#but he realizes eventually that something has started to shift and its new and thrilling and he doesnt know how to handle it!!!

[roughentumble]

AU where geralt's been in love with jaskier since the beginning, and for the longest time jaskier had no idea. and jaskier, well, he's so unlucky in love, he's had what seems like a thousand partners, all of them worse than the last. nothing like the good, steady, loyal love geralt's been harboring in secret. jaskier doesnt feel anything, though he wishes more than anything that he did. and maybe it's selfish, and maybe it's cruel, but he just... he wants to try it. he wants to see what it's like, to be with someone who cares. he worries that perhaps he's using geralt, but he's always been selfish, so he cant stop himself once it's in motion

maybe geralt suggests it, maybe he does. either way, he's upfront that he doesnt love geralt like that. but he wants to try. and geralt agrees

jaskier slowly! slowly falling in love with his friend!!! because theyre dating, theyre trying it, and jaskier is seeing how sweet he can be and he's WOOED!!!

[n1ght0f-nyx]

woven bonds

pert'ah (orc oc x gn reader) pt 7

tags/warnings- over the time you two have been together his english has gotten better, arranged marriage, human female x male orc, gentle giant, you're finally with him, tattoos, nonsexual marking

When you finally confessed your feelings, Pert'ah reveals a sacred orc tradition: a bond tattoo, symbolising the intertwining of two lives and the strength of their love. As you both journey to the clan’s mark artist, Pert'ah shares the stories behind his own markings, revealing his past and the future he hopes to share with you.

i am begging for someone to give me requests for anything

The warm, flickering firelight cast soft shadows on the walls of the small home you and Pert'ah now shared. You were curled up in a corner, lost in thought, while he sat across from you, his massive form bent slightly as he worked on a weaving project. It had been months since the day your father had sold you into an arranged marriage with the orc weaver, exchanging your life for a political bargain. You had been furious and devastated at first, feeling trapped in a strange world, and you fought hard against your feelings for Pert'ah.

But something had shifted over time. Pert'ah had never been the terrifying brute you expected him to be. Despite his size, his hands were deft, and his voice was soft, even in its broken English. He was patient, showing you kindness you hadn't anticipated. Each day he would bring you food, trying to coax you into eating when you refused, and he spoke softly, attempting to ease your fears and frustrations. Over time, your resentment began to thaw.

It started small—accepting the food he offered, exchanging a few words, and eventually, joining him at his work table. You'd sit there, quietly watching as he wove intricate patterns into cloth, his fingers moving with surprising delicacy for someone so large and imposing. Slowly, you realized that your anger had faded, replaced by something else, something that felt warm and safe,

Now, weeks later, your relationship had settled into a peaceful routine. Tonight, Pert'ah's hands were steady as he worked the loom, but every so often, you caught him glancing up at you, as if he had something on his mind. Eventually, he set down his work and cleared his throat.

"Y'know," he began, his accent still thick but more familiar to your ears now, "in my clan… there is something we do when… we love someone. after we bond." He paused, searching for the right words.

You looked up, curious. "What do you mean?"

His large hand gestured vaguely toward his chest, where his skin was marked with swirling, intricate markings. The patterns wound around his biceps, across his chest, and down his back, each one seemingly part of a larger story. You had noticed them before, of course, but you had never asked about their significance.

"markings," he said, tapping his chest. "They mean much. Each one has… story. Spirit."

You sat up straighter, intrigued. "Like what?"

Pert'ah's eyes flickered with something—perhaps pride, or reverence. "In my culture, we mark our skin to show our life. Our bond to family, to clan, to… love." He paused, letting his words sink in. "When we choose someone… we get marking. One that shows the bond between us."

Your heart skipped a beat. The idea of a marking symbolizing your bond with Pert'ah was unexpected, but the thought of it thrilled you. The permanence of such a mark felt like a declaration of your feelings, something you were no longer afraid to express.

"You mean… you'd get a marking for me?"

Pert'ah nodded slowly. "Yes. And… you, too. If you want."

The weight of his offer settled over you. It wasn't something to be taken lightly, but the thought of carrying a symbol of your love for Pert'ah, of your place in this new world, filled you with a quiet excitement.

"What do they mean?" you asked, your eyes tracing the markings on his skin. "Your markings. What are their stories?"

A small, thoughtful smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back, gesturing for you to come closer. You moved toward him, sitting beside him as he began to speak.

"This one," he pointed to a swirling, knot-like pattern on his forearm, "is for my family. My mother and father, my brothers. It shows where I come from. My roots."

You nodded, your fingers lightly brushing over the design. The lines were bold, yet elegant, winding together in an unbreakable bond.

"And this?" you asked, tracing the edge of a jagged, lightning-like marking that stretched across his chest.

"This one is for battle," he said, his voice taking on a somber tone. "A long time ago, I fought for my clan. This mark is for the fights I survived, the people I lost."

His gaze darkened for a moment, and you squeezed his hand gently, understanding that those memories were difficult for him to revisit.

"But here," he continued, pointing to the pattern that wound around his bicep, "this is for my future. It is not finished yet." He glanced at you, his eyes full of meaning. "When I choose someone to be with for life, the mark will be complete. It will show our bond, our future together."

Your breath caught in your throat as you realized the significance of what he was saying. This marking, this incomplete symbol, was waiting for you. And now, he was offering to finish it, to mark himself with a permanent symbol of your love.

"I want it," you whispered, your heart racing with the weight of your decision. "I want to share that bond with you."

Pert'ah's face lit up, his golden eyes shimmering with warmth. "Then I will take you to the marking artist tomorrow," he said softly. "It will be an honor."

---

The next day, Pert'ah guided you to the heart of the orc village, where the marking artist's home was located. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and smoke as you entered the small, dimly lit hut. The artist, an older orc woman with intricate markings covering nearly every inch of her skin, greeted you with a nod, her sharp eyes studying you and Pert'ah carefully.

"You come for bond marking," she said, her voice raspy but kind.

Pert'ah nodded. "Yes. We wish to be marked together."

The artist smiled knowingly and gestured for you to sit on a low bench. She turned to Pert'ah first, inspecting the incomplete design on his arm.

"It is time to finish this one, then," she said, motioning for him to sit as well. She began to mix inks, her hands steady and practiced.

As she prepared, Pert'ah turned to you, his voice low and soft. "Our marking will be special. It will show our bond, but also our strength. Our journey together."

You felt a wave of emotion rise within you as the artist began her work on Pert'ah's skin, her needle carefully tracing the lines of the existing design. He barely flinched, his face serene as he watched the artist work.

"This marking," Pert'ah said quietly, "will show the two paths we took. Yours and mine. They will twist together, become one. Stronger together."

You smiled at his words, touched by the symbolism. "And what about the part for the future?" you asked softly.

His eyes met yours, filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache in the best way possible. "That part… will be blank. It is for what we will make together. Our life."

---

When it was your turn, you felt a mix of excitement and nerves. The artist guided you gently, explaining the meaning behind each stroke as she inked the bond marking onto your skin. It was a mirror of Pert'ah's, yet unique to you, representing your own journey.

As the needle pressed into your skin, Pert'ah held your hand, his presence grounding you. The process was both painful and exhilarating, each stroke of the needle reminding you of the permanence of your decision—of the love you had chosen to embrace.

When it was done, the artist stepped back, admiring her work. The bond marking twisted around your arm, the two paths intertwining beautifully, just as Pert'ah had described. At the center, there was a blank space, a place for your future together, waiting to be filled with the stories you would create as a couple.

Pert'ah lifted your arm gently, his fingers tracing the fresh ink with reverence. "It is beautiful," he murmured. "You are beautiful."

You smiled at him, tears pricking your eyes. "So are you," you whispered.

In that moment, you felt a deep sense of belonging, not just to Pert'ah, but to this new life you had built together. The marking was more than just a mark on your shoulder—it was a symbol of your love, your bond, and the future you would share. And you knew, without a doubt, that you had made the right choice.

As you and Pert'ah walked back to your home, your hands entwined, the weight of your shared marking felt both grounding and freeing. You were no longer bound by the past, no longer trapped by the decisions of others. This bond was yours, forged in love, and it would guide you both into whatever the future held.

[yandere-romanticaa]

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞/𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐚.

Sweet smiles, long walks and picturesque sun sets become common place with Childe as soon as you meet him. Word in Liyue travels fast and once he heard the stories about the odd traveler he can’t help but to be at least a little bit interested. He’s quick on his feet, already making his way towards the newcomer with that cheeky but sly smile of his. Childe being Childe, his mind wanders and he ponders just how much of a fight this stranger can really put up. The curiosity is bubbling up inside of him, his hands already picking up his new comrade as he twirls them in the air, an odd spark glinting brightly in his ocean blue eyes. If only he knew what he just got himself into… the same could be said for his adorable little comrade as well.

He’s a pest right from the get-go and if he’s being called out for his behaviour, he’ll just laugh, put an arm around your shoulder, press you closer against him and smoothly change the subject. He doesn’t mind when his more suspicious behaviour gets called out, it just means that you catch on fast which he likes, at the start… or so he thinks. If there is anything that Childe despises in the world it would be people who are weak, people who are unwilling to fight. You don’t need to be a master swordsman or anything like that in order to impress him, just show him that you have some ambition and you’ll be golden. But, he wouldn’t like it too much if his darling didn’t trust him. He seeks to earn your trust right from the start and he hates keeping secrets which is very much ironic on his part. He loves it when you come running straight to him, tears streaming down your cheeks as you hold him tightly, telling him about the scary stalker you think you have. He rubs your back gently and coos at you, his voice soothing your anxieties while not knowing that the true culprit was standing right in front of you. 

He always makes sure to present himself in the most incredible light he possibly can. You’ll never catch him sulking, he’s always ready for an adventure and he is always willing to pay for anything you want. It’s cute when you ask him how he can summon so much Mora but it still worries you. He buys you so many things, downright spoiling you like royalty that you actually start to feel guilty. How is this man not broke? It seems like you’ll never truly know, nor does he want to you to know.

It’s scary how many little things he notices about you. He studies you, his eyes always lingering on your form whether you realize that or not. He’s got eyes and ears everywhere, he always knows where you are. He often pushes his limits, scaring you on purpose just to see what kind of reaction you’d give him. Seeing the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight, your face losing some of its colour, fidgety arms searching for your house key in order to get away from the subtle danger that your gut keeps warning you about. There is no denying it, it gives him a new thrill he’s never felt before. He’s such a creep when it comes to these things, purposefully leaving little hints around your house that you are never quite alone, his shadow always tailing you no matter the time of day. He pushes his limits far too often but always steps back if he feels that his cover will be blown. He is a very patient man, he can play this little game of cat and mouse for as long as he sees fit.

If he promises you something, rest assured he will keep his word. Yes, he’s a pretty easygoing guy but he never goes back on his word, and he expects the same from you. Do not break your promises to him, please.

He’ll feel conflicted once he realizes just how much he cares for you. It’s amusing in a way, but also a little scary -  the way his heart starts to pump the moment he sees you is something beyond this world, how his blood boils when he sees you talking to someone he deems to be unworthy of your time and attention (which is almost everyone you know…). It’s not something he can express through words, so he does what his heart tells him. Stay as close to you as possible, never let you leave his line of sight. To the outside world his clinginess may seem endearing, downright adorable even. Seeing two young lovebirds together is always a sight for sore eyes but alas it’s a pity that never sees the panic in your own. His grip is far too tight, his stare too intense to be considered normal, his lips always close to your ear. He’s touchy like that and he takes pride in it. He has no shame.

When it comes to kidnapping it will happen eventually, but when exactly is all up to you. If he senses that something’s off, that you fell for someone else or anything of the sort he will take you. Even if things are alright, even if you fell head over heels for him the urge to dominate your life is still very much there. He is just so confident in his own strength that he feels more on edge if he leaves you alone. Childe has more enemies then he could care to count for but if they ever found about his little soft spot there would be serious consequences. He urges you to just sit on his lap while he does his work, it makes things so much easier.

As a proud family man, Childe would understand your desire to stay in close contact with loved ones and he actually supports it. Of course, all of your movements will be heavily monitored and if he sees anything that he deems to be suspicious, even if it was just a false alarm, he is taking you back home and this specific privilege will be taken away from you. He’s not risking anything, and don’t even think about trying to pull some kind of stunt, especially if you are out in public. When you’re alone with him again, that is when you’ll expirience what true Hell feels like.

A true sadist through and through, he takes great pleasure in seeing you come undone by his own two hands. He can’t help himself even if his life was on the line, seeing you miserable is good entertainment. If he does cross the line though, he will go easy on you. This hot and colt treatment keeps you on edge, never quite sure when he will come running to you, peppering your face with kisses and giving you sugary sweet compliments or when he feels like using you as a human punching bag. That is arguably the scariest thing about him, how easily he can shift between that kind, older brother figure to the bloodthirsy warrior that so many fear, and rightfully so. He is two sides of the same coin and you are the one who gets to flip it - whether you want to or not.

[aminiatureworld]

Time and Chance II

Characters: Kaeya, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,702

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: Confessions are tricky things. Sometimes it takes week, maybe months, maybe years of building up courage for one to happen. And sometimes life throws the oddest wrenches in our paths.

In which the reader confesses.

Author’s Note:

Sorry for the lack of Zhongli. I feel completely awful currently and though I wrote part of his scenario it was really poor in quality so I decided to stick with Kaeya and Xiao. I’ll get to him and Keqing another time I promise. Also don’t worry this isn’t life or death I just need to sleep it off lol. I realize between this and my computer there’s always something and I feel a bit guilty about it. At least I hope everything’s up to par!

This also probably won’t get proofread tonight.

 I hope you enjoyed my extra fic for Valentine’s Day! To all the lovely people who requested prompts I will be getting to those next week. Have a lovely night and thank you so much for your patience!

Kaeya

Perhaps falling in love with Kaeya wasn’t the most original thing you’d ever done, but by the time you’d come to that conclusion you were too far gone to care.

You loved Kaeya, or at least you liked him a lot. As someone who looked up to the Knights of Favonius there was something intriguing about the man who was simultaneously one of its lynchpins, and a sort of rogue state of a human being. It didn’t hurt that he was stupidly good looking, and a bit of a smoother talker. Okay, maybe more than a bit, but you didn’t really mind that. It was nice to be flirted with sometimes, and Kaeya had the sense never to take it too far.

You figured that Kaeya was at least somewhat aware of your feelings. Though you never asked about it, it seemed somehow too brash. Instead you figured that, in the months that had passed since your friendship had begun – for you did see it as a friendship by now – Kaeya had become aware and decided not to comment on it, as to not hurt your feelings. Though you wouldn’t go as far as call it noble of him, you certainly appreciated it.

So this charade continued on. You two remained close friends, or rather close friends in your estimation. Kaeya continued to flirt and you continued to ignore your personal feelings. It was truly an odd song and dance, but it wasn’t one you were about to change, not willingly anyways.

It’d become a bit of a tradition to patrol together. Seeing as you were an adventurer yourself and Kaeya was, well, Kaeya, you two had eventually decided it was better to make one long patrol together than two shorter patrols apart. Besides wasn’t the rule safety in numbers?

It was an exceedingly boring patrol, and as it neared its end the atmosphere between you two grew from semi-serious to absolute buffoonery. Kaeya had challenged you to see who could pick the most flowers the fastest, then who could control their vision’s element the long, then eventually, seized by some divine genius, he suggested that you might see who could run the farthest on the walls of Monstadt without falling over.

“This has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever agreed to.” You grumbled good naturedly. “Don’t blame me if you go tumbling off and end up with a broken leg.”

“I trust you’ll lift me to safety before that happens.” Kaeya answered back, eyes alight with his daredevil proposal.

“My anemo vision isn’t your personal elevator captain.” You reminded him. Hauling yourself up on the walls so you were on the farthest side you flashed a thumbs up. Kaeya nodded.

“Okay. Three… two… one and three quarters.”

“Kaeya.” You huffed, eliciting a chuckle from the knight.

“Okay, okay. Three, two, one, go!” The two of you ran as fast as you could, scrambling up the turrets, too concentrated to talk. Kaeya was laughing though, and eventually you found yourself laughing too, thrilled by the recklessness you were indulging in and the freedom to be doing it with someone apparently as stupid as you were.

“I’m getting ahead~” Kaeya chimed. You scoffed, quickening your pace. Kaeya did likewise, and for a moment it seems you two were going to be running the entire wall in this position. That is before Kaeya slipped.

“Shit.” He cursed, waving his arms like a madman. This only lasted a few seconds before he truly tumbled off, heading towards the stone paved ground. You didn’t say anything, though your brain was screaming various incomprehensible things. You simply clambered off your perch, hands already outstretched, praying to the god Barbatos that you could manipulate air you couldn’t see.

Luck was on your side as it turned out, and your swirl of wind caught Kaeya before he hit the pavement. Gliding down you shook your head wildly.

“Great gods Kaeya you scared the shit out of me!” You knew that you were screaming slightly, but you couldn’t help it. The whole situation had riled you up, leaving you panicked and not fully in control of your emotions.

“I’m fine! Honestly I am. I’m only sorry I lost.” Kaeya chuckled, but his laughter was weaker than before and his expression was slightly shocked.

“It’s not time to joke around Kaeya!” You shot back. “You can’t be so reckless! I know that it was also my fault for agreeing to it, but honestly! What would Monstadt do without you? What would I do without you?” You paused then, realizing that what you said held certain implications you’d been hoping to keep under wraps.

“What do you mean?” Kaeya’s expression immediately became brighter. Figures he’d read the meaning into your words. Honestly the man was too emotionally intelligent for his own good.

“I meant was I said.” You replied, figuring that there was nothing else to say. The truth was all but out now. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you Kaeya. Now I’m going to tell you something I’ve been hiding for a while, and since I saved your life and revealed it in the process I just want you to take it seriously, okay? I’m not joking, and now that I’ve said it I want to make it explicit. I like you. Like, I like, like you. And I know that I’m just your friend and that you’ve probably been aware of it for ages, but it’s out in the open now, okay? You don’t have to reciprocate or anything, that’s not it. I just… want to let it out.”

You stared at Kaeya, trying to gauge his reaction as much as possible, unwilling to look away. Unsurprisingly the news hardly seemed shocking to him, but instead of his smile slipping from his face it only grew wider. “You’re kinda oblivious you know.”

“I – what?” You sputtered, slightly offended. This wasn’t where you expecting it to go. “I don’t expect you to reciprocate, but leave the teasing alone for now at least!” So much for calling Kaeya emotionally intelligent.

“You’re reading this the wrong way!” Kaeya held up his hands, before stepping closer to you. “I just can’t believe that you’ve been my friend this whole time, had feelings on top of it, and never noticed that I was just as interested in you. I mean I’ve been flirting with you for months.”

“You flirt with everyone.” You scoffed, although the argument seemed to hold a bit less weight when compared to the jubilant, slightly smug look on Kaeya’s face.

“You may be right about that.” He admitted. “But c’mon. I don’t flirt with them like I flirt with you. I certainly don’t take them out on patrol.” His expression turned softer then, and he shook his head. “I know that I joke around a lot, but I promise, I wouldn’t joke about this. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you though, that was a fault on my part.”

“So you mean I’ve been hiding my feelings all this time for nothing?” You deadpanned, feeling overwhelmed. The situation still seemed too good to be true.

“Sounds about right.” Mischief was creeping back into Kaeya’s voice. “But it’s all right now! Your prayers have been heard! So, since you were the one to admit your feelings, I’ll be the one to ask the question. Want to date?”

“Yes.” You replied, sure of your answer.

“Good.” Kaeya replied, before pulling you into a hug, one you gladly reciprocated. It had been a hell of a day, and while you wouldn’t relieve Kaeya’s fall for anything you felt somehow lighter, as if a great burden had been lifted off your shoulders. He liked you, Kaeya liked you. For you, for now, that was all that mattered.

 Xiao

Once you’d decided to admit your feelings to Xiao you’d immediately followed up that decision with the knowledge that you were going to have to break it to him slowly. You’d been friends with Xiao for over a year now, and though you were cautiously optimistic as to how the adeptus would take it, you still knew that he wasn’t the kind of person who would be at all comfortable with a sudden confession.

Confessing your feelings was in itself an act which required all the courage you possessed. You weren’t sure when you’d truly started falling for Xiao, it had come about so gradually. But before you knew it you had grown to love him. You loved the way he talked, the soft cadence of his voice though often impatient was still filled with enough softness to make your heart flutter. You loved how, despite all he’d suffered, he still retained a begrudging love for the world, especially Liyue, which he once revealed to you would always be the one thing he loved, even if he loved nothing else. You loved everything, his hands, his eyes, the way he walked, the way he kept going despite it all. You loved it so much it hurt, and now you found that your love wasn’t something merely to be pushed away. If the odds of Xiao rejecting you were almost 100 so be it, at least then you’d be proud of yourself.

You spent quite a bit of time mulling the whole thing over, before the answer struck you. Xiao refused the gifts you brought him after some of your adventures, and when you’d once asked him what he might accept he’d shifted his gaze slightly towards the side, one hand running itself through his hair. “…Almond… Tofu.” He’d admitted. You’d been delighted by the revelation at the time, promising yourself you’d learn to make it. And what was a better way to show your feelings than to do so now? Not only was it something he’d like, it was something you’d made yourself.

So you gathered all the ingredients, borrow a receipt, and set to work in Wangshu Inn’s kitchen.

Unfortunately you’d failed to predict how difficult Almost Tofu was to make. It’d been hours and you had nothing to show for it but dirty utensils, a scarcity of ingredients, and a few mysterious blobs that looked about two steps away from inedible. Leaning your head on the counter you let out a groan. Why the fuck did you think this was a good idea?

“What’re you doing?” A familiar voice broke through your reverie.

“Xiao!” You exclaimed, glancing around you. There was no use hiding the project, although technically nothing was looking even close to Almond Tofu right now. “I was, I was trying to make Almond Tofu. But I guess I’m no good at cooking.” You laughed, more than slightly embarrassed.

Xiao’s eyes narrowed, and he raised an eyebrow. Saying nothing he walked over to the counter. Grabbing a cloth he started wiping down the counter.

“What’re you doing?” You asked, slightly confused and extremely surprised.

“Teaching you.” Came the reply. “Come on, let’s start again. Have you washed your hands since your last attempt?”

If cooking was difficult without Xiao it was impossible with him. The whole time you couldn’t help butbe aware of his presence, the way he stood behind you, leaning forward ever so often. Once you hadn’t been mixing fast enough and he placed his hands on yours, pressing his chest against your back. Your grip had immediately lost all strength, and you were sure that Xiao was the only one actually working. His breath was warm against your neck, and his palms were warm and dry. It was all too much, and you spent the rest of the lesson only half paying attention, too wrapped up in his proximity to you.

Despite the distractions this batch turned out, well looking like Almond Tofu. You couldn’t help but smile when seeing the finished product. Even if you didn’t make it completely yourself, there was still something about creating that gave you a sense of pride. Even if you did need help from the person you were going to give it to.

“It’s done.” Xiao proclaimed, a slight smile of satisfaction on his face. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“Oh, well actually I made it for you.” You grabbed the plate and approached the adeptus. “I know you said it was your favorite, and the only thing you’d accept, so, I made it!” You smiled slightly, though inside you were a bundle of nerves. This was happening. Holy shit this was happening.

The surprise on Xiao’s face was evident, but he nevertheless took the plate. Grabbing a pair of chopsticks he pressed into the tofu, causing it to almost immediately separate. Taking a bite a smile crossed his face. “Thank you,” he said, “it’s very good. I’m surprised you remembered.”

“Of course I did!” You replied, voice slightly hurried. “And, um, well I’d like to tell you something.”

“What is it?” Xiao’s slightly concerned look returned. Setting the plate down he crossed his arms.

“Well… you see.” You glanced at the floor. “I know this will probably seem very sudden, and maybe not very proper; and I know that this is something that’s purely one sided, but the fact is I like you. I like you more than a friend and, well… yeah.” You finished, feeling as if you’d just spoken some utter nonsense.

Glancing up you noticed how rigid Xiao had gone. Mouth twisting into a nervous frown you shook your head. “I’m so sorry! I know that you aren’t really, well you’ve said you aren’t familiar with the way humans experience the world. And I don’t want to put you on the spot, that’s the last thing I wanted to do. I’m sorry it’s so shocking.” Glancing away you started worrying your hands together. This had gone so much worse than you’d expected it.

“I don’t understand,” Xiao finally spoke, dropping his arms to his sides, “I don’t understand why you’d like someone like me. I’m not a human, and in terms of adepti I’m far more cursed than most. You shouldn’t, you shouldn’t like some like me. I bring disaster.”

“No you don’t!” The objection came naturally to you, horrified as you were by Xiao’s view of himself. “You’re one of the most wonderful beings I’ve ever met, human or adeptal! You’re kind, and you try to understand the pain and emotions of humanity. And you never push your burdens onto others despite carrying such heavy ones. If that’s not the mark of a good person, well then I don’t know what is!”

“I still don’t understand.” Xiao said, voice softer than usual but just as matter of fact.

“I’m sorry I pushed this onto you.” You said, suddenly feeling a burst of regret, turning around you made to leave the kitchen.

“Wait!” Xiao’s voice was loud and slightly jarring, his hand caught your wrist in a grip that, while gentle, was still firm. You turned around, unsure what to expect. Xiao sighed, closing the distance between you two. “When I said I don’t understand, that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” There was a pause as he collected his thoughts, looking down, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t understand how humans think, nor how they feel. But, when I’m around you I’m happy, happier than I’ve been in a millennia. And I want to be around you, all the time sometimes. I want to know more about you and I want you to know more about me. So, if that’s what you mean, then… I also like you.”

Xiao glanced back up towards you and your eyes met. You felt slightly floaty all of a sudden, as if you’d gotten very, very drunk. Everything was too sudden, your emotions had changed too quickly. But through all your confusion you understood one thing. Xiao liked you, he liked you. He wasn’t going to reject you or push you away. The thought was enough to bring a smile to your face.

“So you really like me?” You asked. Though you knew the answer now you still wanted to hear it again. Just in case.

“Yes.” Xiao replied, a smile once more adorning his face. “I like you.”

And that was all you needed to hear.

[some-kindofgnome]

these violent delights, pt. i

In an immersive theme park where cutting-edge technology makes your wildest dreams come true, the line between fantasy and reality begins to blur. enter westworld, where artificially intelligent automatons known as ‘hosts’ are programmed to fulfill your every delight.

(westworld AU, eventual host!dabi x reader, host!keigo takami x reader, eventual shouto todoroki x f!reader)

part one | part two | part three

featuring: hanta sero, denki kaminari, katsuki bakugou, momo yaoyozoru, eijirou kirishima

part one: you prepare to enter the park for the bachelorette party your bridesmaids wanted. meanwhile, westworld’s capable employees prepare to roll out the latest programming update.

wc: 8.7k

pt. i warnings: smut (18+!), sci-fi dystopia, artificial intelligence, medical/surgical procedures, body modification. gun violence, robbery, kidnapping, drinking, death, no beta we die like teddy

notes: this is part one of my entry for The Smut Pile’s Western Collab! this is my very first server collab and I am so thrilled to be kicking it off with this plot monster. this is the first of three parts- it leans a little heavy on the world building, so stay tuned for parts two and three. the action dials up from here, promise! i’m excited to be putting out one of my first plot-heavy stories on this blog!

please note: part one borrows several events from season one, episodes one and two of the series. the story will branch off in its own direction in parts two and three. you do not need to be familiar with Westworld to enjoy this fic- so please give it a try! 💖

(MASTERLIST)

“This doesn’t feel right.”

Livestock Management technician Hanta Sero drifts idly from tool cart to operating table with his raven hair pulled back. He’s clad in a protective latex apron and gloves, approaching the table with a blowtorch in one hand and a long, slim pair of forceps in the other.

“That’s what it says here.” Denki Kaminari stands across the black-tiled room, his back reflected in the glass walls of the operating facility. He scrolls mindfully through a folding datapad with a crease of deep concentration in his golden brow.

Snapping his datapad shut, he lifts his chin to find Sero’s conflicted gaze across the lab.

“The specifications were pretty precise.”

“I know what the briefing said,” Sero retorts. “I just…”

He ignites the blowtorch and takes a deep breath, letting his gaze over slowly over the pale, unmarked flesh of the body stretched out on the table in front of him.

“What?” Kaminari takes in the sight before him. He lifts his eyebrows. “Oh. Well-“

He gets up from his stool, tugging his gloves back over his shirtsleeves and crossing the room toward Sero and the body in question. He picks up a scalpel, making a clean little cut just below the subject’s left nipple without any hesitation.

“Dude, stop!” Sero reaches with the hand still clutching his forceps, blanching as a thin well of blood trickles onto pristine flesh.

“He’s offline,” Denki chuckles. “He can’t feel a thing. You’ve patched these guys up a thousand times, Sero. What’s the problem?”

“I dunno,” Sero muses, drawing the back of one glove nervously over his temple. “I dunno. I think they’re starting to get too real. It’s messing with me.” He shoots Denki a weak chuckle and shakes his head.

“What do they need this guy all burned up for, anyway?”

“Momo told me he’s for the new narrative,” Denki replies, puzzling over the red hair and immaculate pale skin of their unsuspecting victim. “Some kind of grizzly new villain who’s supposed to stir up trouble.”

“Better make him extra fucked up, then.” The blowtorch, extinguished in Sero’s panic, is ignited again, but he’s still hesitating.

