder, a social worker who had been fired from the prison system and found a job working with these kids, kids aging out of the foster system. Sixteen and seventeen year olds who were their adult height and had little to lose. Kids too violent or too difficult or too mentally ill, or sex offenders, kids who hadn't worked out in actual foster families but ended up in group homes, watched over by former prison guards.

The ratings for group homes go from 1 to 14, with 14 being the most disturbed, the most violent. Level 14s were not allowed to travel outside the group home, but Level 13 kids were.

I was under supervision, running a group with a bunch of Level 13 gang-members. I had met the social worker in charge a day or two before. I don't remember his name. I don't remember what the topic for the group was for that day; in any case, we didn't cover it. We had a lesson of a different kind.

The first time I met him, this supervisor tried to buy my ring off my finger. I didn't sell it to him. Then, he started leaning in the sexual harassment direction. Then, he called our clients the "dummies" and "thugs" and was completely insensitive to my expression of horror. I was hoping he would just tune out and leave me to run the group. No such luck.

The kids were unusually unruly that day. Left to myself, I'd have abandoned the assigned subject matter and just taken their temperature, asked what was up, why everybody was so agitated. I wasn't in charge. The person who was, chose to make it worse.

He was rude and scornful and started barking orders at the group, taunting them, then started singling people out for scolding and derision. Of course they escalated their behavior. He was harsh and disrespectful to a group of kids who were mostly bigger and tougher than he was, people who had been brutalized and abused in ways he could not imagine. Survivors of things he would not have survived. I was disgusted with his behavior and so were the kids. In response, they were noisier, more profane, and echoing his abuse with their own.

The kid I was sitting next to, who the supervisor was currently needling, was becoming more and more upset. The boy did not have good impulse control and being called out, mocked, and humiliated was making him visibly angrier. He was breathing hard. His lip was quivering, eyes flashing, and he seemed to be growing bigger in his seat. He was trying so hard to control himself and wasn't answering back, but he was shaking with anger and suppressed violent urges.

We were next to the only window in the room, a smallish one, with that chicken-wire netting embedded in it. The kid had reached the limit of his tolerance. With a great, "Fuck You!" he suddenly turned, without looking, and punched out the window over my head.

We were covered in glass. The room went silent. The stupid supervisor was caught in mid-sarcasm. The other boys looked stunned.

I turned to the kid and asked him, "Are you okay? Let me see your hand. Did you get cut?" His lips quivering, chest heaving, tears threatening to fall, he glanced at me and shook his head. I asked him again, "Let me see," and took his fist in my hand and gently pried open the clenched fingers. He appeared to be okay, but covered in broken glass.

I asked two of the boys I had had prior sessions with if they would take the other boy to the rest room to clean up, and then bring him back. The supervisor stormed out of the room, angry and shouting something about "Ungrateful..." something. Nobody paid any attention. The rest of the boys were silent and eyeing me in astonishment. I still didn't know what had been happening to get everybody into such a state.

So I asked. I said, "I don't want to put anybody on the spot, but, can somebody tell me what happened? Why was (kid) so upset?" It came out, then, that he was about to turn 18. In the foster care system, there is no mercy for kids with poor grades. This kid had not been successful in school, so he didn't get the lenience of a few extra months or years protected from the street. He was kicked out, expected to fend for himself, on his 18th birthday, which would have been 2 days from the date of the incident. He was terrified and heartbroken.

Who knows what that kid had suffered? Kids born into addicted families, families with domestic violence, sexual abuse, severe poverty, kids subjected to racism and microaggressions, kids with multiple traumas before their brains had had a chance to develop, don't have a good prognosis. There is no support. The most damaged, the most traumatized, are further brutalized by the system supposedly set up to ensure their safety and education.

Nobody can learn when they're in constant fear or when they have to spend all their energy keeping themselves and vulnerable others alive. This kid was not particularly bright. If he had any talents, he had never had a chance to develop them. What he had going for him was being big and scary. Dark skin, scars, tatts, long dreadlocks, over six feet tall, a deep voice, and no inhibitions about intimidating threatening adults. Good for him. That energy could some day become a great asset. In his world, it had kept him alive. That day, it wasn't any help at all.

Somebody called the police. I never saw that boy again. The other kids came back and told me he was in custody. After that day, I never had a problem with that group of boys again. They would high-five me in the hall, teach me slang, pull me aside to talk. Because, maybe for the first time in their lives, they saw an adult who sided with them, instead of the other adult in the room. Because I cared about the glass on that boy's hand and in his hair and clothes more than keeping order in the room.

Mere decency is not heroic. Kindness to children should be a given. There were no heroes there, but if there had been, it would have been me.

[supernaturalfreewill]

Words: 5,232 Sister!Winchester Reader x Gabriel Warnings: violence, intense scenarios, violent imagery A/N: So... once upon a time I was writing two series at once... Mess Is Mine and Fangs and First Impressions. And I said to myself, "Self, we are never going to write two series at the same time again! This is stressful!" And yet, here I am today, already writing two series (The Wrong Bed, Sam x Reader which is almost done! and Even in the Darkest Heart, a Demon!Dean series) and now I'm being dumb and chucking in a third. This was supposed to be a One Shot but as we've already established on this blog I am apparently incapable of writing short fics. So HERE YA GO! New Series. Don't ask me how many parts it will be because I literally have NO IDEA. :) But having a steaming slice of Gabriel, straight out of the oven.

Your name: submit What is this?

White. Clean, blank, pure white. That was all you were aware of suddenly. It was blindingly white and as you sat up and then pulled yourself to your feet, you saw that it was like an expansive room, painted in the color of freshly fallen snow, unmarred by any track or trail. All was pure white.

“Hello?” The only answer you received was the lonely echo of your voice, so distorted by the time it bounced back that it was almost unrecognizable. Where the fuck am I? you wondered. You started to walk, but as everything was the same, the sensation of moving was unaccompanied by any visual cue that you actually were moving. This was so unsettling and disorienting that you ceased your tentative steps quickly. Your heart started to race a little faster and a disturbing thought popped into your mind. Am I dead?

_ _ _ _ _ _ “I need a large bore IV, wide open. And up her oxygen percentage. Her numbers are tanking!”

“Sir, you really have to stay back. Sir! You’re not allowed beyond these doors!”

Dean watched helplessly as your unconscious body, straddled by a doctor with their hands pressed firmly down onto your abdomen, was hurried through a pair of swinging doors, flanked by an army of medical personnel. Dean finally registered the nurse in front of him and stopped before he collided with her outstretched hands. “Where are they—”

“They’re taking her straight into surgery. Are you next of kin?”

“Yes—My brother and I. She’s our sister! I need an update! As soon as you have one!” Dean urged.

“Do you give us permission to perform life-saving actions like resuscitation if necessary?” The words came out in a fast tumble and Dean didn’t even process them before he answered.

“Yes, goddammit! Do whatever you have to—she has to be okay!”

“We’ll let you know as soon as we know anything,” The nurse turned and ran down the long hallway, the swinging doors closing finally behind her. Dean paced a tight circle, a bundle of nerves and rage.

In about 20 minutes, Sam came running up and spotted Dean collapsed in a chair in the little seating area, endlessly bouncing his knee. “Hey—what’s going on? They wouldn’t let me leave—I almost punched out a security guard,” he said desperately. Sam had fresh stitches in his forehead and he was developing quite the bruise around one eye.

Dean let out a heavy exhale. “They rushed her right into surgery.” Dean rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Are you okay?” he asked, finally looking up to inspect Sam’s stitches.

Sam collapsed into a chair beside his brother. “Fine. They said the concussion is probably mild. Nice to be numbed for stitches for once,” he said, but his eyes kept darting back toward the doors and he was wringing his hands. “Did you hear anything yet?”

“No.”

The Winchesters sat in a heavy silence for almost two hours before a doctor came out.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were becoming so anxious by the lack of anything and the horrible thought in your head that this was it, this was dying, that your heart was absolutely racing in your chest now. Sitting still didn’t seem like a good option, but the thought of trying to move again through all that blank nothingness seemed just as bad. “Hello?!” you yelled once more, this time as loud as you could.

“Hi there.”

You jumped with a startled gasp and spun around, one hand on your chest out of fright and surprise. There was a figure there. He had a small, warm smile on his face and his irises seemed to blaze golden and light brown. It was strange—you felt an overwhelming sense of calm as you looked at him. Your heart rate had slowed to its usual pace and you no longer felt that bubble of rising panic in your chest, threatening to burst. You were keenly aware that in your profession, a seemingly kind face didn’t necessarily mean anything—and yet, he had somehow stopped your wounded whirling.

“Who—who are you?” you asked, finally able to recover from your surprise and find your voice.

His smile widened on one side, curving up in a crooked half-smirk. “Well… I suppose you can call me your guardian angel,” he said.

Your brow only furrowed down in confusion. “Where… are we?”

“Difficult question to answer. We’re nowhere and yet, in some sense… kind of everywhere to you right now.”

The wrinkles on your furrowed brow deepened. “Am I—am I dead?”

He threw his head back and laughed heartily, while you merely looked on in perplexity. “Now, what kind of guardian angel would I be if that were the case?” he asked you. He suddenly stuck a hand into his pocket and pulled out a large Twix candy bar, bouncing a little unconcernedly on his toes. He opened it and took a big bite, before meeting your eyes again.

“I’m sorry—but who are you?” you asked again.

He let out another small chuckle and you watched as the corners of his eyes crinkled this time in a broad smile, but he still didn’t give you an answer.

“If I’m not dead, what exactly is happening?”

He tilted his head a little and looked at you for a long moment. “Do you remember that man in the bar?”

And suddenly it was like you were there—sensory overload. You could hear the drone of the music in the background and smell that heady scent of beer… And there was the man. You saw his face clearly, and now you saw that he had been watching you.

“I see him,” you said, and suddenly you were back in the white space. “Saw him.”

The figure nodded. “Well, he wasn’t just a guy in the bar.”

Now, you tilted your head a little in an unspoken question and your eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“He was the thing you were hunting. And he figured out that you were hunting him.”

As soon as he said it you heard a crack like thunder and a flash like hot, white lightning. Your body jolted and there was a searing pain in your stomach. You looked down saw an expanding circle of dark crimson on your shirt, and when you pressed a hand to it your fingers came away stained bright red, sticky with blood. Now when you looked back up at the figure he wasn’t smiling anymore and there was no sign of the candy bar or wrapper. He raised two fingers and snapped, and the searing pain disappeared along with the scarlet stain on your shirt.

“Sorry about that,” he said. His voice now was lacking the playful lilt it had before. It was soft and serious. “That can happen from time to time. Reality leaks in a little bit.”

Suddenly, you understood and then you remembered. You had heard his footsteps behind you, first at a distance and then quickly, running. You had turned and then… the crack of the gun going off and echoing in the lonely parking lot—the flash of the muzzle. More gunshots, must have been Sam and Dean shooting back—they had been ahead of you going to the Impala. But you were already on your knees, bleeding, clutching your stomach and struggling to see anything through the searing pain.

“He shot me,” you said.

“He did,” the stranger said.

“But I’m alive?”

“Yes.” A long silence stretched where you both just looked at each other, and you were reeling from the implications.

“So, is this real or all in my head?” you asked him.

He smiled again, just a small one, and it lit fireworks of light off in his eyes. They were mesmerizing. “Why can’t it be both?” he asked. “We’ll be seeing each other again. I promise.”

“But—wait!”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Sam and Dean both jumped to their feet when the surgeon came out through the swinging doors and eagerly ran to meet her.

“Y/N is going to make it,” she said. The brothers both heaved huge sighs of relief. Sam crumpled half over and put his hands on his knees, forcing in air. Dean shut his eyes and clenched a hand into a fist. “She’s very, very luckily to be alive. The bullet lacerated her liver and she lost a lot of blood but it missed her hepatic artery by mere millimeters. If that had been hit, she would have bled out in minutes,” the surgeon said. Sam straightened back up stiffly and exchanged a look of horror and desperation with Dean. “She’s in critical condition and we will keep her in the ICU until she is more stable, but she’ll be okay. Thank goodness you two got her here so quickly,” the surgeon said.

“Thank you,” Dean said forcefully.

“Yes, thank you so much,” Sam added. The surgeon nodded and headed back through the doors. The Winchesters stood there in silence after the doctor left until finally Sam broke it.

“That was way too close,” he said.

Dean swallowed hard at the lump in his throat, but it wouldn’t lessen. “Way too damn close,” he said, his voice breaking a little. He wandered back over to collapse into the chairs. Sam sank down next to him and glanced over at his big brother.

“At least the shifter is dead,” Sam said. “Yeah. But we still have to deal with the cops,” Dean growled. “Afterall, we did kill someone in a parking lot…”

“There was surveillance at the bar. It was clear self-defense. We have nothing to worry about,” Sam reassured him.

“Well, not nothing,” Dean said. “You know what a pain in the ass it is going to be trying to keep Y/N from doing anything to heal up?” A faint touch of a smile reached his eyes as he looked over at Sam.

He nodded. “She is a Winchester.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were finally moved from the ICU, and Sam and Dean snuck in early, even before visiting hours, so they could be there when you woke up. Sam had a huge bouquet of sunflowers on his lap and Dean had brought your favorite herbal tea. You woke up slowly, still a little foggy from all the painkillers, but you immediately sensed the two figures in your room. Sam noticed you stirring first.

“Hey,” he said sitting up. His voice was soft but you could hear the smile in it. “You’re awake,” he said, climbing to his feet and coming to stand beside your bed. “Brought you something to brighten up the room. I know they’re your favorite,” he said, setting down the huge bouquet on the side table.

You blinked heavily a few times and managed a weak smile at him, “Thanks. It’s good to be up and have my room brightened,” you said. You put your hands down on the bed and tried to sit up a little more but immediately winced and hunched over, a hiss of breath drawn in through your teeth, drawing concerned looks from your older brothers.

Dean was immediately at your other side. “How are you feeling?” he asked. His voice sounded extra gruff to your ears, and you knew it was likely due to worry.

“I’m doing well for someone who has staples holding their guts in,” you said dryly, a small wry smile creeping onto your face. Neither of your big brothers laughed. “Oh, come on! I’m kidding!”

Dean swallowed at the lump and tightness in his throat again but it didn’t abate. “Really though? How’s your pain?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine. Really. You can stop giving me those classic Winchester furrowed brows. I’m okay. They have me on the good drugs,” you added with a small smile. You noticed the paper cup clutched in Dean’s hand. “Is that for me?”

“Oh, yeah. Your favorite tea.”

You grinned at him and accepted the cup. “Thank you.”

Sam sighed heavily beside you, and you could sense your brothers exchanging a glance. “Listen, Y/N…” Sam started. You lowered the cup from your lips and looked at him.

“Stop,” you said holding up a hand. “Before you say anything else, I need to say something.” You struggled to find the words. You wanted, no—needed them to hear every word you were about to say. “This is not your fault,” you said, deliberately turning your eyes to Dean and catching his green ones. “I mean it. This was bad luck. It could have been any of us. I was just the slowest walking to the Impala. My legs are a lot shorter than yours,” you joked. “Alright?” A heavy, thick silence held the room in suspension, feeling like a stifling summer evening heavy with humidity. “I mean it. None of us saw this coming. It isn’t anyone’s fault except the dickhead who shot me.”

Sam was staring at your face and you caught his eyes, which were a little sad and glistening more than they should have been for the light. “We’re your big brothers though,” he said. “We’re supposed to protect you.”

“We thought we lost you,” Dean said.

“But you didn’t,” you retorted. “And you did protect me—you saved my life. They said if you had waited for an ambulance I might not have made it.”

Dean’s jaw clenched and you watched the muscle in it twitch. “Did they tell you?” he asked you, his green eyes holding yours—and you saw fear there, something you rarely saw in his eyes—not that it was never there. He just never let you see it. “Millimeters and it wouldn’t have been fast enough.” You looked down at your hand on the comforter of the hospital blanket.

“Yeah, about that, actually…” you started. Sam’s brow creased even more in the middle. “There’s something else that happened I need to tell you about.”

“What is it?”

“I think while I was in surgery—or maybe even before, I don’t know for sure—but I saw something,” you said, wrapping both your hands around your paper cup again, soaking in the warmth of the tea.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, apprehension growing with every word your spoke.

“It’s kind of hard to explain. I was in this pure white room… and at first there wasn’t anything there. It was just empty but then this… figure appeared.” Your brothers watched your eyes grow a little distant.

“A figure?” Sam repeated. You looked up at him and nodded.

“I asked him who he was and he told me that I could call him my ‘guardian angel’,” you said, now looking over at Dean and trying to read his reaction. His face seemed to darken and you watched the muscle twitch in his jaw again.

“It was probably just your brain trying to process what was happening to you,” Sam offered. “You almost died. The mind does crazy things when the body is in shock—trust me, I know,” he said sincerely. “And so does Dean.”

You shook your head. “No,” you said, vehemently. “It wasn’t that. It wasn’t. It was real. I’m telling you; it was—” you sighed heavily, not even knowing how to explain without sounding stupid. “—it was happening in my head but this figure, I don’t know… There was something about him. I think he really exists,” you said.

“Did he say anything else?” Dean pressed you.

“I asked him who he was and then I asked him where we were and he said something like, ‘We’re nowhere and yet, in some sense everywhere.’ Whatever the hell that means,” you said, fiddling with the sleeve on your hospital gown. You hesitated, knowing the next question you asked would be hard for your brothers to hear. “Um. And then I asked him if I was dead… and—it was the strangest thing. He laughed and he made some joke about it.”

“He made a joke? What the hell?” Sam repeated.

Dean shook his head. “What kind of joke?”

“Like, ‘oh, how good of a guardian angel would I be if you were dead?’ Oh! And it gets weirder… then he reached in his pocket and pulled out a candy bar.”

Now, Dean and Sam both straightened up involuntarily and looked at each other long and hard in some kind of silent communication. “What? What is it?” you asked. “Come on. Don’t do the silent, telepathic thing. I hate when you do that,” you said.

Sam swallowed hard. “What did this figure look like?” he asked.

