#been having daily wake up screaming kinds of nightmares since Everything

[gwensy]

[gods-perfect-idiots]

Y'all have been so kind and welcoming of my half-baked concepts and unpolished doodles - it has been an uphill battle to fight my own self-judgment and just post my stuff! Anyway, here's another one - this time with more ~spicy memories~ (aka trauma).

The premise for this one: I was thinking about how Logan/Worst Wolverine probably hasn't slept next to someone in years, and how that is partially because he is likely prone to nightmares/sleep terrors and probably gets suddenly violent while still half or fully unconscious - maybe reliving past conflicts, maybe lashing out against his demons, maybe just unprocessed grief and rage coursing through his system when he's sober and has his guard down in sleep.

Here, I imagined him not only getting violent, but also screaming and crying while in this somnabulant state, half-waking in a sudden frenzy of fear and anger, and in the process flipping over on top of Wade and rapidly stabbing him multiple times, through the head and the gut.

Regenerative healing and quick reflexes notwithstanding, I think Wade would be taken aback to be awoken to that kind of sudden attack (not least because I think he sleeps better next to Logan - less jumpy and more restful with his big boy next to him y'know?). But his first thought, even with all six of Logan's claws embedded in his flesh, and horny hallucinations galloping through his skewered brain, would be to comfort Logan and try to bring him back to himself, even while his body and mind struggle to catch up to what's happening.

Continued ramblings and details under the cut lol.

I imagine Logan snapping fully awake and being utterly inconsolable, just collapsing and sobbing uncontrollably onto Wade's chest, blubbering nearly incomprehensibly (a lot of hoarse "I'm sorry"s and "Oh God oh fuck"s) while Wade heals and tries to soothe him with one hand combing through his hair and the other gently stroking up and down his back, trying to make jokes that simply don't reach Logan's grief-stricken psyche.

"It's okay, Peanut, no need to apologize, I'm good already see? That healing factor coming in clutch yet again haha. You do owe me a new mattress though, Mr. Scissorhands - you know how head wounds bleed like a fire hydrant, those pesky blood vessels amiright? Though fully half of all of my blood is a bit further south currently ifyouknowwhatimean... did I ever tell you about the weird response when I get Le Brain Stabbed? I didn't mention it in the Odyssey because, well, heat of the moment and all that, didn't want to stop for an expositional lore drop y'know? Anyway, point is, I get like, *diabolically* horny and hallucinate little cartoon characters to boot, it's pretty wacky tee bee aitch but does take the sting out of a surprise lobotomy so that's something... hey, you still with me, beautiful? Shhh sweetheart, it's okay, you're okay, just let it out, everything's hunky dory peachy keen cupcake unicorn rainbow blowjobs as far as the eye can see, darling honey kitty babycakes..."

But no matter what he says, jokes or not, Logan is just completely unreachable for a while; he just keeps crying and crying into his chest, like he's letting out 200 years of grief and confusion and loneliness and fear all in one fell swoop, his tears mixing with Wade's blood until Wade starts to worry he's getting dehydrated (ever since the time ripper Wade has made it his personal mission to Rehydrate That Old Man - the abs were undoubtedly impressive to behold but also a mark of a deeply desaturated body, and Wade keeps energy drinks and water bottles everywhere now, forcing Logan to drink every chance he gets. Sure, Logan's abs are less defined now, but Wade thinks he's practically started glowing - probably from all the nutrients and hydration, and the constant physical affirmations and calm daily routine probably helps too).

The crying isn't even really about Wade - Logan knows Wade is alive and well, but years of being petrified of hurting anyone he loves, and despite that crippling fear haunting him all his life he still failed to save anyone in his universe, and in fact, not only failed to save them but destroyed their memory by turning around and letting his feelings take over and turn him into (to him) an irredeemable monster, slaughtering anyone who crossed his path until he collapsed from exhaustion. And that haunts him even more, the innocent people he massacred in his supposedly righteous fury... he can't think straight amid the turmoil and all he can do is cling to Wade and cry and cry and cry until eventually he passes out again into a deep dreamless sleep.

It's not the last nightmare he has by any means, or the last time he wakes Wade up with his claws in a frenzied state, but Wade makes a mental note to be prepared so he can wake Logan up from his next half-awake nightmare with something pleasurable instead of painful. (Wade - in a rare moment of self-restraint - doesn't dwell on the whole "brain skewering = horny hallucinations" but he is absolutely BRICKED UP about it and the next couple of times he jerks it, all he can think about is fucking that old man silly until he can't even remember his own name much less the centuries of trauma).

(Spoiler: it works, and over time Logan's nightmares become gradually less debilitating and violent as he starts to associate them with - ahem - more positive feelings and maybe - *maybe* - forgive himself and start to imagine a life where he can be redeemed, can be treated like a good person, can be beloved and cherished and maybe even for a moment feel like he deserves it).

.... sorry this turned into a whole thing but here ya go!

[lifblogs]

I have been thinking a lot about what I went through in the fall of 2022 lately. Probably because it was traumatizing, and what do you know, it's fall.

For those who don't know, I developed a painful, deadly illness called Stevens Johnson Syndrome in October 2022, and was eventually hospitalized (thank fuck) for it in November 2022. I beg you to not look this illness up, to not see the images. You will thank me for not doing so. It's horrific to look at, and even more horrific to be in a body that looks the way it did. Basically I felt like I had the flu at first, or maybe COVID. My mémère had just died, and I got testing done because I didn't want to go to the wake and funeral and risk getting everyone sick. I think I went through two weeks of that. It seemed to mostly go away in November. But at my dad's place I started to get itchy. And that's when it all goes downhill.

Stevens Johnson Syndrome is a severe, drug induced allergic reaction that causes a necrotic skin rash. Basically, you get a red-purple rash, feel like you're burning, your skin dies, and it falls off. This leaves a lot of room for infection to get in as well, and I had several (and the pitted scars to prove it).

I suffered for a long time, seeing doctor after doctor after doctor, and no one was helping me. I started wanting to kill myself from how much pain I was in. My skin literally felt on fire. There was heat coming off of it. I felt so hot a lot of the time. Movement hurt. Clothes hurt. I'd scream while taking the cold showers I was recommended to take (though I actually shouldn't really have been showering at all).

And my skin was coming off. I had a million open wounds on my body, a ton of burnt skin. It was a literal nightmare. I was given pain meds and antipsychotics at the hospital so I wouldn't try to kill myself from the pain. Sometimes at home the only thing keeping me alive was The Lord of the Rings.

What's interesting about this whole experience (aside from the fact that if the doctors had known what I had I most likely would have been treated in the burn unit) is that there is not a lot of research on the life-long effects.

But it's been two years, and I have noticed these effects more and more, and ended up looking into it. There are studies, but not enough for doctors to tell survivors what they're in for. It's tough. My hair is constantly coarse and brittle now, it falls out (supposedly this could be from scarring), the first layer of my skin tends to die and peel off if I skip a few days of skincare (this includes my whole body, not just my face). Recently I skipped skincare for a few days, and my feet hurt so badly from how dry they were that I didn't even want to walk. My nails are weak, and break and bend so easily. I get frequent tears in my skin around my fingernails, and recently I've had a whole entire half of a toenail peel off. My nose and mouth are almost constantly dry, sometimes to the point of pain. TMI, but my nose doesn't run anymore because everything just dries up and gets stuck in there. I have a hard time talking from how dry my mouth can get. And of course, there's a ton of scarring (more TMI, but a lot of the skin on my breasts is purple, though that's not too weird since the chest is one of the most effected areas). I've been noticing my scars more too, and thinking about them more. I notice them when I see my legs a lot in particular.

I was too sick to think about all this last year, but it's just, I don't know... odd, doesn't feel like the right word, but it's kind of surreal that this changed my whole life. So much of my daily routine revolves around caring for my skin, and apparently that's what a lot of burn survivors have to do as well. It's just crazy to think of the severity of what I went through, I guess. If I got more detailed about it you'd all need the body horror trigger warning. I just wish doctors would tell survivors what they're in for for the rest of their lives.

[hiswordsarekisses]

A letter about a dream of judgement day:

“I have been a pastor for 25 years. I always thought I was doing a reasonably good job. Kind of like the folks who consider themselves "good people. I had tried to preach, what I thought, was the whole counsel of God. I prayed, over the years, with many people to accept Jesus and make Him Lord of their lives.

My wife, Judy, and I moved to Ruidoso, New Mexico, about six years ago to plant a church.

Shortly after arriving I was convicted that something was horribly wrong with my ministry. I read the Scriptures and prayed earnestly that God would show me what was wrong.

The feeling continued to grow and I became depressed and moody. I asked Judy to pray for me and explained my problem. I didn't know if this was the Holy Spirit convicting or Satan attacking. She prayed that God would reveal the cause of my depression and make Himself clear as He revealed any problem with my ministry for Him.

That night I had the most terrifying, realistic, blood-chilling nightmare any man has ever had. I am a Vietnam veteran and I know a little about nightmares. Nothing in my experience has ever come close, nor do lever want it to, to the horror of that night.

I dreamed that it was Judgment Day and I was standing right next to the throne of God. I noticed that to my left and my right were pastors as far as I could see. I thought this was odd that the Lord would reserve this front-row space for pastors only.

I looked out across a space of only a few yards and there were millions, maybe billions, of people, yet I could see each one of their eyes staring at me. As I studied this group I noticed that I knew many of them from times at the altar or ones who had sat under my teaching. I was pleased to see that they had made it to heaven, but confused because they didn't look happy. They looked very angry and hateful.

Then I heard the voice of the Lord say, "Away, I never knew you."

I was suddenly frightened that what I was seeing were those who thought they were saved. Then I saw all of them pointing a finger at each of us pastors and saying together, in one voice that shook my soul,

“We sat in your church and thought we were saved. Why didn't you tell us we were lost?"

Tears were pouring down my face and the faces of all of those pastors. I watched as one by one those people were cast into hell. One and then another, and another, and another..., untl they were all gone.

I died inside as each one screamed in agony and gnashed their teeth, cursing us as they went into the lake of fire.

Then I was looking into the face of Jesus and He said to me, "Is this the part where I'm supposed to say, 'Well done, my good and faithful servant?" I woke up with a scream and my heart pounding and I was begging Jesus to forgive me.

I died a million deaths that night. Since that night I have done two things on a daily basis. I do everything I can to preach the Law before grace in the hope that conviction of sin will bring a sinner to true salvation.

The other thing that I do is pray for every person I have ever preached to, asking God to repair any damage I have done. I also never believe anyone when they tell me they are saved. It is my duty to challenge them and search out the solidness of their salvation.

I am learning to be more effective and confident as I teach others how to share their faith by using the Law.

I have seen several people saved. who thought they were saved, as I have used the

"Way of the Master" material to teach them evangelism.

I do want to hear those words. "Well done my good and faithful servant," and thanks to you and your team I have a better chance of hearing them. Thank you.

I just wanted to let you know some pastors are waking up to the truth. The desire of my heart is to please God. I pray that my days of being a man please are over, along with the nightmares.

I also pray that God will use me to bring other pastors into the truth of the Gospel message so that they will not have to face the nightmare that I did.”

~ Steve Kreins

[mercy-burning]

Affection

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer and Y/N decidedly hate each other. But when a near-death experience puts one of them in a coma, their mutual hatred might have to take a backseat— Or will it? Category: Angst / Happy Ending! + Humor and a lil bit of Fluff Content: Strong language, Reader is in a coma, mentions of injury, kissing Word Count: 2.6k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: This one’s for Pom’s ( @imagining-in-the-margins ) September Writing Challenge, Enemies To Lovers! I have another one coming up as well, but this idea wouldn’t get out of my head ever since I watched The Abyss with my dad and I had to get it out 😅 I hope you like it!!

———

I swear to fucking God, if this motherfucker really thinks he—

That was the last thing Y/N thought before she was knocked out cold.

With her line of work, it was natural to assume that she was thinking about the unsub, but unfortunately the criminal she and her team were tracking down was the farthest thing on her mind. Spencer would have chastised her for it— letting something else cloud her thoughts while she was in a dark alley, alone, and with a serial killer on the loose.

"You should be smarter than that!" she could hear him say in that high pitch he always carried when he was upset— especially with her. "If you don't get yourself killed one of these days, then it'll be the rest of us!"

Thinking about it made her blood boil.

"It's your fault," she wanted to tell him. "I had to blow off some steam because you were pissing me off!"

The only thing was... She couldn't tell him.

Well... She could.

He just couldn't hear her, because no one could.

It was like some stupid, cliché movie, where you found yourself standing over your dying body and having to choose whether to live or not. It seemed like the obvious choice, to fucking live, but... Y/N found herself wandering around her hospital room, yelling into the void and attempting to jump back into her own body.

Nothing was working.

And when Spencer showed up, his face red and his hair and clothes all messed up, she wanted to scream at him.

"Hey!"

Nothing. He was practically lifeless as he drifted to the chair next to her bed and sat down. It was nearly impossible to read from his expression and body language how he was feeling, and that alone was enough to make her angry again. (Not that the anger had really gone away since waking up next to her comatose body, of course.)

"Hey! Dumbass!"

Still nothing.

As Spencer just blankly stared down at Y/N's bed, she decided she'd had enough.

"SPENCER FUCKING REID, IF YOU DON'T HELP ME RIGHT NOW I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL HAUNT YOUR ASS UNTIL THE END OF ETERNITY, AND I'M GONNA LAY FAT, STINKIN' GHOST SHITS IN YOUR SHOES, DO YOU HEAR ME? AND—"

"I hate you."

It was a bold enough statement to stop Y/N in her tracks, no matter how quietly he'd mumbled it. She knew for sure that he didn't like her, after years of constant bickering and dirty glares and whatever else, but... The word 'hate' was like a knife that sliced through her joking rage and stopped the whole world around her.

If she wasn't already out of her own body, she just knew she would have felt her soul leave.

Spencer didn't hate anyone. Not that she was aware of, anyway. He found nearly everyone delightful, and vice versa... But for some reason, he hated Y/N.

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, well... Feeling's mutual, I guess..."

"You're stupid, and reckless, and you don't think. And you're a goddamn nightmare to work with... You know what— You're a stone-cold bitch."

His words made her physically step backwards, and it felt like if she were a cartoon, there might have been steam coming out of her ears.

"Yeah, well jokes on you, you make it easy," she seethed. "Fuck you!"

"How... How dare you..." he continued, anger reddening his face.

Y/N watched as he balled his fists and leaned in a little closer to her body, his voice tight and strained. "How dare you walk into my life and boss me around and make it impossible to breathe... From the moment I met you, you've brought out this... this fire in me that I can't put out no matter how hard I try, and it's insufferable—You're insufferable, and I hate you, how dare—"

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off by a shortness of breath. Spencer breathed in, loud and choked, and the next breath he let out was nothing short of a sob. His eyes squeezed shut, tears rolling down them and his hands clutched the bedsheets with a vigor and rage that Y/N had never seen from him, even in all the years she'd spent visibly getting on his last nerves.

"N—No," she choked out, feeling her throat tighten. "Don't... Don't turn into a sappy mess on me now, do you hear me, Reid? You hate me, don't... Don't..."

"I don't hate you," he whispered, wiping his eyes and reaching out to grab her lifeless hand. "I hate that you make me feel this way, but... I could never hate you..."

She wanted nothing more than to be able to squeeze his hand back, to tell him, not even necessarily with words but with a simple gesture, that she was right there and wasn't going to go anywhere.

She just... had to figure out how to make that true.

Still, Spencer kept going, a small laugh bubbling up through tears and phlegm. "But I will hate you if you die, because I just know you're gonna come back and haunt me for eternity... Probably... shit in my shoes or something."

Y/N barked a laugh that was true and pure... Happy, even.

The genius may have acted like he hated her, but it turns out he knew her pretty well, perhaps even fondly in one way or another.

To think— All those years she spent seeing him sneer at her, feeling his glare burn into her soul, the amount of times she caught him making faces or inappropriate gestures behind her back, all of it... And the whole time, he was probably doing it with a little flicker of fondness deep within the confines of his heart, which he swore to fill with nothing but hatred for her.

The thought made the little flicker in her own heart burn brighter.

As she wandered closer to her bed, beside Spencer and in front of her own body, she reached her hand out to see if she could touch his face, to give him something...

Even though she had no luck, something shifted when he spoke.

"Just... Come back to me, please? I know I'm not good at apologizing, but if it means I get you back... I swear that I will make up every horrible thing I've ever done or said to you. Just... Please don't leave me."

He laid his head down in his hands and tried not to cry again, every said horrible thing replaying on a loop in his brain like some kind of taunt. He wished more than anything for a chance to make it up to Y/N, and now he might not ever be able to.

"You think I'd leave this mortal earth without getting the chance to kick your ass?"