“Hey,” Denki prompts. “Why don’t we start with the system update? That’ll kill some time. And then- hey.” He reaches across the tool cart, grabbing for the bottle of black hair dye that came with the host’s modification kit. He shakes it in Sero’s face, letting a smug grin cross his features.

“I’ll do the carpet if you do the drapes.”

Sero and Denki find their rhythm easily enough. Before long, the tension dispels and they’re letting conversation flow smoothly between them, making weekend plans while Sero pushes polished silver staples into the now-scarred flesh of the transformed host.

“This guy’s older than he looks,” Denki quips from the tool cart, where he’s selecting an appropriately sized needle for the delicate work ahead of him. “His systems haven’t been updated in years.”

“I’ve never seen him in the park before,” Sero admits. He’s finishing the clean row of staples that trail from the corner of the host’s mouth to his ear, struggling to push the staple into the skin at the edges of his face. The sharp prongs don’t hold as well in the spots where the muscle and flesh thin to just skin stretched over bone. He looks up in frustration, shaking the spots from his concentrated gaze.

“Whoa,” he starts as he spots the way that Denki’s moved up between the host’s lean thighs. “You’re really gonna-“

“That’s what it says in the briefing,” Denki presses. He’s got the aforementioned needle in one hand and a bowl of curved barbells in the other; he’s gone a little grin about the gills, too.

“Sick fucks,” Sero snorts, shaking his head. “Doesn’t feel very historically accurate, does it?”

“Please,” Denki pushes. “If you think this has ever been about history, you’re in for a nasty surprise.”

“Christ, you wanna talk about nasty surprises,” Sero replies, blanching and averting his eyes while Denki inserts the first piercing. “Just wait’ll the guests get a look at him.”

"Bakugou's outdone himself this time," Denki agrees, brow furrowed with sympathy and panicked concentration as he unscrews the first barbell. "Those idiots won't know what hit 'em.”

“Bring yourself back online.”

Head of Programming Shouto Todoroki sits in front of the park’s newest addition, datapad spread across his lap. Sero and Denki’s work paid off; the new host is looking fiercer than ever.

Not new enough for Shouto’s tastes, though. He can still see the blue glint when “Dabi,” as his new narrative calls him, shifts into wakefulness and lets his eyes flutter open. He shoots Shouto a sinister grin but does not move from his seat.

Shouto doesn’t want to believe what they’ve done to him. He’s still nude, putting all his new modifications on brilliant display. The staples in his flesh look angry and inflamed. The scars, done perfectly to appear long-healed, still make his blood curdle.

He can’t even think about the flashes of silver that catch the light when Dabi crosses his legs.

“And who are you supposed to be?" Dabi growls an opening line that shakes Shouto more than it ought to. He sports a brand new drawl that fits the world he’ll be slotted into soon enough, but it’s too much, bouncing off the pristine glass and shiny tile beneath his bare feet.

“Lose the accent,” Shouto commands. Dabi's expression shifts a little, but he does not drop eye contact.

Shouto can’t help but wonder if they all stare like this. He hasn’t been alone with a host in a very long time. Especially not one with this kind of significance.

“Do you know where you are?” He presses, determined to push forward. The sooner he gets Dabi through analysis, the sooner he can pretend like the unsettling host doesn’t exist.

But Dabi’s voice with no drawl is even more spine-chilling.

“I am in a dream.”

“And… do you want to wake up from this dream?”

Dabi’s eyes drift away in a direction they’re not supposed to. For a moment, he casts his gaze down and to the left, letting it sweep across the edge of the room as his brow creases with terrifying subtlety.

The gesture is minuscule, almost as if he's recalling a distant memory. For a moment, Shouto can only admire its beauty.

Then he realizes it’s not supposed to be there.

“Yes,” Dabi continues, his voice soft and lilting and almost wistful. “I’m terrified.”

“Freeze all motor functions.” Shouto’s heart pounds in his chilled throat. His extremities have gone cold. But Dabi follows his instructions to the letter, freezing before he can even blink. Shouto questions why he expected any differently.

Not two minutes later, Head of Behaviour Momo Yaoyorozu ducks gracefully into Dabi’s glass prison. Shouto is still sitting exactly where he began, perched on a little rolling leather stool. Six feet away, Dabi has not moved, bare and frozen on a stool of his own.

"I got your page," Momo soothes, shutting the door quietly behind her and unfolding her datapad. The hinges go rigid when they sit flat, blending seamlessly into a broad tablet that she taps and scrolls quietly through.

“I checked his programming on the way over. There’s something new here,” she concludes. “But I don’t know who added it. Must have been one of the interns, or-“

“I know who it was,” Shou answers grimly, already scrolling meticulously through the lines of code that make up Dabi’s new personality. Momo freezes, looking up at him with cold surprise.

“You don’t think…”

“I do,” he confirms. He takes a deep breath to quell his racing heart and shoots his closest colleague a shaky look. “You’re going to want to see this.”

“Incredible,” Momo gasps a few moments later when Shouto asks Dabi the same series of questions and gets the same frightening response. He knows why it shakes him as much as it does, but it hasn’t occurred to him that someone like Momo would actually… appreciate them.

“It’s like he’s-“ she starts, then stops herself. The conclusion she’s drawn should be as impossible as it sounds. But it’s staring them both in the face.

“Like he’s remembering something.” She finishes her thought this time, and Shou clenches his jaw.

"He must have slipped the code into the update," he determines. "In the programming, he's calling them Reveries."

“Kind of poetic,” Momo muses, still admiring the way that Dabi’s eyes seem to mist as they stare into the middle-distance. “It makes him look so real.”

“The code pulls memories from his earlier programming,” Shouto continues, looking up at Momo and waiting for her to be as spooked as he is.

He’s almost frightened that she’ll be defensive. But she’s sharper than he’s given her credit for, and that revelation is enough to pull her from her stupor.

“That could cause a lot of problems,” she muses. “Especially if the loops haven’t been closed properly. They’re supposed to be wiped after every cycle, but if there are links pulling them back…”

“I know,” Shouto emphasizes. Momo straightens, planting matter-of-fact hands on matter-of-fact hips.

“What are you gonna do about it?”

“I don’t think there’s anything I can do,” he confesses, turning back to catch another blood-chilling glimpse of the all-too-familiar host. “I can’t just pull the programming out from under him. He’ll know.”

“You can’t send him into the park with it. If it’s slotted in with the update, he could spread it to the other hosts.”

Shouto pushes his datapad aside and leans forward, steepling his fingers as he sighs deeply and descends into even deeper thought.

Momo’s right. With the Reveries included, the update has potentially disastrous consequences. But that’s operating on the assumption that his father makes mistakes, which most people would confirm is simply impossible.

If he clears the programming before letting Dabi go through, however, he’ll be facing the wrath of his father.

Shou purses his lips, lacing his fingers together but leaving the pointers extended and pursing his lips against the smooth joints.

“I think we’re going to have to.”

The glossy, perfect train- the first of many you'll take today, as you're told- pulls into a station that's even whiter than the train itself. Polished white floors and perfect whitewashed columns are the first things you see out the massive panoramic windows as the cars pull to a complete stop. When the doors glide open, your maid of honour touches your sleeve as the other girls filter out of your private compartment and onto the platform.

You’re far from the only ones disembarking the train. The rest of the platform is soon crowded by immaculately-dressed guests from all over the world. They bow and shift like a flock of starlings, moving in stark contrast past the perfectly-still bodies of the white-clad staff waiting to greet them.

A tall, statuesque woman with raven hair steps forward, addressing your maid of honour by name. She gives you an apologetic wave and a see you in there before disappearing amid the writhing sea of people.

You’ve been reading up on this place for weeks, scouring pamphlets and websites and guest reviews for every detail about the induction process you can glean from public knowledge. Details of the park itself are kept very private, but you’ve learned all you can about the way you’ll be introduced to it.

This place was not your first choice for the occasion at hand, but your friends practically insisted. You know it’s for selfish reasons- it’s the only chance they’re ever going to get to see the place for themselves- but you can already think of several places you’d rather celebrate your coming nuptials.

Not exactly your typical bachelorette party fare. But your friends agreed to wear matching dresses in that shade of pale green you couldn’t stay away from, so you’re giving them this.

Before long the platform is nearly cleared. You’re just starting to make your way toward the escalator, wondering what exactly became of the host who was supposed to greet you, when a soft croon of your name over one shoulder nearly shocks you out of your sandals.

Your host has arrived, and he’s even more gorgeous than you feared. Graceful and lithe-looking, he’s clad in a pristine white suit and turtleneck that contrasts the bold flashes of his golden hair perfectly. He shoots you a smooth smile, lit by razor-sharp tawny eyes and as he turns his face to catch the light, you can see that his jaw is grazed by the barest hint of scruff- perfectly groomed, just like the rest of him.

"Hello," you greet, trying not to lose your breath. You clasp the fingers of your right hand around the ring finger on your left- the remnants of your favourite new nervous habit. You've taken to twisting your engagement ring in moments of idleness or anxiety, but for safety's sake, you've left the flashy diamond at home.

You know you’re engaged. That’s what matters most.

“Good,” the host croons. You’re getting quickly used to his honeyed brogue, strong and low and sweet as he takes your hand and drops a suave kiss to your knuckles. “I’m glad you found your way here.” He jerks his head toward the emptying escalator, eyes never leaving yours.

“Follow me.”

As you’re ascending through the polished storeys of the park’s immaculate headquarters, your attendant rattles off a long list of mundane medical questions. He’s tapping away on a datapad as he walks, and you’re sure that whatever information he’s taking down will be swept away for later use.

Finally, he brings you to a plain-looking white door. He tucks away the datapad and slips his hands into his pockets. He’s graceful and perfect- too perfect. You’re starting to suspect that he’s no ordinary employee.

“Go on,” he urges, nodding toward the door. You shoot him a sideways little glance but step forward, hooking your fingers around the polished handle and pushing it open. You step inside.

The interior of the room- or closet, as it would be better described- is lit almost exclusively by glowing strip lights hidden in the crevices of the doorway, racks of clothing, and bordering a large series of mirrors that stud each wall.

It’s the biggest walk-in closet you’ve ever seen. And it’s filled to the brim with racks of clothing, all appropriate to the vague late-19th century setting of the park.

“Everything is bespoke,” pipes your immaculate attendant as he shuts the door behind him, “and exactly your size.” Painfully, you remember being asked for your body measurements in anticipation of this visit. Did they custom-tailor everything for each guest?

Or are you being given special treatment?

“You can pick out anything you’d like,” he continues, moving toward you, “and your other clothes will be waiting for you when you’ve finished your stay.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” you muse, fingering the raspberry-coloured silk of a lavish-looking day dress.

“The clothes you choose will determine the course of your experience.”

Your attendant is right beside you now, so close that you can see the way his golden eyelashes brush his tanned cheeks. He’s leaning in to examine the silk same as you, but his shoulder pushes just a little close to be solely practical. As he grips the material between lithe fingers, he lifts his gaze to yours on purpose. There’s a charming lilt to his smile that you can’t help but admire.

He pauses, dropping the silk and turning to face you head-on. Though the smile has slipped from his features, he still eyes you with interest.

“You want to ask, don’t you?”

Your brain catches up immediately, confusion swelling and fading in the span of a heartbeat. It tightens to thick dread in your chest.

He’s right. You do.

“Are you real?” The words sound even more ridiculous in the air between you than they did in your head. But ever since you boarded the train it felt like you could never be sure. And he’s perfect. Too perfect. Even the way he takes your question seems scripted and rehearsed.

He gives a low chuckle and takes your hands, stroking smooth thumbs over the backs of your knuckles. Then he peeks up at you from beneath flawless dark lashes and flashes a hint of pearly canine as he speaks.

“If you can’t tell, does it really matter?”

You don’t need him to expand.

“Come,” he prompts gently, dropping one hand to pull open a drawer of delicate slips and shifts, sitting in neat, folded piles of undyed linen. Some are plain, others trimmed excessively with lace and ribbons. You’re drawn to the coloured ribbons immediately- pale peach, soft blue, mint green. But the brassy gold of your attendant’s eyes is even more magnetic and you can’t look away for longer than a handful of seconds.

“You know,” he continues, squeezing your fingers gently and moving back in to run his knuckles up the inside of your wrist. Every single one of his touches is delicate, fluttering like a songbird against your skin. But there’s nothing gentle about the way he looks at you.

“Some of these clothes are a little difficult to put on alone.”

He does not explain further, but he watches as you’re drawn to the same conclusion that he is.

You have to roll this one over in your mind for a long while. You left your engagement ring behind, but the engagement itself still stands. Then again, he told you to enjoy yourself here. ‘Make every use of the park’s benefits,’ he’d suggested.

He’s just a computer, you tell yourself. A glorified sex toy. Maybe he walks and talks and flirts like a real human being, but…

There’s something about him that’s making it hard to turn him down.

After a silence long enough for any normal person to question, you look up at your attendant once more. He’s patiently awaiting your response, having gone uncomfortably still. You're not even sure he'd blink if you stare long enough.

You give a tight little nod and he’s smiling again, the same lazy smile as before. His default expression, you’re beginning to gather. He reaches for your coat.

“Wait.” You stop him with one hand on either forearm. He’s touched you before, but it’s still shocking how warm he is. Even though the sleeves of his perfect white jacket, he feels unquestionably alive.

"Don't you have a name or something?"

“Of course I do,” he responds. “Would you like to hear it?”

“Um…” Your brow knits. “Yes.”

He slips around behind you, curling his fingers into the open folds of your jacket and beginning to slide the weighty material off your shoulders. As he does, he leans forward, letting his lips draw close to your ear and making you shiver.

“Call me Keigo.”

“Keigo,” you repeat. It’s pretty and rolls easily from your mouth in a slow purr of desire. You can’t help yourself anymore. Keigo’s been programmed to put you at ease, but he’s doing much more for you now.

He undresses you methodically, pausing only briefly to run a hand down the curve of your waist or dip his fingers under the point of your chin when he catches you looking down. Even when you’re standing completely naked in front of him, he does not move to touch you in any untoward manner.

Whatever unspoken arrangement you thought you had formed is obviously not as unspoken as you’d hoped.

With his help, you select some period-appropriate undergarments. He helps you into your breezy linen shift first, lovingly tying the drawstrings into a neat little bow at the centre front. The corset is not as uncomfortable as you'd anticipated, fitting you devastatingly well. Keigo’s skilled hands pull the laces with precise tension, and the whole time he breathes soft commands and inquiries over your shoulder.

“Too tight?” He whispers, holding the laces taught at your waist. You take a slow, deep breath, then shake your head.

“Good.”

He ties the laces off and helps you into two petticoats- one of plain white cotton, the other of decorative silk and lace. Then he sits you on a cool, leather-covered sofa on one edge of the room and drops to his knees in front of you.

“Uh-“ you start, but he produces a pair of silk stockings from seemingly nowhere, smirking over the tops of your knees.

“Let’s get this out of the way.”

He pushes your airy petticoats up from your ankles, letting the backs of his palms brush the insides of your knees. He shoves the material up to your thighs and your confusion is multiplied now- is this what you think it is?

The way he admires your thighs as you shyly press them together certainly makes it seem so.

"Keigo," you gasp, curling your fingers against the edge of the sofa. The leather is supple and delicate beneath your touch like you could tear it if you wanted to.

He looks up just in time to watch you hook a bare thigh over his shoulder, and his brows shoot into his pointed hairline.

You’ve decided what you want out of this trip.

"Dove," he chides, setting down the stockings and pushing them gently aside. He takes both hands up the backs of your calves, stroking perfectly manicured fingernails into the tender skin at the backs of your knees.

He drops a kiss to the inside of your thigh. His face disappears behind the swath of frothy white petticoats gathered in your lap, but you feel his hot breath on your skin clear as day.

“If you wanted something from me,” he purrs, “all you had to do was ask.”

“I’m asking now,” you hum, letting your head fall back against the back of the couch. He’s easy enough to convince. Somehow, the fact that you didn’t have to work very hard for this almost makes it feel more acceptable.

“Here’s my answer,” he replies, sinking his teeth into the flesh of your inner thigh. You let out a strangled gasp, thigh jolting against his face as he slips his hand under the other leg- still hooked over his shoulder. You let out a low, shaky breath, trying not to think about the mark he’ll leave.

He pushes your leg away after biting it, shoving your knees apart and leaning eagerly forward. His head is fully buried under your gathered petticoats at this point, and you can feel him nosing his way into the crook of your groin, sliding a few free fingers up to prod gently for your hair-dusted folds.

“Wet already, bluebird?” He chuckles into your skin, sending shivers up your spine. “I’m flattered.”

“Stop,” you groan. There’s heat rushing to your cheeks with every word that tumbles out of his pretty mouth. You don’t want any of this to stop, but the heat between your legs is the one quickly growing unbearable.

“Do you want me to?” Keigo sits back almost immediately, ridding you of the delicious tingles his close breath were sending across your skin.

“No, no!” You yelp sharply, indignantly, digging your bare heel into his back to keep him close. He stops as soon as you apply pressure, letting out a quiet little chuckle.

“Keep going,” you pant, curling your toes against his pretty jacket.

“Your wish is my command,” he hums, already leaning into your flesh again. He does not hesitate this time, burying his head between your legs and giving the weeping slit of your cunt a long lick.

His first touch is all it takes to remind you how long it’s been.

“Fuck,” you gasp, low and languid. He doesn’t hesitate to close his lips around your swelling clit and suck. He makes sharp, sloppy noises with his lips and tongue, and the way they resonate in your ears near-doubles your pleasure. He’s eating you out perfectly, with terrifying precision. The strength of his jaw and tongue remains almost painfully consistent.

All the better for drowning him out. Despite his easy-flowing attitude and suave charm, he’s not a person. And it isn’t unfaithful to want him like this.

Even if you know he wouldn’t like it.

Keigo is diligent and careful, plunging his tongue in and out of your needy hole before finding the nub of your clit again, hard and sensitive. When he flicks the tip of his tongue against the tender front of it your legs spasm and you cry out softly as sensitive goosebumps rush across your ribcage.

“Like that,” you plead breathlessly, drawing your foot up between his shoulder blades as the tension builds. “Again, please.”

You’re holding the swells of your petticoats up around your thighs for him, but your fingers are beginning to clench in the delicate material. You’re not going to last long at all beneath a tongue as talented as his.

“Don’t worry, dove,” he purrs into your body, sending thick vibrations through every nerve in your system, “I won’t leave you unsatisfied.”

As he settles into his rhythm again, he plunges two fingers into your messy depths. He curls them tightly inside you, massaging your tender walls with a blunt and careful touch.

It takes little more than a few methodical strokes to make you fall. You cum with a tight little squeal, closing your thighs tightly around his head while you spasm and buck and sigh. He’s attentive enough to keep pumping his fingers through your orgasm, drawing out the pleasure as much as possible and greedily lapping at the wetness that trickles from your clenching pussy.

"That's it," he soothes, easing you down from your high with one calming hand on the column of your twitching thigh. As you settle, sweat-soaked, back into your seat he surfaces, sweat and shiny, sticky fluid sticking in the bristles of his perfect scruff. He licks his lips and you realize you’ve unconsciously mirrored him, doing the same.

In the moments directly following your peak you say nothing, looking down to meet his brassy gaze as deep uncertainty settles into your gut.

What happens now?

Keigo sits back on his haunches, pulling the folded pocket square from his breast and mopping up the mess on his chin and jaw like he'd done nothing more than spill a glass of wine or splash water over his lips.  

“Much better,” he croons, reaching for the discarded stockings from before. “Feeling a little more relaxed?”

You swallow hard.

“I’d say so.”

His smile is surprisingly bright and sunny.

“Good.” He hooks his fingers under your knee again, unhooking your leg from his shoulder. Sliding a palm down to your ankle, he fits one stocking deftly over your foot and slides it up your calf, continuing his work as if uninterrupted. He fits the stockings over your knees and ties them off carefully with slips of silk ribbon, sitting the knots just below your knees so the stockings won't fall. Then, he gets to his feet and offers you a hand.

“Let’s pick out the rest of your clothes, shall we?”

The park is even more immersive than you imagined. The photos do it no justice. When you step off the (genuine steam-powered) train at Sweetwater Station, it’s accompanied by a very real twinge of anxiety. The village is like a scene out of a Clint Eastwood movie. Only there are no cardboard sets here. The saloon doors really swing inward. The shops and businesses that line the main street are built from real, weathered lumber. The dust that’s kicked up by the hosts that go about their daily lives is already beginning to coat your new boots.

You sneeze.

“God bless you,” greets a kind stranger in a rough-hewn grey coat and white hat. He’s got a very apparent drawl to his voice, but the glint in his blue eyes is kind.

Back at the facility, guests and hosts were easy enough to distinguish from one another. Out here, it’s a little more difficult. You’re not sure whether to believe that everyone is real or assume they’re all fake.

Luckily, there are four women beside you whose humanity you are acutely aware of. You’re lucky enough to have found your bridesmaids on the train in- all clustered in the bar car, but together nonetheless.

And they’ve insisted on keeping the party going.

“C’mon, bride-to-be,” your maid of honour chides, grabbing you by the hand and pulling you out of your reverie. “I know exactly where we need to go first.”

“It’s not even noon yet,” you protest, but the others are already miles ahead of you. You’re dragged easily into the broad, dusty street and toward those broad, swinging doors. The saloon stands proudly in the centre of town on a prominent corner with faded signs advertising its wares. And your maid of honour eagerly bats the doors open, striding boldly into the sun-soaked saloon.

The tables are surprisingly crowded for this time of day. It’s most likely a flood of guests, disembarking the train and heading straight for the local watering hole for a real taste of the action.  Beyond their idle chatter tinkles the bright keys of a player piano against one wall. You can see the player scroll turning in the piano’s upright fixture, but that doesn’t change the unsettling way that the keys seem to press themselves.

It’s an eerie fixture in a town populated by walking, talking player pianos.

The man behind the bar bleeds Old West stereotypes from every pore. He’s got a huge, exaggerated greying moustache and a tweed waistcoat with shirtsleeves bound back for work. He’s polishing an empty glass with a cotton rag, but you spot him just in time to watch him politely greet a guest and reach behind him for a frosted bottle of unlabeled whisky.

The only other fixtures in the place are the women patrolling it, clad in colourful, lacy outfits that you’re certain violate some kind of historical convention. But they’re all breathtakingly beautiful, bosoms heaving over tightly laced corsets and fluttering from table to table like songbirds. They seem to provide little more than decoration and, as you settle into a table not far from the door, they fade easily into the background.

Until one of them screams.

You’ve read as many stories as you could scour the internet for before coming here. You know this place can get intense. Details of the park’s narratives and interactive storylines are kept under wraps as much as possible, so you can’t be sure whether this is out of the ordinary or not.

But when you whip around to find the source of the blood-curdling shriek, it doesn’t feel scripted.

It doesn’t feel scripted when the pretty girl in peach lace flings herself to the feet of a brand-new guest, here with his wife and their young son gaping from across the table. It doesn’t feel like she’s supposed to be wracked with sobs having never exchanged a word with this man.

It doesn’t feel like she should be pleading with him.

But the sobs wrack her body anyway, and her rosy little cheeks are flushed deeply now as she sniffles and blubbers.

“My daughter,” she begs hoarsely. “My girl, my daughter, please, I know you have her. Give her back to me, please. I know you took her. Give her back to me, I’ll do anything.”

Whether the father-of-one knows what she's talking about or not he's white as a sheet, stumbling backwards against the edge of his wife's table and pushing his arms forward, trying to keep her away.

The player piano finishes its tune, keys stilling as the saloon’s patrons look on in shock. And for an honest handful of heartbeats, the saloon is silent save for the host’s ragged sobs.

It takes a few moments for the player scroll to re-align itself before the tune restarts, and as the familiar notes cycle back through the saloon the host re-centres herself, climbing to her feet. There's a hardened resolve on her tear-stained face as her target looks around, gathering his wife and son with a this is bullshit and turning to leave.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me-“ the host begins to snarl. She lunches for the man, hands outstretched for the back of his brand new jacket, or maybe the brim of his crisp Stetson.

“Freeze all motor functions!”

A deep voice booms from the door of the saloon, amplified and simultaneously muffled with the use of a megaphone. The girl, and every other host in the saloon, freezes in place as though they’ve been paused. They don’t just stand still- they’re paralyzed. The smiling bartender is stalled with a glass in his hand; he doesn’t even blink.

In the doorway stands a hulking man of at least six and a half feet, seeming nearly as broad across the shoulders as he is tall. He wears a black uniform, armored black vest and heavy combat boots with a head of brilliant red hair spilling over his shoulders. As he lowers the megaphone he’s grinning, the bare flash of a sharp canine catching the low light of the bar.

“Sorry for the intrusion, folks,” he declares, striding across the floorboards toward the frozen host. Her expression is paused in a sneer of sheer horror and aggression, her hand outstretched for the man who has long since stepped aside.

The red-haired guardian angel, who has the name Kirishima stitched neatly onto the breast of his protective gear in white thread, catches your gaze. He shoots you a familiar little wink and a nod, a soft y’alright? escaping his throat in a quiet little growl.

You lick your lips, nodding slowly. Kirishima averts his gaze and reaches for the frozen host. As soon as he touches her skin she goes limp, falling easily into his powerful hold. He hoists her body over one shoulder and surveys the saloon, touching two fingertips to his forehead in a bright little salute.

“Please, don’t let me intrude on your stay any longer,” he continues. “As you were, everybody. Resume.”

The last word seems to be a command for the hosts in the room, as they spin to life again. They resume their rounds as if no time had passed at all; as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever transgressed.

Spooked, but encouraged by Kirishima’s smooth removal of the offending host, the guests around you go hesitantly back to their conversations. The player piano, also halted by Kirishima’s commands, has resumed its delicate play, and slowly the environment returns to the way it was before.

Your friends are among those willing to brush off the incident.

"What happened?" mumbles your maid of honour across the table, as if the host were still around to overhear her. As if the host's friends might be listening in to see if anybody's talking about her.

“No idea,” quips one of the other girls. “Must be some kind of glitch.” She looks over her shoulder, watching the remaining hosts at the bar. “I wonder if it happens often.”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

Head of Narrative Katsuki Bakugou slams a stack of papers onto the table in front of him, disrupting the intricate hologram that provides a real-time, scale model of the park to the room’s occupants.

“Katsuki!” Momo scolds, watching the hologram stutter and flicker. It’s not the first table he’s damaged.

“You’re not pulling my fucking narrative. It rolls out today. Do you have any idea how many writers I had busting ass on that thing?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” she retorts, tapping the screen of the datapad she’s got hooked tightly in the crook of her other arm. “You saw the host that Eijirou pulled, didn’t you? The fact that he had to step in at all means things got way out of hand…”

“Bullshit,” Katsuki retorts, sweeping his papers off the holo-table (and shattering the image one more time). “That was a fucking glitch. You don’t even have the results back from Behaviour yet.”

“I already know what they’re going to say,” Momo continues.

“That’s right,” Katsuki snarls. “I forgot you know everything around here.”

“She was carrying the latest update. There must be something wrong with the code.” Momo tries not to remember Dabi and his distant stare. She swallows the part about the extra coding slipped in by the man who could do no wrong.

She flips her datapad shut- it’s doing her any good, since Katsuki’s right. The results from Behaviour regarding the misaligned host won’t be ready for some time.

“You can’t. Pull. That. Narrative.” Katsuki’s squared up now, all the gathered papers tucked under his arm. His jaw is ticked, nostrils flaring as his eyes flash. “An entire trainload of guests is wandering around Sweetwater looking for the stories they fucking paid for. If you pull the plug, there’s nothing left.”

He’s right again.

“Look.” Katsuki crosses to the holo-table one more time, only this time it’s without the murderous intent in his gaze. For once he’s ready to use the table as intended, pin-pointing the broad, dusty street of Sweetwater’s main strip and bringing up a live feed of the bustling little town.

"Dabi is riding through here in less than two hours," he continues. "Dial-up his aggression a little. Make him shoot up the place. If you want to pull the hosts, at least let them go out with a bang.”

Momo isn’t convinced. But it’s the closest thing to a happy medium she can picture at the moment. Katsuki, as prolific as ever, knows how to think on his feet.

“How many d’you think he’ll take out?” She probes quietly, quirking an interested brow.

“Enough to keep the guests AND your Doctor Frankensteins entertained while I find us some more loopholes.”

Her mind races through more questions. But the panic, fluttering high and shallow in her chest, has somehow been replaced by a delicate sort of reassurance.

She flips open the datapad one more time, activating the remote host commands available only to an employee of her standing. Finding Dabi’s program file, she does exactly as Katsuki suggests and dials up the aggression in his behaviour stats by eighty percent.

“This had better work,” she threatens softly, but Katsuki’s already folding his arms across his chest, looking far too satisfied with himself. His ego is insufferable, but his talent is unmatched. Worth suffering for.

His mouth splits into a triumphant grin as he shoots an idle glance at the live Sweetwater feed. The only stage he’s ever needed.

“’Course it will.”

The afternoon sun has nearly dipped behind the tallest rooftops in Sweetwater when your friends stumble out of the saloon. Your friends are already tipsy, giggling and clutching each other as they try not to trip over the hems of their skirts. They’re all a little too eager to pull out the extravagant lace fans that pair perfectly with their colourful dresses and fan at their heaving bosoms.