You tried to call up an image of him in your mind, and as soon as you shut your eyes you could see him as clear as day. “He has sort of warm brown hair. It’s a little shorter than yours, Sam, kind of swept back. And he has these—these eyes that look like they’re golden brown or amber. A little stubble on his face and he has this cheeky sort of little smile…” You opened your eyes again and looked at your brothers. Their expressions made it quite clear they knew exactly who you were describing.

Dean ran a hand over his face and licked his lips. “You said he pulled out a candy bar?”

“Mhm. I wouldn’t get that detail wrong,” you said.

Sam shrugged and his eyebrows lifted. He shook his head, a little disbelieving.

“What?” you repeated, looking between your brothers. “Who is it? What’s going on?” You were met with stony silence again. “If you two don’t tell me right now I’m going to climb out of this bed and if my stitches rip out it WILL be your fault!”

Dean sighed heavily again. “Alright! Alright! Calm down, turbo!” You sunk back against your pillows again. “Yeah, I think we know who you saw. But—I mean—” Dean looked to Sam who shook his head again, apparently having no explanation. “It doesn’t make any sense.” You gave a questioning look.

“We knew him. Before we knew about you. It was definitely not your mind inventing this, but—he’s dead as far as we know,” Sam said.

Now it was your turn to gulp at the tightness in your throat. “Dead?” you repeated. Sam nodded.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “It’s complicated.”

You laughed sardonically and let your head fall back against your pillow, feeling suddenly tired. “Isn’t it always with us?”

“You’re tired. You obviously need to rest so we can talk about this later,” Dean said, putting a hand gently on your shoulder.

“What?! No! You’re not just gonna say that and expect me to be able to—to sleep!” You looked between your brothers in annoyance. “I’m serious! Cough it up! If you think I’m giving the two of you time to concoct some bullshit cover story you have another thing coming.”

Sam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright. Just—relax. We don’t need you getting all worked up… You remember that trickster we told you about? Way before we found out about you?”

“The one who made you watch Dean die over and over again?”

“Yes, exactly,” Sam said.

“…Wait, you think that figure I saw was this—this trickster? That’s way too powerful for a—”

“He wasn’t a trickster,” Dean interrupted. “He was an archangel playing at being a trickster.”

Your jaw dropped open. “What?”

“Gabriel. It was the archangel Gabriel,” Sam said. You stared at him like he was insane. And then you looked over at Dean, who was refusing to look at you and instead staring, brooding, at his boots, chewing on his lower lip.

“Pardon my French but fucking--Gabriel?? THE Gabriel?”

Sam nodded. He could see your mind starting to spiral. “Whoa, whoa, whoa—he said he was my ‘guardian angel’. You don’t think he was being serious, do you?”

Dean shrugged. “We don’t know. We don’t even know if he’s back. He’s supposed to be dead. Sam and I basically watched him die. Besides, just because he said something like that doesn’t mean anything. He loves goofing around,” Dean said, and you heard some bitterness still in his voice.

“I don’t think saving my life is goofing around,” you retorted.

“We don’t know for sure that he did that,” Sam said. “We need to be careful here. There could be some other agenda. I mean, he was dead. So, if he is actually back that is a big enough mystery right there to warrant being concerned. Resurrections tend to have a catch.”

“I didn’t even know archangels could die,” you said, a little sadly. “Why did he—?"

“He died to save Dean and I,” Sam said. You let out an exhale in an audible rush of air. “Y/N, did he say anything else?”

Now you couldn’t think. Your mind was spinning. You pressed your palms over your eyes. “Umm, yeah he—I asked him if I wasn’t dead what was happening and he walked me through the shooting. The guy in the bar… the parking lot—” you suddenly shuddered and your eyes flew wide open. You pressed one hand over your incision.

“You okay?” Sam put a hand gently on your arm.

“It was like I was there. I could see everything as if in the actual moment. I saw the man in the bar watching us. I heard him running up behind me when we were in the parking lot. And then I could feel it again…” You trailed off and the room stayed silent for a long moment, each of you grappling again with how close to true disaster and devastation you had all come. Sam reached out and grabbed your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“But he just snapped his fingers and it was gone—the pain and everything.” You looked over at Dean. “I heard more gunshots—after I was shot. Did you and Sam—?”

Dean nodded solemnly. “We got him. He’s gone.”

That answer was weighty. You were glad that he was gone, but you wondered about the implications. “Are you and Sam going to get into trouble? I’m guessing there is an investigation and—you killed someone. What if—” Dean smiled fondly at you and chuckled a little. “Are you really worried about that? You almost died, and you’re worried about Sammy and me dealing with the cops? It’s all taken care of, okay? There were surveillance cameras in the lot. They caught everything. It was a clear case of self-defense. Don’t worry.”

You nodded and let out a relieved sigh. “Good. That’s really good. Who is going to wait on me hand and foot if the two of you are in jail?” you joked.

“Y/N,” Sam said, his tone again serious. “What else did Gabriel say?”

“Right. Umm, I asked him what was happening if I wasn’t dead—if it was real or all in my head. He said ‘Why not both?’ and then he told me—” you suddenly remembered his last words to you and the beeping on the heart monitor increased to match the rushing of your heart. You gulped. “He said we would be seeing each other again. What do you think that means?”

Sam shook his head and looked to Dean, whose face was stern and serious. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think it was really Gabriel?” you asked. “I mean, it could have been something else pretending to be him, couldn’t it?”

Sam rubbed a hand over the center of his chest, where a tightness seemed to be taking hold. “I don’t know. We don’t know. But you should get some rest now. Dean and I will look into this, okay?”

They both kissed your forehead and made sure you were comfortable against your pillows before retreating to the hallway, hoping that you would take their advice and get some sleep while they investigated.

Dean pulled out his phone and pressed the speed dial number for Cas, who was back at the bunker. Cas answered on the first ring.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, hey. Sammy and I are just leaving the hospital.”

“How is Y/N?”

“Well, you know, as good as can be expected. She seems to be in good spirits though.”

Cas breathed a sigh of relief into the phone. “Good. That’s very good news. I feel so… useless,” he said a little quietly.

“I know,” Dean replied. “But there’s nothing to be done about that right now. And none of this is your fault.” There was a beat of silence where Dean guessed Cas was still wishing as hard as he could that he would somehow magically regain his angel mojo. “Hey, listen, though… there does seem to be something else strange going on…”

“What do you mean?” The angel’s voice immediately deepened with worry.

Dean ran a hand back through his hair. “Y/N said when she was unconscious that she had some sort of dream or vision or something. She is fairly convinced that it really happened.”

“Okay…” Cas’s voice was uneasy.

Dean quickly related the whole story to Cas with as much detail as he could remember, but purposely omitted the key moment—the candy bar. “This figure claimed to be her guardian angel.” “Well, that is odd because the human idea of a ‘guardian angel’ is quite rare in actuality. Only a very, very small number of humans would ever be given that kind of special protection and they would have to be very important.”

“Right. But we asked her to describe who she saw and guess who it was?”

“Dean, you know I don’t like guessing games—”

“Frickin’ Gabriel. The archangel.” Dean waited for Cas to say something but the line was quiet. “Cas? Cas, are you still there?”

On the other end, standing in the front room of the bunker, there was a very good reason Cas was silent.

“Hello, brother.”

Standing before him was the very being Dean had just mentioned.

“Oh, why don’t you just go ahead and tell Dean-o you need to call him back.”

Cas was so shocked that he gulped and did just that without thinking.

“Cas, wait! What’s—” Dean let out an annoyed sigh and Sam’s brow contracted low over his eyes.

“What was that?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Cas just hung up on me all of a sudden. He sounded weird,” Dean mused, frowning down at his phone. He redialed Cas’s number but it simply rang and rang.

Back in the bunker, the angel stared in shock at Gabriel. “Wow. What exactly have you done to yourself, brother? I mean, I was never a big fan of the trench coat but even that was better than this,” Gabriel said with a grimace, taking in Cas’s sweatshirt and jeans. “Yikes. But, I’ll admit I do kind of dig the scruffy look you’ve got going on with the beard.”

Cas’s dark eyebrows were casting a heavy shadow over his cobalt eyes. “Gabriel… How—how is this possible?” he asked, stepping back slightly. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Well, I was dead. Dead as a door nail. But—then, all of a sudden, I wasn’t,” he said. He walked casually over to the table and hopped up to sit on it.

“What—” Cas gulped anxiously. “How?”

“Beats me. Dad up to his old tricks again if I had to guess. I was given some specific instructions though…” he added mysteriously.

Cas didn’t say anything and just studied him. He seemed to be quite the same Gabriel that Cas remembered. “What were they?”

“Oh, come on, Cas! You never did have much flair for the dramatic. You really think I’m just going to sit here and tell you? No, no, no… especially when you’re the only one here…” he said, glancing around. He jumped back down onto his feet. “Listen, don’t bother calling those flannel-swaddled jawlines back—first of all because your phone is broken—”

Cas glanced down at the screen on his phone and it was cracked and did not light when he pressed the button on the side. He gave the archangel an annoyed look.

“And second of all, because they will know when it’s time for them to know. Which, by my calculations, will be when they get back here in three to five days once Y/N is able to leave the hospital.”

“Dean said she saw you when she was unconscious or… dying,” Cas said. It was hard even to get the word out.

Gabriel smiled. “Did he now? How interesting, don’t you think?”

Cas was getting irritated with him for playing coy. “Enough, Gabriel. Did you save her life?”

He pointed to himself. “Did I? Y/N had some sort of vision of a mystic figure? Sounds like a classic near-death experience to me. Who’s to say if it really happened at all?” He smiled serenely at Cas again. “Where is Y/N’s room? This way?” he asked, pointing down the hallway. Cas frowned at the question but Gabriel only took off in that direction.

“Gabriel,” Cas called after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t have my grace but you do. Why don’t you go heal Y/N now?”

Gabriel gave Cas a doubtful look. “Yeah, I’m sure that miracle would go completely unnoticed by the hospital staff… Look, brother, as much as I would like to simply go and fix her, take away all the ouchies, I can’t yet. Y/N is going to have to wait until she’s released.”

Despite his usual playful tone, Cas thought he saw real concern in his brother’s eyes while he spoke of you. “Well, is it true?”

Gabriel was continuing his hurried walk down the hall, poking his head into every room to see if it was yours. “Is what?” he asked carelessly over his shoulder.

“You told Y/N you were her guardian angel!”

Surprisingly this stopped him in his tracks and he turned to face Cas, his lips pressed together into a thin line. “Castiel, you know how rare that is. I mean, they hardly exist. Only a handful over all the millennia,” he said softly. There was a strange light in his eyes and Cas studied his expression carefully.

“That didn’t answer my question.”

And in response to that, Gabriel only smiled.

Part 2

[arsonistslut]

Chapter 9: Reminders of Tragedy

"Hey, Jane!"

"Hey, Ingrid! How is my favorite person in the world?"

Jane's girlfriend of a good 9 years now happily walked over and kissed her on the cheek, beaming as she always seemed to do whenever she looked at her lover.

"Amazing now that you're here. Hey, you wanna go to that party Randy's having at his house tomorrow?"

"He's having a party? I didn't figure him the partying type."

"Despite the whole business parents thing, he is a real party animal. Hey, you know what's weird about the party?"

"What is?"

"He invited that Jeff guy there..y'know, that creep with the Conduct Disorder?"

She gestured to the tall, dark clothed young adult that sat alone at a lunch table nearby, playing with a switchblade.

"Hey, I remember him being pretty nice.."

"Remember him? You two date at some point?"

"We did, actually, wayyyy back."

Jane smirked when she saw the look of surprise and pride on Ingrid's face when she realized she guessed right.

"What was he like?"

"He was a sweetheart. Cheesy, but a sweetheart. Hell, even cheesier than me."

"Jane, you've carved our names into multiple trees. There's no out-cheesing that."

"Oh, you wouldn't believe how we met, either. My dad was out mowing the lawn, and he accidentally ran over a rock and it hit Jeff in the head."

"Oof, that sounds bad.."

"I visited him in the hospital with my parents one time, and I will never forget what he said to me as a pick-up line."

"What did he say?"

Jane cleared her throat, before trying her darndest to do an impression of a young Jeff.

"Did you come from heaven? Because you look like an angel!"

Ingrid couldn't help but let out a giggle as she quickly pulled Jane into her arms.

"Aww, that sounds so cute!"

"It was!"

Jeff himself was hearing this conversation from afar, the little tricks he played with his knife not an adequate distraction from the constant reminder of what could've been.

"I don't think he handled our breakup too well..nobody really wanted to treat him as anything other than a freak after his diagnosis went public. One time, I heard him ranting to his brother about how it was hypocritical of the school to do a health topic on depression when they wouldn't stop judging him for his CD."

"Sheesh, it sounds like he's been through a lot..poor kid could use a friend."

"It doesn't really look like he wants any. Liu isn't sitting with him..that's weird, Liu always sits with him."

"Prolly had an argument or something, you know siblings."

"Yeah.."

The day continued without incident, Jeffrey getting home at the same time as usual..yet his mind was not thinking about the party, or school, he was thinking about Jane and Ingrid. Why was Jane so special that she had everything she wanted in life and not him? What crime did he commit that landed him with absent parents, demonization from his peers, and a fucking smile cut into his face? That love, that relationship they had..Jeff came to the conclusion that it was something to be destroyed.

Liu, meanwhile, was..struggling with something. Something he never expected would be a problem in his life. Lately, he began having these thoughts..these violent, awful, intrusive thoughts, thoughts that seemed to be begging to be spoken aloud, the actions they describe seeming to grow more and more appealing as time passed.

Kill Randy.

Maim Keith.

Skin Troy like the cattle he is.

Maybe if he gave the thoughts an identity, they'd be easier to handle, he thought as he thought of a name for these urges..one stood out from the others. Not at all goofy, but not as laughably edgy as the other options.

Chapter 10: Enter Sully

Liu ended up speaking to Sully for the entire night..and even into the morning. When Jeff woke up the next morning, he could already hear Liu downstairs talking with..someone.

"It's sad, really..so concerned about themselves..no time spared for you."

"I-I guess..but they've got more important things to worry about.."

"Child, they do not have a thought in them about you. They're all self centered egomaniacs that would rather get pushed around by a genetic failure of a human rather than do anything about their situation!"

"That's not true, Sully! You're lying!"

A horrible growl soon came from the room.

"We are friends, child! Friends do not lie to each other, do they?"

"I..I guess not..goodbye for now, Sully."

"Where are you going?"

"I..I need some time to think."

Liu got back up, jumping from fear when he saw his brother staring at him.

"Holy shit, Jeff! You scared me!"

"I bet."

Awkward silence soon filled the dining room where they stood.

"Hey, Jeff...?"

"What?"

"I'm..sorry about punching you, and saying all that shit about you. I shouldn't have done that."

"No shit, Sherlock."

The elder brother turned around and began walking back up to his room, but not before his brother called out to him.

"Hey..is there any way I could make things up between us?"

"You could make things up by not betraying my trust again. You're all I've got, Liu..don't pull a Jane and fuck it up for me."

Liu always did question that grudge Jeff held for his ex, after all, he chatted with her in the past, and it always seemed like she genuinely enjoyed what her and Jeff had, and she always felt bad for leaving him like that. Hell, it sounded like it was as painful for her to leave him as it was for him to find out that his girlfriend left him. He was tempted to point that out, but he feared ruining things with his brother again.

"Alright.."

Chapter 11: A Hell of A Party

When Jane and Ingrid rounded the corner home, they found..a disturbing sight. A dead raccoon laying in the middle of the street, it's guts ripped out of it's body and thrown aside, Jeff gleefully pawing through the freshly murdered animal, childishly gawking and giggling over the corpse.

"Hey, Jeffrey! What happened here, what the fuck did you do?!"

Ingrid cried out to the blood-soaked kid, who looked up at her, confusion riddling his bloodied face.

"I killed a raccoon. It's not like anyone's gonna miss it."

"Why, you little-"

Ingrid slapped Jeffrey right across the face, knocking him to the ground as Jane held her girlfriend back and tried to keep the situation from escalating any further.

"What the hell was that for?!"

"You killed a helpless animal, you freak!!"

"I oughta kill you next, you piece of-"

Woods choked on his own spittle as he made his threat, never having been particularly..elegant with his words.

"Oh, really?! I'll kick your teeth down your fucking throat!"

"I swear to God, I'll strangle you with your own fucking intestines!!"

When Jeff reached for his switchblade, Jane panicked and grabbed her lover's hand, running off with her as Woods continued to scream at them.

"Your last words better be some Mark Twain shit, because it's going on your tombstone!! You hear me?!"

That experience was all on Jane's mind as she watched Jeff steadily get more and more wasted by the bonfire outside as time went on, at least, what glimpses she could catch of him when she wasn't busy dancing with the other students. Randy was also outside, reluctantly playing Truth Or Dare with the others as well as his increasingly hot and bothered enemy.

"Ok, Jeff!"

"Whaddup, baby?~"

"Truth or dare?"

"Dare, hit me with the worst ya got!"

"Slow dance with Randy."

"What the-no! I'm straight as a arrow, dude!"

"So is spaghetti until it gets wet~"

"Jeff, never say that again."

"C'mooooon, do the dare, ya pussy~ I don't bite!~"

Woods took his time getting up, but still had enough cognitive function to put on Grover Washington Jr's "Just The Two Of Us", to try and improve the mood, but Randy still wasn't having any of it. In a last ditch effort to try and seduce Randy, Jeffrey just..up and took his shirt off. That'll get things going, right? No, it didn't. Despite some swooning from some of his classmates, Randy himself didn't want any part of this. He was a few drinks deep as well, so in a drunken haze, he grabbed one of the bottles of booze they had, took a running start, and smashed it right over Jeff's head. The problem with that is that they were only a couple feet away from a bonfire, so when Jeff stumbled backward, he fell right into it, the alcohol on his exposed flesh quickly igniting. He quickly burst into flames, screaming and running off as the fire quickly seared his body, every remaining nerve ending he had that wasn't burnt away shocking his body with waves of pain. He could feel his scalp burning up once his hair was scorched away, finally finding solace in a nearby puddle that put out the flames. Jeff could see his life flashing before his eyes..his family, his brother..that was all he could see. As Randy and the other students' screams of horror faded away, Woods silently cursed himself for not doing anything more with his life..a single bloody tear rolled down his face as he shut his eyes for what he believed would be the last time.