Everything was so fuzzy and light and brimming with these high emotions that Y/N almost didn't realize she was saying these words and Spencer was hearing them. She almost didn't feel the warmth of her bloodstream beneath layers of skin, the beat of her heart slowly coming back to life at the sounds and smells of the hospital room.

She almost didn't realize that Spencer was grabbing her now, his warm hands covering her cold ones and bringing them back to life as well.

"Screw you," he breathed with absolutely no malice to be detected in his voice.

They shared a smile so bright, no one would have been able to guess that they never got along.

TWO WEEKS LATER

Not only was she stuck at home doing nothing while on suspension (Yes, it turns out that storming off into an alley and not paying attention while on the job, just because a co-worker pissed you off, can get you suspended by Chief Strauss), but Y/N was also being visited by a daily rotation of her co-workers and friends and family, and her house was nearly covered in flower bouquets and baked goods.

It was a nightmare.

The sentiment was nice, sure, but if she had to move one more vase, she was going to start throwing them.

God, maybe Spencer was right, I am a stone-cold bitch...

Thinking of him also put a little damper on her mood.

He hadn't been to visit her once... And she figured that after their nice little moment at the hospital, he'd at least stop by with flowers or an "I'm glad you're not dead!" call, but there was nothing on his end. Not even a text message or a letter.

But for all she knew, their small moment of kindness could have been a figment of her concussed imagination.

Please, she thought, if I brought it up to him he'd probably just laugh in my face.

Rather than a laugh, Y/N heard the bright sound of her doorbell, which normally would have meant a fun unexpected visit or a date she was getting ready for, but by now it only meant another vase of flowers or a pie from a neighbor she still didn't remember the last name to.

Either way, she answered the door with as polite a smile as she could muster, and instead of finding a vaguely familiar neighbor or acquaintance, she found Spencer.

Though, to be fair, he was holding a bouquet of flowers.

"Well, this is a surprise," Y/N drawled, crossing her arms. "I don't even think you've ever been to my house."

She was surprised to see him nervous around her, rather than irritated. And she would have found it endearing had they not been practically mortal enemies from the moment they met... She was suspicious.

"O—Oh, yeah... I know, I just thought... I wanted to come see how you were doing... These are for you."

He held out the flowers, which were truthfully the pretties set she'd received, and it irked her. Because of course he of all people would be the one to tell which kinds of flowers she'd prefer.

"Thanks," she said, taking them from him and allowing him the space to come inside. "Watch out, it's a maze in here..."

While she looked for somewhere to put the flowers on display, she could feel Spencer looking around her space, probably profiling what he could behind a sea of flowers.

"Hm."

Y/N sighed. "What?"

"Nothing. I'm just... I'm surprised this many people actually like you."

Despite the nature of his observation, she found it comforting. That level of playful contempt was what she was used to, and it brought a sparkle to her eye as she turned to face him. "Ha... I'm not a complete bitch, you know."

"Sure."

Between the growing grin on his face and the smirk forming on her own, Spencer and Y/N found themselves falling back into a familiar rhythm. And yet, something about it was still... different.

So much so that Y/N felt honest-to-God butterflies in her stomach when he approached, hands retreating from his pockets and head tilting off to the side. His expression held that look he got when he was trying to figure someone out, usually an unsub. She hated to admit it to herself, but a little part of her always found that side of him extremely attractive.

And now that it was right in front of her?

She didn't know what to make of it.

"What?" she snapped, looking for an excuse to hide any and all attraction she was feeling.

Spencer stepped back a little, breaking away from whatever trance he'd just been in. "God, why do you always have to do that?"

"Do what?"

"You push away every single show of affection! Any time I'm trying to be nice, you just act like it's some big inconvenience to you!"

Y/N laughed. "Ha! That's what that was? Just now? When you insulted me, and then started stalking towards me with that look you get when you're interrogating an unsub? That's what you call affection?"

"That's not... That's not what that was!"

"Oh really? Then what was it?"

"It was part of the routine! Banter! Y—You know, that's our thing! We insult each other, and we act like we hate each other but we... We don't, really..."

The longer he went on, the faster her heart raced. This was the moment in the movie where he inevitably blurted out that he loved her, and in turn she would either kiss him or slap him, or slap him and then kiss him...

But Y/N was still feeling rather playful despite the swarm of butterflies in her stomach begging for some relief.

"Oh?" she prompted, taking a slow step closer to him. "We don't?"

Spencer seemed to get red immediately, and he avoided her eyes. "U—Uh... Well I... I thought... Maybe I read it all wrong, a—and I'm sorry if I did..."

She'd been getting closer meanwhile, and now they were practically toe-to-toe. He did his best to ignore her, taking a few steps back until she cornered him against the front door. And with the way he wasn't doing anything to get out of his predicament, she took that as his acceptance and took another leap.

"What..." she cooed, crawling her fingers up the front of his chest like a spider. "You like me? Hmm?"

When he finally looked down at her, she allowed herself to smile, albeit slowly and with calculation.

In a flash Spencer went from nervous to fed-up, weight seeming to visibly lift from his chest as he sank against the door. "You're messing with me..."

"It's so fun."

"You know what, screw you."

"Is that a promise?"

"Maybe it is. What are you gonna do ab—"

She didn't let him finish.

In an instant, Y/N lunged forward and pulled him down for a kiss.

Even though she thought he might have tried to take control of the situation, he ended up surprising her with a wanton moan as his hands clutched at her sides, holding on for dear life. Their bodies and tongues collided in a mess of years worth of pent-up tension, chaotic and wild and fiercely beautiful in a way that put even the greatest first kisses to shame.

And of course, Spencer had to go and ruin it.

He pushed her away and looked almost panicked. "W—Wait, are you even cleared to do this?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, reaching out for him again. "I'm fine."

"Y/N, you were in the hospital! I thought... I thought you were..."

She appreciated the sentiment, but with her entire body on fire from his touch, she decided she needed more of it. "Yeah, but I'm not... I'm very much alive, and you know what?"

He blinked back at her, watching carefully as she leaned in close to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"It's because of you. You make me feel... more alive than I've ever been."

"And... You're not messing with me this time?"

With a laugh,  Y/N shook her head and leaned up to brush her nose with his. "Nuh-uh... But if you'd like to, I'd love to mess with you in a more fun way. And maybe I'll even let you do it back..."

Spencer hummed, feeling himself gravitate towards her more with every passing second. "Deal."

He barely got the word out all the way before she was dragging him through the maze of flora and contained food and into her bedroom, where piece by piece, their hatred and fondness for one another combined to create the most exquisite of nights.

———

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[angelamajiki]

[ a father’s love ]

PARING: StepFather! Aizawa x StepDaughter! Reader

SYNOPSIS: Your stepfather took you in with open arms after the death of your mother. Depression gets the better of you and Shouta promises to take care of you. But just how far is he willing to go to see it through?

CW: yandere, pseudo-incest, mentions of stalkers, mentions of death, depression, mental health issues, pregnancy, noncon, somnophilia, bondage, daddy kink, praise kink, afab reader

AN: my first collab with the bnharem server!! the theme was roommates (i ran with the term loosely) read the other member’s takes here! mind the tags as usual and enjoy!! :)

The death of your mother shattered you. A freak accident with a villain attack had her crushed under rubble from a collapsed building. Your stepfather, Shouta, suggested that you move back home with him after her funeral. As tempting as the offer was, you were determined to make it through University and handle yourself like a big girl, an adult ready to take on the world. You had only moved out a few months before her death, independence calling to you after you received your college acceptance letter.

A few months and an eviction notice later, you crawled back to him, the only remnants of your family. Open arms enveloped you, bringing you solace and comfort in your dire time of need. You felt like a child, bundled up in his arms as you sobbed, screaming at the cruelty of the world. Depression hit you hard and deep, flunking you out of your classes and preventing the bills from being paid. You had no other alternative but to accept his offer.

“You time and space to grieve properly, kitty. The most logical thing to do is take a breather.”

Ah, kitty. He always knew that was your favorite nickname, calling you that ever since you were a little girl. He also always knew just what to say. Patting your thigh, he stood up and extended his hand to help you up as well.

“Let’s go step up your room. I'm sure you need a nap after that cry.”

He gave a wrinkly smile before disappearing down the hall.

Skeptical at first, you were unsure if it was the right move to return home. You needed time to figure out what you wanted, what you needed. A break from life would give you a chance to sort things out, right? And Shouta was more than prepared to use this opportunity to show you he would be all that you needed and more.

The man was nothing short of doting and generous. A shoulder to cry on, a good laugh, a friend, a father. He helped you piece your broken soul back together. Whenever he wasn’t patrolling, he was at home with you. When your depression seemed to drown you, Shouta was there to pull you out of the water. He made sure you ate, helped brush your hair when it was matted, and got you into clean clothes daily. It was the small things that he did for you that helped your demeanor change.

—

“Up and at ‘em, kitty. Breakfast is on the table.”

You grunted, burrowing deeper into your bedding. A chuckle reverberated in his throat as he rubbed your lower back soothingly.

“C’mon, I know you haven't been eating lately. Let's get some food in you. I made your favorite.”

—

But as time passed, his help could only do so much. Your mental health continued to dwindle, plummeting into the ground when her first anniversary passed.

—

Gentle strokes of a brush smoothed through your tangled hair. Shouta was kind enough to help you when your head got matted into a rat’s nest, being incredibly tender and gentle with you. Tears streamed down your face, broken hiccups and sobs bubbling from your chest. You were trying to hold it in, he could tell. A sweet kiss was placed on the back of your head as he enveloped you in a comforting embrace, letting his hands sip down to your hips to rub circles in.

“Let it out, kitty. I'm here for you.”

He was the only one that was.

—

The domestic dynamic the two of you fell into hardly felt like one of parent and child, but more as two lovers sharing a home they built together. The pair of you even adopted a new cat together in hopes of cheering you up. You can't say that you disliked it. It felt...nice to have your presence matter when it was a struggle even to be alive. Shouta always checked in on you; whether he sent you an update from work or shared a cat video. He really was the best father anyone could hope for, even when your depression got the worst of you.

Your depression started to manifest itself in many forms. Lately, you’d been having vicious nightmares, only to wake up with an unknown stickiness on your thighs. Recalling the night terrors was something that evaded you, but you knew you were being violated. Perhaps your body wet itself from the fear of the dream? It was the only logical answer you and Shouta could come up with. Depression sure had funny ways of physically manifesting itself. You thought that would be the end of it, putting the situation behind you.

It was until it started happening nightly. The nightmares only seemed to prolong themselves, worsening to the point where you could vividly dream of being assaulted. Your underwear was now soiled too, and it definitely wasn’t your doing. Fearing you had a stalker, Shouta installed brand new locks on your windows and doors, hoping to soothe you. He was a Pro-Hero, so he certainly had the means and know-how to protect you. It put you at some ease, but it continued to the point where your stepfather decided sleeping in the same room would help you feel safer.

It didn't.

The nightmares themselves only seemed to get worse, but Shouta was right there to comfort you as soon as you woke up shouting in a panic. He would take you into his arms and hold you until you fell back asleep. You felt like a child. But he didn't judge you.

After a month of strange behavior, the stress caused you to gain some weight. Visiting a doctor was your best bet to get an answer. He took you to your appointment, letting you hold onto his arm for comfort as his hand rested comfortably on your thigh. The two of you were mistaken for a couple by a nurse. What a strange, intimate relationship the pair of your tangled yourselves in.

The doctor ran some tests and had your blood drawn. The results were to be emailed to you in a few days. Shouta calmed your nerves with a tender kiss to the forehead, reassuring you that everything would work itself out.

The notification for the email came in a few days later while Shouta was at work and you were lounging in the living room. Patience was never your strong suit, so you took his laptop from the coffee table, only to open up to a camera feed. Coming from your room.

The blood in your veins ran cold as you looked into the memory drive of the feed. Maybe he set up a camera to see what was happening during your nightmares? That had to be it; how could you assume the worst of your sweet dad? The only saved footage to be found was him fucking himself deep inside of your sleeping body.

“I see the results are in.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice. He always had a habit of sneaking up on you.

“What-” You couldn’t find the words to describe your anger. “What the fuck is this!”

Disgust. Rage. Dispair.

Your only family left had turned against you.

“You were upset at the loss of your family, kitty. So I decided to give you a new one.”

He couldn't possibly mean…

“You’re pregnant.”

Bile rose to your throat as you gagged at the mere thought of his words. Pregnant? With your father’s child? His betrayal cut you more profoundly than your mother’s death ever could have. But it couldn't have made more sense—his touches, his comfort, sleeping in your room, the nightmares that plagued you.

“You’re sick!”

You shouted, tears streaming down your face as you continued to pummel insults and nasty spats at him. You lost your voice by the end of your rant, panting and heaving while sweat beaded your brow. He just stood there, taking everything in with a grain of salt.

“I understand, kitty. I really do. I should have been straightforward with my intentions.” He confessed.

The capture weapon around his neck snagged you the second you moved on the couch.

“Let daddy make it up to you. I'll make everything better for my pretty little kitty.”

It secured you to the sofa, keeping your legs spread and your hands behind your torso. On his knees in front of you, Shouta was ready to serve his apology with his tongue. Panties and sweatpants were ripped at the seams before being tossed aside.

He caressed your thigh with a delicate touch, pressing his lips to the other side. A kiss was pressed to your clit before long slow strokes of a hot tongue lavished it in attention. He kneaded your thighs gently all the while, humming as he began to alternate between licking and suckling on your sensitive nub.

Your head thrashed about in your binds as you shouted in protest.

“S-Stop it right now! Get off of me, dad!”

In a desperate plea, you hoped that hearing you call him dad would force him back into reality. Instead, he groaned and took a breath.

“Call me that again, kitty.”

A hot mouth sealed over your wet cunt as he dove his tongue between your folds while sucking with his lips. The pleasure was undeniable; his tongue was too experienced to ignore how his ministrations made you feel. Toes flexing and curling, you cried out of a mix of frustration, disgust, and humiliation as he continued to work at your dripping hole. This pig was getting off on the fact that he was fucking his daughter. It made your soul shatter all over again, the one he worked so hard to rebuild.

You continued to sob, moans now added to the mix, as he worked a finger inside of you. He made a curling motion after plunging in knuckle deep. A pleasured shout broke between your cries.

“I'll take it that’s your sweet spot, pretty girl? Good to know.”

He continued to abuse that spot, slowing down just a touch with his tongue to drag out the ride to the peak. Can't have you coming too fast, now can we? Your moans and whimpers spurred him on even more as he wiggled another finger inside you.

Removing his mouth, he focused on stretching and loosening up your tense body. You were lax when sleeping, so sliding in was a pinch with his size. But now he has to deal with you thrashing and struggling against his bonds. Disgust and pleasure churned together in your gut, feeling the incoming orgasm approaching hard and fast. Shouta felt you clench around his fingers and added a third, using his thumb to swipe your clit back and forth. With a final cry, you came on his fingers with a shout as your body convulsed in the capture weapon. You found what little peace you could in your short-lived post-nut clarity, taking a moment to breathe and center yourself.

Your father gave you no such chance to do so, immediately springing his cock free and rubbing the tip against your clit to gather your wetness. A chuckle sounded in his throat as he watched you twitch even more from the stimulation that was starting to border on being painful.

“Relax, kitty. Being tense won't do you any good.”

He slowly nudged his cock into your hole, groaning as he took his time bottoming out inside you. Praise spilled from his lips as he let you adjust, feeling your pussy clench tight around him. Good girl, good kitty. He shushed your sobs, smoothing the tears off of your face with the pads of his thumb. Murmurs of good girl and taking me so well slipped your senses. The pace he set was slow and deep, letting you feel every agonizing inch of his rather impressive dick.

Your flowing tears were kissed away as he proceeded to thrust faster and deeper. The sound of skin slapping against one another filled the room, even above your now weakened crying and whimpers. Sweat beaded on your brow plastered your hair to your forehead. His breath was warm against your cheek, his moans of pleasure so close to your ear forced you to stay in the moment.

Shouta swallowed your cute noises with a kiss, cupping and stroking your cheek with his right hand while his left pinned your hips down into the cushions. He did his best to stop your tears, pushing the hair off of your sweaty face. A few minutes passed filled with kisses, cries, and deep thrusts before he maneuvered you to be seated in his lap. Back pressed into the cushions, he lazily thrust up into you, hands grabbing your now bouncing ass. His thumb made its way back to your clit as he rubbed it in small circles, grinning at your cries of pleasure that you couldn't hold back. Dark brown eyes fluttered shut as he groaned and moaned proudly, increasing the speed of his thrusts as he felt himself getting closer and closer.

He usually lasted longer while you were sleeping; he does have quite a bit of stamina from his hero work. But something about seeing your flushed, torn face, hearing your whimpers and cries, he can't help but cum rather quickly for his own record. The pleasure was manifesting itself within you again, a second orgasm hitting you like a speeding truck as you gasped and choked for air at its intensity. Shouta was soon to follow, grunting and moaning loudly as he filled your cunt with his spend. He rode out both your orgasms, relishing in the silence between the two of you. It was better than hearing your broken, choked up wails.

