#give me like an hour or two to get ready to reblog non stop until I cant anymore

[kejfjirke]

you are singlehandedly the reason that i've had this post on my feed at least 500 times

good, now get ready to see it ~250 more times

[acciocriativity]

THE U IN US - ATEEZ SERIES - CHAPTER THREE

Summary: You weren't really the lonely girl™ of campus, but it does feel like it when you look around, and there's no one by your side when everyone else are talking and whispering between each other. You did have "friends", more like "group projet friends" that you managed to get for yourself, but they were the ones that were real close, you were there only when they had an extra empty seat. But it seems like the gods above took your nonchalant facade as a challenge. Oh, you don't think you need friends to survive through college? Bet.

Pairing: Non! idol OT8 ateez x reader (platonic)

Tags: college! au; hybrid! au; ateez! au; fluff (a whole lot of fluff and wholesomeness); angst; hurt/comfort; mentions of loneliness and insecurities; mentions of hybrid mistreatment and abuse

WC: 3,4k

N/A: It's finally here and a thousand words longer than the previous chapter! Please reblog my work and let me know if you want to he tagged in the next chapter <3

TWO MASTERLIST FOUR

You were always an early riser. The sun was breaking its first lights on the horizon as you got ready for the day, but there wasn’t a single bone of excitement in you.

Your room reflected the mask you were trying hard to wear early in the morning, spotless and perfectly organized, that was until anyone noticed how messy your bed still was.

You feel asleep early for any college major, but somehow slept a total of 4 hours only. None of them knocked on your door, and you didn’t hear a single peep or saw any lights on from your own slightly open door. They were capable of managing themselves well, you knew that, so you closed the door and were left to your own thoughts for the rest of the night.

Your brain wouldn’t stop running to all the things you needed to do while waiting for a more appropriate hour of the day to actually do them. It was a suffocating feeling, and you hated to feel so impotent. So you cleaned everything you came across at 12 A.M. trying to be as quiet as possible, too restless and tired of all the toss and turn you did already.

You walked out of your room, and it was almost like every single worry you had all night was just in your head. The cop, the plan, your father, they’re now living with you, the shopping you need to do, the paperwork you have to get, their legal documents you have to find wasn’t splashed on the beige walls and the cold porcelain of the floor, so maybe you could just ignore it before your coffee.

“Good morning”, Seonghwa said as you reached the 3/4 of the stairs, now sure that you could see him on the couch and he wouldn’t scare you. Still, he did notice how you grabbed harder on the handrail and had a hard time trying not to smile, but his ears twitching could give him away. “I’m sorry”.

“It’s ok”, you chuckled. “Have you been up for a while?”, you asked as you reached the bottom of the stairs.

“No”, he looked over to the windows, the sunrise clear on the horizon. “I did not even notice how early it was until I came up here”.

It was partly true, there were no windows on the basement area, instead a huge glass door that lead to the pool on the other end of the corridor. He did not see the sun rising and did not take notice of the time, he just did not sleep at all.

“Want some coffee?”, you said as you went around the living room to the kitchen.

“Sure, thank you”, he said, but made no moves to follow you.

Seonghwa was enjoying the quiet to put his thoughts in order, something he couldn’t do lately. The last week took a toll on the whole pack to the point their scents changed a little due to stress. Nothing was planned and neither him nor Hongjoong wanted to put their trust and safety solely on your words.

Your presence on itself was something he couldn’t decide how he felt about it yet. It was annoying how submissive and fake most of them got in your presence, including Jongho, which was a shocking sight back on campus. It was in Seonghwa’s nature to be attentive and caring towards others, he was aware of it, but he only offers that to his pack and pack only. There were no humans left that are worthy of that, Jongho himself said to him once. Yeah, he saw you before. All of them ended up on the hybrid protection department at least twice until now. You were just a human child bored out of your mind. What’s so special about it?

“Here it is”, you left the mug on top of the coffee table, eye smiled at him and then left.

Seonghwa was paralyzed on his spot. He did not hear your steps nor your closeness to him. Now the only thing he could hear was his own-scared heart.

There was a dark cloud on top of Seonghwa’s head, so you give him his coffee quick and left him alone on the couch.

Now, you had at least a whole hour until you had to leave to take the subway. It was enough time to make a small breakfast for yourself and revise your notes for today, but not to make a decent meal for 9 freaking people.

You went to grab your coat near the entrance, even though in less than an hour it would be boiling hot outside.

“Can you tell the other boys I’m grabbing food for us?”, you raised your voice as you looked over Seonghwa, at least 10 feet away, still on the same spot as you left him starting at the wall.

He winced because of your loud tone, and you signed, now aware of your mistake.

“It won’t take long, sorry”, you just left, it felt like the best thing to do.

Perfect, you said to yourself.

Perfect, Seonghwa said to himself.

He knew some of the others could mess up this new arrangement out of guilt for searching around your father’s office, but he couldn’t let it happen.

Yunho was the first to walk downstairs, the both of them needed to have a little chat.

You could only hear the click and clack of the cutlery hitting the porcelain plates. For a table with 9 people, it was quieter than when you eat on your own.

The house was always just that, a house, a balance between a safe place for you to rest in and someone else’s property that you had no control over, but never you felt so uncomfortable in it.

The night before you noticed how proper Yunho and Jongho were, but now, looking at all of them, it seemed forced. It was, because it was. Of course, they were trained to be.

“You are really serious about food, aren’t you?”, you couldn’t take the silence anymore.

Most of them nodded, a small chuckle giving a little bit of life to the table. It was true, call hybrid instincts or whatever, but they meant business when it came to food, but they knew very well there was more than that to the atmosphere in the room, and it was best for you to stay unaware of it.

“It’s just that good”, Mingi said suddenly, as he took another bite of the fresh croissant. “Melting on my mouth”, he mumbled more to himself than anything, still a little shocked at how good it was.

Your neighbors glaring at you as you left with four filled bags out of the small bakery three blocks away was worth it.

“You should have it as a sandwich later”, you said, more than happy to have an actual conversation.

Mingi wanted to hear all about your best recommendations, while San, Yunho and Hongjoong had a staring contest.

Wooyoung, San and Yeosang, a trio you never imagined would work well together, but somehow it did.

On the way to university, you found out, actually, the three of them were dance majors, not just Wooyoung. To your surprise, Yeosang did most of the talking for them this time.

In all honesty, Yeosang just wanted to hide in a hole and disappear. Never in his life he thought he’d want Wooyoung to talk more or that he would wait for a miracle, but at that moment, he caught himself doing both.

Every single loud noise made him jump out of his skin, from the sound of the rails to the loud people talking on the phone. It was all too much all at once. Your attention on him and him only was new, his face was all red, and he couldn’t look into your eyes. His hands hugged his bag against his own chest, but the weight wasn’t enough. If it wasn’t for two hands on his thighs, a clear sign of protection and sureness, he wouldn’t be talking at all.

Bless your heart, you gave every bit of encouragement and reaction to every thing he said, but it was not helping.

“S-so, we were trai-”, Yeosang already small voice was interrupted by the announcement of the next station. The doors closed, and you held tighter onto the pole as it started to move again.

“Training for what?”, you asked as you did your best to maintain the space between you and San’s body.

“There is a performance at the end of the year”, Wooyoung said it, faster than Yeosang could think.

“That’s so cool, so there’s a date already?”

She thinks am I cool? It was unconscious how all of them perked up at the compliment. Wooyoung tail seemed like it had a mind of his own, swaying left to right. Yeosang turned even more red in the face, his fluffy gray ear covering the sides of his face as he recoiled between the two bodies on each side of him. San cleaned his throat as he looked the other way, he was not comfortable with how much he enjoyed it hearing such a small compliment from you.

Yeosang was a few beats late when he noticed you were still waiting for an answer.

“Oh, hum, no, I d-do not think so, right?”, he looked over to the other boys, who agreed.

“We’ll let you know so you can come see us”, Wooyoung said as he rubbed Yeosang’s back slowly.

“I’d love that, thank you, but are you sure it’s okay for me to come?”, you asked him, then glanced at San, who was already looking at you.

“We want you to come”, San said.

He said a ‘we’, when you were looking for an ‘I’.

It was a painful and awkward silent the rest of the way, until the three of you could breathe again.

“It’s not here”, Seonghwa said a second time since coming back to your father’s office.

He was already tired due to a sleepless night, now he had to spend all his energy to look for papers that weren’t even there.

“Then look again, it has to be here somewhere”, Hongjoong was loosing all his patience as he analyzed every single paper they found left on his desk.

Seonghwa took a deep breath. Hongjoong was being unreasonable, all of them already knew that, including Hongjoong himself.

“You know there’s no reason for why he would leave that behind, and it’s clear he hasn’t been here in a good while, so why are we doing this again?”, Seonghwa put the old box down on the table, all of it was useless anyway.

“This might be the only lead we get, do you just want to give up on him?”, the last two words barely a whisper as Hongjoong took a step closer to Seonghwa, the papers left scarred inside the drawer.

Both of them did not want Yunho, Mingi or Jongho to hear what was going on up there.

Standing so close to each other like this, eye to eye, they could almost touch the emotions swirling in the room. It was frustrating to Hongjoong. They had a goal and a chance, so why would they fail Yunho now? His anger, resentment and fear towards himself more than anything filled the room and suffocated both of them. Seonghwa looked nothing but empathetic and warm and welcoming to Hongjoong’s fears and worries, even when he could only feel the opposite, Hongjoong’s presence almost physically pushing him out.

It took Hongjoong only a moment to give up, which furthered Seonghwa’s worries.

“We’re going to figure it out”, Seonghwa whispered as he kneeled by Hongjoong’s side. He collapsed on the office floor, now holding onto himself. “We always do, don’t we?”

Hongjoong’s eyes seemed unfocused looking down to something on the ground, Seonghwa’s words barely registered in his mind.

When Seonghwa touched his shoulder, Hongjoong looked up to him.

“We always do, don’t we?”

“We do”, he sighed.

Seonghwa wished to say much more at that moment, but Hongjoong in that state would not hear it.

So he only did what he should do, offered a helping hand for Hongjoong to stand once more.

By the end of the day, you did all you could to not go back.

You called Jongho to tell him to get the food delivery when it was close enough to the house. He was surprised, jacket already on hand to buy lunch himself, but it was too late for a polite decline.

The bell rang and you hung up.

You did not come to eat with them, even though you had over two free hours in between classes, but they did not know that and even if they did, would they really call you out on it? It was more comfortable for them that way, so they could be free to behave like they wished to.

You stayed to study on the library after class, which you never did, you rather the comfort and quiet of your room for that, and it was barely 4 p.m.

The list was your salvation to skip dinner. This time, Jongho had time to thank you for the meal in the name of them all.

“It’s not a bother, don’t worry”, you said as you walked out of the second store, bags in hand and the phone tight between your shoulders and left cheek.

“We can cook for ourselves, you know. Don’t you trust us?”, he had that pouting voice through every word, and it took a small smile out of you.

“Of course I do, but you’re my guests and there’s a clear rule, guest don’t do any work around the house, so get used to it”, those words hit him like bricks when you thought it was a string of fresh water.

It was silent on the other side of the line, and you thought the call ended.

“Are you alright?”, his question caught you so off guard, you stopped walking in the middle of the busy street and a woman bumped into you with full force.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”, you smiled to her, but the woman didn’t look back to see your apologetic self.

Your voice was sincere, so Jongho allowed himself to stay calm.

She does not know, she’s not mad at you, he kept repeating to his stupid mind. Of course, you did not know and were not avoiding them on purpose because of it, but he felt his heart heavy still.

“We were just worried, you didn’t say anything so… but you’re safe then?”

“I’m coming soon, alright? Don’t worry about me, I’m just shopping for some stuff I need”, you walked faster, now feeling guilty to left them without a proper warning.

The moment Jongho hung up, the other 7 were waiting for an update. The winter night and the neighborhood made it seem later than it was. It was only 6:28 p.m., but there wasn’t a single soul outside and barely any noticeable noise.

“She’s coming soon”.

Mingi plopped on the couch, relieved. He barely talked to you, yet your presence and actions warmed him, and maybe he was getting too comfortable too fast, but just the thought of you leaving them now made him want to sob.

Yunho sat beside him and Mingi’s gray ears turned to him instinctively, but he had nothing to say. He knew Mingi well enough to know this meant something else to him, it was the possibility of another person abandoning him, and he was ashamed as it was of it. So Yunho did not point it out how that mentality wasn’t good for him at that moment, just offered his arm, that Mingi was elated to accept and cuddle with.

“Do not forget what we talked about today, can you do that Mingi?”, Seonghwa’s toned softened as he talked to him, a bit different from the actual conversation they all had.

Mingi only nodded.

It was a reminder for Yunho and Yeosang as well, no matter how they felt about the topic, they’d do their best to keep the roof on top of their heads.

Before you could grab the keys in your purse, the door suddenly opened.

You watched with your heart on your feet as a yearning Wooyoung took all four bags out of your hands and disappeared inside, too stunned to say anything.

“Uhm, Wooyoung, were you waiting for me?”, you asked as you stepped inside and closed shut the door behind you.

He hummed instead of answering you.

Beside him, there was no one in the living room, and the lack of noises was enough for you to assume they wanted to keep to themselves.

He carefully laid down your bags on the couch, then stood there with a small smile on his face.

“Is there anything else I can do to help you?”, he stood there shy and small in front of you.

The contrast of his behavior from yesterday evening to this gave you whiplash. Is this Wooyoung, or that was Wooyoung? You need to stop trying to figure them out. They carried huge baggage with them, and maybe you’ll never get to see even a small percentage of it, that was clear to you. Still, it is hard to be the one that had to pretend and ignore the elephant in the room.

“Yes, there is actually, but can we talk for a bit first?”

Wooyoung’s tail stopped its course in the air and his smile faltered, he nodded.

Both of you sat slightly turned to each other, but Wooyoung could not hold your stare, so he looked at the painting on the wall instead.

He thought his minds was playing tricks on him, but you seemed much nervous than he was. Your body was screaming to get out of there and run just like his. What could they’ve done for you to be so tense? Surely, you were not scared of him if you weren’t even scared of Hongjoong or San.

You took a deep breath. Your own mind exhausted you the whole evening and night because of this very moment, you were tired of overthinking every single thing they did.

“I just want to make it clear, so we can stop walking on eggshells around each other”, your voice was barely a whisper, still Wooyoung flinched at the reminder of his own confusing behavior towards you, just like San he’s been hot and cold to you for no reason, when you’ve been nothing but nice to him. “I want you and the others to be here, and you do not have to do anything because you feel like you have to please me in return, can you understand that?”

He nodded.

“I am also not mad at you by any means because of yesterday”.

That made him look at you, because you deserved at least that level of respect, even though your face was a bit blurry through his tears. He knew your kindness was undeserving, and he would do anything to compensate for it, no matter what you say.

You wished to hug him, and maybe he read your mind, because a second later, Wooyoung launched himself into your arms.

It was a silent cry at first, you were stunned in place, surprise by the trust and vulnerability he was showing to you, then you heard his sobs and the sound broke your heart, you never heard before and never wanted to hear again.

You held him tight through the soft tears, loud cries and slurred words he muttered under his breath on your shoulder. Even when your arms stared to hurt, he did not let it go, so neither did you.

It was comfortable to be near you like this, for the first time Wooyoung understood why San liked you so much, and that did not leave a bitter taste in his mouth this time. You were warm and kind and really soft, almost better than his favorite blanket.

“Wooyoung”, you broke your little bubble, and he hummed into your neck. “Can you call the others for me, please? I bought some clothes for you all to try on”.

He was perfectly comfortable in that position, leaning into your side and the last thing on his mind was to move away, but the moment he looked at your soft eyes and pretty smile, he got up.

He should not be understanding San in this way.

Tagslist: @asherthehimbo @katsukis1wife @a1i33a @idfkeddieishot @pyeonghongrie-main @h3arteyes4mingi @huachengsbestie01 @hhoneylix @alxxxnya @queenproxy-blog @staytiny816 @loveforred @darlingz99 @sundayysunshine @puppyminnnie @officiallydarkgeek

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Do you still do monster requests? How about a non castlevania vampire? Like how do they meet & what are their dates like?

Ask: Do you still do monster requests? How about a non castlevania vampire? Like how do they meet & what are their dates like?

A/N: Hell yeah I do! Let’s get this monster business on the road!

Oh and PLEASE REBLOG! Likes are great, but they don’t get my work out there. So I’d really appreciate any and all reblogs you’d be willing to give me. 

Gen!Vampire x Reader Headcanons 

So you know vampires, no matter the universe, are like absolute drama queens. (Seriously, you’re literally not allowed to become immortal unless you agree to develop a flair for the dramatic.) 

That being said, the same old thrills can get boring when you experience them again, and again, and again. So I’d imagine you’d meet somewhere quiet, somewhere very muted and unassuming. 

Maybe in the corner of a quaint little bookstore, or a particularly quiet exhibit of a local museum. They see you, minding your business, and immediately feel drawn to you. 

They’d introduce themselves, and maybe even offer some knowledge about the piece you’re looking at. If it’s a book, perhaps they share an exciting but mostly unknown fact about the author. If you’re at a museum, it’s about the painter/sculptor, etc. - you get the gist. 

If you offer an interesting fact in return, oh boy, are they immediately hooked. Most of the time people just kind of politely nod and wait for them to stop talking, but there you are, actually appreciating what they have to say and engaging with them! (It’s been a really long time since someone has sincerely done that.) 

The two of you chat for what seems like hours but is probably only minutes. At the end of your conversation, it’s obvious they don’t want you to go. If you offer your number to them first, they’re even more pleasantly surprised/impressed with you. And if you're on the shyer side, don’t worry- they have no qualms about giving you their number. (No like they literally hand you a business card with their name and landline number on it. Who uses landlines anymore??? Maybe that’s clue number one.) 

Anyway, enter the talking stage: arguably the vampire’s most favorite stage since they have A LOT to say/reminisce about and hardly anyone to ever tell it to. You spend a lot of time just TALKING to one another. Not even like, romantic, talking at first. It’s all just basic stuff: your likes and dislikes, your hopes and dreams, and your ideas for the future. They’re so old-fashioned and well mannered, that you assume everything is platonic - that you’re just becoming best friends. That is until they ask you out on a proper date.

Later, you ask them why it took so long to cut to the chase. Their answer: “Would you prefer to be courted by a total stranger?” You’re like: ‘That’s literally what dating is tho…’

For your date, they’d probably prefer somewhere more private, but accessible enough to where you still feel as if you’re safely in public. They know a lot about them can be intense- from their very spellbound gaze to their almost obsessive interest in you- and they don’t want you to feel suffocated, as if there was no way out. 

If the first couple of dates go well, they turn it up a notch. They wine and dine you, and make you feel like the most important person alive. Which, to them, you probably are. No experience is too much or over the top. I mean, you name it: skydiving at sunset, a picnic on an empty golf course under the stars, going to Vegas or Paris on a moment's notice- they’ve probably already done most of these things before. But of course, that time is nothing compared to the experience they share with you. 

You’ll very likely get swept up in this whirlwind romance, and start to plan your future around them, assuming they want the same. This is where things can get a little tricky depending upon your situation and what it is you’re ready for commitment-wise.  

Some vampires probably don’t mind as much if you’re ‘the one’- because when you live for an eternity, ‘the one’ becomes impossible to find. However, that doesn’t necessarily mean all vampires are unromantic. While most are pragmatic and practical there are the occasional ones driven by love and lust alone. (If you catch the attention of one of them, you can bet you're in for a rollercoaster ride of emotions.) More often than not though, they keep you at a smart, but still romantic distance until they believe they can trust you with their secret. 

At this point, you’ve probably been to each other’s places, maybe even met some of each other’s friends. (I think as to whether or not you’ve been intimate together depends on how convincing your vampire’s human persona is because if they’re not keeping a good enough masquerade in the beginning, how are they going to convince you that their super low body temperature is actually just a weird genetic thing?) 

When they finally confess what they are to you: your reaction means a lot to them. Whatever you say/do, they are going to internalize to the max. It’s okay if you don’t believe them right away- they don’t mind showing you proof now. Whether it’s their fangs or their superspeed or strength, they’re happy to show off. Their main concern is if you’re afraid of them, or reject them because of this. 

If you’re okay with it (after taking the time to process it all internally), they’re thrilled! I mean, like for the first time in a hundred years, they finally-fucking-feel-something-again thrilled! They can’t wait to just be themself around you! No more, ‘I already ate’ or ‘I sunburn easily’- they can just be with you. It’s the kind of love you’re lucky to get once in a lifetime, much once in many lifetimes. 

If you do reject them, they’ll be hurt, but ultimately understand. If you’ve managed to form a solid bond otherwise, I don’t think they’d erase your memories or hypnotize you into forgetting what they just said. However, if they have reason to believe you’d run and tell everyone else, they wouldn’t hesitate to make you forget their little, um, confession. 

But I also think if they really loved you, and just couldn’t let you go, they wouldn't break up with you, oh no. They’d keep you from finding out the truth while continuing to pursue and further your relationship together. And each time you get suspicious, they’d tell you the truth again and again, before erasing your memory if your reaction is still, shall we say, disagreeable. 

I mean, after all, time heals all things, right? And darling, they have all the time in the world. 

[readingandwritingandreading]

The Day Before You ~ Part 2

My Blurb: Thank you all for the comments on the first part, feedback really is what keeps writers going. Likes are good but comments and reblogs are GOLD! As always if you didn’t write it don’t post it anywhere. And if anone is interested in being added to my lil tag list feel free to message me!