Chapter 12: The End Of The Beginning

Suddenly..he was in some sort of void. The ground beneath him was black as pitch, and footsteps began to grow ever closer to him. When Jeff looked to see who was approaching, he found no earthly being waiting for his attention. When he laid his eyes on whatever approached, the previously totally dark void began to turn a sickly red. What stood before him was a monster unlike any other, an otherwordly monster many believed to be a mere tall tale.

HE COMES.

[mimiwrites2000]

Legends

Chapter Nine ~

AO3 ~~

Pairings: Armin x Annie/ Eren x Mikasa (other pairings will be added as the story goes on)

Words count: 3157

* spoilers for chapter 127 and up

Summary:

an injury

a miracle

an understanding

and maybe 'everything happens for a reason' holds some truth in it, and all of it leads to that tingle of emotions with unsolvable maze that hypnotize its victims

~a story of broken hearts who are searching for a cure while mending each other’s wounds

“You did what?!” Armin’s eyes widened, he thought he didn’t hear right because there was no way Eren actually-

“I asked her to marry me,” Eren said once again, not turning or moving in the slightest.

“Are you fucking serious?!” Armin paced around, his hands on his head, his eyes flickering to Eren then to the sky then to the ground.

“What were you thinking?” Armin asked, appalled and at the same time grateful that he was the one in this situation; not Jean. Armin took two steps forward, sat beside Eren, more like dropped beside him, and for the first time got a good look of his face.

Eren’s beard was growing out, though uneven; some places on his chin were empty, or did he pluck these hairs out? His hair was growing past his shoulders. He had a poker face on, and that frustrated Armin even more.

“Did you really…” Armin said through his teeth, surprised that his own voice sounded breathy and compressed, “d-did you really think she’d just… she’d just say yes?!”

Eren didn’t respond, but he did fidget for the first time, and Armin could tell that he was getting uncomfortable. Armin wanted Eren to beg the earth to split and swallow him.

“Eren, you’re… you’re…” Armin was trying to look for a suitable word, but his mind went blank, and he couldn’t think of anything to say, so he blurted out: “y-you’re stupid!”

Eren cracked a smirk at that, the corners of his eyes crinkled, and Armin noticed that his eyes were blood shot, just like Mikasa’s.

“Okay, uh, w-what else did you say to her?” Armin asked, both his hands on his head, ruffling his hair.

Eren took a few seconds to answer, as if he was having trouble remembering: “I apologized to her.”

“Yeah no shit! You don’t say you actually did that!”

Eren didn’t reply to Armin’s sarcastic comment, instead he watched the stream, a golden fish was thrashing its tail against the flow, fighting versus the undeterred water, flipping on its back countless times.

Armin wanted Eren to look him straight in the eyes and tell him that all of this is a joke, but Eren didn’t, and Armin had no idea what he was supposed to do with him.

“At least… you could’ve at least waited! you can’t just straight up ask her that. God, Eren I know you’re a hopeless romantic, but that’s just… stupid!”

“Well, I don’t really know what to do!” Eren said, exasperation interfering with his monotone voice.

“You could’ve asked for advice, dammit!”

“Advice?”

“I don’t know! Anything! But not straight up proposing!” Armin took a deep breath, “you know Jean is waiting for a chance to kill you, and you just gave him the perfect opening.”

“You think he’s better for Mikasa, don’t you?” Eren asked out of nowhere, chewing on the inside of his cheek, making his cheekbones prominent.

“I…” started Armin, but he didn’t know how to finish his sentence, “I don’t know…”

“We both know that Jean would treat Mikasa better, he’d never hurt her like I did,” Eren hugged his knees to his chest, burying his face between them, he looked small and weak.

Armin’s lips opened the tiniest bit at how Eren’s hunched back reminded him of their days on the streets, before they joined the training corps. Back then, Eren was just a weak kid with anger boiling inside of him.

Chaotic times, but much simpler than these days.

Armin closed his eyes, let out a long sigh, then said: “Jean would never hurt Mikasa in any way, everyone knows that.”

Eren sank more into himself.

“But,” Armin continued, “it’s not about Jean, it’s about Mikasa, she’d never want to be with Jean, because…” Armin rolled his eyes over his own feeble choice of words, “everyone knows… how much she cares for you.”

After a few moments of silence, Eren sighed, the sigh weighted and labored, then he whispered: “I’m not begging for atonement, what I did is… irredeemable, but…” He threw his hands in the air, “Mikasa has nothing to do with it! I-”

Eren stopped, he looked at his hands, those hands that did horrible, atrocious acts. Red moisture oozed from between his fingers, tracking down a path of crimson down his wrist.

Thud, thud…

They dripped on the dirt, puddling into a damp darkened spot.

Eren swallowed and shook his head; this is not real. He lowered them, tilting his head down to his feet, and whispered: “I just want to make it up for her…”

The sounds of the stream accompanied with the wind rustling the leaves, creating a harmony, a tone orchestrated by nature… forming a relatively calming blend.

“Would you forgive me?” Eren asked, his eyes not wavering from the rocks underneath his shoes.

Armin wondered; would he be able to forgive Eren? Can he forget what happened and move forward?

Did he want to forgive Eren?

Armin’s eyes darted to the stream, the golden fish was still fighting the current, writhing in the water, until another golden fish wrestled its way to it, then nudged it with its head several times. Then, both turned and swam together with the stream, further away from Eren and Armin, where the water wasn’t violent, but it was tranquil and undisturbed.

“I’ll try…” Armin finally answered, still watching the trace of the two golden fishes. He confessed these words from the bottom of his heart, no lies, just a naked truth.

“Thanks…” Eren muttered, hugging himself.

Insecurity and uncertainty draped over Eren. Armin gawked at him, dozens of questions swirling in his head about the rumbling, the founder, the past and the future, but at the same time he had the sudden urge to hug Eren and forget all about it. Instead, Armin stretched a hand and patted Eren twice on the back.

“So, uh…” Armin started, the memory he saw also took a considerate space in his mind; the one with himself standing on an altar by the beach, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it, so he dodged his own thoughts and resumed: “did you had a ring?”

Not the best dodge.

Eren snorted, and Armin saw him smiling the first genuine smile in months, if not years.

They spoke with hushed voices, not wanting to disturb the nature around them, and they didn’t get back to the cottage until sunset.

When Armin walked into the cottage with Eren by his side, Jean threw daggers with his eyes at them, Armin rose his eyebrows, gesturing for Jean to not do anything reckless, but he didn’t seem like he planned anything; Mikasa probably told him so.

The next morning, Magath, Hanji and Gabi sat off towards the harbor, leaving the rest with nothing to do but wait.

~~~

Annie had a plenty of time on her hands to observe everyone as much as she wanted.

Connie was remarkably taller; she vividly remembers him being the dwarf of the 104th squad. Jean’s long hair suited him, and he looked older than his age, he looked like the type of guy to live in a fancy apartment and have wine on breakfast on Mondays.

Mikasa seemed… charming, but now it’s more prominent than ever, her hair alone was gorgeous, and Annie wondered how it would look like if it was longer…

Historia was and would always be the goddess.

Annie tried to avoid Levi as much as she could.

Annie talked to Reiner, but they avoided the heavy topics. An inaudible deal was shared between them to never talk about any sensitive matters, to never talk about what happened after she crystalized herself, about Bert’s death…

Eren was completely different too, the eager kid she remembered seems to have never existed. His forests glinting eyes were substituted with dull orbs, dark circles framing them, protruding them, sinking them more into their sockets, however, he seemed to get his spark back the more he spent time with Armin.

And yeah, Armin.

Now the dwarf of the group.

After some time thinking about it, Annie decided, from behind, he looked like a tough man, with broad shoulders, but the moment he’d turn and she laid her eyes on his face, the 15 years old kid with the weakest muscles is all she could see.

Armin’s face never changed, even with his new haircut, his baby face is something that would never change about him.

Armin would catch Annie staring sometimes; when he’d be sitting up the table, Annie would be on the farthest couch tracking each of his movements, and when Armin catches her, he’d smile and continue whatever he was doing.

Annie wondered if he thought of her as a creep.

But one day, Annie was the one to catch Armin staring.

Annie was outside, it was her turn to hang the laundry, and in the middle of it, she turned around and saw Armin standing at the threshold of the cottage, a basket filled with laundry in his hands. Armin’s cheeks immediately flushed red, and he stuttered some intangible words before he thrusted the basket in Annie’s arms and hurried inside.

It seemed that someone else noticed this ‘glances’ contest going on between them.

Mr. Leonhart.

Incontrovertibly, Mr. Leonhart would never be fine with someone he barely knew glancing at his daughter, and what triggered him more is that his daughter was stealing looks at him too.

And that was the same person who ratted his daughter out four years ago.

One evening, Mr. Leonhart followed Armin outside when he left to get wood for the fire.

“Good evening, young man.” Mr. Leonhart greeted.

Armin jumped and the wood he was carrying fell, missing his toes by an inch, he didn’t bend down to pick them up, instead, he stood erected and stuttered out: “O-oh Mr. Leonhart! Good evening t-to you too!”, his voice was a few notches higher.

“I was meaning to talk to you.” Mr. Leonhart said, one hand behind his back, the other clutched around the cane handle.

“Y-yeah sure! Is something wrong?” Armin rubbed his hands together; it was chilly outside.

“No, nothing is wrong… yet,” Mr. Leonhart took a step forward, “I was just thinking that I should inform you that…” He tapped his cane twice on the dirt, “after all of this is over, me and my daughter, Annie, are going back to Marley. We are aiming to compensate all those lost years and live in peace for the rest of our lives.”

Armin didn’t know what Mr. Leonhart expected him to say: “Yeah, sure, I want Annie to be happy-”

“Annie being happy or not has nothing to do with you, or this place.”

Armin’s brain paused, he blinked thrice trying to catch up with what Mr. Leonhart just chucked at him, he wanted to say something but couldn’t risk it, he knew he would stutter and make a fool of himself.

But when Mr. Leonhart turned his back and walked leisurely to the cottage, his chest puffed up despite leaning on his cane for support, the words flew out of Armin’s mouth, as if he had practiced them a million times before: “Annie’s happiness isn’t associated with someone or with a place, her happiness can only come from within herself.”

Mr. Leonhart halted in his steps, turned his head to the side, examining Armin from the corner of his eyes, but he didn’t reply, he merely drew circles with his cane on the dirt, got a better footing for it, and with deliberate steps, headed inside the cottage, leaving Armin standing there, looking down at the wood scattered by his feet.

~~~

Armin kept an eye on Mikasa, and he realized that he was the only one who knew that Eren proposed to her, but everyone was aware that something was up with her; she was distracted all the time. One time, she almost spilled boiling soup all over herself, after it, no one trusted Mikasa with anything that could hurt her.

Jean was the most irritated about this, but each time he tried to talk it out with Mikasa, she’d politely shove him away, and told him that she’s okay.

Jean never believed her.

The way Mikasa would dodge Eren was almost unbearable, she’d sit on the farthest available spot away from him, never look at his direction or acknowledge him in anyway. She would turn around if she crossed paths with him, she would distract herself with the hem of her shirt if the conversation involved Eren.

Until one night…

Just like they got used to; everyone shared the living room as a bedroom. The only two bedrooms were occupied with the two people in need of a bed; Historia and her kid, and Levi.

As always, Mikasa would lay her sleeping bag in the farthest available spot from Eren.

That night, Armin sleeping with Eren on his side, his mind never shut down, his thoughts were buzzing in his head, one time he would be thinking about Mikasa and Eren…

Armin was clueless of what to do with his two childhood friends, a part of him wanted to lock them in a room until they figured it out, but the other part told him to let them be, maybe it was better if he should let them find their way back to each other, even if it would take years.

Another time Armin would think about Annie, he had so many things to tell her, he wanted to sit by her side all day, he wanted to be with her, but some concealed barrier was holding him back.

Something in him told him to stay away.

And what was he supposed to do with her father?

Armin understood where Mr. Leonhart was coming from; Annie is his only daughter whom whereabouts were unknown for nine years. Any father would be protective over his daughter…

But Armin didn’t want any harm to Annie, hell, he would rather hurt himself than see a tear down her cheeks.

Annie went through enough.

She deserved peace.

She deserved happiness.

And if her happiness meant to stay away from Armin, then he would gladly vanish from her life.

Even if it would shatter him…

Armin’s thoughts would jump to Hanji and the rest who still didn’t come back-

Armin heard the shuffling of someone getting up.

Then he saw Mikasa tiptoe carefully across the room, slithering between sleeping bags, and when she got closer to him, he closed his eyes and pretended to be fast asleep.

However, Mikasa didn’t stop by him, she sneaked to the person sleeping next to him.

Eren.

Mikasa slowly lifted Eren’s blanket and slid beside him. Eren stirred, opening his eyes, which widened the moment he saw Mikasa’s eyes right in front of his face, he blinked twice, not sure if he was still dreaming.

“Mikasa…?” Eren whispered, his voice hoarse and thick with sleep, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion, the pupil in his eyes doubling in size, trying to figure out Mikasa’s silhouette in the pitch-black room.

“Yes,” Mikasa said, her voice a little bit louder than Eren’s.

“Yes…?” he asked, then his eyebrows gradually rose up his forehead.

“I mean… if your… proposal… is still up…” Mikasa said, regret seeped into her mind, snickering in a corner, and she started to question if it was too late now to hop back into her sleeping bag.

“Yes!” Eren said, suddenly enthusiastic, shooting up on his elbow, Mikasa put her finger on his mouth, shushing him, then he laid down again and repeated in a lower voice, nodding his head, “yes, yes...”

Eren glanced at Mikasa’s finger on his mouth, and she immediately withdrew it. Her cheeks were heating up with each time her heart pumped blood into her veins, she didn’t know if Eren could see her face, but she was sure he would feel the heat radiating from the embarrassment she inserted herself in.

Eren’s mouth was agape, he couldn’t see Mikasa in the dark, but he saw the unmistakable shiny black orbs of hers. He kept his hands by his sides, his fingers trembling, yearning to run in her hair. Eren wouldn’t want to creep her away, he still didn’t believe if she was by his side or if his desperate desire to hold her close had finally turned him into a lunatic.

“Good,” Mikasa muttered, she sighed and sank deeper into the blankets, Eren only stared at her, and she avoided his eyes because one look at them and she’d really run back to her own sleeping bag.

A moment of silence passed, Eren’s eyes still wide and unbelieving.

After two hesitant failed attempts, Eren wrapped both his arms around Mikasa, and with equal hesitance, she hugged him back, burying her face in his chest, hiding her flaming cheeks.

Armin heard everything, and he was smiling at himself like an idiot, he was using all the power he had to not shoot up and hug both of his childhood friends.

The fog in Armin’s mind cleared up, and slowly the excitement he felt was wearing off, and sleep was taking over him.

That night, Armin slept with a bunch of ‘I love you’s muttered behind his back until they faded out, and everything was tranquil and quiet.

The next morning, it was a shock, to say the least, for everyone to wake up to Eren and Mikasa sleeping on the same pillow, with their bodies pressed together.

It was Historia who found them; she was an early riser and the first to wake up, and when she checked on everyone else, she noticed that Mikasa’s sleeping bag was vacant.

Historia didn’t give it much thought, Mikasa would probably be outside already, working out or something, but when Historia got to where Eren was sleeping, she saw that he seemed… curled on himself, she got concerned if he was in pain, but she couldn’t tell because the covers were over his face.

Historia crouched beside him and slowly lifted the blanket up.

Her squeal woke Armin up.

Armin shot up from his blankets, ready to strike, but froze when he saw Historia peaking at Eren with her eyes even more significant than they already are, her hand covering her mouth.

Historia only motioned between the two heads under the blanket.

A laugh escaped Armin, and it wasn’t at Historia’s childish behavior; he too felt like squealing, but that Eren and Mikasa were in an unstirred sleep to the point where everyone woke up and was staring at them; they didn’t even fidget.

Mikasa wouldn’t look into anyone’s eyes for the next week, probably, Armin thought, folding his blankets.

After the shock wore off, everyone decided that it would be better if they let them sleep some more, they both were undoubtedly sleep deprived for being out of it during all the chaos.

They slept until noon.

.