It was wrong; he knew that. Breaking your trust, violating you, sabotaging your personal life, he couldn't help but be selfish with you. But he always knew what was best for you, always knew how to take care of you when you couldn't.

Foreheads pressed together, he caught your sagging body against him in a warm hug, stroking your hair when you started to sob uncontrollably.

“Let it out, kitty. I'm here for you.”

[thatharringrovehoe]

Some more Mob AU stuff cuZ I love it.

- Nancy and Steve never dated, but they have had sex. Once. Nancy wanted her first time to be with someone she trusted and Steve is her BEST FRIEND. She trusts Steve more than anyone. And it's. Not great. Because look. Steve and Nancy have alot in common. To much. They each like to be in control. They're both 100% Tops with a capital T. So when they have sex, even though Nancy is nervous, it ends up being almost a fight. Constantly trying to flip the other over, lots of biting and teeth and frustration because neither of them will submit. Afterwards they put on mud masks and get high and agree that while they love each other there is no way they're ever going to be like that.

- Steve notices the way Jonathan goes all glassy eyed when Nancy walks into the room. How his breath hitches whenever she gets mean. Cuz she is. She's not a bad person, but she's definitely a spoiled brat in a different way than Steve. Because while Steve is starved of love and affection, Nancy has been drowning in it since birth. She's haughty and petulant and will not stop for anything to get what she wants. And Steve is worried at first. Jonathan is a good spymaster and an even better friend so he's reluctant to feed him to the lioness that is Nancy Wheeler.

- He doesn't worry later when he watches Nancy go absolutely gooey with affection the first time Jonathan kisses her in the hallway. How she leads him around like a lost puppy by his camera strap to do what Steve suspects is fucking filthy things to him in the photo development room. Because he knows what Nancy likes. Knows that while Steve kills with kindness Nancy Wheeler is all bite and no bark. Likes to make the pleasure sting. And judging by the way Jonathan practically drools when she rakes her manicured nails down his chest over his shirt while they make out leaning against Jonathan's car after school, he 100% is down to be destroyed by Nancy *the princess* Wheeler.

- Jonathan is still a creep. The only difference here is that he's NEVER crossed Steve. Because when the Harrington kid came up to him in 8th grade and asked if he'd heard any interesting rumors Jonathan thought it was a joke. Just another shot at that weird Byers kid. Had half a mind to tell him to go fuck himself. But right as Tommy curled the beginnings of a mean smirk, Steve shut him down without even looking at him. Just held up his hand. Down boy. And Jonathan thought "You know what? Fuck it." Because if he was lying then he was just like everyone else anyway. But if he was telling the truth. Well. He wasn't above bribery. Told Steve everything he knew. Earned himself a seat in King Steve's court. Used the shadows that always used to swallow him up as a cloak. Held himself with a little more confidence because the monarch of Hawkins may have everyone's secrets. But Jonathan spun the web.

- Billy and Jonathan actually get along really well. They get high and talk about music whenever they're not otherwise occupied getting fucking wrecked by their spoiled rich kid Tops. Billy is low key concerned for Jonathan because damn. Wheeler is fucking savage. Like they'll be passing the joint back and forth and Jonathan will start getting almost to detailed the longer they smoke. Billy did not need to know Nancy Wheeler pegs her boyfriend with a dildo that big okay?

- Carole and Tommy are actually married. Like legally. As soon as Carole turned sixteen Tommy BEGGED Steve to pull some strings. To forge some documents. Cuz Tommy LOVED Carole. She was it. And Tommy could be one nasty piece of work but he would die for this girl no hesitation. And Steve is a sucker for that romantic shit. Set them up with a trip to Italy where a lot of Steve's mother's family lives. Because his grandfather respects a man who's ready to commit to his woman like that. And Steve is his grandmother's favorite. They have a ceremony in a little Church at the heart of the village. Tommy did not fucking cry when he saw Carole in her dress okay? It was just dusty in that old church, shut up.

- Nancy and Carole HATE each other. But in a very wasp-ish kinda way. Will hang out and have 'spa days, just us girls' but would choke each other out given the slightest opportunity. Tommy thinks it's hot. He will never tell Carole this.

- Dustin is obsessed with the fact that Nancy and Steve are kind of mirrored? Just two dominant rich kids that fell in love with emotionally stunted boys that were abused by their fathers? They both have dark brunet hair and big brown eyes? Their boyfriends are blonde? Steve are you listening? Steve!

- Steve gets really bad nightmares. Like wake up mid panic attack bad. And he's usually really good at hiding it from Billy. Is careful not to sleep to deeply around him. But one night after some fucking incredible sex Steve just passes the fuck out cuddling. The next thing he knows he's being shaken awake by a terrified Billy Hargrove. Because Steve had been screamin and shakin and cryin out and Billy was ready to burn down this hick town looking for whoever hurt Steve like this. Was gunna bury them in the Hawkins woods and piss on their grave. And that's when Steve tells him everything about the upside down. Introduces him to El to prove it.

- Speaking of, El doesn't spend a year all alone in a fucking cabin. Because Steve knows everyone's secrets and he likes having people in his pocket. And as much as Hopper dislikes Steve Harrington he can't say no when the king of Hawkins offers Jim perfectly forged paperwork for his 'daughter' El. So El goes to school and spends time learning how to be an actual child while Steve Harrington yanks on the leash of the chief of police whenever he wants.

- Billy is SOFT okay? He's just never been allowed to show it. Had been painted with bruises for just existing so God forbid his father let him show a human emotion. But after a year in Hawkins with Steve he lets his shoulders drop just a little. Will twine his fingers with his boyfriend's during movie night at the Byers. Brings Steve breakfast in bed. The first time he weaves a daisy crown for him Steve almost fucking weeps he's so touched.

- Steve is fucking possessive. Like. Intensely jealous. And at first this was a problem because Billy could not understand why all the girls in Hawkins treated him with kid gloves? They didn't just disregard any playful flirting, they full on didn't acknowledge it. He didn't really get longing stares as he walked through the halls anymore. No more tittering teenage girls blushing over him when he had gym outside. And he's not interested in women but it's nice to be noticed okay? Especially when he puts in so much effort. It starts to make him self conscious. Like, is he just unattractive? Second guesses himself to the point that he stops wearing his shirts unbuttoned and starts to get a little obsessive over working out. It's when Billy starts skipping meals that Steve notices. Sees Billy's lip wobble a little when he asks Steve if he's actually attracted to him or if he's just being nice. And Steve has to explain that he just... Doesn't share well. At all. That when Andrew Brady showed up to school last month with a fat lip and a limp it was because Steve had heard him talking with his buddies behind the general store about how he wanted to bend Billy over his Camaro and make him scream.

- And Billy is just. Shook. Gets all warm and fuzzy because no one hase ever loved him this much. Never wanted Billy this much. Wanted Billy to stay. Can feel tears willing up behind his lashes because the most amazing boy he's ever met is so over the moon for Billy that he's willing to draw blood on his behalf. Kisses Steve so hard they both forget to breath. Feels safe and loved, because he belongs to Steve Harrington. However he still flirts with people on the daily though cuz he's a little shit. And hey if it means his jealous boyfriend rails him so good he forgets his own goddamn name then that's just a bonus.

[mrsfrecklesmarauders]

The real Sirius Black

Sirius Black was a very special boy. For instance, everyone at Hogwarts knew who he was. For many, he was the most handsome lad. Many girls (even boys) wanted to date him, others wanted to be like him. Sirius Black was an icon around Hogwarts. The first Black to be sorted into Gryffindor. Prankster legend, always making the funniest jokes and comments in class. He was most teacher's favourite. He had the reputation of the bad boy, a player who broke girl's hearts daily. Sirius Black, the legend.

Nobody knew the real Sirius Black.

Sirius was the most insecure of the Marauders even more than Remus and nobody noticed. He had had a horrible experience with his family. Sirius never showed his true feelings or at least he tried. He wanted to keep his reputation. He kept a smile, he would make a joke or get drunk so he could act goofy around everyone.

Every summer he would experience the worst. His parents made him feel so small. So vulnerable. He hated that feeling.

The real Sirius was sensible, romantic, too depending on love and attention. He cared too much and too deeply. He wasn't a play boy. Sirius had never been in love. Sirius was scared of his sexuality. He was scared of his real temper. But he would do anything for his friends. Specially Remus Lupin.

It was the summer of 1975. Sirius was invited to the Potter's beach House along with Remus and Peter. Remus had a hard time convincing his father to let him go. Since he was a werewolf and he would have to transform there. The boys and Mr. and Mrs. Potter eventually convinced him.

Remus Lupin had to transform in the basement. And the next day all the boys wanted to see him. "I will get in first" Fleamont had said "Do you hear me? I would let you know when to get in"

The boys nodded impatiently. But the minute Fleamont opened the door, Sirius ran inside. He was too impatient. "SIRIUS..." Fleamont yelled. But he didn't pay attention.

Sirius got downstairs and he saw Remus lying on the floor. His body was all brused, dirty and ...naked. Sirius blushed for some reason. He kneeled beside his friend.

"Remus.." he whispered Remus hummed in response, opening his eyes slightly. "Sirius?" Sirius smiled "Yeah it's me. I'm here"

Fleamont came downstairs as well with a blanket. "I told you to wait Sirius" he said "Don't ever do that again" he sounded kind of angry but mostly worried. "Sorry Mr. Potter. I was so worried"

Fleamont smiled covering Remus' nudity.

"Remus? Does something hurt?"

Remus murmured something like 'knee" with still a sleepy voice. Fleamont nodded. "Okay, this is gonna hurt a bit okay?" he took out his wand. Sirius instantly grabbed Remus hand. This was the first time he had watched Remus like that. They only had seen him already fixed and rested at The Hospital Wing. Fleamont flicked his wand muttering something and Remus screamed in pain. Sirius squeezed his hand. "It's okay Remmy"

Remus was fixed in no time. Sirius didn't want to leave him. He stayed with him. Watching Remus sleep. He looked so peaceful. Sirius wanted to touch Remus' hair. But he didn't dare. His heart was beaiting fast. "Sirius?" Euphemia said. She was looking at him from the door frame "Why don't you let him sleep sweetheart. Come down for breakfast. You can be with him when he wakes up"

Sirius looked at Remus again. He didn't want to leave him but he nodded following Euphemia downstairs. And just like that Sirius Black had a crush on his best friend.

It was Sirius idea to become an animagus for Remus. To help him, to be with him. And he managed to do it, to be with Remmy every full moon. And do everything for the boy he loved.

The real Sirius Black secretly hated himself because sometimes he didn't think before acting. He was so afraid of being like his family. And sometimes the nightmares were too strong to ignore. Sometimes he just felt too bad to even hide it.

Normally, Sirius and James would joke around, they wouldn't talk about serious stuff. It wasn't their thing. But James noticed how Sirius' joy lowered everytime before summer breaks or winter breaks. When Sirius had to go home.

Sirius came all brused and crying to James' house the summer of 1976. He didn't speak. Euphemia and Fleamont fixed Sirius' bruses and warmed him up. James was so worried. But Sirius didn't want to speak.

James owled the boys. Remus and Peter. They came the next day. Sirius pretended he was fine of course. He was playing Potter's piano when the boys arrived.

"What happened?" Remus asked clearly worried. "He came all brused last night" whispered James looking at him with concern "I reckon his parents did something to him, but he doesn't want to speak" "Shit.." Peter said.

James approached his friend smiling "Hey mate, look who is here"

Sirius looked at his friends and he instantly smiled. "Heey boys" he said "Guess what? I'm a Potter now. Meaning I would inherite half of their gold" There he was again. Always joking to hide his feelings.

"You wish" James joked.

"Are you okay Sirius?" Remus asked worried

"Yeah. I couldn't be better" Sirius clearly lied "I was hoping to leave that stupid household. I'm free now!" The boys looked at him with concern.

"You're lucky" Peter commented awkwardly "I would like to leave my annoying mother sometimes" Sirius laughed.

"Yeah. We should celebrate" he said "James do you think we can take your father's licor?"

"Don't you dare!"

Remus Lupin sighed he wasn't convinced Sirius was fine.

Later that night, the boys felt asleep on the Potter's leaving room, after drinking and chatting a bit. James Potter woke up to go to the loo as always. And he didn't find Sirius there. James got instantly worried.

James looked all over the house whispering his name not to wake anyone up. Until he got to the second floor bathroom. James opened the door slowly, and to his horror, he saw Sirius there. His naked torso showed some of the worst bruses and scars he's ever seen. He gasped. When Sirius noticed he jumped.

"GET OUT!" Sirius said

"Sirius, what... Let me see"

"No!" Sirius was covering his body, embarrassed. "Sirius" James approached him carefully "Let me see..."

"No leave me alone!"

"Sirius let me..." James tried to touch him but Sirius pushed him away.

"No.."

"Sirius..."

"Fucking leave!!"

Sirius bursted into tears. He broke down like never before, not in front of anyone at least. Not in front of James. He was so embarrassed. James hugged him. "It's okay..." Sirius sobbed "Please don't tell anyone"

"I won't. I won't"

The real Sirius also was too insecure. Always afraid of abandonment. Issues he had aquired from his terrible childhood.

In 1981, Voldemort and his followers were too powerful. There was even a spy within the Order of Phoenix. Sirius became so paranoic. He had been dating Remus for a while now. He was so in love with that boy. But he made up all these ideas on his head about Remus being the spy. That he chose that path before staying another day with Sirius. That his relationship with Remus was too good to be true. "If you are going to leave me just do it!" he had yelled in one of their fights.

"Sirius you're being irrational! I would never do this, how can you think..."

"I don't know you anymore..."

"You are not the boy I feel in love with" said Remus with tears on his eyes "Just because I am a werewolf? You have become so prejudiced. Jumping into conclusions, just like your parents..."

Sirius jumped "SHUT UP! YOU'RE A FUCKING MONSTER" Remus went pale and began crying. Sirius realized what he had said.

"Rem... Remus I'm sorry.. I didn't..."

"Don't touch me..."

Remus started walking again.

"Remus! Please Remus don't leave me... I love you..." Sirius cried dropping to the floor. He had become like his parents and he hated it, he hated himself.

Nobody knew the real Sirius. For many years the entire Wizarding World thought Sirius Black was a murderer. He had the type didn't he? Rebellious, explosive, member of the Black Family. With his tattoos, motorbike, dark robes. Everything fitted. Who wouldn't believe Sirius to be a criminal. A death eater. A killer.

The real Sirius Black was a good boy victim of the circumstances. The real Sirius Black suffered so much. The real Sirius Black deserved love, respect, friendship and happiness. The real Sirius Black deserved better.

[moonlightserenadeeznutz]

Wake up sleepy head

Scorbus prompt from @abi-the-gay (sorry if I missed any details). Albus sneaks off to Malfoy Manor after a nightmare, and he and Scorpius get caught by Draco walking in on them asleep together the next morning.

A flash of green light exploded in front of Albus’s eyes, and her face... her face grinned right back at him.

She was holding something, no... someone. Her arms were wrapped around a blonde boy, long fingers creeping towards his neck, like vines. Scorpius. She had Scorpius. Albus tried to scream, to yell, to call out Scorpius’s name, but no sound came out. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t stop her from pulling out her wand and pressing it to Scorpius’s temple. Albus looked into the boy’s grey eyes, desperate and pleading. And all he could do was watch.

“Avada Kedavra!” Another flash of green light bursting into his bedroom as Albus suddenly lay awake, panting, sweating, terrified.

Scorpius. Where was Scorpius? Everything Albus had seen had felt so real, so vivid. His stomach dropped as he had the sudden, awful thought: what if it was real?

He sat up in bed, his mind running at a mile an hour. He had to see Scorpius. Now. Sending a letter would take too long. He wanted to see his... he wanted to see Scorpius.

It was still late, dark out. Everyone was fast asleep. No one would notice if he snuck downstairs and used the floo network to visit Malfoy Manor.

Albus didn’t risk turning the lights on; he knew his house like the back of his hand, so he managed to reach the living room fireplace with little mishap. Albus took a handful of floo powder from the pot beside the stokers. The fire had long since died out, but the coals were still hot enough for the powder to work.

“Malfoy Manor!” Albus instructed, as loudly as he could without alerting the rest of the house, which still left his voice barely above a whisper. He hoped he wouldn’t get splinched on the way there.

Green flames erupted around him, and he had to close his eyes; too reminiscent of his nightmare. Of Delphi. Of Scorpius.

Before he knew it, he was thrown out the other side of the floo network, regaining his balance on the polished floor of Malfoy Manor. It was dark. Quiet. Was that a good sign? Or a bad sign? Albus wasn’t sure whether he wanted to find out or not.