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Summary: Forced into an awkward dance with a stranger at Sheamus’s wedding, Ridge doesn’t think he’ll ever see her again until she turns up at a show a few months later with Sheamus’s wife and he gets a second chance.

Pairing: Ridge Holland x OFC Lyssa Hutchinson

Warnings: the term “balls deep”, reference to cheating

Tagging: @pioched​​ @snarkandsarcasmftw​ @pikapuff316​​  @moxskitten​

Read First: The Day Before You Masterlist

Also Check Out: Main Masterlist

“Now I've got two of ya lookin at your phone, instead of getting ready.” Butch sounded annoyed but he had a grin on his face when he burst into the locker room. Sheamus responded by chucking a roll of tape at him while I laughed. 

“Says the man who sends me baby pictures at 3 in the morning.” I finished my text to Lyssa before tossing the phone in my bag and standing up to stretch. I hadn’t made it more than two hours after getting her number to send her a text. It was simple, just “Hey, this is Ridge” but we’d been texting back and forth non stop for the past week. Tonight was Smackdown and she said she was watching, it gave me a new motivation to perform well. It also made me eager to get home, if we got out of the arena fairly quickly, we would be back in Orlando about 2 in the morning which would give me time to get some sleep and take care of the parts of our date I couldn’t do over the phone. I was pulled out of my thoughts by one of the interns letting us know we were up next. I grinned when I saw my phone light up, leaning over to see a text from Lyssa:

Lyssa: “Good luck!”

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

A thrill shot through me when their music hit, the thumping drums matching my heartbeat. It was ridiculous how excited I was, we had been texting all week and more than once I had caught myself smiling at the phone. I sat up straighter from where I had been sprawled across my couch, studying Ridge as him, Sheamus and Butch headed to the ring. They were continuing their feud with Imperium tonight, the three men already standing stonily in the ring. I had been watching WWE since the wedding but I was invested now, I knew tonight's match would be brutal. These six were always trying to straight up murder each other. 

Despite his attitude, massive size and obvious strength, that was currently emphasized by the cut off t-shirt he wore to the ring, Ridge had been a fun, engaging and interesting conversationalist the past week. He was smarter and sweeter than his in ring demeanor alluded to. 

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

Ridge: “Finally out of the arena and on the highway. With Butch driving we’ll be home in record time.”

Lyssa: “As long as he gets you guys back in one piece. Haha. Is your nose ok?”

Ridge: “Ya, it’s going to take more than a forearm from those three to break it. You worried about me?”

Lyssa: “Well, I don’t want my favorite wrestler on the bench. Then I would have no reason to watch.”

Ridge: “I’m your favorite wrestler?”

Lyssa: “John Cena’s not in the ring much these days so…”

Ridge: “Noted. Adding take down Cena and become Lyssa’s favorite to my wrestling goals.”

Lyssa: “*laugh emoji* You guys have a safe trip, I have a big date tomorrow so I need to get some sleep.” 

Ridge: “Lucky guy. Goodnight Lyssa.”

Lyssa: “*blushing emoji* Goodnight Ridge.” 

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Lyssa lived in a light blue and brick, 3 bedroom apartment building with a neatly manicured walkway. Sliding my SUV into one of the guest parking spots I shut off the engine and double checked her apartment number. Unit 3314, a corner apartment on the right side of the building. Following the signs, I took the stairs two at a time until I made it to her floor, pausing before her door to take a breath and make sure I hadn’t crushed the small bouquet in my hands.

My quick knock was followed by some shuffling sounds before Lyssa opened the door, immediately smiling when she saw me. Her smile lit up her whole face and caused a strange skip in my heartbeat that years of wrestling and rugby had never caused. I thought I was screwed when she’d been dragged over to dance with me at the wedding, but right now looking at her beaming at me I knew it for sure. 

“Hi! Come on in, I just have to put my shoes on.” She moved out of the doorway allowing me to step into a small hallway. 

“These are for you.” I handed her the bouquet, trying not to groan when her smile grew and her hand brushed mine.

She smelled the flowers before turning and heading further into the apartment where I could see an island with bar stools pulled up to it. “Thank you! I love flowers! I’m terrible at keeping them alive but I love their smell and the way they brighten up a room.” 

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

I kneeled down to grab a vase from under my sink. I didn’t need to turn to know that Ridge had followed me and was surveying my apartment. I could almost sense his presence as I set the vase in the sink to add water. He looked massive in the space but didn’t seem uncomfortable, his hands tucked into the pockets of the olive jacket he wore over a black shirt that I was sure wasn’t supposed to look that good on anyone. 

Turning I placed the flowers in the vase and moved it to the middle of my island. “I’m glad you like them. I didn’t know what your favorite was.” Ridge shrugged. 

“I don’t really have one, I like all the colors and scents. I don’t like mums. They smell weird and remind me of a hospital.” I shuddered while sliding my flats on and grabbing my jacket from the closet. Somehow Ridge was immediately beside me, holding it up so I could slide my arms in. For a big man, he sure could move quietly. “Thank you.” I smiled at him before grabbing my purse. 

Ridge hadn’t told me where we were going, only mentioning that I should wear pants. Despite my attempts he refused to budge on the surprise date location. I tried to guess as we headed away from all the fancy restaurants, giving him a raised eyebrow when we pulled into a riverside park. “Are you bringing me here to kill me?”

Ridge snorted, pulling the car into a spot. “If I wanted to kill you I wouldn’t have brought my own car.” He quickly shut off the car and exited, opening the door on my side before I had a chance to open it myself. He offered me his arm and I laughed, tucking my arm into his.

He led us on a path and I gasped, stopping in my tracks when we came around the bend. A cove from the nearby lake stretched out before us and there was a wooden dock that ended in a gazebo several yards into the water. There were twinkling lights on the railings and surrounding the gazebo creating a soft glow as the sun faded. 

“Is this ok? I know it’s not a fancy restaurant or anything but I…” he was cut off by me grabbing his arm and dragging him down the dock.. 

“This is perfect. I love it. It’s so beautiful and quiet. How did you do all this?” As we reached it, I surveyed the table in the middle of the gazebo already set with plates of covered food and drinks. 

“I’m helping a few of the rookies down in the training center. They agreed to get it all set up and cleaned up if I didn’t make them do minute planks with me sitting on their backs.” Ridge laughed and pulled out my chair before finding his seat. 

“Where are they?” I looked back towards the shoreline.

Ridge raised his voice when he answered, “Minding their own business until we are done.” 

I laughed hearing the faint sound of a door slamming and a car starting in the opposite direction we had come. “This smells good, where is it from?” I could barely contain my excitement when he pulled the covers off of our plates. 

“A little place downtown, Butch told me about it not long after I moved out here. I was pretty homesick for a while. They make food just like my mum does and the lady that runs it reminds me of her. She was way too excited when I asked for her help tonight.” He shrugged.

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

Lyssa looked like she was going to cry, which was not in my plans for tonight. Before I could say anything she cleared her throat and grabbed my hand across the table. “This is the nicest date I have ever been on. Astaire used to take me on these fancy elaborate dates, where I had to dress up in expensive dresses and spend way too long on my hair just to be treated like arm candy all night.” 

“Don’t all girls want to dress up in pretty dresses and get their hair done?” I replied, rubbing my thumb across our entwined fingers. I was a big man and most people were intimidated around me. It worked well in the ring but it was sometimes a hindrance with women. Lyssa was different though, she’d had no qualms about dancing with me and holding my hand or arm. 

Rolling her eyes, she shrugged, “It was fun at first, but I could never just be casually dressed and comfortable. His family had money so everything was about image and maintaining it. I love my job but he wanted a trophy wife. Then I found him balls deep in another girl, and that ended that.” 

I choked on my drink at her casual attitude. There was a flash of hurt in her eyes I would have missed if I wasn’t looking at her but it was gone before she was smiling again. “What kinda name is Astaire anyway? Obviously an idiot.” She laughed at that, the full body one that had haunted my dreams since the wedding. “Tell me about your job. What do you do exactly?” 

“Basically I read through and edit books before they are printed and published. Find typos, check continuity, make sure the book flows. Sometimes I lead focus groups. But basically I get paid to read. It’s the ultimate dream job.” Lyssa groaned as she took a bite of her food. “Oh my gosh, this is soo good.” 

I narrowly avoided choking again, her groan sending a bolt straight through my body. Clearing my throat I focused back on her job. “I noticed you had several book shelves. You like to read?”

Her eyes lit up, “I have always loved reading. We never traveled much when I was younger, so I traveled in books.” 

“Do you travel now?” I asked, refilling her glass. 

“I’ve done a little, I want to see more though. I’d love to see so many places. I’m sure England isn’t a big deal to you but I would love to see it and Scotland.” she blushed a little, “I don’t mean to presume..”

“I’d gladly take you with me.” I cut her off quickly.

She nodded before resuming eating, letting the comfortable silence settle over us. 

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

Ridge held my hand on the drive back to my apartment. It was a silly, almost high school level, gesture but I couldn’t help being thrilled about it. Ever the gentleman, he opened the car door and walked me to my apartment, his hand lingering at the small of my back on the stairs. His touch was warm and gentle but firm, making me feel safe and cared for. I didn’t want the night to end but I knew he hadn’t had a lot of rest and I was still too fresh out of my relationship with Astaire to move things any further. I unlocked my door and then turned to Ridge, “Thank you for tonight, it was wonderful.”

“My pleasure” he replied before taking my hand and bringing it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles. “Goodnight Lyssa.” 

“Goodnight Ridge,” using his hold on my hand to balance myself, I stretched up on my toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek before stepping into my apartment. 

[hansensgirl]

i’m in the water.

summary. | He’s in the wind, and you’re in the water. Nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter.

warnings. | non/dubcon, smut, angst, protectiveness, kidnapping (implied), stockholm syndrome, obsessiveness, death/violence, dark themes, DDLG undertones, creampie kink, choking, piss kink (both pee), degradation, pet play undertones, p in v sex, Master kink, dacryphilia, crawling, slapping, hair pulling, face fucking, boot riding, orgasm denial, spitting, gagging, manhandling, praise, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI.

word count. | 8.5k

pairings. | Dark!Winter Soldier x Naive!Reader.

a/n. | please heed the warnings! i hope you enjoy, and please don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. they’re both very hydrated! this takes place in the 90’s! thank you so much @asadmarveltrashbag and @mypoisonedvine for proof reading for me ilysm!!

From the day you were born, you always felt as though your legs are broken. Always needing crutches throughout your life to hold you up, always needing support. But you never really had these crutches, so you'd always drag your hands against the brick walls to support yourself. Vulnerable, breaking away at the edges, falling down. Nothing kind ever came, and it stays the same for a while.

So maybe that’s why you lean into his icy cold touch. So abrasive and yet so caring. His aspects are juxtaposed to each other, just like in those Magritte paintings your art teacher would show you. She was always a kind lady, but you don’t care enough about her to wonder where she is in life now. She was kind to you, though, so you hope that she isn’t suffering like you are.

Your goosebumps raise for the fifth time in this painfully slow hour.

“Are you cold, кролик?” he asks even though he knows the answer. You hum. You always do. Your voice doesn’t raise in an affirmation. It stays flat; he knows what that means. “Thinking again?” he gruffly presses, squeezes your bare arms. The thin, grey shirt with torn sleeves does nothing to protect your body. But why do you ask for protection against the man who has done everything for you?

“Why… Why do people believe that grey is a boring colour?” you ask him, looking around the dark cell that surrounds you. Soldat grunts, not knowing what to say. “I think it’s quite beautiful. All colours have different shades, yes, but there’s something about grey. Each shade comes with a different emotion. Don’t you think so?” you ask him, looking down to your lap.

A carrot toy sits there. It’s filled with cotton balls from the medical room, by his request. “Yes…” He bites the tip of his tongue, not sure what to say because the Soldat only has a few emotions and a few words. “Why can’t we get a different wall colour?” you question him, turning around to face the man.

“It’s not allowed,” he reminds you. You feel like you’re experiencing déjà-vu, but then again, the days have blurred together so well that you can’t tell if the tape is being put on rewind already. You have to assume that your celluloid scenes are fading away along with your sanity. It’s torn at the seams. Threads hanging that just need to be ripped or cut out.

“Beige would look lovely…” you point out solemnly. The Soldat doesn’t know what shade of beige you’re thinking of, but he believes it would be beautiful nonetheless. “I… have a mission,” he tells you after a while. You hum in that same monotonous tone again, so he squeezes your arm even tighter. “When, Master?” you curiously ask, only now taking in his words.

“Tonight. Approximately at twenty-one hours,” he informs you in that mechanic voice of his that you hate. It makes you feel more trapped and vulnerable, even though there’s quite literally a chip in the back of your neck. “How long?” you ask him softly, a frown already beginning to display itself on your face.

He doesn’t like it when you frown. He prefers the lines that your smile provides over the lines your frown forces. That innocent glint in your eyes shines a bit, flickering like a dull light on the verge of completely blowing. Though it’s not much, it’s still something. And when it goes away, his entire being is filled with darkness.

You’re the light of his life, the fire of his loins.

“Not sure. Extraction of information. Senators and mayors…” He begins to ramble, and you shake your head. “Sorry, кролик,” he apologizes as he notices how uncomfortable you’re starting to get. You hum again. He wonders if you were a bird in your past life, perhaps a hummingbird, to be more exact. Or maybe even a swan or a dove because you’re just as beautiful as they are, if not more.

“You know how to behave, right? Потому что ты мой хороший маленький кролик?” he asks, and you don’t understand the second question, but you understand the former. “I know, Master,” you breathe, an airy ending to your words. “You’ll be good, кролик?” he questions one more time, and you lazily nod. You’re tired. Your body moves at a drowsy pace, and you don’t like it.

You don’t want to sleep, though. Scared that if you shut your eyes for too long, the monsters will come back, and Soldat won’t be able to save you. He always saves you. You’re his damsel, constantly in distress, locked away in a gilded cage. But he tells you it’s not a gilded cage. It’s not a run-down cell built in the fifties. It’s your home, even though you haven’t known what home is like for a while.

“I’ll always be good for you, Master. Please don’t leave for long. I get lonely easily,” you express in small bits of sadness and distress. “I know, кролик, я знаю,” Soldat says as he hugs you closer. You tilt your head backwards and let it lull on his shoulder. “I’ll be back as soon as possible,” he promises, and you know it’s not true because he never fulfills it. “But my carrot can’t keep me company for all those hours… Please stay? Please?” you plead with tears welling in your eyes.

“Я могу составить ей хорошую компанию,” the soldier standing outside the cell mutters under his breath, earning a few snickers from his coworkers. I can keep her in good company, is what he said. And it’s truly unfortunate that the guards have forgotten that the Soldat — the Asset — has super-hearing. Their laughter dies down into sighs, and Winter’s chest begins to heave.

He puffs up like the big bad wolf he is, and he tosses you to the side like a rag doll. You watch him as he strides his way over to the guards. Each step carries the weight of the Winter Soldier, the one who’s ready to kill whoever is in his sight. Except for you. His bionic hand reaches through the metal bars that separate him from the outside world.

He wraps his fingers around the guard’s neck, and he squeezes his throat tightly. As Winter crushes the guard’s windpipe, you watch him behind slightly squinted eyelids. Tears blur your eyesight, and you remember that time when you were holding off the tears so well, you couldn't see the HYDRA van driving ahead of you.

Maybe if you could control your emotions a little better, you wouldn’t be here.

But then again, where would you be without the Soldat? Miserable, stuck in the worst parts of town without anyone. Having to drag your hands across those brick walls, again and again. Surviving on your own, teetering on the edge of death. Just like these men at the hands of the Soldat.

The crunching of bones and the screams of men are all blocked out for you. You focus on Soldat’s arm whirring in the most satisfying harmony you’ve heard in the past two years. Other than the orchestra you both have managed to make almost every day. But you still cup your hands over your ears.

Winter pulls a knife from the guard’s limp body. That very same knife ends up inside his heart, stopping it from pumping. The guards begin shooting at Winter, but he easily shields himself with the metal arm. It goes silent, but you keep your hands over your ears. Muffled talking steps in place of the silence, and you look up to see members of HYDRA staring at your Winter and you.

“Солдат, Что ты натворил?” One of the head agents asks. You believe his name is Vasily Karpov because that is what Winter has told you. “The… The guard said something about my кролик. He’s not supposed to,” Winter explains, looking to the ground. Karpov mutters a chain of curse words under his breath that you’re not too happy about. One of the other agents asks him to speak up, and he snaps.

“Just get him to the armoury! We need to prep him,” he shouts before stalking away from the scene. They all stick around a few more seconds before scurrying off like little mice. The dead bodies still lay on the floor, but nobody seems to really care. What’s happened has happened, and there’s no changing it.

“Привести с собой солдата!” A rough voice blasts through the intercoms, and suddenly, more guards show up at your cell. You curl up into a ball and rest your forehead against your knees. You can’t bear to watch them take him away. You wait until the cell door swings shut, and then men stomp away. But even then, you cannot look up.

Bring the Soldat.

He wears that mask of his. The last time you saw it, it was caked with dirt and blood. You can hear his hard breathing behind it, almost sounding as though he’s just run a marathon. He sits in the edge of the cot — the left corner, to be exact — and he watches you. The Soldat states as you look down at the array of snacks he’s provided you with.

“Kролик,” Winter gruffly calls, and you turn around. You hum and your voice raises at the end. You haven’t done that in a while, so it startles him a bit. “Which one?” he asks, stretching his neck out just a bit to see what snack you’ve chosen. “N… Not sure,” you shyly whisper, ducking your head down in fear.

“Green one,” he says after a while, and you place your hand on it. “I don’t know what it is?” you confusingly say. The Russian text on it confuses you, so you hand it to Winter. “ Sour Patch Kids…” Winter reads out loud, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. “Oh, I like those!” you eagerly cheer, sitting up on your knees. You turn around and reach your hand out for him to give them to you.

They’ve wiped him. You know it, and you hate it. They’ve taken all emotion away from him, and now he’s just an empty shell of a man. His softness from just a few hours ago has now gone away, and you don’t know what to expect of himself. But then again, you never do.

Hesitatingly, he hands it over. “Don’t eat now. Sugar will keep you up,” he warns, and you nod. Your father would say the same thing when you were younger. The only difference is that your father had more love in his voice than Winter ever will. “We need to go over the rules,” he speaks up after a few seconds. You hum again, and he continues. “Do you remember your rules?” Winter asks, and you hum once more.

“Кролик,” he growls, and you look up. “Do you need me to repeat the rules?” Winter questions and you shake your head in objection. He doesn’t listen, though, because he knows you don’t remember them. You never seem to remember the big, important parts of the puzzle. Only the small corner pieces that don’t really matter. “I’ll tell you them anyway, and you’re going to listen to every word I say. Understood, кролик?” he raises his eyebrow, not leaving any room for protesting.

You gulp thickly and nod. “Don’t make any noises, don’t touch yourself, don’t talk to the guards, don’t let anyone touch you, don’t hurt yourself and don’t even think of escaping,” he lists, and the last one makes tears sting your eyes. “I won’t escape. ‘S not like I can even do anything in here,” you whisper under your breath, and he stands up. Metal fingers grip your chin tightly, and Winter slowly kneels down in front of you.

You’re watched like a pet. You always have been. Not even a pet, more like a possession. Seen as an object with no feelings and no emotions. As though you don’t have a heart that pumps crimson blood and lungs that expand with each breath you take. “Don’t ever speak like that again. I can easily stitch those pretty lips of yours shut, кролик,” he threatens, and you feel your tears beginning to leak.

No, no, no, no, no. Not now.

He laughs. He fucking laughs, and you want to cry even more because you need him. You need your support, but he doesn’t want to give it to you. You should’ve just kept your mouth shut. “You’re so fucking… precious. Especially when you shed those tears of yours,” he tells you with a hidden smile behind his mask. He squeezes your jaw even tighter, and you whimper out a small ‘thank you, Master’ to him.

“I wasn’t finished listing the rules, so keep your fly shut,” Winter sneers, and you nod your head slowly. “When I get back, which will be in around three hours, you have to finish drinking all those bottles of water,” he stays, snapping his fingers to grab your attention. Your eyes follow those very same fingers as they point at the four bottles of water sitting by the bed.

You never noticed them until just now. “Oh, and you can’t go to the bathroom until I say so,” he adds with a slight humorous chuckle to his voice. Your eyeballs nearly fall out of their sockets. “Don’t worry, кролик, I’ll be back so quickly, it’ll feel like a few minutes,” he promises, and you feel a wave of relief wash over you. It reminds you of when you were young, and your parents would take you to the beach.

Your parents would build sandcastles with you until they got tired. You would beg your father to piggyback you into the sea, and he would do exactly that. Your mother would carry her disposable camera with her just to take photos that would end up in the green photo album from the thrift store.

And when you got a bit older, you’d go by yourself—older in the sense that you have to start paying the bus fare of $3. You’d head to the beach after dinner and before your parents came home from work. The sky would either be a dark, dark grey or a lovely mix of pastels. The water would wash beneath your feet, pulling and loosening clumps of sand.

Taking it away the same manner Winter took your innocence.

“And remember, if you break any of these rules, I’ll know. And the outcome won’t be as pretty as your face or that pussy of yours, кролик,” Soldat warns, and you nod your head. “Yes, Master,” you shyly say to him. You want to look down at the concrete flooring so badly, but his iron-clad grip on you doesn’t loosen until a minute after your words. He looks down at you, and you look away. His strong gaze is just as powerful as the summer sun that would beat down on your skin.

“Прощай, кролик.”