.

~~~

uh, are you guys enjoying this?

[chaoskirin]

Shipping Real People

Fffff okay. This is not going to be a popular statement. The Pre-TL;DR is: Please be careful when shipping real people. It’s kind of a dangerous game. 

Most people who read my blog know that I’m mostly okay with gen Real-Person Fic (AKA RPF) just because I’ve really never met anyone who wouldn’t want themselves depicted like, riding a kickass galactic unicorn or something. But there’s a couple situations where if the people you’re writing about are actual real people, you need to think twice about writing those things, especially when they get into NSFW territory.

First situation is pretty obvious. Don’t write hate fic. If the entire purpose of your writing is to depict a person meeting their violent end, then don’t. Don’t do it. Not ever. 

Second is shipping. 

It’s at this point where a lot of people check out and start sending anons that are like “DON’T TELL ME WHAT I CAN FUCKIN WRITE, AERYN” but I seriously urge you to keep reading. I’m not going to tell you to stop, but you need to hear this. 

The world is wrapped up in sexuality. It’s almost disturbing to see as an ace person, but sex is everywhere. There’s nothing more important to humanity at this point in time than what is acceptable for “girls,” what is acceptable for “boys,” and who those boys and girls can be with. Most of it is extremely heteronormative, but not all.

To many people, nothing is more intimate or private than their sex life. This is a cultural construct, but it’s extremely pervasive through almost all developed areas. And you really can’t just say “fuck cultural constructs!” and expect everyone in the world to be like “hey yeah! You’re right!” I mean hell, we can’t even get people to agree that actual deadly viruses are bad. You’re not going to get the world to believe that sex and sexuality are no big deal overnight. 

The biggest problem is when fixations on fictional shipping bleed out into real life, and the discomfort it causes the people involved. Fans telling their faves they’re hot together, or that they should kiss, or that they should do other things together is not something you should ever, EVER be doing. Sending fanfic or NSFW fanart is also terrible. And due to the nature of the internet, it’s almost impossible for this stuff to NOT get back to the people involved.

You remember that video where someone was like “this is one grain of rice, this is 10, this is 100,” etc etc, all the way to 10 billion? And how much more unfathomably large 10 billion was to just one billion? I’m bringing this up because our minds cannot comprehend numbers that large without seeing a visual aid. It’s impossible to see that millions of people read and write fanfic and comprehend just how enormous that number is. 

Point is, it’s impossible to get everyone to agree to keep shipping in writing only and not share it with those they’re writing about. There’s innumerable factors that lead to making actors and musicians uncomfortable or ending friendships. Someone, somewhere, is going to fuck it up. Some fan will press their extremely x-rated fic into the arms of their fave when they see them at a meet’n’greet. Some let-me-speak-to-your-manager mom will find NSFW fic online, save it all, and forward it to the person depicted just to say LOOK WHAT PEOPLE ARE DOING WITH YOUR NAME!!!

And you know? Some people are totally okay with this. I happen to know of one who finds it amusing. But a lot of people aren’t, and if you’re going to write really raunchy fiction, you’re also going to have to accept the fact that you run the risk of seriously hurting someone. 

Because a lot of celebrities are extremely hung up on their image and how people perceive them, and for good reason. You can’t say or do certain things once you gain fame. You lose fans. You lose jobs. Sometimes that’s for a good reason. Other times, it’s because vast swaths of people are ignorant sheep and will actually avoid a celebrity because of how they are perceived in media. 

There’s still an incredible number of terrible people in the world who will use anything to attack and hurt. And while we’re waiting and making efforts to change the current cultural bullshit to be more open and accepting, you--again--cannot force the world to change by writing shipping RPF. You can’t write it and say “this should be acceptable and no one should be bothered by this,” because while that’s true, this is also true: your writing has the potential to harm.

The real TL;DR: All I can say is to be careful. Think about what you’re writing. Make sure you don’t get so deep into this fictional AU you’ve created that you feel you have a right to impose it on your faves. The real people you’re writing about have the right to be upset about what you’re writing if it’s sent to them and/or found. 

[shinychxndelure]

Mikoto’s witnessing of the Kagutsu Crater and the subsequent consequences of it.

Ok, this is going to end up extremely long due to my rambling so I apologize in advance for anyone the cut doesn’t work for. I’m going to try and make this as concise as possible, but I’m prone to rambling and going off on tangents, so we’ll see how that goes. Also I’m leaving out my personal headcanons for certain things, and simply going off of the implications canon gives us.

Part One: Family

    I’m including this part because it’s very important to understand him. Mikoto had lost all of his family around the time he was, let’s say, 13-14. His parents died at a young age, leaving him in the care of his grandfather until he too, died. It didn’t matter too much, as his family had been wealthy, so he had all the money he needed to to look out for himself. From a very young age he was mostly dependent on himself. As far as I know, he didn’t have any foster parents. So he was left in what was likely a large house or apartment or what have you for a few years on his own until Kusanagi and Totsuka forced themselves into his life. Until that happened, he was alone. As a still developing child, that alone fucks with his development. The most contact he likely had with people was during his soccer matches, and later on whenever he got into a fight.

    The only real contact he had, and it was violent. There was no love or affection.

Part Two: PTSD

    Now we can clearly tell he has PTSD, as throughout the series he continually has disturbing nightmares and certain reactions just Don’t make sense if you don’t pick up on this detail. He was only 10 years old when he was what was essentially a nuke tear a crater in Japan. He was quite literally out the outskirts of the things, too. Given how this was an extremely traumatic experience, his emotional, academic, and memory suffered. Even before he awakened as King, he never properly expressed himself, rarely attended his classes and is shown having trouble remembering small things here and there.

    His habit of getting into fights with people was most likely due to needing to feel that adrenaline rush so he could make himself feel alive, like he was a person. He never really understood how or why people acted like they did, and he could never properly express himself either. So fighting was an extension of himself and how he could express himself, too.

    Mikoto very clearly also has difficulty maintaining relationships with people, and feels very detached from everyone in his clan. Including his two best friends. He forces himself to feel numb about things, to the point he can’t genuinely express happiness or joy. Sure he’ll get amused by things and smile or chuckle, but he never really goes beyond that.

Part Three: Nightmares, depression & destructive urges

    Mikoto is routinely plagued by nightmares (of both the crater, and he himself causing ANOTHER crater), practically every time he sleeps. Sure, sometimes he isn’t, but the bad outweighs the good. Not only does he sleep to better control his Aura, it’s also due to the fact he rarely gets any restful sleep. And of course, over sleeping is a symptom of depression, so we have a triple whammy here! And even when he’s sleeping, he’s still hypervigilant. You can approach him, and he won’t wake up, but if you have intent to harm, he’ll lash out before he even fully wakes up (as seen when Eric tried to attack him in Memory of Red).

    People who suffer from PTSD often have self destructive urges and behaviours, such as drinking (which Mikoto does!), and smoking (another check!). He’s also plagued by the constant intrusive, destructive urge to destroy everything around him and let go of his control (which would result in many people’s deaths, including his own) Most times, Mikoto will stay in his room above the bar at HOMRA, and needs to be reminded of basic hygiene.

Part Four: Miscellaneous

    I feel like I’ve rambled enough at this point, but still want to include a few other habits of symptoms Mikoto exhibits, so!

Negative thoughts about yourself, other people or the world.

Persistent and exaggerated negative beliefs or expectations about oneself, others, or the world.

Hopelessness about the future.

Irritability, angry outbursts or aggressive behavior.

Social isolation.

[rosegoldannie]

Tell Me no Lies Chapter 19

TW: Kidnapping. Nothing too bad, but this chapter was really intense. This was a lot, so there should be another chapter after this.

Masterlist

“But...That’s impossible!” Aelin stammered, scrambling as far away from Arobynn as the small cars and her seatbelt would allow.

He gave her a sickening grin. “It’s quite possible, my dear girl.”

“She’s not your anything.” Rowan snapped, pulling her closer to him. 

Arobynn sneered at him, looking Rowan up and down before turning to her. “And who is he?” He purred condescendingly. “Your replacement for Sam? How utterly pathetic.”

She let out a slight whimper, leaning into Rowan’s chest. Her roommate spoke in a deep, low voice. “Don’t say his name, asshole. You don’t deserve to have even known him if he was even half as good as she says he was.”

“Shut up.” Their captor snapped, bringing his hand to rest on the butt of his gun. “You’ll be dead soon, and I’ll make it painless if you don’t speak.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself, you piece of absolute shi-”

“I will burn your eyes to cinders while she watches, and you beg and scream and plead for mercy. I can make you wish you had never been born with only my bare hands.”

“STOP IT!” Aelin shouted, dragging her hands through her hair, and shoving that horrible sense of panic that threatened to overwhelm her down. “What do you want from us?!” She snapped. She wouldn't let that panic, that wretched terror control her again.

Arobynn began driving again, but kept one hand on his gun as a threat, and glanced at them in the mirror every few moments. “I’m here to deliver justice.” They wove meticulously through several lanes of traffic, and a sense of dread began to settle deep in her gut. “I’m here to deliver justice for what you did a year ago.” His words hit her like knives in the chest.

Discreetly, Rowan began slipping his phone out of his pocket and sent her a pleading glare, a silent urge for her to stall for time.

“What- Are you serious?!” She snapped. “This is all because of Gregori and Ben?” How he was so furious over their deaths still eluded her. He knew as good as anyone how dangerous being in a drug cartel was, and yet….he still blamed her. And, hell, it wasn’t as if Gregori and Ben were even good workers, because they were mediocre at best.

Arobynn pulled off onto an onramp that led deep into the Oakwald forest. That dread in her gut only worsened as she realized where he was taking them, to that horrid place she had nearly died with Chaol, and where she was all but certain he had killed Sam. “Yes, and no.” He mused. “While I didn’t necessarily care for those two, when you failed to save them, it was the final straw. You failed me one time to many.” Again, he pulled off the onramp onto a hidden side road, leading to nowhere. That terror threatened to resurface, violently thrashing against the miniscule control she had. “I told you that night; when they were first brought into the triage center. I told you that they were to survive, no matter what.”

“And I told you that I couldn’t guarantee that! They had each been shot multiple times-”

“That doesn’t matter!” He roared, the car swerving wildly back and forth as they hurtled down the dirt road. “I gave you an order, and you disobeyed.” Those grey eyes met hers, just as cold and vicious as she remembered.

She sighed, gathering her courage and trying to buy Rowan time. “I tried my best. Really, I did everything I could, but...they were essentially dead on arrival-”

“I don’t care. I had given you an order.” Suddenly, the car screeched to a stop, and their captor whirled around, pointing that gun at Rowan. And Aelin had never known such fear as when he was staring straight down that barrel into all but certain death. It felt as if her life had flashed before her eyes, because she knew damn well that if she lost Rowan, she may as well be dead, because he was her life. He made her want to live, to fight that darkness which was always just a whisper away.

“No, no please! Don’t! I’ll do whatever you want, I swear!” She pleaded, feeling so nauseous it was painful. “Just please, please don’t hurt him.” 

Arobynn ignored her completely, flicking the safety off with one finger. It was then that true fear began to seep into Rowan’s eyes, because there was no hesitation in those grey eyes. “Give me the phone.” He demanded. Rowan only stared him down, defiance raging in his eyes. Again, Arobynn snarled, “Give me your phone. Now.” And again, Rowan didn’t. 

And so he turned that gun on her, and pulled the trigger.

“NO!” Rowan shouted, terror draining his face to a ghostly pale shade, as if he had never once seen the sun.

Aelin screamed, throwing herself away from the smoking bullet hole just a few inches away from her head, as her ears rang loudly. She couldn’t hear the exchange that followed, but the fury on Rowan’s face as he handed Arobynn his phone was palpable. If she hadn’t known him, loved him, she would have been more afraid of the world ending fury raging across his every feature than Arobynn. The red-haired man then barked another order at him, and Rowan gave her a short glance, full of love yet still angry, and exited the car, moving to the front seat. Arobynn said something else, and gestured from Rowan to her.

He then turned on her, and held out his hand.

Reluctantly, she placed her phone in his hand.

Then, he gave them both a long, warning look, and slipped from the car. Immediately, Rowan turned in his seat and leaned over the console, reaching for her. Distantly, she could hear him saying, “Aelin? Aelin are you okay? Can you hear me?” And as the ringing subsided, she nodded.

They watched as Arobynn set their phones onto the dirt which made up this sorry excuse for a road, and shot them each. Rowan let out a sharp curse, and their captor was back. 

“Here’s how this is going to work.” He held each of their gazes for several long moments. “You,” He said, holding Aelin in place with a glare, “are going to do exactly what I say, or else I am going to put a bullet in your boyfriend. If he survives that, I’ll shoot him again. And if he survives that, I’ll kill him the same way I killed Sam. Only worse.”

She let out a whimper, even as she was filled with world-ending fury and hatred, the awful memories of what had happened coming flooding back.

“You do remember what happened to Sam, right?” He mused, feigning sweet, innocent ignorance, even as she nodded. “Well, allow me to refresh your memory. The first thing we did was pull out every single one of his nails, and then his teeth. Then, we hung him by his wrists for a week.”

She let out a wracking sob, pain unlike anything she had ever known crushing down against her, ripping the air from her lungs, and it felt like that night all over again.

“Then, we began burning him. And by god,” Arobyn chuckled coldly, “how that boy screamed. I’d never heard anything like it. Haven’t since. And I can’t blame him. The pain must’ve been unbearable. I mean, to feel your skin slowly cooking and blistering and melting-”

“Stop it!” She begged, hot tears streaking down her face. “You’ve made your point. I’ll do whatever you want, just…just don’t touch him.”

Seemingly satisfied, He nodded. “And you,” He turned, staring down Rowan. “Put these on.” Arobynn snapped, tossing a pair of handcuffs at him, all the while keeping that gun trained on him. Rowan glared furiously, but slipped the metal around his wrists. Arobynn huffed, reaching over and tightening them until he was grunting, and the skin around the cuffs were red and irritated. “And don’t think for one moment that I would hesitate to put a bullet in her head if I thought it would benefit me.”

Rowan couldn’t hide his shock and disgust. “You raised her.”

“And?”

“And you’re willing to kill her for what? For revenge?!”

Arobynn held his gaze for a long moment. “I’ve done more for less.” Rowan shook his head, disgust radiating from him. “What’s up your ass? Don’t act like you wouldn’t kill her if you were offered enough.”

“I wouldn’t. You’re a madman.”

“Then you’re lying to yourself. And they called Einstein a madman.”

“You’re no Einstein. You’re just a killer who’ll eventually cross the wrong person and rot in an early grave, and be forgotten by the world as soon as you leave it.” Rowan’s words were cold, the coldest she had ever heard. “No one will remember you, nor will anyone miss you. Your days are running out.”

Despite everything Arobynn had done, seen, he still had the good sense to look mildly disturbed. He kept one eye on the man in the passenger’s seat for a good while, until he decided that Rowan couldn’t possibly be hiding any sort of weapons on his person.

Once he was satisfied that neither of them were going to try anything, he kept the gun trained on Rowan, and began driving. 

They wound through the woods, taking turn after turn until they were deep within the forest, and the area around them was pitch black. It had been a long while since they had seen any other people or cars. The terror that she had previously suppressed began to creep back up until Aelin was trembling in the back seat with her knees drawn up to her chest, near sobbing at any movement or sound. She was still reeling from the reminder of what had happened to Sam, and the pain he had endured...

Distantly, she heard the sound of running water, and her blood turned to ice within her veins, a sickening feeling settling deep in her gut. And as they grew closer to the water, she saw Rowan tense. He met and held her gaze in the mirror, then he moved.

He was little more than a shadow in the wind, and it was so sudden that Arobynn scarcely had time to react as Rowan lunged across the center console and grabbed the wheel, jerking it sharply. 

The gun went off, and Aelin screamed, expecting to see Rowan covered in blood, gasping and bleeding and dying, but the bullet had gone clean through the roof of the car, missing him entirely. Rowan cursed violently nonetheless, and ripped the gun away from Arobynn, tossing it into the back seat.

And Aelin peered fearfully out of the passenger windows, their surroundings illuminated by the headlights, and saw that they were hurtling down a dock towards a large lake. Instantly she began trying to open her windows, pulling at the child safety locks, knowing the inevitable outcome. But the mechanism had jammed, and so she was stuck trying to find the malfunctioning piece and praying it was something she could fix. When that fell through, she began pounding at the windows with her fists and elbows, but it failed.

Then Arobynn shouted in fury, and Rowan told her to brace herself. So she curled into as small of a ball as her seatbelt would allow, and tried to cover her neck and head. Rowan had thrown his top half over the console to cover her body and protect her from the impact.

And then they flew off the end of the dock, seeming to hover weightlessly in the air for several moments before plummeting into the icy abyss with a roaring crunch.

For the first several seconds, everything was deafeningly silent as they sunk down, down, down, and Rowan only held her tighter, promising that she would be okay. Then they hit the lake bottom, and everything went black.

When she came too, frigid water was flooding in from everywhere, her teeth were chattering horribly, and Rowan was beating against his window as she had been only a minute before, Arobynn having been knocked out by the airbag upon impact. 

“Aelin!” Rowan shouted, pushing himself towards her upon realizing her condition, blood gushing from a nasty cut on his cheek bone. “Are you hurt? Have you broken any bones?”

“I’m fine, you?” She called, fingers raking her now sopping hair away from her face.

“My head’s a little sore, but I’m fine.”

“Okay, that’s good. Probably just a concussion.” Aelin whirled around, scanning for anything she could use to help with Rowan’s cut, when she heard a soft crack, then a whoosh. Water gushed in from where Rowan’s window had been, and was now filling up the car at triple the speed.

“Aelin, we’ve gotta get out of here, okay? I’ll go first and clear the way, but I want you to be right behind me.” She jerked her chin in understanding, but he gripped her shoulder. “I’m serious; I want you right behind me. We’ve got to get the hell out of here and back to the road, understand?”