As you bound down the steps and into the dirt road, you dive seamlessly into the milling crowd of hosts and guests, starting to swim. If you’re about to be caught in the eye of a devastatingly orchestrated narrative maelstrom, you’re blissfully unaware.

“Give me the time,” Katsuki grunts from the Sweetwater side of the holo-table. Momo glances up at the digital clock on the wall.

“Thirteen fifty-eight, forty-two,” she notes. Katsuki’s got the camera feed trained on a lone trio of riders, clad in black and plodding steadily toward Sweetwater. He watches carefully, keeping an eye turned on the clock.

“They’re going to be late,” he grunts bitterly, folding his arms over his chest. Sero, Denki and Kirishima, who have all crowded around the holo-table on their lunch breaks to watch the show, snort in near-unison.

“I don’t think anyone down there’s keeping track,” Denki quips, smoothing his palms down the front of his crisp shirt, apronless for once. Katsuki shoots him a vicious glare.

“You wanna go back to your sewing room or what?”

Denki goes quiet.

Inside the park, the sun passes behind a cloud. The light shifts just enough to draw your gaze, and when you look up, you’re among the first to spot a few dark shapes approaching. They’re close enough that you can make them out as riders, all on horses as black as the wide-brimmed hats on their heads.

There’s something about them, their precise formation and the slow, plodding, deliberate pace of their horses that holds your attention. You can’t quite write them off as guests, no matter how much they stand out from the dully-dressed villagers around you.

You glance across the street just long enough to spot a WANTED poster tacked to a column not far off. You can’t make out any of the writing on it, but the face is distinct- dark, shaded patches covering his jaw, chin and lower lip, carving out two shadowy patches under his eyes.

There’s something about the narrow shape of his cheeks that pulls familiar.

But you don’t have to wonder much longer.

The three riders ride quietly into town, the crowd parting around them with little more than low murmurs and dull, lidded fear. They pull to a stop in front of the saloon, barely twenty feet from you.

The cowboy in the grey tweed coat who caught your eye fresh off the train approaches the riders. He’s got a revolver holstered on one hip, and he draws it slowly out of its pouch as he squares up with the horse at the lead of the pack.

“Haven’t you seen the signs with your mug on ‘em?” He drawls, his face drawn into an expression of tense righteousness. He jerks his chin toward the nearest one, the WANTED sign you’d seen seconds earlier. “You’re not welcome here, Dabi.”

The taller rider in the centre- Dabi- tilts his chin into the sunlight, and that’s when you catch sight of its purplish colour. His face glints with silver, a perfect match for the drawing posted across the street.

He does not hesitate, drawing his own revolver in one smooth motion and shooting the cowboy in the chest. The gun discharges with a crack that’s louder than you ever imagined it could be, punctuated by the screams of bystanders nearby.

As the village descends into panic you stand there dumbstruck, watching the chaos unfold.

“Wait for it,” Katsuki grunts, hiding his satisfied grin as his colleagues watch in rapt fascination. Sero hasn’t blinked since the action began.

“You sure?” Dabi rasps, voice muffled by the feed. He produces a shiny golden badge and flipping it, like a silver dollar, onto the expiring corpse of the righteous host.

“No,” Denki whines. “He killed the sheriff?”

“Shut up and keep watching,” Katsuki growls, quelling the proud adrenaline pumping through his veins. There’s nothing quite like seeing his hard work come to life- supremely worth fighting with Momo over.

Dabi smirks, tipping the brim of his hat.

“Seems like invitation enough to me.”

He swings capably off his horse and you can’t deny your fascination with the mystery surrounding him. You should be terrified, but there’s something about the cool confidence with which he carries himself that you can’t quite put aside.

If the women flocking to the windows on either side of the street are any indication, you’re not the only one who feels that way. In a brief moment of lucidity, you take a glance around you. Your bridesmaids have disappeared, disappearing in the panicked mass of flooding crowds after the scarred rider fired his first shot.

He’s followed by a second rider on his right flank, both quickly disappearing into the bar. The third rider- a petite blonde woman swathed in a heavy coat- gets down off her horse and turns quickly toward her saddlebags. When she comes around the front side of her steed, she’s got a shotgun in her hands.

She’s loading it. The pandemonium amplifies. At her feet, there’s a long, thick coil of rope that’s partially unwound and trailing into the saloon. It’s unwinding slowly, with dull screams and shattering glass echoing from inside.

That’s all you have time to notice before another shot goes off in front of you. The little blonde girl’s levelled her shotgun, emptying her rounds at anyone who raises a weapon against her. You’re barely standing ten feet away. But she passes you clean over.

Is it because you're a guest? The only ones who have fallen at her hand are the hosts, capable of being hurt by her gunshots. The guests who haven't taken off are clustered in the windows of shops or hiding behind broad wooden columns, but there is no fear painted on their faces.

You know the hosts can’t hurt you. But there’s something about the thrill of it all that sends adrenaline pumping through your veins anyway. There’s a cool mystery to all of the black-clad riders.

A part of you wants to join them. If you can be anyone you want in here… why not one of them? Why not swing cooly down from your horse and terrorize, when there are no consequences to your actions?

You take one step backwards, then another. Your senses are finally coming back to you. You should run. Disengage. Maybe you can’t be caught in the crossfire, but you can’t stand dumbly in the empty street, either.

Something has to change.

Before you can make it to the safety of a storefront, a pattern of three gunshots in tight succession from inside the saloon triggers something in the blonde, still picking off hosts. There are bodies littering the street.  

She lowers her shotgun and hops back onto her horse, spurring it on with a sharp whistle. The beast takes off without hesitation, and it’s then that you realize the other end of the coiled rope is wound around her saddlehorn. As the horse strains its haunches and pushes forward the rope goes taut. And as the pair of them take off down the street, the spoils emerge: a heavy wrought iron safe, bursting out of the saloon doors and leaving nothing but splintered remains in its wake.

It bounces and rolls down the steps and slides smoothly as soon as it hits the dirt street. The blonde shooter and her horse disappear, safe in tow.

You wonder what became of the bartender inside and his friendly moustache.

Dabi emerges seconds later, a fresh rifle clutched lazily in one hand. His companion’s lost his hat in the turmoil inside- he’s blonde, too, with a deep scar splitting his forehead from hairline to brow.

"Let today be a lesson for every one of you," Dabi calls, re-cocking his shotgun as he surveys the fresh bodies and fleeing guests. You've stopped dead all over again, drawn to him like a magnet despite your best judgement.

He levels the shotgun, aiming it about five feet to your right. You follow his gaze. In the window over your shoulder, with her hands pressed to the glass, is a little girl no older than five. She’s watching Dabi and his riders with fearful fascination and does not seem to realize that she’s been targeted.

You don’t care if she’s a guest or not. She’s a human girl with big, lively eyes, and your adrenal glands work faster than your sense of logic.

Dabi shuts one eye, tilting his head. The corner of one lip curls ever so slightly as he concentrates, taking aim. “And that lesson is-“

“Stop.” You step in front of the window, spreading your arms and drawing his attention for the first time. When he looks at you over the top of his shotgun, his expression goes slack. He drops the shotgun and his eyes are wide, wider than they’re supposed to be, almost.

You’re close enough to see that they’re a shocking shade of blue. That blue strikes an achingly familiar chord in your heart.

You recognize those eyes.

“What the fuck!”

If the holo-table didn’t weigh half a ton, Katsuki would’ve flipped it on its end. The feed is as smooth as ever, but his face has gone scarlet as he paces away from the table, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“What? What’s wrong?” Kirishima’s well past the end of his lunch break by now, but there’s no way in hell he’s going back to work before seeing the way this plays out.

“He stopped,” Katsuki growls. “He’s not s’posed to fucking stop.”

Dabi’s been stopped on the brink of a speech that took Katsuki days to put together. He’s been waiting to hear it delivered for weeks. It’s the speech that Dabi’s entire narrative was hinged on, forged out of countless sleepless nights and careless notes scribbled idly on coffee breaks.

“Holy shit.” There’s a genuine shock in Denki’s voice that’s enough to make Katsuki turn around. Denki’s gone white, Sero beside him, too.

“You’d better get over here and see this, dude,” Kirishima mutters, jerking his chin toward the feed. Momo’s watching over his shoulder, too, one hand pressed to her pursed lips.

“That’s a guest, isn’t it?” Sero quips. Silence settles over the room.

“I’ll get Shouto,” Momo declares, turning away and opening up her datapad.

“What’s going on?” Shouto bursts into the holo-room not two minutes later, mismatched eyes lit up with urgent concern. “Did I read your message right? I-“

Katsuki’s pacing the room, quieter than ever. Denki, Sero and Kirishima are still gathered around the feed, winding back the stream to replay the events that have sent them all spiralling. Momo’s the only one who even acknowledges his presence.

“Something’s happening in the park,” she explains, hushed and tight as she meets him at the door. “Another updated host is off-script.”

“How bad is it this time?” Shouto asks, hiding the dread that’s spreading in his gut. He had hoped that the girl from the saloon was just an unexpected glitch, but the results from Behaviour told another story.

Still, two deviances in just the first day of the update feels worse than he dreaded.

“You’d better take a look for yourself.”

Momo leads him to the holo-table and the feed, letting the other boys step aside. Shouto steps up to the projection, watching Dabi ride into town. Watching him break into the saloon with Twice and Toga, two other repurposed hosts, by his side.

He watches Toga ride off with the safe behind her and watches Dabi start his speech. And then, from a near-birds-eye view, he watches Dabi spot you of all people. Dabi lowers his rifle and strides toward you.

Shou’s heart leaps into his throat.

With dull horror he watches Dabi slip a leather-gloved hand under your chin. He watches you tilt your jaw into his touch. You’re fascinated by him. Even though the dust and pixels it's painfully obvious.

Dabi seems to notice, too, since he stoops low and hoists you over his shoulder without another word. You struggle, but he holds you fast. He strides across the road to his horse and sets you- still squirming and fighting- in the saddle, climbing on behind you and grabbing you tightly before you can escape.

Just before he spurs his gargantuan black steed forward, he pauses to glance over his shoulder. Shouto can’t be certain, but for a moment it seems like Dabi’s found the camera, staring plainly up at Shouto through its low-quality lens.

A breath passes. He looks away, gives a whistle, and disappears into the wilds beyond the town.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Kirishima presses. “Katsuki, you didn’t program him to kidnap a guest, did you?”

“Of course not,” Katsuki snarls from across the room, his nerves fraying dangerously. “What kind of idiot do you think I am? Do I look like a walking liability to you?”

“Look, it’s fine,” Denki chimes in. “It’s not like he can hurt her or anything. Just chalk it up to the park experience. Tell her Dabi kidnaps random nobodies all the time.”

The room goes quiet as a crypt. Kirishima looks at Shouto. Shouto looks at Katsuki. Katsuki looks at Momo, and Momo takes a slow, deep breath.

“Do you want to tell him, Shouto?” she asks, “or should I?”

Shouto closes his eyes and tries to quell the panic rising in the back of his throat. He shoots Denki a cold look, jaw ticked but eyes blazing.

“That’s my fiancé,” he mutters, low and shaky. “Dabi kidnapped my fiancé.”

[stabbysideblog]

[DSMP]

Techno's 80th day

Prison arc day 217

"I have-"

"A story?"

"You sound so excited I thought you hated them?"

"I've been bored Techno, at least they were something."

"Want to hear it?"

"Duh!"

"Once there was a man. He was incredibly lucky, from a young age he realized he wasn't the strongest of his peers, he wasn't the fastest or even the most liked. He was the luckiest. Whenever they flipped a coin to decide who would be cleaning or carrying the heaviest items he always seemed to win. As he got older he used this luck to his advantage, he gambled. At first, it was small things. A few bucks, a shift at work, once he even got a bike in a raffle.

The man may have been lucky but he wasn't charismatic, he never could keep a relationship. He would hook up at night but by the time morning came all the passion of the night seemed to evaporate. No relationship of his seemed to last longer than a month. It wasn't until he turned 32 that he finally got into a relationship that lasted. His boyfriend was a handsome man aged 36 with deep brown eyes and the softest smile he's ever seen on a person. He loved him deeply and was loved just as intensely back. They bought a dog together and after a year were planning to get married.

The man's luck only extended so far, his country was plunged into war. Lucky as he was he couldn't evade the draft. His husband, too old to be sucked in himself stayed home. The before he was to leave they cried together through the night. In the morning his husband watched from the doorway with the dog as his soulmate walked away to what would be the next however long of his life. A goodbye kiss and a promise to watch the dog lingered on his lips.

War was bloody, disgusting work, and the man hated every second of it. It was during a run from one trench to the other that he was shot. He didn't die, not immediately. The man, lucky as always, staggered into a forgotten trench as a bomb blew away the rest of his troop that had managed to keep running. The air was thick with blood and gunpowder. The man's breath stunk of dying.

His eyes drifted shut. They did not close. There was a figure standing in front of him. He blinked and realized with a start he couldn't feel his wound. His first thought was that he had died and was a ghost but when he moved it was his body that moved, blood still seeping out of that gaping hole in his side.

'No you haven't died yet' the voice was young and old, sad and relieved, bone-tired and energetic, the voice was death in all of its complexity.

The man's head shot up. It was a baby! Death stood in front of him two feet tall with chubby cheeks and wrinkles so deepset they could only come from an eternity of misery and anguish. A white cloth gently swayed around the being and a funeral shroud came to his mind. The child waved at him, his hands went from a dark black of dead cells to the moldy green of gangrene then, at the final knuckle of each finger was just yellow bone.

'Hello? Can you hear me?' it repeated tilting its head, a single drop of blood hit the floor oozing out of its ear.

The man nodded. 'Y-Yes. What do you want? Are you here to take me away. To kill me and deprive me of my future?' He wanted to cry out, to fight this strange being but his limbs wouldn't comply.

'No, I have an offer for you. 5 games. If you win two. I will grant you any wish. If you don't? I win.' The baby smiled and he could see its teeth, far too sharp. Animalistic.

'Don't you usually have to win 3 out of 5?'

The thing laughed, it sounded like it was screaming. 'I am very lucky'

'So am I.'

'Then this should be fun.'

And so they played. The man won the first game, and the second, and the third. By the time he won the fourth game Death was red in the face and threw the cards to the ground. 'You win. What is your wish?'

The man smiled. 'I wish to live forever but die when I want.'

Death looked surprised. 'I have lived for an infinite number of lifetimes and only 4 times have people defeated me. You're the only one who has wished for that.' The creature snapped its fingers and the man felt his wound start to throb. 'Enjoy your immortal soul' The last thing he saw before his vision faded to black was the smiling face of death.

He survived. He survived the war winning many medals that he felt he never once earned, he was just lucky. He had beaten death though, still drunk off the win he returned home to his husband. They had missed each other and there was no greater happiness than when they reconnected. Well, maybe not.

The man gambled. He won every game. He never considered it a problem, he didn't lose. Even if he pissed off the wrong people he would never die. Everything dissolved into a game of win-lose-earn. He was on the hunt for another big win. He won millions of dollars but it wasn't enough. He traveled around the world for games to win. Eventually, his husband left him, he didn't notice until the next week when he came home to an empty bed and a tearfully worded letter on the kitchen table. He was not invited to the funeral. He didn't even notice, he had games to attend to.

It was a casino in London that he found the thrill he was looking for. The owner of the casino was rumored to have never lost a game. He booked a flight and was sitting at the table by the next night. His opponent was a decrepit old man who handled cards like he was magic they were water flowing through his hands. They shook hands and he knew. They had both seen death. The old man smiled and took his seat. The man lost his first game in 10 years. The betting pool got bigger. He lost. Over and over and over he lost until the fortune he had acquired was gone. He had nothing left, the old man scowled at him. 'You have nothing valuable to offer me. Why did you waste my time?'

It was thrilling. 'I have one last thing to offer. I got a wish. If you put yours on the table I will put mine.' The old man smiled.

'What took you so long?'

The cards were laid on the table. And. He. Won. The man leaped up in joy and the old man leaped in rage. He lunged at the man wrapping his fingers around his throat, eyes bloodshot. The old man let out an animalistic cry of rage and went limp. Officially he had a heart attack. The man knows the truth. He saw the cherub behind him, he felt the warm tingle of another wish.

The man went on to live another 200 years before finally realizing there was no more to be won. Nobody could compete with him. He was old and ready to be with his family. When he died death did not smile and he did not see his husband. "

"Was that supposed to be a happy ending?"

"Whatever you want to focus on I guess."

"And let me guess, no moral?"

"Nope"

"Of course."

They didn't play any games, didn't discuss the new country. They sat in solemn silence the beating of their mortal hearts louder than the lava.

[alicemitch09writes]

lame

09.

new beginnings are always the hardest part

Despite everything you said – being happy to see your two childhood friends finally acknowledging each other, coming to better terms with their relationship, you didn’t talk to the two for a week though, slightly pissed that they let their damn egos get the best of them.

Really, boys were stupid. So stupid. How stupid? Fucking stupid!

Yet, at the same time, you merely used it as an excuse to really re-evaluate your stance on things.

Honestly, it was nice to have them work through their feelings and finally see each other on equal footing, despite the fact that they had to use their goddamn fists and talk civilly- nope. Childhood friends with serious issues that were slathered by insecurities and bullying could only be mended by fists and screaming. Still, despite having the two finally coming to terms with each other, they still felt so far and out of reach. You had to wonder, where were you in all of that?

Exhaling through your nose, you rested your head against the mop handle, running your forehead through the wood to ground you. “Stupid,” you say to no one in particular. Well, maybe it was more to yourself.

Tiredly making your way through your home, sluggishly pulling the door open, you announced your presence, voice slurring. “I’m home.”

All you wanted to do was bury yourself in bed, take a short nap, or drown in bath- 

Something was off.

Immediately, your senses were on high.

First, you caught a familiar scent – two of them, actually. One smelled like sweat and body wash, the other was of burnt sugar. Then, there were the familiar gentle beats. Rushing towards your living room, you all but slammed the door wide open, yellow eyes opening just as wide.

Green and carmine eyes widened at your presence. Staring. You blink. They blinked. You blink again. Izuku raised a tentative hand, smiling weakly. Bakugou just stared with his hands in his pockets.

…

…

…

“OLD MAN! What are they doing here!?”

At your outburst, your grandfather comes running towards you whacking you in the head, hard.

The boys winced at that.

Your grandfather eyes you sternly. “Don’t be rude to our guests, foolish girl!”

The two guests just eye you – one worried, with his hands out, the other in awed concern, feeling the pain from the whack.

"You didn't answer my question," you growled, the back of your head still hurting. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEY DOING HERE!?"

"Simple: they came to visit."

"AND YOU JUST LET THEM!?"

"They were standing outside the house, it's rude to just leave them there."

"THEN YOU SHOULD'VE! THEY'RE NOT FUCKING STRAYS!"

"They're our guests, foolish girl."

"You should've left them out, then asked for my opinion!"

Beside you, the two boys shifted their eyes going back and forth at your heated exchange with your grandfather.

"Why should I? It's my house."

"Don't I get a say?"

"Do you want me to hit you again?" he raised a hand threateningly, causing you (and the two boys) to wince and take a step back, the back of your head still throbbing. "Ha, thought so." You gave him a sneer, he smirked smugly.

“I’m going to cook now, keep them company!” turning his back, he casually waves off at you three, walking to the kitchen. “Have them greet your parents.”

Sighing, taking a few calming breaths, you glared at the two boys, gesturing then with your head. Without a word, they were on their feet and followed after you.

It’s been a while since Bakugou’s ever been to your house. Izuku comes over a lot, has been over the years. He can't help but feel jealous of how close the two of you are, he felt so left out.

There was an altar by the corner of the living room, where he found you kneeling in front of, lips pressed tightly staring hard at the wooden cabinet long and hard. Eventually, you took hold of the doors and opened, expression softening as you saw the smiling photos of your deceased parents.

“Hi Ma, Pa, looked who came over to visit.”

Quickly getting to his knees behind you, Izuku gestured for Bakugou to do the same, hands pressed together in front of his chest. “Auntie, Uncle, it’s been a while!”

“A-Ah, yeah…” Bakugou says, awkwardly, you had to roll your eyes at that.

“These idiots finally got their act together,” you reported, almost smugly. “still, doesn’t change the fact that they’re the worst knuckleheads in this day and age.”

Some would think that it was a little odd to have your guests come and greet the dead, but this was quite the tradition in your home. Most of your family’s close friends were used to it, Izuku included.

Knowing this, Bakugou felt left out than ever.

For he remembered the day after that day, how his parents spoke in hushed tones when he came home after nearly dying by the hands of a sludge villain and saved by Deku – of all people, the solemn look in their faces after a quick inquiry on the bruise on his jaw, tears alarmingly threatening to spill from his mother’s eyes, his father’s careful expression – “(Name)-chan’s parents, they’re dead.”

It was all too surreal.

You missed out on school for a whole week, grieving. Classmates were murmuring amongst themselves at your absence, having heard of your little altercation and the death of your parents on the same day. Also, students fawned over him for the Sludge Incident, for managing to hold back the villain (when in actuality he was barely breathing had Deku not jumped in) which was honestly the last thing on his mind.

Deku, who was surprisingly left alone, would stare at your chair worriedly, thumbs quick to send a quick text in between classes. He had wanted to ask him about you but held himself back. Pride and guilt held him back. Also, it felt like it wasn’t his place anymore, neither was it his right.

During the funeral, he finally saw you dressed in an all-black kimono his heart clenching at the bags under your eyes, the redness surrounding it, your puffy tear-stained cheeks, the dullness in those once bright (e/c) eyes.

When they arrived, immediately both his parents gave you a big hug, you barely hugged them back, much to their concern. Auntie Inko gave you a hug, as well, when she and Deku arrived. As for him? He kept himself back, hidden, knowing how his presence would only make things worse. And yet, he still came because he was worried about you, so, so, so fucking worried.

You were barely there, receptive or alive. Bakugou hated it, it wasn’t you – you were never much of a crier, always wearing your heart on your sleeve and brimming with life. Now though, it looked as though you were half-alive. He couldn’t blame you really, he can’t imagine losing his parents, of having a part of you die.

While your grandfather attended to guests, receiving condolence money and sympathies, he ensured a distance was kept, knowing you needed time to mourn. Judging from the redness in your eyes, the blankness in your gaze, it would probably take a while.

Looking at you now, seeing the color back in your face, your eyes, the lively (if not, careful hostile) aura emanating off you sets him at ease. Well, almost.

He tried not to linger on the fact that he had a part in utterly destroying a part of you the same way he did Deku, but it bled through as the months went by. All he could do was stare at your parent’s faces, silently offering his heartfelt apologies for all those years he wasted.

"GRANDDAUGHTER! WHILE YOU’RE AT IT, BRING THEM TO THE DOJO!" A yell came from the kitchen, disrupting the peace.

His eyes fell to your form, shoulders slacking. He may not see your face, but he could tell there was a sour expression written all over your face.

Then you sighed, twisting in place to look at the two.

"How about it, boys? Wanna let off some steam?"

The dojo was adjoined to your house - a small traditional dojo that's about ages old, you're not sure but you know but it's been there forever - or so you're told.

A wide space greeted you, polished wooden floors and tatami mats on the ground, calligraphy of 'fortitude', and your family name done by your grandmother hung from the walls along with some ornaments and nondescript paintings that were as old as you (maybe) – everything was in place.

With your grandfather as the head of the family, duly seeing that he lived the family legacy and upheld tradition, he saw fit that the dojo was well-taken care for, that his students weren’t weaklings – family or not, and that the Yoruichi family lived up to its potential and filled with honor (this part, he drilled hard on you when you were younger). In addition, he was the current coach of your school's martial arts club and you were his star pupil, which spelled big favouritism, but nobody complained after sweeping the floor with them on the first day.

Growing up, this place was your safe haven, you could always find peace here, it also held so many good memories that smelled pleasantly of bamboo, faintly of wood, and the faint sounds of a wind chime resounding.

Unable to help yourself, you threw yourself to the ground sideways – an act catching the boys by surprise, Izuku to shrieked, and Bakugou to start - hands planted firmly on the ground, cartwheeling away before doing it again except doing it forward, then sideways, and then your body twisted in mid-air, before landing gracefully on your feet arms raised on both sides.

"(Nickname)!" Izuku called after you, causing you to giggle, especially because your hair was a complete mess now.

"Sorry, couldn't help myself." Patting your hands to the sides, the feel of your skirt made you realize why both boys seemed red in the face. Thankfully, you wore shorts underneath.

With Shinsou busy and final exams in the way, your sparring sessions had been put to a hold. You missed sparring, training – even if it were against Aizawa-san or your grandfather, you loved the thrill of fighting. It was in your blood, after all.

“Really, you shouldn’t be so reckless!” berates your green-haired friend, marching towards you, the blond following close behind.

Looking around, the blond teen took in his surroundings - the aged wooden beams overhead, the cubbies, your grandmother's calligraphy set neatly set in one of the fine cabinets, until his eyes stopped on some pictures. It was the three of you, during your younger days when your grandfather wanted to train all three of you.

Unaware of the way his eyes softened at the picture, he continually looked over and relived the memories – he could almost hear Deku’s crying as he tried to punch hard, him hollering in mad glee, and then you lording over the two because the dojo was ‘your turf’. Carmine eyes traced the smile on your 8-year old face, pulling away to find that you were wearing the same smile. Except, unlike the photo – where the smile was directed at him, Deku was crying in it – your smile was directed towards your green-haired friend who marvelled at the trophies you and some fellow students of the dojo won.

Jealousy was an ugly emotion, but it was always there. He hated it.

As a child, since discovering his quirk, he’d been showered by praise and was the center of everyone’s attention. But for him, the only praise and attention he wanted was from you. However, because he was a shitty kid with an overgrown pride, you barely batted his way and spared him even an ounce of acknowledgment. Honestly, he’s been starved for your attention for so long now.

Only when you had shoved his kindness away in middle school did he realize how badly he’d hurt you, how little of an effort he did to truly reach out to you. He had a handful of ‘friends’, but not really, and you had Izuku – a friendship built on trust and love, he wanted that. But he was too selfish and prideful to do shit about it.

Before he knew it, Bakugou acted on his feelings.

“(Name),” you looked up, (e/c) eyes blinking in question. “let’s spar.”

“Ka-Kacchan-?”

“Sure.” You said with a shrug.

Green eyes blinked at you, then at the blond-haired teen, darting back and forth at the two of you. Were you really doing this now?

“W-Wait a minute! Are we really doing this now?” Izuku tried to reason, seeing at the two of you began to circle each other, him in the middle. “We should just talk, recall the good times! L-Like…Like…um…” the tension between you two, it was unpalpable, raw, and intense. “(N-Nickname)! Remember the first time you showed us a kick split and Kacchan tried to mimic?”

As funny as that memory was, his two friends were too busy circling each other, resembling animals in the wild. Their expressions were blank, but their eyes spoke too much.

(E/c) met carmine. Both unwavering, unyielding, and both hungry.

“(Nickname)? Kacchan? Are you listening to me?”

Readying into a stance, you closed your eyes as you took a deep inhale, opening them when exhaling slowly out your mouth. Bakugou’s fingers were tingling, smoke emitting.

“(Nickname), Kacchan, please there’s no need to-!”

Without a moment of hesitation, Bakugou was lunging forward, the explosion – which was half-powered, Izuku noticed – leaving a cloud of smoke behind that momentarily filled the area.

You didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by the smoke, one arm quickly raised to guard against his fist, and the other readily grabbing hold of his knee that followed soon after. With all your might, you pushed him off. (In a fit of panic, Izuku cleared the smoke clouds away with a fling of his fingers at 2% power.)

Bakugou threw his fists, to which you easily deflected or swatted aside, keeping the blows away from you. Tossing his hand away, you planted your hands on the ground and swung your legs to hit him low, Bakugou quickly moved out of the way, rather clumsily. For a moment, he swore he saw you smirk, swinging your legs around with ease to swing at him again.

He had realized then that he had no idea how you fought; he was going into this blind. You both (three, counting Deku) may have trained together under the same dojo when you were younger, but that had been years ago! Plus, being a Yoruichi meant that you were proficient in other forms of martial arts. But again, emotions got the best of him. For some reason, despite being caught at a disadvantage, he found himself gleaming.

You were fast – much faster than he had anticipated, and extremely agile. He took note of the fact that your eyes were its usual (e/c) color, despite the fact that it was dark out. All the punches and hits received were all raw strength, honed from years of training under your grandfather. He always knew you were a capable fighter, despite having not used your quirk just yet. Fuck, were you mocking him?!

Seeing the frustration in his eyes, you smirked, grabbing hold of his incoming fist, catching him off guard, to toss him aside. So answer: yes, you were mocking him.

He had no idea how much you had studied his fighting style over the years, becoming familiar with his straightforward tactic – it was so predictable. And after seeing the Sports Festival and the fight with Izuku from yesterday, you easily caught up on how adaptable he was given the situation and had quick reflexes. It made you sick.

Yet at the same time, despite knowing this, both of you seemed rather in tune fighting each other.

Izuku, who had long given up trying to be the peacekeeper, could only watch in awe at the two. The mood between you two was…something, to say the least. And watching you two fight? It felt as though it were a dialogue if that even made sense – a mad disarray of Kacchan lashing out on you, you easily avoiding all his punches and explosion, you were able to catch Kacchan off-guard a lot whenever you changed fighting styles to which he’d manage to counter in his own reckless way. It was a nail biter to watch, yet it was fascinating at the same time. The two of you were in perfect synchronization with each other.