But he had to. He couldn’t leave without making sure Scorpius was alright.

And that’s when he suddenly realised: he had no idea where Scorpius’s bedroom was. And it was a big house. He could be searching all night.

Albus began on the next floor up, up the large, winding staircase. The first few rooms were rather sparse, uninhabited, and one of them- which made Albus hold his breath upon entering- was Draco’s room. Albus closed the door behind him as silently as he could.

He stood for a moment and pondered his next move, soon spotting a door at the far end of the hallway. As he drew nearer, he noticed some sort of trinket hanging from the doorknob, a kind of lucky charm perhaps. Scorpius was relatively superstitious. This must have been his room.

Albus slowly opened the door, his heart beating faster in trepidation at what he might find. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a figure underneath the covers of a bed, in the middle of the room.

“Scorpius?” Called Albus in a whisper. “Scorp!”

The figure moved, turned around, and switched on the oil lamp beside his bed. The light illuminated the faces of the two boys, and Albus was so relieved to see Scorpius alive and well- if a little perplexed- that he almost started shaking. Scorpius noticed his slightly panicked disposition.

“Albus, what are you doing here? What’s wrong?” Scorpius was clearly concerned, and Albus felt bad for waking him up. Of course it was just a dream, you idiot.

“I’m sorry, I just... I just had to make sure you were okay.”

“Another nightmare?” Albus nodded. Scorpius moved over and opened up the covers.

“Do you want to stay?” He asked, and Albus gladly accepted, thankful that Scorpius didn’t ask anymore questions, such as how he had got there or what the nightmare was about. He simply let Albus snuggle up beside him and settle into his arms, exhaustion washing over both of them.

“I can read if you want?” Scorpius suggested, a murmur in Albus’s ear.

“That would be nice.” Scorpius reached over Albus to pick up a book from his bedside table.

“It’s a muggle book,” Scorpius explained. “Rose sent it to me a few weeks ago. I’m already halfway through, but I’ll start again from the beginning.” Albus tried to listen, really he did, but as soon as Scorpius started speaking, his soft, calm voice meeting Albus’s ear, Albus immediately felt his eyes start to close.

“This Side of Paradise, by F. Scott Fitzgerald,” began Scorpius, and within moments, Albus was fast asleep.

————

The following morning, Draco was sat at the dining table in his dressing gown, sipping his morning coffee and reading the Daily Prophet. He was about to check on Scorpius, thinking it odd that his son wasn’t up yet. Scorpius was usually awake way before him, a morning person through and through.

Draco finished his coffee, folded up the newspaper, and began his ascent up the flight of stairs towards Scorpius’s room. Reaching Scorpius’s door, he knocked lightly, receiving no reply. Draco was starting to get worried now, so he allowed himself to enter.

His son wasn’t alone.

Scorpius opened his eyes as he entered, and froze. He tried to nudge awake the sleeping figure beside him.

“Al. Albus, wake up,” he whispered frantically. Albus? Thought Draco. Albus Potter? Albus groaned lightly, and mumbled something inaudible. Never had Draco felt so awkward in his life, and he coughed nervously, finally alerting the boy beside Scorpius.

Albus turned around- and Draco could see that it was indeed Albus Potter- and immediately turned back, facing away from Draco and burying his face in Scorpius’s chest, muttering something about not being able to deal with anything today.

“Dad, I can explain...” Scorpius began, but Draco interjected.

“How about I leave you two for a moment and you can explain downstairs.” Scorpius nodded gratefully, and Draco left the two in peace, heading back to the dining room and trying to process what he’d just seen.

————

Ten minutes later, and two fifteen year old boys were sitting awkwardly in front of Draco, both of them avoiding eye contact with him.

“So...” Draco began. “Are you two...?” He sort of gestured between the two of them, hoping they’d fill in the blanks.

“We’re together,” confirmed Scorpius.

“Right...” Draco didn’t know how to feel. He wanted to be supportive of his son of course, but a Potter and a Malfoy? Who would have thought it? It would certainly take some time to wrap his head around the idea.

“So that means you’re...”

“Gay?” Draco nodded. “Yeah, I am...” Scorpius finally made eye contact with his father, and Draco noted how terrified he looked.

“Alright. That’s fine, Scorp. I love you no matter what.” Scorpius looked at him disbelievingly, which sent a pang of hurt through Draco’s chest.

“Really?” He asked, hopefully.

“Of course! You’re my son, and I’m proud of you.” Scorpius smiled at him, clearly relieved.

“So how did you two... how did you two become a thing?”

“Oh, um...” Albus coughed nervously.

“Well, it was after the whole Delphi thing,” began Scorpius. “You see we... we had a lot of nightmares, and we would calm each other down.” Scorpius fiddled with his sleeves.

“Is that why Albus was here?” Prompted Draco. They both nodded in unison.

“Yeah, and we’d read to each other,” Albus continued. “Stuff that Rose would get from the library and lend to Scorpius.”

“And I suppose it just went from there. Started out as platonic, and... became romantic.”

“So you both knew you liked each other?” Draco knew he was being too personal, but this was the first time Scorpius had ever really opened up to him, and he didn’t want to waste the opportunity.

“I liked Scorpius, because he was nice to me, especially when I’d fallen out with dad.”

“And I saw Albus shirtless once, and I just knew-” Albus snorted, immediately stifling a laugh. Scorpius too was holding in a smile. Draco just raised his eyebrows, letting the two have their own inside joke, before continuing.

“Well, you both have my blessing,” Draco concluded. “Thank you for telling me Scorpius. Even if you didn’t have much of a choice.” Scorpius nodded in acknowledgement. “And, Albus. I take it your parents don’t know where you are?” Albus suddenly remembered what time it was, and his eyes widened.

“No, you’re right. I need to get back.”

“I’ll see you off,” said Scorpius. They all stood up. Albus left the room to return to the fireplace in the living room, leaving Scorpius and Draco alone for a moment.

“Your mother would be proud too, you know,” said Draco, his voice softer than before. Scorpius looked at him, grey eyes meeting grey. Draco hadn’t even noticed that they were almost the same height now. How had that happened?

“You really think so?”

“Of course. All she wanted was for you to be happy. And I take it you are?” Scorpius nodded.

“I am. Really.”

“Then she would be proud.” Scorpius smiled, paused for a second, and then closed the gap between them. For a few moments, they hugged in silence. Unfamiliar, but nice. Draco was glad to have his son back.

[script-nef]

Interview Time | Oikawa Tooru

Category: fluff

2k words; an eventful interview with Oikawa and his girlfriend

Today we are joined by the phenomenal setter of Club Athletico San Juan, Oikawa Tooru, and the manager of the team, [Name] [Surname]. They are the iconic couple who have brought laughter and joy to many matches by their interactions. 

“Hello, [Name] here!”

“Hi, I’m Oikawa! And [Name]-chan, is that a reference to Zuko?”

“It most certainly is. It’s good to see you finally recognise some of my pop culture references now. I was wondering when you’d finally get a hobby outside of volleyball.”

“I have one!”

“Searching for alien conspiracy theories is not a hobby. Tooru, you’re weird as hell.”

“But you still love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Hey!”

You guys are so cute and lively together! Today’s interview will be focused on your relationship, but feel free to reject some of the questions if you’re uncomfortable. Is that okay?

“Sure!”

Q. How did you two meet?

“Oh, I was working for San Juan as one of the managers when he was brought in. Since I’m fluent in Japanese, the head coach asked me to help him around because his Spanish and English was atrocious.”

“Eck, [Name]-chan! I wasn’t that bad!”

“You were terrible, who are you trying to kid? Literally no one could understand half the things you were saying. I was basically your translator for the first year.”

“[Name]-chan!! You’re breaking my heart!”

“As long as your body works for volleyball I don— Okay, okay, I was kidding! Don’t pout, Tooru. You learnt it quick enough and now you don’t have any problems! Besides, it’s thanks to your previously horrible language skills that we got to spend more much time together, right?

“I guess that’s true… Was I really that bad though?”

“Absolutely horrible. Everyone can back me up on this.”

Q. What is one quality about each other that you admire and love the most?

“Tenacity, I guess. In volleyball and everything else. He stays behind all the damn time for hours, none of his teammates can keep up. I once had to conk him on the head and drag him out so he would rest.”

“It hurt! You’re stronger than Iwa-chan sometimes, I don’t even understand how that’s possible.”

“You think I’m stronger than the arm-wrestling champion Iwa-chan?”

“Yes. Anyway, what I love most about [Name] is her perceptivity. Did you know that I once had a small kink in my leg muscle which was uncomfortable and she caught it in a second? No one else noticed except her! And this was before we started dating!”

“Yeah, well. I did spend the most time with you and you constantly tell me things about yourself. Even when I didn’t ask.”

“[Name]-chan is so shy. It’s okay, I know you loved me since the moment you laid your eyes on me.”

“Eh…”

“Hey!”

“I didn’t fall in love with you at first sight, I don’t believe in that. You slowly grew on me because you incessantly hit on me.”

“That’s the best kind of hitting!”

“...hm. Do you, um, like any other sort of hitting—”

“[Name]-chan, we’re on camera! Stop that!”

I’m sorry, please keep this PG, there are young fans who might be watching. Moving on!

Q. What was your first date like?

“First date, huh? It was like, ages ago…”

“It was 6 years ago, in August. We went to the Tango festival in Buenos Aires. I had such a fun time with you then!”

“You had fun stepping all over my feet. It’s honestly appalling how much you sucked at dancing back then. You were bad at a lot of things, huh.”

“She complained about it all night, but even then she was so cute and brilliant. She led me for the second half, stating that she had enough of her feet getting trampled on.”

“Thankfully you picked it up fast. You’re pretty fast at learning new skills.”

“Aww, is the ever-so stoic [Name]-chan praising me? How rare!”

“Well, if you don’t want me to, then…”

“Wait, no don’t stop! I was kidding, praise me more!” 

“Ah, don’t latch onto me, this is on cam— Tooru!”

Now, now, please calm down. Straight onto the next question!

Q. Do you have any memorable dates or events?

“Oh, there was this one time.”

“I already said sorry for that!”

“That doesn’t mean it never happened! My jaw still hurts when I think about it!”

“I said sorry every single time!”

“Still! Okay, the story is that I wanted to surprise him when he came back home but it went horribly. The first part, at least. “He didn’t know I was coming over because I wanted it to be a surprise, which in hindsight was a bad idea. I made dinner and turned the lights off when I heard the door unlocking. In my head, it was like ‘pop and and surprise him’, but when I did, he got spooked and hit me in the jaw.”

“It was reflex! [Name]-chan, you popped out screaming ‘surprise’ right in front of me!”

“Yeah, but still. That’s how I now know he has a great right hook. Nearly knocked me out. But his crying and screaming stopped me from falling unconscious.”

“I thought I really did knock you out!”

“Yeah, but you kept on screaming even after I said it was okay. You’ve probably heard of it too, there were news articles about how he came into the emergency room crying his eyes out.”

“I really am sorry about it, [Name]-chan…”

“Hey now, no need to be sad. It’s just a funny memory to tell everyone now.” 

At least you can laugh about it now.

Q. 6 years is a long time. You must have a lot of anniversaries. What do you do for them?

“Nothing special, we just get presents for each other and spend the day together. I used to just tell him what I wanted but he can figure out what I want now.”

“That shows what an amazing and observant boyf—I mean fiancé I am! Have you ever been disappointed with anything I gave you?”

“Well, no, not yet.”

“See? And you get me all the things I want and need. We’re a perfect couple.”

“We sometimes go on trips to neighbouring countries, visit some tourist spots. I bought him a camera for the anniversary last year, and now he takes tons of photos everywhere we go. There’s a huge stack of polaroids in our bedroom.”

“[Name]-chan, don’t ignore me! Aren’t we a perfect couple?”

“I think we’re the best we can be. Perfection doesn’t exist, but we can strive to be the best we can be, right Tooru?”

“Yup! You’re so wise when it comes to things like this.”

Q. What do you do in your spare time?

“We recently started watching TV shows like Umbrella Academy and Doctor Who. Tooru likes them because of all the aliens and superpowers.”

“They’re all so creative! Like the Weeping Angel, that makes me freak out whenever I see a statue now. Some of them give me nightmares.”

“Weeping Angels are messed up. Wait, why do you watch it if it gives you nightmares? You need to take care of your mental state as well, national representative!”

“But you hug me when I sleep if I have night terrors! I would sit through a hundred horror movies if it means you would hug me.”

“…”

“Are you… blushing?”

“No.”

“Aw, [Name]-chan, you’re blushing! I love you so much!”

“Tooru, stop! I’m going to fa—”

*Technical difficulties please hold*

Q. You recently announced your engagement, congratulations! How was the proposal, if you don’t mind me asking?

“I took her to her favourite restaurant! It’s this fancy place in a building near the training centre and she loves the pizza there.”

“It is delicious. He can’t see how good it is, this uncultured child.”

“It’s not my type! I like other pizzas, just not that one. Her face absolutely glows with happiness when she takes a bite but I can’t understand it. They have those really salty fish—”

“Anchovy. And I usually don’t like it either, but they make it taste amazing!”

“No, it still tastes like clumps of salt. Thankfully I like other dishes on the menu. We go there so often that the owner has a special spot reserved for us. It’s by a window and since the restaurant is in a tall building, it looks over the lights of the city. It’s very beautiful.”

“He was looking skittish than usual, so I was worried for him. I actually thought he wanted to break up with me. But instead, he showed me the ring and asked me to marry him.”

“Why would I ever break up with you?”

“Couples split apart! It’s what happens to a lot of them, I have never heard of someone who lived forever with only one person.”

“Tobio-chan did!”

“Are we considering volleyball as a person now?”

“[Name]-chan, we went to their wedding!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just kidding! He was pretty cute, all twitchy and red. His wife was even cuter though, so shy and embarrassed. Very beautiful as well.”

“You’re going to be even more radiant at our wedding. I can see you in your dress already.”

“Wow, you must be able to see into the future, since I haven’t even looked at the catalogue.”

“It’s a figure of speech!”

Now, now, please calm down! Onto the next question.

Q. You guys had been dating for quite a while before getting engaged. When did you realise you wanted to spend the rest of your life with each other?

“Oh, you never actually told me this.”

“It was actually when I was away for a game! [Name]-chan couldn’t come because she had to work back in Argentina, so I was all alone in a foreign country.”

“Literally everyone else on the team came to the game, you weren’t alone.”

“But none of them were you! Let me be romantic and tell my love story!”

“Alright, alright, no more interruptions. Proceed.”

“Thank you. It was the first day there. I finished the practice for the day and did our daily night call, because we always talk before falling asleep. I dozed off to her talking, so I thought she would be there when I woke up. But when I opened my eyes in the morning, and she wasn’t there, this wave of panic came over me until I realised I was overseas. “That moment was probably it. I thought there, lying on the bed, that I would never be happy unless I wake up next to her every morning and see her sleeping face. Unless I could start off my day by kissing her and holding her in my arms.”

“…That— that’s what you thought when you woke up?”

“Yeah? And I thought that every morning since the— wait, are you blushing?”

“No, shut up and go away, Tooru.”

“AWWWW [NAME]-CHAN IS BLUSHING AND TRYING TO HIDE FROM ME!! YOU’RE SO CUTE AND I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! I WANT TO SQUISH YOUR WIDDLE FACE AND CUDDLE YOU FOREVER MY AMAZING AND PRECIOUS WIFE!”

“Ack, Tooru, I’m going to fall agai—”

*Another technical difficulty, please hold*

Well, I think this has been a very cute and informative session. Quite eventful as well.

“If by eventful, you mean him trying to hug me so tight my ribs break and I get concussions from falling all the time, then yes, eventful.”

“Sorry, [Name]-chan, you were just too cute!”

“Not another word, volleyboy.”

Well, I’m sure your fans will be thrilled to see how cute the two of you are!

“His fans do seem to like knowing little stupid stories we have.”

“They’re our memories and I wouldn’t ever trade them for anything else.”

“…Me neither.”

“Aw, you’re so affectionate today, [Name]-chan. Maybe we should come again next time so I can see you blushing even more!”

We are completely on board with tha— 

“Okay, this is the end of our interview and I hope it was fun for the viewers! Bye-bye now!”

“Ah, she’s escaping! Wait for me, [Name]-chan! Thanks for watching! Bye!”

[five-rivers]

Nascent

*Throws a oneshot at my followers, beans one of them in the head, then leaves.*

.

.

.

Ever since the Accident, everything had felt different.  Way different.  Maybe part of that was the whole ‘nearly caused the death of best friend, but apparently holes in the universe can give you superpowers’ discovery.  Sam still couldn’t get the sound of Danny’s screams out of her head, and it had been over a week.  

Although it was possible the nightmares contributed to that.  

Yeah.  