She nodded seriosly, and watched as he slid through that small opening. He swam a few feet out and turned to wait for her. As soon as his feet had cleared that window, Aelin was making to slide through and swim to the surface, when a strong pair of hands gripped her calves and threw her into the back seat.

She slammed into the seat, gasping upon impact and inhaling a mouthful of seawater, as Arobynn appeared over her, those grey eyes simmering with fury and the promise of death. And when he made to wrap his hands around her neck, she fought like hell, scratching and kicking and fighting and pouring every single ounce of fury and anger and hatred for Sam, her parents and herself into her onslaught.

But it wasn’t enough, because in the end, she was still a petite woman, and he overpowered her after a short struggle, wrapping those hands around her neck and squeezing, forcing her head down into the seat, even as the car became completely filled with water.

Distantly, she could hear Rowan pounding at her window and pulling at the door, but to no avail. 

Even so, she kept fighting, determined that even if she was to die here, so would he. And she became the fire breathing bitch her friends jokingly called her. She kicked, she thrashed. She became a liquid flame, slashing and burning and roaring and maining, even as she thought her lungs would burst, and raked her nails down Arobynn’s face, making to kick him just as her door at last popped open.

In less than a second, Rowan had pulled her from the wreckage and slammed the door on their captor, and they were hauling ass for the surface nearly twenty feet above.

They breached the surface with heavy, sputtering, gasping heaves and coughing wildly. Aelin’s lungs felt as if they were bursting, even as she gulped air down, slapping at the water to stay afloat. Rowan wrapped an arm around her waist, pausing to draw her against him. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked, waves lapping gently against them both as moonlight glittered like diamonds across the surface. He treaded water in place effortlessly, keeping them both afloat, moving towards that sandy shore.

She coughed up more water, her throat and eyes aching. “Yeah, yeah I think so. You?” Her feet hit the sand, and it felt as if the weight of the world crashed upon her.

Rowan tightened that arm around her, taking more of her weight. “I’m fine, here,” He quickly wrapped his now most certainly ruined suit jacket around her, and rubbed her arms to warm her up.

Her teeth chattered violently, her throat tightening again, as if those hands were still wrapped in a horrible grip around her neck. Adrenaline was still coursing through her veins, making her movements short and jerking.

Once they were both sprawled across the sandy bank, she allowed herself a small moment to rest, her eyes slipping closed as her breaths evened slightly.

After an eternity, and not nearly enough time, Rowan let out a stiff groan, and sat up beside her. “I hate myself for saying this, but we have to get going.”

Aelin clenched her eyes tighter. “What? Where?”

He stood gingerly, holding out a hand to her. “Back to where he ditched our phones. I managed to get a call through to the police.”

Eyes widening, she took his hand and allowed him to lift her to her feet. “Wow.” She muttered, giving him an approving smile as they began walking. “And you’re probably right. We have to get going or else we’ll freeze.”

Just through a small copse of trees, they saw flashing red and blue lights.

Comment, reblog or send an ask if you want to be added to my tag list!

A/N: I’m going to write a short fic about a ship in quarantine if that makes sense, and I want you guys to comment ships that you want to to be about.

tag list: @sailorsassley @whiskeybusiness1776 @mad-scientist-pyromaniac @la7sorcellerie @dayanna-hatter@mis-lil-red@aelinfeyreisa @bamchickawowow @togswiftie @teresa-1121@hizqueen4life @aelinchocolatelover @smexyminion@rowaelin-cressworth @illyrianbeauty @angelofmusic81 @rosesandglass@blackjacks-donuts @highlordrhysie @ame223 @sleeping-and-books @seducemewithyourbookcolection @high-lady-rhys @clumsybookworm18  @westofmoon @giorgia-the-trashpanda @burritowithfeels @happily-emma-after @awkward-avocado-s@fanfic-masterpost-site @tonypetersteve @msalazar3 @bookish-beans​​ @terrasen-assassin​ @tntwme​ @lovemollywho​ @sayfic​ @writingyourownfate​

[yandere-daydreams]

A commission for the lovely, patient @rockin-renegade, featuring Izuku/Male!Reader, and a little bit of hornieness, towards the end. I may’ve had too much fun, but in my defense, y’all never give me the opportunity to write for riding crops. 

Word Count: 4.5k

TW: Torture, Physical Abuse, Mental-Break, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Con, and Oral Sex.

Izuku could barely remember how long he’d been dreaming of this moment. 

Sometimes it’d only been a month or two, and on other days, he could swear he’d known you for years, and been in love with you for so much longer than either of your lives could’ve ever spanned. But, he was sure of one thing, as he stared down at the crying, shaking, beautiful sight in front of him.

He knew, for a fact, that he’d never been happier.

You, on the other hand, were sobbing harder than he’d ever seen someone else sob. Izuku couldn’t blame you, really, not when he thought about it. The average civilian wasn’t used to waking up in cold, damp basements, nor did Izuku think you enjoyed being handcuffed to the metal headboard of a cot, a man twice your size leaning over you, one you probably didn’t recognize without his signature mask and suit. It broke his heart, to see how you tried to plead to someone you couldn’t see, the rag around your eyes soaked through and nearly translucent, but Izuku had to stay strong. He knew from the moment he saw you, such a weak little thing, that he would have to be the strong one in this relationship.

Of course, you hadn’t been as accepting of Izuku’s love as he’d hoped, when he first tried to ‘propose’. You’d politely avoided his attempts to get you alone, when he cornered you at your workplace, always having some excuse to busy yourself or a coworker to call you away. When Izuku changed his commute to match yours, you’d simply given the staring man an odd look and moved on, seeming to keep yourself a little farther from him every day. You ignored his gift, burned his love-letters, and on one occasion, yelled at him. He’d been trying to do something nice, trailing after you at a respectful distance as you walked down such a dangerous route, and you had the nerve to yell, threatening to call the police and making him look like some petty villain, rather than the only person keeping you safe. He’d realized you must’ve been scared, confused, that you hadn’t known it was Izuku following you on such a dark night, but…

Fuck, your mumbled words and soft whimpers were like music compared to how your voice had been, that night.

Slowly, Izuku stepped in front of you, smiling despite knowing you couldn’t see him. Right now, you’d be lucky if you could hear his footsteps, with the walls, floor, ceiling, everything in his basement sound-proofed and padded, both for your safety and for his own. Somehow, he was aware of how… strange this might look to someone else, someone who didn’t understand that such an approach was necessary. Your bedroom (your actual bedroom, he wasn’t cruel enough to keep you down here permanently) was the same way. Izuku didn’t want anyone disturbing you, nor did he think the neighbors would appreciate the noises a newly-impassioned couple may, hypothetically, make when left to their own devices.

Regardless, he peeled away your blindfold with a great deal of hesitancy, letting the fabric fall loosely around your neck. Your eyes were already red, blood-shot from crying but as vibrant as ever as you blinked against the new light, taking your time to adjust, but looking around all the same. The pathetic sounds falling from your lips stuttered to a stop as you squinted at the corners of his basement, more confused than you were scared. Izuku didn’t stop you, only smiling when the attention he so craved turned towards him, fighting the urge to wave as you continued to stare. That would be awkard, and Izuku wanted to make this process as seamless as possible.

Instead, his hands stayed at his sides, Izuku almost grabbing for the leather handle hanging from his belt. He stopped himself, just before he could draw attention to it. That was a surprise he didn’t want you to see, not if you hadn’t earned it, yet.

Eventually, though, he was forced to break the silence, taking another step forward, now close enough to touch you. Several things came to mind, when he tried to think of a way to greet you, but cuddles and kisses and confessions should probably wait, at least until you’re in a better position to recuperate. Instead, he attempted to hide the pure excitement racking his nerves, keeping his tone even, calm. Stable, because you needed him to be stable. “Do you know who I am, (Y/n)?”

Your immediate reaction was adverse, lips pursing automatically and feature scrunching up adorably, he couldn’t find a reason to be mad. “You’re… you’re a Hero, right? For the Agency downtown?” He let you think, his smile only growing wider as recognition seemed to spark in your mind. “Deku. You’re Deku.”

He nodded, more enthusiastically than he should’ve. “Yes, Deku!” Thoughtlessly, he moved to hug you, frowning when you only squirmed, leaning towards the wall, trying to get away from him. Again, his hand fell to the leather-wrapped handle hanging at his hip, but he pulled it away before he had the chance to let himself use it. You were scared. He couldn’t blame you for being scared. With a dry swallow, Izuku begrudgingly pulled back. Giving you space you didn’t need, not when you were with him. “Izuku, now. Lovers shouldn’t call each other by their aliases, it’s informal.”

At this, you stiffened, shoulders squaring as the rest of your form went rigid. You stopped crying, but the bewildered shock that crossed over your face wasn’t much better than your tears. “...lovers?”  

He couldn’t help but laugh, a deep chuckle falling out before he could stop it. When his fingers wrapped around the handle next, he let them, not resisting the call of the object he’s been dying to use. “Don’t act so surprised, it wouldn’t be appropriate for us to live together if we weren’t lovers. And… we love each other. Lovers do that. They live together, and they love each other. You just haven’t accepted it, yet.” He forced himself to take a deep breath, stopping, thinking, deliberating. He was more collected, when he continued, if only because of how badly he needed to be. “But, that’s why we’re here! I’m going to help you!”

“Help me? What do you mean ‘help me’?” You snapped, straining against the handcuffs. Something switched-on inside of you, an anger Izuku hadn’t expected swiftly boiling to the surface. “Oh my- you’re the fucking creep who’s been stalking me, aren’t you? I thought I made it clear that however you think I feel, you’re wrong. And you’re a Pro-Hero too, isn’t that perfect? I have fucking Deku stalking me, how could things get-”

The words died in your throat with a sharp, loud snap, the sound seeming to catch you off guard more than the sudden pain did. You recoiled a second after the impact, pulling your legs back towards you, curling into the ball you’d just relaxed enough to get yourself out of. You’d been too preoccupied with your outburst to notice it when Izuku unclipped the sleek, black riding-crop from its place on his belt, or its existence at all until Izuku saw fit to use it, striking somewhere without many nerves, aiming for your lower calf. It was a warning, and you knew that.

Which meant you also knew that it could get so, so much worse, if Izuku deemed it necessary to make it worse.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” He explained, as calmly as he was able to. Izuku’d gone through many, many interrogations, and even if this was a little more personal than the average session, it was similar enough to warrant comparison. He would ask questions, and you would answer them correctly, or face the consequences of treating your boyfriend like someone you should try to avoid. “You’re going to stop lying, be honest and tell the truth, and I won’t have to use this, again. Doesn’t that sound easy, sweetheart?”

You were still, for a moment, then shook your head furiously. “What? No, the fuck are you-”

There was another crack, this one to your thigh, forcing you to cringe and draw back, your body now pressed stiffly to the headboard. The first strike had been unprecise, the preparation took to long and Izuku hesitated during the swing, but the second was better, it came more naturally. He let himself fall into your response, too, lingering on the way your features tightened in pain, the way the skin under his swatched darkened and swelled. It hurt, but you deserved it. And you deserved it because you were wrong.

You had to be wrong. If you weren’t wrong, than Izuku was, and…

Izuku couldn’t be wrong.

You scowled, opening your mouth, Izuku holding the crop up as a silent threat. Your expression dropped instantly, a soft whimper escaping from your lips as you sunk into yourself. He didn’t say anything as you fought to keep your composure, a vain effort, as your failure would prove. “You… you can’t keep me here.” When your voice broke and shook, Izuku almost regretted hitting you. Almost. “I… this is illegal. You’re hurting me.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you if I didn’t have to.” His voice was flat, but warm all the same. Izuku didn’t stop himself from sitting, forcing you to move back as he slotted himself into the cot’s empty space, only then realizing how thin your matress really was. Hopefully, he would be able to move you up to your bedroom tonight, but maybe spending a night in such poor conditions would teach you to be more appreciative of what he could give you. “I want to love you,” He paused, cupping your cheek with his free hand, drawing circles in your skin with his thumb. You tried to twist away, and he tightened his grip. “But you’ll have to love me, too.”

But, you didn’t love him. You didn’t even try. Instead, you fought, struggling against your restraints violently, nearly knowing Izuku to the floor as you kicked out blindly, your shoulder making contact with his chest, Izuku grunting as he forced himself to keep from relenting. Reflexively, the hand on your cheek dropped to your neck, finding somewhere thin and squeezing until your mouth fell open, sputtering for air,  even as you continued to thrash against him. He was leaning over you by the time he realized he was moving, crouching just high enough to lash at your stomach, not bothering to go through a layer of fabric, this time. He damn-near relished in the way your lips parted, tears beginning to form in the corners of your eyes with every proceeding snap. After five, six, a dozen blows, Izuku forced himself to be the more mature one, pushing you into the mattress as he got up. Still, he gave himself one more primal, hard blow before stopping, this one to your ribs, shirt having ridden up during the struggle. Bruises had already begun to form, spanning from your hip to your chest, much Izuku’s sick, sick satisfaction.

But, you weren’t done. “You’re insane!” You yelled, not bothering to keep your voice down. “What kind of psycho are you? This is crazy!”

He grit his teeth, digging his nails into the leather. “This is love.”

“People don’t whip the person they love! They don’t handcuff their partners to beds after stalking them for months!”

“One more word, one more fucking word-”

To your credit, you didn’t say anything. Instead, you screamed, loud and wordless, obviously trying to attract the attention outside of Izuku's home, someone you thought would help you. Izuku didn’t warn you, either, letting One For All run rampant through his veins as Izuku tore through your handcuffs as easily as a cheap, plastic toy. Silently, he threw you to the cement floor, watching as you tried to scramble to your feet, only to be forced back down with a single foot on your back. It took the blink of an eye to tear off your shirt, and half of that to bring down the crop over and over and over, until your skin was raw, torn, bleeding, welts forming on anything that wasn’t already a bloody, visceral mess.

When you screaming stopped, he didn’t, closing his eyes as the repetitive sounds of skin-on-leather filled the room. Only when you went limp under his foot did he stop, letting his arms drop to his sides as he dug his heel into the base of your spine, grimacing as you writhed weakly. He didn’t know what he’d been hoping for, really. Maybe that you would pass out, letting Izuku restrain you again and start all of this over, or your apologies wouldn’t have to be prompted. But, deep down, he knew you weren’t going to make this easy for him.

You never had before, after all.  

With a great, great amount of self-restraint, Izuku forced himself to drop the riding crop, letting it land somewhere next to your head. You made no grab for the weapon, nor did you move in the slightest, only whimpering when he kneeled, looking down on you, running a finger over the torn gashes in your back. Now, you flinched, attempting to curl into yourself before a firm hand closed around your shoulder, stopping any further distractions, things as small as the uneven pants you were taking in beginning to worry Izuku.

“I’ll say this again, now that you’re listening.” He rubbed slow circles in an uninjured patch on your shoulder, wondering if he should tend to you sooner, rather than later. For all the… research he’d done, Izuku hadn’t expected there to be this much bruising. Maybe he’d gone a little too far, after all. “I love you. I want to take care of you. I will, but you have to let me. No more fighting back. Do you understand?”

There was no response. Izuku considers the possibility that you were unconscious, but dismissed it just as easily. Unconscious people don’t cry that much.

“I love you,” He repeats, firmer, this time. He turned you over with one hand, prying you away from your self-made shelter, keeping his hand around your neck to keep you from getting up. “Because I love you, what am I trying to do?

Your eyes were still closed, tears fresh on your cheeks, but you whimpered nonetheless, choking out a response. Your voice was hoarse, probably due to the screaming. He’d have to get you something to drink. “You… you’re trying to take care of me.”

“I want to take care of you, you need me to take care of you.” It was like giving a stray dog a good home, for one example. You were lonely before, miserable, he was sure. He saw you with friends, and he knew you had a family, but he couldn’t find it in himself to believe that you were happy with them. You couldn’t be happy, not if you were away from your soulmate. And Izuku couldn’t be happy if he knew you were out there, alone and putting yourself at risk, away from the person you should be with. “And what do I need you to do, angel? And open your eyes. Look at me, when you answer.”

The hesitation was brief, this time. You opened your eyes first, cringing when you saw Izuku leaning over you, the boy smiling sympathetically, encouragingly. You didn’t relax, but you met his eyes regardless, your hands coming to rest on his. It must’ve been a sign that you were accepting him, finally. You were trying to hold his hand! Why else would you be trying to pull him away from your neck? “I have to let you.”

“By?”

You swallowed, avoiding his eyes. You were so shy, Izuku would have to break you out of your shell, too. “By not fighting back.”

Your posture had changed completely, no longer defensive or assertive, no longer trying to keep him at a distance. There was an uncomfortable shift, the slight movement to take the pressure off the wounds pressed against hard (but sanitary, as he’d made sure of), but you made no meaningful attempt to get away, resigning yourself to submission. It wasn’t what he’d aimed for, he wanted reciprocation, not submission, but he knew how he would start to fix that.

He didn’t rush you, as he helped you sit up, allowing you to take your time and not complaining when you whimpered, failing to take the brunt of the pain you’d forced him to give you. But, Izuku didn’t ask for permission, either, as he slid the remaining rags of your shirt over your head, disregarding the ruined fabric before letting himself rub over your exposed chest, feeling how warm you were, how soft your skin was, compared to his own. Izuku wanted to fall into the moment, to focus on the fact that you were here, that you were in front of him. Just the sight made him excited, eager to feel more, eager to see more.

It made him want to show you just how much he loved you.

But, you had to go and move, to cross your arms and squirm, and successfully pull Izuku out of his trace, bring his attention back to the matter-at-hand. Back to the fact that you didn’t love him, that you were putting-up with his affection, not accepting him. It was all Izuku could to keep from frowning as he leaned forward, kissing the corner of your mouth, comforted slightly by the fact that you didn’t pull away. He was kneeling in front of you, on one knee between your open legs. It was an intimate position, and could be a romantic one, with a little work.

