#but instead he causes a fight because of his own impatience and/or desire to fight the Hulk for the opportunity to show that he’s better

[daydreamerdrew]

The Incredible Hulk (1968) #253

[tired-biscuit]

Cockwarming kiba as a punishment for him being jealous but he literally cannot stand it and instead tries to fuck you wildly 😩

18+ MDNI, fem!reader // cw: cockwarming, jealousy, degrading (reader gets called names), lots of bickering, kind of a sweet ending, established relationship.

↳ you wear a skirt that your boyfriend thinks is much too short for his own personal comfort. after he shares his (mostly unwanted) opinion on it, an argument ensues for which you both end up paying for.

all kiba wants to do is pound your pussy. but instead of doing that, he’s being forced to sit completely still, while you literally soak his cock as punishment.

it all happens so quick, neither of you remembers who had made the first move as a means to connect in the midst of the storm that is your argument. one second you were screaming at him, losing your shit and acting ‘batshit crazy’, and the next you were tasting his tongue in your mouth, experiencing the prickle of his canines tugging on your bottom lip like so many times before.

it’s different this time, however. while the kissing might be something you’re used to by now and is nothing short from a whirlwind of transparent need and an almost ferocious exhibition of love, the air in the room sits heavy; it’s laced with unresolved tension that you’re both secretly dreading for having to sort out.

it’s a sensitive matter. words had been said, poison unleashed, and you can’t take any of it back. panting on the couch, you’re both avoidant when it comes to facing the consequences as you try to cool down after the tense, oddly sexually-charged fight you’ve just had.

you suppose it’s safe to say that it’s not going all that well.

the living room has gotten hot, it’s been like this for the last twenty minutes or so. kiba’s body feels like it’s burning, reaching close to a hundred degrees because of how pissed he is at the fact that you keep on refusing to bounce up and down his dick in that slutty way that you know damn well he’s an absolute sucker for.

your body, meanwhile, has practically been set ablaze as an aftermath of the stretch that you willingly choose to endure between your legs. it makes you pulsate with heat right from within; causing you to simmer with annoyance and pleasure at the same time. he’s so snug inside you, fits you so well.

both of you want to move, it’s making you visibly desperate. but you can’t; at least not until one of you admits defeat first.

“apologize.”

“nah.”

a fed up scoff leaves you at his point-blank denial, at how he really makes an effort to say it as nonchalantly as possible. it’s like he doesn’t care, even if you know that he’d die for you at the end of the day. it’s just the kind of man he is.

you stare at one another; gazes filling to the brim with lust, but also getting intense, heated with bitter disapproval that emits from both sides in nearly equal amounts.

pride truly can be a curse. to an outsider, it would look like you’ve come to despise each other from how venomously you’re currently glaring at him and he at you. there are daggers hiding in your respective stares, though all their cuts are superficial. the blades might be honed, but neither of you lets them cut too deep. years of partnership has taught you well.

still, kiba’s anger is intense, so much so that it’s almost palpable in the room you’re in. the irked look that now sits on his face only fuels your own outrage that you feel for him. it’s no wonder that the longer you stare at your persistently obstinate boyfriend, the desire to spit the outright nastiest, most hurtful words that you’d ever be able to come up with on the spot, gets so profound that it nearly starts to swell within your chest.

they’re getting awfully impatient as they sit on the tip of your tongue, the insults. you can feel them pushing against the back of your teeth as they desperately try to break free so that they can relieve some of the frustration that dangerously bubbles inside you, and can thus cause damage you’d both regret later on.

you want to say them so badly, and yet, one look aimed at his dark brown eyes makes you swallow every bad word. makes you shove them down your throat, that feels way too tight because of the knot that’s currently residing in it. makes you keep yourself in-check and forces your mouth to remain shut, because you’re well aware that it’s not worth it, even if there’s red clouding every corner of your vision.

there’s nothing but love underneath the surface.

after all, you surely wouldn’t end up in this sticky situation if there was no heart, yes?

it’s time to try again.

“apologize.”

“no.”

“c’mon,” you huff, blinking away the merest hint of tears from your eyes. “apologize.”

“mm… stop that.”

the way you readjust ever so slightly then, wiggling your hips in the most careful manner, makes him swallow thickly this time, and causes the vein in the side of his neck to bulge against his tan skin.

kiba exhales loudly through his nose at the little movement, repressing the urge to groan in pleasure that it invokes. his lips press into a firm line when he looks up at you from underneath his dark lashes. he doesn’t want you to cry — he loves you, goddammit — but at the same time, he doesn’t want you to win either.

in his unfortunately small, male brain, he feels like you’re the one that’s in the wrong about the entire situation. just like you must surely feel like he is in yours.

but can you blame him for it, really? he simply isn’t capable of understanding the reason as to why you’d ever want to wear a skirt that short anywhere else but in the safe confines of your home, where he’d be the only one able to lay eyes on it and would consequently slide his hands underneath it just as well.

he’s overthinking it. is wondering if you’re doing it because you’re somehow trying to mess with him on purpose. if you are trying to make him jealous by wearing it, which you’ve indeed succeeded in doing already, and if you are trying to provoke him as well. god, what if you’re doing it to catch someone else’s eye? and whose eye exactly, if you are?

to be fair, he’s well aware of your freedom when it comes to picking and choosing your outfits, as well as every other thing, of course, and he normally doesn’t fuss about it at all but rather supports it instead. but come on; even you must admit that you’re acting straight up absurd this time.

aren’t you?!

the wretched thing is so tiny that it makes your entire ass peek out from underneath the hem. and yes, that’s when you’re not bending over at the middle. he’s made sure.

he could see everything as you’d carelessly strolled past him earlier, telling him that you’re ready to go out. could see the smooth back of your thighs, the fat of your ass. hell, he could even see how plump your fucking pussy looked in your cutesy underwear.

the same plump pussy that he’s sank balls deep into, now. the same fat ass that he’s got his hands full with; blunt nails sinking into the plush flesh as he hikes the piece of clothing that is to blame for all of this higher up your waist.

“i said no,” he mutters quietly, his breathing ragged from how overwhelmed and impatient he’s getting. his cock is leaking inside of you. it makes him twitch all over; he can’t stay still.

you make a note of how he doesn’t sound as self-asssured as he did before, even if his gaze remains unmoving from yours. and sure, while he might be stubborn as a bull, you don’t miss the unsure flicker of a muscle in his cheek when you purposefully squeeze around him, though. the way his dick throbs in response, warming your sensitive walls, causes one corner of your lips to kick upward slightly.

he’s giving in.

“c’mon, ki,” you utter sweetly, trying a different approach whilst squeezing him again just for good measure. “just say you’re sorry and we’ll, umm… forget this ever happened. yeah, baby?”

“fuck no,” he replies in a whisper, furrowing his brow at the sudden sugar in your tone. there’s sweat gleaming on it already.

“why not?”

“because.”

“because, why?”

“just ‘cause.”

“okay, but why?”

“‘cause i don’t wanna say it, all right?!” he frowns. “now stop pesterin’ me.”

you’re getting nowhere.

but what he does want from you, though, is for you to just fucking ride him already. this forced stillness, that you’re making him follow through with as punishment for what he’d said about your outfit earlier, is absolute torture. it’s his own personal kind of hell.

and he wants out.

“why don’t you want to say it?” you press on.

“‘cause,” he insists yet again, swallowing the saliva that’s gathered in his mouth for a second time.

silence stretches between you. your warm slick dribbles down to his balls. it makes his heart race.

“fine, whatever. have it your way, i give up,” you say, clearly done with it.

you start to lift your hips but he stops you. makes you stay on top of him with the help of both big hands wrapping around your curves. the callouses that touch your skin make your chest tighten. you’re getting slippery between your legs.

“keep sittin’.” his eyelids are so heavy when he looks at you and sighs in defeat when you push back against his grip, not listening. you feel so good, it makes him physically ache. he can’t have you running off, it’ll ruin him.

“no, i don’t wanna,” you talk back, scrunching the bridge of your nose. you keep pulling away from him now; pushing at his chest and trying to lift yourself off his lap. all this disobedient squirming that you’re doing clearly hits a nerve within him.

“fine, fine, damn! i don’t wanna say i’m sorry ‘cause i hate that slutty lil’ skirt and how fucking short it is, okay?” he obliges at long last, relishing the way you go still. “your entire ass is out when you wear it, for fuck’s sake.”

you quirk a brow, astounded. “so?”

he blinks. “what d’you mean ‘so’?”

“what does it matter if you hate it? that doesn’t give you permission to be mean to me about it!”

“no, i—”

“last time i checked, i can wear whatever i want. so if i want my ass to be out, then it sure as hell will be.”

now he’s the one that’s baffled. “i mean, it’s jus’ my opinion… why should i have to apologize for having an opinion?”

some opinion.

insecurity is more like it.

“whatever… do you really hate it, though? the skirt?” you look down at the place where you connect; at the glistening little spot where your clit is pressing against his dark pubic hair, now that you’ve settled back down.

“y-yeah.” his stomach is clenched tight, the muscle lines there visible from how strained he is and how badly he’s trying to keep himself from fucking right into you. it’s a struggle for you both, the entire cockwarming situation, but it seems like he’s taking it way worse than you.

“aha. sure, buddy.” he doesn’t miss the way your eyebrows shoot up towards your hairline at his unconvincing answer. you’re clearly more interested in his treacherous body language than what he has to say.

“what,” he nearly growls out. he’s getting frustrated, and the fact that you aren’t giving him what he wants, not letting him cum, is definitely not helping either. “what is it?”

“oh, nothing,” you chirp playfully, giggling a little. “nothin’ at all.”

“why are there always gotta be games when i’m with you?” he glares. snaps his jaw into place. “just say what you wanna say, is it really that hard?”

“mm,” you bring a finger up to your lips as you pretend to ponder. and just as he gets hopeful that you’ll speak your mind, just as he’s nearly delirious with want, all he gets as an answer is you leaning in and gently flicking the tip of his nose as you mock the depth of his voice and say, “and what happens if ‘i don’t wanna say it’?”

before he can respond, you grin and continue, “what if all i wanna do is, oh, i dunno… wear my slutty little skirt, as you’ve called it, and prance around in it right in front of everyone…?”

he stares up at you at your taunt. you watch with a twisted sense of victory as his pupils grow large to the size of a cat’s whenever it finds itself in the dark.

heat rises up kiba’s neck; it makes his face turn so red at your provocative remarks that you’re positive it’d be hot all over if you were to touch it. but the blush does not happen because of embarrassment, like you’d initially thought at the start. no, no.

this is pure, jealous fury.

the lewd embrace that your soft cunt continues to provide around his cock tightens to an almost unbearable degree when he grabs you by the hips again all of a sudden, and holds you in a grip that’s so iron-like that it causes his knuckles to flash stark white because of it.

“what’re you, h-hey— n-no, fuck!” your legs squeeze around him as he slams into you with relentless force, then; with no warning whatsoever. it’s an action he’s rarely seen accomplishing without your approval first, but he doesn’t even think about seeking it out in that exact moment.

he doesn’t think you deserve it, really.

at least not when you act like a brat.

“fuck… this. you can wear that shitty skirt for as long as ya want, sweetheart,” he whispers, every breath laboured. “but lemme just make one thing clear; you won’t even be able to walk, much less sit in it after i’m done with that little whorish cunt of yours that you wanna flaunt around so bad.”

“oh, fu-fuck you!” you repeat with a squeal at the sudden intrusion; mouth popping open, eyes squeezing shut. your fingers twitch as you grab fistfuls of his hair and try to make him ease his ruthless pounding a bit.

he smirks. “you’re doin’ it right now.” fucker.

the squelches are so loud. the slapping of skin against skin stings you. the tears that threaten to spill over your waterline are hard to hide, now. it all makes your upper lip quiver.

and yet, it doesn’t sway him into mercy.

kiba doesn’t listen, nor does he care as he puts his hand on the back of your neck, tangles his fingers into your hair and presses you flush against his chest. ever since your panties had come sliding down your legs, currently clinging for dear life around one of your ankles, he’s turned completely brain-dead.

because no matter how many times you mewl and cry out now, all he does is grunt and grumble into the tender spot where your neck meets your shoulder. he simply doesn’t budge. his pounding has even gotten so ruthless that he’s got you gritting your teeth from how close you’re getting to climax and overstimulation.

“you think i’ll just stay completely still like a good boy while there’s a cute lil’ slut sitting on my cock?” his exhales are warm against your skin. arrogance drips off his tone as he kisses your cheek softly, “baby, who do you take me for?”

you’re both sweating like crazy by the time you start to comply and help him by wiggling your hips again. your walls are just so tight, so wet, and your hole keeps fluttering around his cock in a way that makes his eyes want to roll back into his skull. the fact that your tits are out and are being shoved right into his goddamn face as you sit on his lap and keep your arms tightly wrapped around his neck is pure heaven.

he nearly shivers when you drag your nails through his hair and let your knees sink deeper into the cushions of the sofa you’d shoved him onto long moments prior straddling him in pure frustration.

“i’m sorry,” you whimper through tears and quiet sniffles when the first heatwave of your orgasm rushes through you, shaking you to your fucking core. his thrusts have gotten jerky and sloppy, but he doesn’t stop. just keeps on pushing you through your high.

“m’sorry, too, sweetheart,” he heaves, pulling you in for a kiss that’s more spit and clashing of teeth than anything else. his forehead rests against your own and his eyes are soft. “sorry for being so mean and acting like a prick. i’ll make it up to you, promise.”

“i love you.” your eyelids flutter shut at the overwhelming sensation, the bliss, the fullness. “…god.”

“love ya too.” he chuckles. tries to focus on his movements even if the way you clench around him like a vice wipes his mind entirely clean. “and forget about what i said, yeah? who cares what you wear? i can fight if someone tries shit with you… i’ll knock out their fucking teeth if i have to.”

you grin, all dazed and crooked. “really? you’d fight for me?”

“mhmm,” he hums lazily, hiking your skirt up again as if he wants to prove a point. his gaze fixates on it as he watches how his cock pushes in and out of your drenched cunt, the ring of milky arousal gathering at the hilt of him. “you know, it kind of fits you well… a slutty lil’ skirt for a slutty lil’ pussy.”

all is forgiven with the quiet laugh you share then.

[ruins-and-rewritez]

Ok let's straighten up some things while o have my mind on it

I'm not the biggest fan of Shadow and Bone (Netflix) unpopular opinion? probably but it feels like I need to reiterate for the reason that I keep seeing posts about show fans not having read the books

I have a whole slew of reasons for this so buckle up buttercup cause this could take a while

I absolutely love Six of Crows, absolutely stellar book, best one in the Grishaverse by far (in my opinion, mind I haven't read KoS duology yet, I'm getting there) diverse, inclusive cast, incredible plot, Kaz, you know really, job well done Leigh

Shadow and Bone, also good, but I didn't fall in love with Kaz characters half as much, still addictive read, 10/10

So having the Crows in the show was a real high point for me, mostly excited to eventually watch their interactions and watch relationships develop, and knowing that the best was yet to come, and of course just the facts that my favorite characters were being brought to life on screen even if they had a much more limited screen time then their more prominent Shadow and Bone counterparts

Honestly, Season 1, I don't have the biggest problem with

It's pretty well scripted, fairly accurate toward the books minus a few things that from a movie/tv standpoint probably weren't as seemingly integral to the plot as they didn't pack as big a punch as something like Alina being the Sun Summoner

I was kinda annoyed when they outed Kirigan as evil so early on when they probably could have waited toward the end so you could find out how Alina did because reading that line I remember thinking "fcking plottwisttt" but it's pretty normal show wise to point out the villain early on to you have a better grip on the good vs. evil of it all so I can forgive that

The original Crow trio having a plot line intersecting Alina's own was actually brilliant in its own way and was totally something that I could see as canon (the whole Alina climbing into the carriage was completely accurate on the Crows luck meter)

From a Crow lover standpoint I was pretty satisfied with the whole combination of the two and didn't really have a lot to complain about so I was really hyped for what new shenanigans they'd get into in Season 2 (and for my bby Wy but that's a whole nother ballgame)

So I impatiently what for the second season expecting it to meet my ridiculously high expectations, surely it was going to be on par with the previous one

Not

The Shadow and Bone side of the show was fine, pats on the back all around, perfecting casting for Nikolai, not much to irritate my desire for perfection

But I was fairly pissed off at the Crow half of things, it felt to me that the creators decided that they no longer cared about developing the characters like they were cast-off characters that didn't deserve anymore then what they got

I hated how Wy and Jes were immediately shoved into a relationship instead of their book-canon slow burn which I find much more appealing to their dynamic like it defeats the whole point the Wylan as Kiwi arc because Jesper just throws himself into it instead of the natural progression we get in the books (Jesper's self doubt of the whole situation being so important to his character and it just being ignored to fast track their relationship was unnecessary and honestly unfair)

I hated that the entire plot line of the second book (CK) was made into the parallel of the siege and storm arc when in the series it occurs later in the timeline

This of course destroyed any hope of the proper developments (character and relationship wise) between the crows, destroying their original foundations of trust and understanding

Having Kaz fight the Dregs wasn't as impactful as it should have been

And the progression of the (CK) plot wasn't as smooth and important without the Ice Court arc why the fuck would Kaz need control of the Dregs if he wasn't going up full force against Van Eck I mean he demolishes Pekkas entire dynasty in like two scenes what does he need more bodies for

The trama and experiences of their past are largely ignored save Kaz whose trama is an enormous part of his character. That's what made the books so addicting and intriguing to the whole audience

Usually people side with the underdog relating their own troubles and problems to whatever trama or deficiency they themselves find the characters going through as the story progresses

They beauty of Six of Crows is that each one of them is so faulted and struggling with their own set of problems that it's almost impossible to not relate to at least one of them

Fast tracking the journeys of beloved characters is painful especially when you know how they truly grew into themselves and their lives

I mean I'm probably being hyper-critical over one show when plenty of shows have their own set of flaws ands issues but it's like

They put all this effort into creating a brand new storyline for the Crows in the first season, a mission to accomplish that gave the audience a nice way to see they're dynamic and questionably moral choices and then in season 2 they just went and skipped ahead, over everything that makes Six of Crows soooo good and skipped to the end where Kaz finally gets his revenge on Pekka because it was more action packed then a bunch of trama-riddled teenagers breaking into an actual high security prison in the middle of that country's biggest celebration of the year but okay I'm just some nerd that happens to appreciate literary accuracy in show/movie development so forget me

I'm not a total monster there's plenty of things about the show I appreciate but I'm still angry that my Crow babies went done justice

Show pros here

[peachycheol]

| reliable |

© banner credit: thank you to the love of my life @suhdreams​ for making this banner for me 🥺💘 ➸ summary: when people say ‘not all men’, they’re actually right. kim mingyu, your best friend, would never disappoint you. especially not in the bedroom.  ➸ genre: pwp 😌 ➸ pairing: best friend!mingyu x reader  ➸ warning: dirty talk, slight dumbification, heavy petting, unprotected sex (pls use protection irl), cream pie, oral (fem. receiving), cum eating, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, yn is really horny? ➸ w.c: 3.2k ➸ tags: you can all thank @risquewonu​ for this <333  

➸ author’s note: ahh, i’m sorry this took me so long! i didn’t mean to write this much, but what the smuth wants, the smuth gets. also, i want to thank you all for 100 followers! i’ll make a separate post to properly thank you all, but i am!!! baffled!!! i really appreciate the support ;u; love you guys! 

If there are two things in this world that you are absolutely certain of, they are: 1) Men ain’t shit, and 2) with the exception of Kim Mingyu. Knowing this information doesn’t really benefit you in any way. You still go out on Tinder dates that leave you high and dry 15 minutes after taking you home. And Kim Mingyu is still your very platonic best friend, who seems to be reliable in every single way except perhaps in the one way you need most desperately. 

But for all you know, he could be just like every other male in bed. He couldn’t be unbelievably handsome, the most thoughtful, caring person you know, and a sex god; it just wouldn’t be fair! No, it is much easier to convince yourself that Mingyu’s perfection only extended to being a best friend, if only for your peace of mind. Otherwise, you’d have to live with the possibility that the only person who can give you sweet release is the only one you’re technically not supposed to fuck. 

For reasons that seem to become annoyingly hazy every time you lie down next to him on his bed, just as you are at this moment. 

The two of you often end nights out like this, scrolling through one another’s TikTok’s until the wee hours of the morning, laughing loudly until his neighbors threaten to file a noise complaint. As someone who has claimed him as your best friend for three years, you know you’re supposed to be used to the smell of the musky cologne that clings onto his sheets and the feeling of his warm body as he leans closer to show you his For You Page. But lately, it seems harder and harder to fight off the warmth that pulses straight to your core whenever he does anything as simple as laugh, making you shiver when his breath tickles the side of your neck. 

God, you just really need to get laid properly. You lick your dry lips and try to remind yourself that you have no idea if Mingyu would even be able to satisfy you. Though you do have to admit you couldn’t imagine any situation where the boy isn’t overly generous and eager to please-- No! Just watch the damn TikToks! 

“Hey, you good?” Mingyu suddenly asks, nudging your side. “Why aren’t you laughing? ‘His package needs to come in the fe-mail’! That one’s gold!”

You let out a snort. Leave it to Mingyu to bring you back to reality with one line. Even when you don’t say a word, he knows exactly what you need in a moment, which in this case is a reminder that he’s your very dorky friend. “Shut up, that’s so stupid,” you say, but you can’t help but laugh along with him when it replays.

“Aha, you laughed though.” Satisfied with your response he scrolls down to a video of a girl smiling suggestively into the camera. She points to the caption that says ‘If all the boys that made me cum were in my room with me right now, I would…’ Suddenly, the camera pans and she looks at the screen tiredly. The caption now read as ‘Be alone. Men are trash’.

At this, you bust out with a howl of laughter, clutching at your stomach. It was kind of sad, but it was good to know you weren’t alone in this world. All the while, Mingyu stares at you with an eyebrow raised. Once you calm down, you meet his amused gaze. “What are you looking at?”

“You thought it was that funny, huh? It’s not even that accurate,” he says teasingly. 

You roll your eyes. “Um, yeah it is. I’ve never met a man who could make me cum, and clearly many other people can relate. This video has 1.4k likes!”

Mingyu quickly puts his phone down and pouts. “Nu uh! Not all guys are that incompetent!” 

“Men are such babies,” you sigh. “They are that incompetent! You know how many dates I went to last semester, right? Not one of them made me cum!”

“Okay, I told you before you even went on those dates that those guys weren’t worth your time.” Mingyu waves his hand dismissively. “For your information, I have made sure that all the ladies that I’ve taken to the bedroom had at least one orgasm. At least!”

“Mingyu, sweetie,” you coo, patting his cheek as if to comfort him. “They were all faking it, because they didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”  Right? They all had to have faked it. You try to tell yourself this, try to reign in the last bit of sanity you have before your mind wanders off to anywhere inappropriate.

Your best friend now props himself up so that you could properly see the smirk plastered across his annoyingly chiseled features. “You’re so sure, huh? I bet I could make you cum multiple times. Easily.” 

Your mouth falls open in shock. It isn’t uncommon for the two of you to taunt each other like this, but you have also never been in such a vulnerable mood. It’s the type of mood that has your heart racing impossibly fast, the type of mood that has your panties pathetically damp from just one sentence. You blink, trying to regain as much composure as you can. You know it’s too late, though; your imagination is already flashing through scenes of your deepest desires, all being fulfilled by the man in front of you. But Mingyu is only joking, so you do what you can to continue playing along and pretend like you don’t want him to just fuck you into the mattress until you were drooling into his sheets. 

“I-I seriously doubt that!” you say, but there is no conviction in your voice. Clearing your throat, you try adding, “Dude, I’ve literally seen you fall down a flight of stairs when you were sober. And we were going up. Kinda hard to imagine that you’ll know how to fuck me to an orgasm when you can’t even walk right.” 

Now you’re just lying through your teeth, but you want to hold off the inevitable moment that Mingyu discovers your apparent arousal for as long as possible. The last thing you need right now is for him to laugh in your face.

Mingyu chuckles, then suddenly shifts so that his arms are placed on either side of your head, trapping you underneath him. To his surprise, you do nothing to push him off like you usually do at this point. Still, he doesn’t plan on being the first to back off, so he continues his little game, intent on winning. “See, this is why you can’t find a guy who can satisfy you. You clearly don’t know what to look for.” He leans down until the tip of his nose grazes yours. For good measure, he drops his voice an octave and says, “You’ll be the one who can’t walk right when I’m done with you.” 

Perplexingly, his shameless flirting doesn’t make you move as he predicted. Nor does it make you look annoyed. Instead, you look up at him with eyes that are unmistakably glazed over with something he didn’t quite expect to see: pure lust. It immediately sends a rush of blood down to his cock. He blinks. Oh. So this is where the night is going. He only falters for a moment, but he soon flashes a breathtaking smile down at you, his eyes glinting mischievously. 

 It isn’t like he’s never thought about it before; he had just assumed that once you started calling him your best friend, you were also lowkey telling him that sex was off the table. And it wasn’t like he minded, because he definitely liked being by your side knowing it was fully okay to be himself since you were obligated to love him regardless. Plus there was just something about you that made him want to take care of you and if being your best friend was the only way he could do it, then that had been fine by him. But now that he knows that he can take care of you in another way, in the way that he sometimes found himself yearning for on lonely nights, he is all too eager to break free of the unspoken boundaries between the two of you. 

“And what am I looking for?” you whisper. 

“It seems like you’re looking for me, baby,” he responds softly, before pressing a kiss where your jaw meets your neck. He slowly drags his lips down the side of your neck, and revels in how it already has you pressing your legs together. “Damn, you weren’t kidding when you said those guys didn’t make you cum, huh? Is that why you’re already so fucking worked up? You want to cum that badly?”

You nod wordlessly, not quite ready for Mingyu to hear the desperate whine that would surely leave your lips as he continues pressing wet kisses along your skin. You opt to simply thread your fingers in his hair and tug hard enough to show your impatience. It seems to trigger something in him; all in an instant, your best friend’s soft lips clash against your own, his tongue easily sliding into your mouth, all the while while his hand reaches down to grab one of your thighs. He squeezes it teasingly before pushing it outwards, which causes the mini skirt you’re wearing to bunch up around your waist, revealing your panties and how they cling to your pussy like a second skin. 

“M-mingyu!” you squeak into his lips when you feel his fingers tentatively rub small circles into the wet spot. He nips at your lip harshly as he starts to rub more deliberately, the flimsy fabric of your underwear creating a delicious friction against your clit. “H-hah! Yes, o-oh my god!” 