Anyway, being concerned (not necessarily worried) about Danny and Tucker all the time was normal after something like that, right?  They hung out all the time before, what was a little more?  What was a lot more?  

(It annoyed her parents.  They complained that she was never home.)

So, yeah.  Normal. Trauma response.  Also, Danny needed someone to pull him out of the floor when he phased partway through it or (ironically) hide his sudden spurts of involuntary invisibility.  

If that were all that had changed, Sam wouldn’t have thought twice about it.

But she was curled in front of her computer, writing the fifth email haranguing a school official about having a vegetarian week next year.  It was nearly eleven.  This was not normal behavior.  Not even for someone who was avoiding sleep.  

She’d also been spending more time in her greenhouse, lately, and had been getting in more (and louder) fights with her parents, but she wasn’t sure if those two things weren’t just stress (or being a teenager).  Even factoring in how long she’d spent getting the fertilizer around her tomatoes just right.

(The only reason she’d stopped was because she would have been late to meet with Danny and Tucker otherwise.  And she was still stressing about it.  She hadn’t gotten it quite even around the last plant.)

Back to the emails.  

She’d been thinking about proposing some changes to the school menu.  The vegetarian options were laughably limited, and the monthly plan had been the same since the fifties, it looked like.  It was actually sort of impressive that it had held up for so long, given all the school lunch reforms and programs the government had done over the years.  Whoever had put it together had really cared, Sam decided.  

But it wasn’t good enough.  Not anymore.  People knew more about food, now, and whoever was in charge of inventory had contracted with the absolute cheapest suppliers.  Everything they made was full of preservatives.  

It had to change.  Now.  Before Sam and her friends were forced to deal with it.  

She’d started the project the night Danny got out of the hospital.  She hadn’t been able to sleep then, either.  

How many emails had she sent, in total?  It had to be nearing fifty.  That one night, she hadn’t slept until four in the morning.

She probably wouldn’t sleep until then, today, either.  

This couldn’t be normal, right?

(Since when did she care about being normal?)

.

Tucker scanned through the programming tutorial with an almost fevered fervor.  It wasn’t quite what he was looking for, but he was more than ready to drink in any information he could.  

He had always loved technology.  Especially hand held technology.  This was about that, but also not.  

Danny had shown him and Sam the portal because they were curious.  Sam because ripping a hole to the afterlife sounded metal, and Tucker because Fenton tech was cool.  Even if the ghost stuff never worked, the Fentons did live on Jack and Maddie’s patents.  

‘Because it was cool’ was a really stupid reason to die.

If Tucker had known more about engineering, about programming, about the tech he had begged to see, if he could have properly read even one of the dials and instruments attached to the portal, would he have noticed it was still powered up?  That electricity was running through it?  That it was a death trap?

(Sure, Danny had grown up around Fenton tech, and between the two of them, he had been the one more interested in the engineering side of things, but that didn’t matter.)

Tucker was determined not to let that happen again. Hence his current course of study. He was going to know everything about technology, all technology, or die trying.  

Well.  At least the technology he interacted with on a daily basis.  

If that meant losing even more of his eyesight as he labored over poorly formatted readme files at midnight, then so be it. His friends were worth it.  

.

Danny jolted into wakefulness with a gasp, his heart hammering.  He was freezing, despite being wrapped in his sheet and comforter, despite how hot it had been when he went to bed.  

Something was wrong.  

Immediately, his thoughts jumped to his family.  Something was wrong.  They were in trouble.  He had to help.

In a daze, he phased through his blankets, barely noticing that this was the first time his ghost powers had done what he wanted and exactly what he wanted.  He padded out into the hall, not noticing that his feet weren’t leaving impressions in the carpet.  

Jazz slept with her door open, so it was easy to check in on her.  She was safe. No mysterious shadows menaced her as she slept.  Her breathing was slow and even.  

His parents?  He crept towards their door, part of his mind whirling while the other was deadly sharp.  How could he protect them without revealing his… whatever this thing that had happened to him was?  That he would have to protect them, that he could protect them, that thought went unchallenged.  

He put his head against the wood of his parents’ door and let his fingers skim the surface.  He inhaled, exhaled, and stepped through the solid object.  

Jack Fenton’s snores were deafening.  Neither he nor Maddie stirred.  Nor did they notice that their room was bathed in dim green light.  

Danny’s eyes locked on to the green blob’s pinpoint red ones.  His lips drew back, and he hissed, his eyes burning oddly as he did so.  The little… ghost?  Was it a ghost?  It fled from the room.  

Whatever was going on with Danny’s brain settled into a kind of contentment.  Right up until he realized he was in his parents’ room and had no reason he could give them for being there.  

Getting the very squeaky door open so he could get out again gave him five separate heart attacks, even if his parents couldn’t hear him.  

.

“Hey,” said Sam, as they met in Danny’s room the next morning.  

“Hey,” echoed both boys, tiredly.  

“Trouble sleeping?” she asked.

“Yeah,” said Danny.  

“Same,” said Tucker.  “You, too?  Your makeup is heavier than you usually do it.”

Sam stuck out her tongue, then sighed. “Yeah.  Have you guys…”  The question trailed off, and Sam’s face twisted.

“Have we what?” asked Danny.  

“Had any, like… weird thoughts?”

Danny scrubbed a hand through his hair.  His friends did not mention that he briefly flickered out of sight.  “I mean, I did di—almost die, I guess?” said Danny.  

No one mentioned this slip, either.  

“That’s…”  Danny’s voice went soft.  “I’m not like Jazz, or anything, but that’s trauma, right?  Like, feeling weird or overprotective or… or whatever, it’s just… That’s just how it is?  It’s a—a normal response?”

Despite Danny’s uncertain delivery, Sam and Tucker both nodded.  

“Yeah,” said Sam.  “That’s all it is.  Okay.”

(They did not think of this moment again until they discovered the term liminality.)

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

A Miraculous TikTok Account

Part 15

First

Previous

Next

Ladybug woke up the next morning to her phone going off like an alarm. She groaned and slowly reached to her bedside table, gently nudging away fabrics in search of her phone. She found it, eventually, and tapped her finger on the screen repeatedly in search of the snooze button, but it didn’t seem to be working.

She grumbled to herself, snatching the phone off the table and looking to turn it off…

Only to realize that it was a good hour before she’d set her alarm to go off for her meeting with Audrey Bourgeois. She rubbed her eyes tiredly as she watched another round of notifications come in.

Ugh. That’s what she gets for turning her ringer on at night in case her friends had nightmares. She silenced her phone and fell back in her bed.

After ten minutes of staring at the ceiling and attempting to trick her brain into thinking she was asleep, she reluctantly pushed herself out of her bed. Phone in hand and blanket around her shoulders, she shuffled downstairs for a cup of coffee.

She waved to Chloe absently when she saw her in the kitchen making a bowl of cereal and got a hum in response. That was their entire conversation, though. Chloe always seemed to know when exactly it was a good time to tease her or not without Ladybug ever saying a word.

Maybe she should have figured out that Chloe was some kind of minor telepath.

Whatever.

She scrolled through her phone as she waited for her pot of coffee to finish.

The Parisians on TikTok were going wild.

There was a group freaking out about Chat’s account (because it was cute, but also because he might actually be a dog person considering that was the first thing he’d uploaded). Carapace’s video was full of comments analyzing their group dynamic or pitying the people who had been on shift at the time. Rena’s account had thousands of people screaming about having actual information on the miraculous holder’s daily lives for once and people attempting to use the footage to figure out where they were living. Chloe’s video had people speculating on what she would be doing or commenting on their day-to-day outfits.

And Ladybug’s…

It was full of people saying things along the lines of “of course Ladybug would have a lifestyle account”.

Part of her was kind of offended. Sure, her persona was definitely different than her and if she knew a person like ‘Ladybug’ in real life she probably wouldn’t be all that close to them, she’d made it that way on purpose… but still. It kind of hurt.

Then again, there was another part of her that was tempted to sing. Her ruse was working! She had accurately guessed what would be in character for her persona! Nice!

She poured herself a cup of her quickly cooling coffee and headed up to get properly dressed for the day.

Ladybug couldn’t help but be a little anxious as she changed from her red and black pajamas into a completely different red and black ensemble. Her mind wandered to all the messages she was getting about how consistent her persona was.

If she didn’t give her persona any kind of depth, how long would people keep falling for it?

She didn’t know. She was out the door in minutes and heading off to the park where Audrey had wanted to meet, the prototype of the dress she’d made for a ball in the United States in her hands. She had to remind herself constantly that, even if the stuff she’d used for the prototype was just there to simulate the real thing and wasn’t all that expensive, she still needed everything to be intact when she gave it to Audrey.

She was a little distracted during the meeting, her mind on what to do about her persona, so it was a good thing that Audrey’s only complaint was that the prototype fabric was a little coarse. That could be fixed.

The persona thing…? Not so much.

Rena was already suspicious, Ladybug could see it in the way her eyes narrowed ever so slightly whenever she let little things slip through.

(Thanks for telling her that everyone has personas, Carapace, now she had to be even more careful.)

She forced herself to relax. There wasn’t anything to gain from worrying about people figuring out just how fake she was outside of a possible akumatization.

No. Instead she would concentrate on something she could fix: Hawkmoth. If she figured out his identity they could beat him, and then she would never have to worry about personas ever again.

The moment she got home she walked over to the conspiracy board. She glared at the millions of closeups of every part of Hawkmoth’s body.

~Want to skip some calculations? Here’s your chance! I nerded out a little, sorry~

Hawkmoth was about 230cm tall in costume. That’s what Rena had found out through calculating his height in comparison to some of Nino’s plates in the photo, but Ladybug had (stupidly) offered to do the math to see how tall he would be without the miraculous stuff...

She knew the man’s shoes gave him a little extra height than most normal shoes would; she’d seen them up close, they were practically heels.

She spent literal hours sitting down with her computer at the kitchen table, a cold look on her face.

(Thank the kwamis for Chloe, because every time someone came near she would quickly come up to play interference. Ladybug didn’t know if she was doing this for their sake or hers, but either way it was appreciated.)

She scrolled through page after page of shoes, trying to find a model that looked close to the fashion disaster Hawkmoth was wearing.

Did she have a theory for the type of shoe they were? Yes. Was she going to just go with that? Of course not. She was Ladybug! Ladybug doesn’t GUESS --!

Maybe she’d been pretending to be Ladybug for too long. She made a mental note to go out with friends as a civilian sometime.

Still, it took until midnight to find a model that was similar enough for her to feel comfortable using it as a base. She printed out the picture and put it beside the picture of Hawkmoth’s shoes and nodded to herself. Great. His shoes added about 3 centimeters to his height.

Now onto the next part of height calculations.

Miraculi gave everyone extra height.

She didn’t know for sure if it was a flat rate or proportional, so she went out on the town, looking for some kind of measuring tape -- the type she used for work wasn’t long enough for a person’s actual height. She managed to find a place unfortunate enough to be open past midnight and she and the person checking out her item shared ‘I wish I was dead’ expressions.

It was here that she dragged everyone out of bed to measure their heights as civilians versus as heroes (without shoes, obviously).

They were clearly very annoyed by this, but it was nearing three o’clock at this point and she had spent an entire day looking at shoes. The look on her face was absolutely murderous. They opted to just quietly do what she said so they could go back to sleep as soon as possible.

5 centimeters. Everyone grew by 5 centimeters.

She wasn’t quite sure why this happened, nor did she really care. It was just important for her calculations.

~Calculations over~

So he was anywhere from 215 to 225 centimeters. Unreasonably tall, really. There could only be a few people of that height in Paris.

After doing some searching she figured out that there were probably about 5 people in all of Paris that were that height.

She just had to… find them? Somehow?

Whatever. She should also do some quick things to distinguish Hawkmoth from the others. She grabbed an extra sheet of printer paper and started writing things down.

A semi-muscular build, possibly bald, stupidhead, terrible fashion sense...

She fell back on the couch for a quick breather.

She was getting a headache. What was it from? The caffeine? Dehydration? Was she clenching her teeth? Who knows.

Ladybug pulled her phone out and checked the time…

Four-thirty.

She had time to finish that sketch for Jagged Stone before their eight o’clock appointment. It would be close, though.

She changed while she waited for her coffee to brew (How many pots had she had since yesterday? Four? Five? Whatever, it was probably fine) and then got to work.

She looked up a while later when Chloe walked down for breakfast. It was seven now, then. She would need to leave soon…

“Kwami, Ladybug, you look awful!”

“Thanks,” she said, her eyes falling back to the sketch. It didn’t have enough… yeah, that was the end of the sentence. It was too plain, but she couldn’t seem to --.

She felt hands rest over her cheeks and she looked up to see Chloe standing over her. “You need to sleep.”

“I need to get to an appointment.”

“I WILL use Sticky Situation if I have to.”

Ladybug wasn’t impressed.

“Pollen, buzz on.”

Ladybug blinked at the miraculous holder in front of her and then gasped. Of course! She’d forgotten accessories! No wonder it felt empty!

Kwami, she really was tired, huh?

She put some quick accessories down, careful to make all the items kind of tiny so Jagged wouldn’t be able to tell the ideas weren’t fully fleshed out yet, and then smiled at Chloe as she got up to leave. “Thanks, Queenie. I gotta go, I’ll sleep later.”

“But --!”

She was already gone.

The meeting went well. Yay. She kept her job.

She walked home, happy to just be done with that really long day --.

She randomly chanced a look in the window as she passed and winced when she saw Chloe waiting for her on the couch. She was far too tired to deal with a lecture. She transformed and flew into her room through the window.

… now what? Should she sleep?

Nah. She had patrols that night. Might as well just stay up through it all.

She yawned into her hand and headed down to Rena’s room. She might as well tell her what she’d figured out.

She knocked her head against the wooden door instead of her fist in an attempt to wake herself up a little and smiled when it opened.

“You look…”

“I’ve been told. Anyways, I’ve finished doing math and stuff. Come look.”

Ladybug grabbed Rena’s arm before the other could even say anything and pulled her down to the kitchen where she’d done the calculations.

Rena looked over everything for a few moments before her eyes widened.

“... hey, quick question, why does it say he has a ‘condom-head’?”

That got Ladybug awake. Her eyes found their way to the list of attributes she’d written while sleep-deprived.

Her eyes went wide with horror.

Because there, in handwriting that was definitely hers, were the words ‘stupid-looking condom-head’.