You never realized how thirsty you were until just now. You’ve finished all four bottles in the span of two hours, and now you’re counting down the minutes until Soldat arrives. There are no guards standing outside your cell, so you’re all alone. Not even your intrusive thoughts have visited, and you wonder if the water was spiked.

You were never that good at telling time. It would always take you a few seconds to find the minute hand and the hour hand. But the digital clock that is on the wall across from your cell is quite helpful. It even has seconds on it, too. So you count down out loud, trying to ignore the full feeling in your stomach.

Stomping echoes down the hallways, and you don’t know if he’s close by or meters away from you. You never could tell. Russian words fall off the agents’ tongues, and sometimes you wish you could understand them. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel like such an outsider even though you’re trapped in their home. “Ты свободен, солдат,” one of the agents say, and you can hear Winter grunt.

You’re free to go, Soldat.

His big, heavy feet stomp down the hallway. The sounds bounce off the greyish-green walls, stained with different things such as blood and dirt. You can hear his metal arm whirring, and your heart jumps with fear. You’re not scared of him; you’re scared of what he’s capable of.

Oh, who are you kidding? You’re terrified of him.

The guards open up the cell door, and you look up, locking eyes with his. They’re dark and empty as they usually are. “Кролик,” he growls, and you whimper. You run up to him and hug him, feeling the water slosh inside of you. You slow your breathing down the same way your elementary school nurse told you to when you were younger and try your hardest not to throw up.

“Missed me, hm?” Winter questions and you nod meekly. Though you didn’t want to admit it two years ago, you do now. “Missed you lots, Master,” you tell him. The leather is cold against your warm skin. If you focus just a bit more, you could feel the creases of the fabric as well. But you’re too busy with him, so you ignore it. “W- Was the mission good, Master?” you nervously ask him, only out of curiosity and nothing more.

“As always. Were you good, кролик?” Soldat questions in return, rightfully so. You nod eagerly and fiddle with your fingers behind his back. He acts like he can’t feel it, just for you not to stop hugging him. “Good girl… You seem like you want something. Out with it,” he orders, and you gulp in fear.

“I… I was wondering if I could go to the bathroom,” you meekly tell Winter, looking down to the ground. His boots are shiny and polished. Cleaner than anything you’ve seen before, and it’s confusing. He usually comes in covered with dirt, sweat, tears and blood. “You need to go to the bathroom, кролик?” he asks as if he didn’t hear you beforehand.

You shyly nod and unwrap your arms from around his broad torso. You wonder if he left the mission unscathed or not. Winter chuckles. It’s breathy, airy, sly and dark. “Aw, кролик, you’re adorable, the cutest кролик of them all. It’s too bad I’m not going to let you,” he sneers in that faux fantasy tone of his. You furrow your eyebrows and so desperately want to beg him, but it’s out of line, and he never asked, so you stay quiet.

Winter grabs your hand and drags you to the cot, reminding you of the way you’d pull your parents to the shore so they can play in the water with you. They’d both laugh before your father would tackle you in the water, and your mother would push him down in retaliation. You’d always resubmerge from the water with a smile on your face and laughter bellowing throughout the beach.

You miss those times.

You let him guide you to the bed you wish wasn’t yours. “What did you do while I was gone, кролик?” Soldat questions, sitting down on the canvas of the bed. You’re placed on his lap, almost as though he’s forcing you to reclaim a throne you need. And it’s true; you need him. His hands fall to your waist, and Winter holds you in place. “I drank all the water as you asked, and I just sat here, Master,” you recount to him, leaving out the parts of the past three hours he doesn’t need to know.

He hums in the same manner as you. “That’s all?” he questions, and you slowly nod your head. “Good, I’d hate to have to punish you this late in the night,” he says, pinching the skin on your torso. You don’t whimper because you’re used to it. He calls it affection, and so do you. Winter’s hands move from your sides to the front of your stomach, caressing you with a bit of pressure being put on your bladder.

You whimper and try to play it off with a cough, but you know deep down he doesn’t buy it. Soldat continues to run his hand against your stomach the same way you’d run across the shore. Slow, wary, yet with care from the ground beneath you. You like to think of the simpler, more happier times. You know if Winter pushes a little harder, you may not be able to control yourself any longer.

The pressure in your bladder grows every few seconds, so you squirm around in his lap. Your weight shifts from his left thigh to his right thigh, over and over, and he knows exactly what’s wrong. “Кролик… Are you feeling all tingly?” he asks you. You nod your head, but you take in his words. Meanings and implications are always lost with you. They fly over your head the same way birds do, and you only see them with someone's direction.

“N- No, Master, I just have to pee really badly…” you clarify to him, and he nods his head in understanding. You smile as a spark of hope lights inside of your heart. “I don’t think you do, кролик, I already told you,” he assures, and you sigh. “I- I know, Master, I’m sorry,” you apologize and drop your head down. “I think you’re having those tingles, кролик, is your little cunt wet?” Soldat questions even though you don’t have to answer.

His hand travels between your legs and to your pussy, cupping it tightly. You whimper and involuntarily grind against his hand. “You’re absolutely soaked, кролик! Were you thinking of me?” he interrogates, and you just go with it. “Y- Yes, Master, was thinking of you all the time,” you whisper to him. He squeezes your cunt tighter and purrs in your ear. “Then why didn’t you tell me beforehand, кролик?” Winter presses, and you feel fear pump through your veins.

“I- I knew you were tired from the mission, so I didn’t want to bother you, Master. I’m sorry, please forgive me!” you plead, and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. Your heart sinks to your stomach with each sound he makes, and you want death to take you right here, right now. The Soldat pushes you to the ground, and you fall with a loud ‘thud!’. Your knees hit the concrete hard, and you can feel your old scars open up a bit.

One was from a poor fall at the beach. Your father carried you home, and your mother tried to soothe you. You were only six at the time, but it felt like your world was ending.

Winter’s metal hand grabs your hair and tugs on your locks painfully. You bite back a pained moan as he yanks your head back. It’s not the first time he has nearly given you whiplash. He changes moods faster than anyone you’ve ever met. The Soldat walks around you, and you follow him with your eyes. “It’s okay, кролик. I’m not mad at you. I’m gonna treat you so well; you’re gonna love me even more,” he promises with a dark glint in his eyes.

He wedges his boot between your legs and underneath your cunt. “Get comfy, шлюха,” he orders. You shift yourself a bit, trying to alleviate any aches you feel, but it seems as though he wants you to be uncomfortable. Your pussy rests on his foot, and you wonder what he’s up to. His hand tilts your head to look up at him. You want to look away, just like when you’d look at the bright sun on a hot summer day. It was always too much to look at, but the sight was so captivating you couldn’t turn away.

“You said you wanted to go pee, right, маленькая потаскушка?” he questions, and you confusingly nod. “Then go ahead, do it,” he orders. You gasp, quite loudly, in fact. The reaction doesn’t please your Master, so he yanks on your hair a little tighter. “What’s wrong, сука? I thought that’s what you needed?” he interrogates, and you nod. “Yes, Master, but not like this,” you reason, and he growls. “I give you protection, I give you food, I give you my cum, I give you everything you need. What’s wrong now? Don’t you love me?” Winter asks.

Your heart quite literally breaks in two.

“I do, Master! I love you so much!” you promise, feeling those stupid tears of yours starting to well up. “Then why aren’t you listening to me, you dumb baby? Hm?” he presses, and panic begins to rise in your chest. The tears stream down your face the same way the waves would engulf you at the age of 7. “It’s just uncomfortable, Master, that’s all…” you reason with him. “Well, I don’t care. You’re gonna do it anyway, okay? I thought you were a good bunny for me…” Winter trails off as if he’s lost all hope and cause.

It makes you want to cry even harder.

Sniffling, you wipe your tears and try not to give up. “I am your good bunny, Master. Please don’t make me do this. I don’t want to!” you beg once again, and he grows weary of your patheticness. Winter bends down, and his flesh hand goes to the front of your flimsy shirt. Thin cotton rips away easily, with barely any strength coming from his behalf. The grey cloth is in two pieces, and he pushes them off your shoulders.

Your nipples harden as soon as the cool air brushes against them. Winter’s hand leaves your head, and you feel alone without his touch. “Seems like you forgot your place, кролик… You don’t get what you want; you get what you deserve. And what you deserve is to be put in your place,” he tells you, and your bones rattle with fear. The sound of a belt clinking and a zipping being pulled down grabs your attention, and you hold back a hearty sigh.

The Soldat stares you down as he throws his belt to the side just like he did you a few hours ago. “I can’t believe you, honestly. Думая, что ты так выше меня, пытаясь помешать мне делать то, что я хочу. After this, you’re going to regret ever talking back to me like that ever again,” he rants under his breath like the mad man he is. Your tears have dried up, but your bottom lip starts to wobble again. He huffs, tired of seeing you cry.

Winter halts his movements and goes to remove his mask, the one thing that’s been hiding that sinister smirk of his. The dark, matte material is clutched between the tips of his cut-up, bruised fingers. He carefully places the mask on your face, covering your mouth and nose. The action shuts you up, just like how he wants. You look up at him without blinking your tears away. You let them fall and soak the mask, staining it with your waterworks.

The Soldat pulls his big, thick cock out of his tactical pants. His cock is as hard as a rock, blooding pumping down to it, and his veins throb on the side of his shaft. Beads of precum drip down from his tip, rolling down his cock. He’s a raging red, desperate to be inside of you. His metal head returns to your head, and he brings you higher up in your knees. Your neck cranes at such a painful angle that the ache in your knees is ignored.

“You better fucking look at me while I teach you your lesson, шлюха,” he warns, and you listen to him easily. Through your haze of pained tears, you manage to look into his eyes. You’re not sure what he wants to do and what he’s going to do. You never do. The Soldat is unpredictable, and even in your two years of knowing him, you’ll never understand how the gears in his mind turn.

“Not so dumb after all, huh,” he chuckles before shaking his head. Winter sighs and smiles down at you. “One last chance, шлюха,” he tells you in a sing-song voice. You don’t say anything, and the Soldat clicks his tongue. Suddenly, instead of the delicious precum, he would usually make you lap up like a kitten, clear streams of warmth hit your chest. You gasp behind the mask, but it comes out as muffled nonsense to him.

“Stop!” you cry out to him, but your words are once again muffled. His pee soaks your chest as he relieves himself from the pressure in his bladder. Your hands bat at his stiff thighs, hitting them just so that he can stop humiliating you and treating you like you’re all but human. Winter growls, and his metal arm drops your head, and he slaps your hands away. His pee covers your tits and drips down your skin, staining you with disgust and humiliation.

The streams soon stop, and you’re sobbing even louder now. “Oh shut it, this isn’t even as bad of a punishment. I’m going easy on you, шлюха, I could easily do worse,” Soldat growls as the slightly tinted liquid drips from the tip and onto the ground. Your chest stutters with sobs, and you can barely breathe. You’re covered and coated like a freshly bought canvas, and Winter’s just ruined you. Almost in the same manner that you’d destroy your father’s canvas with your cheap, dollar store paint.

Winter bends down and grabs what was once your shirt and is now just a piece of cloth. Kind of like how your mother would give you any leftover scraps of fabric to make something for you. She’d never let anything go to waste. He uses it to wipe the drops of urine that still drip from his cock, and then he throws it at you like you mean nothing to him. You let it fall to the ground because there’s no possible way a piece of cloth that was once on your back can fix your honour.

But who are you kidding? You lost your honour the moment you gave into the Soldat, just like you always do.

You stretch your arms out to him, silently pleading for comfort from him. But he shakes his head with a sly smile on his face. “Aw, you want your Master to help you out, мой питомец?” Winter questions, and you eagerly nod your head. His metal hand goes to remove the mask, but he stops as soon as he touches it. “Say please,” he orders with faux sympathy in his voice. “Please, Master,” you beg to him, and he smiles.

Winter places his hand back on the mask and yanks it off of your face. The sides scratch your cheeks a bit, but that’s not what matters. “T- Thank you, Master. I love you so much,” you tell him before struggling to put a smile on your face. At the end of the day, no matter how brutal he is with you, you’ll always love him. ...Right? “You’re welcome, кролик,” he says as he throws the mask to where his belt lies.

Your cheeks are sticky and stained with tears, much like your chest. Winter’s flesh hand cups your left cheeky lightly, and he’s back to being the gentleman who has killed for you on numerous occasions. He wipes away the wetness on your cheek as his other hand goes to his cock, grabbing the base of it. “Say ‘ah,’ моя маленькая шлюшка,” he orders before you can even register his signature Cheshire smirk.

His cock is shoved inside your mouth without any warning. He always does that. No heads up, no preparation, nothing. Zip, zilch, nada. Winter wiggles his foot that’s underneath your cunt, and the sudden friction is startling. He calls you bunny because of this reason. You can get off on anything, and you’re always needy for him. “I can see how wet you are, шлюха. You’re soaking my boot with that little pussy of yours,” he coos.

You don’t realize how wet you are until he points it out. You’re absolutely soaking, and you’re not sure why. But for the utmost incomprehensible reason ever, you don’t care.

His cock slides down your throat until your nose nuzzles against his pubic bone. His balls touch your chin, and your saliva coats his cock thickly. Your throat and side of your kissable mouth both hurt horribly, but you ignore the pain just for him. “You’re my good little bunny, right?” he questions, and you nod while his cock rests on your tongue. “And good little bunnies like you always listen to their Masters, right?” Winter asks, and you nod again.

He smiles. His hand on your cheeks moves to the back of your head slowly, returning to its newfound home. “I bet you want to come, don’t you, кролик?” he interrogates, and he’s not wrong. You really do want to come, and you’re a bit ashamed of it. “Master will let you come, don’t worry. I’m gonna let you have cummies, кролик,” he promises, and you happily giggle around his cock.

“Go on, hump my boot like the little bunny you are,” he pushes, and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. You want to protest so badly, but the memories of what he just did to you freshly flood your mind like the memories from when you were younger. “Are you that stupid that I have to explain how to get yourself off? Or are you just not listening to me, кролик?” he asks in a tone that reminds you of subdued thunder.

You shake your hand and try to move your hips around a bit. Your soaking wet pussy grinds against the leather of Winter’s shoe, and your clit throbs at the feeling. Winter’s cock slides out of your mouth until the fat tip of it is all that’s left, and then he quickly shoves it back in. Your loud gags and his moans fill the room like music. Your loss of oxygen makes you see stars, and you can recall how much your father loved to paint the midnight skies until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

Your old toothbrushes would serve as the home of the clouds of dust that the stars would be born from. His fingers would be covered in white paint that would fall off in the water and swirl down the sink. His black t-shirts would have white freckles on them, and your mother would always suggest for him to turn the cloth into a galaxy. He’d always tell her one day, and you’d always remind him of that day whenever you’d catch him painting.

“Fuck, you always do look even prettier with my cock in your mouth, кролик,” he swears, and you smile around his cock. Oh, well, you at least try to smile. You continue to rub yourself against his boot as he uses your throat as he pleases. Your hole drools with want, and your slick gives his shoe a shine that is unmatched by any other substance. The burning, fiery feeling on your clit spreads to your abdomen, and you can feel yourself being brought closer to the edge.

You’re moaning around his thick cock, sending sinful vibrations throughout him. “Fuck, are you gonna come, кролик?” he questions as he feels you hug his leg. You nod around his cock, and he begins to push your head back and forth of his cock, matching your desperate movements. He uses you like a fleshlight, and you’re used to it. “Well, too fucking bad, шлюха, you’re not allowed to come,” he spits, and your hips freeze in place.

“I didn’t say stop, did I? No, I didn’t, continue, шлюха,” he sneers, and you listen to the Soldat. You’re not sure how you’re going to stave off your orgasm, but you’ll do anything for him. You slowly begin to grind your hips back and forth on his boot again, trying to slow your breathing down, and Winter fucks your face sloppily. “Fuck, you want my cum, don’t you, кролик?” he questions, and you squeeze his leg tighter.

Winter pulls his cock out abruptly and pinches the base, staving off his release only for a few seconds. “I said, don’t you want my cum, шлюха?” he asks once again, and you nod. Saliva coats your mouth, and you can barely catch your breath. “I- I really want your cum, Master, please! Please give me your cum,” you plead to him with a ditzy look in your eyes. You wiggle your hips side to side just to give off the impression that you’re getting yourself off.

But you can’t fool the fooler. Nobody can.

“I’m going to give you all my cum, шлюха, and you’re going to take it all like a good girl,” he moans as he shoves his cock back into your mouth. Winter shoves himself deep inside your throat until you can’t take any more of his length. You swallow around his cock, and he moans loudly, swearing in Russian. The words roll off his tongue skillfully, and you feel yourself getting even wetter.

He grabs your head even tighter and bobs your skull up and down his cock a few more times before finally hitting his release. His balls tighten up, and a deep, throaty moan leaves his mouth in the best way ever. Hot, sticky ropes spurt down your throat before you can even register the way he throws his head back. Winter’s long hair spills on the sides of his head as his cum spills down your throat. You have no choice but to swallow, but it’s not like you want to spit his seed out anyways.

Winter lets out a deep moan that goes straight to your core, and his hand pats your head in a praising manner. “Good girl, such a good fucking girl,” he praises as he slowly pulls his sensitive cock out of your mouth. Your cunt flutters with sensitivity, and you want to come so badly, but you just can’t. The Soldat takes a few steps back, slipping his foot away from your aching pussy. You let out a whimper, and he smiles.

“I’m not done with you, маленький кролик,” he tells you, and your heart flutters. You’ve managed to ignore the building pressure in your bladder, but now it seems to come back stronger. “C- Can I go pee first, Master?” you politely ask him, still on your knees. Even that ache has returned, but it’s the least important thing as of now. He ignores your question as he works on the numerous straps on his battle uniform.

Skillful fingers take off the leather vest he wears, revealing a bulletproof protectant that saves him from certain dangers. “Get on the bed, кролик,” Winter orders as he continues to strip himself. You begin to stand up on your wobbly, scarred legs, but he tuts. “Uh uh, not like that,” he interjects, walking back to you. He pushes you back onto the floor, and you fall with a sob. “On your knees, because that’s what you deserve. Nothing more, шлюха,” he sneers, and you sniffle.

You slowly crawl to the bed. Each time your knees touch the ground, you burn up with both arousal and humiliation. And it’s not like the action is making your need to go to the bathroom any better. The abrupt movement makes the liquid slosh inside you, and you want to burst out in tears, begging Winter to just let you relieve yourself. Your hands have slight scars from your nails, and it reminds you of when your father would encourage you to do the monkey bars.

You’d always try to swing yourself to the end with all your might. But you never could do it. You’d fall down to the ground and leave the park wailing. The scars and blisters on your hand would make your parents so upset, but that never stopped you from wanting to go back and try again. Eventually, you got too old to try, and it would always upset you. Maybe one day you’ll be able to try again— one day.

You hear zippers unzipping and velcro cracking behind you as you get on the bed. The coolness of the sheets is so refreshing against your hot skin. It soothes you for a few seconds, but it eventually loses its worth. You turn around and face him with a sort of dumbfounded look on your face. He fucking loves it; Winter always does. He’s naked, fully naked, and even his signature tactical boots have been discarded.

If you squint, you could see the way your wetness shines on his boot. “Good girl, such as good little bunny,” he praises, and you can feel yourself get flustered. Winter climbs onto the bed, staring you dead in the eyes. He kneels in front of you with a wicked smirk, and he brings his flesh hand up to your throat. You let out a gasp as he squeezes your neck tightly before he leans in closer to you.

The Soldat’s face is just a mere few centimetres away from yours. You can feel each breath that he takes against your skin. His hard cock rests against your sticky chest, and he’s still hard as fuck. “Open your mouth, кролик,” he orders, and you instantly do so. You wait for his cock to be stuffed in your mouth once again, but it never comes. You watch as he puckers his lips up before spitting right by your mouth.

You choke in surprise as his saliva slowly drips into your mouth, landing on your sore tongue. You whimper at the feeling, and Winter has a proud smile on his face. He pulls his head away from yours, in the same manner your father would whenever he’d finish one of his masterpieces. “Swallow it all, кролик, I know you want to,” he orders in a sing-song voice.

You follow his demand obediently. You can’t lie; the sheer act of him spitting in your mouth and forcing you to swallow it makes you even wetter. You’d take anything he gives you. “You’re such a good girl, you know that right?” he questions, and your chest heaves. Winter’s cock twitches against you, and you so desperately want him inside you. But there’s nothing you want more than to go relieve yourself.

His metal hand comes up to your face, and you think he’s going to lovingly hold you. You absolutely adore it when he strokes your cheeks. The Soldat’s thumb touches the soft yet slightly sweaty skin of your face and moves back and forth. Chills run down your spine, and you smile into his touch. He suddenly pulls his hand away, and he strikes you roughly. You let out a cry as your skin stings and prickles from the hit.

He does it again and again until your tears soak his hand. Your cheek is practically numb from the pain. You can feel his cock leaking with cum, and you know that he’s going to fuck you, just like you want him to. “Did you forget your manners?” Winter harshly questions, and you quickly shake your head. “T- Thank you, Master,” you whisper to him, and he smiles.

“Master… Can I please go to the bathroom? Please, it hurts,” you beg to him, but he just shakes his head. “P- Please, Master? I’ll be a good girl, I promise!” you plead to him as your tears run down your face even quicker. He ignores your cries for relief, and he instead slams you onto the bed. Your mind is a mess as he combs on top of you, and the aches you have only get stronger.

The hand that was slapping some sense into you finds a new home on your stomach, right above your swollen bladder. He pushes down on your stomach slightly, and you kick your legs. “Shh, none of that, no, stop it,” he shushes, and you try your hardest to not let go right there and then. “Master knows what you need, okay? And right now, you need my cock, маленький кролик,” he tells you, and you sob.