“Fuck, you’re already so wet for me, baby girl,” he chuckles, but he knows he isn’t one to talk while his cock is half hard just from hearing the way you moan his name. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you. You’re not leaving this room until your little pussy cums nice and hard on my cock.” 

“Ngh!-- yes p-please! Please, Mingyu,” you beg mindlessly. Your eyebrows are scrunched together in concentration. Despite your best friend’s promises, you are still hesitant to hold out any hope for anything more than what you’re accustomed to, so you try to take as much as you can while it lasts. However, in your lustful daze, you had forgotten that if Kim Mingyu is anything, he is a man of his word. 

 You let out a high-pitched moan when his fingers suddenly grind harsh circles into your clit, more surprised than anything else that he even knew where to find it. “But first,” he says, licking his lips, “you’re going to be a good girl and cum just like this. Right into your filthy little panties. Can you do that for me, baby?” 

He takes your drawn out whine as a response, and continues to rub relentlessly over your hardened clit until your legs begin to shake. That’s when he shoves the soaked material of your underwear to the side and pinches the bud. Hard. 

He rolls your clit between the pads of his fingertips over and over, sending jolts of electric pleasure all the way to your toes. It causes them to curl, all the while you feel the heat simmering in your lower abdomen finally coil tighter and tighter. “Fuckfuckfuck,” you chant, the words coming out slurred like you’re a teenager who’s gotten drunk from one sip of champagne. “M-mingyu-- mmh! I t-think I’m going to--!” 

A loud cry leaves your lips the moment the coil snaps, and you nearly tear up from how much better it feels to finally cum on someone else’s fingers, especially Mingyu’s long, thick digits.  He soothingly slides them through your drenched folds, mesmerized by how much wetness now covered his hand. “That’s it, baby,” he encourages. Once your body slumps back into the mattress, he brings his fingers up to see how they glisten in the light. “We’ve barely even started and look at what the mess you’ve already made. You must have been waiting so long for me to fuck you, huh?” 

Not even your post-orgasm buzz can keep you from getting irked by Mingyu’s cockiness, which is why you reach your own hand down to squeeze his cock through his jeans. “Seems like I’m not the only one who’s been waiting for this,” you say with a sly grin of your own. He watches you, jaw clenched, as you swiftly pop the button of his pants open and slip your fingers past the waistband of his underwear to take hold of his fully hardened member. 

It feels warm and heavy in your palm, which can barely wrap around the girth. You bite your lip, your pussy greedily clenching around nothing at the thought of how good it would stretch you out.

“I should have known you’d be a fucking tease,” Mingyu rasps. His hips buck into your hand involuntarily, and his smile returns when he notices how the movement makes you whimper in anticipation. 

There is a beat of silence when you and Mingyu meet eyes before the both of you begin undressing each other as fast as you can, haphazardly tugging off both your shirts, his pants, and your pesky undergarments. Once he’s tossed aside your soiled panties, he immediately presses your thighs apart to get a full view of your sopping cunt. “So pretty,” he mumbles to himself, spreading the lips apart with his fingers. His member throbs at the sight, the tip leaking precum when he sees how your pussy clenches in anticipation. “I bet it’s going to look even prettier when it’s taking my fat cock, don’t you think?”

The two of you watch in awe as Mingyu starts to sink into your entrance, a garbled moan leaving your lips when the tip alone already has you feeling so full. “Mingyu, h-how is-- ooh!-- your d-dick soo-- f-fucking big? A-Ah!” It takes a good while for you to finish your sentence as each of Mingyu’s shallow thrusts leave you gasping for air. By the time he bottoms out, the both of you are panting hard, both engrossed by how snugly his cock fits in your walls. 

“Shit, if I had known you’d be this tight, I would have fucked you sooner,” Mingyu groans. He slowly drags his member out of you, letting you feel every inch of him before he surges forward into a feverish pace that already has his bed frame creaking loudly. He is definitely getting a noise complaint from his grumpy neighbors tonight. But seeing you underneath him like this, lips parted and legs spread, definitely makes it difficult to care about anything other than the desire to hear more of your needy cries. “Does it feel good, baby girl? Do you like how my cock fills your little pussy?”

“It fuh--!--ngh, feels s-soo good,” Having already came once, your sensitivity is on overload, and each rough thrust of Mingyu’s hips, each crude slap of his skin against yours, is enough to drive you closer and closer to delirium. “Mmh-- please, Mingyu! F-fuck me so deep!”

“Anything for my little cockslut.” He moves quickly to kneel between your legs, hooking his arms underneath your knees to keep them open as he continues to pound into you. The new position instantly makes you keen loudly, eyes rolling to the back of your head when you feel his member brush against your cervix. 

“Fuuuuck,” you sob and clutch at the sheets. His grip on your legs tightens and he angles his hips so that he hits that spot every time, rendering you completely incoherent. You want to beg him to fuck you like this forever, to tell him you’d do anything to feel his cock fuck you open every night, but you can only babble, unable to comprehend anything that isn’t the insatiable thirst burning within you.

“Damn baby, did I fuck you stupid?” Seeing you so drunk on his cock, he wonders how anyone could ever fuck you without wanting to see you cum over and over again. His hair falls over his eyes as he fucks up into you with renewed vigor, his hot skin covered in a light sheen of sweat. He grits his teeth when he feels how tightly your walls grip onto him.“Shit-- you must want me to make you cum again, baby girl. Your little pussy just keeps sucking me in.”

“H-hah, y-yes! Yes, please god, Mingyu, I want to c-cum again. P-please let me cum,” you beg, practically writhing as you pathetically attempt to meet his thrusts. Without any hesitation, Mingyu brings down his thumb and presses it into your swollen clit, causing your body to seize up suddenly. “A-Aah Mingyu! I’m--!” The intensity of your orgasm has your back arching off the mattress, head thrown back in a silent scream. Wave after wave of pleasure continuously washes over you, seemingly unending, unlike any orgasm you ever thought possible. 

“That’s right baby girl, get my cock nice and wet,” Mingyu growls. He fucks you through your release as he sloppily chases his own, not too far behind with how your walls are pulsing around him. He makes sure his cock is deep inside you and stills his hips when fills you with his hot cum. “Fuck, this pussy was fucking made for me.”

Just as you think you’ve finally come down from your high, he pulls out of you and he shifts to lower himself to place his mouth on your spent pussy. “M-mingyu!” 

You squirm and half-heartedly try to shove his head away, far too sensitive to have his tongue licking into your leaking entrance, but Mingyu is persistent. He pushes your legs to your chest to keep you from squeezing them close, and hums when he tastes the hot mixture of your and his own cum on his lips. The way he slurps and sucks at your folds is absolutely sinful as he eats you out like you’re the most delectable treat. It almost hurts to feel so much ecstasy at once, but it still leaves you mewling for more, unable to get enough of the boy.

Your third orgasm ripples over you when he suddenly scrapes his teeth over your abused clit, and you feel a tear slide down your cheek as you weakly shake against his mouth. 

Mingyu is smiling when he pulls away, looking slightly ridiculous with how his lips still glisten with cum. You tiredly slump back into his pillows, eyes already drooping close. “What is it?”

“I told you I could do it~” he says proudly. He goes to grab some tissues from the bedside table so that he could start cleaning you up, giggling all the while. It really is unfair how he could look so cute moments after railing you into another dimension. 

You groan. You’re never going to hear the end of this.

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Irresistible Danger - Part 61

Synopsis:  After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 2,591

Warnings: nsfw, smut, swearing

ID Masterlist can be found HERE

Masterlist of all my fics can be found HERE

Taking Care of Business

You were in shock and at a loss for words, while Amber’s impatient expression as she stared you down meant that she obviously expected you to say something. When it became apparent that you weren’t going to kickstart this lovely conversation, she gave an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes before breaking the silence with a haughty voice that instantly grated on your nerves.

“Well, are you going to let me in, or what?”

Your subconscious gave a resounding scream of ‘fuck off!’ and hissed at Amber, while your brain warned to proceed with caution. The last thing you wanted right now was a fight, but it wasn’t clear which path led to a worse confrontation: letting her in or telling her to leave. Deciding to attempt civility, you clamped down the words ‘I’d really rather not’ that were on the tip of your tongue, and instead gave a small nod and stood back from the doorway to let her in. The sickly sweet smell of flowers hit when she passed by, and you had the incredibly random thought of where the fuck does she get perfume in an apocalypse? 

Ignoring the unimportant question, you watched as she glanced around your room, eyes flickering over the small bed, the wooden chair piled with clothes, and then the stack of old rickety crates holding your belongings. Her face scrunched up in utter disdain of the meager surroundings, solidifying what Ben had once said about her coming from a privileged background before the apocalypse. Her room upstairs probably had all kinds of fancy furniture and clothes. You wanted to feel annoyed, even a bit ashamed, but then remembered whose bed you were now spending the night in and immediately lost all sense of self-consciousness. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter what material possessions she might own, because you had Negan and she didn’t. No matter how this conversation went, that fact wasn’t going to change, and nothing she said was going to ruin your newfound happiness. You were still nervous and feeling a bit cagey being in the same room as the woman who was far from your biggest fan, but the security of knowing where you and Negan stood with one another helped you to keep calm and project an air of indifference. 

However, you still didn’t want to play this too arrogantly, and decided not to close the door the entire way, pushing it so that there was still a centimeter of space keeping it unlatched. The crack was small enough for her to not have noticed, and gave you that extra padding of reassurance. You didn’t trust her one bit, and wanted an easier exit, if necessary, or a way to hopefully be heard if you yelled for help. Not that you were too worried about a physical confrontation; you looked up and down her petite, small frame and thought, you can take her if you have to. The subconscious gave an aggressive yell of agreement and stared Amber down with laser-like focus. 

Not wanting to make any assumptions, you decided to stand there silently and wait her out. It didn’t take long, as she abruptly turned to you with a sneer and said, “I bet you’re feeling mighty proud of yourself right about now.”

Well then, guess we’re going with no pretense or attempt at subtlety. Raising your brows in surprise, you honestly replied, “I’m not sure I know what you mean.” You were certain this had to do with Negan, but weren’t sure if it was in regards to the last few weeks, if she had heard about the scene in the cafeteria, or, perhaps, it was something else entirely.

She narrowed her eyes at you and practically hissed, “Don’t play stupid with me. I know that you’re the one who convinced him to throw us all out.” 

You couldn’t hide the look of utter surprise at her words. Had Negan said something to the wives today? But when?! You had seen him off on the run to the outpost this morning, and there had only been perhaps a 20 minute space of time from when his men had sat down for dinner and he himself had entered the cafeteria. Had he spent that small chunk of time talking to his wives?

Apparently so, as Amber confirmed a few seconds later. 

“I can’t believe he would just march in there and tell us, tell me, that we’re not needed anymore.” She scoffed, as if the idea was laughable. “And I bet it was your idea that we lose our rooms too, right? You couldn’t even let us stay where we were, let us be on the same floor as him. No, you somehow convinced him to kick us out, and tell us we’re to ‘reintegrate into the community’. What the fuck!” 

She had used her fingers in air quotes around the reintegrate part, which would’ve been a bit humorous if not for her screeched curse at the end. Your emotions were all jumbled, since part of you wanted to fist pump with joy that Negan had decided to officially move out his wives and make them a part of the community, while another part of you knew that to let your happiness show would only cause Amber to escalate. And while you didn’t feel too bad for her, especially considering the way she’d treated other women like Maria and Trixie, you could still relate on a human level to the shitty feeling of being unwanted. It was that little crumb of empathy that you tried to lead with, despite the subconscious begging you to just bypass all that and use a fist instead. 

“I honestly wasn't aware that he did that,” you said, hoping she could hear the sincerity in your voice. “I understand that it’s gotta be frustrating to-”

“Don’t try to feed me bullshit by saying you understand!” she interrupted, eyes blazing with anger. “You think that just because you waltzed in there with your little food trays and spread your legs for him whenever he wants that it makes you better than us. You could’ve played by the rules and become a wife like the rest of us, but nooo. You must think you’re really fucking special, to screw us all over and wreck the entire system! News flash bitch, you’ll never be enough to satisfy him, and he’ll get bored with you soon enough. Then we’ll see how much you ‘understand’ when the tables turn and he asks us to come back while you’re the one tossed to the side! Because that’s what will happen in time, and it’ll make him look weak and indecisive to the entire community. I hope you’re prepared for that, for his potential downfall to be all. Your. Fault!”   

Well so much for going the empathetic route, you thought as a spark of anger burned in your gut. She stood there, breathing heavily from her outburst and wearing a cruel smirk as she waited to see what effect her words would have on you. Said effect was that both your subconscious and brain were now wielding swords, ready to go to battle and take her out. 

Any desire to try and make peace flew out the window, as you saw through her act and straight to exactly what she was trying to accomplish by confronting you. How dare she take her own hurt and insecurities and try to throw them back on you. And what made you extra mad was how calculated they were to cause injury. She had spit the words with pure venom, designed to seep into your veins and poison all confidence that what you had with Negan was real. 

If she had said this to you even two days ago, it might’ve actually worked, might’ve combined with that padlocked box of questions and been the tipping point to send you over the edge into fully believing every word. There had also been the ball of self-doubt, which until the other night had been constantly following you around and whispering that Negan would never give up a group of women who were always at his beck and call for someone as independent and outspoken as you. That he couldn’t possibly change his rules so completely for you. That he couldn’t possibly love you. 

But this wasn’t two days ago, and you knew better now. 

Spine stiffening, you stared Amber down and said in a cool yet stern voice, “It’s obvious that nothing I say will make you happy, unless it’s that I leave Negan alone and let you have him.” You saw her eyes spark in anticipation at the words, as if she expected you to do just that. “But that’s not going to happen.” 

Her fists clenched at her sides, and she opened her mouth, probably to spout more vitriol. But you weren’t having it. In fact, she wasn’t even worth the effort of fighting, and refusing to spend another second entertaining her bullshit would be a more satisfying win than arguing back and forth. 

“I think it’s time for you to leave.” 

“Why you-”

“Leave, Amber. Before this escalates and ends in a public and unattractive way. Unless you want others to see you escorted out of the Sanctuary.”

You were possibly talking out your ass with that last bit, since you didn’t have the authority to ban anyone from the compound. However, she didn’t need to know that, and you could tell that the threat worked when her mouth clamped shut, eyes blazing with hatred as she marched towards you. For a moment, you had the fear that she was going to start a physical altercation. Instead, she angrily stomped past, a hair’s breadth away from knocking into you as the pungent smell of fake flowers trailed after her. 

“This isn’t over, bitch.” 

The words were said as she grabbed the knob and threw back the door dramatically. It flew open and slammed into the wall, swinging mere inches from your face. It would’ve been an impressive exit, except that she had barely set foot out into the hall when every muscle in her body went taut as a bowstring, and her face drained of all color as she looked at something up and to the left. 

Taking a step forward to glance out the doorway, your eyes widened in shock at the sight of Negan standing right outside. You weren’t sure how long he had been there, but seeing as how the door had been unlatched and opened a crack the entire time, he had to have at least heard the end of your conversation. 

Her mouth opened but no words came out, and you knew that she was frantically trying to come up with a way to twist the situation. If given enough time, she’d make herself look squeaky clean and try to manipulate things so that it would appear as if the confrontation was somehow your fault. Rather than give her time to come up with a bullshit excuse, Negan spoke first, his tone low and deadly serious. 

“Don’t say a fucking word. Nothing’s changed from what I told you earlier, and I don’t want any more fucking feedback about it. You and I are fucking done, and if you can’t handle that, then you’ll be escorted the fuck out first thing tomorrow morning, just like she fucking said.”

You felt a spark of satisfaction at his agreement with your threat to make her leave, at the way he stood in solidarity with you. Amber deflated slightly at his words, but she still glanced back at you over her shoulder, eyes shooting daggers. Unable to help one moment of pure pettiness, you looked her square in the eye and got the last word.

 “I’d say this is fucking over.” 

She knew she’d been beaten, you could see it written all over her face. But Amber was prideful, and she’d not crumple in front of an audience. Instead, she held her head high and walked quickly past Negan without a second glance. The two of you watched her march down the hall and disappear into the stairwell, and you had a feeling that, despite her brave face, she was going to find somewhere private to hide and lick her emotional wounds. 

Negan turned to you, the anger slipping from his expression as he scanned up and down your body, as if to make sure that there was no physical injury. Thankfully, all wounds had been emotionally inflicted and they were nothing more than shallow cuts, rather than the deep stabs Amber had been hoping for. 

“How long have you been standing there?”

His lips curled up into a pleased smirk, as he replied, “Long enough to know that you had the situation fucking handled, and didn’t need my help.”

You huffed out a tiny laugh at that, pleased to know that while he had been listening, he hadn’t just charged in and taken over. He’d been willing to stay back and let you deal with the conflict on your own...had trusted your ability to take care of it. 

You started to exit the room and close the door, but halted when he said, “Why don’t you pack a bag first.”

“What?” you blinked rapidly at him in confusion.

He shrugged casually, as if to try and offset the seriousness of his words. “Since you’re spending nights with me, it only makes fucking sense to move some of your stuff up to my room. Maybe then you won’t keep stealing my fuckin’ toothbrushes and clothes. Maybe if you ask nicely enough, I’ll even clear out a drawer or two.”

It took a few seconds to process that Negan had just done the apocalypse version of asking you to start moving in with him. Your subconscious and brain had linked arms and were twirling in a circle while tossing confetti into the air, but you tried to act as cool and casual as Negan had about it, nodding and turning back into your room. It wasn’t until you were sure he couldn’t see your face that you allowed a huge grin and silent scream of excitement.

Grabbing the brown sack, you threw in half your t-shirts (aka the ones that were currently clean) and the navy blue gym shorts. A slight blush tinted your cheeks as you tried to quickly and discreetly throw in a few pairs of underwear and socks, though you knew he was standing in the doorway and watching your every move. You also grabbed the toothbrush and toothpaste, but left the shower items. Negan had plenty of those to share, and you weren't willingly giving up the luxury of his fluffy towels and fancy soaps. You topped off the bag with some extra hair ties, a comb, and the copy of Harry Potter. It wasn’t everything, but it put enough of a dent in your belongings that you wouldn’t need to stop back here every evening after dinner, and could instead go straight to his rooms. 

Walking towards him, you went to sling the bag strap up over your arm, but he held out his hand, palm up in offering. You gave a joking eye roll, but passed over the bag so that he could sling it up over his own broad shoulder. Instinctively reaching for his hand, you laced your fingers with his and gave a squeeze of thanks, as the two of you started off down the hall and upstairs to his room.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

[deaththesyd]

To The Brink Of Confession: Chapter 3, Trapped

Finally done! I think I got a little carried away with the length, but I just couldn't stop writing! Hope y'all enjoy the final chapter! Also, per request @mytanuki-kun

Summary: Trapped in her domain, taking on what was left to fester.

The day he had been dreading finally arrived, and he was forced back into her proximity with no place to hide. He still tried though, but when that didn’t work and she approached him, signaling him out of the group, there was simply no way to excuse himself without merely delaying the inevitable. He had been acting a coward, but was he really willing to risk running away? Causing a scene in front of his fellow Akatsuki members? He looked away from her only to meet the daring eyes of his partner, Itachi, who surely knew that he had been contemplating an excuse that would keep the wrath he could feel rolling off her in waves from unleashing upon him. Another moment of weakness and he turned away, and was caught off guard by the side glance he received from Hidan of all people. Kisame was trapped, and the woman in front of him was growing impatient with his lack of a timely response. He had no choice but to face the consequences of his actions.

Following her nervously to her room, he was both thankful to be out of the spotlight and wished to be as far away from her as possible. Staying away from her had felt like hell, yet stepping into her room and watching as she furiously slammed the door closed, he felt as though he had found a fate much worse. Wanting to look away, save himself the torment of watching her, but still yearning to take any scrap of attention she could give won out easily. Running a frantic hand through her hair, she was unable to stand still, her normal fidgeting increased under the stress of her emotions, she began to pace in front of him, quietly fuming and gathering her thoughts. The moment of silence didn’t last long enough in his opinion. “What the hell is up with you?” She spoke loudly, obviously not expecting a response. “At first, I just thought maybe you needed space, that you were tired or something! But then a month goes by and you’re ‘busy’ on a mission! What a load of bull!”

Kisame remembered when he had requested that she be placed with another pair while he and Itachi traveled, the excuse had seemed reasonable enough. It seemed as though she hadn’t bought it.

“And now that you’re here, you’re absolutely silent! Nothing to say?” She growled, the accusation sounded more like she was daring him to say anything, rather than an opportunity to give an explanation. “Of course you don’t, just like you haven’t for the past few months!” The pent-up anger was unleashed, and all he could do was stand awkwardly, gritting his teeth and wishing he wasn’t the one who caused all of this to happen in the first place. Even when she was venting her anger at him, pacing back and forth frantically, she was the one who made his heart ache with longing. “I thought we were friends! I thou-”

“We were!” He broke in, but he realized his mistake when she paused in her movements and turned to look at him helplessly before her anger masked the pain.

“Were?” She shrieked, “What the he-”

“Are! I meant are!” He cut her off to correct his mistake,” God, Woman, obviously, I didn’t-”

“Guess I’m just an irrational woman then,” she hissed, cutting him off in return.

Glaring down at her, his frustration was met with a fiery challenge that came from her own gaze.

But she turned away first, most likely to hide the tears that had collected along her waterline. He was glad she had turned away at that moment because seeing her cry because of him twisted his expression in a way he couldn’t hide. When she spoke again, if he hadn't seen her tears before, he would have known she was crying by the slight waver in her voice. “If we’re friends, why have you been avoiding me?” It sounded like she was trying to sound angry, but all he could hear was her defeated tone and the way she struggled to steady her voice.

“I haven’t, I was busy with a mission,” he tried to dig into the lie, but he already knew it was a lost cause.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” She muttered, still cowering away, still trying to hide the tears that blurred her vision.

She wasn’t, he knew that, yet he kept his mouth shut.

“Am I just annoying?” She tried, pausing a breath to wait for a response, when he still didn’t say anything she continued, “Am I too emotional? Too hard to put up with, too needy? I’m not fun enough, or maybe I’m too loud, quiet? Am I too soft? So weak you can’t stand to be around me anymore?” Her emotion-filled voice rose with every new insecurity she listed and it didn’t seem like she was going to stop anytime soon. “You always have to take care of me, I’m sure it gets old, right? Spending your earnings on extra food, clothes, and supplies. Needing to break so often because a useless civilian like me can't keep walking day and night on a mission like a super-strong ninja like you. Giving up your own comfort so that I’m warm, throwing yourself in front of harm's way because I wouldn’t be able to survive even the wimpiest jutsu, wasting your energy on reassuring me that things are fine even when you’re fighting, it’s all too much and it’s all my fault.” Somewhere along the line, it seemed as though she wasn’t mad at him anymore, and the guilt hit full force when she turned to blaming herself.

“That’s not it,” he managed to say through gritted teeth, and she finally looked at him, angry tears running down her face. He could hear the scraping in his mouth from the amount of pressure he applied as he used all his strength to keep his face guarded and impassive.

“Then what is it about me that made you leave!?” She yelled, and he didn’t think about the words that came out in response.

“I can’t have you!” He yelled back, and suddenly the electric air that had crackled around them since the yelling had begun was no longer present. What had her tears dragged from him?

Raising his voice at her had been his last intention, right next to confessing his feelings, and he regretted it as she stepped back and pressed back against the door looking up at him in shocked bewilderment. The mix of her eyes on him, and his embarrassment at his loss of control made him feel like a pit opened in his stomach, and heat rushed up his neck as if to choke him. Right at that moment, he wished it would. Scaring her away wasn’t what he planned on doing, but for a second he feared that was what he had done. The initial shock wore off quickly though, and against the backdrop of tear tracks still fresh and glistening, her eyes became determined.

Pushing off from her spot against the door she took only a small step forward, but he stepped away, fearing what the look in her eyes meant. His whole life he had been a predator, but caught in her gaze he felt unsure if he was really the one to fear. Again she moved closer, and in response, he did the opposite. “What do you mean by that?” She asked quietly, once again closing the distance, and pushing him further away. “What do you mean you ‘can’t have me’?” She pressed, voice firm, her tone no longer angry. He wanted her to go back to being angry, that was better than the shame he felt now. He felt cornered, and when he ran out of space for retreat, the backs of his knees bent, forcing him to sit on her bed. Even with him sitting, she was just barely taller than him, yet he felt so small as she seemed to leer over him, blocking his exit. “Kisame,” she urged expectantly, “Tell me.”

He couldn’t break eye contact, not under this pressure, and the red puffy skin around her eyes was what made him give in. He had already said the worst thing possible, there was nothing else he could add to make her more disgusted. But was she really that disgusted if she could stand to be so close? The tiniest bit of hope managed to worm itself into his thoughts, and he couldn’t squash it when she looked at him so patiently. A lump had formed in his throat without him noticing and he gulped it down before he answered. “I can’t-” he started, then rethought, “I mean-” he struggled, not knowing how to tell her she was an unobtainable beauty for a murderous monster like him, that he was a subhuman beast that couldn’t ever hope to have her held in his arms, that she was meant for someone that was normal, and better looking, that he had spent the entirety of his life knowing that he was unlovable and that he was stupid enough to fall for her anyway. There were so many words that could have worked, but he couldn’t string together a complete sentence under the stifling atmosphere. The smallest part of him hoped she would give up on getting him to say anything, that she would give him some pity, but the rest of him felt this moment was a worthy punishment for the stupid desire he still had to hold her heart as she already did his.

So focussed on his sputtering attempts at supplying an answer, he jolted when her hand cupped his cheek, and he froze when she gently brushed her thumb along a gill slit. His eyes probably bugged out of his head in disbelief, but her own was glossed over in pensive thought. He didn’t dare move, and his head should have been spinning with thoughts, but instead, it was blank, nothing but the gentle warmth of her touching his face seemed to register. She spoke slowly, not meeting his questioning eyes, her thumb still rubbing back and forth along his cheek, “This was all because…” She focussed on him again, and he had no clue how he hadn’t seen the tears starting once again, “You have feelings for me?” Absolutely dumbfounded, he couldn’t speak, focussed on her teary gaze, he simply nodded. And then he was knocked backward.