He hoped you saw it that way, too.

“You’re going so well, I’m so proud of you,” He praised, petting through your hair as he stood. He towered above you, this way, pushing you down when you moved to follow him. You were on your knees, eye-level with his thighs, when you stopped. He only continued to comb through your hair, the calm smile never leaving his lips. “You’re doing great, and you must be so tired. I promise, I’ll take you up to your room when we’re done.” He paused, giving you the opportunity to react. You didn’t, and Izuku continued. “I just need to make sure you’ll be more considerate, from now on.”

He should let you go, bring you up to your room and let you sleep, but there was something so satisfying about having you sit still and wait, your gaze never leaving his face as you tried to predict what he would do, what he would do to you, more specifically. You were anxious, and he understood that. This was a big step, and it may have been too soon to take it, in all honesty. But, this was what Izuku wanted. A relationship that worked both ways, something equal, where you repayed all those hours of watching and protecting with something he asked from you. This was good, for both of you. It’d teach you how to behave, and more importantly, show you how relationships were supposed to be, without overstepping his boundaries. This was better than forcing something worse onto you, wasn’t it?

Sure, it would get rid of the problem straining at his jeans, but that was just a bonus.

He holds your head in place with one hand, nearly attacking his belt with the other, careful to just pull his pants and boxers down enough to get a hand on his half-hard cock. Your eyes crossed in an attempt to see it, a grimace now etched into your features as you tried to squirm away, but Izuku only tightened his hold on you, stifling any movements that could’ve interrupted the moment you two were about to have.

It was funny, how you thought anything could get out out of this.

“It won’t be bad, you’ll make me so happy,” He reassured, his free hand closing around his length, slowly pumping up, just enough to feel something more than a teasing sample of pleasure. It didn’t take him long at all to fill-out, not with such a lovely sight in front of him. Meanwhile, his grip drifted down to your jaw, tugging at the corner of your mouth until you were forced to accommodate him, his thumb slipping in and prodding anything it could reach, Izuku fighting the urge to moan at just the thought of being inside of somewhere that warm and soft and incredible. Unconsciously, your tongue pressed against his thumb, swirling around the finger, and Izuku could hardly keep from cumming in his hand.

He couldn’t wait any longer, he just couldn’t. With a strong jerk to your hair, your mouth opened, any scream or sound you’d been planning to let out suddenly muffled by the cock being shoved through your lips. Izuku stopped abruptly, hardly remembering to pull his hand away before dragging you closer, your form falling against his legs as you lost balance, subsequently gagging, choking around him, your throat tightening and fluttering as you struggled to swallow around something you were thoroughly unprepared to take. Izuku wasn’t new to this kind of thing, not by any means. He’d had blowjobs before, drunk experiences with friends that weren’t spoken about the next morning and awkward interactions with fans, desperate to show their gratitude between floors on elevators and in cramped bathroom stalls, but those felt foreign, unpleasant, compared to this, if only because it was you.

(Y/n), his (Y/n). His lover, his boyfriend, his soulmate, someone who would only ever do this for him. Because you loved him, because you only loved him. Because you wouldn’t even think of ever loving another person like you loved Izuku, not again.

With a blissful shudder, he pulled out, his concentration switching to the head, grazing it against your teeth for a more primal source of stimulation and rubbing it against your tongue, before plunging back in, keeping his thrusts short but fast, determined to keep his cock inside of you for as long as possible at any given time. He could hardly hear the words falling from his own mouth, an incomprehensible mix of murmurs and moans, each sound blending with the next. “Good boy, good boy,” He panted, if only out of habit, countless scenarios he’d already ‘planned out’ playing through his mind much faster than they should’ve.  “I love you so much, you’re perfect. I should’ve done this so much sooner.” He grinned, dragging you closer to him, his smile never faltering as you pounded and clawed at his covered thighs. “I’m gonna keep you all to myself.”

In the end, Izuku didn’t get the chance to enjoy it for very long. One For All was an odd quirk, like that, making most of his boy so strong, so resistant, but incredibly sensitive, at the same time. Every nerve was inter-connected, sending a thousand signals to the rest of his body at any given second, and right now, each one of those synapses was completely focused on the feeling of your warm, wet mouth taking in his cock, your tongue rubbing against the part of his body most willing to accept anything you had to give him. All it took was a glance towards your face, cheeks blistered, red eyes puffy from crying and spit beginning to soak your lips, to finish Izuku off.

He raked through your hair as he climaxed, the sensation like a weight being lifted off his shoulder, like a fresh of breath air, more relieving than it was ‘orgasmic’. Staying as deep inside of you as he can, his fingers clamping down on your scalp as you jump, making one last effort to get away as cum hit the roof of your mouth. Izuku didn’t let you, fighting off the over-sensitivity that came with remaining inside of you, refusing to pull-out as you refused to swallow.

You were always the stubborn one, weren’t you? What else had he expected?

He sighed wistfully, detangling the knots he’d been responsible for forming, but never shifting. Your panic was quickly turning into resistance, but Izuku remained undeterred, remaining hopeful as you started to tremble. “You’re alright, everything’ll be fine,” He told you, his eyes moving up towards the staircase, to the basement door. “I just need you to swallow. Then I’ll let you go.”

You didn’t, only forcing out gargled, coughing noises Izuku didn’t recognize.

He smiled a little wider.

“Swallow, baby,” He repeated, his tone nothing short of sickeningly sweet. “I’m not bluffing. It takes a lot of patience to be a hero, you know. I’ll keep you here until you swallow it.”

And, with a strangled sob, you did, your lips only closing for a second after he retreated before you cringed, your mouth remaining open as you practically punched at your cheeks, wiping away your tears as furiously as possible. You were crumpled, half-naked and collapsing onto yourself, but Izuku couldn’t find it in himself to feel anything but overjoyed at the sight of his lovely little partner.

He whispered quiet ‘I love you’s and ‘I’ll make you feel good next time’s as he gathered you up in his arms, cradling you against his chest despite how much you clearly didn’t want to be held. You were handled softly, your back always pressed against something smooth and clean, but he could still hear you cursing him out under your breath, even as he littered kisses and pecks across anything he could reach. This wasn’t ideal, but it was a start. You wanted him to hear you, but you knew what would happen if he took you too seriously.

Your face was buried in his shirt by the time he made it to your room, right next to his, as it should be. You two would share a room eventually, but that could wait until you weren’t in such an unstable state. He was happy that you didn’t scream when the velvet-lined, snug shackle closed around your ankle, any more spats seeming annoying, compared to how roughly his confession had gone. He’d put a lot of effort into your room, and he was glad you appreciated that.

You did appreciate everything he did for you, right?

If how tightly you clung to your comforter was anything to go off of, you must’ve.

Izuku knelt next to you, taking a minute to be by your side before he decided to leave. You were beautiful, disheveled and messy and stunning, in his care and finally getting used to it, now that you’ve gone through your first (and hopefully only) punishment. He kissed your shoulder lightly, lingering just long enough to admire his precious boyfriend.

Everything would be perfect, now.

[realactualfancontent]

Scenes from that novel I’ve been working on!

Yes, I have been working on this.  In disjointed chunks.  But, I’ve been working on it.

So ya’ll can have some out of context scenes from my Invisible Man romance novel!

“Oh, we’re here.” She seemed as startled as he was when the walk, and conversation came to an abrupt halt.

Griffin followed her gaze to the small cottage half shrouded by trees, and frowned under the bandages.

“So we are.” Griffin agreed, not sure what else to say, only trying not to sound disappointed by the fact. The conversation leading up to this had been a heated one. Aster was absolutely insistent on the whole giant octopus thing, which was of course, unlikely. Beyond unlikely. But he’d been enjoying the debate, the distraction from more pressing matters back at the inn.

“You could come in if you want. Have some tea?” She said, starting towards her doorstep, only to pause and wait for him.

Evidently she’d been enjoying herself too. The invitation came as a shock. It shouldn’t have. After all she was about the only person in this miserable little village who didn’t flee at the sight of him. More often than not she seemed to actively seek him out.

He’d just never really considered that before, that she might actually be enjoying these walks. Griffin’s face felt even hotter than usual under the bandages, and he was, just for the moment, very glad to have them.

“I can’t,” he answered, a knee-jerk reaction, he regretted it immediately watching Aster’s face fall in disappointment.

“I’d like to, but,” He gestured vaguely to his swathed face. “Tea’s not really an option.”

“Oh, right, forgot that, sorry.” She offered a half mumbled apology. Her frown was still there, only for an instant more before she brightened.

“Some other time then. When you get those off. We can make it a celebration.” She said, flashing a quick grin as she did so.

Griffin returned it hesitantly. “Yes. That would be...excellent. Really!” It was a foolish thing to agree to, and so earnestly at that. But perhaps the added incentive would help speed along his work.

Aster positively beamed when he agreed. “It’s a date then.” She said, taking the last steps to her doorway and disappearing inside before he could protest terminology, tossing off a quick see you tomorrow as she did so.

Griffin turned around and headed back towards The Coach and Horses, returning in what Mr. Hall would later note seemed to be suspiciously high spirits.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The month of May had been an unremarkable one in Iping in as a whole. And for Aster it had been an awkward one, shaded by a quiet melancholy and frustration, as the mystery of the bundled up stranger had been replaced by the more immediate mystery of what, exactly she’d done to upset him.

She’d apologized of course. Not an easy feat when you can’t tell what particular nerve you’ve struck. But she was a big enough person to do that much. Still his absence on her evening walks persisted. And when they did cross paths at The Coach and Horses he was notably terse.

Well fuck Griffin then. His loss really, after all, he didn’t have anyone else to talk to. Whereas Aster at least had Lily and the crows.

She was in the middle of feeding them actually, enjoying Whit Monday in a manner most would count as decidedly unchristian, and not thinking about Griffin. When the birds grew agitated and with the kind of din only a dozen startled birds could muster departed.

Aster had flinched visibly and covered her ears, initially, relaxing when the small murder had receded to a taller tree and staring up at them perplexed.

“What’s wrong?”

Incomprehensible crow noises.

“Very elucidating.”

A quiet cough pulled her attention from the one sided conversation, she whirled to try to find the source finding her yard empty.

“I suspect I upset them.”

She recognized the voice immediately, although the source-

“Griffin?” It was definitely him, she was after all very familiar with that gravelly voice by now, although she’d never heard it quite so tentative, apologetic even? A girl could hope.

“Where are you?”

“I’m right here,” He sounded vaguely exasperated now, if she wasn’t imagining this whole interlude she had probably been imagining the tone before. “About four feet in front of you.”

Aster squinted took a few steps forward, and paused, realization dawning on her.

“As you can see, or, can’t, I suppose... You were right.”

“You’re invisible? Actually invisib- Wait, what’s that.” Aster extended an arm to point at a transparent glob of something floating at roughly stomach level, and was halted, invisible fingers curling around her wrist tightly.

Aster’s heart fluttered at the unexpected contact, whatever else she might have had to say catching in her throat. Tentatively Aster used her disengaged fingers to feel the invisible hand and continue to explore a firm, goose pimpled arm, and pat a muscular chest. Starting as she realized how close they now were, and that Griffin wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“Yes. Actually invisible. And that, would be the remains of my breakfast. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go pawing at me” Griffin snapped, pulling his arm away from her, indentations in the grass indicating he took some hasty steps backwards.

“Oh.” Aster managed, suddenly breathless.

“Oh?” He scoffed. “Is that all?”

She bit her lower lip, staring at the disturbance in the grass that demarcated his feet. “Are- Why aren’t you dressed?” Her tone was tremulous of some emotion she could place.

“Because my clothing isn’t invisible.”

“Oh.”

“I hardly think this is the most pressing thing to focus on.” Griffin groused.

“Now that it has been brought to my attention I won’t be able to focus on much else.”

Griffin sighed, she could imagine him tensing his shoulders before hissing out a breath. “Yes. It’s very inconvenient for all involved parties. But there are more important things we have to discuss. I’ve-”

“You’re probably cold, do you want to come inside?”

Being cut off was infuriating in ways he could hardly articulate. Griffin stifled an urge to scream and instead nodded. Remembered the gesture was futile, and spoke.

“Yes.”

Aster felt something brush past her lightly and watched transfixed as the door to her home opened itself and remained ajar waiting for her to follow.

Aster directed him to the kitchen, and put a kettle on.

“You can put down a throw pillow if you want to sit. Can’t imagine the chairs are too comfortable.”

Aster was treated to some vague noise of agreement and the sight of one of her couch pillows drifting to the kitchen table and then being crushed by an unseen weight.

She joined him with a tea tray and two glasses.

“You don’t want to watch me drink.”

“Why not.”

“Because food and drink are visible inside me as it digests.”

Aster nodded. “Makes sense.” There was a pause for her to add sugar to her tea. “Though, I do want to see that. It sounds fascinating?”

“Later then, I’m sure you’ll have the chance. Right now, for the work we need to do I can’t afford to be seen.”

“Work?” Aster looked up at him from the cream she was pouring, quirking a brow as an invitation to elaborate.

“Yes. That’s why I’ve come to you. What I was trying to say outside- although this is better really, a conversation that should be had without risk of interlopers- what I was trying to say outside is that I’ve come to realize I need help.”

Griffin sighed, taking the steaming mug she had prepared for him. In the rising vapour she could make out hints of a face staring pensively into the dark liquid.

“It’s not half as marvellous as it seems.”

“Marvel enough for me.” Aster sipped her tea and waited for Griffin to elaborate.

“I’m glad you’ve taken this calmly. I couldn’t stomach any more hysterics today. I should have- I’ve made a mess of things at the inn. Mrs. Hall was going to evict me!”

“You haven’t paid rent in a month.” Aster was rarely one to take her employer’s side. But technically the woman was well within her rights.

“I was awaiting a remittance.” He grumbled, toying with the mug making it slide around the table in strange motions. “Moreover I’d paid her this morning!”

“It’s a moot point now,” Griffin took a sip of his tea, apparently deciding that whatever it was he needed help with could wait until his digestive track did it’s work.

Aster watched with fascination as he swallowed. It was, admittedly, a bit grotesque when one thought about it. And she imagined watching him eat anything more solid would be far more unpleasant, but still, fascinating.

They drank in silence for a moment, Griffin seemed on the verge of saying something, but was still trying to put it clearly.

Eventually, when Aster had watched enough to satisfy her curiosity she spoke up again.

“What exactly happened at the inn?”

Griffin let out another agitated sigh before he explained. Summarizing briefly his face off with The Halls, attempted arrest and the dramatic reveal of his secret.

Aster listened attentively, interrupting only once to laugh, saying that she would have paid good money to see the look on Mrs. Hall’s face when he handed her his fake nose.

Griffin had admitted it was rather funny. At least until she started in with the shrieking.

By the end of the tale he was pacing the floor from the motion of the tea that had yet to absorb into his system.

“And those fools down there still have my books! All my work in the hands of buffoons!” Fists slammed the table with violent force.

Aster winced at the outburst, and the string of cursing that followed.

“You have to help me get them back.” His chair pulled itself out and presumably he sat. “You will-” There was a desperate edge to his words. One absent from his next order. “You must.”

She was a willing enough accomplice in theory. Watching, or listening to Griffin explain his plight had her won over to his side entirely, but she was contrarian by nature, and couldn't let him think she'd be forced into anything.  No matter distressed he might sound.

“And if I don’t?”

The silence was like she’d struck him.

“If you don’t-” he spoke carefully when he did, as if he hadn’t considered this option. “If- Aster you’re the only one who can. Don’t you understand. I’ve chosen you for this. You’re the only one who understands, who I can trust!” His words were shaky, he rose again to continue pacing.

“I should have revealed myself when you guess. I know I’ve not been- I was- I didn’t know how you would react- You are wasted on this town!”

He ended his disjointed speech abruptly and Aster could feel eyes boring into her, and she flushed at the intensity in his compliment. Too stunned to come up with a response before Griffin could start again.

“And you know it! You’re clear-headed, and clever! While those imbeciles floundered with their inane gossip you had me figured out. I know you can see what invisibility can mean. He moved toward her taking her hands in his and pulling her to her feet. “The power I hold. The things I- we could do. But I must have a confederate. Someone to help with all the trivial inconveniences. Please Aster. Help me, and I will do great things for you.”

They were close now, close enough that Aster could feel the heat of his breath on her face.

“Yeah.” she said quietly, exhaling a shaky breath, not sure wholly what she was agreeing to, only that she couldn’t imagine saying no.

“Yes!” Her second affirmation banished any hesitation and her eyes shone with excitement.

“Absolutely. What’s the plan!”

[artificialqueens]

wild flower, chapter two (shalaska) 2/10 - freyja

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support chapter one got! Thank you so, so much to frey (aka Thorpe) for betaing!! This wouldn’t be where it is without her. I also thought I would share the playlist I made to listen to for inspiration!

Anyway, chapter two: in which Alaska realizes she is a little more than stuck with Sharon.

🌸

“I have acted fearless and independent and I never will regret my course. I would rather be politically buried than be hypocritically immortalized.”

— Davy Crockett

🌸

They ride for what could be minutes or hours in silence, Alaska never taking her eyes off of the horizon even long after the orange blaze surrounding her uncle’s mansion is gone. She barely registers the blessedly cool wind against her face, or how hard she’s gripping the horse’s saddle, deep in thought and very confused.

She’s not scared.

She knows she will be, once she has the time to really comprehend what happened, but for now all she can feel is guilt. Guilt, because her reaction to her uncle’s house burning, after the initial horror, was relief. How could she? Her uncle’s livelihood is gone, her uncle is gone and likely in danger, she’s been kidnapped - likely in order to be tortured for information - and all she can fucking think about is that she doesn’t have to find a husband anymore.