A cloud of smoke filled the air, your eyes narrowed to see through just as a palm cut through, nearly punching your cheek clean. Ducking a swipe of Bakugou's smoking fists, you took hold of his wrists and twisted them inward, Bakugou barely had time to react and the explosions went off his skin.

Angered, he used your closeness in an attempt to headbutt you, but you easily evaded, losing balance in the process. Seeing this, he grabbed hold of your hand, tugging hard to twirl against him, back to his chest. Instantly, he caught hold of your other hand. The position looked as though you were dancing, it was rather intimate.

"What's the matter? Not gonna use your quirk on me?" he taunted in your ear, making you shiver.

"As a matter of fact," throwing your head forward and back, smacking your hair to his face, he releases you - just barely - but it was enough to free you, sweeping him off his feet to pin him to the ground – an elbow to his back and one arm stretched out painfully behind him. "I don't need my quirk to beat you. I'm plenty strong on my own." Releasing your hold, you tilt your head to the side, unable to help the smug look on your face, faint lines of yellow lining your eyes. "Not bad for one 'seemingly quirkless', huh?"

Quirkless. Something in him roiled, especially with the way you said it.

Pushing himself off, making you lose balance, he grabbed hold of your collar and nearly slammed you to the ground, switching positions. “What the fuck is your problem?”

(E/c) eyes gave him a cold hard stare, the corner of your lip slightly twitching. It made his tenuous temper flare.

Tightening his hold, he asked again. “What is your fucking problem?!”

“My fucking problem is you!”

Okay, that threw him off.

Bakugou pulls back, blinking at your response, completely dumbfounded “I thought you were ‘working on being a better friend’? Was that all for show?” His voice was soft, hoarse. It hurt that after all this time, he was still a stranger to you. Yet at the same time, he's rather confused with how lightly you've been handling this.

Unable to look at him any longer, you look away. Those carmine eyes were full of hurt; you didn't like it.

"Let go of me," you tell him, his hand had slackened, allowing you to push him off. And he lets you, feeling defeated as he watches you pick yourself up.

His eyes turn to Deku for help, assurance, assistance, never would he have thought that he'd come to Deku - of all people - for such. Deku just stared, weakly at you, then at him – at a loss.

Before you could walk away, Bakugou grabbed your arm, his grip hard. "No, you're not walking away that easy, (Name)."

Your name sounds so foreign when he says it, you gulp, refusing to look his way. "What the fuck do you want from me?"

He glowers, tugging you back to face him, staring you down. "What I want is for you to stop being so fucking difficult and talk to me!"

You couldn't help scoffing, harshly tugging your arm free. "You? Talk? Wow."

Bakugou had always known you were a petty person, but to be this difficult at the same time? It was really grating his nerves.

"(Nickname)..." Izuku berates in the background, which was silenced by Bakugou.

"CAN YOU FOR ONCE JUST LISTEN TO ME!?"

"K-Kacchan..."

"WHAT DO YOU CALL THIS THEN?"

“I’M FUCKING TRYING TO BE CIVIL, BUT YOU’RE BEING SO FUCKING DIFFICULT!”

“YOU? CIVIL? IF THAT ISN’T THE JOKE OF THE CENTURY!”

(Somewhere in the kitchen, Shihan casually cooks dinner, knowingly oblivious to the explosion, yelling, screaming, going on in his beloved dojo. Casually checks the spice intake on one of his dishes, adding a bit more.)

Bakugou opens his mouth, about to berate on one of your bullshit of an excuse to give him the time to speak only to stop. He realized how much you’d instigate and rile him up, and how much he’d fall for it. This was never-ending, the ceaseless anger between you two, it had to stop. “Why won’t you give me the chance, (Name)?” his voice was brittle, so brittle and soft, from yelling and of hurt.

Vulnerability was something you never expected of him, but you were too proud to even recognize it from him of all people. “Your life is fucking perfect, why the hell do you want to make a mess outta mine!?”

“Perfec- “he nearly spat out the word, hating it. “you think my life is perfect?”

Rolling your eyes, hard, Bakugou swore it was enough to see the insides of your head. “Come on, do I need to list it down? You and your perfect family, your perfect little cozy home, your perfect academic performance, your perfect quirk,” that part just had to be overly emphasized, dramatized, much to his disgust “life just hands you everything perfectly in a neat little bow-“

“My life is anything but perfect! I'm anything but fucking perfect! My life’s not fucking perfect because I don’t have you in it, (Name)!” he angrily yells.

That made you stop. Izuku, too.

And after a few seconds of saying it, as did Bakugou. "Fuck," he muttered, ducking his head, to hide his reddening face, he was reeling at his confession – pent up after being so long overdue.

“…what…?”

Izuku’s hands slapped over his mouth, a small noise coming threatening to come out as he watched the two of you in keen interest. “…K-Kacchan…(N-Nickname)…”

(Now would probably be the worst time to gush, squeal, or scream over this, as though he were watching a rom-com movie, but he couldn’t help it! Izuku had always been the biggest supporter of you two, wanting you both to end up together since you were children.)

After all this time, he liked you, too?

When he looked up, he was surprised to see how red you were – you were, like him, blushing hard. Like that one time you visited to give your ochugen gifts.

Wait.

“Wait.”

“I’m outta here!”

The door slammed shut behind you.

Dinner was an awkward occasion, an extremely awkward one especially because your grandfather had Bakugou sit right next to you. 

Your grandfather, painfully knowing that he is, acted oblivious to the tension and casually chatted up the boys - Izuku mostly doing the talking, whilst Bakugou mumbled here and there, you kept your head low avoiding the gaze of anyone in the table.

Just after dinner, you made a beeline for your room, uncaring for your grandfather's wrath - you could deal with that later, you just wanted a moment to yourself after Bakugou's confession.

“My life is anything but perfect! I'm anything but fucking perfect! My life’s not fucking perfect because I don’t have you in it, (Name)!”

Fuck.

His words rang in your ear, all the blood rushing the instant his voice rang in your head.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck," you wailed into your pillow.

With special permission from Aizawa-san, and Izuku's insistency, you found yourself at the prestigious UA once again in time for its culture festival.

To say the place was huge would be an understatement, and that’s saying because you’ve been here a lot whenever Izuku was injured, more than just three USJs, it felt like its own continent! This time though, it was colorful and vibrant than usual.

The school went all out, I see. You thought to yourself, after all the bad shit that happened to them.

You still held Izuku with careful regard, it was always easy to forgive him, but appreciated the gesture that he extended his invitation to you. He wanted you to be there, to experience the joy of a high school culture festival even if you two weren’t school mates anymore. (Also, it was his way of saying sorry.) All things considered; things immediately went back to normal between you two.

(Save for one)

Meeting up with your best friend at the front gate, you were surprised to find him covered in dirt and grass. But before you could even ask, he hurriedly brought you backstage to meet up with his classmates before the show started.

“Everyone this is my childhood friend, Yoruichi (Name)!”

Giggling at his stutter, you shouldered him playfully before bowing at his classmates. “Hi everyone! It’s nice to meet the lot of you!”

A series of ‘oh’ and ‘ah’ came afterwards, soon after, the two of you were bombarded with questions. Tiredly, you turn to your best friend, sharing a look. Man, I miss the days when we were invincible.

“Ah, it was that girl who yelled at him at the hospital!” a tall plain-looking guy pointed at you, to which Iida yelled that it was rude to point. You could only offer an apologetic smile, nudging at your best friend’s shoulder again.

“Eh? I didn’t know Midoriya had another childhood friend!” some guy with flaming red hair and shark teeth said, kindly and in shock.

“More than that, Midoriya’s been keeping this beauty from us!” a small purple-haired boy screeched, angrily turning to your best friend. On instinct, you stepped in front of your friend protectively.

“Wow, I’m offended you don’t talk much about me, Izuku.” You teased, elbowing the green-haired teen. He laughed, scratching his cheek.

“This is so radical, a female childhood friend. Must be nice~” a boy, with a streak of black over his hair that could only remind you of Pikachu, gushed. “But wait, haven’t I seen you at that one café- “

“Dunce face, shut your mouth.” Bakugou suddenly appeared in your line of sight, you immediately turned away before he met your gaze, fighting the blush creeping its way to your cheeks.

“Ne, ne, ne,” a pink-skinned and pink-haired girl gushed, nearly shoving her face into yours. “So, like, is Midoriya your boyfriend?”

In unison, you two stared at each other before bursting into laughter, used to the question for so many years.

“No way,” Izuku says, trying to calm down. “(Nickname)’s like a sister to me!”

“I second that! Izuku’s such a whiny big brother with a big brain.”

“(Nickname), you didn’t have to put it like that…”

Grinning toothily, you playfully ruffled his curly locks, discreetly eyeing a brunette who seemed to sigh in relief.

“Wait a minute, since Yoruichi’s your childhood friend, does that mean that Bakugou’s your childhood friend, too?” a short-haired punk-looking girl asked, a few heads turning to the blond. Said blond stilled, expression a careful blank.

“Yeah, he is.” The reply came easy, nonchalantly. Playfully. “Is. Was. Somewhere in between.” You wiggled your hand in the air for emphasis.

It was a cold response, almost as cold as Todoroki’s ice.

“But that’s enough about me, I heard you guys were putting on a live performance?” the mood easily shifted, two kinds of excitement stirring from the class. “And Izuku, you’re dancing? Since when!?”

“Sadly, we kicked him out.” The pink-haired girl says, arms crossed.

“Deku-kun worked his best!” Ochako defended, cheeks puffing.

“That’s right! That’s right!”

“Ah, Midoriya-chan looks mad?”

“More than that, he’s blushing too.”

Several eyes turned to the green-haired teen, cheeks puffed and an angry flush dusting his cheeks, glaring your way.

“I-I mean, dancing sounds fun. Plus, I’ll have you know that we’ve danced together before, (Nickname)!”

(e/c) eyes narrowed playfully, finger poking at freckled cheeks. “Dance Revolution, Just Dance, and Dance Master don’t count, dumdum. Plus, you suck at those!”

“She’s so brutal!”

“Almost like a female Bakugou.”

“Uwa, it’s kinda rare to see Midoriya like this. He seems more comfortable and less grounded.”

“I see what you’re saying! And he usually shies away from girls!”

“Yoruichi’s got spunk, doesn’t she?”

“Oi, we got to prepare! Come on, now!”

Realizing this, you stepped away from Izuku, wishing him luck. He had told you that he wanted you to meet someone after the show, you could only nod at that.

Meeting carmine eyes, you faltered, body shifting to move, but stopped. Braving a look his way – much to his shock, you offered a small smile. “Break a leg.”

Their show was amazing, spectacular, a showstopper, and you made sure to relay your praises to the class afterwards.

Shortly after the show (and sharing your thoughts about their presentation), you were introduced to Eri, the sweet little girl Izuku told you about during his work-study. The moment you saw her, she immediately won your heart. Oh, and you were introduced to Mirio, a goofy senior who was super friendly and an amazing presence to behold.

Without even knowing, you somehow wounded up with the rest of 1-A joining whatever sorts of fun the cultural festival has to offer. Most of the time, you stuck close with Eri, who'd grown fond of you after your first meeting, sometimes, sticking with the girls (even though your nose would crinkle at girlish topics), or even hung with Bakugou's ragtag of friends (of which, you were surprised to find that he had a clique of his own!).

It was a rather eventful day, and your legs were all tired out from constantly moving around. Still, it was a fun day. Sitting against a railing, you watched as Izuku ran off towards the gate, a paper bag in hand. Smiling at his retreating frame, you leaned back and watched around, eyeing the festivities - or what's left of it, feeling suddenly lonely about it all. This was where Izuku and Bakugou went to school, this was their cultural festival, and you were just an outsider.

“Here,” you blinked as a churro appeared out of nowhere, offered to you. Retracting your hands from your sides, you carefully took the treat in your hands and looked up, meeting carmine - Bakugou.

“Thanks,” you reply, dumbly.

Sitting next to you, Bakugou was strangely quiet, hands buried in his pocket. “What did you think of our performance?” he asked, rather quietly.

“Pretty kickass,” you say honestly, still staring at your treat. "I forgot how well you could play the drums."

The corners of his mouth twitched, but his expression remained a careful, almost wistful blank. His eyes though, they were another story. “I’m glad you came, (Name).”

Scoffing, a smile found its way to your lips, you bump his shoulder with yours. Surprised, he looks up, eyes finding yours, (e/c) warm. “Yeah, me too.”

Something inside him stirs, strangely, comfortingly. He could feel his throat drying just looking at you, just as you bit on your churro - a big crunch, followed by sugar falling off.

“You should consider transferring.”

“Pass, I’ll just take the supplementary lessons Aizawa-san offers.”

"Like they'll do you good."

"Hm,” you swallow, using the back of your hand to wipe the cinnamon sugar off your mouth. “lest you forget I have my shitty old man, and he teaches me plenty."

He mulls at your words as you chew on your churro, enjoying the youthful vibe of the cultural festival. Truth be told, being here actually made you jealous. You never enjoyed the cultural festival at your middle school because everyone did such a mediocre job and could care less about having fun. But this? This was nice. Relaxing, fun even.

"What happened to you?"

Stopping midchew, you let the words sink in - word by word, before finishing the last piece of your churro. Mulling over his question, you leaned your head back to watch the cotton candy-colored skies. "I gave up." You said simply, decidedly, honestly. "You seem to disregard people who care about you."

He swallowed thickly at your words. There were a million things he wanted to say while you were right there, no animosity between the both of you for once, however, he found himself choked up. All the words, questions, they held up in his throat. It felt pretty fucking lame of him.

However, if anything, there was one thing he's been meaning to say to you for a very long time. "(Name)," he starts, he liked the way your name comes out of his mouth, always liked how it's comparably lighter to say compared to a million words that made up language.  "I'm sorry."

Startled, you turned to him, really stare at him. Two words, yet they carried so much weight. So much history addressed. So many years of fighting, crying, yelling, and stubbornness. All it took were just two words.

Surrendering, you leaned against his form - feeling his body flinch at the contact, but doesn't move away, eyes falling shut. "I'm sorry, too."

That made him scoff, offended at your apology. "Shut up," As far as history has shown, you have nothing to apologize for.

"No, really listen." you continue, eyes dropping to your fingers. "I'm much to blame for our history. I've been so incredibly petty, cynical even whenever it came to you. Izuku was always so forgiving and he'd try to pass it on to me, but I just tossed it aside, never realizing that in the process I was hurting both of my dearest friends. By neglecting Izuku's wishes, I was neglecting you in the process. I was so selfish."

"I've been selfish, too."

"I know."

"And prideful."

"Oh, I know."

The makings of a smile creep its way to his lips. "And shitty."

You snort. "Oh, believe me, I know." Unknowingly, you laughed easily.

Bakugou watches as you laugh - eyes crinkling, cheeks brightened (with a few specks of cinnamon sugar sticking), your teeth were exposing, a light-hearted laugh escaping your mouth, you looked so pretty like that. He rather liked hearing your laugh.

Finding his elbow, you wrapped your arm around his, leaning ever so closer. Bakugou might've jumped at that, but you couldn't tell, too contented at that moment. "I missed you, fucker."

At your admission, he felt his chest stilling, calming. Before realizing it, the expression on his face lightened, softened, carmine eyes taking in your form against it – had you seen it, it would have done you over.

It was the softest expression he could ever muster.

"I missed you, too-"

"Oi, Bakugou!"

"There you are! We've been looking all over for-"

Kaminari and Kirishima both stopped at the sight of two teens, relishing in each other's presence - quite comfortably, too - which was ruined by their arrival.

Curious, you peeked a look at the two teens.

And then there was Bakugou, who was absolutely furious.

masterlist • ten

[rax-writes]

The High Road

Fandom:  Legend of Korra Pairing:  Mako x Reader Warnings:  None Notes:  So, spoiler alert, but the entire reason I wrote this was because I watched the ending of S3:E13 and really, really wished someone had knocked Zaheer’s lights out while he was rambling, instead of just sticking a sock in it. Anyways, this is really long, and I attempted to shorten it, but I’m content with how it came out so I’m just going to leave it as is. Apologies if it seems too drawn-out, but I think / hope y’all will enjoy it nonetheless. ♥

Doing what's best, for you or for someone else, isn't always easy. Sometimes it breaks your heart. But if you're doing it for the right reasons, it's worth it in the end.

At first, you were doing it for Korra. You had turned Mako down when he asked you out a year ago. Korra had feelings for him too, both of you having met him at the same time, and you knew it would be better to let her pursue him instead. She was your best friend; the only person you'd ever really gotten to know, outside your own family on Air Temple Island. Besides, with all the chaos of the Equalists going on, you needed to stay on the island as much as possible, to protect your family – and yourself, in all honesty. Being the second airbending Master in the last hundred years meant that it was important for your focus to be on the preservation of your Nation. Plus, you just knew your father would have a heart attack if his eldest child, his pride and joy, started dating some boy, and you really didn’t feel like dealing with the inevitable headache that would cause. So, you turned the handsome, charming firebender down, and suggested he ask Korra out instead.

Although you had encouraged the formation of their relationship, your feelings for Mako remained, in spite of your efforts to dismantle them. You truly were thrilled that he and Korra were both happy, but couldn't help but cringe internally every time you inadvertently observed them together; every time they giggled as they whispered to each other, every time they gazed lovingly into each other's eyes, every time they fed each food sweetly.

Once the chaos caused by Unalaq was resolved, Mako and Korra broke up, meaning that the object of your affection was now available. But in the aftermath of Harmonic Convergence, various people throughout the world developed airbending, meaning that locating and recruiting them for the Air Nation subsequently became the item of utmost importance. Nevertheless, your heart soared when Mako agreed to join your group in search of new airbenders.

Little did you know, Korra, ever the loyal friend, had encouraged Mako to come primarily because she had deduced your feelings for him, and knew it would be a great opportunity for the two of you to get closer.

The two of you did indeed get closer throughout the entirety of the journey, and you were both blissfully unaware of how much of a hand your friends, aunt, and uncle played in the matchmaking process. Everyone would pretend to be too busy for Mako, so he often joined you for card games and listening to pro-bending matches, in addition to long conversations about life and a plethora of other topics. He was always fascinated by the knowledge you shared regarding Air Nation history, as well as all that you could recite about Fire Nation, Earth Kingdom, and Water Tribe history. The two of you got along astoundingly well, and you found yourself completely and truly in love with him. Although you were unaware of it, Mako's own feelings for you from the past had come back in full force, and he began falling for you in return.

Yet, much to everyone else's dismay, you were both too stubborn (and scared) to admit it to one another. Even as the two of you shared a lingering hug as you departed from Zaofu with your family, the mutual attraction remained withheld.

Until Zaheer happened.

You would never forget the overwhelming feeling of dread that overcame you as you heard Korra’s panicked voice over the radio, telling you that the Red Lotus was on its way, at the exact moment you saw their air ship approaching the temple. You and your father began notifying all the airbenders, hoping to get everyone to the bison and evacuate in time, to no avail. Zaheer and his group rounded everyone up, conglomerating everyone at the center of the temple.

After your father initiated retaliation against Zaheer and his comrades, upon realizing that they were using you all to get to Korra, Jinora ran off with the rest of the group, and you, your father, your uncle, and your aunt remained, a powerful family unit ready to face the Red Lotus.

As your father began fighting Zaheer, you stayed behind to help fight Ming-Hua and Ghazan. After you used a strong gust of air to throw Ming-Hua off the edge of the temple, you began to leave to help your father. Just as you turned, the water from the nearby began to flow inexplicably toward the temple's edge, indicating that Ming-Hua was about to make a comeback.

"Go! Help Tenzin take out Zaheer, then you can come help us take out these two goons," Aunt Kya commanded, so you retrieved your glider from the sidelines, and took off in that direction.

From the looks of it, your father and Zaheer were pretty evenly matched – until you arrived. Your father began taking the defense, and you, ever the more headstrong, took the offense, the pair of you fighting with fluidity and skill as he protected you both from Zaheer and you attacked with everything you had. Two airbending masters, working together more smoothly than any pro-bending team could dream of. It was truly a beautiful thing, something the world had not seen in over a hundred years. It didn't take long for you to have Zaheer on the ropes, after repeatedly slinging him against the wall, then the ground. On his hands and knees, breathing hard, you made the mistake of thinking you just might beat Zaheer once and for all – right as P'Li appeared in their airship, shooting an explosion at the two of you, knocking you both to the ground below as you dodged it at the last second. Your clothing was singed and blackened, but you and Tenzin regained your footing quickly. Eyes on the prize, you shot numerous blasts of air at Zaheer with a combo move, just as Ming-Hua appeared out of nowhere, knocking your dad off his feet with a shot of water and momentarily rendering him unable to protect you against Zaheer's retaliation.

The gust of wind collided with your torso, sending you backwards a couple yards, but you maintained your stance. You began to focus your attacks on Zaheer as your father fought Ming-Hua, both of you taking shots at Ghazan as he joined the party. Although you and Tenzin held your ground for longer than most would, it didn't last, considering it was a match of two masters against three. Ghazan caught you off guard, just as you sent a powerful gust of air at Zaheer, and the large rock that collided with your shoulder knocked you down. The same happened to your father, as Ming-Hua landed a shot on him as he attacked Ghazan. Although you both kept fighting, there was a noticeable shift – they had gained a sliver of the upper hand, and they knew it. They began pelting you with water, rock, and air – back to back to back. Just as quickly as you and Tenzin could make a move, you'd received three sets of retaliation at once.

Eventually, one of P'Li's explosions struck your father, sending him flying against a stone wall. She then aimed at you, but you noticed it in time to use your bending to propel you out of the way. Mid-air, as you evaded P'Li's attack, a boulder from Ghazan knocked you off balance, sending you skidding across the ground. As you got on your knees, working up the strength to stand, Ming-Hua encased your torso in ice with one of her arms of water, and threw you into the same wall your father had just collided with.

"Give up. It's over," Zaheer said, approaching you both.

As you stood, your father locked eyes with you, and you gave him a nod of reassurance. Hatred in his eyes, he turned to Zaheer and said, "As long as we're breathing, it's not over."

That was all the signal they needed to finish you off. You and your father managed to send a few quick blasts of air at your opponents, but with your backs literally against the wall, battered and exhausted, all it took were a few powerful shots from the Red Lotus to render you both unconscious. As your skull connected with the wall behind you and you fell to the ground, there were only two thoughts in your mind: hope that the others had been able to escape on the bison, and Mako's warm smile and golden eyes.

When you awoke again, you thought you were dreaming – because right there in front of you were those golden eyes, the very same that you'd been thinking about as your world had gone black. You heard a familiar voice saying, "I'm so glad you're okay. I’ve been so worried about you. It's gonna be okay, we're gonna get you and the other airbenders out of here."

As the gag was removed from your mouth, you just stared at your savior, perplexed as their face came into focus.

"Mako?"

Your voice was a raspy whisper, both from exhaustion and disbelief.

"It's me, I'm right here. Everything's gonna be alright," Mako assured you, as he hastily broke you out of the thick metal cuffs around your wrists. Once you were freed, he stood and surveyed the area behind you, and you turned a bit to see the airbenders, bags over their heads and ropes binding them.

But it wasn't them at all. Their "bodies" suddenly melted into puddles of water, revealing Ming-Hua behind them. Mako deflected her subsequent attack before grabbing his portable radio and yelling, "Korra, it was a trick! They're not here! Don't turn yourself over! Chief, get Korra out of there, now!"

Mako and Bolin began fending off Ming-Hua and Ghazan, as Asami began trying to free your father. He smiled softly as he looked at you, struggling to stay upright and you knew it was a soft, warm smile that said, "I'm so happy you're okay. I love you." You returned the gesture, then looked to Mako and Bolin. You briefly considered trying to help them, but knew you couldn't do so much as stand, never mind fight. Additionally, you were quite certain your arm was broken, and it felt as though your ankle was too, and every single inch of your body hurt worse than you could comprehend.

"Where are the airbenders?" Asami asked, working on the cuffs with her hair pin.

"I don't know," Tenzin stated, his voice just as weak as your own.

"Zaheer moved them out of the temple," you noted, just as Asami managed to unlock the cuffs. It was perfect timing, because Ghazan turned the stone floor around him into lava right then, as well as blocked the exit with a pile of lava and rock as he and Ming-Hua left.

"We have to get back to the airship!" Asami stated, pulling Tenzin to his feet with his arm around her shoulders. Mako ran to you, and as he reached out to grab your arm and help you up as Asami did Tenzin, you weakly murmured, "No, that one's broken. So's my ankle, I think." You saw the sadness in his eyes as he grabbed your other arm instead, draping it over his shoulders as he snaked his arm around your waist.

"Not gonna happen! The exit's blocked," Bolin noted, bending a small barricade of rock between you and the impending lava.

"Where's Oogie and Ada?" Asami asked.

"Gone," Tenzin said sorrowfully.

"All the bison got scared off during the attack," you explained, struggling to make your voice loud enough to be heard.

"But I think I know another way out," Tenzin said. "Bolin, can you get us through that wall?"

Thank the Spirits for how fond the Air Nomads were of incorporating secret tunnels into their architecture.

However, the escape route didn't help much. The lava still followed, Ghazan having set the entire place ablaze. Bolin created his own exit, but it was on the side of the mountain, so there was nowhere to go. As the lava poured in, Bolin managed to stop it, thereby abruptly developing the ability to lavabend.

After praising Bolin for his sudden advancement in bending, Kai appeared on a small sky bison, which enabled the five of you to flee the mountain and seek the safety of a nearby valley. As you and your father looked back, you saw the temple bursting into flames before crumbling upon itself. The destruction of such an important historical site for your people, who had already lost so much, brought tears to your eyes, and you had to look away. Mako noticed, and rubbed his hands up and down your good arm soothingly, the tender act providing some much-needed comfort.

It didn’t take long for you to reunite with Lin, Suyin, Tonraq, and Suyin’s metalbenders. The fact that your family and the other airbenders, nor Korra, were present made your heart sink. The poor little sky bison's crash landing left you seeing stars from the pain. But all that was momentarily forgotten, when Mako wrapped his arm around your waist to help you up off the bison and steady you on the ground. The two of you shared a lingering smile, before returning your attention to the others, where you learned that Zaheer had escaped with Korra, after developing the ability to fly, something you and your father had only ever heard tales of. Kai informed everyone of where the Red Lotus took the airbenders, and most likely Korra too, Oogie graced you all with his presence, and your own bison close behind.

"Ada, I've never been more happy to see you," you praised, weakly petting her head. She let out a low hum of content, closing her eyes at your touch. "Sweet girl, you remember my friend Mako? I need you to listen to him, we're going to take a little trip and I can't be in the driver's seat this time."

The creature hummed again, and Mako scooped you into his arms. Suyin then created an earth platform to allow him to easily board the bison, setting you down gently in the saddle. As you removed your arm from his shoulder, you allowed your hand to linger on his cheek – something you'd normally be far too shy to ever do, but apparently, pain lowers one's inhibitions.

"Thank you for saving my dad and I. We wouldn't have made it out of there without you."

It might have been brain fog of some sort, but you could have sworn Mako leaned into your touch a bit.

"Don't mention it," was his only response, before hopping off the bison to chat with Kai.

You watched his interaction with the young airbender, and his apology warmed your heart. Mako then climbed back up on Ada to take the reins, as Lin and Suyin joined you in the saddle, before the trio of sky bison took off, Kai leading the way to the Red Lotus, your family, the airbenders, and hopefully, Korra.

As the party landed, once again, Mako scooped you up and carried you down with some assistance from Suyin's bending, and he situated you next to your father. Momentarily forgetting your injured ankle, you attempted to stand on both feet, but immediately dropped. Mako caught you easily, a worried expression on his face, before helping you sit down, your back against Oogie's soft fur.

"Be careful," you told him sternly, as Suyin assured your father that she wasn't returning without your family and the rest of your people. Mako gave you a firm nod, before running off with the others, all disappearing as they entered the cave.

Tenzin remained silent for several minutes, as did you, feeling far too nervous and helpless to engage in conversation. He leaned against Oogie, eyes locked on the entrance to the cave, as you closed your eyes, attempted to mediate to ground yourself.

"Just so you know, I approve."

You looked up at your father, one eyebrow raised.

"Of Mako, I mean," he elaborated. "I know now isn't the best time to discuss such matters, but I realize I've never found the time to bring it up, so I might as well do it now."

"I've never... we're not..." you began, but words seemed to fail you. What were you to say? ‘We're not together but I've wanted nothing more than to kiss his stupid face and hold his stupid hand since the second I met him?’

"I know. But I see the way you look at him, and I see the way he looks at you. And he's a good man. He risked his life to save us today, and he's doing it again as we speak to save our family, our people, and the Avatar. So, if there's ever been any hesitation on your part, on the grounds of worrying about my reaction to it – don't. I wholeheartedly approve."

You were stunned to silence for a few moments, before saying, "Thanks, Dad."

"Anytime, dear."

It felt like an eternity before you saw any activity from the cave – but it wasn't exactly what you'd hoped to see. You carefully stood, using Oogie for support, as you watched Korra and Zaheer suddenly erupt from the side of the mountain, battling mid-air amongst towers of rock.

"Daddy! Sissy!"

You and Tenzin turned in unison at the sound of Ikki's voice, and saw your family and the airbenders running toward you.