It happened so fast, it took him a moment to process it all. The first thing he felt was the wet that seeped through his shirt, followed by the warmth of the sobbing woman shoving herself into him, fisting fabric as she buried her sobs into his chest. Another moment of half laying on her bed with her sprawled on top of him and he felt his arms wrap around her, gently, unsure if he should, if he was allowed, but she didn’t protest, and he felt too greedy to restrain himself. They lay there for what seemed like forever, but he still couldn’t find any words that were worth saying, and she was preoccupied with drenching his shirt. What possessed him, he had no clue, but one arm slid up her back and a hand began to comb through her hair carefully. She didn’t protest, and he momentarily noted that it was the only time she hadn’t when he touched her hair. It was soft, the tangles that caught on his fingers pulled apart without resistance, and if he focused, he could faintly smell the scent of her shampoo. It was nice, the sweet fragrance fit her. He felt creepy sniffing her hair like an animal, so he turned his head away from the tempting smell. The longer he played with her hair, the more her crying died down, until she stopped. The silence continued, only broken by her deep breaths as she tried to regain some composure. His hand still resting on her back began to rub firm circles in a way that felt natural. Once again, she either didn’t mind, or she simply lacked the energy to stop him, but once he started he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Especially not when the grip on his shirt lessened and she relaxed her tense muscles.

“You’re so stupid,” she muttered, and it hurt, but it felt right to finally hear her rejection. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to stop his greedy hands from taking what they could. “What do you mean, ‘I can’t have you’?” She laughed humorlessly, and he was confused, didn’t she know? Ripping his hands away the moment they were met with resistance, he looked at her as she pressed up from her position on his chest. “You already have me,” she said, her voice gentle and reassuring, as she moved to hover over him, repositioning herself, before lowering herself to press her lips to his. Kisame had been kissed before, he wasn’t completely inexperienced, but the soft press of her lips to his was enough to make him forget to respond, and by the time he caught up with what had happened, they were gone. Caught off guard once again, he hadn’t closed his eyes, and he saw her eyes flutter open as she put space between them again, shifting her weight to tuck her hair behind her ear as she leaned over him, stunning him with the affection clear in her adoring gaze. “You’ve had me this whole time.”

It felt so unreal, all of his actions couldn’t have been his, yet who else’s could they have been? Greedy hands pulled her down, needy mouth pressed against hers, eliciting sighs that he wasn’t ready to accept were caused by him, running his hand through her silky locks again, taking advantage of the high chance that this would never happen again. But it did, they had to come up for air, but almost immediately she was panting against his lips, trying to force her tongue in between his sharp teeth, and how could he deny her? One of her hands tugged on his hair, while the other was too busy supporting her to join, an issue he fixed by pulling her into the center of his chest. Her technique was rusty, but the longer their kiss held, the more easily she could pull groans from him, her now free hand cupping his jaw for a better angle. What brought him back into reality was the heat that was beginning to gather in his groin, and he wasn’t about to push his luck. Holding her back caused her to whine, but she instead shifted her attention to his neck, peppering it with fluttery kisses, they tickled and he felt her shake as a laugh rumbled through his chest.

“Shouldn’t we talk about this?” He asked, making her huff as she halted her affections to prop herself up on his chest to glare at him sternly.

“That can wait, first you have to deal with the consequences of your actions,” she instructed.

“And what might those be?” He asked, feeling uneasy at the threat in her words. She may return his feelings, but up to now, he had acted so unforgivably.

The evil smirk she attempted to pull off held only a fraction of a second before it softened and she pressed a gentle peck on his forehead, and another just above his brow, then along the side of his face, lips fluttering down till they met the corner of his own. “You just have to stay here while I smother you in my kisses,” she said before she began the cycle of kisses again along the other half of his face. A disbelieving breath of laughter left his gasping lips, it didn’t feel real at all, even as her lips trailed down to his collar and began to leave sloppy open-mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin, he had to be dreaming. His breath hitched as she found a sweet spot and she applied suction, swirling her tongue along what was sure to be a bruised purple later. The distraction that her promise had given him ended as her ministrations caused him to be reminded of a quickly rising issue.

Turning his head away from her he managed to sputter out a plea for her to stop. Reluctantly, she did, looking confusedly at him. “Too much?” She asked, trying to get him to meet her eyes, then more worriedly, “Was that not okay?”

Trying to reign in his breathing and slow his racing heart rate was taking more effort than it should’ve, but he forced himself to look at her, simultaneously appreciating the beauty that hovered above him, and cursing himself for making her think he didn’t want everything she could give. “Too much,” he confirmed, making her relax a tad bit, “It’s just a lot to handle all at once.” Giving him an understanding look she pressed off of him, moving to sit on the bed next to him. Feeling as though that was her taking his words as a cue to leave, he frantically sat up as well, ready to reach for her should she get up from the bed, but his fear of rejection was unfounded as she placed a calming hand just above his knee. Her warm touch grounded him and he forced himself to calm down. Funny as it was, the space she gave allowed him time to process what had happened without the near suffocating amount of feelings being fed into. Probably feeling similarly, she sighed in content, keeping her space, staying mostly quiet, but she never took her hand away from him as he took advantage of the pause in activity to think.

Now knowing his choice to try and save himself from the pain of being around her was one of the least helpful ways to handle his emotions, and that all along she had craved him in the same way, he felt like the biggest fool. Of course, he had noticed some of the more odd things she did around him, like how she seemed to be flustered by his touch, but he had always taken that as her disguising her disgust, not that the addictive warmth that lingered made her just as excited as him. The laugh he worked so hard to hear, the one that ripped snorts and unfeminine seal noises from her, the one that seemed to infect him with an unstoppable need to laugh as well, was music to his ears as his rough throaty chuckles were to hers. All the times he had caught her staring, it wasn’t because she had simply spaced out, nor was it because she was appreciating someone else’s looks, she had been admiring him. The anger and worry he gave her when he took a risk in battle were more than her fretting over him more because she thought he wasn’t strong enough, she chastised him because she couldn’t stand to see him get hurt while protecting her. Within only a few moments of collecting his thoughts and putting things together, it was so obvious now how his self-doubt had clouded his ability to see what was clear as day to everyone around him. She really had been transparent about her feelings this entire time, and he had simply waved them away, trapped in his self-pity.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Whipping her head to look at him, taken aback, she must not have understood what he was apologizing for. He didn’t let her worry a second longer, as he gently held her chin and lifted her lips to meet him for a soft kiss. It wasn’t long, only a few seconds, but this one eased her more than any of the ones before. Pulling away, he was gifted the sight of her eyelids slowly opening, revealing expectant eyes. Kisame hoped that was a common thing he was going to be able to see from now on. “I shouldn’t have run away from you like that, I was just…” He trailed off as he strained to admit the word he knew was right. Shifting closer, her other hand reached for the closest of his, encouraging him to continue. No matter what he said, she wasn’t going anywhere. Still ashamed, he finished, “A coward. Being around you always felt so bittersweet, it felt so good when you laughed at my jokes and fed into my antics, but knowing that I wasn’t worth anything more than someone to pass the time with to you was torture.”

Stupid as he felt confessing to her, she didn’t laugh, just leaned her head into his shoulder, squeezing affectionately his leg. He continued, needing to let her know why he had ever allowed himself to hurt her. “I’ve spent my life being nothing more than a monstrous weapon, even in a group like the Akatsuki, my appearance still stands out, and not in a good way.” Feeling her nuzzle into his arm, her way of showing her disagreement, he felt nothing but warm affection for her, thankful she was a rare outlier from the rest of the world. “Allowing myself to consider that I had a chance with someone as amazing as you hurt more every time I remembered just how much of a freak I am,” he chuckled when he heard her whine in response, but she didn’t interrupt further. “Eventually everything you did just made me upset that you couldn’t feel the same way, and I made up my mind to distance myself.” Getting his built-up feelings off his chest felt rather therapeutic. Having her pressed against him, entwining their hands made all of his pent-up worries ebb away.

“Promise that from now on you’ll talk to me instead of leaving me stressed and confused?” She pleaded when he stayed silent.

Leaning down to indulgently breathe in her scent as he pressed his lips to the top of her head, he promised.

Staying like that for a while, they simply took in everything that had happened in the quiet. At least that was what he was doing until she started giggling to herself. “What’s so funny?” He spoke into her hair, vibrating along with her cute laughter.

“Is that why you were so insistent that I stopped?” She said through her soft laughing. Startled, he pulled away and looked down at his lap, seeing the almost forgotten product of his earlier arousal outlined clearer than normal. Distracted by all the emotional stuff he hadn’t realized how obvious his need had become. Heat washed over his entire body in embarrassment as he sputtered an apology. Still giggling the whole time, his mortification only made her laugh harder. Despite his efforts to escape her hold, she pressed herself close once again, choking out apologies of her own. “It’s alright, I’m probably a mess down there too,” she admitted, making him choke on air, causing her to laugh even harder. The deepening blush that took over his face began to make him sweat, but he tried to relax. Clearly, she wasn’t upset. Recovering from her little giggling fit, she looked up at him shyly smiling. “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet, so I’m glad you stopped me,” she expressed, but with more confidence, she added, “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to eventually.”

Just when he thought his body temperature couldn’t be raised further. He chuckled though, “I wouldn’t mind if you never were, as long as I can hold you,” he swore sincerely, making her snort, “But I look forward to the day when you’d let me take care of the mess I’ve made.” He teased, making her squeal before laughing again, hiding her face against his arm. As cute as her reaction was, his arousal was becoming too distracting. “I should go take care of this though,” He said reluctantly, making her shove away from him, ushering him towards the door.

“Go do that, you know where to find me when you’re done anyway,” she said, using her now free hands to fix her hair. He couldn’t resist reaching back to muss it back up before he left, laughing at her upset whine.

If only he had known of the teasing he would get from his fellow Akatsuki members who had heard the heated conversation loud and clear through the thin walls, he would have stayed and delayed the inevitable. But even though he was relentlessly teased, especially after Hidan noticed the stirring in his pants, at least he had her to look forward to from now on.

[spaceprincessem]

Hale Appreciation Week Prompt: Hale Headcanons @haleweek​

Okay, so just a few lil headcanons for Derek and Peter. See if you can figure out what they are :) (featuring sterek cause of course it does) 

Cause you're a hard soul to save {With an ocean in my way}

“Isaac,” Malia growled, finger’s digging into the wood of the table sitting between them, “you need to vote.”

“No,” Isaac snarled in return, arms across his chest, “I’m not taking part in any of this.”

Malia’s biting retort died on her lips as Derek flashed her a warning look. She swallowed hard, jaw clenching as she rocked back on her heels, still glaring at the curly headed boy. 

“Since Isaac is abstaining,” Lydia cut through the tension, “that leaves Peter and Derek.”

“Why does Peter get a vote?” Scott asked, wearily looking at the older man who was casually sitting on the spiral staircase looking rather at ease.

“Like it or not,” Peter grinned, all teeth, “I am part of this pack.”

“Barely,” Isaac murmured, before immediately going quiet as Malia fixed him with a murderous glare.

“So,” Lydia clicked her tongue impatiently, “what do you think, Peter?”

“The bite is a gift,” Peter shrugged nonchalantly, “and apparently our last hope.”

Kira ran a soothing hand over Scott’s back as he deflated, while Cora and Malia exchanged a small look of triumph. Lydia’s jaw was clenched, but she quickly rolled her shoulders, gaze moving towards Derek. The rest of the pack’s eyes followed. The steely silence made it feel like all of the air had been sucked out of the room. Derek’s palms were pressed against the table, leaning his weight forward, head dipped down as his claws embedded themselves into the wood. They could all hear it. The rapid pounding of his heart. The stench of doubt and fear was so heavy it felt like they were drowning in it. 

“No,” Derek finally said, the answer hanging in the air like a death sentence, “I’m not giving Stiles the bite.”

A beat of silence. A sigh of relief and a disbelieving uproar.

“Get out,” Derek growled, stopping the buzzing arguments flying across the room like venom. When no one moved he pinned them with a commanding, crimson look, “I said get out.”

The pack slowly dispersed around him. Scott was the only one brave enough to reach out, a hand on Derek’s shoulder, a small, but sad smile curling against his lips, “Thank you, I know it’s the right decision.”

Derek gave a curt nod in return. He was surprised to see Peter still sitting on the staircase long after the others had gone. The look of disappointment etched in his uncle’s face made him feel inexplicably angry. Peter always had a knack for reducing him to a fifteen year old boy who didn’t know how to control his shift during the full moon.

“What?” He chewed out when Peter remained quiet.

“I didn’t say anything,” Peter replied, but he could hear the bitter bite beneath his uncle's words, the desire to start a fight.

“I’m not giving Stiles the bite,” Derek said again. He suddenly felt the need to defend himself as his uncle chuckled darkly.

“I heard you the first time, nephew,” Peter sneered.

“You don’t agree with my decision,” Derek pointed out flatly.

“Well, clearly,” Peter said as he got to his feet, “as I voted yes.” He sighed, brushing past Derek to head into the kitchen, “But you are the alpha, so I don’t think it matters what the rest of us wanted.” 

Derek could hear the older man clinking through the glasses, the sound of liquid sloshing against emptiness before a bottle was carefully placed on the counter. Derek allowed his gaze to find his uncle leaning against the counter, slowly sipping from his nearly full glass.

“It was cute to let them think this was a democracy, though.” Peter added after a moment, swirling a few ice cubes into his drink.

“Stiles doesn’t want the bite,” Derek explained, that primal urge for someone to understand, “he never has.”

“You think your decision is about Stiles?” Peter asked, smiling meanly, “Here I thought it was about you.”

“Of course it’s about Stiles,” Derek huffed furiously, “you think he would be grateful if he woke up and was su—”

“Well,” Peter cut in, “it’s better than never waking up at all, isn’t it?”

Derek remained silent. But his face said it all.

“He’s been in this coma for what, two weeks now?” Peter asked as he sat his glass down, moving towards Derek with calculated steps, “You still think he’s going to magically wake up by some divine intervention?”

“I am not taking that choice away from him.” Derek argued, his chest heaving as he worked to keep himself calm.

“Are you scared he’s going to hate you if you do?” Peter asked, inching closer. “Or scared he won’t survive like Paige?”

“Why do you care so much?” Derek asked, feeling like he’d been thrown off balance.

“I’m just trying to understand why you wouldn’t do everything to save the person you love,” Peter replied simply, but there was an undercurrent of harshness to his tone.

“I am doing everything to save him!” Derek snapped, teeth bared and eyes flashing dangerously. “You and I both know Stiles wouldn’t want the bite to save him.”

There was heated silence between the Hales. Ice blue boring into grey-green. 

“Stop making excuses, Derek.” Peter said, breathing out harshly through his nose, “It’s the only way to—”

“My answer is final,” Derek growled before turning on his heel to head back to the hospital.

“So,” Peter called at his retreating back, voice trembling with anger and saturated in sorrow, “you’re just going to let the last piece of Claudia Stilinski die in this god forsaken town?”

Derek froze. The stench of love lost burned hotly in his lungs. He swallowed down the sour taste of bile as he turned to face his uncle again. “Is that what this is about?” He asked quietly, “Preserving the only thing left of Claudia Stilinski?”

“You know it’s more than that,” Peter bit back.

“Is that why you offered Stiles the bite all those years ago?” Derek felt exhausted, like the revelation took more out of him than he could ever care to admit. “Because you took one look at him and saw someone that was never yours?”

“Talia could have saved her,” Peter’s voice was small now, his eyes far off in the distance, “but we can’t always get what we want.” His eyes were hard on Derek’s face now, a sneer pulling his lips up cruelly, “So, yeah, I looked into those amber eyes and saw the one person I would have done anything for.” He exhaled deeply, “Stiles is all that’s left of Claudia.”

“Stiles is his own person,” Derek replied softly, “and he should get to choose. You wanted to save Claudia by giving her the bite, but I’m going to save Stiles by keeping him human.”

“I wonder which version of losing him is going to hurt more,” Peter said with a vindictive smile, but Derek could see that his eyes were sad. 

Derek didn’t say anything as he turned to leave Peter alone in the loft.

-

“Miss me, Sourwolf?” Stiles slurred, his half lidded eyes peeking up at the exhausted wolf with a mix of fondness and concern.

“More than you know,” Derek replied, threading his fingers through the cold, pale ones, before bringing them to his lips to gently kiss.

“Sorry I kept you waiting,” Stiles hummed, closing his eyes, until Derek’s too tight grip made him blink them open again.

“Sorry,” Derek replied sheepishly, “I just missed the color of your eyes.”

Stiles smiled, “You mean the most boring shade of brown?”

Derek shook his head, not knowing how he could explain that Stiles’ eyes reminded him of bottle honey. Warm and sticky sweet. Of coffee with too much cream or tiger’s eye gleaming in the sunlight. How could Derek describe that Stiles’ eyes were the shade of the earth beneath his feet when he ran through the preserve under the light of the full moon? When he catches Peter watching them from the doorway, face soft and shoulders sagging in relief he wonders if he could ever tell Stiles that the beautiful shade of amber was a window to a future that was stolen much too soon.

“Not to me,” Derek just says instead, leaning up to kiss him, “not to me.”

[katblu42]

Two

A fic for Virgil's birthday from an unusual point of view. Somewhat covering the "Outside POV" and "Virgil at Work" titles on the birthday challenge list.

Thank you @gumnut-logic for the read through, and for setting up this birthday event to prod me into finishing this one!

The sudden opening of my overhead hatch by remote access wakes me from my slumber. He’s coming. My pilot. There must be a situation. If it were anything else the hatch would have been opened manually, and if it were any other pilot it would be the lower hatch, not the one above my cockpit. He swings down from the end of his chute, his boots hit the checker plate of my cockpit floor and he reaches up to close the hatch. There is an automated close control, so he doesn’t have to do it by hand, but it is quicker and much more satisfying when he does. The solid thunk as it shuts both feels and sounds more secure, more reassuring than the slow, quiet, automatic closure. And it signals the unofficial beginning of our next adventure together. He smiles every time he pulls the hatch closed – there is a certain excitement in the urgency of a launch. Someone needs us, and we have to fly.

My pilot is unique. No one else treats me the way he does, or understands me like he does. He knows me better than any other human, more intimately than even the creator himself. The creator is the one responsible for my original design and build, but I suspect my pilot may have had a little input. He has certainly had a creative hand in upgrades and repairs, and prefers to do as much hands on maintenance work as he can, often working alongside the creator and his robotic assistant when he can’t complete the work on his own. The creator may well know every nut and bolt and wiring loom, every function and capability to the letter of the specifications, but my pilot knows I am more than a marvellous piece of engineering.

He knows me in the air – how I will respond to any weather conditions, any sudden changes, and every little twitch of my controls. My pilot knows my limits in practice, not just on paper and by the numbers. He will push me when it’s needed and knows when I have given all I can. We have nursed each other home battle-scarred and wounded on many an occasion. He will apologise whenever my abilities are stretched beyond capacity, whenever there is damage, and every time he needs to pull me apart for repairs. I don’t need the apologies. He takes care of me, and I will do my best to take care of him.

My pilot feels affection for me. He shows it in so many little ways, like the absent minded way he’ll trail his hand along the surface of my hull as he passes, or contentedly hum along with the rumble of my engines. It’s evident in the way he speaks to me. Barely audible whispers of greeting, or thanks for a job well done. Impassioned pleas to give just a little more in desperate times, often followed by relieved words of thanks accompanied by a loving rub of my dash, or forehead resting against a bulkhead with a relieved sigh once the crisis is over. He speaks to me in words of encouragement and praise. He believes in me and relies on me, and in return I will give him everything he asks of me. For him I will push my limits to do what he needs me to do, to get us all home safe.

He calls me beautiful. I know that I am not, but it is good to hear him say it. Strong and dependable I may be, but not beautiful – except perhaps in his eyes. I am not sleek and shiny like my sister ‘birds One and Three. Nor am I built for speed like them, but I am proud of my capabilities. Still one of the fastest machines in the air despite my grand size and considerable weight, I am versatile and able to carry just about any cargo imaginable. Sometimes I wish I could be faster, but I know that some things are more important. Without me it would be impossible to get specialised heavy equipment to where it is needed, my medical bay is the best equipped and largest in International Rescue’s fleet, and I am capable of carrying a large number of people to safety. If I were to fail in my duties it would make the job of my pilot and his colleagues immeasurably difficult. So, I must not fail.

He sings to me. When he’s working on repairs or maintenance, when he’s tidying the cockpit or restocking the medical supplies, or sometimes, when we’re flying alone. His voice resonates through my systems and reflects off my surfaces and harmonises with my own sounds. I like when he sings. He seems to do it when he’s happy, comfortable – content. None of the others ever sing to me. The Co-pilot – the one who belongs to Four – he sings sometimes, but it’s not the same. He seems to sing as a distraction, to change the prevailing mood in the cockpit, or just for his own entertainment. His singing is loud and raucous, but not necessarily bad.

Others have flown me when my pilot has been unable to. It is never the same. The Commander, One’s pilot, is always trying to rush me, wanting me to be something I am not. He is impatient with me and grumbles that I am not fast enough. He gets frustrated if I do not respond immediately to the slightest adjustment of my controls, and yet he will often take an extra fraction of a second to find the switch or lever he needs because he is used to flying a different ‘bird. I understand his sense of urgency, but flying for him is sometimes hard work, as though he is fighting me instead of working with me.

The Co-pilot, Four’s pilot is better. Four and I are like the closest of sisters in many ways. We are often called to work together as I am able to carry her to locations she cannot reach fast enough alone. As a result her pilot and mine work together often, and he gets to see first hand how my pilot handles my controls. When he is required to take over piloting duties he emulates what he has seen my pilot do, right down to voicing encouraging words when needed. He is a good pilot, but he lacks a little confidence in himself, as though he is afraid of doing something wrong and causing damage to another’s ‘bird. He means well and he is trying to connect with me on some level, but it is not the same as the partnership I have with my pilot.

The little one, Three’s pilot is somewhere in between those two. He has that nervousness about him, the fear of making a mistake flying a ‘bird that’s not his, and he seems to have a desire to prove himself so he’ll try and do things his way instead of feeling and listening to what I need. At the same time he is inclined to want to rush and expect me to respond more like One or Three instead of doing things my way, but he seems more comfortable adjusting his piloting style than the Commander is.

The other – the Voice from the stars – only really flies me remotely. I have no tangible connection with him. Remote piloting is clinical, calculated, precise and impersonal. He does not communicate directly with me through voice or touch, only electronics. He relies on numbers and sensor readings rather than human senses like my pilot does. I know it is necessary at times for this intangible Voice to take control this way, but it is a lonely way to fly.

My pilot’s strong hands are gentle, nimble and sure in their movements across my controls as he completes pre-flight procedures. The module we need for the job has been selected, loaded and secured into place – part of me, but not. The modules, the pods, the machines and equipment I carry are perhaps like accessories or clothing for a human – it is possible to fly without them, but they are still a part of my complete work-ready attire.

The hangar door is opening and we are rolling. My pilot gently caresses a hand across my dash and quietly utters “Here we go, girl.” The launch pad tilts and the countdown begins. I am a Thunderbird, and my engines rumble into a roar. I bring the thunder, and with my pilot, together we ride the lightning.

“Thunderbird Two is go!”

[spenciegoob]

Triple Edged Sword Part 2

A/N: Hi! This is part two of the “three” part (wink wink) series !!

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Angst/Smut

Content Warning: mentions of death of a major character, dom!spencer, penetrate sex, unprotected sex, spanking, fingering, hair pulling, biting, overstimulation, praise, domdrop

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.2k

Part One | Part Three

______

And then Emily died.

And it changed Spencer more than anyone else but her knew. Nobody knew how much it changed the way he loved, how he held her a little bit closer than usual now. How he used more force to kiss her like if he didn’t, she may disappear too.

Of course he got snappier with everyone as well, using anger to mask his intense sorrow over the loss of one of his closest friends. It made sense. Spencer was always like that when it came to negative emotions.

If it wasn’t anger, make it anger.

What didn’t make sense, however, was how he took the anger out with her.

It wasn’t gradual, and he didn’t ask to switch roles before he took control over her in the bedroom. One day he came home from work, a simple paperwork day, but without the distraction of a case, the sadness crept its way into the deepest parts of Spencer’s brain. They made their home there, inhabiting the space with no plan to evict anytime soon. 

He lost control, snapping at Hotch for requesting Reid leave early to get some sleep.

“You don’t think I would if I could?” Spencer had yelled in his boss’s face with so much force it equally scared and concerned the stern man on the receiving end. After that, Spencer knew Hotch was right, and packed up his satchel to return home.

Return home to her.

All Spencer wanted was to go home and let her comfort him, but the idea of being vulnerable in such a self-pity, upset with the world way made him nauseous. 

He found comfort in her, though, even if it was from a place of anger instead.

When Spencer walked through the door only to throw his satchel down next to it instead of his desk chair, she knew that it was a bad day. There were always the little things she noticed he did when he was in that funk; how he asked for a hug instead of going directly for it, or let his hands involuntarily shake instead of trying to hide it. 

She was angry, too. She was angry at the world for throwing Spencer more trauma every time he was starting to heal. She hated how every time he trusted his life to start getting better, it would stab him in the back, twist the knife, pull it out and let him bleed. 

It wasn’t fair, and she would so anything for him.

“Hi, Pretty Boy.” She tried to coax him from his spot still stuck in front of the door, staring at the hardwood floor too deep into his own self deprecating thoughts.

He didn't answer. Instead, he stalked over to her in the kitchen, keeping his eyes downcast. Immediately, she abandoned the wine she was pouring, to follow his movements. Soon enough, he was in front of her, still looking to the floor, while she leaned her back against the counter.

“Spencer?” She could only call out in hopes that he would come back to her, and she believed that it worked when he let his eyes meet hers, but what she saw in them proved her wrong.

It was pure, animalistic rage.

She reached her hand up to graze his cheek, but the action was put to a stop before the soft skin of her palm met his scruff. Spencer’s hand holding her wrist suspended in the air was forceful, but not enough to hurt her.

Never enough to hurt her.

She still gasped at the unforeseen movement, the destructive man in her presence inducing both fear and excitement.

She watched the storm in his mind swarm through his eyes as he refused to look anywhere but down her body. Spencer needed an escape, a way to forget for even one second the absolute wreck that was his mind. There he was, a hurricane circling in on her land, and she would let him swallow her whole.

He watched his own hand trail from her wrist, and make its way to her shoulder. The closer he moved, the quicker her breath became. Spencer had become unpredictable in a matter of seconds and to say she wasn’t growing with anticipation would be a lie.

Spencer stepped into the space between the two, closing her in between him and the counter. Suddenly, he grabbed the back of her neck, pulled her chest to his and forced her to look up at him. 

Their chests heaved in unison with one another, creating a steady rhythm to the dance they had started. 

Spencer stared at her lips, his eyes unwavering with their undeniable desire for her. With his gaze not meeting hers, he couldn’t see that she was unknowingly doing the same.

“Stop me,” he pleaded between heavy breaths. “Because if you don’t, I might hurt you.”