Sharon flicks the reins, and her horse suddenly jerks into a higher speed, forcing Alaska to grab onto Sharon’s waist in fear of falling off and breaking her neck. Sharon cackles at her, and Alaska flushes, embarrassed and suddenly feeling heated. It makes her angry.

Anger feels a hell of a lot better than guilt, and she gives into it without hesitation.

“Fuck you,” she snarls, right into Sharon’s ear.

“Sorry, what was that?” Sharon shouts, voice nearly whipped away by the wind. “‘Thank you?’”

It is entirely plausible, maybe even likely, that Sharon hadn’t heard her. But the presumption - the fucking nerve–

You can’t hear me? Alaska thinks viciously, glaring at the sharp angles of Sharon’s cheekbones. How about now?

She sucks in a deep breath, and she screams straight into Sharon’s ear.

It’s childish, but Alaska has never been afraid of being childish, especially when it gives her such great results.

Sharon jumps, cringing away violently, jerking the reigns and making her horse jerk along with them. For a second, Alaska allows herself to hope that they would slow enough for her to safely jump off of the horse, but Sharon corrects him too quickly for her to even have a second of the time she’d need.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Sharon snaps, her tone a startling contrast to the gentle way she pats the horse’s neck. “What the fuck?”

“Can you hear me now?” Alaska asks, sneering. She relishes in the anger on Sharon’s face, gratified by her ability to take the other woman down a peg, but it fades away too quickly for her liking. Instead, Sharon’s pressed lips turn into a smirk, and she doesn’t even grant Alaska a glance when she says,

“Surprised you didn’t do that back at the house - the lawmen might have heard you in time to help.”

Alaska looks at Sharon incredulously. “Town is three miles from – oh, fuck you!” she grits out, the realization dawning with Sharon’s laughter.

“Don’t you mean thank you?” Sharon shoots back, and Alaska desperately wants to hit her, rage nearly overwhelming her.

“Why - how would I ever thank you?” she snarls. The apathy in Sharon’s expression only makes her blood boil more. She tears her eyes away from the other woman, instead staring stubbornly out at the Rockies. She can feel tears welling up in her eyes, and she curses them. She needs to be strong for this. “You - you kidnapped me, you burned my home, you killed-”

“Your home?” Sharon says sharply.

“Does it matter?” Alaska spits.

“Yes,” Sharon says bluntly. “That wasn’t your fucking home. Don’t accuse me of that. That was the last place you wanted to be - I could see it in your eyes. You were at the stable for a reason.”

Alaska flushes at the reminder of their first meeting, suddenly aware of the way their bodies are pressed together - the way Sharon’s waist feels firm under her arms. She almost pulls away, but her sense of balance forces her to remain attached.

As if reading her mind, Sharon places a hand on Alaska’s wrist, which rests against her ribcage. “Got a good grip?” she says lowly, and Alaska jerks her wrist away, cheeks burning. Sharon laughs, letting go easily, and Alaska replaces her arm with less reluctance than she should have felt.

“I loved it there,” Alaska says petulantly. Sharon ignores her point, hand returning to the reins.

“I saw something else in your eyes as well,” Sharon continues softly, and her tone sparks an uncomfortable squirming in Alaska’s belly, the places she’s touching Sharon too warm. “You want something more.”

“Don’t presume to know what I want,” Alaska says, voice shakier than she would like it to be. She feels seen - exposed.

“You want more than a man, but a man is all a woman’s good for in society,” Sharon says, and a new bitterness colors her normally gleeful laugh. Alaska frowns at it.

“A man is what I need,” Alaska tells her, trying to work her anger back up and failing. She’s falling into Sharon’s intrigue again, fascinated by the mystery of her.

“Not out here,” Sharon says, and her voice is softer than Alaska’s ever heard it. It startles her; frightens her, even.

“I’m not like you,” she says quickly. She resents how close they are.

“Oh,” Sharon says idly. Alaska can just see the edge of her brow quirked up from the angle she’s at. “You’re wrong. I’d say stop lying to me, but I think you’d have to stop lying to yourself first.”

Alaska lapses into silence, unsure of how to respond. She feels raw and vulnerable in a way she didn’t expect to feel in the presence of a bandit.

Sharon doesn’t scare her the way Alaska thinks she should, and she hates her for it.

They spend the rest of the ride in silence.

🌼

Alaska uses the silence to plan her escape, and by the time they start slowing down, sliding off of Sharon’s horse - “Cerrone”, she’d heard Sharon call him - and running immediately upon arrival is out of the question.

They’re over four hours away from Coady, at least half an hour more from the house, and she has no idea where she is. They hadn’t passed any signs, or at least Alaska hadn’t seen them in the dark, and they’ve been weaving through thick pine trees for longer than Alaska could keep track.

She suspects Sharon had avoided roads, or at least stuck to those less traveled, and the fact that she has no real way of knowing is terrifying.

She’d end up lost in the woods if she took off on foot, and probably dead because of it.

The only other option would be escaping on horseback, and that takes a little more forethought than leaping off of Cerrone and running as fast as she can. She needs the time to figure it out, but she doesn’t know if she’ll get it.

Stories of the tortures people go through when kidnapped by bandits crowd her thoughts, the tales concerning women even worse, and she’s just beginning to work herself up back into a panic when Sharon speaks suddenly, snapping Alaska out of her spiral.

“Welcome,” she says, voice warmer than Alaska expects it to be, “to Silverbar Overlook.”

They round a curve in the dirt path to reveal a small camp of about six tents and wagons, a decent fire lit up in the center of it. Women fill the space with talk and hoots of loud laughter, and Alaska can’t help but stare at them as Sharon pulls Cerrone to a stop by some crooked posts. Where are the men?

Sharon swings down with ease, taking Cerrone’s reins and tying him to one of the posts. She smirks at Alaska as she does so, making no attempt to prevent her from running right then and there. Alaska hates that she doesn’t need to.

“Like it?” Sharon says, dusting off her hands. Alaska sneers at her, fear and fury a fire in her stomach.

“No,” she says shortly.

Sharon seems unaffected. “Time makes the heart grow fonder,” she says, holding out a hand for Alaska to take, “and you’ll certainly be spending a lot of it right here.”

Alaska resists the urge to slap the hand away, remembering just in time that Sharon has a gun and the quickest draw she’s ever seen. Instead, she ignores it in favor of sliding down herself, relieved when she lands solidly on both feet.

Sharon grabs her arm none too gently as soon as she’s on the ground, even her arrogance not so hubristic to leave Alaska with both arms free. Even so, she gives Alaska an appreciative glance.

Alaska flushes under her gaze, keeping her eyes stubbornly ahead.

“Went to the stables often?” Sharon questions, and Alaska presses her lips together at the insinuation.

“Fuck off,” she says sharply, and Sharon laughs.

“Jinkx Monsoon!” she calls, not bothering to respond to Alaska. An old affection colors her tone, and a red-headed woman by the fire stands up, grinning.

“Fresh meat?” she asks, approaching them. She’s pale, with sad eyes and a crooked smile. Her hair is down, tangled like Alaska’s gets if she leaves it down for more than two seconds, and she sports loose pants that bunch up where they meet her boots.

“Not quite,” Sharon says, jerking Alaska a little to emphasize her point. “More of a hostage.”

Jinkx frowns, clearly taken aback. “Hostage?” she asks, examining Alaska closely, squinting in the dim light cast over them from the fire. Alaska glares back, meeting her gaze as defiantly as she can muster. Jinkx raises an eyebrow in response. “She’s in with Solomon? She’s in a brand new dress.”

“I am not with him,” Alaska snaps, disturbed at the very idea. “I hate him.”

“Enough to give us the information you have?” Sharon leads, and Alaska presses her lips together.

As much as she hates Solomon, she hates Sharon that much more.

Both of Jinkx’s eyebrows are up, now. “Want me to tie her to the post?” she asks, and Alaska’s stomach drops somewhere around her ankles. Jinkx jerks her head back to a post at the edge of the clearing, where a pile of ropes and a poker in a bucket of water sit. Alaska freezes up at the sight.

“No,” Sharon says, but her eyes don’t leave the post for another moment longer.

“So she is a new recruit,” Jinkx says, and the suggestion sparks the fear in Alaska’s chest into anger.

“I’d rather be tied to the post than a new recruit,” she spits out, and Sharon’s grip tightens around her bicep. She stills, heart pounding.

“No,” Sharon clarifies, ignoring Alaska. Her silent warning is frightening enough, and Alaska has no desire to see how it might escalate. “I don’t tie civilians to the post.”

“She needs to sleep somewhere,” Jinkx says. “And I’m pretty sure you don’t want her unguarded.”

There’s a brief pause. “She’ll have to sleep in a tent,” Sharon says, and Alaska just barely keeps a protest from escaping her lips. Jinkx voices one, anyway.

“In a tent?” Jinkx asks incredulously. “Where people sleep? Where they’re most vulnerable?”

Sharon snaps her fingers, seemingly ignoring Jinkx. “Detox and Roxxxy,” she says.

Jinkx gives her a skeptical look.

“Alaska isn’t a threat,” Sharon says, and Alaska nearly jumps at the sound of her name. She hates the false intimacy that the use creates, and she never wants to hear it said again. Her skin crawls at the idea of Sharon knowing enough about her to use her Christian name. “Detox could break her in half if she wanted to.”

Alaska very much does not want to sleep in Detox and Roxxxy’s tent.

“Why not the post?” Jinkx asks again. She looks worried, and it’s clearly getting on Sharon’s nerves.

“Because I created this camp, and I said so,” she says, an edge creeping in on her tone.

Jinkx is unmoved.

“Jinkxie,” Sharon says, and Alaska glances at her for an expression, unable to read her tone. She seems urgent, pleading, maybe, but it’s hard to decipher.

No matter the expression, however, a silent exchange clearly occurs between the two, and Jinkx’s expression softens. She looks at Alaska, who sneers.

“I’ll take her to their tent,” Jinkx says after a moment. She looks back at Sharon. “Willam wants to see you. Something about a letter?”

“Shit,” Sharon swears, and she lets go of Alaska’s arm. Alaska nearly takes off immediately, but she stops herself, eyes catching on the gun slung at Jinkx’s hip and thoughts returning to Sharon’s own. She’d have to be patient, even though she’s never been good at it.

“I completely forgot about that,” Sharon continues, although it sounds like it’s more to herself than the other two. She looks somewhere to their right, and Alaska follows her gaze, spotting a young blonde woman in a low cut dress giving Sharon the finger, leaning against the post of one of the tents. Sharon looks back at Alaska, lips pressed together, and Alaska quirks an eyebrow.

“See something you like?” Alaska says, and Sharon’s eyebrows raise. She pointedly glances at Alaska’s arm, where she had been holding her.

“I do,” she says, and Alaska flushes. She grits her teeth, frustrated with the way Sharon can render her speechless. Sharon’s smug smirk isn’t helping matters.

“Alright, take her to Detox and Roxxxy. Make sure they know what’s going on,” a thoughtful look at Alaska, “and make sure they know they need to be on watch.”

Alaska tries and fails not to be flattered that she warrants a watch, even though it makes her plans for escape that much more difficult.

“Got it,” Jinkx says, and with a nod - Sharon leaves, heading towards who must be Willam with a sheepish grin on her face. The expression would be endearing, if she hadn’t just kidnapped Alaska after destroying her uncle’s life.

“So,” Jinkx says, smiling startlingly sweetly at Alaska. Alaska doesn’t quite know what to do with the sudden change of pace. “What do you think of the camp?”

Alaska gives her a deadpan stare. “It’s dirty,” she drawls, feeling more confident with Sharon’s absence. She feels above this woman, with her short stature and sweet smile, and it’s easy to let that leak into her tone. “Small.”

Jinkx’s smile shrinks, fading into something that screams ‘unimpressed’. “You’d think a wealthy woman would have better manners,” she says, and Alaska blushes a little.

“Ladies don’t initiate,” she says, willing the blush to go down. “They reciprocate.”

Jinkx is quiet for a moment, expression sympathetic. “Jesus. I’m glad I’m away from that.”

Alaska falls silent, something like shame turning over in her gut. She’s thought the same thing before, but only in her fantasies, and not for a long time. The reminder of her own lack of freedom, compared to these women’s abundance of it, is startling - it’s something that she hasn’t thought about in years. The disparity is embarrassing, and for a moment, Alaska wonders what right she has to feel superior to these women. What is money when compared to freedom?

She tries to scrape the idea away from her mind, reminding herself that the law is powerful, that it isn’t freedom when you’re being chased, but the thought sticks like glue.

“Come on,” Jinkx says after a few moments, frowning at Alaska. “It’s just over here.”

Alaska follows her quietly, still a little shaken, and Jinkx looks back at her with a strange expression on her face. “Alright,” she says. “Maybe Sharon has a reason for treating you special.”

“You mean she doesn’t do this often?” Alaska asks. Jinkx laughs, a soft sound that fits strangely on someone deemed a criminal. They come to a stop in front of a tent, but Alaska hardly notices, she’s so wrapped up in the conversation.

“Let’s just say, she must like you. Sharon’s had no trouble tying people to that post, even in the middle of winter.”

“No,” Alaska says, rejecting the idea with a vehemence that surprises even her. “She’s trying to entice the information out of me, and it isn’t going to work.”

“The day Sharon Needles chooses enticement over violence is the day pigs fly,” a new voice says, and Alaska immediately tenses up, phantom aches blossoming along her arms where they’d been held back.

Detox emerges from her tent, an amused quirk to her mouth, and the blonde woman who’d slid in through the window during the ambush comes out after her. This must be Roxxxy, but Alaska is far more concerned with Detox.

“Guess you’d better get your binoculars ready,” Jinkx says dryly. “Because they’ll be taking to the skies any second now.”

Detox looks at her, confused. “What?”

Jinkx lets out an exasperated breath, placing a hand on Alaska’s back in a reassuring manner. It doesn’t work, and Alaska shrugs it off as quickly as she can. “She’s sleeping in your tent tonight. Please don’t ask me why.”

Detox looks even more bewildered, but she doesn’t protest, which Alaska supposes is a good thing. Or maybe not - maybe she could have ended up in someone else’s tent if Detox had thrown a fit, someone with warmer eyes. That, or someone much worse.

Most things, Alaska is realizing, are going to be a game of roulette. She’s just going to have to roll with the punches, because gambling has never been her strong suit, and now is certainly not the time to be practicing.

“Alright,” Detox says slowly, and Jinkx relaxes into a smile.

“Thank you,” she says, eyes darting to Roxxxy, “for not being difficult.”

The expression on Roxxxy’s face suggests she spoke too soon.

“Why not the post?” she asks, clearly annoyed.

“I don’t know,” Jinkx says, and Alaska can hear the suppressed frustration and exhaustion in her voice. “Sharon doesn’t like to share, and despite popular belief, I can’t actually read her mind.”

“Try,” Roxxxy shoots back. “You know her better than anyone else here.” She makes no attempt to hide the bitterness underlying the words. Detox shoots her a look, but Roxxxy appears not to notice.

Alaska finds herself wanting Jinkx to come back just as quickly, to put up a fight, but the slump of Jinkx’s shoulders tells her that she’d rather avoid it. “Maybe she wants to try enticement and see if it works better.”

“Sharon’s never needed to cajole anything out of anyone.”

“Jesus,” Alaska blurts out, frustrated and defensive. “Maybe she just isn’t up for beating the shit out of anyone today. It must be exhausting work.”

All three women stare at her, and she shrinks down, suddenly afraid. Years in society have taught her to only speak when spoken to, and while she’s always chafed under that rule, the potential consequence for breaking it has never been quite so high. She shouldn’t be snapping at bandits like this - especially in the company of three, all with loaded pistols.

Detox’s delayed scream of a laugh makes her jump three feet into the air.

“Jesus Christ!” she says, and the other two women crack smiles as well. “She’s got nerve for a hostage!”

“A hostage sleeping like she’s one of us,” Roxxxy corrects, a tinge of the argument still there, despite the smile on her face.

“She’s sleeping here,” Jinkx says. She’s looking at Alaska thoughtfully, something twinkling in her eyes, and Alaska relaxes despite it. She’s still in the clear, somehow. “But just so you know, Ms. Needles usually waits a few days before really going in on ‘em.”

“She’s patient,” Detox agrees. It’s lighthearted, but Alaska still spares a glance at the post, eyes lingering on the poker stick. Clearly, Sharon’s patience runs out. She doesn’t know if the fact that she’s patient at all is really that comforting.

“I’m tired and I’m going to bed,” Jinkx says. “Sharon wants you two to take turns watching her.” Detox nods. Jinkx turns to leave, giving Alaska a reassuring smile. “Have fun,” she says, ominous, and she starts off towards Sharon and Willam, who can be seen just inside of the tent Willam had been waiting in.

Alaska is sorry to watch her leave, not quite understanding the comfort she’d provided until she was gone.

“I think you should lie between us,” Detox says, glancing at Roxxxy, who only looks slightly less sullen from her argument with Jinkx. “Makes watching you easier.”

Alaska nods, heart sinking at the idea. She feels like all of her confidence left with Jinkx, and her plan to escape feels impossible to execute. With each of them taking watch, and having to sneak out from between them, it seems improbable that she can leave the tent without detection. And if she was caught - she knows how strong Detox is, and Roxxxy certainly hasn’t proved herself to be friendly.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Roxxxy says, ducking into the tent. Detox motions for Alaska to follow, and she does, after a moment of hesitation. “I’m not tired yet.”

As Alaska lays down, she steels herself. She has to make an attempt, all of the risks be damned. She owes it to her uncle.

She owes it to herself.

🌸

Roxxxy falls asleep two hours after they all lie down, and it’s like the universe is telling Alaska to get the hell out of there.

It’s been a struggle not to do the same herself - it has to be around three in the morning by now, give or take a few, and she is exhausted.

She takes a moment to just stare at the roof of the tent, feeling all of the aches and pains of the night throb. Her first meeting with Sharon feels like it was weeks ago, not hours, and Cassidy’s visit to her uncle even further away. She almost doesn’t want to get up, heart and head heavy with exhaustion.

But she has to.

She understands fully well that this is, truly, her only shot at getting out of this unscathed. By some miracle, Sharon had been foolish enough to leave her loose, taking her lack of physical strength as a sign of weakness, as a sign that she wouldn’t run. But Alaska has always been wily, and she can snake her way out of most things.

Most things were usually balls and formal dinners with suitors, but she’s pretty sure she can get out of being the hostage of bandits just as easily.

Again: she has to.

Detox is snoring, so Alaska’s watching Roxxxy’s face for any signs of wakefulness as she slowly gets into a crouch, listening for a change in Detox’s breathing. She’s careful not to knock aside Detox’s pistol, which lies in her loosened grip.

She has no doubts that Detox would be glad to shoot her the moment an excuse was given, and the thought only pumps more adrenaline into her veins. She’s shaky with nerves, and she takes a moment to breathe in and out, eyes on the tent flap not three feet away. She can do this.

Alaska steps daintily over Roxxxy, holding her breath. She freezes once she’s over her, cringing at the light sound her boot makes when it lands.

She waits.

She lets out a long breath after ten seconds pass with no movement, and she takes the last step forward, carefully curling her fingers around the canvas of the tent flap. She lifts it painfully slowly, hardly daring to breathe, and the moment there’s enough room, she shoots out of the tent, exhaling harshly as soon as she’s out.

For a moment, she feels a sort of giddy relief. She made it. She snuck past the guards. For a moment, she fancies herself able to escape from federal prison, but one thought of being in a chain gang brings her back down to Earth.