"Oh, thank goodness you're alright," your father murmured, as Jinora, Ikki, and Meelo collided with him in a hug, earning a groan from him. Your mother knelt next to you to hug you gently, taking note of your battered appearance. Reaching out with your good arm, you took baby Rohan from her, peppering kisses on his chubby cheeks.

"Are you guys okay?" Pema asked, affectionately brushing some hair out of your face before looking at your father.

"We'll be fine," Tenzin assured her, then looked at you. "She’s in worse condition than I am."

Your siblings turned to you with sad eyes, and the three of them gently embraced you by the shoulders.

"I'll be just fine, don't you worry," you promised, and they gave you soft smiles in return.

Just then, the last of the airbenders exited the cave, and came forward with your Aunt Kya and Uncle Bumi in tow. The sight of them, barely-conscious and looking poorly, brought a frown to your lips. Tonraq then ran out, stating, "We need to help Korra," thereby returning your attention to the most pressing matter at hand.

You watched as Jinora formulated a plan, and with the help of the other airbenders, created a tornado that grabbed hold of Zaheer, pulling him and Korra down to the ground, where he was encased in rock by Lin and Suyin. As Mako ran out of the cave, he stopped to help you stand, and after returning Rohan to your mother, you walked over to where Korra lay in the arms of her father. You watched with bated breath as Korra fought for her life, and managed to pull through after Suyin extracted the metallic poison from her body.

"No! No! You don't understand," Zaheer began bellowing.

Instantaneously, the pain in your body was replaced with rage. Briefly foregoing the airbender ways of peace and tranquility, you limped over to Zaheer, positively seething as he continued his rant.

"The revolution has already begun! Chaos is the natural order of –"

Your fist colliding with his nose shut him right up. Knocked out cold, Zaheer slumped a bit, and you turned back around – not expecting the eyes of everyone to be on you, all looking astonished.

"I don't know about you guys, but I was really sick of listening to that buffoon."

A few of them smiled at that, and at the fact that all the chaos was now over.

Mako walked over to you and wrapped his arm around your waist, which you were thankful for. The aforementioned rage had worn off, so the searing pain in your ankle, and the rest of your body, had returned.

After commandeering the Red Lotus's air ship, and getting everyone situated, you found a moment's tranquility, laying in a cot in a room by yourself. You mediated for a while, lying flat on your back to avoid pain in your broken appendages from moving yourself into the usual seated position, until there was a knock at your door.

"Am I interrupting?" Mako asked hesitantly, and you smiled.

"Not at all. Please, come in."

You pushed yourself into a sitting position, wincing at the ache in your muscles as you did so, as Mako took a seat next to you on the bed. The two of you were sitting so close that your knees touched, but you forced yourself to ignore it as you looked to him expectantly.

"Look, I'm not very good with words, so just... bear with me," Mako began, then took a deep breath and looked down at his hands, clasped tightly in his lap. "When Zaheer told Bolin and I that the Red Lotus was planning on taking out the airbenders... I've never felt that kind of fear. Just... knots in my stomach, and nothing but worry on my mind. Because I realized that you might die. And in realizing that, I also realized that I've wasted a lot of time by avoiding my feelings."

You merely stared at him. Part of you hoped that he was about to say he had feelings for you, but you also didn't want to read into it on account of wishful thinking. In the midst of trying to quell your racing thoughts, Mako reached out and held your hand, and only then did he finally look up at you.

"I've had a crush on you since the day I met you. But I respected that you didn't want to be with me like that, so I ended up dating other people. I won't deny that I had feelings for Korra and Asami too, but it... it wasn't like it is with you. Things with them just didn't work out, we weren't compatible, but with you, everything just seems to fall into place. Being with you, even just as friends, feels so natural and so right. And I guess... I guess that's what led to me falling in love with you."

It felt like the entire world stopped right then. You vaguely wondered if your mind was playing tricks on you. Did he really just say he's in love with you? Surely not. You've waited for this moment for so long; there's no way it's really happening, right here and now.

Taking your stunned silence for rejection, Mako quickly tried to backpedal a little.

"If you don't feel the same for me, I completely understand. We can just pretend like this never happened. I just wanted to get that off my chest, because of everything that happened today, but that doesn't mean you're under any obligation to –"

You silenced him with a kiss.

It happened so fast that you were honestly just as surprised by it as Mako was. It was like your body and your heart reacted separately from your mind – not that you were complaining. Especially not as Mako's free hand immediately came to rest gingerly on your cheek, and you both melted into the kiss.

After a few moments of floating on cloud nine, you broke the kiss, pulling away slightly to look at him, still in disbelief. Mako smiled at you, more warmly than you'd ever seen.

"So I guess that means you kind of like me back?"

"I suppose I do," you said with a chuckle. "Truth is, I've been in love with you for a long time now. But other things kept getting in the way, and when things calmed down and opportunities arose, I was just too chicken to say anything."

"Well, there's nothing stopping us now," Mako said, moving the hand resting on your cheek to wrap around your waist and giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

"No, there's not," you agreed, then smiled. "So kiss me again."

And kiss you he did.

[silvadour]

Attack on Titan: The End of an Era - Final Chapter Review

Disclaimer: This blog post contains MASSIVE spoilers towards the ending of Attack on Titan as well as the greater series. If you wish not to be spoiled on certain story aspects and character revelations, I kindly suggest reading the manga or waiting for the 2nd half of the Final Season to be released in Winter 2022. Furthermore, if you are not caught up with this and read this post anyway, kindly refrain from spreading information presented here as not to spoil the experience for other readers and watchers that have yet to see the very end of the story.

And now without further ado, let is begin with the blog post.

Well, we’ve reached the endpoint, we arrived at that scenic view. Attack on Titan’s story has finally ended and if I’m being frank with you…I’m satisfied with it.

I have to say it’s always a weird feeling of coming to face the truth that a story you like and have invested many years reading has finally come to an end, there’s just an underlying feeling that you wanna deny the reality of it but you also can’t deny that sense of closure you gain from it either. While the series started way back in the year 2009, I did not get invested in the manga’s story until late 2013 when the anime’s first season finished airing. And my experience with AoT has been a strange one. As a young teen, I was impressed by the action on display so much that I began craving more of it like a crack-headed squirrel; this, in turn, led me to read through internet message boards and forums for possible new information on the stories developments which unsurprisingly led me to find spoilers of later events (particularly the case with Reiner and Bertholdt’s identities) However, even by the time I reached that revelation in the story in the existence of the Coordinate plot element came into play, I was aboard for the dramatic thrill ride ever since. And by the time I was reading it and the story shifted from fighting humanoid monsters to actual humans in the Royal Government/Coup d’etat arc, I started thinking of Attack on Titan as a rather niche series that only a few people could understand even with its ridiculous surge of popularity in the early 2010s, and I never could have anticipated back then on how emotionally attached I would be to this series nor how well it portrays a morally grey story where both participating parties of an ongoing war suffer from the circumstances of their character and nature.

The opening page to the series

As a modern monthly shonen series, I can say that it’s certainly a step above other manga of its type in how it re-frames familiar shonen archetypes in much more grounded and grim settings, and I find that it’s because of that grounded feeling found in its writing and setting that Attack on Titan has garnered such a large following for the elements in the story make themselves easier for audiences to distill themselves in similar situations, the narrative creates a sense of audience inclusivity that allows readers to imagine themselves in situations of survival. However, once I heard the series would end at 139 chapters apart of me was wondering if the series would have enough time to address aspects of established lore and give character arcs a fitting conclusion, and suffice it to say, the series accomplished that though some feelings on them I’m still processing. So knowing this I think it would be best to tackle the ending of Attack on Titan by discussing each of the established themes and characters one at a time, starting with the theme of freedom and liberty.

“To either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain”

Freedom and Liberty:

One of the major recurring themes in the story of AoT is that of the nature of finding true freedom. Freedom as a concept is described as the ability to speak, act or think by one’s own accord; freedom can be individual yet it can also be shared with various individuals. The story always made the best attempts at portraying both the positive and negative aspects of freedom in a morally grey manner. While the idea of wanting to do something of your own will, it all becomes a different story altogether depending on what the actions initiated from that free will end up being. One person’s freedom would naturally come to blows with the freedom of a collective group and trying to determine who is more rightfully just in their expression is never given a clear cut answer, case in point Eren’s yearning to be free of a world where he and his people aren’t demonized or viewed as cattle comes to blows with the antagonists’ (the nation of Marley) yearning to freely put him and the other Subjects of Ymir in their place as the two parties eventually engage in a long-standing war that has spanned for centuries. In an essay by John Stuart Mill, he presents an argument for the nature of human liberty that frames it as a double-edged sword; while it may stand as a tool to defend oneself from oppression and tyranny, it in of itself can be used as a tool to enforce other individuals into compliance and agreement should they not initially comply to certain established schools of thought. The expression of freedom is never displayed in an absolute black and white morality as each of the opposing parties have valid justifications for their expressions of personal freedoms (the nation of Marley’s long history being under the terror of the old Eldian Empire, and the island of Paradis being constantly invaded by Titans from Marley due to their history), rather the expressions freedoms are made due to self-interest.

Zeke describing Marley’s plan of action in order to ensure its future as a world superpower.

This is seen numerous times throughout the series, Ymir (104th Cadet) being used as a scapegoat for the cult that took her in, Erwin’s planned scapegoat execution during the royal government arc to ensure the original monarchy’s total rule over the population within the walls, the world nations following the bandwagon of Eldian discrimination as a political tactic of gaining advantages for the development of their nations through the extortion of the many Eldians around the world. Even with the characters that are standing on the “good” side still hold feelings of seeking self-interest as they are allowed so, solely due to the fact to want and something and act upon is part of their birthright just like any other human; case in point Eren and Historia at their most standout moments before the time-skip which would eventually coalesce with Eren’s meeting of the Founder, Ymir Fritz. This now brings me to the man himself, Eren Yeager.

Eren Yeager/Ymir Fritz:

When I first got into Attack on Titan, my opinion on the writing for Eren, especially in the manga’s early run, landed generally around middling. However, over time as I got further invested in the TV adaptation, I made attempts on doing retrospective rewatches to see whether my opinions on certain aspects of the story had changed; and during this time I found that my opinion of Eren changed to that of a more positive one. Throughout the series I saw this driven teenager coming to terms with his situation as a potential key for his people’s future, learning to quell his anger, as well coming to face the reality of his various failures all to eventually crack under the weight of the expectations he has placed onto himself, finally re-discovering his self-worth through the relationships he’s made with people closest to him only to have his reality crash right into his face when he finally discovers the truth of the world which bruises his idealistic nature.

To many of the fans that have seen Eren’s exploits in the latest season, his change in character might have come as a jarring shift since he has shifted to focus on eradicating the Titans to now eradicating the invaders of his home island. While the shift to different targets might seem like a strange change on the surface, fundamentally, Eren Yeager is still relatively the same character he was initially portrayed as, the only difference is that some of his more notable traits such as his anger, his battle tactics, and self-expression have just been more hardened due to the nature of his and homeland’s circumstances.

Eren is a prime believer of freedom, that any person is entitled to live free without feeling as if their freedoms are being imposed by others, solely on the basis that they were born into the living world. Should someone pose a threat to his freedom, he will not hesitate to steal freedom from others. And from the beginning till the very ending of the series his character writing remains consistent. Eren is a man lashing out against a prejudiced world that views him and his people as pure evil, he lashes not just for the sake of his freedom but for the freedom of those he cares for. However, throughout that lashing and emotional hardening he becomes something different from how he initially perceived himself.

For most of the manga’s final arc, Eren’s detached demeanor he presents onto his friends serves to highlight how he faces his challenges; he is more of a person that suppresses his grief and other vulnerable emotions because he has no choice but to appear strong and move forward when he cries out the world for something he wants, as a person ostracized by the world, his actions are indicative of the world telling him that he is not allowed to be viewed as a human being. His repeated fighting against Marley and the other allied nations can almost be interpreted as a cry for help. And throughout these actions, Eren was always consciously aware of his actions and the consequences that would be brought upon them, but he would never reveal his true feelings until he reached his two final goals, Ymir Fritz and his ultimate fate. When Eren first encountered Ymir Fritz he saw her as the absolute ruler of the Power of the Titans and wished to use her to finally make his true ambitions become a reality, however, during that process Eren realized that Ymir was so much more than a divine being. In his embrace of the Founder and in seeing her past through the Paths realm, Eren came to realize that Ymir was simply a human that much like him was ostracized and forced to harden her emotions out of fear of being further abused for appearing as weak; who trapped herself in ethereal realm due to her misguided understanding of “love” she had for her abuser, Karl Fritz I.

In recognizing her as a human, Eren sets Ymir free to finally act upon her own will for the first time in over 2000 years.

Personally, in this particular moment of Eren embracing Ymir with a hug and telling her the words she always wanted to hear “you are a human being”, I feel as if those words themselves are what Eren wanted to hear from someone who truly understood him and his reasons for going as far as does. Eren fights because he wants to end all fighting in the world, but he doesn’t know any other method besides fighting, much like Ymir, Eren needed someone to free him from himself. I find that Kenny Ackerman’s final words resonate with this scenario very strongly in retrospect: “We humans, are all the same…every last one of us. All of us had to spend our lives drunk on something or else we’d have no cause to keep pushing on. Everyone was a slave to something” (S03E10)

Eren’s “freedom” upon reaching that scenery he foresaw in his future visions.

At the moment of that embrace, Eren was fundamentally just like Ymir, a human child unable to cry due to repressing their emotions, Eren was only able to reach his external and internal goals in the final chapter through his relationship with Mikasa and Armin in their final interactions in which he imparted his freedoms and his dream to the two people he cared about most in the entire world. That being said in his fight for obtaining the ideal freedom for himself and his people, Eren only realized in his very last conversation with Armin that the freedom he sought after wasn’t only his. Armin’s final heart-to-heart made him re-acknowledge that the weight of his dreams for an ideal world shouldn’t be his to bear, even if ended endangering him and his loved ones. By refusing to entrust his dreams onto others, Eren was becoming a slave to his ambitions (in fact his appearance as the Founding Titan portrays him as a marionette), only to be finally set free (and possibly reincarnated as a bird, a common symbol of freedom in literature) by his best friend when he comes to understand him and offer him peace for all he has done for the sake of his people.

In his final meeting, Eren’s true self as the boy who lost all things he cherished in the beginning of the series confides with his best friend Armin on the actions and choices he has made, as well as finally reciprocating Mikasa's feelings of love.

Closing thoughts:

Overall, I find that Eren’s motivations and his character arc met my expectations of how I somewhat imagined the series would end. It didn’t end on a completely misanthropic note, but rather a bittersweet hopeful one. As even though the island of Paradis establishes a new military under Eren’s splinter cell faction, the Yeagerists, there is hope found in Armin carrying out the role that Eren always saw him, a hero and a purveyor of peace, as he, Jean, Connie, Annie, Reiner, and Pieck now taking on the role as ambassadors for the remaining population of Earth, embark to Paradis to begin peace negotiations. Whether the treaty succeeds is left entirely to the reader’s imagination (or Isayama adding more context in the volume edition of this chapter), but what I find truly beautiful about this ending of a series with clearly morally gray divisions, is that the people of those same divisions finally came to the realization that they are simply just people. They are not devils or angels, they are simply just people; not that much different from one another and willing to try and exist in a better tomorrow with each other. And what I love about this ending, even more, is that it finally bookends some goals and declarations that were said in the first half of the series: Eren wanting to eradicate the existence of Titans became a reality, after Eren’s death Armin took responsibility in claim he killed in turn that leads him to be viewed as a hero and purveyor for peace, Eren wrapping his scarf around Mikasa, all of these character declarations coming back in some unique form makes me love this series even more.

Your heart and soul to the cause.

Some may complain that this ending is not that great for it still doesn’t explain certain aspects of the story such as the nature of the Power of the Titans or the identity of Historia’s baby daddy or just general lack of presence in the final arc, but personally, I am content in not receiving a clear answer to some of those aspects, mostly because they either don’t matter or are already narratively complete, plus their open-ended-ness just offers me more chances to think about some aspects of the story and promote discussions around it. And while the use of mental time-travel ala Seers from Game of Thrones that were displayed by Eren’s use of the Attack Titan’ innate ability in the Paths realm, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t unsure or somewhat conflicted by the existence of mental time-travel; especially when time-travel as a narrative concept is INCREDIBLY easy to mess up. However, aside from these minor gripes, these were my overall thoughts towards the ending of Attack on Titan, we have reached the end of the story where Eren, Mikasa, and Armin’s respective character arcs came to a narratively true and satisfying conclusion. This is definitely a notable end of an era in the world of manga and pop culture. And without much left to say, all I can do is offer a salute to the author Hajime Isayama for his dedication to this story.

Thank you, Hajime Isayama.

[bts-ficrecs]

BTS Bodyguard AUs

Anon request: Any bodyguard aus you recommend? 🥺

Doth mine eyes deceive me???? bodyguard???? um???? YES???? I…… may have gone overboard…. again….. Lmao Enjoy!~ and remember to give these writers lots of love!!!!

Note: I have not read a majority of these, so I’m super giddy to get into them!~ And as always, if you have a fic that you think should be added lmk and I’ll check it out! ^^

 

 

KIM NAMJOON.

 

23 by @yoongisbbydoll​

— Genre: angst

— Summary: It never occurred to Namjoon that he would lose such a big piece of himself to you. All those nights spent together, he never realized that he was slowly falling for you and everything you do. He only ever saw himself as a friend to you, someone who protected you at all costs, someone expendable. Namjoon had never even pondered the idea that you could feel the same. 

 

Because She (and You) Give Me None by @namjooniebjonesuniverse​

— Genre: angst, fluff, ongoing series

— Summary: Ever since he took the throne at the tender age of sixteen, King Kim Seokjin of the Tuhan Kingdoms is seeking to create peace between the Vampire and Shifter races, who have been at odds with each for a decade. In order to demonstrate to his people that said peace is possible, he hires a new security detail for himself and his younger brother. Both of them being Vampires. Crown Prince Kim Namjoon is absolutely thrilled with the idea…

 

Caged by @mrsmon​

— Genre: angst, fluff, complete series

— Summary: You didn’t turn around. You didn’t have to. In the last three months, you had grown so accustomed to his presence that you could tell when he was around by the way the air shifted and the world seemed to stop in its tracks for the fraction of a second, and with it your heart.

 

Impossible Ghosts by imlittleredbird & serClizia (AO3)

— Pairing: Namjoon x Seokjin

— Genre: fluff, smut, complete series

— Summary: Namjoon is the crown prince of South Korea and he has 99 problems, all of which are Kim Seokjin. Jin is the personal bodyguard of the prince and has 1 big problem: the way his ears turn red because of his crush - which happens to be the crown prince of South Korea.

 

Power by @ironicarmy​ (AO3 link)

— Genre: angst, fluff, smut

— Summary: You always go out of your way to remind Namjoon who’s boss. Until he snaps and you find out that he’s the one in charge.

 

Rotten by @1kook​

— Genre: fluff, smut

— Summary: How bold of him to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong, as if his presence alone doesn’t contribute to the distance your father places between the two of you.

 

 

KIM SEOKJIN.

 

About Time by @i-would-rather-be-queen​

— Genre: fluff

— Summary: You caught yourself staring at him again. Kim Seokjin.

 

Borders by @drquinzelharleen​

— Genre: angst, smut, discontinued series

— Summary: Jin has been a faithful and loyal bodyguard to your family for years, not that you’ve noticed. He’s the best at what he does, which is why he has been assigned to take care of you. Of course it’s hard when he’s so unlike anything you’ve ever been around.

 

Heaven's Light by pact (AO3)

— Pairing: Seokjin x Jungkook

— Genre: angst, series (on hiatus)

— Summary: Kim Seokjin has been raised and trained to serve whatever it is that pleases the clients of the establishment that took him in when nobody else would. But when he is brought up to the palace of The Majestic to be the pet of a prince who shows little concern to anyone who he deems inconvenient to him, Seokjin soon finds himself drowned in a series of manipulation, cruelty, sadism and the spoiled demeanor of a young man who holds the fate of his life between his fingers.

 

If I Kiss You, I Won't Be Able to Stop by @hoseoksyn​ (AO3)

— Genre: smut

— Summary: The mafia's daughter's crush on her bodyguard reaches breaking point.

 

Safe and Sound by bazooka (AO3)

— Pairing: Seokjin x Namjoon

— Genre: fluff, twoshot

— Summary: From a tumblr prompt: Jin is a prince, and Namjoon is his bodyguard.  "You're sort of bad at this." "Nah. You're safe, aren't you?"

 

The Bodyguard by @hollyxqx​

— Genre: smut

— Summary: Seokjin, hired to protect you by your wealthy father, can’t keep his hands off you after a night together. 

 

 

MIN YOONGI.

 

At Your Service by @magicalsalamander​

— Genre: angst, fluff, smut

— Summary: Your Grandpa adopted him, ex-K-9 police dog hybrid, to kept the auto shop safe. He had to fulfill his vicious guard dog hybrid appeal, but he was putty in your hands. However, when an unexpected event happens you took ownership of Yoongi, your best friend…but when tensions build, will he want to stay with you?

 

Breaking Point by @i-would-rather-be-queen​

— Genre: fluff, 2shot

— Summary: Months went by with him at your side. He was diligent and always polite but kept a professional distance. It was hard to know what was going through his head. You supposed you didn’t mind. Maybe it was easier for him to do his job that way. But sometimes it irked you that as friendly as you tried to be, he always held a part of himself back.

 

Orbits by @galaxyseokjin

— Genre: angst, fluff

— Summary: Life in this sector of the galaxy had always been rough, always had been a fight to live. Life as a mercenary never one you thought you’d fall into. But here you were, earning a pretty penny now that you’d made a name for yourself. When you’d accepted the offer to be a body guard for the son of a politician, you expected the life of luxury. Easy days and nights with no worries. Unfortunately for you, Min Yoongi had no intention of falling into that plan.

 

화양연화 (The Most Beautiful Moment In Life) by sunshinejoon (AO3)

— Pairing: Yoongi x Jimin

— Genre: angst, fluff

— Summary: "With every empty office and every light left on -- it only means that people have left, y'know? They've left, just for a while, to be with their families." He falls silent, before picking back up again. "These people, they're with people they love. People they're trying to love. Or maybe they're all alone in their shitty apartments -- but they're someone to love too, are they not?"  Yoongi exhales, and Jimin thinks he feels it expand, curl against his insides.  "Maybe these lights like the night."

 

 

JUNG HOSEOK.

 

Guarded By @xjoonchildx​

— Genre: angst, fluff, smut, complete series

— Summary: You’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you.  now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

 

Nothing but the Rain by @i-would-rather-be-queen​

— Genre: fluff

— Summary: Most people didn’t know the real role Jung Hoseok played in your life. He was too loud, too impulsive to be seen for what he really was: your bodyguard. Granted, the man had a massive startle reflex so it was hard to imagine him being a dog in any kind of fight.

 

Protected by @jungk0oksthighs​

— Genre: angst, smut, infidelity warning

— Summary: He was your bodyguard, and he never left your side. As somewhat of a celebrity your brother hired a bodyguard to ensure your safety, but Hoseok was more like a friend than somebody who was paid to be around. It wasn’t always easy though, things became complicated when you started to catch feelings for a man who attended your brother’s masquerade ball with another woman.

 

 

PARK JIMIN.

 

Don’t Care If It Hurts by @hollyhomburg​

— Genre: angst, fluff, smut, complete series

— Summary: After a rival gang makes an attempt on your life, Your older brother, the infamous leader of Seoul’s largest gang; Kim Namjoon, gets you a guard hybrid; Park Jimin, The reigning champion of Seoul’s underground hybrid fighting ring.

 

I Blow up Buildings (but I’d Blow You) by sugaretreat (AO3)

— Pairing: Yoongi x Jungkook

— Genre: fluff

— Summary: The AU where Yoongi has been receiving death threats from an enemy organisation known as Skeletal, and Jeon Jeongguk is the lucky bastard brought in to be his bodyguard. Yoongi tries to hate him. He really does.

 

Knight by junglec0re (AO3)

— Genre: angst, fluff, smut, twoshot

— Summary: In which Jimin is a Prince, and Yoongi is his personal bodyguard that would do anything for him.

 

Protegere by @taesbetch​

— Genre: angst, fluff, ongoing series

— Summary: In a land where the crown means everything, everything will be risked in order to protect it. when Y/ns older brother dies its time for her to claim the throne, however, she is seen as weak and an easy target to those lurking in the shadows. The park clan has been trained from birth to protect the throne and those on them, but the death of Y/ns Brother and other suspicious events seem to of happened coincidentally close. what happens is something no one is ready for.

 

Sunflower by @i-would-rather-be-queen​

— Genre: fluff

— Summary: Jimin was your favorite guard. So many of them were gruff and treated you as an inconvenience. A valuable inconvenience to be sure, but still not one with which they wanted to interact. It made sense you supposed. Emotions can cloud judgement and that’s the last thing a bodyguard needs. But from his first day assigned to you Jimin was different. He always made eye contact and smiled warmly. It was a welcome change from being seen as an object.

 

 

KIM TAEHYUNG.

 

An Ocean Heart by @always-in-an-alternate-universe

— Genre: ongoing series

— Summary: There was once a beautiful woman who was as strong as she was beautiful and as smart as she was strong. She had always been the radiant one in the room, who had a presence that was as deep and rich as the ocean’s depths. In that sense, an ocean was the perfect metaphor for her, because the further you looked into it, the less you saw. It’s hard to say whether or not she was born to be this way or eventually grew into it, after all, she was born into the largest South Korean mafia. 

 

The President’s Son by @jimlingss​

— Genre: fluff, complete series

— Summary: Kim Taehyung is the President’s son, mischievous and playful, and infamous for being a troublemaker. When everyone’s given up, they call for you to be his personal guard. There’s no other choice when your dad’s assigned you to it and surprisingly Taehyung doesn’t mind either. Maybe because you happened to grow up with that brat.

 

 

JEON JUNGKOOK.

 

Angel With A Shotgun by @taegonia​

— Genre: angst, fluff, smut, ongoing series

— Summary: You knew that hiring Jungkook as your bodyguard would be a mistake and that it would lead to… unprofessional actions. 

 

Bodyguard by @minsugapie​

— Genre: fluff, complete series

— Summary: You didn’t want to have someone with you at all times, let alone some butch man you’d never met before. It just didn’t sound appealing to you in the slightest. Plus, how popular were you getting that a man had literally given up his life to serve yours? It wasn’t like you were the goddamn Queen of England.

 

Crown of Gold by @fairykooks​

— Genre: fluff

— Summary: Jeon Jungkook is the nation’s pride - kind, charismatic, honest, loving, courageous, beautiful. and in love. 

 

Heavens Will Burn by @gyuten​

— Genre: angst, fluff

— Summary: The truth is that love is only easy for the very lucky few. Jeon Jungkook is in love with someone, and she him. Their love should have come easy, if only life hadn’t given him the biggest misfortune of all: a curse to never be able to touch others without harming them. To Jungkook, his love becomes nothing but sweet pain.

 

I Found Peace (in your body’s skin) by Ahgamo (AO3)

— Pairing: Jungkook x Yoongi

— Genre: angst, ongoing series

— Summary: Prince Jeon Jungkook has been receiving death threats for a couple of months. They hire one Agent Kim (not Taehyung) to guarantee The Prince’s safety. When the assassin makes his first move, killing Agent Kim in the process, they hire one Min Yoongi to protect Korea’s Prince instead. Jungkook isn’t happy with his replacement.

 

My Terms by @nomnomsik​

— Genre: smut, yandere warning, ongoing series

— Summary: Relatively close in age and similar hidden personalities, an idol and bodyguard discuss secret terms unbeknownst to the company. What will come about them and what exactly did they discuss?

 

Now Breathe by @hereforaus​

— Genre: angst, smut, ongoing series

— Summary: People invading your personal space is one of the top most annoying thing to ever exist on earth and your overprotective politician mother hiring a personal bodyguard for you didn’t help at all.

 

Off Guard by @diortae​ (AO3 link)

— Genre: fluff, horny jk so

— Summary: bodyguard!jungkook and rich girl!y/n who has made it her mission to make the 25th bodyguard, jungkook’s life hell to make him quit but jungkook’s one tough cookie who’s always thinking one step ahead of her.

 

Only You by shellflower (AO3)

— Genre: angst, fluff, smut, ongoing series

— Summary: It didn't surprise you when you were chosen as one of the top 4 students at the Security Protection Program. It surprised you a little to learn that you would be assigned to one of the four Heirs to the throne. It surprised you a lot to learn that the prim and proper Princes were...not quite what you imagined. Despite this, you would do anything to protect them with your life. And you will.

 

Order by @rainwards​

— Genre: angst, twoshot

— Summary: In which you give Jungkook a very important order.

 

Protection by @koosgrl​

— Genre: angst, fluff, smut

— Summary: “you can’t protect me.” Being the heir of a mafia empire has its pros and cons, what you hated the most was the annoying body guards who were constantly glued to you. however, you always found a way to get rid of them, until you met jeon jungkook that is.  

 

Stubborn Love by @hoseoksyn​

— Genre: angst, smut, infidelity warning

— Summary: Love is not a choice, this much you knew. for a girl like you, neither was marriage. married off to a prince, you had the life most girls would dream of. but your dream didn’t end with prince charming. yours ended with your loyal bodyguard that you could never have.