“Spencer.” Her voice held no uncertainty even in the form of a whisper. The two finally looked up at each other, holding an intense stare full of lust. “Do it.”

He wasted no time crashing their mouths together. The kiss was sloppy, teeth clashing and tongues fighting a war. They consumed every part of each other, their hands never seizing to feel every inch of their lover.

Until Spencer grabbed her by the hips, spinning her around to slam her against the counter. The untouched wine fell to the floor with a crash, shattering to little pieces.

His hands roamed from her hips to the curve of her ass, giving it a hard squeeze before pulling one hand back to return it just as quickly.

The loud SMACK! was drowned out by the moan that escaped from the back of her throat, surprising the two of them.

“You like that, baby? You like when I use you like this?” The filthy words leaving Spencer’s mouth made her grow wetter by the second.

All she could muster as a response was a desperate whimper, pushing her backside to him, pressing harder into his waiting hands, and when that didn’t satisfy him, Spencer lifted her off the counter by her hair to whisper in her ear, ripping another moan from her.

“Words, baby.” The softness of his tone was a direct contrast from his rough movements.

“Y-Yes, sir.” The title slipped by accident, but Spencer let out a groan and grounded his hardening member against her ass, eliciting another soft whimper.

“You're gonna ruin me one day,” was all the warning she got before he pushed her back down on the counter and ripped her sweatpants and panties off in one quick motion.

The sudden cool air that hit her pussy caused a shiver, but when Spencer’s fingers trailed up the inner part of her thigh, it was sent right back to her spine.

“Are you wet for me, baby?” He asked before finding the answer for himself. “You are.” His tone was almost tantalizing, but with the way he wasted no time sinking two fingers into her heat, Spencer loved her arousal as much as she did.

The pace he set with his fingers was ruthless, giving her no time to catch up with the sensation of him curling his digits to hit her sweet spot repeatedly. Her loud moans went straight to Spencer’s dick, making him impatient with anticipation.

He leaned over her, pinning her down completely to whisper in her ear, “That’s it, sweetheart, fucking take it.”

“Spence I’m... I’m gonna-” She tried to moan out, but Spencer sunk his teeth into her exposed shoulder around the strap of her his tank top.

“I know, baby, do it. Cum for me.” That was all it took for her to squirm under his bodyweight, moaning his name like a prayer. The feeling of her clenching around his fingers that never seized their movements was heavenly for Spencer.

She was still his own Goddess.

She whimpered at the loss of his fingers buried deep inside her only for them to reappear at her lips.

“Open.” He stuck his fingers coated with her orgasm down her throat, causing her to gag slightly. She sucked her arousal, hollowing her cheeks around his digits. Spencer laughed at her blind compliance, a kind of laugh that was twisted in its own special way.

“You’re being such a good girl for me. Do you think you deserve my cock?” He asked, burying his fingers deeper in her mouth, pushing down on her tongue to get her to gag around them again.

She moaned loudly around them, eyes rolling back in pure ecstasy as he ran the tip of his cock between her folds, gathering her previous arousal.

He ripped his fingers from her mouth to use the same hand to pull her hair back, arching her back while slamming their hips together.

They both reveled in the feeling of Spencer filling her up to the hilt, their loud moans creating a filthy symphony.

He pulled back slowly, antagonizing her once again, only to slam back deeper than before.

“Spencer!” She screeched at the feeling, pain and pleasure mixing, a cocktail stronger than any alcohol.

“I warned you,” he started as he set a brutal pace, fucking her hard into the counter, the grip on her hair never relaxing. “I warned you this would happen, but you were a brat, and look. Now you can’t take it. I though you were a good girl.”

“I am, sir, I can take it. Just please, Spencer. Please.”

“Please what, Y/N?”

“Don’t fucking stop.” He smirked down at her, and pulled her hair back harder so she rested against his shoulder, hitting her deeper than both thought possible. He leaned down to her ear, mimicking his previous movements as her eyes squeezed shut, the sensation almost too much.

“That’s my girl.” The comment made her come around him once more. Her vision went white as her body threatened to collapse on herself, Spencer having to hold her upright. 

“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart.” He threw his head back, his eyes screwing shut as she clenched and unclenched around him. “Do you think you can give me one more?”

“I- I can t-try, sir,” she panted between little whimpers, overstimulated with Spencer’s brutality. 

“Good girl,” he said before reaching down to rub circles on her clit in time with his thrusts, his other hand kneading her breast.

There was no room left in her mind for anything other than Spencer, and the extreme pleasure he was giving her. He took control over her body, pulling on the reigns and guiding her to euphoria.

“I’m right there, Y/N. Cum with me.” Her body belonged to him, and in turn his was hers as they toppled over the edge together. Spencer’s warmth spread through her as he shot his load deep, her orgasm milking every last drop.

She could no longer hold her own weight, threatening to fall to the ground if it wasn’t for Spencer keeping her upright. Their heavy breathing filled the silence that settled over them, neither knowing what to say.

Once they both came down from their shared high, Spencer slowly pulled out of her, careful to not hurt her.

“Come on, sweet girl, let’s get you cleaned up.” Spencer scooped her up bridal style, leaving the broken glass and messy counter for later. He carried her to the bathroom and set her down on the edge of the tub.

She just sat there, watching Spencer gather lotion, a washcloth and a cup of water with eyes like glass. He handed her the water to which she took with two shaky hands before turning his attention back to the sink to wet the cloth.

Spencer kneeled in front of her, slowly opening her legs with the delicacy one would handle fine china with. When he brought the washcloth up to her core that was still leaking with his cum, she couldn’t hide the wince from sensitivity.

His head snapped up, and their eyes met only for a second, but she saw the glimpse in his eyes that she needed to confirm.

His eyes were filled with such intense guilt.

“Hey,” she cooed, putting her hand on his chin to bring his head back to her level instead of him staring at the red scratches on the inside of her thigh. “It’s okay.”

“I hurt you. I didn't mean to I- I just-” Before Spencer could continue, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and latched onto his body to which he immediately relaxed under.

“I’m okay, Spencer, really. I promise I’m okay.” She stroked his back as he started to shake with tears. “I actually quite liked it.”

He pulled away to find her looking down at him with a soft, reassuring smile, but he couldn’t find the strength to return it.

“Let me take care of you this time,” she pleaded, pulling him up from his kneeling position. Without letting go of his hand, she brought him to their shared bedroom, and opened the covers for the two to crawl into.

“Can I read to you?” She asked once they were settled, Spencer resting his head on her chest, their legs intertwined like lock and key and her fingers running through his wild curls.

“Please.” It was so gentle when spoken, enough to almost bring her to tears. The man she lay with had one of the biggest hearts God had gifted a human being, and yet the world loved to chip parts of it away.

She reached over to the nightstand, grabbing the first book she could reach. She hadn’t realized her decision until she opened the beat up novel to the first page.

With a deep breath, she started.

“For a long time, I used to go to bed early. Sometimes...”

____

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[kaibutsushidousha]

Hop reminds me a bit of Paris. Wannabe hero-worshipping his accomplished hero brother but failing to follow in the footsteps, or even get due to impatience, shortsightedness, and simply missing the point from the get-go. What Hop needs is Hektor, a wise brother figure who already saw up close the consequences of Hop's/Paris's flaws.

Bede is a gratitude monster. Rose visited his orphanage once presumably for publicity reasons, said "you're cool, kid" once, and now he's causing serious harm to himself and to others just to repay this gesture. The kid seriously needs to look at a mirror and see the damage he's causing. And by mirror, I mean the most self-sacrificing gratitude monster he can get. For that I'd go with Corday, not because she has any great pros, but because she's the balanced option compared to my other candidates:

Bedivere. Pros: Probably the quickest to jump to self-sacrificing methods before his Camelot, name and hair color overlap. Cons: Would de-escalate Bede's terribleness too much.

Eliza. Pros: Pink, turned evil by misinterpreting the expectations of adults. Cons: Would escalate Bede's terribleness too much, especially if she's pre-CCC.

Baobhan Sith. Pros: Eliza but a faerie, you can't get more Bede than that. Cons: Would escalate Bede's terribleness even more, she's too Bede of a partner for Bede's arc to function.

Marnie is very attached to Spikemuth, to the point her goal is to revitalize her town (and she speaks with her Welsh accent), so she absolutely demands a Welsh Servant. Gray is actually a perfect fit here due to their shared history of becoming the object of worship of their town against their will. But Gray isn't normally summonable, so the alternative is her partner Kay.

Milo is the first Gym Leader because prioritizes the fun of the battle over winning, and due to being the first Leader, he puts himself in a self-assigned role of teaching Trainers the knacks of the Gym Challenge. I'd go with Chiron for being a teacher figure who is less of a bloodhound than Scathach and Kiichi.

Nessa is in love with the ocean, an ungraceful loser, and a consummate professional both as a Gym Leader and as a model. Bart is the most successful pirate in history, fitting the ocean motif and strong desire for success. He's also the guy who successfully installed a lawcode in a pirate ship, so he'd go well with Nessa's professional, compartmentalized attitude. But her pride as a model wouldn't let her cater to Bart's preferred hairstyle.

Kabu is a guy from Hoenn and national identity is a huge thing for an immigrant, so he should have a Servant from Kyushu. Hoenn's own Fire Gym is located in Amakusa's hometown, so that's the easiest candidate. It's ironic because Kabu is a gramps who keeps saying "I'm still young, so I try to keep things simple" while Amakusa was the guy who died at age 17 because he took the very adult responsibility of leading a revolution.

Bea is a stoic martial artist who believes smiling is a sign of weakness. She really needs a cheerful and open martial artist who is undeniably better at fighting than her to show that's okay to like things. Go with Musashi if you want her story to have a good ending, or Kiara if you want a bad ending.

Allister could get Cursed Arm for the motifs of masks, death, and curses.

Opal gets Baobhan Sith, again, because she's too Bede.

Gordie in a sense lost his mother's love because he wanted to develop his own Rock-Type identity instead of following her Ice-Type footsteps, so he should get a more supportive mother like Europa.

Melony is a mother who wants to reconnect with her son but her pride doesn't allow her to speak up, so she resorts to dumb indirect approaches like being the first person in Gordie's fan club. She really needs some advice from Nagiko, our wise supporter of emotion, completely unrestrainable by any form of social convention.

Like Marnie, Piers is so attached to his hometown that he absolutely needs a Welsh Servant. And if we go if Merlin, "Piers can't Dynamax because Spikemuth doesn't have a Power Spot" is easily translatable to "Piers can't call his Servant to him because he's trapped inside Avalon's tower". Merlin can still communicate through dreams and fight using illusions without having to physically present, so that's not huge harm for his Grail War potential.

Raihan is about dragons, weather, and struggling forever to overcome a seemingly unsurpassable challenge. Vritra is a dragon and a weather phenomenon and gets off to people struggling and overcoming unsurpassable challenges.

Leon is the face of Galar and is choke-full of protagonist traits, so he can have Arthuria, I guess. She brings the exact same flavor of nostalgia appeal as Charizard.

Oleana could work with Carmilla. Her team is all Pokémons who evolved into something beautiful, except for her ace Garbodor, implying a narrative of beautiful metamorphosis that did nothing to make her essence prettier.

And Rose is a villain desperately trying to undo the inevitable downfall of Britain. Literally Morgan. Parallels well with Leon having Arthuria, also.

[pumpkin-pi-e]

Writing prompt: Yandere erasermic with darling on their period.

[Enter Hizashi and Shouta playing a board game on their day off, Shouta just knows his husband is cheating, they both do, he just can’t figure out how he’s doing it, much to the blonde’s smug delight.]

You heard them before you saw them. Voices filtered down the hall as you laboriously made your way towards the commotion.

“Don’t hate the player, Shou, hate the game.”

“We both know you’re cheating, you could at least admit to it.”

“No bluffs, just luck.”

Rounding the corner, you entered the living room only to see Yamada leaned over the coffee table, using both arms to gather a pile of goods to himself, grinning like the canary that outsmarted the cat.

The pro heroes were sat around the piece of furniture in their casuals, hair down and fuzzy socks, a board between them. An airy melody of jazz dances and drifts in the air, mingling with the spice of fresh-baked cookies; the soft glow of the television cast warmth on the matching mugs swirling with chocolate and topped with marshmallows that bobbed to the mellow beat.

“How are you doing this?” The erasure hero demanded, red irises darting back and forth between the gloating emcee and the board with a scowl.

“Just get good,” He threw back matter of factly.

“Get on my level, scrub!”

At that, Aizawa makes direct eye contact with the voice hero, looking him dead in the eyes as he lifts an arm, a blonde brow raises in question at the stare down, and in one sweeping motion he knocks the board from the coffee table, pieces and all.

...

The DJ takes a moment to process, eyeing the mess of scattered pieces silently before raising his gaze to meet his partner’s, emerald clashing with charcoal.

“No one likes a sore loser, babe.”

In response, the teacher merely flicked a remaining pawn from the table.

“If you aren’t going to play fair then I won’t either.”

A pout tugs at Hizashi’s lip for all of five seconds before he’s springing back, and on the attack. Shouta starts at the smolder he’s suddenly on the receiving end of, thrown off by his swift change in attitude, watching with narrowed eyes of suspicion as his spouse crawls towards him on all fours, wanton, expression dripping with carnality, and further scrambling discarded bits of the game in his wake. He reflexively shrinks further into the couch. “Not a fan of chess? We can play another game, baby.” Shouta backpedals, making the symbol of the cross. “We’re supposed to be having a relaxing evening, remember?” He didn’t sign up for strenuous activity. “Playing board games.” He furthered his point by sparing a quick glance at the tall stack of boxes resting forlornly at the corner of the table, indignant in their stillness as if to say: are we a joke to you? “An idea of yours, mind you.” He sternly pressed, looking back, not daring to let his lascivious lover leave his sight for more than a second. Only to find him much too close for comfort. “Here, kitty, kitty.” He croons as Shouta continues to evade his clutches. Done with foreplay, Hizashi pounces.

He jumped into his lap with enthusiasm, pulling a grunt from the body below, throwing his arms around Shouta’s neck, he threw his hair back to better grin down at his captive.“How ‘bout stripper twister?”

“Get off.”

“And if I don’t?” Slow sensual swirls over his seat drew a startled gasp that tapered into a hiss, Hizashi’s hips moved in perfect circles, throwing it back like a dancer as eager hands roamed the expanse of his husband’s broad chest, grabbing greedy handfuls of his generous pecs. “You gonna purr for me, Chaton de sexe?” He all but panted into the other’s ear, getting worked up from the promises he continued to whisper in French, voice pitching and reaching unspeakable lows with the help of his quirk, relishing the drawn-out whine he received in response. Shouta’s hips canted of their own accord—and honestly, you couldn’t blame him. Your face was aflame, and you were a mere spectator. His breathing picked up to match his better half at the absolute filth filtering in his ears. Or was it expressions of admiration and praise? Aizawa couldn’t tell, he only knew it sounded like heaven, although he suspected the radio host’s words were straight from hell—pure sin. He fisted Yamada’s shirt to ground himself, knuckles turning white in the hideositie’s fabric. Now understanding those

‘eargasms’ the loud blonde was always raving about and claiming to get, especially with those new headphones of his.

“I keep telling you I don’t understand French.” Shouta grumbled, in a huffy mood over the sweet tunes his lover coaxed from him. He looked off to the side to hide his blush, retreating into his turtleneck, reminding you of a tortoise receding into its shell; in doing so, his eyes widened imperceptibly, though the way his pupils dilated, blowing wide as he finally became aware of your presence was unmissable. He drank in the object of his obsession with unquenchable appetence, having been denied the sight for far too long. Sustaining eye-contact, he let his head fall backwards onto the couch cushion, exposing his neck for Hizashi to devour; he pulled him closer so that their bodies were flush together before grinding up into the welcoming heat, a staccato of low sighs leaving him with each roll, earning an appreciative hum from the one ravishing his throat. Hizashi met him thrust for desperate thrust as he nipped and sucked the sensitive skin into blossoming hickeys. Aizawa wasn’t given long to admire as Hizashi recaptured his attention; sensing his distraction, he seized his chin so that they were once again facing one another, commanding his gaze like the diva he was. Shōta rolled his eyes, the corner of his lips twitching up into a smirk.

“There’s no need, baby! Not when I could just show you.” His words were smooth as silk and caused a delighted shiver to run up Aizawa’s spine, his toes curling at the deep velvety tone they were delivered in. Grabbing a handful of blonde tresses, he pulled the other down for an impassioned kiss; the effect was instantaneous, Hizashi squealed happily, groaning his approval against his spouse’s lips, a sweet little cry Shōta was all too pleased to swallow. A frisky kitty, and feeling particularly mischievous, he yanked. hard. So hard in fact you’d be surprised if the DJ’s neck hadn’t snapped. “ahhhHHHHH-!” The force behind the tug disconnected them and Yamada’s shout of ecstasy resounded throughout the entire apartment. The floor vibrated beneath your feet and your ears rang from the reverb. You clutched them, dropping to your knees in a vain attempt to block out the sound, and your eyes scrunched with the effort. You knew he had a set of pipes, but damn. You couldn’t even hear your own thoughts. Everything was shaking, your body hummed, and it felt like your brain was being scrambled. So focused on trying to tune him out, you failed to notice that the foundation had stopped quavering; but you caught on when you’d regained the ability to hear yourself think. Rising shakily, you allowed your arms to fall; looking back at the pair, you saw Aizawa with his hand around Yamada’s neck. “-eckk—!” The sound cut off at the hand gripping his throat “The neighbors are going to complain,” and it only tightened, eliciting a choked moan from Hizashi. “again.” With no small amount of effort did he raise his head in order to flash his man a cheeky smile, straining against the grip holding his hair back. “But I bet they know your name, handsome.” He reared forward, diving back in with a ferocity that knocked the erasure hero back, hailing him with a flurry of perfervid kisses and leaving a few blonde strands behind. Shōta received him with open arms, and you winced as you heard their teeth bash together in Hizashi’s voraciousness. It didn’t escape your notice how his voice had lost its cunning. His once honeyed words ebbed into hoarse calls of his partner’s name—lacking his usual loquacity.

For someone whose jobs centered on the use of his words, they seemed to be failing him; desperate strangled noises left him between each frenzied kiss. In his urgency, he tugged impatiently at Shouta’s bottoms, you shifted awkwardly, debating if it would best to try again at a different time. Aizawa caught your movement from the corner of his eye.

Although he didn’t mind an audience, he felt he should let his husband know.

Removing the hand from Hizashi’s neck, he used it to gently push him back, their kiss breaking with an audible smack—

“mmph!?”

Hizashi voiced his complaint, a whine built in the back of his throat as he once again tried to close the distance between them, blindly following his lips; Shōta dodged by holding a hand to the emcee’s face, stilling him. Yamada’s green eyes finally snapped open and he looked around in confusion.

“Wha???” He sounded so lost.

“Wha’s happenin’?”

Shōta’s head craned towards you.

“We’ve got company.”

Hizashi followed his line of sight and those emerald eyes landed on you. They were misty and he was still a bit disoriented; It took him a second to register but after blinking the tears away his face lit up with gladness, a gasp left him and his hands clasped his mouth. He shrilled in elation, bouncing excitedly on his husband’s lap. He shot to his feet, fighting the desire to rush over and squeeze the life out of you in an affectionate hug. The DJ waved exuberantly instead, “Hey, babygirl!” His voice was rough, a cough racking his frame before he continued, ”H-how are you?” He questioned softly, carefully, treading lightly, as if you’d scurry off if he so much as raised his voice or moved too quickly.

His face glowed from their gameplay turned hot and heavy. You knew better than to assume it was out of modesty because you had learned they held no shame. You recalled one morning where you’d awoken to tremors; the penthouse shook so violently you thought there was an earthquake. In your half-awakened state you’d panicked, ripped off your covers and sprinted into the living-room spouting about said earthquake, and you felt like you were in the Twilight Zone when Aizawa snorted into the back of his palm, snickering in amusement amidst your tirade, he’d looked as if he were battling laughter, his shoulders trembling. Hizashi rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly as he hurriedly explained there was nothing to be alarmed for. He’d just gotten a little carried away and—! Unable to contain himself, Shota had burst into peals of uncontrollable laughter as the hilarity of the situation finally became too much for him, something you’d never seen him do, you felt like you’d witnessed an anomaly. He seemed to shock even himself, his hands flying to his mouth, endeavoring to smother the traitorous noise to no avail, meanwhile Hizashi whined and hid his face in his husband’s shirt, said man wheezing and gasping for air, jostling him with each breath. It was then that you’d stopped to take in their position. You’d soured at the conclusion you’d come to, as obvious as a slap in the face. Having leveled them with a glare, you’d turned and stalked black to your room, throwing a dirty look over your shoulder for good measure. Howls of laughter and frenetic apologies for disrupting your sleep played you out. A dull thump followed by frightened calls of a certain raven-haired teacher’s name could be heard, mirth having overtaken him and effectively taken him down.

No Shame.

The radio star always wore his heart on his sleeve, a trait you’d initially found charming; meaning you could practically see him restraining himself; Hizashi’s fingers danced in antsiness, wanting so badly to reach out for you; the fidgety digits drew your attention and he promptly clasped them behind his back, offering a disarming smile when your eyes flitted back to his face.

“Hello, kitten. Did you need something?” He wasn’t as barefaced as his companion with his delight at your appearance, though both his expression and words were filled with warmth, the latter holding a tinge of innocence as if he hadn’t known you were there all the while.

You’d been a bit moody the last few days, never hostile, just a bit more withdrawn, and they were ever so happy to see you up and about again, they were always happy to see you.

Your eyes squint at him but your head tips forward a fraction in what could barely pass for a nod.

“Looks like we’re gonna hafta put our game on ice.” The DJ commented, looking over his shoulder to regard his partner whose gaze was fixed on his ass. You couldn’t see his face, but you could hear the grin in Hisashi’s voice, “Enjoyin’ the view?” Shōta scoffed, scowling up at his husband as he crossed his arms. “‘Just luck’, huh?” Now that the voice hero was standing, he had a perfect view of his backside, it’d virtually been shoved in his face when he’d stood; while he’d initially given it a cursory glance, miffed at having it block his field of vision like a freaking solar eclipse, with how tight his pants were, he could make out the familiar shapes jammed into his back pocket.

“What can I say? With this ass I’m always winning.” Hizashi winked, and quick to change the subject he turned back to you, tossing a few pawns from his pockets and into the discarded pile.

“What’cha need, beauty queen?”

Oh god, by some absolute fucking miracle, you’d managed to drag your tired body out of bed and stumble into the sitting area with the full intention of demanding supplies, only to freeze up from a pang of embarrassment under the inquisitive gaze they pinned you with, now the subject of poignant interest.

“I...I need—um...”

This isn’t in any way going how you envisioned it would; you’d mentally rehearsed, you were gonna waltz in here and demand that they—if they wouldn’t let you leave, the least they could do was ensure your basic needs were accounted for, and you had every mind to tell them such; unfortunately for you, all that came out were stammers and soft squeaks resemblant of the pet name they so loved calling you.

“Kitten?”

Aizawa stood to join his husband’s side, both of them hanging on your words, patiently awaiting a response.

“I n-need,” It was so much more embarrassing than you’d thought, but it wasn’t like you had anything to be shameful about; what you were experiencing was natural and normal, and you refused to be ashamed over it, if anything they were the ones who should be ashamed for not taking into account that at some point you were going to require certain essentials; their claim after they’d swept you away was that they were hgoing to see to your every need, just ask, and you’d receive—how you’d never have to worry about anything ever again. In the current state of affairs, you didn’t think they were doing a very good job.

You just wished you could find the nerve to voice such concerns.

“uh...” no longer able to maintain eye contact, you looked off towards of the kitchen; your skin prickled, your head was pounding, and you were overheating. You felt light on your feet and in this moment you just wanted the floor to swallow you up; if it were possible, you’d recant every past rejected wish to Saint Nick in exchange for a new one, a vanishing quirk. ‘Cause no way were they letting you walk away from this. Not after you’d garnered their attention. This was a mistake. You couldn’t do this. Maybe you should just—

“Pumpkin?” More gentle prodding. “What’s the matter? You ain’t lookin’ too hot.” (Harsh jab from Aizawa) “Ow! You know that’s not what I—”

“I mean you always look hot—smokin’!” He quickly rephrased, “It’s just uh...ya look kinda...sick? Like yer gonna hurl.”

“It’s okay, Kitten. You can ask us anything.”

“Yeah! Y’now you can come ta us with anything.”

“I-“ Your world spins, and suddenly, you’re seeing topside. A momentary loss of balance, courtesy of the headache between your eyes, has them rushing to your side; one of them scoops you into their arms, instantly coddling you. You look up to see frightened green eyes, and a halo of blonde tresses that tickled your nose as they fell into your face.

Oh. It was Hi-Fi.

“My poor baby! Are you okay?!” He’s peppering kisses all over your cheeks.

A hand presses against your temple, it’s coolness giving you moderate relief. “She’s warm,” Low-Fi.

“Pretty kitty, please let us know what you need; whatever it is, we’ll do our best to provide it.” Shouta cups the side of your face, stroking your cheek with the pad of his thumb and Hizashi places a kiss on your heated forehead.

“All’s ya gotta do is phone in that request, listener!”

You burned with more than just a temperature. Indignation coursed through your veins, burning you from the inside out. You shouldn’t have to rely on them for anything. You’d had your own job, your own money, your own business; you hadn’t had to lean on anyone, loathed the very thought of it; and climbing the sharp-edged ladder of success—clawing your way to the top, lacerated palms and displaced qualms, you’d made certain you’d never again have to depend on another soul for as long as you lived. Dull from being doled disappointments, you were of the gospel that you couldn’t count on anyone but yourself; you bought your own things, you felt your own tits, a certified boss ass bitch. When you’d first started seeing the couple, it was you that picked up the tab despite their protests, you who wooed them with fancy gifts, reveling in their flushed expressions—and as flattering as it all was, how could you ever come to rely on them the way the heroes wanted if you had it all figured out? Quickly enamored, the pair was swift to offer you a room in the penthouse, their hearts burned whenever you were apart; but to their dismay you’d declined; you already had your own home, one you’d worked hard to obtain, taken the time decorate, a home you were unwilling to part with; and truthfully, you simply hadn’t been ready for such a transition. Lovely as their companionship was and as much as you joyed in their attachment, you’d only been dating them a few months, it was a little too soon for all that. Of course they were disinclined to accept your answer. They chipped, and chipped, practically took a sledgehammer to that ladder, and marveled as you fell spectacularly, like an angel falling from heaven, their angel, who fell right into their arms. And you watched as the life you’d built, and tried so hard to maintain came tumbling down, everything you tried to salvage crumbled to dust in your resentful un-relinquishing grip, and of course they were there to help pick up the pieces. The metaphorical scars, and phantom pains rendered all for naught. You hated needing anyone for anything, and they wanted you to rely on them for everything. The thought embittered you, of giving them exactly what they wanted, and despite your pride you swallowed that bitter pill; after all, no one can fill those of your needs that you won’t let show right?