Fuck.

~~~

Taglist

@nathleigh @mialuvscats @sassakitty @th1s-1s-my-aesthet1c @blueslushgueen @woe-is-me0 @ladybug-182 @cas-and-their-refusal-to-write

[smallheathgangsters]

Second Youngest | S!S

A/N: I’m sorry, I really struggled with this one, but I hope it’s okay. Also, I had to make a few changes to the original request to boost my creativity and to me, it just made a little more sense this way. 

Request: a very long one by @amys-small-world

Shelby!Sister

Word Count: 1826

Type: angst, a little bit of fluff

----------------------------------------------

Life had never been kind to Y/N, from the beginning on. Even her last name didn’t change any of that. Being a Shelby sounded like a privilege, something everyone wanted to be. Nobody daring to disrespect you and receiving everything you ever demanded, no questions asked. But when your own family doesn’t accept you as their own, the Shelby name transforms itself into a burden instead of a blessing. And that burden never went away for Y/N.

Being the second-youngest sibling and unfortunately not sharing the same mother as the others were features that were weighing heavily on her shoulders. Especially the fact that she had resulted out of an affair with a backstreet whore their father had been having behind his wife’s back, spoke for itself. She wasn’t a Shelby the family was proud of. She was the sibling nobody mentioned to anybody. The mistake none of them wanted to talk about. The reason for their mother’s worst heartbreak. Having a fling with a prostitute was one thing, but getting her pregnant? A whole other story.

That meant, that Y/N had to grow up by herself. Even though the Shelby’s took her in right after her birth and made sure to give her a bed to sleep in, food to eat and eventually work to do, they didn’t give her attention, even a second of their time or love at all.

To put it simply, Y/N had no idea what it meant to be loved.

As a child it had been easier, since she had friends to play with at school. But as she grew older, she lost those connections and Polly made sure to keep her inside to do housework instead of fooling around outside and getting into trouble with the other kids. So, Y/N spent most of her days cleaning and cooking for the Shelby household, instead of collecting memories like all the other teenagers.

Never receiving the brotherly protection like Ada had, she’d been forced to fend for herself since. Like the time, when she went grocery shopping by order of Polly and a group of kids her age started following her and calling her names and eventually tripping her, so she fell into a puddle on the street. She returned with her clothes soaked and dirty, making her get a horrible telling off by her aunt. If anything like that had happened to Ada when she’d been Y/N’s age, the boys would have made sure to beat the life out of those kids and that they never even dared to get near her again. But since she was the bastard child her brothers didn’t care about, nobody was there to defend her and keep her safe.

Therefore, the next time she came across the same group of kids, she punched the boy who had tripped her, right across the face, most likely breaking his nose by the cracking sound and his painful screams.

When she returned home, Polly asked her why there was blood on her dress. Y/N didn’t answer, keeping it a secret, like countless other things that would happen in the following years of her life.

At the age of twenty, Y/N was a wreck. Even those four years, when her three eldest brothers were fighting in the war, weren’t any different to the ones before. While Polly had taken over the brothers’ business together with Ada and some other women, Y/N had been tasked with the care of little Finn and the maintenance of the house. It had been acts like those, that made her feel so useless and so out of place. Would she ever be good enough for anything else?

Most nights she cried herself to sleep. She just couldn’t understand how she was still in this awful position. She waited twenty years for her family to hopefully one day change their ways, accept her as a family member and stop acting as if she wasn’t even present. It was horrible knowing that her family was expanding the business without including her even in the slightest way. Was she really that worthless? Why did everybody blame her for something she had no control over? Would this ever change?

It was the day before her twenty-first birthday. Y/N had had a terrible night, waking up multiple times and having awful nightmares, if she did fall asleep. Thoughts about her future had kept her from getting rest. Since the only thing she’d ever done was housekeeping at home and never got to broaden her horizon by finding a job outside, she felt like she could never escape this life she was living. She wanted to be a nurse or a teacher or seamstress. Anything but staying trapped in this state she was in.

Knowing it was still very early in the morning and the rest of the Shelby family was still sound asleep, Y/N rolled out of bed with a groan and put on some clean clothes. She decided that she needed to take a walk in the empty Birmingham streets before her unpleasant daily routine would start over again. She carefully padded down the stairs, making sure the old wood wouldn’t creak too loudly and grabbed her coat before stepping out into the cool, dewy air and closing the door quietly.

This kind of silence was rare. It was just before five o’clock, what meant that even the early risers weren’t awake yet and factories didn’t start their machines before six. Enough time for Y/N to clear her thoughts, to make sure she wouldn’t go crazy today. Because she felt like being at the verge of completely losing it.

She wandered along the cobble, passed little boutiques and bakeries and eventually ended up in front of the catholic church Polly often went to pray in. She wasn’t religious in any means, but she’d always found peace in the serenity inside the church walls. How her heels clicked on the marble floor and the people in the time-consuming paintings on the ceiling kept their eyes on her, giving her all of their attention, unlike her own family.

After entering, Y/N sat down in one of the rear rows, as though she’d be stepping too close to God if she’d gone any further. God, who most likely didn’t care for her or her existence. She sighed, propped up her elbows on her thighs and placed her head in her hands. Then, she let her eyelids close, realising just how tired she was. Lack of sleep being the least relevant one of all the reasons. Feeling the tiredness creeping up on her, consuming her entire body, she stretched herself out on the cold, hard church bench, her eyes not opening even a tiny bit.

She knew she’d fall asleep, but what she didn’t know, was that she’d eventually sleep through the entire morning. The loud bang of the heavy church door slamming against the wall, tore her from her uneasy sleep, making her sit up in panic.

“Y/N? Is that you?”

It was Finn’s voice. She knew immediately that she was in trouble. Although his tone didn’t actually sound very angry.

She wrapped her arms around her body, not answering his question and silently hoping that she’d be overlooked. But that clearly wasn’t going to happen, since she was the only one in the church and she’d stupidly shot up when hearing the alarming noise.

She heard his footsteps get closer and internally prepared herself to be yelled at, and if not from Finn, than from Polly later on. She tried her best to stay strong and hold back the tears forming in her eyes, but it was all too much to handle. She didn’t want to go back home. She wanted to run away or at least just stay here, by herself, as long as she could.

Surprisingly, Finn didn’t grab her by the arm and pull her with him or even tell her to get up. He didn’t say anything at all. He shuffled into the row and sat down next to her.

With her hand in front of her mouth, she muffled the sobs escaping. Then, she felt a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“Family’s looking for you,” she heard Finn mumble.

Y/N took away her hand from her mouth and sniffled. “I– I know …”

Finn sighed. “I’m not going to tell them where you are.”

His unexpected statement made her sobs stop immediately. “W–What did you just say?”

Finn pulled back his hand and interlaced his fingers, resting his entangled hands on his thighs. “It’s not that I don’t see my family being very … unfair to you.”

Y/N almost scoffed, but wasn’t able to hold back her eye roll, which Finn noticed. “I totally understand that you’re angry.”

“Angry?”

That was the moment she suddenly couldn’t keep her thoughts from spilling over her lips. “You think I’m angry? Finn, I’m broken. I’m actually so fucking heartbroken. My own family made it their mission to make my life a living hell. I’m over being angry. I just want to leave!”

Her voice was laced with disappointment and hurt. This was the first time she’d ever told somebody the way she was truly feeling.

Finn gave her a sad look. “I’m sorry, Y/N …”

“It’s not your fault, Finn,” she sighed, scratching at the dried-up spots on her hands. “This started even before you were old enough to realise what was happening …”

Finn started chewing on his lip uncomfortably. “I never understood why they didn’t want to accept you. You’re my favourite sibling, you know that?”

Her head turned to her brother, a hint of shock in her face. “What?”

“You were the mother I never had. You took care of me when I was a kid, played with me, cooked for me. I didn’t know that you were forced to do all of that, but I really appreciated it, even at that age. I know I never showed it after I got older and I regret that.”

His words went straight to her heart, making it contract in a way it had never before. Y/N tried to respond something, but her breath just got stuck in her throat, making it unable for her to speak.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to reply anything to that. I just wanted to let you know. And I’d love to help you start a new life somewhere, if that’s really what you want.”

She shook her head. “All I ever wished for was to have a family. A family that loved me and involved me. But not even waiting for twenty-one years made a difference. It’s all still the same.”

He gulped, grabbing her hand. “Let me speak to them, okay? I want them to know that I care about you. And if they’re not willing to change, I’ll help you get out of here. You deserve better.”

Y/N started crying. “I deserve better …”

[scenes-in-between]

Trust No 1 (Part Four)

For the hundredth time in the last 18 hours, Gibson wonders why he agreed to this.

The train is busy and loud in a way he hasn’t had to deal with for a long time. Living for months crammed in a tiny trailer with Mulder’s noisy mind was nothing compared to this. Dozens of people in close proximity, only a handful of them asleep, all drowning each other out and making it nearly impossible to listen for threats. He finds himself trembling with the effort.

Jesus, poor kid, Mulder practically screams beside him.

“I’m fine,” he says through clenched teeth. “Just got used to the quiet.”

“Only a few more hours,” Mulder murmurs aloud, and Gibson nods.

A picture flares to life in Mulder’s mind, something Gibson has seen there before but Mulder’s never spoken about. Gibson doesn’t know if he’s remembering a nightmare or something that actually happened; it feels like the latter, but that’s impossible.

Mulder catches Gibson frowning at him and shrugs, sighing. “Sorry. I know it’s not the same, and I’m not suggesting I know exactly what you’re going through. I just can’t help remembering how it felt.”

“How what felt?”

Now Mulder’s the one to frown, confused. “You don’t know? I mean… You couldn’t see that memory just now?”

“People usually remember things in a kind of shorthand. There’s not always context. This memory of yours… I’ve seen it before, but I don’t know what it means or if it’s even real.”

“What did you see?”

“You’re in a hospital, I think. And you can hear people like I can. But it’s too much. It hurts, and you can’t… you’re not…”

“Yeah,” Mulder says quietly. “Yeah, that was real.”

“But how?”

There was an artifact, Mulder thinks. A piece of a ship, a spacecraft. I don’t know how or why it affected me like that, but it did. I could hear thoughts, but not like you do, not really. My mind couldn’t handle the input. It burned me up, shut me down. I almost died. Only reason I didn’t is that someone cut open my head and took whatever it was out of me.

Gibson can see images again as Mulder remembers waking up in that room, remembers Scully rescuing him. Mulder’s thoughts slide away from the narrative of the memory and latch on to Scully, and how he can’t wait to see her, and William, and there is this swell of affection that is unlike anything Gibson ever felt from his own parents. It makes him a little sad, even though he’s long since come to terms with the fact that his parents were always more afraid of him than anything else.

“They just cut it out of you?” Gibson prompts, hoping to steer Mulder back on course.

Mulder blinks. “Uh, yeah. I mean, I assume so. I used to have, well it was never a big scar, but…” He brushes his fingers over his forehead, almost like it’s a reflex. “Then later, after I came back from the dead, everything just… healed. Way faster and way more completely than should have even been possible. Can’t even feel the scar at all anymore. But yeah, that’s where they cut me open, and then when I woke up afterward, that was that. Only thoughts in my head were my own.”

Gibson wonders what it would be like to never hear anyone else’s thoughts, ever. The only way that ever truly happens for him is if he’s physically isolated, though when he’s not so out of practice, he can choose to turn the volume down by picking one thing or person to focus on. He realizes that as Mulder’s been talking (both in his head and out loud), that’s exactly what has happened; the rest of the mental chatter in the train car has faded into the background, nothing more than a dull murmur at the edge of his mind. He’s grateful for the respite, but it also means he might miss something, if there’s someone or something on this train that wants to hurt them. He really should go back to listening.

But also he’s just so, so tired.

“How much longer until the next station?” he asks, wondering if maybe, since he hasn’t picked up on the presence of any threats on the journey so far, he can afford to let his guard down a little, at least until they stop again and more new people get on board.

Mulder shifts and digs into his pocket for the brochure they picked up at the station the last time they transferred, which has a timetable with all the stops on this rail line. “Hmm, forty-five minutes, give or take? Why?”

“Can you do me a favor and just think about something really boring for a little while? Like, I don’t know, FBI protocols or something?”

Mulder chuckles. “Can’t say I’ve ever really been much of an expert on those. But sure. You gonna try to nap?”

Gibson doubts actually falling asleep is possible, but he nods anyway. Even if he can just rest for a while, that will be good. Just in case, though…

“Make sure I’m awake when we get to the next station, okay? So I can listen to the new people getting on. Just in case.”

Mulder nods, and a jumble of emotion spills out of him: pity, guilt, gratitude, regret, and something else Gibson can’t immediately identify. There’s this sense of he’s way too young to have to have to carry all this and I should be the one protecting him, which makes Gibson want to roll his eyes. Mulder still seems to think of him as the 12 year-old kid he was when they met, but he’s 16 now, and he’s been living on his own for a good long while. He can more than take care of himself. But there it is again, that flash of something else, and then it’s like Mulder makes the conscious decision to stop and focus on that one feeling because it completely takes over. It’s warm and something like affection but not quite, and Gibson puzzles over it some more before realizing, finally, that it’s pride.

Mulder is proud of him.

It’s not something Gibson has felt directed toward him many times in his life, and it makes him squirm a little bit. But it’s also nice.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, and Mulder nods again.

“You got it, kid.” 

All right, let’s see. Now, unfortunately for me, I’ve had to sit through more than a few training seminars on the application of Chapter 119 of Title 18 of the US Penal Code. Fortunately for you, this is just about the most boring subject on the face of the Earth, and as I happen to be cursed with an eidetic memory, I can recite the stupid thing chapter and verse. Consider this your first class ticket on an express train to Snoozeville.

Gibson can’t help but smile a little as he leans back in his seat and closes his eyes.

Chapter 119: Wire and Electronic Communications Interception and Interception of Oral Communications. Section 2510: Definitions. As used in this chapter-- (1) “wire communication” means any aural transfer made in whole or in part through the use of facilities for the transmission of communications by the aid of wire, cable, or other like connection between the point of origin and the point of reception…

The gentle rhythm of Mulder’s bland recitation melds perfectly with the steady rocking and the click-clack of the train, and in spite of his apprehensions, Gibson is asleep in minutes.

***

From the relative comfort of his office, the Shadow Man watches the grainy feed from the station platform’s surveillance camera. It’s not exactly riveting viewing; Agent Scully paces back and forth, having arrived at the station more than an hour before the train is due. But, this is what he does. He watches. All day long, day after day, he watches and he listens.

It’s a form of omniscience, being able to drop into the daily life of virtually anyone he may choose, whenever he needs to, observing unseen from the shadows. (Not the most imaginative moniker, this one these FBI agents have given him, but he supposes it does fit.) Tonight, all he needs is confirmation that Mulder really is going to get off that train.

Scully’s posture belies not only anticipation but also fear. Her guard is fully up, but she need not worry. Not tonight, anyway. Let them have their reunion. He will call tomorrow to arrange a meeting, and then he’ll eliminate Mulder once and for all. He has waited months for this opportunity; one more night is nothing.

That is, until something happens that tosses every one of his carefully-laid plans out the window: someone blacks out the camera lens.

Ah. So. His little employee has finally started to put the pieces together, has he? He supposes it was just a matter of time, but this is particularly inconvenient. Without eyes on the platform, he loses his advantage. Despite his claims to the contrary, it would absolutely be possible for Mulder and Scully to vanish into the wind, away from his view. He cannot let that happen.

He glances at the clock and scowls. It will be a close-run thing, getting to Alexandria from Bethesda before the train arrives, but the late hour and empty roads are on his side. He’s out the door and on the road in minutes, speeding southward.

Looks like Mulder and Scully won’t be getting their little reunion after all. But they’re the ones who decided not to play along. Now the plan has to change, and that’s fine by him. A predatory grin lurks at the corners of his mouth as he presses harder on the accelerator.

This ends tonight.

***

As the train begins to slow on approach to the station, Mulder’s leg bounces with both nerves and excitement. Beside him, Gibson is still and silent, all of his attention focused on the thoughts of the people outside.

Suddenly he gasps and grabs Mulder’s arm. “You can’t go out there.”

No, please, I’m so close...

“You can hear someone out there?” Mulder asks tightly.

“Yes! There’s a man, and he’s one of them. He wants to kill you.”

“Damnit…”

Scully said we’d be safe. Oh no, Scully… 

“Is Scully in danger?”

Gibson’s eyes are wide. “I don’t know. He’s… he’s got a gun, and he’s not aiming for her, but he doesn’t care that she’s in the way.”

Mulder leaps to his feet.

“Wait! You can’t!”

The three pops of gunfire are muted from inside the train car, but Mulder hears them anyway. He hurtles forward to lean over Gibson and peer out the window. There’s movement on the platform, bodies on the ground, but it’s too dark and they’re too far away for him to make out any detail.

The train picks up speed again, and a ripple of confused chatter fills the car and drowns out the conductor’s words coming over the loudspeaker. Mulder’s insides give a desperate lurch as he catches just a glimpse of Scully’s stricken face through the window. She’s on her feet, thank god. She wasn’t shot. 

For the span of a heartbeat, there she is in front of him, real and solid, not just a presence in his mind. But then she’s gone again as the train whisks him past, and he wants to cry out at the injustice of it. It’s not fair. I was so close. The months of separation feel like an iron band around his ribs.

But it’s clearly still not safe to go home. He knows she wouldn’t have brought him out of hiding unless she truly believed it would be okay, but apparently whoever led her to that belief was either wrong or lying. Will it ever be completely safe? Is this what the rest of his life is going to be, this hiding and running and always looking over his shoulder? Feeling like he’s in this limbo, merely existing while the rest of his life carries on thousands of miles away without him?