The hand on your throat moves to his cock, and he grabs his thick base. The veins on the side throb with need, and in one thrust, he bottoms out inside you. You barely have the time to register what’s just happened. The painful stretch of his cock radiates throughout your core, and you dig your nails into the scarred skin of your palms. His tip nudges against your g-spot, and you coat his cock with your wetness.

Winter is buried inside you to the hilt, filling you up to the brim. His swollen, heavy balls rest against your ass, and you both try to get used to the connection. The painful stretch dulls down to an exquisite pleasure, and Winter loves the way your tight cunt gets used to his thick cock. He’s splitting you in two, but he simply does not care. His hand returns back to your throat, and this time, he squeezes the sides of your neck even tighter.

Winter pulls his cock out until his fat tip is the only thing resting inside of your pussy. He slams back into you roughly, and you let out a cry. Your jaw falls slack as the Soldat begins to fuck into your relentlessly. His balls slap against your ass, and your loud, short-lived moans fill the cell that you’ve grown to love. “Fucking hell, кролик, your pussy feels so good,” he growls, slamming into you even harder.

Your tits bounce with every movement he makes. The pleasure sears through your body as Winter hammers against your poor g-spot with each thrust he makes. “Master, please, I need to go really badly,” you beg to him as he continues to fuck you. He shakes his head in objection before pushing down on your stomach even harder. You let out a wail and try to squirm away, but you only worsen things for yourself.

“No, you don’t, кролик. The only thing you need is my cock,” the Soldat tells you, and you upsettingly toss your head back. “No, Master, please, I don’t wanna make a mess,” you reason with him, but he just doesn't seem to want to listen. “I know that, кролик, but you need to listen to me, okay? You don’t need to go; you just need me,” he growls lowly, and you can feel him pushing harder on your bladder.

“No- Wait, Master, please stop pushing on me,” you implore to him as a moan follows your words. Your silky, wet cunt hugs his cock as the tingly feeling in your bladder becomes stronger. You want to cross your legs and stop it from growing, but you can’t. Pressure builds up in your core, and you’re not sure if you’re going to come or if you’re going to make a mess and humiliate yourself.

“Let go, мой тупой ребенок, I know you want to so badly. You can make a mess, do it,” Winter urges, and you shake your head. “No, Master, please stop it,” you cry to him, but he only fucks you harder. One specific thrust hits your cervix, and you yell out in pain before even realizing what’s happened. Warmth trickles down your thighs and onto his cock. You let out a wail as humiliation blossoms from your soul.

Though there’s nobody else watching, you’re still embarrassed. And that wicked smirk on Winter’s face does nothing to help you out. The sound of it makes your back sweat, and you want the ground to open up and take you home. Your urine wets the sheets beneath you, and your tears wet your face. “God, look at you. You finally got what you wanted, and here you are, crying like a fucking brat. You’re so ungrateful. Do you even deserve my cum?” he questions with disgust on his tongue.

You struggle to nod, but you do it anyway. The last thing you need is to have your Master upset with you. “‘M sorry, Master, please forgive me,” you plead to him. You continue to relieve yourself, and he continues to fuck you despite the mess you’re making in his shaft. “Такой грязный, глупый малыш. Ты такой жал��ий, ты же знаешь это, да?” he questions even though you only know one simple word of Russian. You moan loudly as you slowly stop making a mess and begin to feel your orgasm building up.

“Aw, are you gonna come, кролик?” Winter asks you in a condescending tone, one that makes you even wetter. The lewd sounds that come from your pussy as just as humiliating as what you’ve just done, but you don’t care. You’re too busy getting fucked stupid. “Fuck, I can’t wait to fill this pussy up with my cum; watch it leak out of you. You always do look prettier when you’re filled up with my cum,” he moans as his thrusts grow sloppy.

“Master, ‘m gonna c- come,” you whimper to him, laying in your own piss. “Go ahead, шлюха, come on my cock. You already made a mess on me twice, might as well do it for the third time,” Winter growls, moving the hand that lays on your stomach. He grabs your hips roughly and pulls you closer towards his cock. Hot flames lick at your abdomen as you hit your climax, seeing stars in your vision.

Your reality is warped as you can barely make out the look on Winter’s face. Darkness takes over your vision in the same manner as the clouds would take over the skies on those hot summer days. They would hide the pretty sun for a few minutes, and then they’d leave eventually. Your pussy clamps down on his cock tightly as you coat him with your juices, making him moan.

You wail loudly as you clench around him, making him groan. “Fuck, you like that, don’t you?” he asks without waiting for an answer. You nod as he fucks you through your orgasm, not even caring about how overstimulated you are. His cock slips in and out of you with ease and his thrusts begin to grow sloppy. “Tell me how much you want my cum,” he demands, fucking you even slower.

“I- I want your cum really badly, Master. I need it so badly; please fill me up with your cum!” you politely beg to you as you come down from your much-needed high. “Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up so nicely, кролик, you’re gonna beg me to fuck you again,” Winter husks as his balls tighten up. A string of Russian words leave his mouth, and you have to assume that it’s all foul language.

Warm, white ropes of cum paint your walls as he pushes deep inside your cunt while coming. Winter’s blue eyes squeeze shut, and you both moan at the feeling. He fills you up just like he promised, and you bite down on your lips. Everything has dried, and you feel disgusted, so you try to focus on the way his cum pumps inside you. His cock stays inside you, but he doesn’t soften at all, and you know what that means. Winter falls on top of your sticky chest with a sigh, and tears sting your eyes.

Though he says you need him, you wonder if that’s really true.

[gucciwins]

Are you Angel?

Harry gets hurt while on the job and Y/N gets a phone call she was not prepared for.

Word count: 7413

A/N: hello friends, it's been a while :) this is a continuation to my story Trouble Follows. You don't have to read but it will give you an insight of how Y/N and Harry met. I am thrilled to share more of firefighter harry with you. I adore him and I hope you do as well.

please do let me know what you thought of the story and please reblog! <333

Warnings: angst, breakups, hospitals

A firefighter will always run into a burning building with not a hint of hesitation. All their focus is on saving the people stuck inside.

Running towards trouble is second nature to them.

She knew that.

She also knew what it meant to date a firefighter.

The unreliable hours, the non-frequent communication, the many failed dinner dates. The twenty-four hours shifts when he would then arrive home to just sleep.

Harry had begun to give her a constant comfort that he would eventually come home and climb into bed behind her. He would then gently nuzzle his face in her neck, taking in her sweet honey scent. In contrast, she took in the woody ashy smell that seems to be permanently stained on him.

So trust her when she said she knew what she was in for when Harry asked her to be his girlfriend.

Four months in, she knew she would be here for a long time, maybe forever, if life would allow it.

She was sure; she knew what to expect.

But she didn't, not until she got the call.

The call that would shatter her heart.

The call that would lead her to be sitting in this uncomfortable, ugly brown hospital chair, holding tightly onto his ashy hand. As she prayed on and on to a God, she no longer held close but wished for Harry they were real and would bring Harry back to her.

Y/N prayed for Harry to finally open his eyes and give her a reassuring smile that he would be okay.

That they would be okay.

Until then, she'll wait.

Harry being Lieutenant allowed him to have a consistent schedule. That did not mean there weren't days where he had to pull a double shift or stay back to finish paperwork; he let it pile up.

The one day that was Y/N's was Sunday.

She got him an entire day to lay in bed together and eat all the baked goods she baked for him to try. It was becoming their day. Everyone at the station knew Harry could not be disturbed on Sundays unless it was the end of the world, and even then, they'd have to pry him away from Y/N.

He feels safe in her arms. Harry had never felt that before. Sure, he was surrounded by his firehouse family, but he had never felt so loved in two arms as if she could take all his problems and stresses away. Still, she did exactly that when she would flash him her gorgeous smile and hold her arms open for him to fall into at the end of every day.

Harry knows he's never felt this way, and he won't ever take it for granted.

This Sunday will be different, and she feels it as soon as she wakes up because, in her queen-sized bed, she's alone. No arms wrapped around her waist; no head tucked into her necks as he places soft open kisses to wake her from her sleep gently.

Already, she knows this is going to be a bad day. She feels it in her bones. Having been around trouble for so long, she knows the difference between good and bad. The feelings she has made her want to find Harry and pull him back into bed where she can keep him safe.

Y/N gets out of bed, throwing the warm sheets off her body going to the bathroom to do her morning skin routine, wanting to feel refreshed for when Harry breaks the news; he's going to leave her alone on their day. She knows him well enough; he's cooking her breakfast to make up for leaving her so early in the morning.

She walks out of her bathroom, going straight to her closet and taking out the first sweater she saw. It's a baby blue color and stitched on the left side on top of her heart is: "love me please?" It's Harry's favorite sweater of hers because it's an oversized sweater that fits him well. The only reason she has it back is that he wanted her to wash it and wear it until it got her smell again. Y/N kissed him silly when he told her that, plus she loves that it smells like him now.

Y/N takes one look at her unmade bed and walks away, knowing she's going to crawl back in after Harry leaves her. She walks out and, from the hallway, can hear Harry humming away. If she's honest, she doesn't recognize the song. As she has come to learn, Harry has an interesting taste in music; he has basically heard every song ever to exist. It's a reason they are so good at Four Clovers Thursday Trivia night. She dominates pop culture and films, and Harry takes on music. She's also better at history than him. Their friends love trivia night because their winning always gets them free drinks. It's something she looks forward to each week.

"Morning, H," Y/N says as she approaches him from behind and wraps her arms around his waist. Harry smiles, instantly feeling warm with her arms around him.

"Morning, firebug. Sleep well?"

She mumbles a no, causing Harry to laugh, and she feels it vibrate through her.

"Awe, upset I wasn't wrapped around you." He teases. "I'm making up to you by making breakfast."

She pulls away, spotting blackberries on the counter. "Sure, Jan."

Harry can hear the change in her tone and knows she's still goofing off with him but knows she's upset.

"Angel, come sit. Coffee is ready."

She shakes her head but makes her way over to the chair he pulled out for her. "No coffee. I'll be going back to bed soon." Y/N waits to see if he'll correct her, but he doesn't.

"I'm sorry." He begins.

"No apologies."

"Please let me. I'm leaving you on our day." He pouts.

"As much as I don't want you to go, I'm sure they need you more than I do."

Harry frowns, "I hope you'll never stop needing me." He whispers against her lips before closing the gap. Y/N hums against his soft lips allowing herself to get lost in the moment; she loves his kisses, soft and gentle just as he is despite what his sharp eyes might have one believe.

Harry pulls away after pressing one final kiss on her pouted lips. "I'm sorry I have to go to work, but I know for certain that I can meet you for a late lunch."

"Lunch?" She repeats, arms wrapped around his waist, hoping he was serious with his offer.

He hums. "Yes, 2:30, that bistro with that avocado dressing you like for your sandwich."

"It's a date." She grins, laying her head on his chest letting him hold her tight. He unwraps his arms, letting her go.

"I've got to get going, firebug, but I'll see you later."

"Stay safe, Styles." She tells him as she does every time he leaves.

"Try my best, angel."

With that, he slips his beat-up white Vans with lilac laces and walks out the door; it shuts it behind him. Just as Y/N steps towards it to lock up, it opens back up, startling her. Harry steps back in, and before she can question him, he places both faces on the side of her face and kisses her breathless. Y/N is quick to react, allowing their lips to move in perfect harmony, not as smooth but perfect, nonetheless.

"I--" Harry begins before he clears his throat. "I'll miss you, angel."

Y/N feels the heat rush to her cheeks because, for a moment, she thought he'd say another three words. "And I'll miss you, H. Now get out of here; I don't need you showing up late to our lunch date."

Harry smiles, dimples on full display, hugging her before walking out a skip in his step. She peaks her head out, making sure he gets in the car safely before he drives off. He sits there for a moment, and she knows he is letting his Bluetooth connect as he waits for his drive-to-work playlist titled "it's time" to start playing. He takes a look at his mirrors before backing out and driving. That's when Y/N closes and locks the door.

Time to go back to bed for a few more hours; what else is there to do on a Sunday when she's left alone.

Harry genuinely did not want to go to work today, but it's not like he could say no to his Chief. His Chief was never one to call in favor unless it was an emergency. He didn't ask, knowing he'd get the full story Monday, but for now, he gets on his pants, t-shirt, and boots and hopes there are no fires today.

The only thing is that Harry isn't used to working with the B-shift, sure he knows everyone's name and a little of their lives, but they aren't his usual team. He shakes that off because he knows he would do anything to help a team member and knows they would do the same in return.

Harry is lost in thought, wondering what Y/N was going to do today. He knows she planned to take him to a butterfly pavilion today even told him the outfit she had planned out for it. A pair of jeans that had flowers embroidered all over something she added, saying she thought they looked a bit plain, pairing it with a pastel pink top. Harry was surprised with her style after meeting her various times in different outfits. He was surprised at how soft she dressed in pastels. She may have a bold personality, but her fashion was delicate and warm. It was a nice balance.

He nearly runs into Carols as he made his way to his office, too busy thinking of the girl he left at home. "Sorry, bud."

"No problem, Harry. Surprised to see you here," Carols tells him, everyone knowing Sunday was Harry's day off.

"Chief had something come up and asked me to come in. I should be out of here by eight tonight if we're lucky."

Carlos smiles, "with you around, we usually are."

Harry chuckles, telling him he'll be in his office if he needs anything. He looks around his desk and sighs at how much has piled up already.

Might as well get ahead.

It's a few hours when Harry realizes the house is quiet. He peaks around the window and figures they are all in the common room. It's only one, and thankfully there have been no calls, and if it continues, then he will make it to lunch with his angel.

He shoots her a text.

Angel

13:24 PM

I miss you. Counting down the minutes until I get to see you xxx

Harry clicks send and smiles down at his phone. 2:30 couldn't come fast enough.

As he gets up to stretch and go for a snack in the kitchen, he takes a deep breath because as confident as he may seem, he isn't around the second shift. They don't know him so well, and Harry ultimately is shy. He may be able to hide it, but he has small quicks that others pick up on. Something he knows Y/N spotted quickly, like when he toes his foot into the ground or when he begins to chip at his nails, and Y/N's favorite is when he moves his hands behind his back and sways side to side. She finds it endearing, but others might not think it's leadership material.

He walks into the lounge to cross to the kitchen when a few heads turn to him, but before they can say a word, the alarm rings, and Harry is literally saved by the bell.

Not a second to waste, everyone heads over to the rig and quickly suits up. Harry is Lieutenant meaning he's in charge of the scene today, seeing as their captain and Chief aren't here today. Harry respects all the firefighters and knows this will go well if everyone carries out their job.

It's a factory fire, and as soon as they arrive, Harry can see it's burning fast. He's not sure how many people are there, but he calls in for reinforcements knowing they will need all the manpower they can get.

"This is House 102; please send more units available. The factory fire is burning at a faster rate than we can control. My team is going in now. There are five people unaccounted for; the left side of the building is clear." Harry speaks into his two-way radio.

"Carlos," the young firefighter jogs over, eyes on Harry, no longer staring at the roaring fire. "You're going in with Baz. Stay close and don't go up the second floor; you need to be quick in and out."

"Who's going with you, Lieutenant?" Carlos asks, clearly worried.

"Jameson and Rey are coming with me; stay safe, and if anything happens, just radio in."

"You got it!" Harry pats his shoulder and walks off towards the two waiting men.

Harry knows the men well, he trained them when they came into the house, but they preferred B-shift instead of being with him. One spot was available, and he knew they didn't want to be separated. Rey and Jameson have been dating for two years, but that's a secret only very few know. It's not prohibited, but if it gets more serious, one will have to relocate to a new station. They simply aren't ready for that, and indeed Harry would be sad not to have them around the house or hearing their stories. It just adds a more considerable risk because, at the end of the day, the job is first.

Rey walks towards the entrance with Harry following right behind. Jameson, a few feet back, calling out for anyone in there that needs help.

"Fire department, call out." Echoes out as much as it can as the fire begins to roar louder.

The heat gets worse the further they walk in; they turn right at the edge of a desk labeled "Torres."

"H, there!" Rey shouts, rushing over to a man knocked unconscious and had heavy storage struck over his legs, pinning him down. Harry and Jameson run over, assessing the man before making any sudden moves.

Jameson finds a pulse, weak but there. He gets the extra mask over the man's face hoping it'll wake him up soon.

"On the count of three, we lift," Harry tells the two men standing to a stand as the others do the same.

They nod. "One, two, three." They grunt in unison, pushing the container to a standing position. Harry looks over the man's legs and is thankful there is no blood, but there will be swelling and bruises. "Right, Rey, take him out. We'll keep searching."

Rey nods, lifting the man over his shoulder as he was trained to do, and rushes out of the burning building. Harry and Jameson have just learned a new area when the radio comes on. "Lieutenant Styles, it's Carlos. We found two men; only one remains unaccounted for."

Harry nods. "Got it, no one comes back in. We'll be out soon."

He now leads the way, making his way towards a stairway. There's no fire here, but it's moving faster, and smoke is thick. Whoever is in here might not last much longer without oxygen.

"Fire department, call out," Harry shouts, voice firm.

"Here.." a whisper is heard, both Harry and Jameson freeze. Once more, "here" is yelled but sounds muffled.

Harry looks around, not seeing anything but fire, and fears the structure will collapse soon. Just as he was about to yell again, he sees a can knocked, and a man hidden under a black rag is seen. Jameson rushes over, helping the man sit up. He's older, well into his sixties. He doesn't look too well; he has a few scapes.

"Right, we need to head out," Jameson tells Harry, helping the man stand up who is fighting consciousness.

"This is Lieutenant Styles; on our way out found the last man. Have paramedics on standby."

"Got it, Styles. Get out quick."

Jameson and Harry get the man up and head to exit. Harry can see the light of day and knows he will be late for lunch, but thankful Y/N is understanding and very forgiving. He'll make it up to her by buying dessert.

Just as they almost reach the door, a piece of dry wood comes falling down, separating Harry and Jameson; luckily, it did not hit them, but now Harry has to find a new way out. It's not looking good.

"Harry," Jameson looks panicked, but Harry stays calm.

"Get him out, now," Harry tells him, looking in every direction for what to do.

"No, I won't-" Harry cuts him off.

"Jameson, get this man out. He needs medical attention. That's an order." Voice full of authority with no room to argue.

Jameson nods and heads out. "I'm coming back for you."

Harry chuckles. He sees a small path, but it'd be a more extended way out. He debates what to do. He could wait, but the longer he stays, the quicker this building is beginning to collapse.

It takes him two seconds to decide to go right and find a new route out instead of staying put. He walks and only gets hotter as the fire begins to surround him. He's good at not panicking, always thinks better under pressure, but this is getting intense. Harry climbs over a crate and bends low to go through this tight space. He sees the exit, it's still a bit away, but he knows he is in the clear.

That's when he hears a big explosion knocking him forward. His oxygen masks flys off, landing a few feet away. As Harry reaches his hand out to get it, he's pulled back. He looks behind and sees he's stuck. There are crates stacked on top of him. The air is thick of smoke, and with no oxygen, it seems like the fire will soon enough engulf him.

Shit.

He's really in trouble now.

Harry presses his radio, holding it, hoping it's still working. "This is Harry," He coughs. "I'm trapped under a few crates. I can't reach my ask. I'm west of the building."

"Harry, hold on. We're going in." Harry hears Jameson reply, but he's fading quickly.

He shakes his head. "Can't go to sleep, but this smoke is too thick to actually see anything, let alone for his team to find him.

"Tell…" He coughs again, and this time doesn't stop for what feels like five minutes but is only a few seconds. "Tell angel, I'm sorry."

A voice comes over the speaker, but Harry's eyelids are fluttering shut, the weight of the crates is too much, and the smoke only gets deeper in his lungs if he keeps speaking.

Harry welcomes the darkness as he sees the one person he was supposed to meet for lunch. She's holding an outstretched hand for him to take and who is he to ever say no to her.

Real or not, he goes to her, and soon enough, he falls unconscious, not feeling when his team lifts him out and puts him in the back of an ambulance.

Y/N decided to show up a bit earlier for their lunch date, putting in their order early, wanting to maximize all their time together. She wouldn't see him until late that night, and honestly, she wasn't a fan of being separated on her favorite day of the week.

She sits on a bench right outside, both sandwiches wrapped tucked away in a brown paper bag and a lemonade sitting next to her untouched. It was his favorite, too sweet in her opinion. Still, Harry loved it, especially since he wasn't one to indulge in sweets unless they were hers.

Knowing Harry could be running late, she pulls out a book from her orange tote bag that Harry gifted to her. The book was Beach Read, Frankie recommended it to her then gave her the book saying she needed to read more romance books and not just poetry and nonfiction books. She actually enjoyed it, which surprised her, but even if she didn't, she's too invested to not find out the ending.

She was just starting chapter five when she feels too much time has passed and glances down at her phone.

2:55

25 minutes late isn't bad or unusual even; she decides to put the book away and keep an eye out for him. Usually, when he keeps her waiting, he makes up for it with a long kiss that never fails to take her breath away; she's excited about it now.

Time seems to go slower when she just sits waiting. She debates beginning to eat her sandwich when her stomach starts to growl. It's low, but she would feel bad if she began to eat, and that's when he shows up. She settles for waiting and instead takes a drink of the sweet lemonade.

As Y/N sits waiting for Harry, her phone begins to ring and displays an unknown number but the city's area code. Every bone in her body tells her to prepare for the worst but hopes she's paranoid.

She takes a deep breath before answering and bringing the phone up to her ear.

"Hello, are you angel?" A deep voice man asks.