“I...I need feminine products?”

Hizashi’s brows knitted in befuddlement, and you could practically see the cogs turning in his brain as he processed your words, mentally cataloging every sanitary item he’d purchased.

You had a plethora of bath and beauty products, he’d made certain of it. Shampoo, conditioner, facial cleanser, perfume, shaving gel, body wash, etc. He’d ensured your bathroom was fully stocked. “Songbird, sweetie, yer gonna hafta be a bit more specific.”

Maybe you could say it without actually saying it.

“Um. You know, like, feminine hygiene products?” You stressed, hoping they’d catch your drift, but they continued giving you blank stares.

The pair exchange a look, perhaps to see if the other was making any more sense of the situation than they were.

“You’re going to need to be frank with us, kitten.”

“Yeah! Rip it off, like a bandaid!”

“Ineedpadstampons,femininewipes,femininewash,andmaybeadouche?” Your face was on fire but it was impossible for them to misconstrue with how painfully candid you were. Stealing a glance, you saw they both sported similar blushes; Hizashi held a pink tinge around his nose that bled into his cheeks and Shōta adopted a rosy tint; their coloring more out of shame than embarrassment due to their oversight.

In a race to rectify their mistake, their voices overlapped, tripping over themselves to scramble for apologies.

“Oh my gosh, we’re so sorry, princess!”

“We’re very sorry, kitten. It was never our intention to-”

“-we’ll do better! Me ‘n Shou’ll be better about takin’ care-a you-!”

“-we hadn’t even considered—”

“-I promise! I swear—!”

“-just let us know what you need, just tell us and we’ll—”

“-Yes! Anything, anything at all-!”

You already did.

“-It won’t happen again, kitten. We promise—”

“-Oh god, I’m a fuckin’ failuuuuuuure.” Hizashi bemoans, having been the one in charge of your toiletries.

Their remorse was palpable and their guilt endless.

Although you shouldn’t, you were starting to feel bad for how much they were kicking themselves. Their self-flagellation was seriously taking the wind out of your sails; your own frustration paling in comparison. Not to mention you were still under the weather, and their constant back and forth was worsening your dizzy spell. Eagle eyed, Aizawa takes notice and undergoes the task of reigning in his husband, the blonde pressing impossibly close and nuzzling desperately into your neck, apology after apology spilling from his lips. Shōta grasps his shoulder, but to his surprise you beat him to it.

Your head inclined and a hand covered his mouth, halting his speech. The pain behind your eyes praised you. “Hizashi, you guys, it’s not that deep, stop being so dramatic.” He pulled back to appraise you, he didn’t seem convinced. “...I forgive you, okay?”

He lit up like a Christmas tree, perking up instantly. You were squished against his chest once more in a suffocating hug. A joyous shout of, ‘FUCK YEAH!’ had you cringing away from Hizashi as he fist pumped ecstatically.

“Not so loud, ‘Zashi.” Came a gentle reproof, resulting in another apology from the boisterous blonde.

“Sorry, lil listener.”

...

“Do you..uh...need ‘em right now?”

You nod.

“Cool! Cool! No problem-o! Uh...Just run that list by us again. Hit us one more time, baby!”

“You said it so quickly we hardly caught what was said.”

Heat rushed to your face. You couldn’t fucking do it again. The first time just about killed you.

They must have sensed your demur because the pros upped their persuasion.

“You don’t have to be so shy, kitten. We don’t mind. It’s really no trouble.”

“You don’t gotta get embarrassed, it’s only us!”

“We only want to provide for you.”

“Most guys don’t wanna hear about that stuff...” You were pretty sure they didn’t even know what those things looked like.

“Um, songbird? W-we aren’t, uh, it don’t bother us. Like, we aren’t grossed out or nothin’.” Usually loud and lively, Hizashi was soft-spoken and sincere as he gently clasped your cheeks, encouraging you to look him in the eyes. Taking your smaller hands in his own, Shōta pitches in as well.

“We can handle a little blood, it’s sort of unavoidable in our profession.”

When you’re stubbornly tight-lipped, the emcee proposes a different idea.

“K! How ‘bout you type out whatcha need in Shō’s phone? That way we’ll have a list to check off, make sure we don’t forget anything.” He looks to his partner to see if he’s down with the plan and Shōta’s already pulling out his mobile. “One of us should stay behind with kitten. That could have been a nasty fall.”

“Shō! Hold KitKat,” It’s an abbreviation of ‘kitty cat’ one of Hizashi’s many nicknames for you. “I gotta hit up Google.”

You’re carefully transferred to Aizawa; the hero plops into the couch with you in tow, sagging into the cushiony oasis. Once you’re settled in his lap, he hands you his phone; It’s new, sleek, black and already opened to the notes app; a bulletin greets you, the yellow bar blinking in and out of existence as it awaits your command.

“So which one-a us is headin’ out? We could all go, could do a pickup order?”

Any other time you would’ve jumped at the opportunity. But you felt like absolute trash. You weren’t interested in going anywhere but back to bed.

“I’ll go. I have a few things to grab anyways.” Figures. The erasure hero was even keener on keeping you indoors than his husband.

“Anything we need for the house? I might as well get them while I’m out.”

“Oh! Now that‘cha mention’ it, I could use some-” There’s a back and forth as they discourse on what supplies and groceries are low on stock, ingredients and meal planning for the following week; their chatter is drowned out whilst you busy yourself inputting the necessities you need into the phone with nimble fingers, tapping away at the large screen and carrying a certain finesse that impresses Shōta, the type of guy that just lazily swipes his thumb across the keyboard. He urged you closer with a delicate motion, complimenting your dexterity and gracing you with a chaste peck on the cheek. They ask your opinion on numerous things, how you felt about particular dishes, if you were running out of anything, if you wanted Shōta to bring you back something, et cetera. Satisfied with your list, you handed the device back to its owner for him to pocket. “-babe, you already know munchkin hates carrots.” Hizashi chided, rooting through the cabinets and taking inventory.

“He needs a vegetable, you can’t allow him to eat junk all of the time. He’d live off of pizza rolls if you let him.”

“Hey!” He whirls around, “My meals are perfectly balanced! An’ comin’ from you?! Do you even know how much sugar we go through?? Not to mention the coffee I’m constantly havin’ to restock??”

Aizawa cuts his eyes at him. “This isn’t about me.” He reaches forward and nabs his mug from the table, taking you with him and taking a very long, very loud obnoxious sip. Hizashi just looks so done at the display. He chases it down with a marshmallow and slaps the ceramic against the glass once he’s finished. “My diet is perfectly healthy.”

“Mmhmm,” the emcee crossed his arms, leaning against the counter, “are you done?”

You’re jostled again as he pushes the mug forward. “This needs more sugar.”

Yamada sighs, coming to swipe it from the coffee table. And as he’s heading back to the kitchen, Shōta adds, “More whipped cream and marshmallows too.” A dramatic groan of, “Ughhhhhhhhh! I hate it here!” is given in response. You sit in silent amusement at their banter, enjoying the homey atmosphere.

Aizawa observes as you become increasingly agitated, squirming and fidgeting in fits and starts, restless. Quiet huffs accompanying each jerk. “Is something the matter, kitten?” “Uh...it’s-” You shift, and he isn’t sure if it’s bashfulness or something different. “It’s just cramps.”

“Tummy troubles?”

“Aw, d’ya want some Tums? Pepto Bismol?” Mic asks, carrying a plate of cookies. They’re placed on the table and Shouta’s mug is returned to its coaster. You lean forward, reaching for one of the confections. The aroma had teased you since the moment you’d left your room, titillating your tastebuds. Hizashi looks confused-concerned, when you grimace and fold into yourself, nursing your midsection. Not touching, only hovering protectively; your pelvis had protested the movement, making its disapproval known by way of stabbing pains.

“Noooo,” Your response was moaned, a lamentable sound that pierced their hearts. “not stomach pain, menstrual cramps.”

“Oh.” Their eyes leapt toward one another, sharing a panicked glance. “Well, we...might have some Tylenol?” Shōta’s words were optimistic though his tone was laced with uncertainty; he looked to his husband for confirmation. “Would that be okay?”

“Yeah! Uh...maybe? I dunno.” While his reply had started enthusiastically, a hype man at his core, he quickly lost confidence. It bled into hesitancy near the end. “I’m sure we got some though, lemme go check!” He raved, keeping the faith.

“Cutie ‘tootie?” There’s light rhythmic tapping at your knee. Mic squats beside you, his palm upturned as he presents you with a cookie. You gladly accept, thanking him. After administering a loving pat on the head he’s standing and off in search of pain relievers.

Suffice to say, you made quick work of the treat.

Shō was pleasantly surprised when you fastened his arms around your waist, wearing them like a seatbelt. You secured one of them in place with your own arm, as if he’d ever withhold his touch from you. You slipped your fingers between his, intertwining them together. He allowed you to do so, to manipulate him however you saw fit, willing and pliable under your ministrations. He flexed them, wondering at the sight, and sensation of his hands in yours. There’s a dusting of rouge to his cheek as he squeezes back.

——————————

“What did you find?” The erasure hero asked, drowsily watching his other half pace to and fro, Hizashi’s faced glued to his phone.

“Says it’s okay, how many ya want, honey bunch? One or two?”

“None.”

They glance at you as you’re quite adamant about not needing pills, and Shota begs to differ. The death grip on his hand spoke otherwise. And he thinks, as you clamp down on him after another contraction, that he knows what it’s like to be a husband in a delivery room. Something he never thought he’d experience. He isn’t complaining, anything to help ease your discomfort; he’d offered reassuring presses of his own, but he’d be lying if he said he understood your opposition.

“But-!” Hizashi looks put out, disappointed. “Dont’cha want somethin’ to take the edge off?”

Your head shakes negatively, and he frowns. He goes to insist but he gets one from his husband as well. He sighs, snagging a set of keys from the rack.

You’re honestly surprised they let it go so easily, they never let things go. In hindsight, you supposed you should’ve been a bit more suspicious, but you’re just glad they dropped the subject. You didn’t feel like fighting them on it.

“I’ll go warm up the ride, you warm up with princess before ya jet!” He leans down, and Shōta meets him halfway as they share a kiss. “‘Kay caffeine king?”

“Mmm.” He hums an affirmative, burrowing further into the couch, enjoying the heat you donate as you too make yourself comfortable by cuddling into his chest. His eyes close, and there’s a click indicating the blonde’s departure.

You sat for a bit, listening to his steady breaths, the lull of his heartbeat, rocked by the gentle rise and fall of his chest. You twist around to view him, and he cracks an eye open to regard you when you stir. You spend a good chunk of time simply taking him in, with him doing the same, and you aren’t sure whether it’s the lighting, music, the complicated feelings you can’t suppress—because as angry and frustrated as you are, you still care for them, terribly so, or perhaps it’s the cloying sap you tended to become around this time of month, but you find yourself extending a hand to brush his bang aside, revealing that handsome face you’d grown so fond of. You wished he’d show it more often; it was too cute to be hidden under all that fringe, and you tell him so.

“I like being able to see your face,” Deft fingers card through his hair, and using both you fashion the fluffy mane into a faux bun, “I’d love to see it more often. You should wear it up every once and awhile.”

His lidded eyes are wide on yours, a blush quickly blooming, and suffusing to his ears, cute little things you rarely ever see.

“Means I’d get to praise that pretty puss,” Shouta’s pupils are dilated, and you swear they’re expanding with each compliment as he basks in your hero-worship.

“and it means I get to do this!”

You smooch his forehead, another thing you’re usually unable to view. Like before, the erasure hero withdraws into his sweater, muttering a low, “Thanks, kitten...” His delivery is soft and tender, one of those diminutive winning smiles tugging at his cheeks. He’d always been so fun to tease, responsive and susceptible unlike his blonde counterpart, whose life’s mission was to see you self-implode. “You look so pretty in pink, sweet prince.” It was nice to flip the script now and then.

His dietary habits a sore point of contention, he grumbled, shaking his head so that his hair fell into his face once more, hiding his deepening flush from scrutiny. You toss it up again.

“There’s that cute face!” You coo, smiling broadly. Aizawa slouches even further into the couch, burrowing deeper into the cottony collar of his pullover. “Aww, cutie!zawa!” A thumb caresses his face, just below his eye where his scar lies, and ever so gently do you inch forward, and with as much care as you can muster, you kiss him, your lips meet the mark in a delicate press. But It wasn’t a blemish, it was the testimony of his survival. It did nothing to detract from his rugged beauty; in your opinion it only enhanced it. “This is your cutie mark!” You excitedly declared. You’re struck with the realization that if it hadn’t been for his tenacity, his strength, there’s a genuine possibility he wouldn’t be here with you now. Overcome with emotion, you crush him in a firm embrace, dolling adulation after adulation.

“You’re so strong.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

And despite everything,

“I’m so happy I was able to meet you. You and ‘Zashi.

“You guys...mean a lot to me.”

Weak, Shouta quivers in your hold; his Adam’s apple bobbed as he floundered helplessly to form an articulate response. His heart swelled with adoration, and he squeezed back just as tightly. Your sweet words were sending him, and having been left without your touch for a spell has him starved for your affections. “Can-” Your head raises at the wobbled utterance, and he connects your forehead with his, just barely able to restrain himself. His pupils are pulsing as he looks into your eyes—dilating back and forth, his gaze downright imploring. “May I kiss you?” An unspoken plea hung from his lips, and his words carried a noticeable tremble, showing just how affected he was. He eyed you with a reverence the likes you’ve never seen. You’re taken aback. Your breath falters, and you know it isn’t a platonic kiss he’s asking for. Anxious, your teeth worry at your bottom lip as you contemplated, those onyx pools track the movement, lingering perhaps a bit too long before his eyes met yours. He swallows thickly, “Please...?” He’s practically begging at this point. And to convey it he took your hand in his, guiding it to his throat where you felt palpitations dance wildly beneath your fingertips, showing you just what you did to him. He looked so vulnerable, so in need.

And he’s heartbroken when you pull away, withdrawing your warmth, and leaving him cold. “Kitten—” Shouta’s voice cracks, it’s a question, a plea, an extension of something that had been boiling beneath the surface, and it’s been a long time coming. He felt as if he’d endured an eternity without your loving-kindness, and after what felt like a lifetime were you finally sweetening back up to him, and bestowing the passion he’d pined for, the affection he and Hizashi panted after. You’d been so distant since they’d brought you home, and his heavy heart was breaking. Were you-were you upset with them?

You aren’t sure you’re comfortable with such an intimate gesture. Most of your days were spent in a domestic daydream, and while it was easy to fall into the illusion, playing house, and palling around, without fail, something always happened to shatter it, reminding you of the reality of your situation. In this case, needing items and being unable to go out and purchase them. Ordinarily, you have no issue with having whatever you required brought to you; you couldn’t say you were choked up over not having to endure crowded stores, and checkout lines that moved slower than molasses, but you preferred to buy those products yourself. It was so demoralizing to have to go up to them, like a child, and bring up your needs. The pair always gave your orders a once over, ensuring you weren’t ‘purchasing anything naughty’ ‘nothing you could get yourself into trouble with’ It felt like you couldn’t do anything without the heroes knowing about it. You probably couldn’t even pass a stool in this house without them knowing about it. And you just—didn’t think it was...healthy to feed into their delusions, you didn’t want them to think you were okay with what they’d done, and you weren’t sure where your relationship stood with them anymore, but like a fool you still had a soft spot for them, they’d long since carved a special spot for themselves in your heart, and because of that, you couldn’t stand watching his break in front of you.

Against your better judgement you cradle his face in your palm, he shivers and is instantly nestling into the soft touch, slumping forward to press himself even closer, singing low in his throat when your lips join, it’s hardly discernible, yet the vibration is unmistakable as he pulls you close, clutching your sides; uncontrolled moans were plucked from him with each candy-coated kiss you awarded. And all too soon were you drawing away to rest your forehead against his.

“Kitten, again.”

“Kiss me again.”

“Please?”

He made no move to initiate, only wishing, hoping, waiting, on you—for your reply. And, a purr rumbled from deep within his chest when you indulged him.

Hizashi bursts into the apartment eager to escape the cold and is greeted by his loving husband, whose hair is tousled, and in an even worse state of disarray than usual, which he finds kinda strange since it certainly hadn’t been that way previous to him leavin’ out. And stranger yet, a small saccharine smile played on the erasure hero’s lips. He looks between the two of you and internally gushes over the pretty picture you both painted; you cuddlin’ up on Shou, mussy hair...

Wait a minute.

Hizashi’s giddy squeal cuts out like a record scratch when he comes across the now empty plate.

“You guys...”

Neither of you even has the decency to look contrite.

“They were good, you’ve really outdone yourself.”

“I get sugar cravings around this time, they were amazing though.”

Compliments were the way to his heart, and was all it took for him to forget his disapproval and become starry-eyed, gasping a cute, “Really?”

“Yeah! You did awesome, Awesomeasaurus!”

“Aww, thank you, suga’pie! Though I gotta feelin’ that wasn’t the only sugar you were smackin’ on.” Mic teased, a knowing grin with too many teeth splitting across his face, and this time you do become abashed as Aizawa grinned right back like a cheshire cat.

They chuckle among themselves as the host with the most lifts you from Shouta’s lap with all the care of a mother tending to her newborn; he swoops in to steal a kiss, amused by the scandalized expression you pull. “Shouta can’t be the only one gettin’ kisses!” He nabs a couple more, stopping only when you tuck to the side to escape the barrage. “If he’s gettin’ kisses, then I’m gettin’ kisses.” He proclaimed, easing you down onto the cushions still warmed from the erasure hero’s body heat.

“Your chariot awaits, Prince of Slumberland.” A pair of keys are dropped into his hand, and his shoulder is bumped affectionately. Hizashi follows Shouta to the door, helping him into his jacket. The latter melts into the hug he’s given, and with a smack to the derrière, he’s sent off. Yamada is halfway across the foyer when he stops, looking as if he’d forgotten something; he spazzes, swinging back around, “WAIT!” He shouts, attracting the attention of Shota who was partially out the door. “Wait, wait, wait, wait,” He jogged up to his lover with a smile, “I forgot my goodbye kiss!” Shota’s face is cradled in his palms as he kisses his hubby on the lips. “You be safe, honey butter biscuit.” The home-room teacher smiles softly, covering Hizashi’s hands with his, “I will. Promise.” The kiss is returned, equally as doting; Aizawa gently removes his lover’s hands, pressing a kiss to the knuckle of each one before returning them. He’s starting out of the door again when another call for him to stop rings out. Shōta turns, wondering what he could possibly want this time. He wants to protest as his spouse lifts you, their darling shouldn’t be manipulated right now, even if she was handled with extreme care. Hizashi makes a short walk of the distance and is already presenting you to him, his husband’s beam is even brighter than before. “Can’t leave out, sugar snap pea!” Shota leans forward, and watches as you elevate your neck for what you thought he had in store; well, he has to keep you on your toes doesn’t he? He administers the endearment lower than anticipated, bestowing you a smooch on the lips as he’d done with Hizashi. He chuckles as you gingerly touch the spot, looking up at him owlishly. Cute. It’s a sentiment Hizashi echoes, although verbally. He adds another to your forehead, leaning over you to kiss the radio star one last goodbye.

—————————————

“Alright! Let’s get some food in ya, ginger spice!” Mic exclaimed, striding into the kitchen. His baby needed some grub and a few good snugs! He sits you on the island and his hands are a whirlwind of motion as he ransacked the cabinets, grabbing all the goodies he could find. And when he turns to face you he’s supporting an armful of mixed munches, an abundant assortment of eats. His neck is folded to house a packet of candy and there’s a bag of chips clenched between his teeth. “Vish should vast ‘til Shou gets home, vwatcha fink?” His goofy appearance and impeded speech is enough to have you cracking up. His smile radiated pride as he passed along the treats, “Can ya hold these for me, Sweet?” Arms full, you’re hoisted up and the radio star throws you a wink, “I already got a snack to carry.”

Upon entering the living area he lowers you, and the array is dumped on the table, it’s surface completely engulfed and no longer visible. It’s laid out like a food fanatic’s fantasy.

“C’mon, lil mama! Come cuddle with me!” Mic dove onto the couch, arms splayed open wide, making grabby motions towards you with his hands, his legs parting in invitation.

———————————

The drone of the television did little to distract you as the blonde had hoped, you were writhing in pain; your cramps had worsened as the night had progressed, increasing in both frequency and intensity, and all he could do was you hold you. Hizashi hugs you to his chest, providing snuggles. It’s unconscious on his part, but he’s squeezing you like a human-sized stress ball. All he can focus on is you, your pain, your misery, how useless he felt.

What does he do?

What could he do?

And as his thoughts begin to spiral he doesn’t even notice his grasp constricting, tightening and tightening until you yelp. The pressure is removed instantaneously.

“Ah! Sorry, songbird. Is your tummy tender?”

You and Mic resume cuddling without further incident, his grip tightens with each pained whimper, but never reaches the same intensity as before, both in an attempt to offer comfort and to assuage his own worry. Seeing his princess in pain was seriously throwing him off his game. And him not being able to do anything about it? He buzzed with nervous energy. His knee bounced anxiously, where the hell was Shō?! Another anguished groan and Hizashi answered with his own anxious whine,

“Do-do ya need anything? Are ya—ya sure you don’t want any pain meds?”

You’d snubbed any offers of pain relievers much to their disappointment and ever growing disquiet.

Okay, he’d admit that it was kind of precious how you always refused to take medication of any kind, the same way a child might, but you wouldn’t even go for the flavored stuff! If you wouldn’t do it for your sake he wished you’d at least do it for his. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take of seeing you like this; with each passing second he grew all the more fretful and evermore fidgety.

To his immense relief you end up asking for a heating pad, they have one surprisingly, hero work comes with its aches and pains! Sure their closest was a mess and Shōta was sure to get on him about it later but it was for their darling! A trashed closet was a small price to pay for their beloved’s comfort. The voice hero was so amped up to finally be of assistance that he nearly ate carpet twice in his haste to get what you’d requested. After very gently maneuvering you, he’d shot off towards their shared bedroom at break-neck speed. A shout of, “Don’t touch that dial!” Thrown over his shoulder.

From your spot on the couch, you heard the sounds of him tearing up the room, exaggerated groans and a victorious crow at his acquirement; and when he’d returned, he presented his prize proudly, like an energetic puppy craving praise. “Who d’ya love cuddle-bug?!” If he had a tail it’d be wagging. “Thanks, snug monster. I really appreciate it...” Your eyelids and tone are weighed heavily from the pain, it left you drowsy, with slowed movements, but you manage to smile up at him, and Hizashi thrills as he’s rewarded with a smooch. He’s tickled pink, and can’t even begin to hide the blush he’s sporting, he doesn’t even try. “Aw, ya know it ain’t no thang! Anything for you, cutie.” You stretch to get your fingers on the pad, eager for relief, however the blonde keeps it out of reach, an unidentifiable emotion twisting his features, his expression an odd mix of stress and desperation, panic flickering in his eyes. “No, let me! ...Lemme help you. Where do you need it?” You’re re-situated on his lap, and he gingerly flattens the pad against your lower abdomen; the soothing heat acted as a balm, loosening your tense muscles; you sigh, leaning into the sensation, covering his hand with yours to urge him closer. “That’s it, mama. Just let me take care of you.” You can’t help the gratified moan that slips past your lips, the warmth doing wonders for you, and Hizashi could see the tension fading from your body. “Feelin’ good?” He’s given a nod in response as you relax into him. The DJ releases a relieved breath of his own, finding solace in your improved condition. His rigid posture slackens. He lays his head atop yours, heaving another weary sigh, his nerves overstrung. “Daddy’s happy to hear it, baby...”

[scarlet-star-witch]

Fade Into You - Part 17 (Mandalorian/OC)

Summary: Din has spent a year grieving the love of his life. While he thinks he has lost her forever, she lingers in the darkness, her mind twisted and manipulated, with no memory of him or the love they shared. What will it take for Din to help her remember?

Warnings: Angst galore and mentions of violence. Cara’s in this and I feel that’s a warning in itself

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Din was giddy as he woke that morning. The night before with his wife had only certified his love for her and he could barely wait to see if she was feeling the same type of blinding love that was taking over every part of his being.

The way she’d looked at him the night before had sent pleasurable chills over every inch of his body. He wanted nothing more than to see the same sight and experience the same mind blowing ecstasy he had just hours ago.

His tired eyes opened slowly as his hand searched the rumpled sheets beside him for the heat of her body. 

When he felt nothing, he raised himself on his elbow, fear striking him as his eyes opened fully, pushing past any exhaustion he felt as panic suddenly hit him like an incoming train. 

“El?” His raspy voice called out as he blindly patted the empty sheets next to him, still taken aback by the loneliness that met him rather than his wife that he had been so excited to see.

He sat up fully, his wide eyes searching the space around him, but the room was empty. His heart suddenly began to race wildly. He tried not to jump to conclusions, but after everything they had been through, it was hard not to fear the worst.

“El?” He called again, his voice sounding more frantic as he found it harder to disguise his growing panic.

He stood from the bunk, hastily pulling his clothes on. He grabbed his helmet, the only armour he bothered to put on, and raced out of the cramped room.

“Iella!?”

The silence that greeted him only made his fear grow. 

This was all too familiar of nightmares he’d had in the past. He reached down slowly, subtly pinching himself. The pain he felt was real. The nightmare was real.

He quickly made his way towards the cradle, a flash of relief flowing through him at the sight of it still in its place. He opened the top and let out a long sigh as he saw the baby staring back up at him. 

“You’re ok.” He breathed out, gathering the child into his arms. “Now where’s your mom?” He mumbled. He made his way up to the cockpit, dread soon crashing over him at the implication.

Had she wanted to sleep there instead? Had he been too forward the night before?

The thoughts were quickly shaken off. She was just as eager as he had been, she had been just as pleased as he had been.

He couldn’t think of what could have possibly changed. 

Despite how scared he was at the possibility of her needing space from him, enough to move to the cockpit, he didn’t find much relief to see that it was empty.

Where the hell is she?

He practically jumped back down the ladder into the hull, turning on his heel in frantic circles, looking over every inch of his ship.

“Iella!?” He yelled desperately.

She was taken.

That was the first thought that echoed through his mind, the first explanation for her absence that broke his heart. His breathing became erratic as his mind raced for what to do. 