It’s not until Gibson grabs him by the arm and shakes him that he realizes the boy has been speaking. He blinks.

“What?”

“He’s on the train! The man who was on the platform. He knows you’re here, and he’s coming after you!”

Mulder snaps to attention. “Can you tell where he is?”

Gibson squeezes his eyes shut, visibly shaking from concentration or fear or both. “He’s… he’s three cars ahead, but under… hanging on to the underside. I think he was on the tracks and then grabbed on to the train as it went over him.” He opens his eyes again, wide. “We have to get out of here!”

Mulder’s stomach tightens as he does a quick mental calculation. While he didn’t plan for this exact scenario, he did look up several potential places he could try to go, in case it turned out that it wasn’t safe in D.C. after all. One of them is a quarry with significant iron deposits, just south of Alexandria. The tracks run near enough that he just might make it, might be able to lead the man there, if he can manage to avoid getting caught first.

Quickly, nonverbally, he rushes to convey his plan to Gibson. He’s got about two or three minutes to jump off the train and hope to god the man follows him. He jerks open the zipper on his backpack and pulls out one of the burner phones he bought, as well as a couple of hundred dollar bills, shoving both into his pocket. 

“I hoped we wouldn’t have to use these,” he says aloud, “but this is exactly why I bought them. Stay on the train for two more stops, then find somewhere to lay low. Let me know where you are, and I’ll come find you. The number for this phone is on the paper in the backpack. Got it?”

“What if something happens to you?”

Call Scully, Mulder tells him telepathically. “But I’m hoping it won’t come to that,” he adds.

Gibson nods, and Mulder gives his shoulder a squeeze before hurrying down the aisle to the door. He moves quickly between cars, into and through the one in front of where they were sitting, and then the next. If Gibson’s right, the man should be there just ahead of him, underneath the very next car. 

Mulder’s heart pounds as he turns the latch to open the exterior door. He certainly doesn’t want to get caught, but he also needs to make sure the man follows him into the quarry and doesn’t get on the train and go after Gibson. Outside the ground rushes past, and he steels himself for how much this next part is going to suck.

I am getting way too old for this shit.

He grips the handrail beside the door and leans forward as much as he dares.

“Hey asshole!” he shouts into the wind. “Looking for me?!”

Taking one last deep breath, he jumps.

***

Only when she is absolutely certain that the Shadow Man super-soldier isn’t coming after her does Scully stop running. She looks around wildly. Mulder has to still be here, somewhere.

“Mulder!”

It’s Arizona all over again, with her shouting his name into the night, hoping against hope for some answering call. 

“Mulder!”

But as was the case in Arizona, she receives no response.

***

The roller coaster of emotion is too much for Gibson. His own feelings are magnified by what he hears in Mulder’s thoughts, a sort of resonating loop that spirals him toward despair and exhaustion.

So he sleeps. It is, mercifully, a dreamless slumber, and it cradles him all the way back to New Mexico. Mulder gently shakes him awake, and they wordlessly disembark, waiting amid the other passengers while Mulder’s motorcycle is unloaded. Once they retrieve it, it’s a quiet ride back to the trailer neither of them had hoped to see again, though once they crest the hill and finally come within sight of it, Gibson lets out a sigh of relief.

[world-of-aus]

To Have Loved and Lost

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2,945

Author’s Note: My first request sent in by the lovely @jaywolf840​ (working on the three other’s hoping to have another one out tomorrow) I hope you enjoy what I’ve put together for you, thank you for sending in this request love!

“ Hey, so I have a request 😅 So, I was thinking it's after the snap, and Bucky is dusted along with others. His girlfriend, reader, was part of the half of humanity that was left and was left devastated over Bucky's "death." She drowns herself in work to try and cope, but it only really just makes things worse since everything just brings back memories of her and Bucky. Would like it to include lots of angst and pain, if that's possible and you don't mind ^.^ Thank you if you do write this!”

Find My Other Work Here: Main Masterlist

You were carrying his memory like a half-forgotten wish. The day he and half the population were ripped from you was something you couldn’t bring yourself to forget. The painful memory, much like the nightmares, only vanish when you wake, and even then, that moment in time is a reoccurring picture in your mind,

You had been feet away from him, his back in your line of sight as you stumbled behind him. Your ears had perked up at the sound of Steve’s pained voice and you looked up in time to see him stumble into your line of sight, “Where’d he go?” You heard him question, “Thor, where’d he go?”

It’s merely a second after those words are leaving Steve’s lips that you hear Bucky call out for him, “Steve,” his voice didn’t sound right, and you watch with wide eyes as he stumbles forward, gun falling to the floor as he disintegrates into what you could only assume at the time was ashes. A scream of his name tears from your lips a second later, “Bucky No!” your racing forward on shaky legs as you fall to where he once was, tears streaming heavily down your cheek, fingers digging into the ground. Through your cries you can hear Rhodeys distressed voice, “what is this, what the hell is happening?”

He had done it, Thanos had actually done it.

You were going on the fifth year of “The Decimation” and the mourning had not run its course. Would it ever stop hurting? The heaviness laid heavy in your limbs as much as your mind. Things you used to find happiness in now only caused you further sorrow, deepening the pain you found yourself in daily. He should have been here to laugh with you, or at you, or just be near you, but he wasn’t. He should be making his coffee every morning in that damn expensive machine Tony had boughten, then complaining about how the taste “wasn’t the same” as he remembered it. He should be gaping at the front covers of DVDs in their once growing collection and planning what way they should be spending their day off. He should be whispering sweet “I love you’s” into the morning sun beneath the sheets with you. But most of all he should be here to hug you goodnight and kiss you good morning before the two of you have to part ways to start your day. You missed those moments the most, the simplicity of better days. It pained you to realize you never got the ending you had planned, to bring him back home to the compound, to start this new life and journey with him here, and eventually venture out on your own, just the two of you.

New York City was now the shell of a ghost town, seemingly abandoned; a few of the “lucky” fighting to create a new norm here and there, Steve amongst them, but everyone had a way of coping. You hadn’t been able to bring yourself to even attempt a life at a new norm if he wasn’t there by your side. Somewhere deep in your mind though you could hear Steve’s words, the ones you had heard him recite one to many times, “you gotta move on, the world is in our hands, it’s left to us guys and we got to do something with it, otherwise thanos should have killed us all.”

You couldn’t do it though, you couldn’t just pretend everything was okay, that this was your new norm, there was just no way, so you worked, you searched, and you fought, but your efforts always fell short. As busy as you tried to keep yourself, the emptiness that you felt would always be a reminder of what you had lost.

You were tired, tired of the back and forth, tired of the unknown, tired of the what if’s that laid out in the universe, how you longed to go back to that day before this world went to shit, the day he was ripped from your arms;

The first rays of the warm sun had peeked through the small hut, his arms wrapped securely around you as he held you close. You were awake, but unmoving, had been for some time as you let yourself relish in this moment.

“You plan on ever leaving this bed?” comes his soft voice, lips brushing against the top of your head.

Your head shook against his side as you buried yourself deeper into his embrace, “the chores can do themselves today, I’m not leaving this bed or your side anytime soon,”

His chest vibrates under you as a low chuckle find it’s way past his lips, “no one’s asking you to leave my side darlin’, you can hop on my back while I do all the work, but we need to leave this bed, or else nothing’s getting done.”

“Weren’t you the one trying to coax me into it last night” you grinned peeking your head up to meet his eyes.

He’s chuckling low, a shake of his head, “how about this, stay by my side while I do the work, and once we’re done I’ll try and coax you into this bed once more, how about it doll?” Pressing your toes into the mattress you pushed yourself up, your lips hovering just below his, “you play a hard bargain Barnes,” you grinned your lips pressing to his.

You should have never left that bed.

A hand falls to your shoulder startling you from your reminiscent mind, “go get some rest y/n, you’re no good to me half-awake in your daydream state,” you looked up at Natasha a pained smile on your features, “I’m also no good if I'm not here helping you look, we’re close I can tell,” you murmured, though you were no closer than you were yesterday.

Natasha took a seat next to you her hand falling to your shoulder, concern written on her features, “y/n you’ve been at it for years, we haven’t discovered anything new, you need to just-”

“don’t,” you grunted, eyes slipping closed as you looked away from her, “do not tell me to let this go, to let him go!” you argued, “23 days after Thanos snapped, we could have had him Nat, something could have been done, if we were able to do that, there has to be something else that we can do, this can’t be the end, he can’t have won”

“No one is saying it’s the end, and no one is asking you to let him go, nobody is, all we want is for you to take care of yourself, y/n your working yourself to death you’re here when I leave to bed and you’re here when I wake, you work tirelessly, and I love you for that but we haven’t discovered anything new YOU haven’t discovered anything new, there is nothing for us to do right now it’s-”

“just stop Nat, I don’t need this right now, just like I don’t need Steve breathing down my neck I don’t need it from you either!” you pushed yourself from your chair not wanting to hear anymore, because to you all that was coming out of her mouth was to stop, to just stop, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do that, you couldn’t just let them go, you couldn’t let him go. The bottom of your chair scrapes harshly against the floor as you stand, your feet carrying you away from the room. You weren’t sure where to go, because everywhere you turned, everywhere you went the littlest thing would remind you of him.  

You continued to walk the empty halls, the halls you had kept yourself from walking since you lost him, the memories had been too painful, sleeping in the room had been too much. You had hoped that it would be only a few weeks and the pain would stop, that the nightmares would disappear, but after the first month, you just couldn’t take it anymore, thus your obsession with trying to find a way to reverse this hell began, you felt if you kept your mind and yourself busy that you might began to feel even an ounce of normalcy, and five years later, nothing had changed. The pain still lingered deep within your soul, a heavy ache in your chest. The nightmares still plagued you on the nights you did force yourself to sleep, and nothing new had come from you. You had become a shell of your former self.

You stood outside of your bedroom; fingers frozen mid-air hesitant to wrap around the doorknob. Giving yourself that final push your fingers meet the cool metal, the door falling open as you pushed, the cool of the darkened room hitting you. Cautious steps led you deeper into the room, the door staying open behind you. You looked around the untouched room, your eyes searching, shaky hands reached for a picture frame, a picture of the two of you, stared back at you. Without him the days had passed you by like a bad movie, you were never locked away in your mind when he was here. He was your sun, and you were his stars, drawn to one another, without him the seasons had come and gone, none of it meant anything anymore.

Your breathing hitched, knees growing weak as you slipped to the floor, not caring of the bruises that would kiss your knees. Loose shoulders shook, hands falling limp at your side, the once stifled sobs were overcome by your emotions as you broke down entirely. It was more than just crying; it was the kind of desolate sobbing that comes from a person drained of all hope.

Steve had never seen you so taken by your grief, tears flowing heavily from you, a part of him breaking within for you. He took careful steps towards you, his body kneeling beside you, his arm reaching for your shaking form. You turned your head to face him red-hot tears running down your face, leaving trails down the tender skin of your face.

“does it ever stop hurting?” you whispered tears gathering in your eyes.

Steve didn’t know what to tell you because from what he experienced it doesn’t, given time the pain would subside slightly, but the sorrow of what you had lost would always remain. He didn’t know what words would get through to you, so he did only what he felt Bucky would have wanted him to do, he pulled you into his arms, his back falling into the side of your bed as he held you, “I don’t want to feel this pain anymore Steve, day in and day out, it’s always there, I just want it to stop,” you cried. Steve’s heart ached in his chest fingers weaving themselves into your hair as he held your shaking form, “he wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself y/n, to work yourself to death, to close in on yourself, to shut everyone out, he wouldn’t want to see you like this,”

“I just don’t know how to stop, I miss him so much Steve,” you whispered, “it’s scary to think he took a part of me with him, to have had a love and been so happy, to only have it ripped away, I have never felt a worse feeling, the constant pain, the physical ache, the emotional drain it has left in its wake, I just want it to stop,” you murmured lip wobbling as you looked at him.

Steve took your wet face in his hands, thumbs running over your damp cheeks, “you’re not the only one that has lost someone, we have all lost, but we are going to get through this together, you don’t have to do this alone, it’s going to be hard, but I'm here for you, we are all here for you,”

“do you think we’ll get them back?”

He pulled you back into him his arms wrapping around your frame his head falling onto yours “I have no idea, but we’re not going to give up, we’re going to get through this”

Steve didn’t leave your side till he was sure you were okay, and even then, he made you promise you would come find him and Natasha when you were ready too. Wiping under your eyes you left your room to go back to Natasha and Steve, you were entering the room when you heard a voice “Oh! Hi. Hi! Is anyone home? This is Scott Lang. We met a few years ago, at the airport? In Germany? I got really big, and I had my mask on. You wouldn't recognize me.”

You moved forward then Steve moving with you, “is this an old message?” you looked to Natasha who stood, “it’s the front gate,”

There was finally an answer, or what you hoped was an answer, A Time Heist, as Scott had tried to explain. There was a short second where just as quick as the hope had been reignited within you it diminished, though now that there was talk of being able to fix this, it had reignited that fight within Steve, that you had not seen for some time. It took some time but Tony had warmed up, and came around, tests had been run, and you had actually been successful with Tony’s help. With knowing the possibility of this being successful you began to plan concluding which times would be best to retrieve the stones.

The time finally came, there was only one chance, and you couldn’t mess this up if you wanted things to work. You watched as your team suited up, you would be sitting this one out, with enough hands-on deck, you would hopefully be the one greeting them all back home. You watched them disappear before your eyes, and you had never prayed harder than you did in that moment, for their safety, this was the one chance, and you just hoped they would all make it back. Your eyes never left the platform as you stood there with baited breath, the first breath you released was when Scott came through, it had worked, eventually the others came through, your hope building with each face you saw. The others were delighted, and just like you a new hope had sparked in all of them, it wasn’t until Barton came through falling to his knees that you found your heart breaking once more. Upon discovering that Natasha couldn’t be brought back, you had all agreed that her death would not be in vain and it hadn’t been. You had actually brought people back, but that victory was short lived as the building began to collapse around you. Your feet fell from under you, as the earth consumed you Rhodes, rocket, and Banner slipping with you. It was utter chaos below you as you struggled to regroup unbeknownst to what lay above you, if there was anything above you.  Your worry for not making it out of this only grew as you were swept away in a flood with Rhodey and rocket. Water quickly rising, the three of you struggling to stay afloat as Rhodey made a call, “Mayday, mayday! Does anybody copy? We're in the lower level, it's flooding! We're drowning! Does anybody copy? Mayday!”

Any hope you had left to actually make it out of here was diminishing as Rhodes spoke again, looking at the two of you, “I’ll see you two on the other side”

Your heart dropped to your chest; this couldn’t be the way things ended, there had to be more than an ending like this for you. As the water drew higher you three were practically underneath, and just when all seemed lost, there was Scott Lang.

When you crashed through the surface there was renewed hope as you touched the ground, various portals opened around the area, the others took off running, you trailing not far behind. You wanted to seek him out, to see if he was amongst the many but you barley had a second to recover before you were running off across the field towards Thanos army. Your fighting your way through a group of Sakaarans, when one comes at you from the side throwing you to the ground, you’re struggling but a shot from the far right side of you has the beast falling onto you, a pained groan falling from your lips as you shove it off. You stand on shaky legs looking for the shot that saved your life only to have your heart stop in your chest, eyes watering. Your taking quick strides to him as you fall into his awaiting arms, “oh god,” you cry your arms wrapping themselves tightly around him, “I-I,” you can’t find the words as you choke back a sob.

“I’m here sweetheart, I’m here,” he murmurs into your hair pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

He pulls away from you then his eyes meeting yours, his hands grasping at your cheeks, “your here, your actually here,” you whispered, shaky hands coming up to his face to make sure he indeed was in front of you and that life wasn’t playing some cruel joke.

Time paused for the two of you, even with the chaos going on around you, time had given you this moment, a teary chuckle was falling from his lips as they press themselves to yours, “I'm here doll, just stay by my side this time,” he murmurs pulling away from you  his gun in hand already.

“I don’t plan on going anywhere,”

[geminimoonbeamx]

Moon lit Serenades

A/N: Dedicated to the reader, may you find happiness. I am so nervous for TROS, I saw a rumor that Poe dies and lost it. That plus the fact that there is literally no Plus Sized ReaderxPoe community? I had to remedy that. This is porn.

Warnings: This is porn. Serious smut from pretty much start to finish. Please enjoy.

Summary: Poe seeks comfort after a particularly hard mission in the only way he knows how. A Poe x Plus Sized Reader story

I am a moth, who just wants to share your light.

I’m just an insect, trying to get out of the night.

I only stick with you, because there are no other’s.

You we’re all I need.

I’m in the middle of your picture.

Lying in the reeds- Radiohead 

War had finally caught up with Poe Dameron.

Had finally taken it’s toll, and far more then it’s chunk of flesh. Battle wary and blaster shocked, it was hard to think of the resistance these days as just that- a resistance. No, this was more of a bloodbath.

War.

He’d never thought of it like that before, always held his head high, a defiant flame in his eyes. This was fuck the system- fuck the First Order. Fuck anyone who tried to tell him what to do. He was willed, motivated by the sheer rage that anyone would have to live their life in oppression. Under the thumb of Snoke or Phasma, dead and gone now- Hux and Ren hopefully to follow sooner rather than later.