"It's Y/N. Actually, can I ask who's calling?" She's holding her breath; only one person calls her angel.

"I'm calling on behalf of Lieutenant Harry Styles. Harry has been in an accident and was taken to the hospital. He asked us to call an angel on his way to the hospital. We assumed you were one of his emergency contacts."

Y/N feels her hands begin to shake. "What hospital?"

The man on the phone rattles the information, and she lets it all sink in. He hangs up, and she sits there waiting on the bench for her date that will not be showing up.

Her phone rings again, she answers without looking at the caller.

"Y/N," she recognized the voice; it's Mitch, and if he's calling, then it must be true.

"Mitch," she whispers, not recognizing her own voice. It's shaky, tears beginning to well up.

"Where are you?"

"At the bistro a street down from the station." She replies, hoping he's coming for her.

"I'm close; we'll pick you up and go see him, darling." She nods but remembers he can't see her.

Y/N isn't sure why she's not crying. She feels the tears, but it's like they are stuck; her heart hurts, and she knows that says enough. "We were supposed to meet for lunch. I got worried when he didn't show up, but I didn't think--" he interrupts her.

"Harry is going to be fine, trust me. He's okay, and he needs us there."

Y/N doesn't reply because she sees him pulling in. Mitch is in the passenger seat, Sarah is driving. She doesn't say a word as she swings open the door and settles in the back.

She sets her hands in her lap; she can feel herself trembling. She can feel herself breaking because she won't know if he's okay until she sees him. Mitch can say he's fine, but she needs to see for herself.

Sarah and Mitch share a concerned look; Y/N doesn't notice her eyes looking out the window.

"Y/N?" Mitch begins, voice full of concern. "Do you- are you okay to go see him?"

"Of course." She replies quickly. "He needs me; well, I hope he does."

"Course he needs you. Needs his angel by his side." Sarah tells her calmly, wanting to see her smile, but it doesn't work because only Harry should be calling her that. She shouldn't be on her way to see him in a hospital bed. She should have seen him next to her on that bench as he ate his sandwich and gave her kiss and kiss as she told him stories.

They are silent the rest of the way. Sarah pulls into an empty parking space, and she rushes after Mitch, who seems to know exactly where Harry is as he rushes past the front desk. The only thing that slows them down is waiting for the elevator; she gladly would have taken the stairs if Mitch didn't tell her that he's on the sixth floor. Instead, she waits impatiently for the old elevator that will take her to see her love.

He is going to be okay. He has to be okay. Y/N keeps those thoughts running through her head as Mitch and Sarah guide her to room 613.

Mitch walks in first, holding the door open, Sarah places a comforting hand on her back, and Y/N feels supported and loved, but nothing prepares her for what she is about to walk into.

The constant beep of Harry's heart monitor is the only thing that can be heard in his private room. The beep is steady; it makes her let out a deep breath. The monitor already calming her down, she approaches slowly as if he'd wake if she'd walk any faster.

She sits in the uncomfortable chair next to his bed and pulls it as close as she can.

Y/N just stares at him, taking it all in. He looks like he's resting peacefully like he should originally have been when they started this day together. His curls are disheveled, his face dirty with smoke stains and a few gauzes wrapped around his arms. She can't see much else but knows he's got a road of recovery still ahead of him.

"Hi, Harry," she whispers, her hand slowly reaching under the white sheet to grab hold of his right hand. "I'm right here, okay. Take your time waking up; there's no rush. Just know that I'm not going anywhere."

She pauses, hoping for a reply even though she knows she won't get one. "We can also discuss how I'm sort of one of your emergency contacts."

Y/N presses her lips to his hand. "Need you to wake up, want to see those Rapunzal eyes." She sits back, not removing her hand from his. Sarah has not taken her eyes off of her, Sarah might feel like she might blow up soon, but being at his side, she has begun to feel better.

"Harry, we're here for you. The whole team is outside in the lobby, probably why they sent us to the floor with the biggest waiting area. Even young Carlos is out there, saying you gave them a scare but really hopes you never pick up another B-shift again." Mitch sniffles before stepping out of the room. Sarah walks over to where he was standing.

"Hey Harold, it's trivia night in a few days, and kind of counting on you to get us those free drinks." Sarah chuckles. "It's been a while since we've been in the hospital. I think it was when I made you all donate blood for that ambulance competition. Fun times, now you rest and get better. The good thing is you have the best nurse looking out for you." Sarah glances at Y/N, sending her a small smile.

Y/N sits back in her chair as Sarah sits in one by the window. She knows she's in for a long afternoon and an even longer night.

Harry's head is throbbing.

He's not sure why. The last he remembers is leaving Y/N's house to go for his shift at the station.

They were meeting for lunch; he's sure she wouldn't let him drink any alcohol on the job.

Harry slowly opens his eyes and is blinded by the bright light. He sees a photo of the sunset right in front of him, and a tv hung up; if he's not mistaken, he's in a hospital room, primarily due to being in an uncomfortable bed. The oxygen mask over his face is also a dead giveaway he was in an accident.

He looks around, and he sees he is not alone. His angel is sleeping, a tight grip on his right hand; she looks exhausted. Mitch walks in just as Harry was about to wake her. Y/N mumbles and sits up, pulling her hand away from his to rub the sleep away. Harry wants to tell her to stop knowing how much it actually irritates her eyes, especially when she tubs a little harsher than usual.

"Were you able to find tea, Mitch?" Y/N asks, looking over at him.

"Sarah's bringing it over." Mitch's gaze never turns to her staying on Harry; this confuses Y/N and turns back around in her seat to look at a resting Harry but instead finds his eyes on her.

"Harry!" Y/N scoots forward, grasps his hand in hers. "You're awake. Mitch, the nurse, please."

Harry raises his free hand to take off the mask. He wants to speak, but this won't allow him. "No, love. Got to keep it on."

Harry's eyes close, then flutter open. He stares at Y/N, his eyes kind but defiant. He takes the mask off, coughing a bit; it makes Y/N feel nauseous, knowing he's not doing so well.

"I think you need to keep it on, Harry." She says, "the nurse needs to see it when she comes in soon."

"Hey, angel," he says in a raspy voice. It sounds like he's in pain when he talks.

"Yes?" She asks.

"I'm sorry for scaring you."

Y/N shrugs, "no big deal. I wasn't even scared."

Harry smiles, showering her his dimples since she last saw him this morning. He begins to laugh but stops when it causes him to cough. Y/N lets him settle down before bending down to gently kiss him.

"Now, let that hold you over, and put the mask pack on."

Harry nods. "Anything for you, my angel."

It's a half-hour before the doctor comes in, and by that time, Harry had fallen back asleep, only just waking up a few minutes before the man walked through the door. Mitch alerted everyone outside he was awake and doing good.

Dr. Vazquez walked white coat open, displaying a purple button-up and a bright yellow tie. It puts a smile on Y/N's face.

"Hello, Mr. Styles. Glad you're awake."

"Me too, Doc. Nice tie."

Dr. Vaquez smiles, looking down at himself, "Thank you, my wife picks out my tie every morning before she heads off to work."

"Lucky man," Harry tells him.

"That I am." Dr. Vazquez replies. "You've got a mild concussion, nothing serious, but you are allowed to sleep while you're here. We've got a good team looking out for you. You've got a few burns, but those will heal nicely if properly cared for. A few deep bruises on your leg and one on your rib cage, no blood clots. It will hurt to walk for a few days."

"Nothing too bad, then," Harry sighs, relaxing in bed.

"I've looked at your charts, and it looks like you will be making a full recovery and should be back on the job in three or four weeks. In the meantime, you will need to stay overnight and keep taking in oxygen. I see the nurse changed your mask. Please don't remove this one." Harry nods. "Any questions?"

Harry shakes his head no, "Not at the moment."

"Alright, I'll be off then. I'll come to see you tomorrow midday, and we'll talk about going home. I hear you have a waiting room full of people dying to see; just be aware that visiting hours end at nine, but if you're kind to Nurse Lucy, she'll be lenient to ten."

"Thank you, Dr. Vazquez." Mitch and Y/N say in unison as the man exits the room.

"That's the quietest I've ever seen you, firebug." Harry teases.

"You hush." She lightly pats his arm.

Mitch laughs, "going to go tell them you're allowed, visitors."

Y/N and Harry sit in silence. He can tell she has something on her mind, a slight frown on her face. He wonders if it's about him if she won't be able to handle dating someone who can be hurt by the job. Harry honestly does not want to lose her.

"I'm going to step out," Y/N tells him, looking down at their joined hands, not wanting to meet his eyes.

"Y/N," Harry sighs.

"You've got lots of people waiting to see you and roughly have an hour to see them all. I'll be close by." She leans down, presses a kiss to his cheek, and walks out before he can reach out to stop her.

She steps out while a few members of his team come in to see him offering her a smile as she passes them. As much as she didn't want to leave him, she needed a moment away, and he needed a moment with his family.

God, Y/N has never felt so scared, and now a minute alone, everything is beginning to set in. She has no idea where the restroom is, and the next thing she knows, she's running into someone, but it seems they recognize her because they say her name, and the next thing she knows, she's crying, sinking to the floor. She feels arms wrap around her.

Shushes in her ear, brushing the ends of her hair. It's calming, but she needs to let all the tears she's been holding in.

"Y/N," she can now recognize the voice as Sarah's, "I'm going to help you stand and sit you in the chair.

Y/N feels herself nod.

She begins taking deep breaths, never letting Sarah pull her hand away. It is the only thing keeping her grounded.

"I got her some water." Y/N hears Frankie whisper handing it to Sarah before taking the seat to the left of her.

"I'm okay," she repeats. "I'm okay."

"Y/N," Sarah begins.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, sweetie." Frankie brushes her hair back.

"I'm supposed to be strong; I have to be strong to do this to stand by his side," Y/N tells them, beginning to let her emotions out.

"No one is expecting you not to cry."

"Bu-" Sarah interrupts her.

"No. stop. Accidents happen, and so do injuries. It's okay to be scared and hurt."

"I want to be strong for him." She whispers.

"You are. You never left his side; you talked to him. You're crying now because you care."

She wipes her eyes with her sweater sleeves. "I love him, and I was so scared that when I got the call, I'd never get to tell Harry."

"Then you tell him as soon as you walk back into his room."

"Thank you."

"Nothing to thank, I care about you, and I know Harry would be grateful to know you're not alone. You've always got us. Now let's grab something to eat, and we'll come back in an hour once all of them go home."

She chuckles. "Alright."

"Text me where you're sitting. I'll pop in to see Harry, then meet you."

"You don't have to," Y/N tells Frankie because she knows she is just as concerned about her friend.

"Are you kidding me? You're my friend first, always."

Sarah and Y/N walk down to the cafeteria. She knows she isn't okay but is feeling better, finally letting emotion out. It was only a matter of time before she let the dam break; she's just happy it was not in front of Harry.

The girls sit in the cafeteria munching on snacks for well over an hour. Mitch sends them a message letting them know all the crew has left and it's time to say goodbye for the night. Frankie wishes her goodnight downstairs with promises to come to see her tomorrow and bring her a change of clothes.

"Let's walk you back," Sarah tells her, linking their arms together.

"Do you think he'll know?" Sarah takes a good look at her and grimaces. "I'll just say I tripped, and it made me cry." Y/N jokes.

"I don't think he'll believe that."

"Yeah, me either." The girls walk out of the elevator as their laughter dies down.

They settle in silence as they make their way to his room, Sarah holding her hand leading the way. Mitch is in the chair she was in for so many hours before waiting for him to wake up. Mitch hears their footsteps and turns his head, but Harry is frowning, looking out the window at the dark sky.

Y/N doesn't know what to say, but one look at him has her heart filling up with relief; he's okay.

He's fine, and he gets to go home soon, and she gets to love him all she wants.

Harry turns his head as she steps forward. "Angel," he breathes out.

It makes her eyes well up with tears again. "I love you," she just lets it out, as if she's told Harry this every day as if she never went a moment not saying it.

"Oh my angel," Harry begins to cry, feeling overwhelmed and incredibly happy. His angel loves him, and although this isn't a perfect day, the moment is.

Mitch and Sarah sneak out quietly, shutting the door behind them to give them their privacy.

"I love you so much. Please come here." Harry replies, voice shaky.

In the next second, she's moving forward, pulling the chair as close as she can as he grabs her hands, squeezing them tightly. She leans down and presses her lips to his chapped pink lips. They move gently, pouring all their love and fears into the kiss. Telling each other that the worst is over and they are together, and they are fine. Y/N pulls back, knowing she can't kiss him as long as she'd like due to his sensitive lungs.

"Harry, I love you, and I was so scared I'd never get to say it."

"I'm sorry, angel; I never wanted you to get a call like this, at least not before talking about it."

"Me either," She sniffles, no longer able to control her tears, "but it happened, and I'm just happy you're okay."

"I'm okay," he repeats. She smiles, taking one of her hands out of his hold to wipe his tears away; Harry can't help but lean his head into her gentle touch. "I'm okay because my angel is always looking after me.

"Harry."

"It's true. I've never been luckier and safer since you came into my life." She smiles. "But there's something we have to talk about." He continues, and by the tone of his voice, it's going to be serious.

"Are you okay?"

"What? I'm fine. You're the one in a hospital bed." Her tone is defensive.

"There's something wrong. I can see it."

Y/n sighs, taking a deep breath. She takes her hand out of his hold.

Harry is quick to mask his hurt.

"I don't like that you're hurt. I hate that we aren't at home in the kitchen dancing around to your Sunday playlist as I bake you a new treat." She says in a rush.

"Hey, love, relax," he says and gestures for her to move in closer. She does so, allowing him to take hold of her hands with a firm grip this time.

"You're upset because I got hurt?" She nods in reply to his question. It's stupid because, of course, he's going to get hurt; it'd be naive to think he wouldn't in his job.

"It's part of the job." He says simply. It's something he wants her to accept and remember. She thinks back to a month into dating when he told her about his ex-girlfriend and how she couldn't handle the unknown of the job each day he left her. Y/N thought she'd be fine, but she loves him, and losing him would be something she could never recover from.

"I know. It's just not easy to see." Her voice was quiet and defeated.

"What do we do?" Harry asks, and Y/N freezes; she can feel her heart beating in her ears.

What do we do?

"What do you mean?" She can feel her hands begin to shake.

"This can happen again." He gestures to him in the hospital bed.

"I know." She says softly.

"Is this something you can handle or not?" He asks very direct. She knows this might not be the first time he's had the conversation, but she just told him she loved him, and he's questioning her. She's allowed to feel this way, but it doesn't mean she can't handle it.

"Y/N," he begins, "I'm incredibly happy with you. I see you and me together for a long time. You're it for me, but this job is my life."

"I know," she repeats. "I would never ask you to give up your job."

Harry stares at her; heartbreak passes through his eyes. "Are you asking me to give you up?

She shakes her and begs for the tears not to fall, but it's no use. She feels them falling and can't wipe them as Harry has a hold of her hands.

"Harry, I love you." He frowns as if fearing the worst. "I love you, and I'd rather love you every moment I have you than let you go now and never know what could have been."

"Oh, thank god." Harry lets out a deep breath. She giggles. "I'm sorry we couldn't have this conversation earlier; honestly, I feared if I brought it up, you could possibly break up with me, and I selfishly wanted to have you longer."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere, not if it's up to me. Seeing you laid up is hard but knowing I get to be there for you makes up for it. Also helps that I'm a nurse."

"That it does."

Y/n grins at Harry, leaning in to kiss him, short and sweet for now. Each kiss never fails to make her heart race, and due to Harry's heart monitor, she knows it does the same to him. They sit in silence, staring at each other as Harry traces small shapes against Y/N's cheeks, loving the feeling of her in his hand. Especially when she lets out a soft giggle when he hits a sensitive spot.

"Move in with me," Y/N blurts out after a while of silence.

It shocks Harry. "What?"

"Until you're better. That way, I can be your in-home nurse."

"Only until I'm better?" She nods. "So, you'll give me the boot after." Harry teases.

Y/N can feel her cheeks warming up but pushes through, "Only if you're a bad patient."

Harry smiles, dimples on full display for her, always for her. "Okay, I can be good and naughty only when you ask."

"Harry!" She gasps.

He throws his head back, laughing.

"God, I'm so lucky to love you." His words warm her heart, and she promises to tell him every day from now on.

"Now get up here and cuddle me. I got Mitch to cue up Netflix."

"Are you sure?" She stands slipping her shoes off, knowing he won't be taking no for an answer.

"Going to deprive an injured man of what he wants most?"

"Guess not."

"Good."

Y/N crawls on and lays on his side, carefully resting her head on his chest. Harry presses kiss after kiss for his comfort, knowing he will be okay and has his favorite person by his side. She chooses Legally Blonde knowing it's Harry's comfort movie as much as he tries to deny it.

For an unusual start to their Sunday, it ends right; together in bed, a hospital bed but nonetheless a bed, together arms wrapped tight around each other.

Y/N might not have liked that Harry got hurt, but he's okay, and he will recover.

That's all she could ever ask for.

thank you so much for reading!

please send me a message of what you thought or if you'd like to see more firefighter harry

I adore you. take care xx

[levis-little-nuggie]

I wasn't sure where to start with this post. It seemed the more I looked into content @diavolosthots posted and her reactive, petty disposition to those who oppose her ideals, the worse the situation became. This is a long post and anyone who tags this as "drama" is getting reported and blocked. Fucking try me.

The main takeaway of this post:

Chey is not an ally to LGBTQIA+. She is transphobic, acephobic, and ableist.

She may call herself an ally, and she may show that she is capable of admitting mistakes, but an ally is someone who learns by listening to the voices of those she's hurt, insulted, and offended. You learn to be better. An ally is to be better.

Chey is not an ally. She hasn't been, and she isn't now.

Research, screenshots, proof, all under the cut

1. The obeyme-confessions reblog, timestamp says "yesterday"

From the confession and from what I've experienced amongst the fandom, many content creators feature an MC with she/her pronouns as a default, and then neither tagging the content as having a gendered MC, nor adding a short line at the beginning of the post announcing MC's pronouns.

The MC in-game is gender neutral to allow for maximum player immersion into the game, even using they/them pronouns.

By creators consistently use fem pronouns for MC alienates and invalidates the rest of the fandom who do not use those pronouns.

How does this relate to Chey? It's her "carrot/broccoli" commentary.

It's a jab at the community within the fandom who do not conform to the gender they were assigned with at birth.

It's also invalidating to those who are questioning their own gender.

"These whiny ass bitches" are people within the same community who are just asking for equal representation and validation.

By equating pronouns to fucking vegetables, she is disrespecting the human right to question your own gender and telling us how much she doesn't care because this doesn't affect her.

2. Falcon546. Since Sunday, Falcon went out of their way to comment "#/10" on 3 of Chey's fics on AO3, rating the pieces on a scale of 1 to 10.

This is a dick move.

I also don't know the extent of if there were any more pieces falcon commented on. There could have been more "#/10" comments Falcon left that have since been deleted.

As a reader, you're allowed to not like things. You are also allowed to ask the creator to add more tags and cw/tw if they missed something.

Taking it upon yourself to leave a comment ranking the piece's quality without initially providing any sort of feedback is a dick move.

HOWEVER

If you're going to post something you created on a public forum, you have to be ready to receive negative comments. It's the Internet. Just like a movie coming out in theatres, not everyone is going to like it and will feel like they have to vocalize their opinions.

It might feel cathartic to stoop to their level and be petty, but that's also how emotions start running high and things are said that you can't take back.

Granted, Falcon did provide some criticism, but Chey's initial response of "what I'm hearing is 'this isn't the way I would write it' but that's okay" is a good response. But everything after that was a trainwreck.

3. When shit hit the fan, almost 14 hours ago

Remember carrot/broccoli from earlier? The reblog from obeyme-confessions?

Have you also seen her apology?

The fact that the "broccoli/carrot" was used TWICE in such a short span of time shows IT WAS NOT A MISTAKE.

CHEY IS ONLY SORRY SHE GOT CAUGHT.

Her "apology" is so insincere it's laughable. If you want to be an ally, it's your responsibility to research and learn who you're standing with and what it means to them to be part of the LGBTQIA+ community. June is called PRIDE MONTH for a reason.

The trans community you've invalidated and disrespected because you used something sacred to them as the butt of a joke do not owe you an apology.

4. The transphobia, acephobia, and ableist content.

t wasn't until after I started this post that I found out about the rest of Chey's headcanons that only prove to add fuel to the dumpsterfire of a lie that is her claim to being an LGBTQIA+ ally.

July 15, 2020, MC is non-binary/trans

July 15, 2020, MC is asexual

July 24, 2020 MC has autism

2 fucking days ago MC is struggling with their gender/sexuality

If you can't figure out what's wrong about these pictures, why these reactions are harmful and invalidating as fuck, you need to stop writing about shit you clearly don't understand and research actual ways you can be a supportive ally.

Given that Chey is still completely ignorant of her toxic ideology, she has not yet put in the work to being an ally.

Ignorant allies do more harm than good.

Chey, you have invalidated us. You've told us that we don't matter to you. That you don't give two shits about why this is so important to us. You can shove your apology up your ass. In fact, stop apologizing. Your apologies are like fruit flies; unwanted, abundant, and serve no purpose.

Be better.

[uncpanda]

Small Town Moose: Part 2

Prompt: When your best friend convinces you to move to DC with her, you’re more than a little lonely. You’re used to life in a small town, not a big city. For the first time in your life you’re mostly alone with your only company being your dog Moose. Then you meet a single dad and his son, and you realize maybe you’re not so alone?