She had been acting weird the night before, since coming back from the market. He could only deduce that something had happened, something bad enough to spook her. Maybe someone from her past, her manipulated past, that was. 

They must have followed her back and taken her from him.

With a low growl escaping his throat and vengeance clouding his judgement, he stomped towards the weapons locker, practically throwing open the doors. It was a wonder they didn’t break off their hinges.

He moved to grab his blaster, but stopped abruptly. 

His breath caught in his throat when he saw the empty spots in the cabinet, spots where her weapons had been placed. 

They were gone. 

If she was taken, she wouldn’t have been able to grab her weapons, not without a struggle. And he would’ve heard a struggle. 

He looked around the hull again, this time with a more careful eye. Her boots were no longer in their place at the foot of their bunk where she’d hastily kicked them off the night before. Her cloak that she’d shrugged off her shoulders seductively was no longer on the floor where they’d left it.

She left on her own.

His entire body stiffened. His mind raced, trying to think of other possibilities because it was unfathomable to him that she would leave, that she would sneak out in the middle of the night and leave.

Leave him.

He felt his eyes sting with tears and he blinked rapidly, not willing to let them fall or he worried they would never stop. 

It was one thing to believe she was gone from his side after a horrific accident, but to know she was no longer by his side of her own will somehow hurt even more.

She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t leave me, she wouldn’t leave the kid.

He felt almost dizzy with how his brain was trying desperately to piece together what had happened, what he had done to make her leave.

He thought back to all the conversations they’d had, all the times she’d called herself a lost cause, all the times he’d had to reassure her that he was there for her. It hadn’t been enough. She’d reached her breaking point without him even realizing it and it had him wanting to smack himself for being so ignorant.

He hadn’t been enough for her and it practically tore him apart to think he’d been so blind to her plan of escape. 

The fact that she felt she needed to escape from him was enough to ruin every single part of his being. 

He breathed heavily, slowly falling to his knees on the hard floor of the ship, his helmeted head cradled in his hands as he fought hard not to spiral. 

“No, no, no, no.” He whispered to himself, his voice cracking with the emotion that overtook him so overwhelmingly.

Shaking breaths left him and he didn’t even realize his cheeks were wet until he heard the child whine, breaking him from his self-deprecating thoughts. 

He raised his head, his face creasing in confusion as he saw the child scurrying to the closed ramp, his little arm raising to point to it.

“What are you doing, Kid?” Din muttered impatiently, getting to his feet to catch him. As soon as he hauled the mischievous child in his arms, he whined louder, squirming in Din’s grip. 

He frantically pointed to the ramp, his distressed whines and watering eyes striking the Mandalorian deeply. 

“What is it?” Din whispered, suddenly realizing the child wasn’t just upset about Iella’s absence. He knew something.

Din began to pace the ship, frustration building as the child continued to babble worriedly. He wished he could understand the nonsense that left him. There had to be something he missed. This was his job, he looked for missing people all the time, there had to be clues as to where his wife went.

There was no way in hell he was letting this be the end.

His eyes roamed over the ship over and over again, hoping something would suddenly stand out to him, give him any indication about where she could have gone. 

He soon stopped in his tracks, his eyes locked onto the weapon’s locker, and his heart suddenly dropped.

How did I not notice, he scolded himself.

His pulse rifle was missing. 

His stomach twisted with nerves at the realization, pure fear igniting within him like a lit flame.

She wasn’t leaving to escape him, she was leaving to fight. 

His entire body went rigid as he thought back to a conversation they’d had weeks ago, one where, at that time, she’d offered the most terrifying solution he could think of, one he refused to get behind.

I need to find him and I need to kill him.

She wanted to go after Voros and he wouldn’t let her. His own desire to protect her, to keep her away from any more harm that man could cause her overruled her own need to heal from his wounds. He stopped her from getting that and he wanted to kick himself for it now.

She was going on a suicide mission all alone.

It moved him into gear quicker than anything else ever had. He grabbed his weapons hastily, placing his armour on with shaking hands, gritting his teeth with frustration as he found trouble fastening each buckle.

“Come on.” He spat to himself as he messily donned his armour. 

Once it was on properly, he fastened the child into the perch in the satchel that wrapped across his body. He strapped the weapons to his belt and barely a second later, he was lowering the ramp, marching off before it had even fully lowered.

He would find her if it was the last thing he ever did.

He couldn't be too late, he would not be too late.

~~~

Iella kept her head down as the villagers began to start their day, setting up their stands for the market and greeting their neighbours politely. The more crowded the streets became, the more her nerves rose.

Every time she turned a corner, she could see Din. She would squeeze her eyes shut, shake her head of her exhaustion until she realized it wasn’t him. It made tears brim in her eyes every time.

Every step further from the crest was a heavier weight to her chest. 

She moved through the streets quickly, dodging people expertly, ignoring the merchants that called out to entice her to their booths, winding through the crowds with minimal contact. She couldn’t let the opportunity slip through her fingers. She had to find those men who worked for Voros before they left the planet.

She had to find them before Din found her.

Her eyes drifted upwards towards the sun that was now high in the sky, her heart aching. Din was definitely awake by now. He was probably panicking, going crazy trying to find her. 

A loud sigh escaped her at the thought of him, of the night before.

The way he’d held her so tightly yet so gently, the way his lips felt on her skin, the way the scruff on his jaw left tingles on her neck that she could still feel only had her aching to turn right around and run right back into his arms.

It was becoming more tempting the longer she was away from him.

But she couldn’t stray, not when the prospect of killing Voros, of finally getting revenge on her torturer was so close.

She had to keep moving.

Her heart beat wildly in her chest, her pulse thrumming through her entire body nervously, as she approached the loading dock.

Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the familiar cargo ship Voros always had them use on missions.

She moved in the shadows skillfully and got into position, hauling the large rifle off her back. She breathed out slowly, a calmness washing over her as the familiar aspect of her new life fell into place.

Her finger hovered over the trigger as she awaited her targets.

~~~

Din was racing through the streets of the crowded village. He wasn’t polite as he pushed people out of his way, ignoring the swears and threats that were yelled back at him. He’d followed Iella’s tracks and he knew he wasn’t far behind, but her path was becoming more difficult to follow as more and more people trekked over her footprints.

Heavy pants left his lips, both of exertion and panic as he sprinted his way closer to his wife. The child suddenly let out a cry and he skidded to a stop, looking down in worry and bringing him in closer to his side protectively.

The child squirmed, his little arm reaching out towards an alleyway to their right. The distressed look on his little face was heartbreaking.

Din didn’t question it, he learned not to when it came to his strange powers, and frantically raced to where he was pointing.

He ducked behind buildings to block himself from the view of the few people he saw milling around the small loading dock next to him. He slowed his pace, his eyes frantically searching every doorway, every window, every alleyway, he passed.

He suddenly stopped in his tracks, his eyes going wide as he saw a cloaked figure kneeled on the ground, with a rifle, his pulse rifle, in their hands. 

It was her, it had to be.

An involuntary whimper escaped him at the sight of her and he raced forward, almost stumbling over his own feet in his haste to get to her. He moved swiftly, hauling his wife to her feet and placing a hand over her mouth to stifle the yelp of surprise she let out as he carried her away from the loading dock, away from any potential prying eyes.

She squirmed in his grip, kicking her legs out in defiance, making him wince at the pain in his shins as she struggled to get out of her supposed attacker’s grip. 

“It’s ok, it’s me. It’s just me.” He whispered frantically. 

She finally pushed him off, her eyes dark with hatred as she pulled the knife from her belt, his words not registering to her. She stopped abruptly, the weapon stalling in the air as she looked back at him. Her once rigid body slumped once she finally realized it was him.

Horror suddenly grew in her eyes as the consequences of her hasty decision stared her in the face.

“What are you doing here?”

Din scoffed and shook his head.

“You seriously think I was gonna let you go through with this suicide mission?” He argued back sternly, placing his hands on his hips. “I woke up and you were gone, what the hell did you think I was gonna do?”

“I didn’t want-”

“You thought I’d let you go after him by yourself? You thought I wouldn’t care that you were putting yourself in danger? Fucking hell, Iella, I know you don’t remember me, but after all this time we spent together, you really think that little of me? You think I’d let you do this?”

Iella’s face twisted, her frown growing the more he rambled. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She said softly. It was apparently the wrong thing to say by the way Din threw his hands in the air in exasperation as a harsh laugh of disbelief met her ears. He was pissed and there was nothing she could do.

“What the fuck were you trying to do then?!” He yelled at her. “You can’t just leave! I told you I would be there for you, I told you that no matter what, I’d help you with whatever was thrown at us, and you didn’t trust me, you didn’t believe me, I don’t know what it was, but it fucking hurts, El. You fucking hurt me.” 

Iella straightened her shoulders, schooling her features in a semblance of strength that seemed to be faltering with every word he spat in his harsh tone.

“You also told me I couldn’t go after Voros, that I couldn’t get revenge against the man who tortured me. I didn’t think I could come to you after that. What was I supposed to do?” She argued back.

Din flinched, like her words had physically struck him. 

“You know why I said those things. You know it’s dangerous, you know-”

“I know that I can’t live like this anymore.” She interrupted him. “I know I wouldn’t survive if you or the child got hurt because of me.”

“That’s not gonna-”

“You don’t know that!” She screamed and quickly lowered her head, forcing herself to take deep breaths in an effort to calm down and avoid making a scene. “Gideon’s gone. That means the only threats against us, the only reason we’re still looking over our shoulders is because of me, because of Voros.”

Din stayed quiet, knowing there wasn’t anything he could say against that. She was right and it killed him to acknowledge it. 

“I can’t let you two take the fall for me. I can’t let you get caught in the crossfire.”

Din sighed heavily, his eyes squeezing shut at her words. He remembered a time years ago, when they were still working with Ran and Xi’an, where she had, time and time again, stuck up for the innocent people that got caught in the line of fire.

They were practically the same words she used then.

It killed him to know she didn’t even remember that she’d said those words before, that she was acting exactly like the person he once knew, the person he missed more than anything in the galaxy. 

She had no idea just how much those words decimated him. They rendered him with no fight left.

His silence only kept her on edge, fearing he was still brimming with fury at her, so angry he couldn’t even get the words out.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. “Last night… that was the perfect goodbye and I don’t regret a second of it. I just needed to… be close to you before I did this, in case…” She didn’t finish her sentence, she couldn’t, and Din was grateful for it.

He didn’t think he could stand to hear those words out loud. 

It was silent between them for a moment. It wasn’t long, but to them it seemed to stretch forever. Din let out a shaking breath, trying his best to ground himself, to not let his anger and panic over the situation he’d woken with dictate their conversation now.

Yelling wouldn’t do a thing and it was the last thing she needed now. 

“You know I can’t let you do this.” He said softly.

“I know. That’s why I left.” 

Din winced and shook his head.

“You’re not doing this without me.”

“Din-”

“No. I’m not letting you. If you need to after Voros now, fine. I won’t stop you. But you sure as hell aren’t doing it alone.”

Iella stared at him in shock. She hadn’t expected him to give in, to finally relent to her desire for revenge. 

“Din…”

“That’s all I ask, El, that’s it. I don’t care how dangerous it is, I don’t care about the risks, I’m going with you, that’s final.” He spoke sternly.

Iella paused, staring back at the imposing Mandalorian in front of her carefully, looking for any indication that he was lying, that he was actually trying to persuade her against her heinous plan. But she found none. 

He was all in.

“What were you planning?” He asked, sensing her hesitation. 

She swallowed thickly. “I saw two of Voros’ assassins yesterday. I remembered them, I used to work with them.” 

Din’s body stiffened as he realized that was the reason she had been acting so strange the night before. He thought he wanted to put together all the pieces, but now that they were falling into place, he realized he would rather not know. Ignorance was bliss and the reminder of her manipulated past was agonizing.

“Did they see you?” He finally choked out after a long, stifling silence.

“I don’t think so.”

“So now what?”

“I was gonna… take them out and steal their ship. Show up at the Imperial base and use the element of surprise to my advantage.” Iella explained, realizing once she had spoken it outloud just how risky her plan was.

Din sighed heavily, his head falling back onto his shoulders as he closed his eyes tightly. He could already feel the beginnings of a stress headache forming. 

“And you were really willing to do this alone?” 

“I thought I had to.” Iella shrugged. Din physically flinched at her words and she sighed, bowing her head. “I didn’t mean it like that.” She added quickly. 

“No, you’re right. I haven’t been supportive about this. I was selfish, I wanted you far away from that man. I wasn’t thinking about your feelings, only mine.” 

Iella was left agape at his admittance. She hadn’t seen it that way, she only saw it as him being protective of her, of him not wanting her in any more danger. 

“So we’ll do your plan, but not alone.” He said with determination. “We need more muscle.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have time to make a stop in Nevarro?” 

Iella’s face smoothed as he realized what he was suggesting, who he was suggesting as backup. 

“You sure we should ask her? I feel like we already owe her too much.”

“I’m sure Cara wouldn’t mind another fight.” Din explained simply and Iella found herself unable to argue with that statement. 

She knew the shocktrooper well enough to know better.

“You ready?” Din asked and Iella had to stifle a smile at how willing he was to go along with her plan. 

“Are you sure you wanna do this? I can’t force you to go along with this just because of me. I won’t let you put yourself-”

“El, if you’re doing this then so am I. There’s nothing more to say about it.” He argued. “So tell me what you need me to do.”

Her heart stuttered at his determination and allegiance to her. She knew he’d told her time and time again just how much he was willing to do for her, but to see it, to experience it, was another thing.

It left her breathless.

“I’ll wait for the guys to show up. You help if things get out of hand.” She explained, though she knew they wouldn’t. She could handle taking out two men, it would be the easiest thing she would do that day, but she wouldn’t tell him that.

She noticed the looks of agony he would have on his face any time she mentioned her training with Voros or her skills as an assassin. It was too much for him to handle.

And she knew she had put him through more than enough already.

“I’ll be right beside you.” He assured her and she couldn’t even describe the feeling that coursed through her at his words.

Silently, they moved back into the stealthy position he had first found her in. 

He let her keep her grip on the pulse rifle, knowing - no matter how much it hurt him - that she could handle it. Din pulled out his own blaster, pointing it at the same ship he saw her aim on. 

“I am sorry, you know.” Iella whispered after a long moment of silence. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I left because I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want Voros to use you as a pawn against me. I would never forgive myself for that.”

“I get it. And I know why you did it.” He said softly. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less, he thought to himself. He knew waking up with her absence would haunt him for a long time. 

He hadn’t felt that kind of terror in a long time and it had shaken him.

Iella nodded slowly, though she could tell Din was still out of sorts, that he was still upset. She knew she would have to do a lot of grovelling soon. 

“He ain’t gonna be happy.” 

Iella tensed at the loud voice of the man that cockily stepped into the loading dock. Her eyes locked onto the two male figures that strolled into the space, their arrival ending the moment between the couple. 

She recognized them immediately and tightened her grip on the rifle, aiming it at the taller of the men that approached their ship.

“No one else has any leads. Maybe he’ll take it easy on us.” The other man shrugged, causing his partner to scoff.

“When has Voros ever taken it easy on anyone? If we don’t come back with his bitch, it’s the end of us. You saw what he did to the team after Tatooine.”

Din’s breath hitched in his throat at their words. They were after his wife. They were following their tracks. Blind rage overtook him and he had to force himself to stay still and not take out the men that second.

“We’ll find her. She can’t be that smart, she ain’t got no brain left after what they did to her.”

Iella grit her teeth, taking a pause to inhale a deep breath and pulled the tigger swiftly, barely taking another second to blink as she aimed at the other man who was too stunned at the sudden assassination of his partner to move, and within a second he was also turned to dust. 

“Let’s go.” Iella said, her voice a strange and unsettling monotonous tone Din hated to hear. 

He blindly followed her into the hangar, his head turning every which way to make sure no bystanders were around to witness the brutal murder that just occurred.

“So, what’s next?” 

Iella didn’t answer, her gaze was locked onto the ship in front of them. Din followed her gaze, his brows furrowing at the sight of the unimposing cargo ship in front of them.

“El?” He prompted gently, finally breaking her from her thoughts and she turned to face him. He pretended to ignore the haunted look in her eyes. “What’s the plan?”

“We fly to Nevarro, get Cara and then… make our way to Voros.”

“You remember where the base is?”

She nodded slowly, her eyes averting from his. With a deep breath, she began to make her way towards the ship and Din’s eyes widened, fear striking him again, a feeling he was all too familiar with just from that morning.

He reached out, latching onto her hand.

She looked back and she didn’t even need to see his face to know how panicked he was.

“We need the ship to land near the base. They’ll blow the crest out of the sky if it gets too close. We need to be discreet.” She explained and he hated that it made sense, that he was being forced to stray from her side.

“I’ll follow you to Nevarro and then we take this ship to the base, ok?” She proposed, her eyes locked onto his rigid form until he finally slowly nodded in agreement.

“Ok.” He choked out, slowly and reluctantly letting her hand fall from his. “I’ll meet you there.”

Iella nodded, her face suddenly softening as she looked down at the child whose eyes hadn’t left her since the moment they’d found her.

“I’ll see you soon, little one.” She cooed to him softly, leaning down to squeeze his small cheeks lightly, a smile growing on her face as he let out an adorable squeal of delight. 

She looked up at Din, her face growing more serious, and with a final nod in assurance, she moved to make her way to the ship. 

Din’s hand suddenly shot out again, grabbing hers to stop her. 

She looked back at him in surprise, her face creasing with confusion. 

“Din…”

“You’re going to Nevarro first.” 

Her face fell, realizing just how much she had broken his trust. She nodded, squeezing his hand in hers. 

“I promise.” She told him honestly. She stepped towards him and leaned up on the tips of her toes, pressing a light kiss to the side of his helmet. “I’ll see you soon.”

He nodded and felt himself blush as he noticed hers that grew at the sound of his shuddering breath at her kiss. It didn’t matter if it had met his skin or not. Her closeness was enough to leave him breathless. 

“I’ll see you soon.” He repeated. 

They finally parted and she lowered the ramp of the ship, beginning to make her way up.

“El.” He called out to her and she turned around. “You can still-”

“I remember how to fly.” She told him with a smirk and his shoulders sagged, his helmet bowing slightly. 

“Right.” He muttered, realizing there was nothing else he could say to convince her to come with him on the crest. She had a solid plan and he couldn’t refuse it, no matter how much he wanted to be selfish and drag her along with him.