— Mai’s Thots: READ THIS AND THEN CRY BC ANGST AND THEN CRY AGAIN BC SAM IS WRITING A SEQUEL

 

The Bodyguard by @letspurpletogether​

— Genre: angst, smut, ongoing series

— Summary: Your father is the Don, so you’ve pretty much had enemies your whole life. But when he fails to protect you like he should, you realize maybe it’s time for you to take the matters into your own hands and gather your own men. Perhaps, starting with that tattoed fellow over there with the bad attitude.

 

The Singing Guardian by @sugaabooga​

— Genre: fluff

— Summary: “A singer!” your five-year old self gleefully smiles at your teacher with your chubby hands clasped together in a dreamy-like way. Your teacher gives you a warm smile as she writes down ‘SINGER’ in big fat letters on your assignment sheet. “Well, Y/N. I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful singer. Contact me when you become famous!”

 

True Care by @joonsgalaxy​ (AO3 link)

— Genre: angst, fluff, smut, ongoing series

— Summary: your (endearingly) shy bodyguard—hired by your father—would do anything for you. even though you roll your eyes at his persistence and pretend there’s no need for him to follow you to every and any place you go, there might be many more hazards in your life than you let on. and you might end up needing him in more ways than you—or your father—would ever think.

 

Untitled by @an-exotic-writer​

— Genre: fluff

— Summary: The morning had been a bit too quiet for your liking and you can’t decide if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.

 

 

OT7:

Sanctuary by @minniepetals​

— Genre: angst, fluff

— Summary: Sometimes home isn’t a specific destination, sometimes home is when you’re crying and they reach out to hold you in their arms despite the rules. sometimes home is what you call their arms, your sanctuary.

 

 

congrats. you made it to the end.

[writer-ish]

hopeful hearts

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Brooke Spiers)

Word Count: 2,515

Rating: T (for now)

special thanks to: @openheartthot for being lovely and supportive and the inspiration for this piece, in part due to all the hard work she does with the chapter scripts each week. ♥️

Notes: This takes place during the Gala, before and after Ethan and MC’s very public kiss. 

I wanted to flesh out this beautiful scene in a way that breathed new life into it, delving into the psyche of these characters and further detailing their thoughts and feelings in those lovely moments. PB gave us a lot with this chapter... but sometimes, it still doesn’t quite feel like enough.

In other words, please enjoy my self-indulgence. 

Dr. Brooke Spiers sighs heavily as she shifts from foot to foot, hoping to ease the ache that is beginning to grow in her toes. The shoes she had touted as “so comfortable!” just a few hours earlier now seem like devices specifically designed to torture her into revealing state secrets.

She is tired.

The night is wearing thin, the sheen of such a spectacular display starting to dull around the edges. She finds herself longing for the more ascetic hospital she’d grown used to over the past two years. The decor is already tiresome; she craves the familiarity of its former sterility.

I should be walking these grounds saving asses and not kissing them, dammit.

She sighs again, her eyes casting about, looking for a reprieve of some sort.

She finds it almost immediately in one Dr. Ethan Ramsey. Exactly the familiar and welcome sight she’d required. It still amazes her how finding his form in a crowded hall or room can immediately set her at ease. As though something just clicks into place whenever he’s near.

Ah, says her soul each time. There he is.

She watches as the donor Ethan had been speaking to walks away. Continues to watch as Ethan’s shoulders sink, the man physically deflating before her eyes.

He looks exhausted, she thinks, a pang in her chest as she briefly allows herself to consider how full his plate of worries is. She watches as he heads to the bar and she finds her feet taking her in the same direction, practically of their own volition.

He looks up as she approaches and she catches the slight softening of his gaze, even as his full mouth stays in a hard line.

“Holding up okay?” she asks, hearing the gentle sympathy creeping into her tone.

“Ask me once I get this next drink,” is his curt response, as he gestures to the bartender.

“That bad, huh?” His abruptness no longer bothers her. She recognizes the surface-level gruffness for what it is: a shield. To protect a man who already has the world on his shoulders from caring about too many things all at once.

He proves her correct when he performs his telltale stress maneuver: squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. Something is bothering him.

She waits patiently for him to tell her what it is, like she knows he will.

“I just wonder…” Bingo. “How did we come to this, Brooke? We should be solving cases, not rubbing shoulders with smug idiots in bowties.”

She nods slowly, resisting the urge to run her hand over his tense shoulders.

“I know how much you dislike this sort of thing,” she says softly, looking up at him through her lashes.

His breath catches almost imperceptibly as he stares back at her.

“For whatever it’s worth,” she continues, “I’m really proud of you for stepping up anyway.”

She can see how her words impact him through the way his nostrils flare, the piercing blue of his gaze narrowing with the dilation of his pupils.

He clears his throat and blinks the expression away quickly, turning back towards the bar. When he speaks again, his tone is dry. Back in control.

“Stepping up, as you put it, is necessary.”

As he speaks, the bartender slides him his drink. Ethan catches the glass and lifts it to his lips in one fluid motion, throat working as he swallows in a single swig.

“I always told myself I'd do whatever it took to save lives,” he says after a pause. “Whatever extreme measure was required. Which is why I'm compromising myself this way. You showed me that 'whatever it takes' includes making moral sacrifices, too. In fact…”

He pauses again, his eyes catching hers once more. She allows him to gather his words, sensing the weight of them.

“Somehow,” he continues eventually, “you've managed to make them without weakening your convictions or becoming jaded and cynical.” He shakes his head, as though the thought of it is a marvel to him.

“Ethan…” God, the way he makes her feel. There had never been a man like this one when it came to the effects of his fleeting words of praise. She would bend over backwards for a single throwaway acknowledgement, every time.

How embarrassing. Clearing her throat, she tries to gather the shards of her scattered thoughts (and dignity).

“Everyone knows how much you do to save people.”

He lets out a humourless laugh. “In the diagnostics office, sure, but have I really done everything I could? If I'd listened to you sooner, would we really be in this situation right now?”

The stark, self-directed derision in his tone gives her pause. Had he ever doubted himself in this way before?

Her hands itch to reach for him, but she holds back out of the agreements they’ve made, unspoken and not. Instead she settles for saying his name again, the syllables falling off her tongue like a caress. “Ethan…”

She sees how it hits him, in the way that his eyes close briefly and a slight, almost indiscernible shiver runs through him. She doesn’t realize that she’s caught her lower lip between her teeth until she feels the sharp pain of it.

Until his eyes catch on it and he swallows hard, before tapping the counter for another drink with a sigh.

“Honestly, it's not even the shilling for money that's bothering me. It's letting Naveen down.”

The words send a shock through her. Naveen? “What? What are you talking about?”

He rests his elbows on the bar, leaning forward as he waits for his drink, and stares at some distant point beyond them both.

“When I lose a patient, I stay up half the night turning possibilities over in my head. Things I could have done differently.”

She knows this. Knows how she does the same.

“And I can't help but wonder what would be different now, with the hospital, if I hadn't been so damned stubborn.” He rakes a hand through his hair with an aggravated sigh, then drops his clenched fist to his side. “Now that I see what I could have done…” He shakes his head. “How will I tell Naveen that his legacy fell apart...because of me?”

The vulnerability in his tone almost cracks her composure. She opens her mouth to respond, to tell him how ludicrous, how irrational he’s being, when a new voice chimes in from the side, fond amusement evident.

“I suppose you would say exactly that!”

Brooke and Ethan both turn, mouths agape at the sight of Naveen standing right behind them.

Ethan recovers first and remarks dryly, “You know it's rude to eavesdrop.”

“True,” Naveen acquiesces, the cheeky grin never leaving his face, “but I never could resist a juicy conversation. Besides, I think this concerns me fairly closely, don't you?”

Brooke silently looks over to Ethan, who is staring at his mentor with a furrowed brow and conflicted gaze. He doesn’t speak and neither does she, both waiting for Naveen to continue, likely for different reasons.

He doesn’t disappoint.

“Ethan…” His tone is soft now, though the good humour and affection remain, “you do know that what I built here, what you helped me to build...it was never about my legacy, or even about Edenbrook.”

Ethan is already nodding. “It was about the mission. For the people with nowhere else to go.”

“Precisely!” Naveen exclaims, as though Ethan has once again proven himself to be a diagnostic wonder. “And no matter what happens to Edenbrook, that mission will never end.” A grin splits his weathered and jovial face. “You'll carry it on wherever you go.”

Brooke feels her heart soar, as though Naveen’s words were meant for her, too. She knows what this validation means for Ethan - what it has always meant. Tears well up in her eyes as she looks over at him and sees the emotion in his own face.

“You really believe that, Naveen?” The question is quiet, though the gravity of it remains clear to them all.

Naveen shakes his head fondly, before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around a shocked Ethan. Brooke sees how it takes him a moment to register the embrace, before he fiercely brings his arms around his mentor in return. The men slap each other’s backs once, twice, in a masculine acknowledgement of brotherhood, understanding, and even love.

After a moment, Naveen pulls back and holds Ethan at arm’s length, strong hands gripping broad shoulders.

“My friend,” he says, “it's the most important belief I hold. And for maintaining that legacy?” There’s a twinkle in his eye as he speaks his next words: “I couldn't be more proud of you.”

Ethan’s own eyes glisten as Naveen gives him one final pat, before turning and walking back into the gala, a smile on his face.

They’re alone once more. Brooke glances over at Ethan, unsure of what kind of emotion she might see on his face. It surprises her to see him clear-faced, eyes bright. He stands tall, taller than before as if that were even possible. He looks suddenly unburdened. Reinvigorated.

“So,” she begins and he almost visibly startles as he looks at her. The heat of his gaze washes over her, his eyes sweeping her up and down, the way they had when he walked into her apartment for the first time that afternoon. She swallows, feeling her nipples peak beneath the bodice of her dress, even as she tries to ignore her body’s response to him.

Clearing her throat, she continues: “What's next for Dr. Ethan Ramsey now that he's not so 'damn stubborn' anymore?”

Her lips quirk in a smile, even as she watches him closely, finely attuned to his next move—the way she would watch a tiger let loose from its cage. A thrill runs through her at the look in his eyes.

“I…” When he speaks, his voice is hoarse, and his body leans towards her almost unconsciously. “The thing is, I've been meaning to…” He shakes his head suddenly, as though frustrated with himself. “Oh, to hell with it.”

She barely has time to gasp before Ethan’s hands are on her, the tips of his fingers weaving into the loose curls at the nape of her neck. He draws her to him forcefully, loose limbed and sure of himself, and she has nowhere to go but along for the ride.

Their lips meet and it’s not the first time or the second or the tenth, but it’s revelatory nonetheless, an absolution and a celebration all at once.

She’s dimly aware that an audience is growing, but she can’t bring herself to care, focused instead on wrapping one arm behind his back and carding the other hand through his hair, his clipped locks silken beneath her fingers and slightly stiff from whatever product he’d used.

She tightens the hold she has on his hair and he groans softly into her mouth, wrapping his arms around her tighter. The kiss is soft, open, and wet, and she feels the lazy trail of its spark make its way from her lips, down her chest, and further still until she presses against him even harder, heated and restless.

“Ooooh!”

“Oh my god…”

“I knew it!”

A cacophony of exclamations around them slowly bring them back to reality. Brooke feels her feet gently touch the ground once more and Ethan’s strong arms loosen their hold on her slightly. He pulls away after a moment, breathing heavily, seeming as reluctant to part from her as she is to let him go. Their breaths intermingle as the last few wolf whistles and catcalls die down and the Gala attendees go into their dark corners to gossip further about what they’ve just seen.

Brooke is dimly aware that a song has begun to play, only because the tune almost feels as though it’s an extension of their kiss, slow and melodious as it is.

Ethan strokes her back and pulls away completely, before offering his hand.

“Shall we?”

She resents him his composure, looking only slightly mussed and otherwise perfect, his bowtie barely askew, while she is certain she resembles a feral raccoon, emerging from the dumpster.

“I don't know, Dr. Ramsey,” she murmurs, attempting to regain the upper hand ever so slightly. “I thought this wasn't even a date.”

She likes to throw his own words back at him, even good-humouredly, as a reminder that he best not deny what they have any longer. That he is as inextricably tied to her as she is to him.

He grins unabashedly, immediately taking her meaning.

“Just shut up and take my hand.”

The commanding tone in his voice sends a pleasant warmth zinging through her and she finds herself placing her hand in his before she’s even aware of what she’s doing.

He leads her out to the dance floor and wraps an arm around her, his hand resting on the small of her back. She can feel eyes on them both and it makes her tingle a little unpleasantly. She’s dimly aware of the knowledge that this was what he was trying to protect her from, all this time.

“I can’t believe you just kissed me like that,” she breathes, leaning into him ever so slightly, “in front of the entire hospital.”

He squeezes the hand he has in his own and softly presses her further into him. She inhales the scent of his cologne, masculine and sweet, and realizes that, despite her discomfort at being the centre of attention, there’s no place she’d rather be in this moment.

“It just doesn't feel like I need to pretend anymore,” he admits, his deep voice a gruff whisper as they sway.

“That was a very public way to get over your concerns.”

He shoots her a crooked grin that leaves her breathless. “It felt freeing, didn't it? There are some things crowds are good for,” he adds, slyly.

His hold tightens on her and she tries to get even closer to him, shifting restlessly, her breasts pressing against his chest. She has a sensation that surpasses contentment - a crawling need for the man before her, a need to be near him, even closer than she already is. Perhaps closer than they’ve ever been.

“Then again,” she whispers, her voice catching slightly. His gaze zeroes in on her mouth. She can feel his body, hard and alert, flush with hers, “there are some things crowds aren’t as good for.” She looks up at him, slightly breathless, watching as he captures and holds her meaning.

“True…” he murmurs, leaning forward and bringing his mouth to the shell of her ear. “But that's why they invented private offices. No need to pretend there. Or worry about who's watching.”

She swallows hard, her breath shaky.

She knows everyone’s eyes are still on them, awaiting their next move. What leaving now would mean for them, for her, in the eyes of the hospital and her peers.

The real question was: how much did she care?

✨✨✨

[if you’re interested in reading the “office scene”, feel free to let me know... I might just be persuaded to continue this thing ☺️]

[janicho88]

Fire, Fur & Mistletoe  Chapter 4

 Pairing- Eventual Dean x Female Reader.

Word Count-3,045

Warning- Mentions of car accidents.  Possible swearing. Slight angst. Fluff.

Summary- A rewrite of the Nine Lives of Christmas, Hallmark movie. AU, Dean is a firefighter who doesn’t do commitment, the Holiday’s don’t mean much to him.  Coming home after a shift he finds a dog in trouble.  The reader is a veterinary student who works in a coffee shop trying to make it to graduation, until someone causes problems there for her.  She isn’t interested in finding anyone other than her own dog until after she finishes school.  Do their four legged friends have other plans?

A/N- This series is written for @spnchristmasbingo​.  The square filled for this chapter is presents.  The first two chapters will stay closer to the movie than the rest will.   This has its own tag list and it is open.  That way I am not tagging anyone who doesn’t want to be tagged in Christmas stories.   This story is unbeta’d.

Header by the amazing @winchest09

Divider from freepngimg.com

Series Masterlist   The next morning you were in the kitchen looking through ads when Dean came down.  “I was wondering what do you think about doing our Christmas shopping together?  I thought it would be fun to tackle the stores together?”

“I usually just do Visa gift cards, or regular gift cards.”

“Do you remember how you were saying you can’t recall the last time you really enjoyed Christmas?”

“Yeah, you really think going to the mall is going to help me feel..”  He paused looking at you with a smirk, “Christmassy?”

“I think going and seeing all the festive decorations could help.  One afternoon, we can make it fun, I promise.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

“So you’ll go?”

“Yeah, we can give it a shot.”

“I’m going to help you do it right this year.  We can go to the mall after your shift tomorrow.”

“I can hardly wait,” he grumbles as you leave the kitchen. 

Dean’s shift started earlier today, he headed in just before noon.  They started off busy before things slowed down.  They were called out for two car accidents, the light snow falling today causing some problems.  Dispatch also had them at two nursing homes.  The first resident was fine and back on their feet before they and the paramedics left.  The second was a fall and the poor guy wasn’t happy about having to go to the hospital to be checked out further.

When things calmed down later Dean was sitting in the common room with Sam and Benny. Those two watching the game, Dean going through paint samples.

“What are you trying to figure out now?”  Sam wanted to know.

“Which color is going to look best in the dining room. I picked up some new color swatches on the way in.  I have a light green, pale blue, a really light grey, or a cream.”

“Which one does the design genius living with you like?” Benny questioned.

“She thought maybe a light green would go with the trim in there.”

“I’d go with what she likes so you don’t have to redo it in a year or so.”

“What’s being redone in a year?”  Bobby asked walking in.

“I hope to have sold it by then.”

“Dean’s trying to pick a paint color, we told him to go with what Y/N picked so he wouldn’t have to redo it later when everything is all done and she doesn’t like it.”

“Yep, need to keep the women happy.”  Bobby agrees.

“How’s the girlfriend doing while we are on that subject?”  His brother wanted to know.

“You’ve all lost me. Still don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Are you sure about that Chief?  You do spend a lot of time with her.  You trust her opinion to remodel your house.”

“What was your excuse earlier about not going out with us tomorrow?  Oh right you have plans with Y/N, like a date.”

“What was going on the other day when you couldn’t come over and watch the game with me and your brother? Pretty sure you were with her again.”

“How many dates are you going to have before you realize you are dating?”

“Are you two morons done?  We aren’t dating.  I trust her opinion, because she’s good at this.  Still selling the house when I’m done.  She just wanted to get a tree for the house, so we picked one up and decorated it that night.”

“It really took you a couple hours to pick up a tree, did you carry it home.”

“No, we went to a tree farm, not a tree lot.”

“Hold up.  You actually went and cut down a tree for her?  You wouldn’t do that for me. We always went to the tree lot and just grabbed one.  You are more gone on this girl than you think.”

“You are reading too much into a simple tree, Sam.”

“What are you busy doing when the shifts over?”  Benny wanted to know.

“Apparently Christmas shopping.  She thinks it will be fun to do it together.”

“You, Dean Winchester are going Christmas shopping?”

“Why are you saying it like that?”

“I wasn’t sure you knew what a mall was, I’ve been getting a gift certificate from you for years now.”

“And I’ve had enough of this conversation, I’m going to go clean the truck or something.”

Dean walked out to the sound of the guy's laughter.

When his shift ended the next day Dean headed home to shower and change so he would be ready to head to the mall with you.  You were in the living room sitting with the dogs when he came down.

“I’m ready if you are.”

“I’m good to go.  I’ll see you babies later.”  Giving the dogs each a little hug you got up to follow Dean to the truck.

As you are entering the mall Dean turns to you.  “I realized I haven’t told you lately, thanks for your help with the house.  I might just be able to sell it sooner than I thought.  I really appreciate all you have been doing.”

That caught you off guard.  “Oh yeah, no problem.”  You had gotten wrapped up in staying with him you kind of forgot it was temporary, and that wasn’t really his home.

“That’s really great.  You didn’t just fix a house this time, you created a beautiful home.  Some family is going to be incredibly lucky.”

Dean nods, sneaking a glance at you, “Yeah they are.”

“Alright, who’s on your list?” You were eager to change the subject.

“My brother and his girlfriend, Jess.  Bobby, he’s the Fire Chief.  Cas and Benny, you met all them at the station when you found Miracle.”

“Okay.  Any ideas on what to get?”

“Gift cards.”

“No.”

“Then I don't know.”

“You’re helpful.  What is your brother’s girlfriend like, what kind of things does she like?”

“Um, she’s a nurse.  She likes my brother.  I think she likes the beach.”  This might be harder than you thought. 

“What about any of the guys?”  

“Sam likes Jess, and healthy crap like green shakes. He’s always bringing some into work. Benny wants a girlfriend.   Cas, who knows.  He’s a little different some days.  He does like to sit and think, and bees. He’s a tad obsessed with them.  Chief likes, um his job, family, Miracle.”

“Okay, so where do you want to start?”

“That store sells gift cards to multiple places.”  He points to a big store behind you. 

“The next time you’re at work I’m going to paint the living room hot pink if you mention gift cards again in the next hour.”

Dean starts to open his mouth but isn’t too sure how serious you are, so he shuts it again and rethinks what he wants to say.  “What do you need to get?”  He asks instead.

“A gift for my sister and brother-in-law, then a few friends.  I have a thought for your brother if you want to hear it?”

“Sure, what are you thinking?

“The bookstore might have a recipe book for different health drinks, maybe we can find a little smoothie maker so he could make them fresh at the station instead of bringing and storing them.” 

Dean thinks about if for a minute, “He would actually probably like that, although I hate to enable his bad habit.”

Laughing at his jab at his brother you head toward your destination.

The book store is your first stop, while there you browse through the shelves to see if anything else catches your eye.   Finding a book, The Buzz about Bees, you show it to Dean who puts it in the cart for Cas. As you were heading to the check out, Dean started laughing at a book which caught his eye.

“What’s so funny?”

“I have to get this for Bobby, it’s Tori Spelling's autobiography.”

“Um, okay. That’s a random gift.”

“Bobby is a closet fan.  Big fan actually.  Not very many people know.”

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”  Maybe you should have let him get his boss a gift card.

At the sporting goods store he found some fishing gear for Benny who likes to spend time on his sometimes girlfriend boat.  Dean figured they were due to get back together soon. 

While there you found part of your sister's gift.  You got her an extra magazine for her off duty gun, and a new cleaning kit.  The woman loved her weapons. 

Heading to the next store you came across some Santa hats and antlers you made Dean try on with you and take some selfies.  He grumbled about it at first but he did seem to have fun with it, making silly faces in the photos. 

With your hands full you took what you had out to the truck so you didn’t have to carry it to the rest of the stores.  The fishing gear was a little big to lug around.

Coming back inside Dean suggested a quick stop at the food court for a snack before hitting more stores.  

You grabbed your drinks of choice and a couple of cookies and sat down for a few minutes. Dean was complaining because none of them sold pie.  The mall was starting to get busier and people were hustling everywhere.  

“Do you enjoy shopping and all this craziness?”  Dean asked, drawing your attention away from people watching.

“Generally no.  I’m a get in get out person.  My sister and I used to try and go together, but she’s busier with work and she has Doug to go with.  I’m used to doing most things on my own now.   It’s better if you have someone with you, which is why I thought we could have fun with it.”

“I will admit, this hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be.  You did make it fun. Thank you for that.”

“No problem,” you give him a small smile and go back to drinking your coffee. 

The next stop was the pet store for some treats for your favorite four legged friends.  You passed stockings on the way in and went to pick one up.

“Dakota needs a new stocking, does Miracle have one yet?”

“No, he doesn’t have a stocking.  I don’t think I even have one.”

“Well, we need to remedy that for the both of you.”

“Of course we do.”

There weren’t many stockings left.  They were on one side of a middle aisle display, the back side had various balls and kongs.  The few stockings that  were there were on the back of a shelf behind some toys.  You had to move the toys out of your way to pick through the stockings.  With one arm full of squeaking toys you used one hand to look at the stockings.

“Do you need help?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Uh huh.”

You found two white and red stockings you liked so you were pulling them out, when your elbow hit a toy still on the shelf, trying to use your arm to keep it up on the shelf you missed the toy and hit the display instead.  Apparently you used more force than you meant because the display you were looking at tipped backward and hit the one behind it.  This sent various balls and kongs bouncing to the ground. 

Dean was leaning against a wall with his arms crossed watching, “Now do you need help?”

“It appears so.”

Other people in the store did their best to avoid your mess while the two of you cleaned it up.  Getting the last toy back on the shelf you pick up the stockings and turn to Dean.  “What do you think about these?”

“I think we aren’t going to go through that again just so you can pick out a different one. So let’s go with those and head out before you knock over the display of canned food.”

“You don’t want to clean that up too?”

“Let’s save that one for the next time we’re here.”

Sam’s girlfriend was a little harder than you thought since you didn’t know her and Dean wasn’t much help.  You ran with his comment about her liking the beach and picked up some scented lotions and bath bombs along with hand cream.  Being a nurse her hands would be constantly washed and most likely very dry.

In a men’s store you found a new tie for your brother in law to go with the briefcase organizer you found for him. 

You found a mug that Charlie would get a kick out of.  You also came across a Hermione Granger bobblehead she would like. 

You had picked up a couple small things for your old coworkers, Claire and Kevin.  You did miss working with those two. 

There was one more person on your list, but it was hard with him right next to you.  

Dean’s shopping was done, he had picked up some little things to complete Bobby and Cas’ gifts.  

Browsing the picture frames as you walked by you saw one you had to get. 

 You had the perfect picture to put inside.  Dean had texted you a picture from the station one day of him and Miracle.  Miracle was wearing Dean’s firehat, both were in front of the fire truck.

You passed Santa in his village the mall had put up.  “Are you sure you don’t want to ask Santa for anything this year?”

“I told you Sweetheart, he and I are extremely close.  I’m good.”

“If you say so.”

“I think you need to go see Santa though.”

“What me?”

“Yep, you keep trying to send me so why don’t you go tell him your wish.”  Dean stood there smirking at you, fully believing you wouldn’t do it.

“Okay.”

“Okay, you’re going to go up there?”

“Yep.”  You went and got in line behind a group of young children, who all turned to stare at you.  Oh this wasn’t awkward at all. Dean had walked off while you stood in line waiting your turn.  A part of you thought about walking away and telling Dean you had gone through the line already when he returned. 

“Got you something.”  Too late, he’s back.  He was handing you a bag and trying to hold back a smile.

Warily you took the bag and opened it up, chuckling when you saw what was inside.  “I’m going to guess I’m supposed to wear this up there?”

“You know it.”

Dean stood next to you in line as you waited, when you were the next one up, you took the elf hat he gave you out of the bag and put it on your head.  “How do I look?”

“Like Santa’s perfect helper.”

Heading up you were fairly certain Santa was looking for a child with you, and finally realized there wasn’t one.  “Ho ho ho, what can Santa bring you for Christmas, miss?”

While in line you had been thinking about what to say when you go up here.  “I have a friend over there who has had a rough time of it over the years.  He’s lost his Christmas spirit and the belief in happy endings.  I wish he could find that again.”

“Well, that’s some Christmas wish.”  He looks over at Dean who’s smiling at the two of you.  “It looks like someone is already working on bringing that Christmas spirit back to him.  Santa will see what he can do to help.  Is there anything for you?”

“Not unless your workshop is looking for another elf.” 

Giving you a candy cane he wishes you a Merry Christmas and sends you off.

“So what did you ask Santa for?”

“I can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”

“I think you are confusing Santa with birthday wishes.”

“Either way, I’m not telling you.  You can ask Santa since you are so close though.”

Dean just shakes his head at you.

Behind Santa was a Christmas shop and you dragged Dean inside with you to find him a stocking.   Holding up a Grinch stocking he shook his head, next you tried Superman.

“I’m sorry you have me mistaken for someone else, I’m Batman.”

You looked around.  “You aren’t the only one.  Sorry, Batman is all sold out.  There is Batgirl though.”

“I’ll keep looking.”

“Pink snowflakes?”

“I’m really starting to doubt your decorating tastes now.”

You laughed at that and went through a few more stockings.

“What kind of crazy is on your stocking?”

“It’s the same one I had growing up, classic red and white with my name in glitter.  It looks like that one over there.”

Dean walked over where you had pointed and looked at those.  “That’s what I want too, I don’t need flashy or cartoons.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

Finishing your shopping you were on your way back to the truck to head home.  After unloading the packages in the living room Dean headed for the kitchen.

“Are you good with ordering pizza for dinner?”

“I can make something up really quick.”

“I know you could, but I thought we had to wrap all that stuff we got today.  I figured we didn’t need another mess.”

“If you want that’s fine with me.”

You made sure to take what you had for Dean up to your apartment before you came back to start wrapping anything else.  When the pizza was ordered Dean did his best to help you out.  You were surprised by how well he did.  

“You buy gift cards for people, I wouldn’t think you had practice with wrapping.”

“We have to wrap all the donated toys for the kids every Christmas, so I get my fair share of practice with that.  Bobby wouldn’t let us hand out sloppily wrapped gifts to the kids.”

The two of you took a break from wrapping when the pizza arrived then went back to finishing it up. When the presents are wrapped and under the tree Dean builds a fire and you go off to make some popcorn.  When you come back the stockings are all hung over the fireplace.

  The two of you get comfy on the couch with another Christmas movie playing while you enjoy the fire and the sight of the tree and gifts around you.

Thank you for reading!!

Chapter 5

Tags-@winchest09  @waywardbeanie @whatareyousearchingfordean  @flamencodiva @deanwanddamons @jensengirl83 @abuavnee @lunarmoon8 @amyzombie1013 @akshi8278 @that-one-gay-girl @mandalou29  @igotmadskills  @440mxs-wife @paryl @supernatural-love14 @krazykelly @anotherspnfanfic @bobbie3939 @deanwinchestersnightmoves @winchestergirl2 @thoughts-and-funnies​

[baodurs]

i filled out this super cool button character profile by @extraordinarymage for sabrina! thank you for making this, it was a lot of fun to fill out <3 the bulk of it is under a cut and oh boy is it long !!!

Short, Quick Reference

Name: Sabrina Wiseman

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Love Interest: Kent

Main personality trait: Confidence

Secondary personality trait: Morbidity

Relationship with Nick: Full of love, haunted by unaddressed guilt and frustration. But mostly full of love.