And that fire to see them fall was still there...but it was dimmed.

Had been stomped on, choked out.

Watching people you love die for you, because of you on a daily basis...it wasnt something he’d wish upon anyone. Friends, family. Allies, brothers and sisters in arms. His fleet which had once flourished with dozens of pilot’s was down to a mere handful of lucky ones.

He was willing to breathe and bleed for the cause. It was in his blood- the sticky substance that matted his dark hair to his head as he climbed out of his X-wing. His parents had been the same.

Was he willing to keep watching others die for it though?

He couldn't stop form pondering the question as he and his unit arrive back to the makeshift base, in the middle of nowhere on a planet in the outer rim- the name of it he could barely pronounce. The shabby hut like quarters made the memory of D’quar and its green covered everything throb longingly in his gut.

That seemed so long ago, now.

No matter. No time for getting attached. They’d be on the move again within a fortnight, never staying any one place longer than a month at a time. Rey usually kept them one step ahead, connected to Ren through the force in a way that made Poe’s stomach churn, but that came in handy with them not getting caught.

Thinking about Kylo Ren always made him sour from the inside out. Muscles clenched in memory of the torture he’d endured at the hands of what used to be Leia’s son, but was now just a shell with his dead fathers nose and the mark of his dead uncles betrayal on his black soul.  

Poe would kill him in an instant if he got the chance. He prays to fuck that one day he does.

Clenching his fingers into fists is painful right now- the small mission had gone awry and they’d had to punch their way out of it. Literally. He’s feeling the aftermath of it all over, aching and sore.

He doesn't have it in him to attend the debrief. Can't muster the will, not right now. Maybe after a hot shower, maybe after he gets some food in his stomach and allot’s himself a moment to wallow. He forces himself to stand straight, spine elongated in a way that has his bones and muscle screaming.

Poe tries not to limp, as he scurries away to lick his wounds. He fails.

“Poe, you need to see a medic!” Finn insists, somewhere behind him. Always worried, always caring. Poe has nightmares about the night that he eventually loses him, too.

“Don't worry, I will” Finn wonders how someone who looks like they’re going to keel over at any moment- can manage to sound so cheeky.

Rey, who stands beside Finn, bruised bleeding herself wonders if he realizes that Poe is on the verge of tears. The pilot rippling and vibrating so hard she could feel it, taste it on the air.

Neither of them say anything though. The just watch him disappear into the stormy, starless night.

----

Sleep isn't something that comes easy to you as of late.

Not only did you spend your days(and most hours of your nights, too) in the Med Bay, you had never been the kind of person that could handle big changes, sharp adjustments. This hop forts every couple of weeks trend was killing you.

Your mind couldn't relax, R.E.M. State was always just out of reach.

Especially when he was gone...which also seems to be a trend these days. The missions just kept getting longer and longer- the time that he was on base shorter and farther between.

But it was raining tonight- the soft rhythmic  pitter patter of it on the roof of the hut reminding you of your home planet, you could almost pretend you were there; the smell of petrichor tricking your brain. Making it easier to curl up on the bed that was really more of a cot and cozy into the Resistance standard blanket.

For the first time in two weeks- you sleep. Hard. Like a rock. The exhaustion finally overtaking your body, and putting you out of commission. General Organa was right to send you back to your bunk, physically removing you from your post.

You feel kind of, extremely, guilty for the attitude you’d thrown at her -

“I’m fine, if I don't do my job, who’s going to?”-

aimed her way even though she didn't deserve it. She was right, of course. She tended to be most of the time. Why anyone ever doubted her, why you ever doubted her, you didn't know.

The sleep is dreamless, just the way you prefer it...you hadn't always, but nothing was better then the nightmares. Nothing is far from peace, but close to quiet. A middle ground that could be called purgatory, depending how you looked at it.

So when there's a knock at your door, the wooden one that gave you more privacy then you’d had in months, that wakes you from your much needed slumber, you can't help but feel the irritation surge through you. Your hypothetical feathers bristled as you huff and puff and pull yourself out of bed, yanking a pair of breezy sleep pants up your chubby legs and a robe over your shoulders- not wanting to answer whoever it was in the near nude.

When you pull open the door- well, it was the one person who wouldn't have minded if you had greeted him in your panties.

“Poe?” You question, because your eyes still haven't adjusted, your mind still three fourths asleep and one fourth confused.

“Yeah, it’s me, sweetheart” And oh? Sweetheart? In that gravelly voice, tired and worn and fragile...you're instantly aware of what kind of state he’s in.

When you pull him inside, flipping on the light orb, and are able to see him. Clearly now; all bloody and bruised, you inhale sharply. His eye is blackened on the same side of his face that seems to be saturated in crusted crimson.

“Stars, Poe” You whisper as you crowd him, urging him to sit on the cot that’s still warm from your body heat. Poe frowns, pretty lips pulled down as he takes it, and you in. Your hair rumpled, your robe falling off your shoulder as you gather medical supplies from what seems like all over your small “room”

The first thing you do is take out a small capsule full of neon blue liquid from a jar and hand it to him. He takes it gratefully, tossing it down the hatch before you can even offer him water. Painkillers aren't the easiest to come by since they’ve been on the move.

“I woke you up, didn't I?” He inquires, after he swallows.

“Obviously” You answer as you step back into his orbit, close enough that he can smell your skin. That his eyes can trace each of the freckles that dot across your nose, your cheeks. You put your finger under his chin and tilt his head up, and fuck, isn't that a pretty view?

“I’m sorry” He whispers, hissing between his teeth as you, gently but deftly, begin to clean his head.

“Mmm, it’s fine. I’m awake now,  Kriff Poe, you look like warmed over shit. This gash in your hairline is going to need stitches” You’re focused, wiping and dabbing as you speak.

He didn't realize, until that moment, just how much he missed your voice.

“Your bedside manner is spectacular as ever” He grins as he says it, even though it hurts to do so. His busted lip is next on your itinerary.

“Well when you show up at my bedside and not the other way around, I’m pretty sure that changes up the rules”

“Didn't you miss me...at your bedside, that is?” He pushes on, he wants you soft and sweet for him but he knows from experience it takes a bit to get there. Especially since he’s been gone so long.

“Stop distracting me” You mutter. You're only half pretending to be completely focused on the task at hand, at this point you could probably stitch a wound with your eyes closed.

“M’sorry” He’s not. It’s selfish, but he really isn't. He’s not sorry for barging in on you and waking you up, or for sitting in your bed reeking of blood and days worth of dirt. How can he be, when this feels so good? Your soft little hands working at him, healing with every touch. There’s no hurt when he’s around you- only good.

The painkiller makes the edges fuzzy, makes the fact that your repeatedly pulling a needle through his skin seem mild. It’s not like it’s his first time getting sewn up, and he highly doubts it’ll be his last.

Poe can't stop staring at you, dark eyes hooded. Hungry in a way that he doesn't care to hide. Drinking you in, gulping. It’d been almost a month and he was dying to get his fill. Your round body, nothing but curves and dips that he was itching to touch, is mostly covered, but the robe is still hanging off your shoulder. Satin skin exposed, so pretty and pristine.

It’s almost out of his control when his hand skims up our arm, skin seeking out skin. His palm sears as it settles on your upper arm. The plush flesh so soft under his calloused hands that he’s almost worried that it would give if e pressed down too hard.

In the back of his mind he knows better, though. Recalls just how much you can take.

“Poe” You warn tightly, lashes fluttering as you shoot him a look. One that makes him chuckle, because you're not fooling him.

He’ll play, mostly because he wants to, but he knows you missed him as much as he missed you.

You wonder if he can feel the way that you're trembling, already shaking for him. It’s stupid, you feel stupid, and yet you cant stop it. You have healers hands, medic’s hands- and at least you can get them to stay still as you finish with his head, then his lip.

Going insane from the simplest touch, from the way that he rubs his thumb in circles over and over on your upper arm. You remember when that would have made you uncomfortable, big arms that you wanted covered at all times used to be a big no-no.

But with Poe it was different. He wasn't there to judge. He just wanted to feel.

You don't want to pull away, but you have to. Your brain is torn, but ultimately resorts back to it’s resting state: health driven. Medically inclined.

“You need to go take a shower, wash the rest of the blood out of your hair. The hot water will help to start to bring down the swelling” you instruct, and it would be how you talked to any patient. Except for the way you cradle the side of his face, your voice breathy as you touch is thick locks that are greasy. A bit tangled.

Poe nods, he knows your right. Knows he should have done that before he even came here…

“Can I come back?” It’s hopeful, he spits it quick- desperate.

It feels like someone yanked, hard, on a loose thread inside your chest.

“Always. You know that”

--

While he showers, forced to go a few huts over to the community bathrooms, you’re a flurry of anxious thoughts and movement. Tidying up the small space and yourself the best you can. You’d showered earlier in the evening, using the last of the last of the Obsidian Lily oil that you’d carried with you. You still smelled good, pretty.

Your hair was wild, but not untamable and you end up brushing it smooth. You hadn't shaved since before he had left and curse yourself for not doing so earlier. How were you supposed to know that he was coming back tonight? Growing up on your home planet, there was a moss based soap that everyone used that minimized body hair. But still…

You wished, like you had more than once, that you could be better for him.

You're trying to swallow that horrid ugly little thought back down when your door opens, Poe not bothering to knock this time. Barges in, and he seems a bit more like himself in that moment.

His hair has gone back to his natural curls, thick and bouncing, dripping and the navy, loose materialed sleep clothes hang on him. Dont cling to him with dirt and sweat...all and all, he looks so much better.

Or so you think. Until you see him in the right light, his top falling open and revealing his chest.

“Poe!” You exclaim and his thick brows furrow, he had been drying his hair with one of your spare towels.

“What?”

“Take off your shirt” You demand and one side of his lips pull up- a smirk that doesn't meet his eyes.

“You know if you ask me nicely, sweetheart, I’ll give you whatever you want” It’s a purr, a ploy. Many a person- male, female and Wookiee had fallen for that charm of his. Your own name thrown in that pot.

But he was hurt, had to be in pain, and that thought cut through the others that that coy tone had stirred up.

“I’m serious, that bruising looks deep- why didn't you show me this earlier? You could have internal bleeding! Something could be broken”

Poe would never let it be known, would deny it to the ends of the galaxy...but he loves the way you fret over him. It makes him feel warm.

“Okay- Okay!” He sighs as you start to reach for him demandingly, knowing that you'd pull it off yourself if he didn't. There's a handful of winces as he tugs the fabric up and over his shoulders. You’re silent the whole time, and then for a long moment after.

“Oh...baby”

It’s the first time you've called him that tonight. In weeks. The first time an affectionate name has slipped from your mouth.

You can't help it, can't help the overwhelming feeling of...horror. Of shock and worry. His tanned chest and abdomen are hard, dusted with ebony hair that matches that of which grows from his scalp...and covered in bruises.

Four huge patches of yellow, and black and purple and blue...he looks like a fucking water color painting. You’d seen him in some pretty bad states over the years, and this was up there with some of the worst. The worst? Well you didn't like to think about that particular bloody day.

You reach out, fingertips tracing the purple bloom on his left ribs.

“It’s not so bad” And that’s Poe in a nutshell. Always trying to convince not only the people around him, but himself, that things were going to be okay.

“That one’s a deep tissue bruise” You point out to him, fingers gently probing, trying to detect if anything is broken “It has to hurt like a bitch, it’s going to get worse before it feels better”

“Not so bad” He loves the way you're touching him, and his hand, that big paw, goes to our waist. Holding you. Urging you to keep going “Those painkillers are something else”

You snort through your nose. He’s something else- you tell him of that fact, often.

Poe can only be so patient, can only allow you to touch him, feather light, for so long. Eventually, his impulses win out. Just like the always do.

You’re almost done, checking his bones, when he grabs your hand, envelopes it in his large one. It’s still for a moment- the air sparkling with energy. His eyes are mahogany, dark wood. Deep forests as they stare down at you.

The want in them is raw, unbridled.

“I missed you, so fucking much. Every day. Have I told you that yet?” His words, mixed with the timbre- vehement. Honest. It makes you want to squirm.

“No- you haven't” You wish your voice at that moment wasn't so anxious, weak and almost a whisper. Something about Poe had always brought this out in you. He was so bright, beaming. Everyone around him flocked to him, in hopes of just being able to taste a fraction of his light.

Sometimes, you still couldn't believe that he let you fill your cup, that he sought you out, parted the crowd for you.

You had never been a weak woman; had never let your weight or your too loud opinions or your tendencies to be overly emotional make you feel small, or less then...but being with Poe-- the level of intimacy was suffocating.

You felt burned up. Icarus who flew too close to the sun, who willing allowed himself to be burned up just to feel its warmth for a moment...you could relate.

“I did” Poe continues “I missed the way you feel, the way you taste-”

You close your eyes at that, images of the last time you’d gotten a moment alone with him, of a head of dark curls between your legs, assaulting you. Smacking you right in the face.

“-You taste so good, Y/N. Should've bent you over when you came to say goodbye. You would've let me, huh? Let me get one more taste- you have no idea how bad I want to stick my tongue inside of you. All the time. No one else gets to taste, right?”

Poe is well on his way to being rock hard, already. It had taken all of him to not jerk off in the showers.

“No one, Poe. You know that” you’d meant to tell him to fuck off, that you didn't belong to him. That he couldn't just have you whenever he wanted you. That came out instead.

“I need you” He tells you, roughly “feel how bad I need you, Y/N, fuck” he still has your hand in his grasp, againts his chest. When he begins to slide it downward, you know where its destination will be.

That doesn't stop the thrill, the flip flop of our tummy that comes with Poe pressing your hand to his crotch, hard and hot. The thin pants the only layer between your palm and his erection.

“You’re the only one who gets me like this, I need you to make it better, Y/N”

The switch is flipped then. Hard.

You’re surging forward, and he's meeting you halfway, your mouths slotting together. Lips and tongue, so much tongue. He talks all about how you taste, but stars, the way he tastes is intoxicating. Want to suck the taste of him off his tongue, off his cock.

Its blurry and ferocious. Hands everywhere. Touching, grabbing. While you are gentle with him and his tattered body, he doesn't extend that same sentiment. He’s groping, fingertips bidding into flesh. Groaning into your mouth as he clutches your thick, dimpled thighs. Reaches around to squeeze our ample ass.

Best ass in the galaxy, he'd write fucking sonnets about it, if he was good at anything but flying.

Clothes are shed, way too fast you worn Poe who doesn't listen. Because he never does- and he ends up hissing in pain, and relenting, sitting on the cot and letting you take off his pants. Slowly. You make it up to him by standing over him, grabbing his hands and guiding them to strip you. Slow drags of fabric over supple skin.

You’re so fucking sexy, and he tells you so as he urges you into his lap, you stay on your shins to mind his middle. Poe worships with his words. His fingers and lips do their fair share of praying next.

“Fuck I missed these the most” your breasts are large, heavy globes. Puffy sweet nipples are pebbled and just begging to be sucked on. He licks them messy, wet before he does just that; sucks them into the hot cavern of his mouth.

“Oh, oh, ugh” Your hands are twined in his hair, dripping down onto his thighs already, when Poe feels the wetness drip on him, his fingers go searching, hand pressed in between your thighs. Fingers slipping through sopping, heated flesh. You grasp, a high sound as he presses up and circles your clit, firm and pointed.

It’s so good, pleasure shoots down your legs, all the way to the tips of your toes.

It’s not enough. For either of you.

“Poe, fuck. Please” He’s injured, and you know it hurts him to do, and you should scold him for it, but when he manhandles you, flips you easily onto your back to that he can climb on top and situates himself between your thighs-

It’s just as hot as it always is. You know you have to be dripping down onto the cot, can feel your slick covering your thighs, slipping down your crack.

Kiss, Kiss and Kiss and Kiss and Kiss and…

You get lost in it, caught up in the way his stubble burns. His fingers slide back inside you and he watches your face as he crooks them, pumps them fast. Finger fucks you until you’re sobbing, letting out animal sounds.

“Do you still have the implant” he pants, head swimming. He gets like this when you let him make you feel good- wants to go down on you, but wants to be inside you even more.

“No, I took it out in the last few weeks” You’re cheeky, even with his fingers burried inside you. He loves that about you, “Of course I do, Poe”

You’d be damned before you ever brought a child into this world.

Poe holds your thighs wide, staring between them, your pussy wet and clenching around nothing. You’re so vulnerable for him, it makes you dizzy. He lines himself up, clock head dipping into your slit, resting against your hole, when thrusts inside of you it’s in one fluid movement.

You mewl, so full it’s hard to breathe and Poe makes a punched out sound. Like he’d been shot by a blaster in the chest and his hips start undulating, needing to be deeper. It feels so right inside of you. Feels safe. He wants to tear into your softness, rip you open and nestle inside. Settle himself in your bones.

You let him take what he needs, how ever he needs it. On your back, on your hands and knees. You bounce on his cock when he gets to achy,letting him run his hands all over your tummy, sides, breasts.

He can have it all.

After, the two of you lay spent, cuddled tight to one and other in the small cot. Standard issue thrown over your naked bodies, the sound of the rain starting up again mixed with Poes breathing is a lullaby you hadn't known you needed.

This...thing between you might have started as a way for both of you to numb the pain. To seek support. But it was more now. You were so in love with him that it made your eyes sting if you thought about it for too long.

“You’ll always come back to me, right?” Its so, so timid that he almost doesn't catch it and you almost hope he’d miss it.

Poe does what he always does; tries to convince you both that it’s going to be okay.

“Always”

You let yourself believe him.

Well I wasn't expecting this to turn into pure porn, but here we are lmfao. I loved writing for Poe and there will definitely be more of him coming soon! If you are able- listening to All I Need by Radiohead and the Hot Like Fire cover by the XX really sets the tone for this. I actually dropped a line from hot like fire in this- who can point it out?lol

As usual, I'm going to ask that if you can please give me some feedback. I truly love interacting with my readers and would love to hear your thoughts and opinions.