Iella smiled lightly, making his inside twist pleasurably, and she continued to make her way onto the ship. Din stayed in his spot, his eyes locked onto her as long as he could. He didn’t begin to make his way back to the crest until the ramp was closed.

~~~

The trip to Nevarro was short, a relief to both of them. 

Iella was sure he’d been speeding the entire way there because he was outside the ship, arms crossed, his foot tapping impatiently as he watched her land beside the crest. And she was the one who’d gotten the head start.

She smiled and shook her head to herself. She couldn’t deny the butterflies that erupted at his inability to hide his protectiveness around her.

He was waiting by the ship the second the ramp had lowered and his hand on the small of her back as they made their way through the streets of Nevarro never strayed. 

The trek had been agonizing. After what he’d endured that morning, he didn’t want her barely five feet from him. He was taking every opportunity he could get now to be close to her. 

They stopped as they got to a catina that was bustling with people and Din shrugged at Iella’s questioning gaze. It was their best guess as to where they would find the shocktrooper.

As soon as they stepped into the place, Din’s arm snaked around her waist, his hand now at her hip as he held her to his side, unwilling to let her stray too far in the seedy joint. 

It wasn’t hard to spot the ex-Rebellion soldier. She posed an intimidating figure and it was easy to spot the break in the crowd where she sat, warding off any stragglers from getting too close with a harsh gaze. But she perked up, her feet dropping from the table they were perched on as she saw her favourite couple approaching.

“Well, what do I owe the pleasure to the mister and missus?” She teased. “You wanna drink?”

“No, we’re here for business.” Din said quickly, stopping her from flogging down the bartender. Cara’s smile fell slowly and she straightened in her seat, her eyes flickering back and forth to each of them worriedly, sensing the tension between them.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re going after Voros and we wanted your help.” Iella spoke abruptly. Cara’s mouth dropped open and she stared back at her friend in shock at her words. “I know this is a lot to ask and it’s not much warning, but-”

“I’m in.” Cara interrupted and this time, it was Iella’s turn to stare at her in shock.

“W-what- are you sure?” 

“A chance to take down another Imperial bastard? Hell yeah, I’m in.” 

Din and Iella looked at each other, as if not believing that it had been as easy as it was to recruit their new member. 

“You know this is gonna be dangerous.” Din explained slowly and Cara laughed with a shake of her head.

“When is it not?” She got up from her seat, a look of excitement on her face as she straightened her shoulders. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

~~

The stolen cargo ship was in hyperspace as they all sat in the cockpit in silence, watching the colours blur past them mindlessly. 

The silence was stifling. 

Cara looked back and forth between the couple, wondering what it was that had them so on edge. Sure, going after the evil man that had held Iella hostage for a year would cause tension, but there was something more. 

They barely even looked at each other and the shocktrooper found it extremely troubling.

“So are we going in guns blazing or are we going for the more stealthy route?” She asked, finally breaking the silence.

“We could use deception. Iella, you could pretend you brought me and Cara in as prisoners.” Din offered and Cara winced.

“Yeah, cause that worked out so well for us last time.” She mused sarcastically, thinking back to the shit show that happened on Nevarro. 

“They knew I was on Tatooine. They’re tracking me so we have to assume they know I’m with you. They’ll know I would never betray you.” Iella spoke up timidly and Din tried his hardest to keep his body from reacting to her words. 

Everytime her manipulated self with no memory of him spoke of how much she cared for him left him in a tizzy.

“So… guns blazing, then?” Cara asked.

“I think that’s our only option. They won’t be expecting us so at least we’ll have the element of surprise.” 

“Sounds good.” Cara smiled to her and made her way out of the cockpit, leaving the couple alone, left in a silence that was yet again becoming filled with tension.

Iella’s head lowered, avoiding Din’s gaze that she knew was on her. She still felt horrible about that morning and she didn’t know how to address it, or whether or not he was still mad at her. She didn’t know how to approach him.

They could hear Cara in the hull, scanning over her choice of weapons and occasionally scolding the child who got too close to the blasters for comfort.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Din asked, suddenly breaking the tense silence between them.

“Yes.” She spoke softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t keep going on like this, wondering when he’ll take me from you. I have to make a move before he does.”

Din nodded. He knew they needed to do this. Hearing those men talk about how violent Voros was in his quest to get Iella back lit an already flaming fire inside him until it was unbearable. 

The rage inside him would not be sated until the man was dead. And he knew his panicked wife would not rest until the man that caused her so much harm was dead and he would be damned if he didn’t help give that to her.

“You know this is gonna be dicey. We have half a plan, we don’t know for sure how many of those assholes are gonna be on that base.”

“I know.” 

“And we don’t even know if Voros is gonna be there.”

“Din, you’re not gonna change my mind.” 

“I know… I know.” He whispered, sounding almost regretful, like he wished more than anything that he could, that he could stop her from doing this. But he couldn’t and he knew that. 

He reached out blindly, his hand finding hers, intertwining their fingers together as he held on tightly. Iella let out a shaking breath and looked down at their hands. She held onto him tightly, feeling more grounded by his touch than ever before.

She knew the danger coming but the only thing that kept her heart from imploding with nerves, the only thing that kept her from spiralling - as always - was him. 

She needed to go through with this, not only for herself, but for him, for the child. 

All too soon, the navigator beeped, signalling their arrival. Din tensed, dropping them out of hyperspace with a shaking hand. He didn’t want to admit just how terrified he was, how much he was dreading what was happening next.

As a Mandalorian, he wasn’t one to ever back away from a fight, but this one, this was one he had been willing to avoid for the rest of his life.

“You ready?” Iella asked as they descended into the atmosphere. Din nodded and he looked over his shoulder, his eyes finding hers intently.

“Are you?”

Iella hesitated before answering, her eyes looking out the window and her heart suddenly seized as she saw the large building in front of them, the building that housed all of her trauma and deepest fears.

Just the mere sight of it was enough to make her regret every step that brought her there. 

“Yeah, I’m ready.” She breathed out after a silence that was too long for her words to convince him. 

“Team 16 prepare to land.” The voice over the comms spoke, causing the both of them to stiffen in their spots. 

It was a relief that the first phase of their plan had been a success, but they were far from the clear. What was coming next that would determine the rest of their lives.

Din landed the ship in front of the base and he breathed a long and shaking breath before turning to face her.

“We can turn back now, no questions asked.” 

Iella smiled a weak and sad smile, squeezing his hand in hers. 

“You know we can’t.” 

“I know, just ...wishful thinking.” He muttered with a shrug and she could tell by the tone of his voice how scared he was for what came next.

Iella leaned forward, her arm winding around the back of his neck. “We’ll be ok.”

“I know we will.” 

We have to be, he thought to himself. There was no other way he would survive if they weren’t, if she wasn’t ok at the end of the day. He could not go through that again, he couldn’t lose her again or he would surely lose himself this time around.

Once was already too much for him to handle.

He leaned forward, letting his armour covered forehead rest against hers. 

Iella let her eyes fall closed, reveling in his closeness, in his body against hers, his warmth against her cold and scared body. It was all she needed.

“I really am sorry for this morning. I should never have just left like that. I didn’t mean to hurt you and I’m so sorry I did.” She spoke, her voice becoming more frantic with each word as she began to ramble. Din shook his head, a pang in his chest as he saw her watering eyes.

“Don’t, don’t. It’s ok, I know why you did it.” He whispered. He was still feeling slightly traumatized by what he’d been through that morning, but after hearing her explain, he couldn’t exactly fault her. 

He understood why she did what she did and he just hoped to the maker he would never have to wake up without her again.

Loud, rushing footsteps came their way and Cara breezed into the room with the child in her arms, her chest heaving. She straightened when she saw the couple locked in each other’s embrace and she subtly averted her gaze.

“Sorry,” She muttered. “But we got company coming.”

“How many?” Din asked sternly, standing from his seat with his fists clenched tightly.

“Just one.” 

Iella let out a long breath, slowly getting to her feet. There was no turning back now, she had no choice but to get her head into the game, to prepare for bloodshed. 

“Let’s go.” She mumbled and pushed past Din and Cara to make her way out of the cockpit. She pulled the deadly knife off her belt and pressed her back against the wall next to the ramp, motioning for Din and Cara to hide.

Cara acted immediately, grabbing onto the stubborn Mandalorian that immediately moved to be next to his wife, but she pulled him back to hide with her. 

He grit his teeth, his heart hammering within his chest as the mechanics of the ship began to whir as the ramp slowly lowered.

“Hey, Reyon, you find that purple haired bitch or-” The man that cockily strolled into the ship stopped abruptly, his eyes growing wide with fear as he spotted her. 

The deadly look in her eyes sent a chill down his spine and before he could even begin to beg for his life, her knife swiped outwards, slicing his throat easily. She moved past her unease quickly, not allowing herself to feel any remorse for the life she had just taken.

He deserved it, she knew he did. That was all she had to remember. 

Cara and Din stepped out from the shadows, both their gazes locked onto the man that had fallen lip to the floor of the ship, the puddle of blood around him growing larger each second. Din swallowed thickly, forcing himself to look away from the sight.

The terror that had coursed through him at the sight of his wife killing that man, the sight that was all too familiar to the one he’d seen when he’d first found her again, discovering her new identity, was enough to shake him.

But he wouldn’t let it.

“Let’s move.” Cara spoke up, knowing she needed to be the one to break the ice from the tension that was building as they stared at the body on the floor. 

Iella nodded stiffly, grabbing the blaster the shocktrooper held out to her, along with strapping the many knives she had to her belt. 

Din peered into the cockpit, making sure the child was safe in his cradle where he would remain during the mission, away from any danger. He closed the doors to the cockpit, sealing him in.

“Kill anyone you come across. These people can’t be spared.” Iella told them and the cold, emotionless tone in her voice made both Din and Cara wince. They shared a quick look of concern before shaking themselves of their reservations and followed her out the ship.

They moved swiftly, like a team that had been working together for years, able to communicate without words. They sprinted towards the base, Din and Cara quickly taking out the two guards that were stationed at the door. 

Iella threw a knife from her belt at a passing man making his way towards his ship. They couldn’t let anyone go. It didn’t matter what their job was, she knew they were all guilty.

They slowed their pace as they got to the door and Din let out a muttered curse as they found a keypad at the door, an encrypted code keeping them from entering. 

“Now what?”

Iella stepped forward, a look of derision in her eyes that was all too familiar to Din, one he hated to see. With a trembling hand, she slowly typed in the code that lingered in her mind. She clenched her jaw as the door breezed open, feelling both relieved and disheartened as she realized the code had worked.

Her knowledge from Voros had worked and it left her stomach turning.

Just keep moving, you’ll get yours soon enough, she reminded herself. 

Din sighed heavily, hating the feeling of dread that encompassed him as she opened the door. He knew it was probably for the better that she had remembered the code, that it made their life and their mission easier, but the implications of Voros’ impact on her still lingering in her mind was a decimating blow to both of them. 

He felt a nudge to his side and he looked up at Cara who was looking back at him impatiently. She motioned towards Iella with wide eyes, silently telling him now wasn’t the time to dwell on that detail. They had much bigger things to worry about.

The trio moved efficiently, their weapons firing into each room they passed, leaving no witnesses or whistleblowers in their wake. Their presence was still unknown. They paused as they came to the end of a hallway and a number of paths stood ahead of them.

“Which way?”

Iella barely heard the question, there was a faint ringing in her ears as her anxiety began to rise the longer she was in the building. Her memory of the base came back full force.

The sight of the familiar long hallways, the dark, desolate rooms, the people they took out, they were all reminders of her time here, a reminder of each and every horrible, torturous thing that had been inflicted upon her.

“El?” Din called out, his voice sounding as if he were underwater, barely breaking through to her wounded mind. “Hey,” He stood in front of her, his hand reaching out to hold hers tightly. “You with me?”

She looked up at him, shaking herself from the unbridled trauma that was coursing through her veins and she nodded.

“Go left. His office isn’t far.” She finally spoke. 

Din looked at her for a moment longer, trying to gauge whether or not she was truly able to go further, to push past the bubbling emotions she was feeling to keep a clear head. He wasn’t able to tell before she had pushed past him and began walking down the long hallway.

He sighed heavily and quickly moved to follow her, not willing to let themselves be even a few feet apart.

They weren’t walking long when they suddenly heard the sound of many footsteps from around the corner, signalling a group coming their way, one bigger than they were equipped to deal with without blowing their cover.

“Come on!” Cara hissed and pushed the couple into the nearest room, closing the door behind them. 

Iella felt her entire body stiffen, her eyes going wide with horror. She knew this room. 

She turned on her heel and could feel her legs tremble, barely able to keep herself standing as she looked at the enormous and imposing machine that stood in the middle of the room. 

She walked towards it slowly, her chest heaving at the mere sight of it, of the memories it forced into her mind, all of her screaming and writhing in agony.

Sensing her move from his side, Din turned on his heel, immediately stepping forward to follow her. 

“Hey, what-” He stopped abruptly, his gaze moving to what she was looking at with such stricken eyes. His mouth parted, but no words escaped him. 

He stayed rooted to his spot, his eyes travelling over every inch of the large, deadly looking machine.

“Holy shit.” Cara muttered, her eyes going wide at the sight of it. “What is this thing?”

“This is what… changed me.” Iella explained with a weak voice. Even with her vague words, Din was able to put the pieces together and he felt his chest tighten as dread settled within him. 

She had mentioned moments of her strapped to a machine, the one that had taken her memories away and for a long time, Din only had his imagination to supply the thoughts that came with her explanation.

But now that he saw it for himself, he saw just what had caused her so much pain and trauma, it was like a knife to the chest. 

He wanted to tear the machine apart with his bare hands. His entire body stiffened, his hands clenching into fists and Iella reached out immediately, taking his hand in hers to stop him from what she knew he wanted to do.

Cara, who had moved to press her ear to the door, turned towards the couple again, a regretful expression on her face as she knew what they were going through. She knew, despite whatever happened after today, that they’d be needing a lot of healing.

“Group’s passed, but it sounds like there’s more coming. We should hide out here for a few more minutes until they pass.” She whispered to them. 

In the span of a second, Iella’s expression changed, the look of horror in her eyes turning deadly as the sick feeling inside her twisted into pure rage. She moved past Din who scrambled to grab onto her arm to stop her, but she pushed him away, striding towards the door purposefully.

Cara’s face twisted with disbelief, she’d never seen the quiet woman she knew look so determined before and she was left to stumble aside in shock as Iella pushed past her and swung the door open.

She stepped out into the hallway, ignoring the hushed and frantic whispers of Din behind her that begged her to get back in the room. The soldiers that were passing the room turned on their heels at the sound of the door opening behind them and they all faltered, their weapons falling from their raised positions slightly at the sight of her.

The famed assassin was back and they all took a moment to stare at their boss’ biggest project in shock. 

Before any of the soldiers could reign in their surprise, Iella was already moving, pulling knives from her belt and tossing them with deadly accuracy. 

It wasn’t until three of the soldiers in front of the crowd fell to the ground with knives in their throats that the rest finally moved into action, pointing their weapons at her.

Iella let out a yelp as she was thrown to the side, Din’s arms wrapped around her tightly, spinning them around so his armoured back took the brunt of the shots that fired at them. Her chest heaved with deep breaths, finally brought out of her shocked state to realize just what she had done, realizing the danger they were now in because of her and her recklessness.

Din spun on his heel, firing his blaster at the crowd rapidly, keeping his body in front of hers to protect her from the shots that came their way. He and Cara fired at the dwindling crowd of shoulders and he noticed an occasional knife thrown over his shoulder, Iella taking down soldier after soldier from behind him.

The chaos from the fight alerted the others on the base, having heard the sounds of blaster fire and screams of pain, and soon, more soldiers were racing towards them. 

Iella looked behind her, seeing more coming their way. She reached for her weapons, a knife held in each of her hands as she ran forward. She barely heard Din yell for her as she jumped on the back of the first man coming towards her, plunging her knife into his neck.

He had barely fallen to the ground before she was moving to the next man, slicing wildly as she moved swiftly through the crowd. Soldiers fell at her hand, wounds dropping them in the neck, stomach and thighs as she passed them like an invisible assassin.

The fight was deadly and she could feel the beginnings of a red film overtaking her eyes, that numbness that came with her deadly kills washing over her as her anger took over every one of her instincts.

She mowed through the crowd easily, barely acknowledging her growing tiredness. She didn’t feel it. The only thing she felt was vengeance coursing through her veins like blood.

Iella grunted as arms suddenly wrapped around her, pinning her arms to her sides. 

“We’ve been waiting for you.” The man who held her crooned in her ear, making her cringe and try to squirm away from him, but to no avail. 

Din, who was still firing off rapid shots and punching and kicking any soldier who got too close, turned on his heel, checking on Iella yet again and his stomach dropped, rage overtaking him as he saw her trapped in the grip of a man twice her size.

The man moved to place his knife against her throat and before the blade could even touch her skin, Din was on him like a wild animal, forcing him away from Iella and throwing him to the floor. Din plunged his own blade into the man’s chest, not even watching the satisfied view of him sputtering on his own blood as the life drained from him.

He moved to check on Iella, but she was no longer by his side. He stood straight, his head on a swivel as he searched for her through the chaos. 

He perked up, fear growing yet again as he saw her racing forward. 

The only thing on her mind was Voros, of finally ending him. The need for revenge clouded her judgement so thoroughly, she didn’t even wait for Din or Cara to follow as backup.

“Iella!” Din screamed for her and sprinted towards her, but she didn’t stop. 

She kicked open the door at the end of the hallway, storming inside and firing off shots as she did. 

Din was only steps away from the door when it suddenly slammed shut in his face and he crashed into it, shaking the handle frantically. It didn’t open and he could feel himself beginning to lose his cool.

“El?! Iella?!” He yelled frantically from the other side of the door.

Inside the room, Iella startled at the sound of the door slamming closed and she turned, glaring at the guards who had closed and locked it behind her, who kept Din from her. 

She could hear him pounding on the door, screaming for her, the terror in his voice making her heart flip with agony. He sounded so scared and it made her want to scream. 

She’d heard that tone from him all too often and she hated it.

“Hello, Darling.”

Her body tensed and she turned slowly, her chest rising and falling with panicked breaths as her eyes met the man she hated more than anything in the galaxy.

Voros smiled widely at her, the amusement in his eyes clear, like he was delighted by her presence. 

“I knew you’d come back to me.” 

~~

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[mintjamsblog]

Hey, I miss your writing! I don't know if you're taking asks but hate-sex? Argument-sex? Make-up sex?

Okay, sorry for the delay, have a horny ficlet

Tommy/Alfie Hate-sex

It's not that Tommy means to be selfish, Alfie's pretty sure of that, it's just that selfishness comes to him naturally. It's no doubt a byproduct of the life he's led, a combination of ruthless self-sufficiency and entrenched self-preservation that manifests in occasionally infuriating ways. He spends so much time wandering around in his own labyrinth of a head that 'e don't always seem to realise where 'e is or how 'e got there. How 'is food got onto that plate in front of 'im for that matter. Which is kind of a case in point.

Alfie scrapes the remnants of an individual salmon encroute into the kitchen bin, dislodging the perfectly-cooked pastry that's now curling upwards, like the ribs of a rotting cadaver, protecting what's left of the messily pecked-out pinkness inside. He can't help being stung that Tommy couldn't even be bothered to finish it. It's as if the cocky little bastard thinks perfectly-prepared dinners-for-one just appear in the oven of their own accord. As if the cupboards are self-replenishing — automatically restocking his favourite whisky and tea (and semi-skimmed milk, 'cause skimmed tastes like dishwater and full-fat's too creamy) every time supplies run low.

But communication is key in any relationship, innit? So rather than run his mouth off half-cocked, Alfie decides to conduct an experiment. See how long it takes Tommy to communicate his appreciation for the things Alfie does.

The answer, it turns out, is a fucking long time — longer than Alfie's patience will last at any rate. When he walks in for the fifth night in a row to find the meal he prepared half-eaten, dirty dishes next to the sink, and Tommy so enthralled by his laptop he barely nods, "hello," well ... Alfie has had enough. He schools himself though. Clenches his fists and forces his voice to taken on a deceptively breezy tone.

"You eaten, treacle?" he enquires.

"Yeah," Tommy answers with a quick glance up. The living room's in near total-darkness, not a single lamp switched on, which means Tommy's lit only by the bluish glare of whatever's on 'is screen. It's not a flattering light. Makes 'im look tired — haggard actually — all sharp angles and purple shadows. Then again, it is one o'clock in the morning. (It'd have to be some quality porn to have Alfie absorbed at this hour, but the sad reality is that it's far more likely spreadsheets.)

"What did you 'ave?" Alfie asks.

"Eh?"

"To eat."

Tommy sighs. "Er ... that thing you left in the oven." He glances up again, irritably this time.

"Hmmm," Alfie says. "Bouillabaisse."

"What?"

"Bouillabaisse. French fish stew."

"Yeah, it was fish." Tommy's typing something now, bashing the keys impatiently — workaholic little prick.

Alfie looks round the room. There's a bottle of whisky on the coffee table and a glass (no sign of a coaster). A sea of stale bread crumbs flecks the sofa — the accompaniment to tonight's lovingly prepared meal. The man himself sits cross-legged, bare feet tucked up into the backs of his knees, socks discarded amongst the pale shreds of sourdough like twisted creatures in a gloomy velvet sea. He doesn't acknowledge Alfie's scrutiny; doesn't even seem to notice.

Alfie would like to start an argument right here, right now, to ask Tommy what his last slave died of and who the fuck he thinks he is. Instead he finds himself gritting his teeth and swiping at crumbs with brusque, rigid movements. He pairs Tommy's socks and collects up the discarded innards of this morning's Financial Times, seething quietly all the while. He's worked damn hard tonight, serving one hundred and forty covers in two sittings, (one hundred and forty three if you count Prince Tommy's dinner. That thought irks him more than it should). He needs a shower more than a row, but he can't help himself from needling.

"Nice was it?" he asks, crumpling the newspaper into the fire-bucket.

"What?"

"Your dinner."

Tommy huffs and finally looks up, dropping his hands from the keyboard to rest either side of his legs. "Is there a problem, Alfie?" he says.

"Problem?" Alfie says, his eyebrows raised in mock surprise. "No, nah. No problem. Just wondered if it was nice? Ya know, the bouillabaisse?"

"Yes. It was nice," Tommy says, digging thick fingers into his eye sockets as if the bloodshot orbs were the source of his irritation. "I have to send this to Pol in the next fifteen minutes or she'll fucking skin me tomorrow. Alright?"

"S'not Pol makes all your dinners," Alfie mutters under his breath.

"What?"

"I said Pernot. Makes all the difference."

"Right."

"To bouillabasisse."

"Fuck's sake..."

"I'm going up for a shower."

"Fine. I'll be up when this is done."

Alfie stands under the hot water and lets his anger simmer, stirs it just enough to intensify the flavours. He pours over the paltry slights, the daily irritations and provocations that come from sharing a home. And alright, each annoyance on its own might not sour the dish, but combined they begin to thicken. Alfie's careful not to let his anger boil, he don't want to turn it bitter, but by the time he walks into the bedroom he can taste it on his tongue.

Tommy is already in bed, one hand tucked behind his head as he reads a document of some kind, several creamy pages stapled together. He tuts and turns the page, without looking over to Alfie. And p'raps that's what does it, finally tears Alfie's patience; he strides to the bed and rips the papers clean out of Tommy's hand, hurling them across the floor.

"What the fuck?" Tommy says. He looks shocked, and slightly bewildered. There's anger there, but dulled by a visible weariness.

Alfie ain't in the mood for concessions; he climbs onto the bed, boxing Tommy in on all fours.

"That's fucking rude," Tommy says, his mouth a mean little line.

"Rude?" Alfie says. "Me?" He laughs so unexpectedly it comes out as more of a bark. "You're fuckin' unbelievable, mate."

Tommy's face hardens in that way that suggests he's about to say something deeply unwise. Alfie leans down to kiss him, hard, before he has the chance. There's a startled sound and a clashing of teeth as Tommy tries to shut him out, but one strategically-placed hand around his throat and he opens for Alfie's tongue with an audible exhale.

Alfie licks into him, probes the inside of his mouth, overwhelmed with a desire to retake what Tommy's withheld: his attention. His full, undivided attention ... by god, he's gonna give it now. Tommy's defences start to weaken — his tongue softens, his mouth falls wide — when he lets out a whorish little moan, Alfie pulls away. He's hard with lovingly-nurtured anger and ready to put it to use. "Over," he says, nudging Tommy's hip with a knee.

Tommy rolls reluctantly, looking rather bewildered. Alfie reaches into the bedside drawer and slicks himself one-handed, cursing as the lube falls noisily onto the floor. Don't matter, he's done enough.

"Got something to say to me, Tommy?" he asks, fumbling in his haste.

Tommy doesn't answer, though he can be in no doubt as to where this is leading. It's a source of unending wonder how he can look so fucking truculent when he's splayed face-down on the bed.

"No?" Alfie prompts. "You sure about that?"

Tommy stays defiantly mute, so Alfie wraps an arm beneath him and slams in with a single thrust. The sound of breath being knocked out of Tommy shocks the air in the room, and sends fire licking through Alfie. He hauls Tommy closer still, squeezing his slender waist as if emptying a soda-bottle of air. His hips and forearm are opposing forces, jaws clamping down on a pelvis — he lets Tommy feel the bite of his strength, of his want, until a cry of anguish fills the air.

Then he waits, breathing slowly through the seconds of charged stillness as Tommy fights to yield. Ten seconds turn into fifteen, twenty, followed by a convulsion — one rigid spasm that travels the length of Tommy's body and ends with a shuddering groan. The precious sound of acceptance. Only then does Alfie ease back, sliding out an inch or two purely for the pleasure of pressing back in and making him cry out again.

"Thank me," he says, voice low as he presses a kiss into Tommy's neck.

Tommy groans and tips his head but doesn't form the words.

"Thank me," Alfie repeats with a thrust. "I want to hear you say it."

Tommy buries his face in the sheets and doesn't make a sound.

"Alright, if that's how you want to play it." Alfie heaves himself upwards, and presses his weight into Tommy's shoulder-blades. "You will thank me," he promises, "if I 'ave to fuck you into next week."

Maybe that's what Tommy needs, Alfie ain't giving any more chances. He builds up the pace with increasingly vigorous thrusts, which Tommy just lies there and takes it. And takes it. And takes it. The sheets come untucked, the pillows bank up against the headboard and Alfie fills with dark delight when Tommy starts to falter, to let little growls and mewls escape. He sounds like a wounded animal. Perhaps he's expecting sympathy ... poor deluded boy. Alfie slows his hips and shifts position, wrapping his arms beneath Tommy's armpits and locking hands in front of his chest. The position puts his mouth against Tommy's ear.

"If you ain't gonna say it, darlin', you'd better shut the fuck up." He pulls out achingly slowly, feeling the grip around his cock before slamming back in with a groan. The angle clearly changes something because this time Tommy sounds desperate — a series of high-pitched sounds ripples out of him, ending with a whine.

"Say it," Alfie growls, repeating the exact same movement to even more delightful effect. He pulls out for a third time, about to fuck in again when  

Tommy whispers something that sounds awfully like compliance.

"What's that?" Alfie says, pausing to pull him out of the pillows by his hair.

"Thank you," Tommy says, his voice barely a whisper as he quietly obeys.

"Again," Alfie says as he drives back in, pulling hard on the black locks so that Tommy's neck is bared.

"Thank you," Tommy repeats. This time the response is a gasp, two gasps, but still Alfie isn't sated.

"Again," he says, with another thrust.

"Thank you," Tommy replies; the struggle in his voice drives Alfie on like a racehorse under the whip.

"Again," he says, "again ... again."

"Thank you," Tommy murmurs, "thank, ahh, thank y—"

Alfie lets go of the hair and fucks Tommy hard, cutting off each gasped response before it's fully formed. Soon it's like an echo that follows every thrust.  "Thank—, than—, tha— urgh!"  Tommy's fingers splay out like flags of surrender but Alfie ain't feeling merciful.

"Again," he growls. "Thank me again, thank me until you can't say it."

Tommy does, he says it over and over, until he's so battered by Alfie's desire that every pitiful, "thank you," is a breath forced into the mattress. Is a plea. Is a please ... "please Alfie, fuck, god, please ..."

***

Afterwards, Alfie curls onto his side and basks in the faintly horrifying afterglow of his own cruelty. It takes a good few moments until he feels his own pinkness subside. Tommy shuffles closer, ducks into the concave space formed by the curve of Alfie's body. His arms slide around Alfie's belly and he holds on tight, in the way he only ever does after a particular type of sex. Alfie bends to kiss the top of his head, a single peck that's suffused, somehow, with more tenderness than an hour of tongued kisses.

"Thank you," Tommy whispers into the hair on Alfie's chest. Alfie strokes the back of his neck and feels overwhelmingly and incongruously protective.

"For the dinners or the sex?"

"Both. You always know what I need."

"Good job one of us knows what's good for you."

"You are."

"Hmm."

Alfie wishes he were more certain of that.

[sincerelybluevase]

Careful, Madam Chapter Seven

A/N: Here it is, the final chapter! Thank everyone for being so patient with this one (the first chapter was published in June 2020, insane how time flies) and for the lovely comments; they mean a lot to me! For a gorgeous preview made by @thegirlisuedtobe, click here. Tagging @alice1nwond3rland, @need-not, @mlletina, @msmaryadmitrievna, @solattea, @halewynslady.

Maxim was the first to speak. “Steady, Mrs Danvers. You wouldn’t want to shoot me.”

Mrs Danvers did not waver. She held the gun steady. Not a muscle in her face moved so that she seemed hard and resolute to me, marble-made. “Let go of Mrs de Winter, sir.”

He released my arm with a theatrical motion, raising splayed hands in mock surrender.

“Come to me, Madam.”

I went so quickly I nearly stumbled. I wished to clutch her arm, to feel the reassuring solidness of her long lean limbs, but I was afraid of what might happen; I didn’t want to set off the gun by accident.

Maxim looked at us with hatred. His face had turned cold and masklike with it. “Now what?” he asked. “You’ll shoot me, Mrs Danvers?”

“I will if you force me, sir,” she said.

“And then what, Mrs Danvers? What happens then? Have you thought about that? Should you kill me, you will hang; the law won’t take pity on you for being a woman. They’ll string you up by that thin neck of yours until you are dead.”

“They won’t if they know what you are, sir.”

“And what am I?”

She glanced at me, at my reddening cheek. “A murderer and a wife-beater.”

He laughed coldly. “That’s no reason to shoot me, now is it, Mrs Danvers? I think you and I and the law can all agree on that.”

“It is if you provoked me, if you threatened your wife and unborn child, sir.”

The laughter petered out. Still he smiled, showing his sharp canines. “You’d have to aim well then, Mrs Danvers, and kill me with one shot, because if you leave me well enough to talk, you’ll be done for. Who do you think the police and lawmen will believe: me, a gentleman with an impeccable reputation, or you, a mad, old, sexually-frustrated maid with unnatural tendencies?”