AN: After watching the show, I noticed that Hotch is fairly open outside of work, he’s not as serious and he smiles more. This is taking place about two years after Haley’s death, Jack is six. Reader is around 25-28. This chapter has quite a few POV changes. 

If you want to be notified when this story is updated you can subscribe to it on AO3. Thank you to everyone who commented, reblogged, and liked the forst part. It really motivated me to write more!

Part 1   

When you come home from taking Moose on his third walk of the day, you’re tired. You’d been working on a new site all day, and your walks had kept your back from hurting too bad. You’re just about to enter the lobby when someone calls out your name. 

It’s Aaron. You hadn’t seen him since dinner four days ago. He was dressed in a suit, and you realized he must be getting home from work. You wait for him by the door. Moose settles at your side. He smiles when he reaches you, and you can’t help but tease him,“Well don’t you look all fancy.” 

He scoffs, “I have four days of motel and plane on me, nice try.” 

You shrug, and motion to yourself. You’re dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt from your university. He shakes his head, “You look nice.” He reaches down and pets Moose, before opening the door to the building for you. 

“So you’ve been out of town?” 

“Yeah. For work. Sometimes it has me away for longer than I’d like.” 

“And Jack?” 

“Is with his aunt. She’s going to drop him off in an hour. Which gives me just enough time to shower, and get dinner going.” 

You smile, “So, you’re superdad.” 

“Not even close. How’ve you been?” 

“Good. Working a lot.” 

“Did your roommate ever show up?” 

You shake your head, “Nope, her job ended training early and got her to her position early. She texted a little while ago, she has some paperwork to finish then she gets to come home, but I doubt I’ll see her before midnight.” 

“So then you’re in need of dinner company?” 

It’s said so off casually that you almost freeze. Aaron notices, “I’m putting a stouffer lasagna in the oven for dinner. There’s more than enough if you and Moose would like to join us.” 

You’re not quite sure what to say. Was he just being friendly? Was he flirting? Moose answers for you when he pulls the leash out of your hand and goes to sit next to Aaron. His tongue flops out the side of his mouth, and you laugh. “That would be a yes, in Moose speak.” 

You get a genuine smile this time, “6:30 work?” 

“Sounds good.” 

You recapture Moose’s leash and head back to your apartment.You feel Aaron’s eyes on you until your door closes behind you. You get a little more work done and then start to get ready. You throw on some jeans and a decent blouse. Comfy, cute and casual. At five minutes till, you get Moose ready to leave. 

You knock on the door at exactly 6:30. You can hear Jack on the other side yelling that he’ll get it. You then hear a woman laughing. A second later the door flings open, and Jack has Moose wrapped in a hug. 

Your golden boy’s tail swishes back and forth, and you can’t help but smile. You look up to see a woman. She smiles at you, “You must be Y/N. Jack has been talking about you and Moose non-stop. I’m Jessica, Aaron’s sister-in-law. The woman is friendly, and she’s quick to earn Moose’s stamp of approval when she rubs his belly. She’s gone twenty seconds later with a promise to get to know one another later.

Aaron is a bit sheepish about it, “Jessica has always been a bundle of energy.” 

Jack interputs before you can say anything, “Can I show Moose my room? I’ll share my toys with him.” 

Your heart melts at the sentiment, and you shoot Aaron a look, because a kid should not be this adorable. He’s snickering, and you silently promise retribution later. “You are more than welcome to show Moose your room. Just be careful, because he likes stuffed animals. He might try and take one home.” 

“Really?” 

“He has an entire bin of them.” 

Jack finds that hilarious, and he heads down a hall with Moose hot on his heels. You stand in the entryway for a minute before you say, “You know, with your kid and my dog, we could book a stage and people would shell out money for the cuteness overload.” 

“Jack gets top billing.” 

“Of course! He’s the one that can talk.” 

You’re easy to be around. It’s the first thing Aaron notices about you. You have this sense of calm and he finds that he’s able to be happy around you, he's able to forget the horrors he’s seen at work, and he’s able to just live in the moment. That’s not something he’s able to do easily, and it isn’t something he’s found in a woman in a long time. 

During his last case, while chasing a horrible, horrible man, he’d thought of you and Jack to regain his head. It had helped him refocus. He’s certain that Rossi noticed, and he’s certain that he’ll get questioned when he returns after their mandatory two days off. He’s not quite sure how to explain it. He just knows he likes you. 

He leads you further into his apartment, and he offers you something to drink, “I think I still have some wine, maybe some beer?” 

“Been a while since you’ve been to the store?” Your teasing makes him smile.

“We’re lucky I had that lasagna in my freezer, otherwise we��d be eating grilled cheese and soup from a can.” 

You settle on the couch, “A man of many talents.” 

He pulls two beers from the fridge and sits down next to you. You take one, but you don’t open it. He stops himself from profiling you. 

“You travel a lot on business, right?” He nods, “You have a favorite place you’ve been?”

He doesn’t want to tell you what he does. You’re separate from that part of his world, and he loves that. You hasn’t been hurt by what he does, not like Jack or Haley. 

“I don’t actually get to see the places all that often, to be honest.” 

“Stuck in meetings?” 

“For the most part.” It isn’t a lie. “What about you, have you traveled at all?”

“During college. My friend and I went backpacking around Europe one summer. We just picked up and left in the middle of the night. My other yelled at me for three straight hours when I got home, and cursed me with the sentiment, that she hopes I have a daughter just like me.” 

He can’t help but laugh at that, “And this friend, she’s the roommate?” 

“Yep. We grew up together.” 

“What’s the job that brought her here?” 

“FBI, she got moved up to profiling, the BA. . .something.” He stills at that, but you don’t notice. “She talks about work a lot and it gets kind of lost at some point. She went on and on about her new boss, who is apparently a bit tough.” 

“She wouldn’t happen to be Gwen Murphy, would she?” 

Your face takes on a puzzled expression and he takes that as confirmation. Gwen Murphy was the newest member of his team, brought in by Strauss. She had excellent scores, was tough, and she had handled herself well in the field on their past case. He’d been impressed, if he was honest, she had gotten info out of a suspect with ease. 

“How do you. . .?” He watches as it dawns on you. Your cheeks go bright red, and his lips quirk up, because it’s adorable, “You’re the hard ass, aren’t you?” 

“I’ve been called worse.” 

You take a deep breath, “Well, this is awesome. She’s going to kill me.” 

“That might be a deal breaker for the agency.” 

Your eyes narrow at him, “Might be?” 

He can’t help but tease you now, “She did a really good job in the field this week.” 

You beam at that, and he likes that you’re happy for your friend, then your face sinks, “She’s still going to kill me.” 

“Because you told me she thinks I’m a hard ass?” 

You shake your head, “Because I moved us into an apartment, right next to her boss.” 

He breaks down laughing at that and you join him a minute later. He watches as you finally reach for the beer, “Just promise me that you’ll open a full investigation when you find my body.” 

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” 

The timer for the lasagna goes off a second later. You’re off the couch in a split second, and he watches as you go down the hallway to get Jack and Moose. Dinner is a fun affair, where you engage with him and Jack equally. He likes that you care about his son, that you care about Jack being heard. He really likes how you explain that dogs don’t sit at the table, and Moose can’t have lasagna because it’s people's food, and it isn’t the best for his tummy. You don’t lie. 

By the time dinner is over, and ice cream is served, it’s nearly nine o’clock and you’re busy wiping chocolate off of Jack's face while Aaron does the dishes. Jack begs for you and Moose to stay longer, and you’re quick to appease him by saying that he and Jack are welcome to come visit you and Moose any time. 

That satisfies his son, who gives you a hug first, and then Moose, before wishing you both goodnight. Aaron walks you to the door. 

“Thank you for the invitation. It means a lot to him.” 

You shrug it off, “Moose and I can use every friend we can get.” 

“We’re friends?” 

You nod, “On our way to it.” 

You were Moose’s person. He had found you all by himself, with small little wines from where he had been tossed for being the runt of his litter. You had been warm, and safe. He remembered being small, you giving him a bottle, and cuddling him close. You brushed his golden fur, and played with him, you loved him. You were his, and because you were his, he knew what you needed, and he was determined to make sure you get it. 

He likes the man in front of you, and he especially likes the little boy who sneaks him food from the table and gives him belly rubs. He nudges the man’s hand with his head, and is satisfied to get a few scratches behind the ears. It’s okay, he’d make the man and the boy his too, soon enough. 

You’re feeling light and airy as you open the door to Aaron’s apartment. You’re in the middle of saying goodbye, when someone runs into you. You reach out to steady the person, and find Gwen. She looks a little worse for wear; tired, her hair of place, and her clothes wrinkled. 

She smiles at the sight of you, and hugs you. You hug her back, and then you feel the exact moment she notices her new boss. Her voice is a whisper, “Agent Hotchner.” 

You look back to find Aaron much more serious than before, any trace that he’s ever smiled or laughed is gone. It’s a little startling how quickly he flips the switch. “Agent Murphy.” 

“You live here?” 

“You tell me.” It’s a test if you’ve ever seen one. 

You start trying to wiggle out of Gwen’s hold but her hands have you in a death grip, “YOU MOVED US INTO THE APARTMENT NEXT TO MY BOSS???” 

Whelp, you weren’t going to bed any time soon. 

[soft-angelic-kiss]

We’re all  a little bit crazy (5)

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therapsit! Izuku x Patient! Bakugou x Patient! Todoroki x Patient! Shinsou x Patient! Reader

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Chapter 5 trigger warnings- Y/N gets into a small fight, mentions of taking pills, the use of the word psycho and mentions of suicide// lemme know if i missed anything

if that makes you uncomfy don’t read!

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chapter one here    

 chapter two here  

chapter three here 

chapter four here

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He woke up again on a plush bed after sleeping comfortably, his cheek slightly bruised and a dull pain running through it, he placed his hand on it and nothing felt swollen which was a very good sign. He let out a sigh and moved up to his elbows so he could look around. 

It was different from all the other rooms he’d been in, It had more color, drawings all the walls.. Comfort stuffed animals they sometimes give you at the hospital even bigger stuffed animals.. The room was comfortable.. 

He finally looked next to him and on the floor was Y/N, who was listening to music occasionally flinching from the headphones as she colored in a little book. He didn’t wanna disrupt the girl, so he sat up and carefully grabbed his clipboard looking for her file… 

 F I L E   4

(Patient Name) Y/N Yagi  (Patient #437)

 (Date admitted) 8-3-2009

 (Patient age) 19

 (Patient disorder)  Anxiety, Severe Depression, Sensory Overloading issues, and short temper, but never escalates, ADHD, PTSD, Anorexia, self harm and suicidal thoughts

(History/cause)  When she was 4 her family home went up in flames causing the death of her father (Okorashi) and older brother (Ekai) Which gave her an extreme fear of explosions and loud noises. From the ages of 4-7 her mother became an addict and an alcoholic. She took up abusive habits that left a few horrific scars on her body. When she was 7 her mother finally passed from an overdose that caused her uncle to have to take her in, He’s a kind man and treats her kindly, He sent them here in hopes of making her better, and more ready to come home. He visits often.

(Has patient...)

-attempted suicide?

-attempted homicide?

-attempted any act of self-harm?

-attempted violence on past employees?

-attempted escape?

 (Other). If she gets sensory overwhelmed she tends to scream, hot, kick and cry. They find comfort in the other patients, Bakugou, Todoroki, Shinsou and the boys downstairs. She tends to stick her nails into the skin of whoever grabs her, she needs to be sedated if she has a breakdown. 

(Danger level) 9/10

Izuku raised an eyebrow, the description of the person sitting down in front of him.He felt like it didn’t match her at all. He decided to take a gentle approach to greeting Y/N to make sure she didn’t have an “episode” as the paper put it. 

He gently swung his feet over the side and crouched down hoping to get into her sightline. He crawled to sit in front of her placing his hands on the floor in front of her coloring book. 

Y/N looked up, slightly startled but then took her headphones off, the change causing her head to spasm backwards before resuming her normal position. “Hi!” They smiled, placing her hands on the coloring book in front of Izuku’s. “Hi, Y/N right?” He spoke calmly, not wanting to put off the human infront of him. “Yeah! And you are...Izuku? Midoryia?” She tilted her head curiously and smiled, pumping a fist into the air when Midoryia nodded a smile being brought to his own lips. He was absolutely hooked by Y/N. Their backstory, their personality, they were such an interesting person and he couldn’t wait to learn more. 

“Yeah. You got it right, good job.” he chuckled when her cheeks turned pink with embarrassment from his praise. Izuku chuckled again and leaned forward slightly and watched as Y/N leaned back. 

Izuku shook his hands carefully and leaned back “Is this more comfortable?” Y/N nodded and smiled softly leaning forward again to resume coloring. Izuku smiled and decided to just watch her for a few moments.

The two hung out not moving position for at least half an hour, until Y/N looked towards the door and started cowering when the door opened and the men in white stood there with a medical tray full of many medical instruments he'd never seen before. 

Y/N jumped to their feet and tried to hide behind Izuku as one of them said “Y/N, Please I don’t want to have to repeat what happened yesterday.” He went to reach for her but she smacked his hand and continued standing behind Midoryia who was eyeing the men with a suspicious look. 

The blonde one who had spoke already finally went to grab them only to have his hands smacked away, but instead of a hand, he felt a clipboard against his wrist as he cried out “what THE-” the man went to hit Izuku but the greenette had blocked his second hit as well 

“She’s scared. I’m going to have to ask you to leave because you are not helping.” Izuku’s tone held dominance and authority as the man scoffed “Oh really?-” His words were cut short as Y/N lept towards him and started hitting him. 

she had gotten a few punches in before Izuku had interfered and pulled her back and away from him holding them, they cling to him. “She’s just psycho-” he started again but was cut off by Midoryia straight up shoving him out of the door 

Midoryia had shut the door and looked at the medical supplies and then at Y/N who was back on their bed. Midoryia hummed softly looking at them with a soft but concerned gazed “Are you alright?” They nodded timidly “U-um.. yeah, i think..” 

They kept eyeing the cart and rubbing their arms. Izuku was angry beyond belief but kept his cool for Y/N. “Do you know what these are?” he asked as he walked over to the cart. Y/N nodded “Those are what the use to sedate me and give me my medications..” Izuku nodded and looked at the cart, it had 4 different pills, a tiny box of apple juice and a needle filled with a liquid. He picked up the needle and watched Y/N flinch back 

Izuku shook his head “No, no.. i’m gonna dispose of it, not use it okay?” He went and wrapped it up throwing it in the hazard trash can in the bathroom coming back out looking at the cart. 

“Okay, do you have an order you need to take them in or can you just take them one at a time?” 

Y/N looked confused as they stood up walking to Izuku and the cart “I c-can just take them.. why are you helping? aren’t you supposed to..” 

Izuku shook his head “So far all of you have said that… No, i’m not supposed to be mean, i’m supposed to help you get better so can you take..” he handed Y/N two of the four pills and handed her the apple juice “these and then the other ones?” he smiled

Y/N nodded and took the two and then waited 30 seconds before taking the other two. Izuku nodded and smiled “Thank you.. Now I believe” He stopped and checked his watch “It’s almost dinner time, If you want you can go head down to the cafeteria?” He smiled at her

Y/N thought for a moment “Will you come eat with me?” She tapped her foot on the ground and looked away as Izuku chuckled

 “It’s not my dinner break,” Y/N had frowned and got ready to ask again.

“but I’ll still come sit with you?” Izuku smiled when Y/N’s face lit up 

Y/N gave a big smile and nodded “Okay!” they had opened the door and ran out with an excited yell of “KATSU! TODO! SHIN!” as she catapulted herself into the boys arms as they hugged her back. 

“Why don’t you go to the cafeteria and We’ll be right behind you okay?” Shinsou spoke caring and calmly and all three boys had a quirk of a smile as she smiled and ran off down the halls “GOT IT!” you could hear their laughter as they went down the stairs with a much kinder doctor.

As Izuku walked out of the door locking it behind him he was quickly met with the three faces he’s seen previously looking at him with glares. He gulped before speaking in a meek voice “Y-yes?” Bakugou raised an eyebrow and scoffed before nodding at him “Not a bad idiot.” and the other two nodding in agreement before the bell above them rang for dinner.

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tag list~  @buckyneedsplums @lazywriterfullofideas09 @notchittatenn @physco-101

for some reason it might not let me tag you also if I forgot you just lemme know!

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a/n: I’m so sorry for getting this out so late! I’ve been very busy recently and I’ve been preparing for BIG things in my personal life so chapters may be extremely short or non existent. I also didn’t plan to have so many supporters for this series so i didn’t really have a clue what to do with the story. I still don’t. I have one more chapter ready in my head but after that I’m not sure where this series will go. Anyways, as usual I hope you enjoyed and please feel free to reblog, like or say something in my inbox! I’m open to writing one shots if you guys are interested, I was thinking about writing one shots instead of continuing with actual chapters after chapter 6 

[7-wonders]

Hardships Unnumbered

Summary: The quest to save Julia begins, but not everything is as it seems in this mystical land.

Word Count: 1969

A/N: Hi friends! This is the second chapter of my Labyrinth King!Michael AU fic, "It's Only Forever." I'll link the first chapter down below. I hope that you enjoy and, as always, likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round.

(also there's a couple of little easter eggs/one big one and I'm really excited to see who figures them out)

Chapter One

Though you put your hands out in front of you to brace yourself, it doesn’t help you to discern which way is up and which way is down until you finally stop rolling. With a groan, you shove yourself up to your feet. Your palms are scraped and slightly bleeding, your jeans are torn at the knees, and leaves and twigs now adorn your hair. All in all, this is not the way you had hoped to start this mission to get Julia back.

Now that you’re already at the bottom of the hill, it’s easier to decide how to start this jaunt through the Labyrinth. After all, you certainly can’t go back up, and the solid ground beneath your feet only leads one way. The shining spires of Michael's castle at the center of the maze, closer than you had thought, rise high above you and act as a compass. All factors considered, you can definitely run this in a couple of hours. Then, once you’re both safely out of here, your first order of business is to call the cops.

Your confidence begins to fade the longer that you walk along with the wall separating you from the inside of the maze. There’s no door, or arch, or opening anywhere to be seen. Turning around, you look back to see if you’ve missed the entrance. Instead of finding one, movement catches your eye. A man, tall and willowy, cries out victoriously at something trapped under his foot. He seems to be your best bet, and you decide to approach him.

“Excuse me?” you say.

The man startles, obviously not expecting to see anybody here. “Oh!” he cries in surprise, looking at you as if you’re the first person to ever cross his path. His hair is bleached to look almost white, and he has a pair of oddly-shaped sunglasses with purple lenses covering his eyes. The checkered jumpsuit, complete with ruffles on the shoulders, both does and doesn’t go with the sunglasses. You’re not quite sure why the people that live here dress so funny, but it’s making you feel underdressed.

“Which way do I go to get into the Labyrinth?”

“Now, why would I tell you that?”

“Because you must have come from there,” you pause, looking down at the man’s foot when you hear a squeaking, “oh! Is that a fairy?”

“Mhm.” Your childlike wonder is abruptly swept out from under you when he kicks the small, blue creature into the forest.

“Why did you do that? That wasn’t very nice!”

“Go ahead and pick one up,” the man says, “you’ll see how nice they are when you’re missing a finger.” As if to prove his point, a fairy flies up to you and hisses in your face, showing off two rows of razor sharp teeth. “What is it that you wanted, again?”

You huff. “To know which way to go to get into the Labyrinth.”

“Did you try asking it?”

“I’m sorry, what?” You roll your eyes in disbelief before mocking him. “‘Labyrinth, please let me in!’ Is that what I should say?”

He doesn’t have to respond, for a sudden rumbling has you turning around. To your shock, there’s suddenly an open space in the wall that hadn’t been there just a second ago.

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m Gallant.” You want to tell him that you weren’t guessing his name, you don’t even want to know his name, but he continues. “Who are you?”

“(Y/N).”

“Ah, that’s right.” So this is one of Michael’s ‘subjects?’ After all, if your dreams have been right (and you’re still half-convinced this is just the elaborate scheme of some unhinged weirdo and not magic, despite what you just saw), then that means that Michael is also the ruler of the Underworld. With that logic, Gallant must be some sort of a demon. If that’s the case, you certainly don’t want anything to do with him.

“Well,” you say awkwardly, “I’m going to go now. Running on limited time, and all that.”

“You’re just going to go in there? Alone?”

“Yep.”

“But--but the Labyrinth leads to the Labyrinth King!”

“That’s kind of the whole reason why I’m here.”

“You’re going to get hurt in there.” Gallant gasps. “You could even die in there!”

You set your shoulders, walking to the hole in the wall and glancing back. “I won’t, but thanks for the concern.”

“Wait!” Even if you did want to listen to what he had to say, you couldn’t, for the wall closes back up on itself the moment you step through it. Mildly jarred though you may be, there’s not much you can do to change this, so you turn around and try to figure out whether to go right or left. Both directions look exactly the same, so with the flip of a mental coin, you go right.

After both walking and jogging for what must have been over a mile, you’re no closer to any sort of landmark that would tell you where you are or how close you are to the castle. There haven’t even been any corners to turn past, just one long, unending aisle. You’re starting to feel a little claustrophobic as you finally come to a stop, needing to take a break for a minute. Sinking down against the wall into a sitting position, you find yourself looking back and forth down the path. Both directions look exactly the same, for as far as you can see. You groan dejectedly and put your head in your hands, allowing yourself a moment of pity before getting up and trying again.

“Hey there!”

You jump at the sudden Southern-sounding voice. “Who’s there?”

“Me, of course!”