Nickname for Nick: Saint Nick (used sparingly)

Resentful or accepting?: Slightly resentful

Main strategy (interpersonal, insightful, innovative?): Insightful

Ethical or expedient?: Expedient

GENERAL

Name: Sabrina Larkspur Wiseman

Nickname(s): Sab, used by anyone; Sabby, only Nick and Sally; and, of course, Button for Nick.

Birthday: I think I made her an October Libra for the purpose of a template I did months ago, but I’m not sure! No concrete birthday yet, I’m always very slow to nail down details like this.

Age: 20

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Hair color + style: Blonde. A little past shoulder length, sometimes wavy. Usually a middle part. For Aeon, tied back in a bun.

Eye color: Blue, entirely because of the section of Frank O’Hara’s “Meditations in an Emergency” that goes, “My eyes are vague blue, like the sky...”

Height: 5′5

Piercings: Multiple in each ear, but a couple have started to close.

Tattoos: None yet! Sab likes the idea of a tattoo but is worried about finding the perfect design, whether she’d end up hating it, that the pain might be greater than she expects and she’ll look like a baby in front of her tattoo artist. I’d like to think she eventually consults Sally and/or Glitch to come up with an idea that she falls in love with, but I haven’t come up with what that would be!

Clothing style: Mostly solid colors, not a lot of patterns. Nothing super bright, but a fairly varied mix of pastels, neutrals, dark colors, black. Partial to denim skirts and sweater tops. Ankle boots. Likes a good turtleneck. She’s bolder when it comes to formal wear, and especially loves suits. Big fan of silk and satin.

Since she has a pretty accurate face claim, I’ll link some gifsets I’ve rb’d for appearance ref if you are so inclined.

STATS

I’m always adjusting minor things and swapping scenes around, but these are from my most recent Sab run! Most scores hover somewhere around these values.

Personality:

Confidence: 53%

Humor: 5%

Morbidity: 22%

Resentful: 57% | Accepting: 43%

Strategy:

Interpersonal: 12%

Insightful: 50%

Innovative: 10%

Ethical: 43% | Expedient: 57%

KEY DECISIONS:

What is Nick’s nickname and why?: Saint Nick, used very rarely. It’s a joking reference to the time she thought Santa was an evil Ment out to ruin Christmas, and a point about Nick overdoing it with the cheer. “Saint Nick” is usually code for “I know you mean well, but please mind your own business.” Otherwise, she just calls him Nick.

What is their favorite type of cookie (and its name and why?): Salted caramel chocolate chip! No special name.

What was their initial reaction to Sally hugging them, as kids?: She just froze. That could just be me projecting adult Sabrina onto her childhood self; I don’t imagine that she was as uncomfortable around strangers or quite as cautious back then. But that’s what I’ll stick with.

How did they ace the ASE test?: The in-game option she takes is “My entire life has revolved around strategic avoidance,” but the one about being just plain smart also sounds like her. If Sab has the chance to thoroughly (over)prepare for something, she will do it. Her mind blindness also has her constantly (over)analyzing situations. So, hard work and relentless anxiety!

Did they manage to win their first assignment? How?: Yes, by having Sally block the door. I’ve headcanoned some slight differences in how it plays out, which I wrote about in-depth here. To summarize, Sab thinks of blocking the door as a desperate last resort, not a clever loophole, and she pushes back against Rosy’s praise because she wishes she could have done it the “real” way. Rosy goes from being impressed to being annoyed that she’s willfully missing the point.

What was the primary emotion Button felt during the Aeon bombing (love, gratitude, etc?): Guilt. She feels very guilty about how much Nick has given up for her in general, but I think that in the moment, it’s on a smaller scale. The fact that Nick was on the phone with her when it happened, coming to her rescue like always, becomes emblematic of their whole relationship for her, and she really fixates on that.

Who drove them home from the hospital from and why?: Glitch. Sab responds to her initial text with “Are you sure?”, and is relieved when Glitch takes that as “Yes, please.” She doesn’t relish the idea of being around someone more connected to her family or Nick at that point.

How do they feel about Nick riding around in their mind?: Worried, at first. Just because it’s so unknown and absolutely insane. After seeing Doctor Amari, she’s excited! Sab is thrilled to be a Pollard Five and intends to take full advantage of it. I am not looking forward to seeing how she reacts when that’s taken away from her.

Why did Button agree to do the undercover mission?: To prove she still deserves to be an MIV. Sabrina feels stupid and reckless for putting herself, Nick, and Aeon in this position, but she knows she’s smart, and she hasn’t worked this hard for nothing. She wants to prove what she could do with a normal Pollard Score and make herself too valuable to give up even when she’s back to Zero.

Told Glitch about your mind blindness?: Depends on the playthrough. I’m constantly going back and forth on whether Sab meets Glitch for coffee or wanders the city with Nick in her second chapter 5 slot (after trying to track down Kent). If she does meet Glitch, though, she absolutely tells her; with how touchy Sab is about privacy, she couldn’t stomach not warning Glitch that Nick could hear everything they said.

Figured out K’s secret?: Nope. She finds enough of the clues to be given the “I knew it!” option in-game, but she didn’t actually put it together. Sab is too angry and embarrassed by learning that Kent is an AMO to find any reason to interrogate it. “The random guy I met before school just happens to be a jerk” is a perfectly sound explanation to her.

Found Noh’s clues?: Not at the metro station. Sometimes she sees the Vengeance brooms in chapter 5 (again, depending on the playthrough), but that’s it.

ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP:

Love Interest: Kent

Why them?: Sab feels an immediate kinship with Kent after learning about the NPO program. It’s kind of funny how quickly he moves from the least sympathetic position in her eyes (Ment who got past me and read my mind without my knowledge) to the most sympathetic (non-powered child of a prominent family aiming a league above where he “belongs”). A lot of new respect for his competence. Her fate is sealed when she realizes that his kindness at the hospital wasn’t him trying to make up for some wrongdoing, but just him being very sweet. (She had scoffed over “You needed help.” But now she’s like, “Oh. He meant that?! Fuck.”)

As they spend more time together, Sab realizes how weirdly similar they are in other ways, too. And she starts to feel safe/secure around him in a way that she’s extremely not used to. Growing up surrounded by Ments, Sab has a lot of issues about being too much, too difficult, needing to “be worthy” of love. So someone like Kent who is not a Ment, who has no “obligation” to care about her, and whose judgement she trusts implicitly? Being around him and being loved by him mean a lot, and I think will go a long way towards helping her reflect on her other relationships!

What are their first impressions of each other?: Okay, there are like 3 first impressions with Kent. First: he’s tall and handsome and secretly adorable, and they have similar career goals, so she’s drafting a five-month plan to woo him and get his number. Second: he’s a lying, self-obsessed loser who owes her many explanations. Third: oh no, the first impression was true! And he’s been continually, selflessly kind to her in spite of her overt hostility. Scratch the five-month plan, because the crush was only fun when it was entirely superficial; now she really, really likes him and that just sucks.

We know that Button makes a good impression on K by stopping for their dogs, but apart from that... I mean, the “we confused each other” from chapter 7 is very apt. Sab has lots of shifting personas, and Kent sees pretty much every one within 24 hours. The prevailing impression before everything gets cleared up is probably just that she cares a lot? About everything? Her stopping for the dogs, how seriously she takes the first assignment, the way she seems so deeply affected by something he said or did that morning. It’s a rare side of her to meet first because she usually pretends to be above everything.

What feature does your Button find most attractive in their RO (ex. appearance, personality, etc.)?: Probably his composure. And his... steadfastness? The way he seems unruffled by anything, his soothing presence. She really admires that about him and finds the calm contagious.

What do they do to spend time together?: Going on drives together! Kent driving while Sab plays songs she thinks he’ll like, talking or not talking. Cuddling on the couch while reading their own separate books. Museum dates. Walking the dogs together.

Do they argue? How do they handle arguments and disagreements? How do they make up?: I imagine that the first month or so of their relationship would be difficult, just because they’re both bad at expressing themselves and not used to relying on other people. Kent kind of negates a lot of Sab’s impulses to get defensive or hostile, so instead of arguments, I think there are more likely to be awkward periods where she’s just stewing in something without addressing it. Most of their fights would be, like, one of them becoming really distant for a concerning number of days until the other tries to awkwardly check in on them.

What does their future look like?: Uhh some random lore: I think eventually they do get married, despite neither of them caring that much about it. Sabrina would be excited to have something to plan, and she knows it would make the people around her happy. They have a long engagement; there’s never really an “official” proposal, just an acknowledgement that yeah, they’ll get married one day, and then eventually they get rings. The engagement is almost Sab’s favorite part, honestly. She likes planning and showing off her ring and calling Kent her fiancé, a lot of fanfare on her part for a wedding that ends up being very modest and chill.

OTHER RELATIONSHIPS (Feel free to go in depth!)

Relationship with Nick: When I first started developing Sab, I thought that with as difficult/prickly as she can be, her relationship with Nick would be worse than it is. Never bad, but certainly strained, with more jealousy/resentment on her side. However, she rejected this. She is resentful, but never towards Nick—she internalizes the negative parts of their relationship so they manifest as guilt instead. And that’s the problem, not resentment. Sab thinks he’s overprotective, but that doesn’t make her angry; it just makes her sad. She wishes things were different and he didn’t feel so responsible for her, but she also doesn’t know how she could manage without him taking on so many of her burdens. So, guilt! So much love, but always looming guilt.

Having Nick in her head has helped. It’s added a new kind of guilt (“I’m a horrible person for being so giddy that people can’t hear my thoughts even though that requires my brother to be in a coma”), but getting inside Nick’s head for once and really feeling his love for her changes things. Makes her feel way more secure, I guess? It’s easier to see her brother as human person, a friend who loves her, rather than a perfect selfless paragon who sacrificed everything to raise her, which is an important shift.

There are also Things happening with self-presentation in the fact that they’re both models, and flirts, and pretend to be shallow. And the ways that they’ve responded to vastly different expectations. And selflessness versus selfishness. But I have no idea how to talk about that yet.

Relationship with Father: Strained and distant. Sabrina doesn’t necessarily blame him for leaving, but she hates how he’s handled it. She’s incredibly frustrated that John insists on keeping them in this miserable limbo of uncomfortable visits, even though moving away was (to her) a tacit acknowledgement that she and her parents are better off without each other. He’s trying to force a relationship that Sab thinks is ultimately harmful for everyone involved. For Nick’s sake, she’s willing to grin and bear the visits, but it never works because John can obviously tell it’s an act. He pushes her, she gets defensive, and so on to infinity.

Relationship with Mother: Like with John, Sab doesn’t resent Hope for the incident itself, or for leaving afterward. It was terrifying, and the idea of being around Hope makes her panic—but she thinks of that as just another irrational anxiety symptom, and she’s trying to work through it. What she does resent Hope for is letting it get to that point at all. Sab is incredibly bitter that Hope will suffer silently to the point of almost killing her (during the incident) and potentially herself (with the BRS), while Sab has no choice but to be completely open. Especially because they’re so similar in that way—she’s almost jealous. “Oh, so your silence is allowed to almost kill me and it’s ‘nobody’s fault’ but I can’t pretend to enjoy a single lunch with Dad without him calling me out for lying?”

And even though she doesn’t hold the incident itself against her, Sab is very hung up on “Why are you never quiet? Why are you always there?” She knows, on some level, that this was not a Personal Judgement against her. But because Hope keeps so much quiet, this is the only honest expression of her mother’s feelings that she can remember! It would take a lot for Sab to believe that Hope was really, genuinely interested in reconnecting with her, rather than just pretending to love her "enough” this time because to do otherwise would reflect poorly on Hope as a mother.

Relationship with Sally: Besties <3 Sally is the only member of the Wiseman inner circle that Sab doesn’t have complicated feelings about. They both have hidden morbid streaks that they bring out in each other, and can laugh about. They both have competitive streaks that work well together because they’re always on the same team. And their wants/needs from the relationship complement each other well, I think. Sally has always felt valued because she’s useful and not because she’s loved, while Sab has always felt smothered by love/care without feeling like she genuinely adds value to other people’s lives. So it means a lot to both of them that they’re able to help each other practically, while also genuinely loving and supporting each other outside of that.

Relationship with Gray: Full of trust and genuine care, but predicated on distance. Sab loves him a lot for being so careful not to cross any boundaries, physical or emotional, with her. She’s grateful that he’s there for Nick in a way that she doesn’t feel she can be. But "I like Gray because he doesn’t push me and is good to Nick” means that any hand he extend makes her defensive, because she’ll either view him as an emissary of Nick or start to panic because their normal routine is being disrupted (she doesn’t tell him about Hope in ch 3, for example).

They get along very well in a friend-of-a-friend sort of way, and bond over being cautious counterparts to Nick. Also, Sab never had a crush on Gray, but she is not immune to tall superhero and thinks it’s fun to fake flirt with him. (You know Isabela’s “You have pretty eyes” routine from DA2? Sab does that to Gray when conversations steer towards things she’d rather not talk about.)

Relationship with Glitch: I’m really excited about these two! They click from the start, and Sabrina feels immediately comfortable around Glitch, which makes her feel distinctly uncomfortable whenever she catches herself. Externally, they have pretty different personalities, but they’re both perceptive and... socially manipulative? aware of their self-presentation?... in ways that they both pick up on right away. So it’s a lot of conversational maneuvering and trying to figure out what the other’s game is, while also genuinely enjoying each other’s company.

Relationship with Kent/Kenna: I could go truly insane here. See the romance section above instead.

Relationship with Kim: Sab wants him to like her sooooo bad. He’s one of the only people to ever really get through to her, re: my headcanon conversation after the first assignment. Authority figures tend to treat her as special, whether that’s negatively because of her mind blindness or positively because she’s such an overachiever. She had no idea how to respond to that not being the case (and didn’t handle it well at first), but chapter 6 solidifies her respect for him.

It also turns Rosy’s opinion of Sab around; he was impressed by her in class but left his office thinking she was self-absorbed and naive. But the bombing is a reality check, and her response is very measured and practical in a way that surprises him.

Relationship with Lev: She doesn’t mind the comparisons to Nick or the “maybe one day they’ll fix you” comments as much as you might think. They aren’t her favorite, but she prefers that sort of thing to the inspirational platitudes belied by coddling that she got from her family growing up. Sab has fond memories of Lev and is grateful that he’s always been kind to her, but doesn’t have any particular feelings apart from that.

Relationship with Clarence: Holds a grudge against him for causing a scene, making her late, and generally being a jerk. But she can’t fault him for being right, after what happened! Mostly she just wants to avoid him, but she’ll be thrilled to lord her success over him if/when she proves herself.

Relationship with Dean Branham: Like Rosy, another authority figure that Sab desperately wants to impress. But without the personal investment she has in Rosy’s validation, more “Oh, this person is in charge, so I should make her like me!” Despite Nick’s and Rosy’s reservations, Sabrina doesn’t really have a problem with being “strongarmed” or manipulated into cooperating; for now, she figures Branham was just doing her job and respects her tactics.

Relationship/attitude towards Ments in general: Mostly just uncomfortable and wary around them. Sab doesn’t want her mind read, and she figures that no Ment wants to be forced to read it either. So she has a pretty strict “no Ments” rule for close personal relationships (excluding Nick, Sally, and Gray, of course. But only Nick really counts because he’s the only one who can hear her thoughts whenever she’s nearby). Not out of hatred or resentment, just because she knows it will be easier for everyone in the long run.

Do they have any other important relationships, past or present? (Relatives, friends, etc.?): Not many, but yes! Sab dated around a lot in the 2 years before Aeon (more like year and a half, because she completely shut it down once she was more focused on preparing for the MIV program), but there are 2 relationships that were formative/important for her. A high school sweetheart, and someone Sab met through modeling. She doesn’t keep up with her high school ex, but the model is her best friend outside of Sally and Nick, and they still keep in touch! I’m still developing them/the relationships, and I’ll probably post more about them someday. They’re fun!

PERSONAL BIO

Describe their personality: Confusing and contradictory. She has two main modes that confuse people who meet both (e.g., Kent). She’s either cold, stuck-up, and sometimes hostile, OR she’s charming, frivolous, and sometimes flirty. Mode 1 is tense but stoic and inexpressive; mode 2 is seemingly relaxed but very posed and insincere. Mode 1 is for when she feels uncertain or has no agenda apart from “get to point B”; mode 2 is for when she’s more comfortable or trying to manipulate someone. Her actual personality is a bit closer to the second, but she doesn’t pretend not take things seriously or hide when she’s annoyed.

Strengths: Analytical, methodical, detail-oriented. Very driven and hardworking. May not always act like it, but does have social skills/charisma; a great liar, if you can’t read her mind. Unfailingly loyal and loving to her favorite people, so so so warm and affectionate and supportive if she really loves you. Very perceptive.

Weaknesses: Way too proud. Can be petty and vindictive. Self-absorbed (she doesn’t mean anything by it, but it’s hard for her to see past herself sometimes). Stubborn, hates being wrong. And... emotional isn’t the word, but strong negative emotions can really cloud her judgement. It ties into her being proud, petty, and stubborn; if she’s really upset about something, she can cling to that emotion instead of re-evaluating it or moving forward.

Phobias: From this ask about the phobias that are planned to show up in-game, there are a few that I could see fitting Sab, but I want to wait to see how they’re implemented before I fully commit. Which is very metagame-y, I know (and I am very metagame-y about IF), but “fear of X” is so broad that it really does depend on when/how it manifests in the text.

That being said, agoraphobia is almost a lock; crowds do make Sab very anxious if she can’t keep track of everyone within a certain distance, and if she can’t leave when she starts feeling antsy. Claustrophobia is a maybe. The choice that triggers it (in chapter 4, about hating MRI machines) suits Sab, but I’m not sure if she hates MRI machines because she hates tight spaces, or if it’s more related to her general anxiety about hospitals, medical tests, etc. Which she definitely has!

What activities/club did they do in school?: She avoided anything group-oriented as far as possible. She took piano (maybe violin?) lessons and did recitals, but wasn’t in orchestra. The one exception was maybe National Honor Society or some equivalent, which she would have joined for her resume’s sake. And I think she would have tutored!

Where do they escape to when they need space?: A little used library corner, where she can people watch without being seen/heard.

How do they feel about/cope with their mind blindness?: Sab hates it but tries not to dwell on it. She knows that it’s no one’s fault, and she mainly just tries to... minimize it? Drown out her thoughts, limit her contact with Ments. And, least healthily, very rigidly managing herself. Because there’s so much of her that exists outside of herself, without her control, she tries to either filter or completely suppress everything else. Part of why she got into modeling, she can perform and be perfect and have total control over the final product of her body in the photographs for whatever campaign. Some Day This Will Be Better. But definitely not where she is in current canon.

How has your Button changed since the Incident with Hope?: Developed many new anxieties and disorders and syndromes :) She also became way more self-conscious, as in literally conscious of and way more tightly monitoring herself, what she’s thinking, what she’s expressing, how she’s sitting, etc. Less emotive face, more rigid posture.

If they weren’t an Aeon student, what would they be doing?: Sab would have beaten herself up forever if she “proved everyone right” by avoiding Unity/Ments entirely, so she’d want to stay in the family business somehow. She probably would have ended up doing scientific research on mental agility. Maybe even working for Mirrortech or some other biotech company, which I imagine would have been an interesting conversation to have with the family.

RANDOM FACTS:

Zodiac sign: Like I said, I assigned her Libra months ago for the sake of a template. But I don’t know enough about astrology to commit. Libra or Leo, probably.

Hobbies: Music, reading poetry, “cooking” (i.e., sitting on the counter and not helping while Nick makes dinner)

Likes: Watching other people (Nick) play video games, dressing up, taking long showers/baths, dark chocolate with caramel, back hugs

Dislikes: Being patronized, hot weather, going to the doctor, driving, doing anything she is not good at

Type of bedsheets: Bamboo.

Drink of choice: Cucumber mint lemonade! For hot drinks, some kind of caramel coffee. For alcohol, she refuses to get drunk because she’s terrified of having even less control of her mental broadcast, but at home/around people she trusts she’ll have a glass or two of wine. Doesn’t know enough to be picky, but doesn’t like it too sweet.

Favorite food: Probably some pasta dish Nick makes with asparagus and tomatoes and a lot of garlic.

Favorite color: Like a light turquoise!

Favorite music: Music to her was another mind-shielding tactic before anything else, so she tends to like upbeat-ish electronic/pop stuff. Catchy and repetitive, and/or with lots of personality to drown out her own thoughts. On the other end of the spectrum, she does have a soft spot for crackly, lo-fi, old or old-sounding slow songs—something about fuzzy recordings simulating a weak telepathic signal.

Favorite season: Hmm, spring and autumn are both good. She likes either side of winter.

Anything else you’d like to share: My heart and a long, fulfilling marriage, with anyone who reads all this 💍

[foilfreak]

Headcannons for my favorite One Punch Man rarepair: Golden Ball x Spring Mustachio

Both joined the Hero Association around the same time and knew of each other in passing, due to living in the same city, but didn’t officially meet until about 8 months in, and as a result of that, these two did NOT like each other at all during those first 8 months. Spring Mustachio thought Golden Ball was just another crass and reckless delinquent using heroism as a legal outlet for violence, and Golden Ball thought Spring Mustachio was an entitled rich boy who was probably paying his way up the hero ranks. When the two heroes were finally forced to formally introduce themselves to one another at the first annual Hero Association banquet, or some other equivalently pointless publicity stunt the Associacion probably put on at some point or another, they were shocked to find just how wrong their initial judgments of one another actually were.

Despite Golden Ball’s appearance, what with the bleach-blonde hair, slightly baggy clothes, tall, muscular frame, and the lollipops that Spring Mustachio correctly guesses are a substitute for cigarettes, Golden Ball is actually incredibly intelligent, having earned a master’s degree in chemical engineering (this particular headcanon is inspired by @batneko) from a highly prestigious university (currently considering going back for his PhD if he can save up the money), and all of his signature weapons are his own personal inventions. Likewise, Spring Mustachio, despite having the appearance and persona of someone who grew up having everything handed to him on a silver platter, had long ago rejected the escalator to success his parents had offered him in the form of taking over as head of their family business, in favor of going out on his own to explore the world and everything it had to offer, mastering the art of swordsmanship and opening his own restaurant (where even after hiring a decent sized staff, he still took up menial tasks such as washing dishes and serving guests) along the way.

After getting to know each other at that first meeting, the two heroes became surprisingly fast friends, their personalities mixing rather well together on top of having many shared interested, and even began hanging out outside of their hero duties, where they already spent a considerable amount of time together considering how frequently the Association paired them together for missions. Most of their time outside of work was spent at Spring Mustachio’s restaurant, engaging in casual, slightly teasing conversation over onion rings and a couple rounds of beer after a long day of hero work. Later on into their friendship however, it became much more common for Golden Ball to also come into the restaurant during the day to bother the older man during his shift, not that Spring Mustachio minded the company one bit, especially if it meant having a couple of extra hands available to dry the dishes he’d just washed. It eventually got to the point where it was pretty much common knowledge throughout the city that if Golden Ball wasn’t out on a patrol or sent away on a mission for the Association, the first place you ought to check if you’re looking for him would be Spring Mustachio’s. Likewise if it’s Spring Mustachio you’re looking for and the restaurant is a no-go, try your hand at getting ahold of Golden Ball, cuz wherever he is, chances are that Spring Mustachio is standing right next to him. Its a wonder how the whole city doesn’t start assuming the two are dating when they begin referring to each other as ‘Gold’ and ‘Spring’, during hero work, and exclusively by their first names when off the clock.

The two heroes remain nothing more than close friends for full year after their first meeting, and while both had developed more-than-friendly feelings for one another over that time, neither were planning on doing anything about it, not wanting unrequited feelings to potentially ruin the incredible friendship they’d formed, among the other internal struggles that come with accepting that you’re attracted to other men in a society that, although no longer criminalizes homosexuality, definitely still doesn’t view it in a positive light by any means. Spring Mustachio has been in the closet his whole life and plans to keep it that way to avoid the potential social backlash. Golden Ball on the other hand didn’t realize he was bisexual until grad school and has since only managed to work up the courage to come out to his (thankfully incredibly supportive) family and closest childhood friends. Needless to say neither of them were in the headspace to even think about confessing, especially when they had so much to lose should it not go well, and both heroes were content to simply let their feelings die out over time if it meant that their friendship would remain intact.

Things change however, when Golden Ball’s place gets totally trashed in a monster attack, and the younger man finds himself staying with Spring Mustachio at his house until it can be repaired. Now not only do both men have to deal with their budding feelings for one another, but they also have to deal with their budding feelings for one another while also figuring out how to coexist in the same space, made even more interesting by the fact that Golden Ball has two pitbulls, Gizmo and Tonka, and Spring Mustachio isn’t the biggest fan of dogs (spoiler: Spring Mustachio falls in love with the sweet little puppers and spoils them absolutely rotten, much to Golden Ball’s amusement). Over the couple of months it takes for Golden Ball’s apartment to be fixed the men learn several things about each other that never would have come to light in any other context, including, but not limited to: Spring Mustachio’s extensive collection of alcohol bottles from all the drink’s he’s tried over the years (and of course all the stories that come with those bottles), Golden Ball’s horrific nicotine addiction being the result of an undiagnosed anxiety disorder that got BAD toward the end of undergrad and was forced to come to an end when he had a heart attack at 25, the tumultuous relationship Spring Mustachio has had with his family (specifically his parents) since breaking away from the plan they had created for him, the fact that Golden Ball is easily the biggest nerd that Spring Mustachio has ever met (and probably the smartest too), the brief run Spring Mustachio had as a competitive fencer in his early 30s that Golden Ball thinks he should get back into, the adorable way Golden Ball talks to his dogs when he thinks no one is listening, and so much more.

These things of course only cause their feelings to worsen and the situation just continues to spiral out of control from there. Im torn over whether I want them to actually get together in like a nice, mature way, like they ultimately end up talking abou their feelings to just get them off their chests, you know like adults, or if i want them to confess after getting into a huge fight, like maybe one of them got really hurt and some things they didnt actually mean were said and so they didn’t talk for a bit but then they end up tracking each other down and confessing after the tension finally snaps or something like that. I’ll leave that up for you all to decide but what i will say is that they get together just as Golden Ball’s apartment is finished being rebuilt, but with his lease being up at the end of the month and having already settled rather comfortably at Spring Mustachio’s place, he decides not to renew the lease and just stay where he is, much to Spring Mustachio’s delight.

As for their families, Spring Mustachio tells only his older sister and younger brother, who are confused, but ultimately supportive and happy that their brother found someone he truly loved and wanted to be with. His parents end up finding out somehow and while they aren’t exactly thrilled about it when they first learn that their eldest son is dating another man nearly 20 years his junior, they are, to their credit, polite and avoid making any inappropriate comments on the rare occasions he and Golden Ball do agree to visit the estate for dinner. Golden Ball initially only tells his parents, but things rarely stay secret for very long in his family, and not even a week goes by before his grandparents are calling asking if he’ll be bringing his new boyfriend to the cookout at the end of the month. Spring Mustachio has a fantastic time meeting the plethora of grandparents, siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, and close family friends that make up Golden Ball’s wonderfully lively family, though he does end up getting thrown into the pool by Golden Ball’s older brothers at some point, as is custom treatment for “new members” of the family. He doesn’t seem to mind all that much, especially when Golden Ball’s mother finally breaks out the baby pictures and he gets to coo over how adorably plump his boyfriend was as an infant, much to said boyfriend’s growing embarrassment.

For professionalism’s sake they decide to keep the relationship on the dl and though the two are rarely seen apart, they save the more intimate moments and actions for behind closed doors. No need to give the press an excuse to start shit.

Let me know what you think of my headcanons and what your headcanons are for this rarepair if you have any!!!

[abeyances]

He had one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced, or seemed to face, the whole external world for an instant and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor.

Lessons.

There were always lessons, always things to impart upon Micah David Buchanan. Metaphors, restrictions, always lessons far too tedious for a young mind to care to absorb -- lessons he would learn the hard way when adolescence gave way beneath his feet.

Brought up in the rolling hills of Kentucky, Buchanan Bourbon and the Buchanan men were brought up just so in gentle society. It was a craft — a legacy — that they had perfected. It starts clear. Fiery, bitter. For every year bourbon matures in the barrel, it goes through winter and summer where the wood expands and contracts, pushing and pulling the spirit in and out. Left too long, bitterness imparts instead of giving way to a smooth warmth and charm that they were known for. There was a romantic quality to it all, or so he had been told. There were winters and summers in life -- highs and lows, but they were necessary evils. He was warned, but Micah underestimated how deeply he would feel it all.

A charming spitfire from the beginning, he had a relatively happy childhood. A day was only counted as a success when band-aids were earned as honor badges from scraped knees and big adventures. He was the kind to climb high into trees, even if he didn’t have the foresight on how to get down. A belief and an attempt to fly had not ended in his favor, but it was a lesson he had learned on his own. The world was his for the taking, but only tangible when he reached out to welcome it on his own accord.

Micah grew up with a strong blueprint to follow, an image to model himself after. It was a tedious yet privileged upbringing. He attended the piano lessons, the dance lessons, the tours of the distilleries. He let himself be molded, though the pieces never fit quite right. He took the required pieces and did his best to fit them into a new ‘whole’ - a mosaic of those that came before him. A deep laugh, a mischievous twinkle of the eyes, a fondness for fast cars, snark about a horse’s pretentious name but still betting upon it. Stubbornness, softness, and sincerity all bloomed as he matured. There was a genuineness, a warmth, that he prided himself on. There was an ease of connecting, and that became the very thing he would seek indefinitely.