I wished to speak so I could defend her, but fear held me in its grip, petrifying and silencing me.

Mrs Danvers set her jaw and tightened her grip around the gun. “I’m a good marksman, sir. If I aim to kill, I shall.”

“Perhaps,” Maxim jeered, “but are you certain? And are you absolutely certain that, even if you kill me, you won’t go to prison? They’re harsh places, prisons. Do you want to spend the rest of your life in a cold, damp room, with only a strip of sky to remind you of what lies outside?”

Still Mrs Danvers held the gun steady, her joints seemingly locked into place. “Here’s what men like you don’t understand,” she said softly, “I gave the best years of my life to your first wife; I’m willing to lay down what years remain to me for your second.”

My love for her made a pain rise in my throat. I swallowed against the tears. I looked at Maxim, thinking he would refute her or curse at her. He did no such thing. Instead, he began to yawn, making a great show of it, his mouth opened so wide I could see the fillings in his molars. When he was done, his eyes watered. He brushed the tears away with a fingertip, then turned to me. “You shall stop this nonsense right now,” he said. He spoke as if I was a naughty child.

I shook my head. I could not speak.

A vein at his temple began to throb. I could see it jump around under the skin, writhing like a worm. “Oh, but you shall. You shall stay here, with me, and we shall forget this moment of madness. Mrs Danvers shall have to go, of course, no sane man would keep a housekeeper who pulled a gun on him, but I shan’t press charges. I’ll even give her a good reference. A woman with her qualities can work for any fine family in England. But you, my little darling, shall remain here, by my side, as my wife and the mother of my children.”

“No,” I whispered.

“No? What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I don’t want to stay.”

He laughed in disbelief. “You don’t want to stay? Do you understand what you’re saying? Before you met me, you had no friends or kin, money, no prospects. You were an old lady’s plaything, her little whipping boy. I raised you up out of darkness. I gave you a name, a house, a reputation to uphold. Without me you have nothing and you are no one, just a grubby little schoolgirl with bad nails and a name no one can spell. Do you hear me? You are nothing!”

“She won’t be nothing. She’ll be my mine,” Mrs Danvers said.

With a roar, Maxim lunged at her. She pulled the trigger, but he knocked the gun out of her hand. The shot went wild, the bullet damaging one of the plaster leaves on the ceiling, causing crumbs to rain down dryly. The gun fell to the floor, skidded, came to rest not a step away from me.

Maxim punched Mrs Danvers in the face, once, twice, thrice. Her head snapped back. She staggered. Blood poured down her mouth and chin. She made a soft choking sound, coughed. Drops of blood flew from between her lips.

“Stop!” I meant to scream it, but it came out as a whisper.

Again Maxim struck her. This time she stumbled and fell, her skirts billowing around her like black sails. He bent over her and continued to beat her. His fists came down on her face and throat again and again and again, dull slaps of flesh against flesh.

“Maxim! Maxim, stop! You’ll kill her!” I screamed. The sound carried, though for all the good it did, I might well have kept my tongue; Maxim continued to brutally, systematically beat Mrs Danvers. She tried to sit up to fend him off, but he pushed her down. Again she rose, again he beat her down.

As a child, I had witnessed our cat playing with a mouse. It would let it run, only to smack it down with its paw before it could get away. The mouse didn’t stand a chance, yet it persisted hopelessly, just as Mrs Danvers would persist in trying to sit up until she could rise no more.  

There was only one thing to do. I bent down and took hold of the gun. It was still cool despite Mrs Danvers’ grip. I raised it and found it surprisingly heavy for its size; it almost slipped out of my clammy hand. With one eye closed I aimed the gun at Maxim, but I was shaking and dared not fire for fear of hurting Mrs Danvers.

I brought the gun to my temple instead. “Maxim, look at me,” I shouted. “I’ll kill myself! I’ll kill myself and your unborn child if you don’t stop!”

He looked over his shoulder. His face was spattered with blood, his lip curled into a snarl. He let go of Mrs Danvers’ dress, causing her to thud to the ground, and came to his feet. “Don’t!” he said. “Don’t you dare!” He stumbled to me, his hands outstretched to wrest the gun from me.

I pointed the gun at him, closed my eyes, and shot.

*

All of this happened many years ago. My life now is very different from the one I led at Manderley. I’ve said goodbye to England and now have no estate to call my home, no husband to lord over me. Here, my name means nothing, and my face, once plastered over every English newspaper, is just another face, easily forgotten. No one need know that I once was the second Mrs de Winter, the one who everyone knows because she killed her husband. An act in which she was justified, of course, since he had murdered his first wife and now wished to kill her, too, before putting a bullet through his own brain, but that never made the case any less sensational. Whenever I think of it – which, when I am honest, is seldom but still too often for my taste – I can’t help but smile wryly. After all, there is a cruel sort of irony to the whole affair; Maxim killed Rebecca to safeguard Manderley’s reputation, but her murder proved to be the first link in a chain of events that would lead to a nationwide scandal. If I close my eyes, I can still see the reporters pressed against the gates, pen and notepad in hand, clamouring to see me.

There are no reporters in my new life. They do not know where I am, and to the local ones I am of no interest. I live in a cool little cottage, painstakingly paid for with the money I earn with my drawing lessons; I have given away everything I inherited upon Maxim’s death, for I never desired his money even before it became tainted with murder and madness.

Every day is much the same, but that I don’t mind. There’s comfort in familiarity, safety in routine, and after all that we’ve lived through, Danny and I have a certain hankering for comfort. Besides, raising a child together provides plenty of challenges and excitement, we’ve found.

Dear Danny. She’s wonderfully patient with me. I fear I am not always easy to live with. For all my efforts, I’ve not been able to banish the past completely. It still inhabits and possesses a part of me, one that I can fight when awake but must succumb to in slumber, so that, at night, I walk the grounds of Manderley once more. In my dreams, the house and grounds have fallen victim to rot and ruin. The lawn has gone to seed, sickness has turned the chestnut tree into a bleached husk, and the rhododendrons have reared to the fantastic heights of fairy-tale briars. The house itself sags to the side, its walls pockmarked by sour rain, the windows dirty and broken.

But for all its neglect, it is not uninhabited. I do not talk of the birds and bats roosting in the rafters, nor of the mice living underneath the floorboards and the silverfish who slowly eat away the wallpaper.

The library, with its masculine smell of leather and smoke and newspaper ink, is his domain in death as it was in life. There, he paces up and down, up and down. All that pacing has worn the carpet to threads. Each night I must go to him. It does not matter that I am unwilling; my mind and feet betray me, and take me to him. He knows that I am coming and awaits me with impatience, smoking cigarettes in quick succession, littering the ground with ash and butts. His face, once so handsome in a peculiar, medieval way, is ruined by the shot that killed him. It turned his left eye to pulp and smashed the orbital bones to pieces so that the area around the eye is curiously dented.

There must have been no time for Maxim to realise my betrayal; the bullet bored itself into his brain, killing him instantly. The Maxim of my dreams, though, gives me an amused, cruel little smile. Then – just as my life has become routine, my dreams have, too, and so this next moment never varies – he opens his arms to me. I don’t want to, but I must step into his embrace. He pulls me close to him until my head rests against his chest, against the fabric of his tweed jacket turned sodden by blood and the jelly leaking from his burst eye.

“My little love,” he murmurs as he strokes my hair, his breath stinking of the grave, “you didn’t think you’d ever be free of me, now did you? I shall never let you go.”

It is then I wake, gasping and sobbing.

Danny aims to soothe me, kissing my face and folding her long arms around me. I cling to her so tightly it must hurt. She’s no longer as strong as she used to be. No one would be after what Maxim did to her. He damaged her left eye to the point of blindness. During the years, it has turned milky white. She has taken to wearing a velvet eyepatch over it to keep out the light, for even the flame of a candle upon her left eye can trigger a mighty headache. Even covered up it pains her, but she never complains.

She holds me well after the shaking has subsided, kissing my hair. I kiss her throat in return, her chin, her cool sweet mouth. I always hesitate when I reach the scars Maxim left on her face. He embossed her cheek with his signet ring, the M and W intertwined. Yet whenever I hesitate, she brings her mouth to my ear. “No need to be careful, Madam,” she whispers, and then I know.

I have someone in this world to call my own.

I have someone to love.

[shiversdownyerspine]

5. Deprived

Gettin a little hot in here. :B

18+

The kittens arrive in the quiet of the night, stars dotting the deep dark blanket of sky. Sleep had failed to find you, and so you had shuffled your pajama-clad way to your kitchen with a chunky knit blanket wrapped around your chilly shoulders. The thick charcoal colored material dangles to the backs of your knees as you wait impatiently for your kettle to boil water for a big cup of chamomile tea.

As the water softly bubbles to your earnest desires of being lured to sleep, you find yourself distracted by a soft knock on your front door. You perk up, knowing by experience that this would be your nameless, faceless animal transporter. And just like with every other task animal, when you open the door you find nobody in sight, just a randomly sized pet kennel resting on your doorstep. You kneel and scoop up the crate to bring it inside.

Excitement momentarily stealing away your drowsiness, you quickly switch off the heat of your stove and carry your cargo to your room. Tea can wait a moment, the water will still be plenty hot by the time you're done. Closing the door behind you, you take a quick peek to find two fuzzballs huddled together at the back of the crate. The kittens are awake but clearly tired, and judging from their quivering bodies, probably a little bit stressed. Not wanting to cause more discomfort, you quietly unlock the kennel door to slowly reach in and gather them up for a quick health check.

Eyes, ears, and noses look clear and healthy, tiny claws and whiskers and tails are where they should be, no bumps or scratches to be seen. You briefly tut at the lack of towel or blanket in their kennel, worried about the absence of warmth and comfort. You've tried requesting some basic amenities for when your task animals are being prepared for delivery, but your needs have yet to be met. You're fairly certain by now that they never will be.

Both kittens are male and look to be around seven weeks old, still a bit too young to be neutered. As a matter of fact, they are still too young to be away from their mother, but some things just can't be helped. Judging by the pale bodies and dark brown coloration of their ears, face, tails, and paws, they are chocolate points. Satisfied, you pop the babies back inside and grab up the fluffy towel waiting on your dresser, carefully pushing it in and around the kittens before moving them to your bathroom.

Nestling their kennel in the corner of their 'room', you drape another blanket over them to offer privacy and leave the crate door open a crack for if they choose to explore. Softly closing the door to your bathroom, you head out of your bedroom and step once more to your kitchen to finally fix your mug of tea. Hot drink in hand, your gaze settles on the stove clock which reads 4:57 AM. With a sigh, you sip your tea and tug your blanket further up your shoulder, lamenting the lack of sleep you will be suffering from come morning. You suppose in the end you'll just have to rely on good ol' fashioned coffee to offer you any sort of alertness today. Resigned, you wander off to your bedroom, but are interrupted before you can make it there.

Midstep, you nearly drop your mug when the door to your guest room opens and there in the doorway stands a groggy, long john wearing Otto. Long hair ruffled and eyes half-lidded, he peers down at you questioningly. You freeze, your eyes sweeping up and down over his defined muscles before a blush rises to your cheeks and you drop your gaze to your feet, murmuring an apology for waking him and quickly explaining away the disrupted sleep because of the kittens arrival. You apologize once more and quickly scurry to your room as a befuddled Otto looks on, wondering why you had been up long before the kittens arrived.

Three cups of coffee in, the morning comes and goes relatively uneventfully. You do have to insist to an avidly interested Oscar that he wait just a little while longer to meet the kittens as they are still waking up and quite uncertain about their new home. You promise after their breakfast he can visit, lightly patting the grumbling man's back in reply as his brothers drink their coffee. With kitten food in hand, you hope this will help coax the babies out of their kennel. You amusedly eye Butternut and Pumpkin who are crowded around the door to your room, smelling intently.

You nudge them away with a hum of, "In due time you goofs."

To your delight the kittens perk up noticeably after feeding, and after some consideration you poke your head out your room to softly call for anyone interested to come see. As long as they keep the other cats out, that is. Oscar is naturally the first one up out of his chair while Axel and Otto hesitate before joining their younger sibling. They were simply bored, but they did have some interest in the mystery surrounding you and thereby extending to your room as well.

You tell the brothers to mind their feet before noticing Otto subtly eyeing your odd assortment of bits and bobs you have collected in a small jewelry box that had long since lost its shine and its lid. As Oscar and Axel carefully slip into the bathroom, they linger to watch you curiously from the doorway as you step to Otto to reach in your treasure box.

"I'm a bit of a collector, if something has a good texture and makes an impression, I tend to keep it."

An old bullet casing brushes your searching fingertips; you hold up the item for Otto to take, which he does, warm fingers brushing against your own slender digits. He rolls the hollow shell between thumb and forefinger as he inspects it closely. Perusing your other little knickknacks, you muse aloud how you never really plan to do anything with the trinkets, just allow yourself to indulge in an odd whim every once in a while.

Hearing the squeaky inquisitive sounds from the kennel in your bathroom, you and your little entourage find your attentions being redirected. With a gentle bump of your knuckles against Otto's wrist, you motion to follow you. Behind you the man's eyes drag up and down your figure in a surreptitious slide, settling minutely on the full curve of your rear before forcing himself to focus instead on the little jewelry box as he returns the tiny article to its rightful place.

With curiosity sated and more information shared about the tiny fuzzy additions to your home, you usher your guests out of your room as the kittens settle in for a much needed nap. You're tempted to follow their lead and crash on your bed, but you have a couple more things to do. One task being to introduce the towel you had rubbed the two kittens down with to your cats as a pseudo meeting. The Swedes watch in the living room from the sofa as Pumpkin takes a whiff, fluffs up, and slinks away while Butternut just plops herself down next to the towel like it's the most interesting thing she's ever smelled.

The other task? Well, technically you owe Axel and his brothers a tidbit of information after you refused to answer a question about your feathers during his 'interrogation'. And as you admit to the Swedes that you owe them some extra information, Oscar jumps right in.

"What is...favorite animal..no..task animal?"...It's technically against the rules, but it's a good question so you'll allow it.

Excited, you gush, "My pekin duck! Now, I love all my animals, but being my very first task, she's special. Most likely she was going to be prepared for food but the target never made it to dinner. She was wild-caught so it wasn't difficult to rehabilitate and release her. Good thing the woods have a lake. Well, more of a glorified pond really, but she loves it."

Axel side-eyes you slyly, "Duck makes good meal, shame."

You gasp, "No!..Well okay, probably, but I could never eat Ducky!"

Simultaneously, Axel's brows lifted high, Otto choked, and Oscar gasped, "Ducky?! Her name?"

You hesitate, ears red, before exclaiming proudly, "Yes, Ducky. Ducky the Pekin duck...come on this shouldn't surprise you, I named my cats after squash! Don't you dare laugh!"

Otto was roughly huffing into his fist as you floundered. Oscar had shifted closer to you with a wide grin, bumping his knee against yours. 

Axel smirked, teasingly sounding out the two syllables, "Duck-y..."

The glare you send his way is intended to be irritated, but is quickly ruined by your twitching lips fighting back a smile.

"I-It's a childhood thing! I couldn't bring myself to call her anything else!" You rub your cheeks, as if that would somehow lift the vivid color from your face.

"The lake by our orphanage had a variety of birds, and every single one in that water was Ducky. I was too young to really care about the differences. Also it drove our poor caretaker crazy, which ah...kind of enforced the habit."

Your mirth falters as you process your little slip up...that's what your lack of sleep gets you, you suppose. Okay, no use fretting. Push on.

"So when I saw my first animal, her name was already decided really." You smooth the material of the towel in your hands, relaxing your posture. 

"Chickens." You blink, looking quizzically to Axel. He nods towards Oscar.

Otto shifts his weight from one leg to the other, hands tugging his suspenders as he adds, "Chicken thief."

Your gaze settles on the youngest Swede with a playful gasp, "Oscar, really?"

The man meets your feigned incredulity with his ever-wicked smirk and declares with devilish pride, "Salt and Peppar."

It clicks, "...You named them after seasoning. Because you were going to eat them?"

Axel drags his eyes from Oscar to you, "Eventually."

You can't help but giggle, the three men twitching at the sound, "So, when you were younger you stole chickens? Wait wait, I'm going to guess...it wasn't just Oscar..and he roped you two into it?"

Oscar barks a laugh as the other two sigh and nod. You grin, "Goodness, chicken thieves in my home. Did you all get caught?"

Smug, Oscar shook his head as Otto responded, "Nej. Too fast. We...kept for eggs, ate later...old age."

You bump your elbow gently against Oscar's arm, immediately drawing his attention to you, "I've never had chickens before, but my old Ducky does have a bit of an attitude. How were Salt and Peppar?"

Axel snorts, leaning forward, "Angry. Not bad killing mice. Also good flavor."

Otto folds his arms across his chest, nodding in agreement. You chuckle, "Okay if any of you see Ducky, you can't eat her. It's just not allowed."

Still staring, Oscar licks his lips, "..Can we eat you?"

Axel and Otto tense, eyes boring holes into the scoundrel. You scoff, completely missing the lewd innuendo, "Oh ha ha clever; I have feathers, like poultry. Very funny."

You stand with a smile, realizing you should really grab some kind of food mat for the messy eaters resting in your bathroom before lunch time rolls around. You retreat to the kitchen to search while the brothers linger in the living room, staring Oscar down. Butternut in his arms, the youngest removes himself from the floor just to lazily stretch out on the sofa, innocent as can be as he ignores his brothers obvious ire. Pumpkin slips out from under the coffee table to hop up and settle on his stomach in classic cat-loaf position.

Axel begrudgingly turns his attention to you, recalling your cheeky attitude and fiery stubbornness concerning his prior questions in the kitchen a good while ago...yes, he won't deny how heat had pooled in his loins at your antics, bubbling even more when he glimpsed charming pink shyly sweep between your lips. But obviously it wasn't enough to tempt him; no, he didn't imagine himself seated at that very same chair, boots planted firmly on the kitchen floor as his hands squeeze your rear, bouncing you naked in his lap, fucking the defiance out of you as you moan and beg and promise you'll be good- he sucks in a breath, nostrils flaring. Taking a moment to reign in his hormones, he stalks off to the garden for fresh air, scowling all the while. Oscar.

Otto grimaces at Oscar's impertinence and clenches his hands, hesitating as remorse unsettles his stomach as he remembers the feel of you, your back against his front, his hands holding your body helpless and trembling with distress...and wonders instead about making you shake with something else; smoothing his hands over soft fabric to push under your sweater and up quivering belly to gently palm your breasts, pushing fabric away to bare them to his touch, fingers brushing your nipples, lightly pinching and plucking as your head lolls back, your hips rolling to push your ass against him- he exhales, trousers feeling just a tad uncomfortable. With a rough swallow, he lumbers off down the hallway to their room to...regain his composure. Fucking Oscar.

Oscar knows damn well what he's done. He's noticed the way his brothers' eyes linger on you, their growing infatuation not nearly as hidden as they thought. At least not from each other. Now they won't be able to get some rather debauched ideas out of their heads; just like he can't get rid of the thought of your pretty startled eyes blinking up at him, but instead of up, you're peering down, doe-eyed as he moves down your body and between spread legs, preparing to demonstrate the actual meaning of his joke as his hungry mouth hovers teasingly over your panties, just close enough that he can smell you as the heat of his breath warms the dampening fabric.

Oscar strains his neck to sneak a glance at you in the kitchen, adoration softening his expression as he hears your joyful exclamation when you track down the food mat for the kittens. It's possible you were just doing your hostly duties, but they all notice how you blossom as you accept their presence and he and his brothers gradually accept yours. He has no doubt his brothers are subconsciously beginning to consider you theirs; he saw with his own incredulous eyes as big, brutish Otto held you still, firm but careful, not a single feather crushed under fist...or how Axel, steely, stern Axel, was opening up to you about their own lives, tiny piece that it was. He had almost been stunned into silence with that one.

The thought of you in their beds had been just that; a tempting thought, conjured by night and temporarily sated come morning. But seeing his brothers' walls cracking, little by little? How curious. He can't resist giving his stubborn brothers a little push, jostling their imaginations, maybe some taunting thrown in to strain those cracks?...oh, this will be fucking fun.

[carryonmywaywardcaptain]

What’s in a Name?

CarryOnCap’s Masterlist

Pairing: Michael!Dean x reader, Dean x reader 

WC: 2,135

Summary: Weeks after Michael disappeared with Dean as his vessel, you decide to take some time away from the bunker. Nothing could have prepared you for the talk you have (or the tearful goodbye) when he pays you an unexpected visit.

Square Filled: Midnight Snack

Warnings: Season 14 spoilers if you haven’t seen it. Some angst. Sort of sappy fluff. Revelation of feelings and implied mutual pining. Minor mentions of injuries. Kind of a corny, abrupt ending. Also this gif by @teamfreewillbettertogether​​ (I mean LOOK AT HIM.) 

A/N: This is my first submission for #spndeanbingo challenge round 1 hosted by @spndeanbingo​​ Inspired by this 14x01 gif and the end dialogue of 14x09. (I do not claim to own the dialogue from those episodes, I just paraphrased for this fic.) This was supposed to be a drabble but it got away from me. lol

You had just finished a case up north-- nothing big, just a few werewolves preying on teenagers who were exploring the woods on the outskirts of town at night for “something to do.” You had tracked down the last of the pack just in time to save a young girl from becoming an unfortunate midnight snack. After driving her home and observing a tear-filled reunion with her parents, you returned to the motel you’d been staying at.

You were exhausted, covered head to toe in cuts and bruises from the hunt, and you knew you needed some rest. But sleep didn’t come easily these days and, when it did, you often found yourself dreaming of Dean. It kept you up at night knowing he was out there somewhere locked away under Michael’s control, and dreaming about him only seemed to make you miss him more.

It was late, but you decided to venture to the gas station up the street to grab a midnight snack of your own, hoping the cool evening air and a little food might help ease your mind. After cleaning up a little, you slipped out of your room and back into the night.

It had been weeks and there'd still been no sign of Dean or Michael. Sam had been working tirelessly trying to find him, but so far he still hadn’t had any leads. In an effort to help with the search, you packed a bag and set out to connect with some of your old contacts.

...At least that’s what you told Sam.

Truthfully, you had decided to leave because you needed a break from it all. The bunker had begun to feel crowded with all of the new inhabitants from Apocalypse World. Sam, Mary, Cas, and Jack checked on you at all hours of the day because they all seemed to know about the feelings you harbored for Dean. You appreciated their concern, but the lack of alone time and space left you feeling suffocated and on edge.

On top of it all, the bunker somehow also felt eerily empty without your favorite green eyed hunter. Reminders and memories of him seemed to haunt every inch of the place. With how overwhelming everything had become, it was liberating to work a case or two while you took some time to grieve and process everything in peace.

After buying a sandwich, a six pack, and a mini pie, you thanked the cashier and began the short trek back to your motel. Still lost in thought, you had taken a shortcut down an alley when a noise from behind stopped you in your tracks. It was subtle and if you hadn’t recognized it immediately, it might’ve gone unnoticed-- drowned out by the bustle of cars, sirens, and drunken bar-goers still enjoying what was left of their night.

The familiar rustle of angel wings.

Realizing you’d left your angel blade in the duffel bag beside your bed, you tried to remain calm. Cas had no way of knowing where you were and you knew the few angels left in existence were doing all they could to keep heaven running. Grappling with the fear and hope you could feel rising in your chest, you wracked your brain for any other possible explanation for who could be behind you. But even before he spoke, you knew it was him.

“Hello Y/N.”

It wasn’t his voice-- not really. Even so, the sound was oddly comforting after so many weeks without it. If you’d kept your back to him, you might’ve been able to let yourself pretend it really was him. That he had managed to break free from the archangel somehow and track you down.

But it was the way he said your name that let you know who it really was. His voice was hollow. Almost formal. 

One thing you’d always loved about Dean--whether he was angry or worried or teasing--was the way he said your name. There was always so much emotion behind it. Always a trace of the unconditional love he gave to everyone he cared about. When he spoke your name, there was always a deeper implication: no matter what he was feeling or what you had done, you knew he would always protect you and have your back. There was never a need for him to say those things outright, because somehow you’d always understood.

But this wasn’t him and those weren’t the feelings you had when your name rolled off of his tongue. Taking a deep breath, you slowly turned to face the man behind you.

“Michael.” 

The corner of his mouth tilted into a smirk. He wore a gray three piece suit, a long coat, and a newsboy style cap. His head was slightly bowed, casting a dark shadow over his eyes. Instead of the relaxed, bow-legged stance you were accustomed to, his posture was stiff and typical of the angels you’d grown familiar with over the years.

“It’s nice to be able to skip the introductions.”

He raised his head and the motion seemed almost robotic. His jade eyes briefly flashed a bright electric blue and the longer you looked at his emotionless face, the more unsettled you began to feel. Everything about him seemed detached and unnatural-- a stark contrast to the man you knew.

“What do you want?”

“What do I want? It’s a little...ironic.” His lips stretched into a wry grin, but there was still an emptiness behind it. “That’s what I’ve been traveling all around this world asking people. ‘What do you want?’ Their answers are always the same: Peace. Power. Revenge. Love.” 

You exhaled upon hearing the final word--recalling the countless number of fantasies you’d had about Dean confessing something similar to you.

“They say the things they think I expect to hear. Give answers they hope will ensure their survival. It’s all so very...weak. Pathetic. Human. But I will admit free will does keep things marginally interesting...how these ‘wants’ seem to motivate you. To give you a cause to fight for.”

You stood motionless, soaking in every bit of the speech he was delivering. The way he spoke was flat and unhurried. You reminded yourself over and over that it wasn’t him, but as his voice washed over you...the hold he had on you was undeniable.  

He took a few steps forward, hands behind his back as he began circling you like a predator stalking its prey. 

“He’s still in here, you know.” He tapped a finger on his temple when he circled in front of you again. “Resisting me. Squirming and trying to claw his way out. To get back to all of you.”

“Is there a point to this monologue?” Your voice wavered, sounding feeble instead of assertive.

“I can sense how vulnerable you are in my presence because of this pretty face. Haven’t you ever wondered what it is that Dean wants most?” He began slowly pacing back and forth in front of you. “I know his thoughts. His desires. His reasons for fighting. I know all that you’ve been through together...”

“He wants the same thing we all do. To take out as many of you douchebags as we can until--”

“You are what he wants.”

You tried to swallow, but your throat had gone dry.

“...what?”

“Why do you think he said yes to me? Why do all of you sacrifice yourselves for each other? Again and again...and again.” He paused and met your eyes when you didn’t say anything. “For love. For the fear of having to live without each other. For the ‘family business’ or whatever. Now, Sam? Mary? His angel pal and even the nephilim-- sure, he loves them. He would die for them. But you…well, there aren’t words for how devastated he would be if anything ever happened to you.”

“You’re...lying,” you whispered.

“I’m just a messenger, sweetheart.”

He spun on his heel and held his hands out to his sides, chuckling as he shook his head. You wanted to believe everything he was saying, but you had no reason to. Michael had lied to Dean-- why wouldn’t he do the same to you?

“Why are you telling me any of this? Why bother finding me at all?”

“Because his squirming is like an incessant gnat that simply won’t go away. So, as a small attempt to put his floundering to rest, I decided to pay you a visit. To say the things he never could. To put an end to his doubts...the worry and the fear and the anger that keeps him fighting. To show him there’s no need to resist me any longer. Lucifer is dead and all of you survived.”

“So you’re pretending to care about his well-being now?” you scoffed. “That’s your play?” 

“He’s angry with himself for saying ‘yes’--but he wanted to save his brother and the boy. To beat Lucifer and, together, that’s what we did. He’s so worried about his family’s safety but, with my help, you were all spared from Lucifer’s wrath. Now, after everything I’ve told you...do you have any idea what Dean’s greatest fear is? His reason for continuing to resist me?”

As the gears turned and every fiber of your being seemed to have a hunch about what he meant, your mind refused to even consider the possibility. There was no way he could possibly mean--

“You,” Michael sighed impatiently. “You’re the one he’s most attached to. The source of his deepest fear and regret. Because what if something happened to his beloved Y/N? What if he never had the chance to tell you that he loves you? That he’s always been too much of a coward to admit it.”

Feeling like the air had been knocked from your lungs, tears began to well in your eyes at his admission. You weren’t sure if he was telling the truth, but if there was any way to reach him...you had to try.

“Dean? If you can hear me--”

“Dean’s not home right now. He’s served his purpose and his mission is complete. Now it’s time for mine.”

You knew you should ask what he meant, but right now you couldn’t care less about Michael’s mission. Taking a measured step forward, you gazed into his eyes and hoped he could hear you, no matter how deep he was buried.

“I love you too, Dean. More than you could ever know… And no matter what happens, none of this is your fault.”

Michael scoffed at your attempt before suddenly hunching over to stare at the ground. His expression quickly grew irritated and he shook his head as he rolled his shoulders back.

“So...very...pathetic,” he mumbled angrily.

“...Dean?”

He stood abruptly, jaw clenched and nostrils flaring as he closed the distance between the two of you. You watched as he curled his lip in disgust and placed two fingers on your forehead. When his pupils flash blue once again, your body went rigid as a warm energy spread from your head to your toes.

As he withdrew his hand, you breathed heavily and rolled your sleeves up to discover the wounds from your hunt had been healed. You glanced back at him with a puzzled expression and let out a small gasp when you noticed how drastically his demeanor had changed.

Instead of blank, dead eyes, you were met with tender emerald ones. He reached a hand out and lightly traced his fingertips along the edge of your jaw.

“Y/N…”

It was nothing more than a whisper; a silent plea for you to hear everything he didn’t have time to say. When the word escaped his lips, he drew his eyebrows together-- all of the raw emotion Michael had kept locked away painted clearly on his face. 

You understood completely, hearing it all in the way he said your name.

“I know, Dean. We’re gonna find a way to get you back. Just hold on.”

He cupped your cheek and a sad, longing smile graced his lips when you leaned into his touch. Without warning, his eyes flashed blue once more.

In the blink of an eye he was gone. 

Clenching the bag of food and beer in one hand, you wiped away a few stray tears and fished your phone from your pocket. After selecting a number from your favorite contacts, you began jogging toward the motel. The line rang several times before going to voicemail, but you quickly hung up and dialed again. 

Arriving at your room, you unlocked the door and began frantically packing your bag. You huffed in frustration when the call went to voicemail again but, on your third attempt, you finally heard Sam’s groggy voice.

“Hello?”

“Sam? It’s Y/N. So, get this--”

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