Looking around, you see a small door just to your left, and a small woman, probably less than a foot tall, standing next to you. Her curly blonde hair is pulled up into a ponytail, showing off her pointy ears. “And you’re...talking to me?”

“There’s nobody else around, is there?” The woman glances inside the open door. “‘Cept the missus, of course.”

Another woman, also blonde, pokes her head outside and smiles up at you. “Hello!”

“Why don’t ya come inside for a while? ‘Delia makes a killer gumbo.”

“Uh...no thanks. I’m just taking a break for a moment before I find a way to the castle.”

The woman’s face turns severe, and she holds her shawl tighter around herself. “You must be awfully brave if you’re so determined to go up there.”

Brave? You wouldn’t call yourself brave. Stupid, maybe, for bowing to the whims of the guy who’s kidnapped your charge, but not brave.

“But anyways, just go through the wall across from us and you’ll be on your way.”

You look in front of you to see the solid wall. “Through there?”

She nods.

Logic is telling you that this is obviously false, but, considering the same thing happened with Gallant, it can’t hurt to try. Standing up, you cautiously put your hand up to the wall, expecting to meet, well, a wall. Instead, you almost fall through a doorway that leads to another passage in the Labyrinth. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“You will be if you keep going.”

You choose to ignore this, at this point knowing that everybody who lives here is terrified of their ruler. “Thanks for the help.”

The elf stares at your back as you walk through the new corridor, figure becoming smaller and smaller. “If she would have stuck around, I would have been able to get her on the right track back home, not towards that horrible man.”

From inside the house, a timer beeps. “Misty, supper’s ready!”

///

In the stone chamber of the King of the Underworld’s throne room, a three year old girl is currently winning a staring contest against a demon. Michael watches as the demon’s eyes begin to water (with blood, of course), before he eventually gives in and blinks. The little girl cheers before looking at Michael.

“My daddy’s gonna kick your butt, you know. He saved mama from aliens once.”

“Silence, child,” Michael commands, but he can’t help the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. It’s difficult to hide his amusement when this child is the most lively thing to grace his castle since...well, he can’t quite remember since when.

Being surrounded by demons of all shapes and sizes, with a variety of horns or extra eyes or tails, gets old after a while. Demons, quite frankly, are a bore. All they want to do is scare people and cause mayhem, yet continue to use the same methods that have been in place for thousands of years. If Michael’s being honest with himself, everything’s a bore to him here. In the early years, this job had been quite fun. Lots of naive humans to terrify and endless souls to torture.

Michael himself had been prone to naivety, then. It was easy to deal with the buffoons that called themselves demons when it seemed that, soon enough, he would find somebody to share this burden with him. After all, it was the guy upstairs who believed that emotions were for the humans. Michael, however, found it to be one of the most carnal pleasures. To love, and to be loved, seemed like the greatest sin. As the years passed, and the whole routine of ruling the Underworld became stale, Michael began to embrace the feelings of dejection, while simultaneously dreading the thought of an eternity alone.

That’s why, no matter the outcome of tonight, Michael would at least have something to add a little color to his black-and-white world. At the very least, the child would provide much-needed entertainment in the Underworld. She seems quite creative, which could potentially lend itself to some new and innovative torture methods. But, that would almost be a non-starter, considering the whole reason that she’s here, the whole reason Michael implemented this plan in the first place, is to get to you.

You, who managed to somehow win over demons disguised as beggars that loitered outside of the bookstore you worked for. You, who was constantly coming up with your own ideas for stories, creating and erasing entire worlds within your mind (a power far more powerful than any regular magic, Michael believes). You, who had somehow managed to vex and enchant him, without ever having spoken a word to him. He had seen you on one of his visits up Above, talking to a beggar demon as if they were your equal, offering food and shelter to their grotesque form. From then on, he knew that he had to have you, and from that, a plan was born. The Labyrinth, which he had subtly placed in every single one of your dreams for months now, was impossible to run through. You would inevitably lose. And when that happens, he’s prepared to accept your frantic offer where you exchange yourself for the child. He is, after all, a benevolent ruler.

“Mr. Michael?” Julia questions, breaking Michael out of his pondering.

Michael hums, deciding that he won’t lecture her on the importance of referring to rulers by their titles. “Yes, little one?”

“Do you have juice here? ‘M thirsty.”

“Abaddon!” Michael calls, the demon appearing in a puff of smoke. “Get our guest some refreshments.”

The demon turns to do Michael’s bidding, shocked when Julia grabs their clawed hand and skips along with them. “I really like your spiky horns,” she says.

Michael looks up at the clock on the wall, noting that only nine hours remain for you to reach the center of the Labyrinth and rescue the child. Perfect. He’s not one to get too cocky (yes he is), but these are odds he’s willing to take.

//

Tag List (send me a message if you want to be on this!): @sojournmichael @dark-mei-rose @blakescoven @xavierplympton @michaellangdon @trelaney @ajokeformur-ray @babyloutattoo89 @bloodcoatedeclipse @threeminutesoflife @annikathebananana @wth-trippy @thatonehumanbeing05 @dumybitch

[imthatchishiyasimp]

Loses and promises

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

hi!!! I'm back hehe

It took me a long time to wrap my head around this idea, but I think I like how it turned out. I've been busy with work and I didn't get to post anything this week, I'm sorry.

Also: BIG THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT, THE LIKES AND REBLOGS AND FOLLOWS!!! I didn't, in a million times, thought you would like this THAT much. I really appreciate it, love you so much.

Without further ado, enjoy the read!!

TW: Blood, death and injuries are both mentioned and described

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

I knock on his door, hard and fast. Jumping in one foot, I try to keep my balance while I tie my trainer. I rest my back on the door to prevent the obvious fall, and I finish tying the shoe. Except the door suddenly opens and I fall backwards pretty fast with a little scream.

“What the fuck?” He says, catching me by the shoulders and stepping back. “What do you want?” The question rolls with scepticism as he turns me around to face me.

I arch my eyebrows and point my finger to my wrist, simulating the time in a wristwatch.

“Already?” Chishiya hums and crosses his arms. “I must have lost track of time. Have they already made the teams?”

“Yup, and guess who’s going to annoy you for the rest of the night…”

He makes a face that’s supposed to look bothered. And he sure is bothered, he hates having to deal with me during games. But I can see through that. He’s not the only one that hates pairing in games; I do too. Not only because he’s annoying and always acts like he’s the only one worthy of winning, but because I would hate to be involved in a heart’s game with him. I know he would do anything to survive, anything, even if it kills him. And I would too. And he knows it.

“We are leaving in a few minutes. Get ready, you lazy ass” I turn around and head to my room to finish getting ready. I hear his breathy laugh just as he starts closing the door of his room. I might need something to protect myself, or something to get rid of people. Who knows what we will be facing tonight.

The car is full of people and smells like alcohol, drugs and sweat. It’s disgusting and I try to get my face as far as it can go through the window.

“Will you stop moving? It’s pretty uncomfortable and I hate the smell as much as you, so either you make me a place in that window or I throw you off my lap” Chishiya says, calmly and quietly near my ear. My hair blows as his breath leaves his lips and chills run through my body, keeping me so still that it seems as if I turned into rock.

Indeed I am in his lap, and indeed I have been moving. But just because I want to breathe fresh air. Just because of that. Sure. No reason behind.

I laugh, in silence, but I laugh. There were too many people in need of refilling their visas, so we had to pair in greater groups. And I was so not gonna sit in the laps of the horny people overbooking the Beach. So , after a huge fight, I made Chishiya sit under me, in exchange of looking for white hair dye.

I move just a bit more to play with him and I feel him tense under me, his hands coming to my hips. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop” So I move to the edge and get comfortable on his knees, leaving him a small place on the window to put his face.

We watch as the city moves in darkness, leaving behind flashes of light holding game’s arenas. I can hear distant music and screams, gunshots and creepy sounds. Maybe it’s real, maybe it’s my imagination, but I would swear on my visa that they won’t stop when the sun comes up. It’s been so long that even when I close my eyes I can still listen to the people dying in their games. I try to silence them with other things, and sometimes it works, but I’m getting tired of it.

The doors of a forest garden awaits us as we arrive. It’s a closed part of the outskirts of the city, enclosing a private area huge enough to get lost wandering around.

The tables at both sides of the door have the phones and some weapons. There’s no limit entry and it looks like there might be enough phones for the lot of us. There are five other people alongside Chishiya and I. I only know two of them: Hiro, the cook at the Beach, and Ume, a bookish girl that’s always lounging in the silent rooms. The rest look kind of familiar but I don’t remember talking to them.

I get off Chishiya’s lap with a hop and take a phone off the table. It beeps with the facial recognition and just says to wait ten minutes to close the entry.

“Want to bet on the game?” Chishiya asks, nodding to the doors.

“Probably a physical, given that we are so far from the city. So I would say a spade one” I guess. It looks like we will have a big arena, and probably something to run from, if we take into account the weapons.

“Looks like your brain hasn’t died yet” He moves before I can get him with a punch.

“REGISTRATION HAS CLOSED, THERE ARE A TOTAL OF 7 PARTICIPANTS. THE GAME WILL NOW COMMENCE”

All of us gather at the entrance, some of us already with weapons in our hands. I’ve chosen a blade big enough to protect me and some small knives hidden in my top and trainers. I don’t like guns and they run out of ammo quite quickly.

“DIFFICULTY: EIGHT OF SPADES”

“GAME: LABYRINTH”

“RULE: YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO CONTINUE IF YOU DON’T PASS THE TESTS. YOU MUST START ALONE, BUT YOU ARE NOT FORBIDDEN TO PAIR ONCE STARTED THE MAZE”.

“CLEAR CONDITION: FIND YOUR WAY AROUND THE MAZE AND SUCCESSFULLY OPEN THE EXIT DOOR. YOU CLEAR THE GAME WHEN YOU GET THROUGH THE EXIT DOOR”.

“TIME LIMIT: 2 HOURS”.

“AFTER THE 2 HOURS HAVE PASSED, THE MAZE WILL BE SHUT DOWN WITH NO EXIT”.

The doors open and we enter the maze. There are several “starts” written on the floor at the entrance of different passages. The walls are so high that I can’t even try to guess what’s at the top. It’s too dark to see more than a few meters from your hands, and the cold is starting to get annoying.

The seven of us position ourselves one next to each other on the central passages and we wait. No sound can be heard, no light can be seen. It’s creepy as hell. I look sideways and I spot Chishiya lowering his hood and lifting his sleeves. He totally hates running, but you can bet he’s gonna give it all.

“GAME START”

Without hesitation, I sprint into my passage.

I’ve been running non stop since the beginning, and this maze is big as hell itself. People always tell you to stick to the left or right and you will get to the end, and that I’ve been doing. But just when I could. There are so many traps around, it’s like they didn’t think we could survive this, so they threw everything they got.

From knife floors, poison ponds, holes… My feet are done for the day, my legs are bathed in blood from the knives and spikes, and I feel kinda dizzy because of the poison gas. But I keep running. The time is halfway gone, and I don’t think I’m even close to the exit.

I haven’t heard any of the other players since the start. I’m a bit worried, and I keep going back to their faces at the car, at the entrance and the moment I lost sight of them when I started running. Will I see them again? How many of them? Will someone make it?

I turn to the left and get thrown to the floor with a nudge on the nose.

“Holy fuck!” I scream in agony, holding my bleeding nose. I would bet my visa on it, it’s broken for sure. Oh God it hurts too much. My face feels heavy and it stings deep inside.

“Jesus, where the hell are you going without looking? Are you stupid? You could have met some kind of trap, idiot”

I look up and catch a glimpse of white hair. But just a glimpse, because the whole rest of Chishiya is covered in ashes. The bastard just stays there, looking down at me without offering a hand. Totally expected that, to be honest.

I get up and punch him straight in the chest. He howls and gets away looking angry. “You deserved that, you totally smashed your elbow on my face on purpose. You were just waiting there to punch me”

“What the fuck? Why would I?”

I study the situation and try to look for lies, but it’s a lost cause with him. “Shut up and start running, we have a long way to go”

So both of us pair up and keep on running together, helping each other in a few traps to minimize the damage. We still get burned and sliced, but we manage to stay together for a good twenty minutes.

Until we don’t.

We are on an empty corridor surrounded by bindweed. What I thought was going to be a calm and peaceful section turns into a nightmare. From nowhere, ropes start to come out and try to catch our feet, arms and trunk.

Both of us jump and get down to escape from the ropes, sometimes getting too close to the bushes and winning new bruises everywhere. The strength that these things have is incredible and intolerable. It feels as if my bones are breaking under the knots. I grasp Chishiya’s hand to keep from getting sucked into the wall, and he takes me out of it. His hand grips mine with a strength I didn’t know he possessed, and I dwell on the feeling of his cold and soft fingers around mine, enjoying the safety his presence gives anywhere he is.

Lost in his eyes, which are making sure I’m not caught into any ropes anymore, we get pulled away in an instant and Chishiya disappears from my sight into the wall, his eyes not leaving mine.

“No! You bastard! You don’t get to abandon me here! Come back!” I scream into the bushes. I slice the ropes with my knives and get away from that corridor as fast as I can.

My face still hurts from the nudge, and my arm feels funny. Both my legs are covered in bruises and cuts from the ropes and the falls. I’m a mess. Everything hurts. Everything is a mess.

I go back to the feeling of finding him. Maybe I didn’t dwell on it, but I felt safer, I felt relieved to have some company; I felt happy to have him there with me, to back me up and get me through difficult things. Will I see him again? Is he okay? Will he be there?

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You better be there when I get off this fucking maze, or I will search for you to cut you into pieces” I whisper to the night, running again, looking behind me from time to time to check if he’s behind me, stoping just before a turn to prevent another hit. He totally did that on purpose.

I step into a two paths corridor. Both of them are covered in darkness and I can’t say which one looks better. Not wanting to lose any more time, I take the right one, although it doesn’t take me long to return. The blood covers the floor and gets sticky when I step into it. I bend over to see what’s in front of me and gulp down seeing the body of Hiro full of insects eating him alive.

He’s whimpering in pain and coughing blood, moving just a bit, probably paralyzed. I don’t know when he catches me, but his eyes get full of tears and he mouths a silent plea, tears streaming down his face and mixing with the blood. I remember when I met him, asking for a bite of something after a run through the city and hungry enough to eat whatever. He made me a simple sandwich, but I swear it was the best one I have ever had. He stayed in the kitchen with me, talking about his life and asking too many questions. Ever since then, he’s always been there when I needed to disconnect from the games, from the people, from the world. Always with a smile and a new recipe to try.

Now all that is left is pain and suffering.

Getting as close as I dare, I whisper a silent sorry and goodbye before ending his suffering. I run away and don’t look back at all, his face and pain engraved in my mind.

When I get to the exit I almost scream in relief. It’s a big door made of small bars with a big “EXIT” written in red above it. The time is almost up and I can’t see anyone here. The place where I came from is not the only way of getting here, there are three more corridors ending in this place.

The thing is, the doors are closed, and they have a huge key hole in the middle. I look around and I spot a key shining on the top of the door. It’s hanging by a thread, laughing at me from up there.

I scoff, tired as I can be, and I stop in front of the door. Guessing from the place where it is, I must need to climb through the door and it doesn’t seem dangerous at all, but I still don’t trust it. Checking the time I decide that I can’t risk it on trying to search for another way of getting the key, so I grasp the bars.

The heat burns through me and paralyzes me in the spot. I feel as if my hand is going to come off right now. I let go of the door and caress the palm of my hand, blowing air as kindly as I can, tears streaming down my face of the pain.

“FIVE MINUTES LEFT”

“I hate this. I hate it so much” Curses leave my lips as I get higher and higher, once again at the door and burning my hands and feet in the process. I can’t feel it anymore, I just know it’s painful and it’s going to leave ugly scars. I grip the key and rip it from the thread and throw myself to the floor, not caring to limb down properly.

The floor meets my back and I roll over. I would have stayed there, I swear. I was done with everything. My whole body was hurting, my mind was going blank and kept screaming.

“Tsk” I hear some rustling near me and then a foot nudges me on the back of my head. “Are you alive there?” I moan in response and turn over, glaring at the clever smirk of Chishiya. “Do you mind handing over the key? I’m in desperate need of a shower”.

“I don’t know, would you mind stopping hitting me on purpose?” I mumble through moans of pain.

He sighs and bends next to me, placing his face just above mine, our noses almost touching. I can feel his breath, the quick rhythm it still has, the cold and the smell of sweat and toxic reaching me.

“For the last time, I did not hit you on purpose” He whispers looking straight at me.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” I question. You won't ever know with him.

“Trust me, if I had hit you on purpose, I would have done it a lot harder”. His eyes hold that smart look, the condescending vibes all around him, but I think I can see worry and relief and…

“Oh fucking hell, yes! You guys made it! We are saved and alive and… Oh God, two minutes left, tell me you know how to open that door or I will kill myself right here” One of the guys we came with sprouts from a passage, holding Ume’s limping form and followed by another guy who’s gripping a tourniquet around his arm. I’m glad to see most of us are alive after that hell.

Chishiya takes the fey from my hand with caution to not touch the burnt parts of my palms and fingers. He quickly pushes the key into the lock and pushes the door hard.

I don’t know why, but I was scared of it not opening. Silly, I know, but after so many games with tricks at the end, I didn’t know what to expect. The phones beep immediately, and I struggle to get up to a sitting position.

“GAME CLEAR”.

“CONGRATULATIONS”.

Relief flows inside all of us, dropping to the floor and crying happy tears. Is it really a win? It doesn't feel like that anymore. I think I've lost some things inside those walls and darkness.

I thought I was hurting, but in just a second, all the injuries I have, start to really hurt and the pain makes me close my eyes and shake like crazy. I might need a whole week of rest after this.

Arms come from behind me and take me up. I’m lost in the sudden change of position and it takes me a while to realize Chishiya is holding me in a bridal style. He quickly gets ahead of the rest, not caring to check if they are following us, and heads to the place we left the car.

It’s a long way until we get there and I nod off a few times, resting my head and hiding in his soft tingling hair, taking his scent apart from all the other ones. I don’t dream at all, it’s all blank, but I wake up startled looking for Hiro or Chishiya, afraid they’re not here anymore. I get sad and I cry silently when I remember Hiro’s body and scared face, pleading for mercy; and I sigh with relief when I feel Chishiya holding me tighter after I wake up shaking, crossing our eyes and making me feel safe with just a look.

“Don’t ever disappear like that again. Don’t even dare. Promise me” I angrily say after one of my nightmares. He doesn’t say anything, and I don’t need him to. He just needs to know. I pretend I don’t see the almost imperceptible nod he does once I return to put my head on his chest.

The ride back is a blur. We have more space now that two of us are missing, but it’s heavy inside. I keep next to Chishiya, him holding me while I rest and sleep in between nightmares. None of us has said anything since we left the forest. We are all relieving our paths along the maze, the things we saw and the hopelessness we felt, the fear of being left there forever.

The sunrise marks our arrival at the Beach. People there are waiting for the cars still gone and they welcome us with joy and worry. We are rushed to the medical room to get checked up on, and although I try to walk there, pathetically I must say, I can feel Chishiya is ready to ame me in case I fall. He leaves once An puts me on a bed and starts treating my wounds.

But I know he will be back. He always comes back. He promised.

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

Hope you liked it!! Give me some feedback and love if you might, I would love to hear from you.

As always, I'm still open to requests and comments. If you want me to tag you on the next post, do tell me!

Be safe and take care!!

[starlight-writes-stuff]

SO HEAR ME OUT an nsfw alphabet for draco

hey bestie - im literally so excited to do this (: i have a guilty pleasure of reading nsfw alphabets so u really hit the nail on the head with this request . n e ways , enjoy !

AYO LOOK AT THESE ! : smut (duh but still) , hair pulling , breeding k!nk , unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it) , masturbation , choking , light bondage , praise kink , general adult themes and content so please only read if ur okay with that .

reblogs are always appreciated ! <3 ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

draco is the literal definition of a fluff fic after sex - hes so soft and loving and affectionate . if the sex was on the rougher side , draco goes out of his way to kiss any bruises , cuts , or red marks he may have left on you, soothing the sinfully painful spots with soft touches of his suddenly gentle fingertips.  

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

draco is built like a greek mf god , and he knows it . he’s all lean , toned muscles and his alabaster pale skin only makes him look more ethereal . draco is quite proud of his body and isn’t afraid to show off if needed.

draco literally loves everything about you , and you’ve tried over and over to get him to pick his most favorite - he never does it because he’s a stubborn little shit and refuses to let you think that he values one part of you over any other . finally , you wore him down to coming up with a top 3 : your hands , your hair , and your chest .

 your hands as they fit perfectly in his , they brush his hair out of his eyes with a gentleness that melts him every time (and the way you dig your nails into his back or his arms iykyk) . 

draco loves your hair mostly because its the exact opposite of his own ; long , thick , and chocolate brown . he’s constantly playing with your hair , whether that's running his hands through it or gently tugging on it to get your attention . he would kill you if you ever told anyone , but draco taught himself how to braid your hair so he would have something repetitive to do to calm his anxiety .

 draco loves your chest : he's such a boob guy . he is such a boob guy . even in a non-sexual context , draco loves having his hands up your shirt just feeling how soft your breasts are , the way that he can feel your heartbeat if you’re still enough . when things are getting *frisky* draco loves your tits - in his hands , using his mouth on them , titty-fucking you , literally everything . 