It’s not like she’ll ever be in a position to escape from federal prison, anyway.

She looks around, looking for the horses and at every single tent, watching for activity. The fire is now just a few glowing embers, so she relies on the Moon to tell her. She doesn’t see anyone, and she allows herself a moment to admonish herself for jumping out of the tent without looking, before she starts towards the horses, which are hitched near the mouth of the path into the camp.

Maybe she’ll even ride away on Cerrone, and take something from Sharon in her escape. Convinced of this plan, her heart starts beating with anticipation, and she’s about halfway to the first of the horses when a voice makes her heart stop in her chest, and the rest of her freezes along with it.

“Going somewhere?”

“Yes,” Alaska says, and without thinking, she starts to run towards the horses, all thoughts of Cerrone flying off the table and the first horse she can grab her only destination.

She barely makes it two steps before Sharon jerks her back by the bustle of her dress, and Alaska realizes just how strong the other woman is. It would be frightening, except she’s more used to Sharon than she has any right to be in this amount of time, and she has just heard a ripping sound.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Alaska hisses, jerking away from Sharon and turning to face her. She backs up a few steps, drinking in Sharon’s surprise. “This dress is pink satin. Do you understand what that means?”

There’s a beat of silence, before Sharon lets out a disbelieving laugh. “I had to stop you somehow,” she says. “The information you have is a little more valuable to me than pink satin.”

“Well, now that you’ve ripped it, sure,” Alaska sniffs, fingering the fabric. “It was my favorite, too.”

“It’s a dress,” Sharon says, exasperated, and something in Alaska snaps.

“It’s the only thing I have left!” she cries out, clenching her hands in her skirt, arms stiff at her sides. She feels a strange sense of loss over the dress, even though the skirt is still functional and, in all likelihood - easily mendable. It feels like Sharon’s just ruined the last thing tying her to her home, her life, and it’s maddening.

“Fine,” Sharon says, voice now quiet. “Fine. But the information is still more important.”

“Two more of these dresses and I guarantee they’d be worth more than Solomon’s entire operation,” Alaska shoots back. “You could have had more if you hadn’t burned the rest.”

“It’s more personal than money,” Sharon says, and Alaska frowns.

“What’s the point of ‘personal’ if there’s no money in it?”

Sharon laughs again. “You are so goddamn suited for this!” she says, and Alaska feels her chest warm at the praise before she shuts it down, confused at the feeling.

“I’m not,” she snaps. “I’m meant for a life worth living.”

“What?” Sharon says dryly. “Like marrying a man you feel nothing for and spending the rest of your life kept somewhere you don’t want to be? You want to die having accomplished nothing other than a couple of kids?”

It’s like she’s been stripped naked, all of her thoughts and feelings seen by someone she doesn’t trust, and it makes anger well up inside her like a balloon. “Don’t act like you know what my life is like,” Alaska snarls. “Don’t act like–”

“Alaska,” Sharon says, and Alaska deflates.

“Of course I don’t want that,” she admits, and it’s simultaneously a relief and an effort. Baring herself to a criminal is hard, but letting her feelings out into the open is so incredibly freeing. It’s addictive, and she finds herself sharing more, nearly tripping over her words in her haste to get them out. “I’ve never wanted that. But it’s necessary. My father - he needs me. His newspaper is struggling. We need money.”

“And marriage is the only way to get it,” Sharon finishes, and Alaska stares at her, fighting back the lump of tears that has lodged itself in her throat.

“He needs me to do this,” Alaska says, Sharon’s sympathy giving her hope of release, but Sharon’s expression hardens.

“He can get himself out of his own mess.”

“I’m his daughter.”

“Being a daughter has nothing to do with it,” Sharon sneers, and Alaska stiffens defensively.

“Being a daughter has plenty to do with it,” she snaps. “I have duties I need to uphold. I don’t have a choice.”

“Don’t you see?” Sharon says, eyes earnest. It’s attractive, and despite herself, Alaska finds herself listening rapturously to the passion in her voice. “You don’t need to do anything. This is a choice.” She spreads her arms at the camp, at herself. “Be here, with us. We don’t - society hates us. Society favors white men, and the rest of us are just there to make life better for them. We can be who we want out here. You don’t have to marry a man you don’t want to. You don’t have to be with a man at all.”

Alaska hesitates, allowing herself a second to imagine a world without responsibilities, without rules or eyes that watch her every move. It’s a dream.

It doesn’t exist.

Sharon is lying. To make it seem like an easy option isn’t fair - to be ‘free’ comes with a cost, and Alaska isn’t willing to pay it. Not when it involves taking money, taking lives.

“Fuck you,” Alaska says venomously, and she spits on the ground. “You’re full of shit, and you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

Clearly, this is the wrong thing to say.

“I’m sure I will,” Sharon says coldly, expression suddenly closed off. The reaction knocks Alaska off balance - she had expected another smart comment, somewhere on the edge of playfulness, but Sharon had clearly taken Alaska’s words to heart. Alaska knows she should be glad that her words have finally had an effect, but all she can feel is guilt. It’s not something she wants to be feeling, but her emotions have never bothered to listen to her.

“I’m sure I will,” Sharon says again, drawing herself up to her full height. She’s still shorter than Alaska by a good few inches, but she still manages to look intimidating, with her long black coat and mean expression. “But I think you should take a turn first.”

“What?” Alaska asks, and then suddenly Sharon has both of her arms twisted behind her back in an iron grip, frog marching her clear to the other side of camp. Alaska stumbles with the forcefulness of it, startled into silence up until she catches sight of the post, a coil of rope waiting innocuously beside it.

“Fuck,” she says, trying and failing to struggle out of Sharon’s grip as they reach their destination. Sharon slams her against the pole, pulling her arms to the other side of it, but Alaska can’t help but notice that it’s not nearly as violent as she’s sure Sharon is capable of. “Sharon–”

“You want to be the unwilling hostage?” Sharon asks, tone heated. “Here you go. Now you can tell everyone how evil we were, and you won’t even have to lie about it.” She finishes tying Alaska’s hands with the rope, tightening it aggressively. She rounds the post to look Alaska in the face, lips pressed tightly together. Alaska glares back.

“Thanks,” she drawls, giving her wrists an experimental tug. “I won’t even have to fake the rope burns.”

Sharon’s expression falters, looking vaguely concerned, before the wall goes up again. Alaska wants to poke at it, intrigued, but Sharon suddenly leans forward, resting her hand against the post just above Alaska’s shoulder. It puts their faces far too close together, and Alaska’s heart starts beating a little faster.

Sharon doesn’t hesitate to look Alaska straight in the eyes, and Alaska glares back, refusing to back down.

“Give me the information, and I’ll let you go,” Sharon says, and Alaska keeps her mouth stubbornly shut, staring definitely into Sharon’s eyes. She does not think about how blue they look in the moonlight.

Sharon presses her lips together in annoyance. “Have a nice night,” she says coolly, turning to walk away and disappearing into the tent nearest the post.

Alaska sinks down into a sitting position, all of the tension in her body leaving along with Sharon. She gives the ropes one more tug before sighing, defeated. At least it’s a pleasant night, she thinks, staring up at the stars.

She feels her face crumple, exhaustion and fear catching up to her all at once, and she lets out a sob before stopping herself from crying any more, concerned that Sharon might hear her. She has to toughen up if she wants to get through this. Crying isn’t going to help her.

She needs a plan. She can’t outsmart Sharon, and that means she can’t escape. She’s going to have to give them the information she has at some point, before things escalate more than they have. Sharon has proven herself to be somewhat volatile, and capable of treating Alaska as less than a civilian, despite her previous reluctance. Alaska doesn’t want to push her into treating her as an enemy.

The thing is, if she gives away her information, she gives away her only protection. She doesn’t trust the welcoming hand Sharon had extended her before - she doesn’t even know if it’s still extended. The situation feels hopeless.

She’s going to have to think of something, though.

The thought is an exhausting one, and she decides that she’ll think of it in the morning, after a few hours of rest. She doubts anything she comes up with in this state will be viable, anyway.

She wills herself into an uneasy, much needed sleep, the pole hard against her back, and the mud soaking into her skirts. She tries not to mind - the dress is already ruined. It’s better than sleeping next to Detox and Roxxxy, at any rate.

She never thought she’d long for her uncle’s mansion, but there’s a first time for everything.

[dontcare77ghj]

Habits

 Natasha x reader x Clint

Sleep series. Italics is signing.

The three of you had been together for years. You were all an unstoppable force, whether on a mission or not. There was nothing the three of you didn’t know about each other, though, the fact they were once spies probably had something to do with it. You knew every little detail about each other, including your sleep habits.

“She’s at it again.” Clint murmured, shaking you awake.

“What’s she saying?” You questioned, groggily, as you forced your eyes open. Natasha laid facing the two of you and was talking loudly in Russian.

“I caught something about Lucky and something about the asshole who took her coffee.” He explained with a fond smile.

“That asshole’s either you or Tony.” You said with a smile.

“Hey, that’s mean.” Clint whined, causing your smile to grow wider.

“Anything worth waking her about?” You quizzed, looking the babbling woman over.

“I’m not sure yet.” He admitted. “She’s been going for about 20 minutes, but she keeps getting louder and the topics weirder.”

“Give her ten more minutes.” You suggested, rolling in his arms to face him. “If she says anything that’s concerning, we’ll wake her.”

“Good plan.” Clint said, tightening his arms around you. “Good morning.” He added, placing a kiss on your brow.

“Good morning, archer.” You greeted, with a smile. 

“You know we’re both already awake, you want to?” Clint trailed off suggestively. He began to trail kisses down your neck and smiled into your neck as you groaned.

“Clint, we shouldn’t. Tash is still sleeping.” You complained, causing him to laugh.

“Tasha wouldn’t care.” He said, placing a dark purple mark on your collar bone.

“If she wakes up because we’re fucking, she’ll care. Remember what happened last time?” You reasoned, causing Clint to pull away with a groan.

“I had blue balls for a week.” He remembered, scowling at the ceiling.

“Exactly.” You said, patting him on the chest. “How’s Nat?” You asked, gazing at the still rambling red head.

“I just heard ‘you make a move on them and you’ll be dead before you hit the ground.’” He said, sitting up in the bed. “I think it’s time we wake her.”

“Good idea.” You told him. Gently, you placed a hand on Natasha’s shoulder and gave her one quick shake. “Tash, wake up.” You said, before quickly pulling your hand away.

Natasha’s eyes snapped open as she shot into an upright position. Her head swiveled around the room until her gaze landed on the two of you.

“Was I doing it again?” She questioned, rubbing her eyes as she turned towards you two.

“Yeah.” You answered, taking Natasha’s hand in your own. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Can’t remember too much of it.” She muttered, laying back in bed. “I’m going to need to work on that.”

“I think it’s cute.” Clint said, reaching over and grabbing her hand. “For most part anyway.”

“It’s been helping me with learning Russian.” You mentioned, kissing her on the neck.

“Yeah, but this sleep talking thing is going end up blowing up in my face. Stark’s already got how much footage of me doing it?” She asked, rolling her eyes.

“You only do it when your stressed, you just need to relax more.” You said, giving her a soft smile.

“Got too much to do.” Natasha said, shaking her head slightly. “I got to train with Wanda in an hour.” She groaned, looking over at the glowing clock.

“Go back to sleep, Nat. We’ll wake you in half an hour.” Clint said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “It’ll help de-stress you.”

“Never use that word again.” Natasha stated, rolling her eyes at the man. “Half an hour, that’s it.” Natasha warned, settling back down. Within minutes she was back to sleep. Once you were sure that she wouldn’t wake up again, you and Clint began to quietly talk.

It had been nearly half an hour when she began to do it again.

“I got the words ‘love’ and ‘happy’.” You said, looking over your shoulder.

“She’s not saying anything to worry about.” He assured, rubbing his hand down your arm. “We’re not waking her up, are we?”

“Of course not. JARVIS, tell Wanda Natasha’s not feeling well and won’t be coming to training.” You quietly stated. JARVIS gave him affirmation and you and Clint continued to talk until the sun rose fully.

Non-reader POV

“Clint, what the hell are you doing?” Natasha grumbled, rubbing her eyes as she woke up. Looking around she saw that Clint was sitting next to her in bed, but Y/N wasn’t.

“Not me.” He stated, not looking at the red head but the door. Natasha snapped her head to where his gaze was focused and saw Y/N, continuously walking into the wall. “Have you just been watching her do that?” Natasha asked, narrowing her eyes at the archer.

“She only just started walking into the wall.” He defended. “She was just walking around for a while to start with. I was going to wake her, but I can’t remember if she said that was bad.”

“It’s bad if you startle her awake.” She said, standing up.

“What are you doing? You just said not to startle her.” Clint asked, as she walked over to Y/N

“I’m not going to wake her. Not yet.” She promised. Gently, Natasha placed a hand on her girlfriend and turned her toward herself. “Med, what are you doing?” She asked, gently.

“Want to go to the kitchen.” Y/N murmured, glassy eyes trained on Natasha. “Got things to do.” She added, hand going for the door knob.

“But, sweet-heart, it’s time to go to bed.” Clint said, moving to stand with the two of you.

“No, no, no.” Y/N denied, her face scrunching up in confusion. “There’s things to be done.” She repeated, opening the door and beginning to stumble into the kitchen.

“Are we sure she’s not just drunk?” Clint asked as they followed their girlfriend down the hall.

“Clint.” Natasha sighed.

“What? I’m just asking a question.” He defended himself. He took a seat the island in their kitchen, watching as Y/N began to bustle around the kitchen. “You think it’s time to wake her? You know, before she gets a knife.”

“Good point.” Natasha said, moving over to grab both Y/N shoulders. “Med, wake up.” She cooed. “It’s time to wake up.”

“Nat, move back, I’ve got an idea.” Clint said, moving around the kitchen to grab some items. Natasha cautiously moved away from her still sleeping girlfriend and gave her boyfriend a suspicious face.

“Clint, what are you doing?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Waking Y/N up.” He said before violently clashing two pans together.

Normal POV

A loud gasp escaped your throat as you jerked violently awake. Your breathing was coming out panicked as you jerked your head around the room.

“Y/N, med, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Natasha said soothingly, pulling you into her arms. “Clint, you idiot!”

“I was just trying to be helpful.” He protested, moving over to sandwich you into a hug. “Google said it was the best way to wake a sleepwalker.”

“Well give me some warning next time.” Natasha scolded, pulling away slightly to brush the hair out of your face. “Are you okay, med?”

“I’m fine, Nat, just got a little spooked. What happened? Why are we in the kitchen?” You asked, glancing around the room in confusion.

“You were sleepwalking again, sweet-heart.” Clint explained causing your cheeks to burn red.

“Again?” You whined in embarrassment. “But why are we in the kitchen? I never leave the bedroom.”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” Clint said, rubbing his hand down your arm. “Are you ready to go back to bed?” He asked as you turned your head back to him.

“I don’t want to start sleepwalking again.” You said, eyes downcast. Natasha grabbed your chin in two fingers and lifted your face to meet hers.

“Med, there is nothing to be embarrassed about.” Natasha said, giving you a kiss. “You just slept walked a bit further than normal. Now, come on, let’s get back to bed.” She added, pulling both you and Clint back to bed.

Settling back down into the comfy bed, you could already feel yourself drifting.

“I love you. I love you both.” You breathed, falling back to sleep.

“Love you too.” They both murmured with a smile as you fell asleep.

“JARVIS, if Y/N begins to sleepwalk again lock the doors.” Natasha ordered, she too beginning to fall back asleep.

“Of course, Miss Romanov.”

“Night Clint. Love you, Clint.” Natasha said, curling into your side.

“Love you too, Tasha.” Clint replied before going to sleep too.

Out of the three of you there was no question that Clint was the worst person when it came to sleep. Most nights he stayed wide awake, fueled by caffeine and the urge to keep those he loved safe, but the nights he did sleep were truly something.

Clint had so many different habits that is was hard to guess what he’d do when he actually did sleep. It was a running bet between you and Natasha at this point.

“I smell pizza.” You groaned, forcing your eyes open. “Aww, Clint.” You sighed realizing Clint wasn’t in bed. Quietly sneaking out of bed, so as to not disturb Natasha, you made your way into the kitchen.

Clint was sat, slumped, in a chair on the island with Lucky dutifully sat beside him. Behind him was a freshly baked pizza, which Lucky was obviously eyeing up.

“Clint, what the hell?” You questioned, scratching Lucky on the head as you looked your boyfriend over. He was fast asleep at the island. “You are the only person who’d make pizza, then go back to sleep.” You sighed, throwing the pizza dog a slice.

The British are coming.

“Sure they are. Barton, come back to bed.” You said, attempting to get him to stand. Clint shook you off and curled back onto the table.

Lucky don’t touch my pizza.

“Okay, Clint. You stay put.” You said, shaking your head. Going into the living room you grabbed a throw and a cushion. Moving back to the kitchen, you set Clint up in his makeshift bed. “Love you, Clint.”

That’s what she said.

“Come on, Lucky.” You said and gestured for the dog to follow you. You and Lucky made it back to the bedroom, you crawling back in next to Natasha and Lucky at the end of the bed.

“Where’d you go?” Natasha asked, pressing her face into your neck.

“Kitchen. Clint made pizza.” You explained, running a hand through her curls.

“Again?” She snorted. “Did you leave him at the island again?” 

“Had to. He wouldn’t leave and he was sleep signing again.” You told her.

“He’s a weird one.” She said, curling further into your body.

“Yeah. He is, but he’s ours.” You added. Natasha gave a hum in response and the two of you fell asleep.

“I’m going to kill him.” Natasha growled causing you to snap awake.

“What’s going on?” You slurred, rubbing your eyes..

“Clint’s banging around the kitchen again.” She said, jumping out of bed. She quickly made her way into the kitchen with you following after her. Clint stood at the bench, making, yet another, pizza.

“Clint, bed, now.” Natasha stated, grabbing the archer by the shoulders and guiding him to the bedroom.

“You gotta admit, it’s nice to know he’s in a deep enough sleep, he’s not waking up at the smallest noise.” You commented as she made Clint get into bed.

“It’s nice to know, but right now I’m so tired, that him banging around in the kitchen is less than appreciated.” She said, getting back into bed on one side of Clint.

Tash, don’t steal my arrows

“He’s getting sloppy. He’ll be asleep in a minute.” You commented, getting on Clint’s other side.

“Love you, Y/N. Love you, Clint.” Natasha sighed, curling into his side and holding your hand.

“Love you too, Tasha. Love you, Clint.” You responded, falling back to sleep.

I love you both. Always.

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Coming soon;

Sam x reader x Steve x Bucky

Bucky x reader x Clint

Sam x reader x Bucky

Sam x reader x Clint

Natasha x reader x Steve

Peter P x reader x Shuri?   

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