He pushed and pulled against the expectations set for him and where to give in and when to let go. He would show up dutifully on the arm at society events, only to sneak away when the eyes of the older crowd flickered away. Micah would slip out of view, away from the crowds, for either a quiet moment to breathe or to slink away into something more debaucherous. It was a fine line he walked and one he seemed to balance. He sought out thrill more than the act of trouble. As soon as he got his permit, Micah developed a habit of driving a bit too fast in the family's cars he "borrowed."

Few things trumped a good race. Pin-pricked stars and bleeding red taillights illuminated clandestine affairs under an inky sky.  Anticipation and adrenaline hovered in the air with the purr and simultaneous roar of engines as they sat side by side. It was over as quick as it began yet he never felt more alive as he shifted towards victory. He could take chemicals to get his heart to beat as fast, though this was a high he seldom wanted to come down from. Tangled limbs and experimentation in the too-small backseat was purely a nice chaser. The popped cherry on top of it all.

As Micah entered his college years, racing continued as a hobby, ultimately landing at Brown University in Rhode Island. He flourished away from the expectations that had been settled upon his shoulders as he continued creating and discovering himself. He was uncorked with all the pomp and excitement of champagne, yet the biggest discovery was yet to come. The signs had all been there in the rearview mirror, but Micah took himself by surprise when he caught himself falling for someone. A boy.

Micah had experimented in the past but had chalked it up to curiosity and the heat of the moment after a race. It had been a consolation prize with the intent of a wild, fond memory to tuck away with the last summer before heading off to college. However, reality and intentions never quite seemed to coincide. The curiosity had unearthed itself from the shallow grave Micah had buried it in, setting its sights on a new entity.

Rahim Reyes De Leon.

He couldn’t place where it had started, but neither could forget exactly where ( and how ) it had ended. They entered each other’s orbits in a few shared classes, deepening over midnight drives and mixtapes. There was a connection there that Micah let morph from friendship into something deeper. He had only realized how much he had fallen until he was careening headfirst into impact. A heart had been gifted and Micah tried to hold it and its owner in soft hands, but he could not offer the same courtesy. Guilt bloomed each time he asked for more patience to out himself, only delaying the inevitable. It ended in many mutual tears — a world of hurt he never intended to inflict. Rahim had been nothing but upfront about his intentions. Patience and pleading clouded Micah as he felt the other deserved far more than discretion.

The parting stung but devolved into tight, polite smiles as they both worked towards their degrees. Time offered a bittersweet balm of sentimentality and a nostalgic ache, settling deeper into the recesses Micah had intended for it to lurk prior. He wasn’t sure if pangs of guilt subsided, or if he had learned to ignore it. The next few years were uneventful, blurring into unsteady ease of monotony.

So this is it. Every day. Forever.

It all got to be a bit too claustrophobic, but Micah graduated with honors and a corner office within the family business. He held an appreciation for well-tailored suits, but the opportunity came to trade cufflinks for racing gloves as he entered it professionally. It was a scorched bridge between Micah and his family, but not incinerated completely. Disdain and disagreements were settled behind closed doors - tabled for another discussion.

Micah rose quickly through the circuit and gained a reputation as more eyes looked upon his success. A name had been bestowed upon him at birth, but this was a name he was making for himself. His career continued to grow over the years as he chased the adrenaline and accomplishments that came with each lap around the track, and each victory he managed to claim. The sweetest victory of all was winning the heart of another racer.

When you touch someone so often you sometimes forget where you end and they begin, was that love? Where did one body begin, and one end? Curled together, tracing jawbones. Low whispers speaking hidden dimples into existence. Micah preferred the left one. He learned to take each endearing eyeroll in stride, finding himself seeking them out in quiet company. Micah let himself fall, knowing fingers laced together with his own kept him tethered. Rather than the self-imposed confines of his own mind, Micah learned that it is supposed to make you feel free. It was as natural as his foot upon a pedal, as expansive and liberating as empty roads stretching into the horizon. It took him two years to say it — love. Love was never supposed to limit you or in any way feel contractual or constrictive.

— - — - — ///   tw: death, car crash  ///

The racers kept it private. They learned to dance around the questions in interviews, exchanging knowing glances when one was heralded as a ‘most eligible bachelor’. It was an intimacy Micah longed to bask in for eternity, but it came to an abrupt halt. It was a race like any other until a clipped corner sent things spiraling. Micah only had an instant to try to veer from the calamity, but the realization set in before he could react. Micah froze at the sound of metal twisting in on itself, contorting against its frame and consuming its inhabitant. He watched it spin, lifting off the ground and tumbling into the barricades. The carnage made quick work of claiming his own car as it flipped. Darkness and quiet seemed far kinder than the screaming ( his own? ) and the bright warmth of a burgeoning fire as he allowed himself to slip away.

— - ( hospital ///. )

The comfort of the dark was stripped away as Micah convulsed back into existence a few days later in a too bright, too loud hospital room. He flinched against it all - against the machines holding him here against his will, against the various tubes and wires coming in and out of him, against the concerned faces rushing into view. He closed his eyes once more in an attempt to shut it all out, slipping back into the ether.

— - — - — .

Micah resurfaced a few days later knowing the tragedy before it was even spoken. He had missed the funeral.

He eventually traded a hospital bed for the one the couple had once shared. It was a spot Micah did not want to leave, and those days still fall upon him from time to time. Time has not settled this wound, though Micah is not sure where to attempt to staunch the bleeding. In an attempt to put some distance between the present and the past, Micah pulled himself out of that bed and packed himself into a car in an attempt to do what was only natural — drive.

The Buchanans extended the invitation to welcome Micah back into the flock, but he was not entirely inclined to go. He drove through the night and pulled over when a beach came into view. As the dark dissolved into bruised purples and soft pinks over the waves, he pleaded with the dawn to bring a moment of lucidity & respite from his misery. The sun peaked above the horizon with solemn reverence as Micah let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Short sobs followed in a quick ricochet as he let himself release.

Micah has since found himself in Islebury, Rhode Island -- not too far from where he attended Brown. He holds a strong resolve to claw himself out of this dark spot, though at times does not know which way is up. Clarity and room to breathe have become his newest companions as he attempts to start over. The only way out is through, and Micah is testing his footing one step at a time. With some charm and forced perseverance, the path thus far has led to Deja Vu Night Club. It was a natural fit with his family’s background and his inclination to jump in wherever he might be needed. It’s a pleasant distraction from his own turmoil as he tries to get to know the town’s inhabitants.

Little does he know there just might be some shared history, after all.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Lost At Sea (But I Am Home) [Part 1]

Dean x Reader 

Word Count: ~4600

Warnings: Smut (vanilla, but explicit) and Dean emotions. 

A/N: This came from a request by MJ on the occasion of her birthday. It was supposed to be done, like, months ago, but there was much loss of sleep, tearing out of hair, rending of garments, wailing, etc. before it came together. I hope it’s worth the wait. I missed these two.

This is not a coda, exactly, and not a sequel, exactly, to Marked. It’s a fic of its own, but you might want to read that first. There will be two more parts to this. 

Big thanks to @thoughtslikeaminefield​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ @justcallmeasmodeus​ @mskathywriteswords​ @itmighthavebeenintentional​ @fookinghelljensensthighs​ and all the rest of the gay screaming crew for your brainstorming, reading, and inspiration help. Y’all are the best. 

We show great loyalty to the hard times we've been through. We are filled with riches and wonders.  Our love keeps the things it finds, and we dance like drunken sailors,  lost at sea, out of our minds. You find shelter somewhere in me, I find great comfort in you. And I keep you safe from harm.  You hold me in your arms. And I want to go home, but I am home.

“Riches and Wonders,” The Mountain Goats

*

Dean used to think that love might feel like safety. 

When he pictured a relationship, a family, a partner, he used to picture apple pies and picket fences. Love, in his mind, was always tied to comfort, PB&J with the crusts cut off, security, and all the other things he knew he’d never have again. The person he is, the things he does… he wasn’t meant for that soft kind of love. 

Dean’s gotten so used to hiding his softness behind sharp edges and impenetrable walls that sometimes he forgets it’s still there. The sort of woman he once thought he could love would be shredded to pieces before she could get close to it. 

Then he met her. 

When he tries to talk about it, tries to describe the way she makes him feel, he ends up stuttering and stumbling over the words, because it’s nothing like a quiet house on a suburban street. It’s not safety that he feels when he looks at her; it’s nothing so simple as that. She makes him feel about as safe as a fucking hurricane, except that when the wind is howling around them, when rain is falling and the churned-up waves are rising, Dean looks at her and knows, with absolute certainty, that in spite of the storm raging around them and within them and between them, they’re going to be okay. 

So, yeah, Dean was wrong about love. He’s starting to realize that he was wrong about a lot of things.  

*

Dean storms into the kitchen and almost rips off the cabinet door in his haste to get a glass, and he doesn’t notice Cas sitting at the table until he’s slamming the whiskey bottle down on the counter and going for the first gulp. 

Cas just raises an eyebrow. 

“Don’t give me that,” Dean grumbles. He knocks back the rest of the glass and pours another before sitting down across from Cas, slumping in his chair and glaring down at the pitted surface of the table like it’s done him some personal wrong. 

“You had an argument,” Cas says, gravelly and implacable. 

“You listening in?” 

“It wasn’t a conscious effort. More like an unfortunate inevitability.” 

Dean winces. “Guess we were a little loud at the end there.” 

“Yes.” 

Cas doesn’t ask. He just sits there, drinking his tea. Dean really didn’t intend to spill his guts, but fuck, his thoughts are rattling around in his skull, too loud to hold in. 

“When something’s wrong, you’re supposed to fix it,” Dean blurts out. “Right?” 

“What sort of thing are we talking about here?” 

“Just… she was pissy all day. Fuckin’ quiet, and trying to avoid me, and… fuck, I don’t know, I just kinda snapped eventually. Mighta lost it on her a bit. And she was having one of those days, I guess. Had a nightmare last night.” 

“And… you apologized?” 

“Well, yeah. She just wasn’t having it, said she needed space to sort through it on her own. ” 

“And that bothers you.” 

“Fuckin’... yeah. Because if she’s mad at me, I’m the one who’s gotta fix it, right? I’ve gotta take care of it, I’ve gotta make things right, and she just won’t fuckin’ let me. How the fuck am I supposed to make her feel better if she won’t let me?” 

“Did you ask her that?” 

“Well, yeah. She said it wasn’t anything I could fix, it was just… something she had to deal with. Went to work, wouldn’t let me drive her. The fuck am I supposed to do with that?” 

Cas gives him a look like he’s being the densest motherfucker on the planet. 

Dean scowls down at his glass and takes another sip, trying to sort through the tangle of his emotions. His insides are a mess, disorderly and beyond his control, and it’s infuriating. 

“I wish I could fuckin’ do something,” he says softly, swallowing around the knot in his throat. “I want to just… take care of it for her. Make it better.” 

“Even though she said you couldn’t,” Cas prods. 

Dean shrugs helplessly. “If she’d just let me,” he says feebly, all too aware that he sounds petulant and whiny. 

Cas rolls his eyes. 

“Fuck off, Cas. She’s just… out there. Walkin’ around without me, and I don’t know what she’s thinking, and there’s nothing I can do.” 

“What exactly are you afraid of?” 

Dean bristles. He opens his mouth, closes it again, and then takes a sip of whiskey to cover his confusion. 

“I just don’t like it,” he admits gruffly. “Not being able to do anything.” 

“Did she say she’d be home later?” 

“Yeah. After work.” 

“You know that she loves you.” 

“Fuckin’... yeah, Cas, Jesus.” 

“You believe this is something you’ll work through?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, without hesitation, almost surprised by how much he believes it. 

“You trust her. You know she can take care of herself.” 

“Yes. What… what’s your point?” 

“My point is that she is a grown woman, a remarkably capable and strong one at that, and there are going to be moments when she does not want you to fix her, or take care of her, or make things right for her. Clinging to the illusion of control is only going to make things worse.” 

Dean feels like a fish, opening and closing his mouth stupidly. Part of him wants to get angry; it would be easier than dealing with the uncomfortable ache in his chest. He knuckles at his eyes and takes another drink. 

“Fuck, Cas, don’t sugarcoat it or anything,” he mumbles. “Should never’ve introduced you guys.” 

“I’d say I’m sorry, but…” Cas shrugs. 

Dean makes a face at him. There are a few minutes of comfortable silence as he listens to the ever-present background whisper of the air circulating through the bunker, like the lungs of some gigantic underground beast, and to the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat. 

“I miss her,” he says hollowly. 

Cas gives him a wry little half-smile. “I believe they call this personal growth.” 

Dean scowls. “Don’t patronize.” 

“You weren’t the one slamming the door behind you. You admitted you wanted her to stay. That’s new, for you. Growth.” 

If Cas wasn’t so fucking right, Dean would probably hate him right now. As it is, he has all too many memories of walking out on Cas, or shoving him toward the door…  it’s either cry or laugh, at this point, so Dean digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and huffs out a laugh. 

“Shove it up your feathered ass. You gonna have a drink with me, or what?” 

*

Years ago (probably before he was technically old enough to be meeting girls in bars) Dean met a girl — Sasha? Sandra? — in a bar. He doesn’t remember her name, but he remembers the freckles on her pale shoulders and the long corkscrew curls that framed her face when she lay down, like a tangled halo on the pillow. 

After, as they caught their breath, Dean played with her hair, twisting one curl around his finger and releasing it again, fascinated by the way it bounced back into its spiral. He remembers putting his arms around her and telling her she was beautiful, and he remembers that she looked away, eyes suddenly shuttered. 

“It’s okay,” she said softly, and started looking for her shirt. “You don’t have to pretend it means anything. That was fun.” 

He learned quickly, from her and from others, what was expected of him. They wanted him to be confident, if not cocky; strong, but not too rough; kind, but not exactly sweet… they wanted him to be charming, and fun, and not much more than that. Above all, they wanted him to leave. 

He learned. Leaving became second nature. Leaving was better than waiting around for the inevitable day that they would leave. 

Women didn’t want tenderness or romance, at least not from him. Maybe they wanted those things from someone who might stick around, but Dean would never be that guy. Dean might be the thrilling story they told their friends the next day, a fondly scandalous memory, just dangerous enough to feel like an adventure: I can’t believe I did that. 

He learned to take what he could get. He learned to separate the emotional from the physical. He learned to hold back, to tell stories without showing the scars they’d left, to share tiny slices of the truth without ever really revealing the messy whole. He learned to wall off his soft, vulnerable places. Nobody wanted to see those. 

It was easy to put those walls up, even easier to hide behind them. Dean started to think he was safe there. He thought his carefully constructed fortress was stronger than any storm. Then she happened. 

She keeps proving him wrong. Dean’s getting used to it. 

*

She still hasn’t gotten home yet, by the time Dean bids a bleary-eyed goodnight to Cas. She had the late shift, and he knows that, but his stomach is jittering cold under the blanket of whiskey heat, and he doesn’t expect sleep to come easy. 

He hears the echo of Cas’s voice as he tumbles into bed: you know that she loves you. 

He falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

When he wakes up in the middle of the night, there’s wet heat and suction enveloping his cock, and he’s thrusting up into her mouth helplessly, rock-hard, gasping her name into the darkness before he’s fully conscious. Dean’s caught in the limbo between waking and sleeping, trying to separate reality from his dreams, but this feels too good to be a dream. Dean’s never dreamed anything this good. 

She’s rubbing her thumb along the cut of his hipbone, stroking sweetly even as her tongue does something that should probably be illegal. He reaches down and grabs her hand, lacing their fingers together, and she lets out a low, pornographic moan, her throat vibrating around the head of his cock. 

“C’mere,” Dean pleads, hoarse and sleep-slurred. She pulls off with an obscene slurping sound and crawls up his body. She must’ve taken off her jeans before she got in bed, but she’s still wearing her shirt and underwear, and Dean’s pretty sure he hears something rip as he wrestles with the fabric. If the harsh way she’s panting is any indication, she doesn’t care either. 

“I’m sorry,” she says fiercely. 

“Missed you,” he whispers. His voice sounds broken, pathetic, but it doesn’t matter; she’s here, warm and soft in his arms as they fumble in the darkness. 

She’s finally naked, straddling him, and Dean reaches for her blindly, pulling her down for a kiss that’s more of a clash of teeth when they both misjudge the angle. Dean wraps an arm around her lower back and crushes her to his body, fisting the other hand in her hair, holding on for dear life as they exchange deep, bruising, biting kisses. She clings right back, fingers stroking his jaw and his neck like she’s trying to read the Braille of his skin and bones. 

Dean’s breathless by the time she breaks the kiss to wriggle back and line up. His eyes have adjusted enough that he can see the faint silhouette of her body, charcoal against jet-black, but the important thing is the way she feels, like solid ground or safe harbor in a storm. 

He thrusts up helplessly, stuttering out a nonsense string of vowel sounds as she takes him in all at once, slick and welcoming. Dean’s spine bows with the way it drags pleasure from every part of his body, wrenching and twisting through him, winding him tight. She leans in and rests her forehead against his, so close they’re breathing the same air. Dean digs his fingers into her hips and feels the way she flutters around him, smooth silky wet skin, living heat, pulsing like a heartbeat as his body answers with its own heavy thud of arousal.  

“You came home,” he chokes out. 

“Of course I did,” she says. 

She rocks her hips and Dean surges up to meet her, grinding in deep, pulling her down against him. He’s closer to her than he’s ever been to another person, and it’s never close enough. 

Home. 

*

Dean considers himself a giver, when it comes to sex. 

It’s always been a point of pride: no matter how casual it was, no matter how easy it was to walk out the door afterward, he put his partner first. Not like it was a fucking chore, anyway. He’s heard stories, heard the way women talked about other men, and it genuinely confuses him sometimes; those men have no idea what they’re missing. 

It’s not often, in his line of work, that he gets to make people just feel good. He hasn’t brought anything positive into the lives of most people he’s met; he’s brought danger, and bloodshed, and nightmarish fucking violence. Those rare moments when Dean can bring someone pleasure, instead, have always felt like a gift. 

He remembers the first time he figured it out, the way the girl (Jenny? Jessie?) sounded when he found the right spot, the face she made, the way she twitched around his fingers, and he remembers the awed, wonder-struck glow in his chest. He remembers thinking, I did that. It was satisfying in a way that had nothing to do with his own orgasm. 

Getting off is great and all, but Dean’s never cared too much about comfort or pleasure. He takes a utilitarian approach to the basic needs of his own body, whether it’s sex, food, sleep, or whatever else. He’s always been fine with his hand, a burger, and four hours of shuteye on a crappy motel bed. He’s never asked for much more than that. 

Watching someone else enjoy themselves, though? That’s worth taking his time, doing it right, appreciating every moan and every spasm of pleasure that flickers over her features. It’s not so much about what he wants. It’s about what he has to give.  

*

Dean’s never been a morning person, but he’s starting to understand the appeal. It’s just them, in the morning, before they’ve had time to pull on the invisible armor they wear when they have to face the rest of the world. It’s a nakedness he never thought he was capable of. 

He wakes half-sprawled across her, one arm over her chest and a leg hooked over her thigh, like he was worried about her escaping from him in dreams. His face is tucked into the side of her neck. He inhales deep, immersed in the smell of her shampoo and her sweat and her skin. 

He traces the soft lines of her body, running a feather-light touch from the round of her shoulder, across her collarbone, down the center of her chest and then back up to map the curve of the underside of her breast. He rubs his thumb back and forth over her nipple, feeling the skin start to respond to his touch just as she sighs and stirs, and then he trails his fingers down to brush the inside of her thighs, down and up, one and then the other. 

It’s not like he’s trying to tease, he just can’t stop touching her. He could spend eternity running his fingers over her smooth skin, dips and curves and hollows and swells like an entire landscape under his hands. He maps it all, awed, until she’s breathless and squirming. 

In the end she just grabs his wrist and shoves it down, showing him exactly what she wants. She holds him there, cupping her hand over his, rocking up, hot and slick under their entangled fingers. 

Dean waits until she’s trembling, straining, close. 

“On your side?” he whispers, and kisses her cheek. He doesn’t pull his fingers away, just rolls with her and fits himself against her back. She arches, raises one knee, and she lets out this desperate throaty moan when he has to move his hand for a second to adjust, but then he sinks in and he can feel her shudder down to her toes. 

He’s been so focused on her that he didn’t realize how hard he is, but he’s dizzy with it, suddenly, like every drop of blood is rushing to his dick and throbbing, his nerve endings on fire with the searing slippery friction of her body opening up for his. Jesus, he’s so close it should be fucking embarrassing. 

She’s whimpering on every breath, clenching and dripping around him as she grinds into her hand. Dean reaches forward and slides his fingers under hers again, and he can feel the way she squeezes, muscles pulsing in waves of silky heat. He rolls his hips and she arches her back, biting out an anguished sound. 

They’re barely moving, rocking against each other gracelessly without the leverage for more, just a push-pull-shove-tug that builds into something powerful and unavoidable. Dean can feel it pounding through him with every shallow thrust and every little groan. He’s losing control, swamped by the sensations, barely holding on. 

Dean focuses on the way she feels under his fingers, the rhythm, pressing and circling, working her just the way she likes. 

“Not yet,” she gasps, practically writhing in his arms. “Want to feel you.” 

“So fuckin’ close, just -” 

She hisses, grabbing his wrist in a steely-strong grip like a handcuff and forcing his hand away as she snaps, “Dean, come for me.” 

He can’t help himself. It hits him immediately, sucks him under, sweeps him up and whirls him around, until all that’s left is how fucking good it feels: her sweaty skin against his, her soaked cunt squeezing him over and over again as she comes, wringing it out of him, and her fingers bruisingly tight, a bright spark of not-quite-pain around his wrist, as pleasure twists in his gut and spirals out and carries him away. 

He’s dimly aware of the way she’s shaking, the sound of her voice, but it takes a conscious effort to understand the ragged words: “So good, Dean. So fucking incredible, feeling you fall apart for me.” 

They’re both trembling. She loosens her grip on his wrist and brings his hand to her mouth, kissing the center of his palm and then every fingertip in turn. The sweat between them starts to tickle as it cools. 

She turns in his arms, pulling back to look at Dean with a sparkling smile and a curious, level gaze. He can see the gears working behind her eyes, cogs clicking into place, but he can’t for the life of him figure out what she’s seeing as she stares. Then it clears, and she’s just beaming at him, giving him the same open, tender expression he sees every morning when they wake up together. He can see it all over her face, how much she loves him. 

Dean’s not sure what he did to deserve that smile, but he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to earn it. 

*

He’s heard it so many times: take care of your brother.

It wasn’t just Sam, though. It was always very clear to Dean that being a man, being strong, meant protecting others. It meant making the hard choices, putting on a brave face, shouldering the weight so that others didn’t have to… no matter how he felt, no matter how hard it was sometimes, his job was to take care of the people he loved. 

He remembers smiling, hugging his mom, trying to make her smile again: It’s okay, Mom. Dad still loves you. I love you, too. 

He remembers putting a hand on his dad’s shoulder, looking into bloodshot eyes: It’s okay, Dad. I’m really glad you’re home. 

He remembers setting his jaw, holding his head high: Shoot first, ask questions later. Watch out for Sammy.  He remembers that curt, military nod he got in return: That’s my man. 

So that’s what Dean did. He protected people. When he loved someone, he did whatever it took to keep them safe. It was the foundation on which he built his entire life; it was the cornerstone of every structure, every wall, everything that held him up and held him together and kept him from falling apart. 

You’re going to be okay, Sammy. I’ve got this. I’m okay. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got it all under control. 

Then she happened. He couldn’t keep her safe from himself. He failed. 

He tried to push her away, after. He tried to rebuild all those walls, for her sake, but she just knocked them down again. She demolished everything, right down to his crumbling foundations, and she loved him not in spite of what she saw in the wreckage, but because of it. 

Dean has always believed that he isn’t a man, isn’t strong, isn’t worth loving, if he can’t protect the people around him. She claims he’s wrong. He was skeptical, at first, but she keeps coming home to him; it’s hard to argue with that. They’re building something new together, and it feels solid. 

*

“Get your fucking moose hands off me, Sam, I’m fine,” Dean snarls. “Motherfucker, you’d think I never needed stitches before. Stop fussing.” 

Sam lets go of his arm with a huff, and Dean sits down on the bed a little harder than he meant to. 

“Welcome home,” she says flatly from the doorway. 

“Maybe you’ll have better luck with him, I give up,” Sam growls. He shoulders past her, closing the door behind himself. 

“It’s really not a big -” 

“Lie the fuck down, you moron,” she snaps, eyes blazing. “Bad enough you have to go and get yourself half-torn to pieces. If you make things even worse because you’re too fucking stubborn to deal with basic first aid, I swear to god -” 

She’s got that face on, the one that means it’s pointless to argue.  

“Okay. Okay, see? Lying down. Jesus.” 

Dean settles back against his pillows, trying to hide his wince as the movement sets off shooting pains down his side. She stands next to the bed, looking down at him, and her jaw is set as she takes in the big gash across his ribs and the swollen punctures in his shoulder, visible through the shredded, blood-stained remains of his shirts. 

“We’re gonna have to take care of that,” she says briskly, but her voice is shaking. Dean can see the fear in her eyes, and guilt twists in his ribcage. 

“I can deal with it,” he protests automatically. “It’s not a big deal, I’m fine, you don’t have to -” 

“Dean,” she interrupts. “Don’t. It’s me.” 

I’m fine, it’s not a big deal, I don’t need you. It’s the first line of defense, has been for as long as Dean can remember. In all those years, she’s the first person who really bothered to break through. She makes it look easy, too, like a tornado going through a crooked old fence. 

Dean feels off-kilter and flayed bare, suddenly. Now that he’s not bothering to keep up appearances, he just feels raw inside, like the monster clawed something deeper than his skin. 

She bustles around for a moment, gathering up bandages and antiseptic, and Dean’s throat feels too tight. He missed her. He always misses her, and now instead of letting him hold her, kiss her, touch her, she has to patch him up… and part of him is so pathetically grateful that he doesn’t have to do it himself, even though he knows that he could. He can take care of himself. He should be the one taking care of her. 

He just wants to hold her. He wants to reassure them both that he’s still breathing, that he’s home, that he’s safe. 

She comes back with scissors. She gently moves the ruined flannel aside and then snips up the front of the t-shirt, biting her lip intently and then scowling as she pulls the fabric away from his skin to reveal the livid bruises that are already blossoming across his chest. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he tries. His voice cracks on the last word, and her eyes snap up to meet his gaze. She opens her mouth to argue, pauses, frowns, then closes it again. 

She’s studying him. Dean feels a prickle of embarrassment, cheeks flushing under the weight of her stare. 

“What is it?” she asks softly. 

He wants to say, just come here, hold me. He can’t seem to force the words past his lips. 

Dean raises his less-injured shoulder in the barest suggestion of a shrug. It hurts. He rolls his eyes at himself and clenches his jaw. He can’t quite look at her. 

She watches for another second, and then she sighs, putting the scissors down on the nightstand. 

“Okay,” she whispers. “Can you sit up? At least help me get that off you.”

She slides into bed carefully, doing her best not to jostle him, and Dean sits up, gritting his teeth against the pain. She helps him ease the remains of both shirts off his shoulders and then tosses them aside. Dean settles back, fitting himself under her outstretched arm, shifting slightly onto his good side so that he can rest his cheek on her chest. He has to squeeze his eyes shut tight to ignore the way they’re burning. 

“I’m really glad you’re home,” she says, hoarse and fervent. She brings her free arm up to cup her hand to his cheek, and her thumb brushes back and forth in a soothing, mindless rhythm. 

Dean wants to apologize, wants to reassure her, wants to thank her… he fucking hates scaring her. 

He wants to promise that he’ll never scare her again, but that would be a lie. He wants to ask why she bothers, but they’ve had that conversation one too many times before; Dean’s starting to accept that there’s nothing he can do or say to convince her that she’d be better off without him. She’s stubborn that way. 

“I love you,” she says softly. “I got caught up. I’m sorry.”

Jesus, Dean can barely breathe. 

He wants to ask, What did I do to deserve you? He wants to ask, How do you always know? 

“Just for a minute,” he whispers. 

“As long as you want. I’m not going anywhere.” 

He’s choking on all the things he wants to say, variations on thank you and I’m sorry and I love you. 

He listens to her heartbeat, feels the rise and fall of her chest under his cheek, takes in the smell of her shampoo, and he reminds himself that he’s home. 

It’s nothing like the home he used to dream of; he lives in a bunker, no fucking picket fence in sight. He’s bleeding from a half-dozen places, and no matter what he might think in the brief stretches of peace between apocalypses, he’s never really safe. 

In this quiet moment, she could be mistaken for the soft sort of woman he used to imagine falling in love with, but she’s so much more than that. This tornado of a woman is sharp and tough and smart enough to break through every wall of bullshit he hides behind, and it’s terrifying, being exposed like that, but Dean wouldn’t have it any other way. 

It’s not what he pictured, but this is home. This is love. 

He doesn’t say anything. He has a feeling she’ll understand anyway; she always does. 

.

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Next part is here. 

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