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

draco has a huge breeding kink , but is simultaneously terrified of getting you pregnant. he knows that he wants to be a dad eventually , but draco malfoy is the king of daddy issues™ and can’t fathom having a child right now .

that doesn’t stop him from filling you up with his cum every time you guys fuck - draco loves watching your face as you take his entire load , begging him not to pull out . 

once he does , though , draco’s head is immediately between your legs watching his manhood drip out of you , fingering it out of you while you whimper at the way he seems to hit all the right spots . 

he’s extremely thankful for the tiny , yellow birth control pills that you’re on , and he reminds you every day to take them .

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

draco had never , ever said i love you to someone during or after sex until the two of you had your first time . now , its a normal occurrence for draco to tell you how much he loves you as he thrusts into your pretty , fucked out body . he lets his forehead fall to yours , moaning the words in between heavy breaths as he finishes inside you .

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

draco had a couple of hookups , and a complicated friends with benefits situation before the two of you got together , so he was somewhat experienced by the time you guys finally got down to it . he made sure you felt so good the entire time , using every trick in his book to make you cum around him over and over until he reached completion as well . 

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

draco is a sucker for regular old missionary . he likes being able to watch your face as you take every inch of him , watching your facial expressions change and morph under the influence of his pleasure . if he’s eager to feel you - all of you - draco will hook one of your legs over his shoulders , giving him better access to your sex . this is the one instance where draco wont keep eye contact with you : he can't resist watching himself slide in and out of you , coated in your cum .

however

he's an absolute sucker for you riding him , too . he loves to let you take control and chase your pleasure - plus the visual of you bouncing up and down on his cock , eyes rolling back into your head as you hit all the right spots is enough to send him over the edge . if you get tired while on top , draco will gladly hold your hips in place , fucking up into you until you practically collapse into him , entirely taken over by the force of your orgasm. 

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

intimacy is something that didn’t come easy for you and draco; he’d never been with someone that he actually loved before you . there was a deep intensity to the emotions shared between you two during sex , and draco viewed that time between the both of you as something almost sacred . foreplay , or just general teasing can be silly with you two , but making love is more serious . 

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

draco keeps himself trimmed , but not entirely clean shaven , and the hair down there is darker than his signature white-blond locs .

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

(refer back to g but i could talk about this for days) draco is incredibly romantic when it comes to sex . your first time was like something out of a movie - draco had lit candles everywhere , filling the room with soft , flickering light , as well as changing the sheets on your bed to a soft , white cotton . he’d taken his time making you comfortable ; you and draco had talked through all your fears for hours before he laid a hand on you . once you were ready , draco’s touches had been soft and slow and tender all over your body - he’d made you feel like the angel you were . quickly , you learned that draco wasn’t like that just because it had been your first time ; draco made an effort to make sex just as special every time. 

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

draco was raised thinking that masturbation was a shameful act , something dirty and below him (you literally can not tell me that this isn't true i'll fight it until the day i die . as much as i love narcissa the malfoy family fkn sucks and they damaged draco so bad . anyways) so it’s very rare that he’ll get himself off. when he does , its somewhere where he can quickly get rid of the evidence , such as the shower . 

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

while draco makes sex between you two meaningful and special , that doesn’t mean that he’s afraid to be rough (after yall have had a long talk about it before where you gave him enthusiastic consent ofc . ) 

draco loves to pull your hair or wrap a hand around your throat while he’s hitting it from the back , so much so that he’ll bring your back up to his chest . 

he really enjoys a bit of light choking here and there - just enough to watch your pretty face flush with blood , making your moans the slightest bit weaker . 

draco loves to tie your hands up above your head while he’s eating you out as well ; it makes you take all the pleasure he’s willing to give , and he lives for the way your body writhes and bucks under his skillful tongue. 

you literally can not tell me that draco doesn’t have a praise kink - both giving and receiving . draco loves to tell you how good of a job your doing whether you're sucking him off or taking all of him inside you , and he’s constantly reassuring you that you’re doing such a good job.

however

he fucking loves when you praise him as well (my theory as to why is so fkn sad so we wont go over that here) but that boy lives for you telling him how good he’s making you feel , and when you encourage him nodding and whining for him to go faster . its the one thing that undoes him almost immediately , and he flushes furiously every time you tell him just how fantastic he’s doing .  

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

you and draco rarely get it on outside of your bedrooms at hogwarts , or your childhood rooms when you’re home for the summer - but there’s an exception to every rule. draco has absolutely ruined you in the quidditch changing rooms after a rather brutal loss , and he’s the king of shower sex , too.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

praise !! draco loves you telling him how good his dick feels , or his tongue , or his hands . he also appreciates when you’re rather direct with him - telling draco exactly where you want him , what you want him to do - it drives him absolutely insane . hearing such dirty words come from your sweet , innocent mouth kills him , and it makes draco that much more excited.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

there's nothing draco wouldn’t try at least once , but he’s rather uncomfortable with voyeurism. he hates the idea of anyone else seeing your body , watching how you wriggle and whine underneath him as he makes you cum . while the two of you have done it in some questionable locations , draco had made sure that no one could see . 

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

while draco loves your mouth wrapped around him , that boy could spend all day between your legs . he's nothing short of obsessed with eating you out , and its one of his favorite things to do for you . he cant help the way it makes him feel - hearing you whimper and moan while you pull on his hair , your back arching off the bed when his tongue flicks in just the right way . he gets a sort of high from it , and absolutely prides himself on making you cum with just his tongue . 

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

it really depends on the day . draco loves fucking you slow , watching his manhood slide in and out of your pretty body coated in your arousal , but he cant resist fucking you so hard he leaves bruises , either . if its just a regular day , the two of you fall somewhere in between , a perfect mix of rough and sweet . 

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

draco loves a good quickie every once in a while ! sometimes he needs a release , and your body is his favorite vessel . usually quickies are where the two of you get a little more risky - he’ll grab your arm , pulling you into an empty classroom or the shower and take you then and there . 

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

yes and no . draco would try anything and everything , especially if you asked him to , but there are some things that are a one-and-done for him . the two of you are good at talking about that stuff - if something made one of you uncomfortable , the other would understand 100% . its all about the balance of boundaries and still being adventurous. 

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

draco would fuck you all day if you would let him . he can make you cum many , many times before he’ll allow himself to even get close , and even then his stamina is through the roof . he can go at least 3 rounds if not more , and switch positions as many times as you’d like . 

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

while draco doesn’t mind you using toys on yourself , they do make him slightly jealous . you gently tease him about this sometimes , how he works himself into a sulk over an inanimate object - however, that usually leads to your hands tied to his headboard , draco holding a vibrator on your clit until you can’t take anymore orgasms. 

you two have expirimented with using your vibrator during sex , but draco much prefers playing with your clit over using an outside source , and seretly , you do too . he’s amazing with his hands , and rubs tight , fast circles onto your sensitive nub while his hips snap against yours only intensifying the sensation .

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

draco loves to tease you - he likes to watch the way you come undone under the slightest touches of his hands . very rarely does he tease you for long - he can’t resist giving you what you want , what you’re begging him for in that high , breathy voice .

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he’s a loud motherfucker all the time , and the bedroom is no exception . draco’s moans are music to your ears , and they turn you on more than anything . his already rough voice only gets raspier , and deeper , too . he loves to talk dirty to you , but as he approaches his orgasm , he can barely form full sentences . his cocky pillow talk turns to almost desperate moans and whimpers as his thrusts get sloppier and quicker , his hips snapping against yours hard . his groans as he cums are heavenly , especially since he’s usually buried his head in your neck or dropped his forehead to yours by then . 

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

we all know that draco have a superiority / god complex (as he should 😌) , and this manifests in the bedroom - you would’ve never known , though , if it weren’t for a complete accident . you and draco had been studying together , and he’d asked one of the yes or no questions written on a flashcard .  not thinking about your actions , you’d answered the question with “no, sir” - then physically felt draco’s entire body stiffen underneath you . you’d picked up on it immediately , blood flooding your face as you’d asked him if he liked it .

yes , he did .

he loves when you call him sir as he’s fucking the life out of you - like , he has to stop himself from cumming on the spot . 

when you want to fuck with him for whatever reason , you’ll jokingly call him ‘sir’ in front of your friends

you’ll pay for it later , though

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

mans is built in every sense of the word . draco is quite well endowed , which was something that took you a bit to get used to . he was never one to measure - it just seemed wrong to him , like he was doing something dirty - but by your estimations , draco is about 7 inches . he’s thicker than most , too , which only adds to your pleasure . 

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

draco lives in a constant state of horny™ . he can’t help it - something about you brings out his most primal instincts . he’s so in love with you and your body that he can rarely keep his hands off of it , but he knows how to control himself . he tries to match your sex drive ; when yours is high , his is too , but he doesn’t mind waiting on you to give him the green light if you’re libido has been lower . 

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

its safe to say that the both of you are extremley tired after sex - its quite the workout . draco is so soft once he’s finished , and he would live in that post-sex haze forever if he could ; he’s all sweet kisses and skin-to-skin contact , but he’ll usually wait until you fall asleep on him before he can drift off . something about making sure that you’re comfortable enough to sleep on him fills draco with a sense of immense pride . once you’ve fallen asleep, depending on how vigorous everything was , draco will usually fade pretty soon after ; on the off chance that he still has some energy , draco stays up and watches you . he looks at you as if you were a piece of art , usually following the soft lines and curves of your face with a gentle finger ; admiring you like the angel you are .

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Little Bones 3

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series); harassment, general creepiness.

This is dark! (biker) Thor x chubby!reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: You’re a city girl stuck in a small town, but Birch isn’t as sleepy as it seems.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown and When the Weight Comes Down

Note: Another random update of a series for y’all as I toil away at drabbles in between!

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Masterlist

Your skin crawled as you walked to work the next morning. The memories of the night before made you cringe and tuck your chin down as you kept your eyes ahead of you. You feared if you looked around, you might summon the incessant biker from his hole.

The library was as empty as any other day and you claimed your seat at the curved desk. You booted up and sipped from your thermos, the coffee bitter on your tongue as you watched Melissa appear from the non-fiction section. She sat in her own chair and yawned as she signed on.

The monotony of Birch was sobering after the night in the dank bar. The bikers and their own little world, a microcosm of the worst types all in one place. You went about your usual tasks, there were a few returns on the cart to put back on the shelves and you walked the shelves and checked for out of order codes.

The hours slaked by like the peaks of a mountain against ancient gales. The stale lights made the days stretch to tedium and the grey without added to the sense of listlessness. Colin’s low snores escaped the back room and Melissa sorted through bent paperbacks in a far aisle to put out for the Sunday penny sale.

As the windows darkened, Colin gave his usual grumbled farewell and further mussed his wavy hair as he tried to smooth it out. It didn’t matter much as he covered it with the old faded Leafs toque and left through the automatic doors. His shadow was soon followed by Melissa as she looked forward to seeing her daughter and watching some new program on the local channel.

You were the last as you walked the aisles before final lock-up. The automatic doors were off as you checked for unlikely stragglers. You came back to the round desk and flipped off the lights for all but the entry way and the back office. You pushed open the door and locked the outside ones with a jangle of keys. As you turned back, you gripped the big key to the back door and shook your head.

You stepped through the space between the inner doors and stared at the man behind your desk. He sat in your chair, your purse sat before him on the counter as he shoved a large hand inside. You crossed your arms and watched Thor as he pulled out your coral coloured wallet and unsnapped it.

“What are you doing?” You asked harshly. “How did you get in here?”

He snickered and pulled out a card and lifted it up to look at it closely. He leaned back and flicked it with his thumb. “I knew you were a city girl.” He said.

“Get out. We’re closed.”

“Sorry, I’m late. I’m a busy man.” He slid the card back in place and searched the rest, uninterested by the few bills inside the fold and your various reward cards and outdated alumni ID.

“Late? You don’t seem the reading type. We don’t have that many audiobooks.” You neared and grabbed the other handle of your purse. “There’s an app for that now.”

Again, he laughed and dropped your wallet into the depths of your purse. He released it and pushed his shoulders back as you dragged the bag off the desk. He tilted his head and held up your phone in its shiny lavender case. He smirked as the screen lit up and he swiped it open. You never should have added the library as a trusted location.

“Hmm,” he turned it to face him and scrolled with his thumb, “I think you’re missing a number in here.”

“Give it.” You reached for the phone and he held it away from you like some annoying teenager. ��Hey… Thor! Give me it. It’s mine!”

His blonde lashes flashed and he looked at you with delight. “Oooh, I love it when you say my name.”

“Stop. You can’t be in here and you certainly can’t--” 

You swiped for the phone again and he caught your arm. He yanked you so hard you almost left the floor and you dropped your purse and keys. He held you over the counter as he twisted your wrist just a little.

“And who exactly is going to make me leave?”

He kept his thick fingers locked around your wrist as he searched your phone. You struggled with him but it only sent a violent jolt up to your elbow.

“I can do whatever I want and you can’t do anything to stop me. In fact, there’s no one in this town who can.” His jaw clenched and he locked your phone. “Well, kitten, I’m going to hold onto this.” He let go of you and stood as you retracted your arm and rubbed your sore wrist. “And when you want to be a good girl for me, you can come find me and ask for it nicely.”

“Ask? You’re crazy. It’s mine. You’re--” you sputtered.

You swallowed as his hand balled to a fist and his brow twitched. It was the first hint of anything but amusement. It was much more troubling, a slight tell. He was angry.

“I’ve been nice, kitten. I like you and your claws but don’t scratch too deep.” He warned as he backed away. “I’ll see my way out unless of course… you would take me up on my offer from last night.”

“Go. Keep the fucking phone.” You snarled and reached for your purse and the keys. 

You stood and watched as he ran his tongue just below his teeth and turned away. He snaked his way through the back office and you heard the heavy metal door whine in his stead. You locked the inner doors and grabbed your jacket from the rack.

You went to the same door and hit the lights. You activated the security system and stepped out with a cautious look around the vacant parking lot. You locked the door and headed around the side of the brick building and out into the glow of the streetlights.

You could get a new phone, that was nothing, just a chunk out of your check. He could search your contacts, your apps, your phones, he’d find nothing but the pathetic life of a thirtysomething wash out. That wasn’t what worried you. 

He was watching you. He had to be. He knew when you were alone and he knew how to get in. You might not see him but you were certain he could see you. You shivered and pulled your hate over your head and puffed out a cloud. 

💀

You went home angry but slightly addled from the encounter. You watched over your shoulder the entire way home and locked your door with the tarnished chain. You found it hard to settle as you debated marching over to the bar and demanding your phone back and opening the wine you hadn’t touched since your impulsive purchase. You really hated Thor but you knew you could push him much further before he did something much worse.

You ignored your wrath and ate your dinner in front of the television before hiding under your covers and watching the snowfall until you fell asleep. Every night was as dull as the one before and the morning always came too quickly.

You woke and readied for your day with a cup of home-brewed Colombian roast and packed your lunch. You searched for your phone for two seconds before you remembered where it was. Your neck prickled as you thought of Thor with access to all your information and the barren social media accounts. 

The snow was even deeper that day and you fought through the thick carpet. The library felt twice as far by the time you reached it and you were panting as you entered and shook off the powder. You took your usual spot at the usual time with your usual thermos and usual disillusion.

You whiled away the hours without the distraction of your phone. You realised how easily this man could torture you and not even be in the same place as you. You went searching in the aisles for something to do and scraped the gum off the bottom of the tables. A disgusting task but work nonetheless.

When the end of the day came, you were all too happy to go home and hide under your duvet with a tea and a sitcom. You hated this. You would go to the city and get a new phone if you had too. God, how much would that cost?

💀

The days slogged by and on your first free day, you were too tired to make the drive out of town. You resigned to your procrastination, instead taking a short walk down the main street to Babs’. Your usual order, but cinnamon instead of caramel in your latte, and a scone to enjoy at home.

The snow remained as thick as days before. You looked out the bakery window in dread as you awaited your order at the end of the counter. You still caught yourself reaching for your phone. If you waited too long, you might not even be able to make it into the city. Well, you could always order something online. 

The door chimed as Steve’s girl came to the other side of the counter and placed your latte out for you. She smiled and you thanked her but her eyes rounded as you heard boots come close. You turned, barely surprised by the man who was better described as your shadow those days. 

Since his visit to the library, Thor had made himself known in several instances, every day as you walked home he was outside the asp, watching. Other times, he’d be waiting by the steps of the library, mocking you silent as he pulled out your phone. You had too much pride to ask for it back and you knew that it would take more than asking.

You tried to sidestep him and he blocked your path. The foam pushed out through the hole in the plastic lid and you sighed.

“What do you want?” you hissed.

“I should ask you. I don’t know many girls these days can go days without their lifeline,” he taunted, “You know, it’s dangerous how much of ourselves we keep on these little things.”

He patted his jacket where he no doubt had your phone hidden. You looked down at your latte and thought of popping the lid off and tossing it at him. That wouldn’t be any good. You shrugged and looked past him.

“I gotta go--”

“Is there anything I can get you, Thor?” Steve’s girl eked out as if her voice could barely fit through her windpipe.

“I’ve come for something sweet but I think I found it,” he smirked, his eyes stuck to you.

“Give it up,” you scoffed and elbowed past him. He chuckled and followed you to the door as you sped up, your treads squeaking on the salt-stained floor.

“On you? Never,” he purred as you pulled the door open and he caught it behind you.

“You can break the phone for all I care,” you snarled, “just leave me alone.”

He kept up with you as flakes gathered on your scarf and you peered down the street and ran across. His boots crunched in time with yours as he lingered in your peripheral. You spun as you came to a stop on the other side and scowled.

“Jesus, I thought dogs were supposed to be obedient,” you snapped.

“I can be,” he winked and reached to brush the snow from the hair poking out from under your cap, “I’ll gladly get to my knees for you, kitten.”

You snapped at his hand and he pulled away with a surprised laugh. You gritted your teeth and took a step back.

“I won’t tell you again and I’m getting real tired of this.”

“You keep forgetting who you’re meowing at, kitten,” he stepped closer and you backed away again.

You turned and flitted away from him. You had not planned for him in your day off and you weren’t going to let him ruin it. You wanted to go home and enjoy your coffee, alone. However, that meant leading him to your front door. You stopped again.

“Go,” you pointed across the street at the Asp, the town’s marquee.

“Oh, kitten, you’re so cute,” he tugged on your scarf and you swatted him away.

“Alright, that’s it!” you smashed your cup against his chest and the hot liquid steamed as it splashed across his front and dripped down his leather jacket. 

He held out his arms as he looked down at himself and slowly back to you. His blue eyes dilated as the ends of his golden hair sopped with caffeine. It was too late to apologize, too futile. You sputtered and quickly turned away.

You were thankful when you didn’t hear him behind you. You stopped and peaked back at the corner of the next side street. He watched you still and even at a distance you could see his rage.

If you hoped he’d lose interest, that optimism was dead.

💀

A snow storm stagnated the already stale town and you could guess that the highway was even worse. You could replace your sim online but that would take at least a week to arrive and with the weather, likely longer. It might be quicker to wait out the blizzard. You stayed in limbo, reluctant to pull the trigger.

You kept to your apartment for the rest of the weekend, with no reason or want to leave. On your way, you didn’t see him. You sighted a few figures through the falling powder but they were faces familiar to the streets. You kept an eye over your shoulder, glancing around every few steps.

You avoided the cafe. He might look for you there, he might even be waiting for you. You sat down at your desk but felt out of place. He could walk through those doors like he had only days before. He could taunt you and tease you. What made you so antsy was that he could do worse than that. You knew it but you’d let your temper get the best of you. A wasted latte might have cost you everything.

By the end of your shift, it was decided. You were leaving Birch. No one could know until you were gone. Not Melissa, not Colin, no one. You old all-weathers would have to get you down the highway, just to the city so you could lose yourself there until you had a real plan. Even as the snow piled higher and higher, there could be no delay. You’d waited long enough.

Paranoid, you were certain you’d be met again on your path home. The town was dead as the soft blanket covered the ground. The flakes turned to mounds and the tops of your boots let in errant clumps of snow. The store may as well been closed for the day, the library had been little different but its lethargy was expected. Even The Asp seemed to have dulled with the pale gusts.

You packed a bag. One. The apartment came furnished and you never cared much for miscellany. Anything you left behind was replaceable. You went down the back stairs and cleaned off your small Focus. Used but reliable. You were out of breath as you climbed into the driver’s seat and threw the brush in the back.

You drove carefully down the side streets, snaking around as you knew the main fair would give away your escape. You stopped at the sign that pointed to the highway ramp and wondered. 

What if he had got the clue? What if you were running from nothing?

You remember the look in his eye and shivered. No, that glimmer assured you that return to your mother’s was as wise as it would be torturous. You followed the arrow and took the curve steadily with your foot planted on the gas. The traffic was slow and cautious as headlights were barely visible through the snowfall.

You gripped the wheel tightly and let out a breath. You would be gone before he knew. You’d get a new phone, a new job, a new life. Even if it was just pay-as-go, a McDonald’s visor, and your mother’s couch for a while. What good was a job in a place like Birch anyway? Just as good as your irrelevant degree.

You were startled and nearly lost control as a set of lights appeared behind you in the next lane. They were dangerously close to dinging your rear bumper as the reckless driver took a u-turn right before the upcoming barriers. You wrinkled your brow as you glared at them through the white haze. What kind of maniac was pulling shit like that in this weather?

And then, they did hit you. A nudge but enough to send you veering in the thick lines of snow. You clutched the wheel and tried to steer into it, tried to right yourself as you were knocked again. Your heart was in your throat as the engine revved and you hit your brakes, not knowing what else to do as a third collision came.

You spun out and hit the cement wall along the far lane, narrowly missing another car as it pulled ahead. You stilled, your seatbelt saving your face from a smack against the wheel, and stared down the highway as you stared at oncoming traffic. You were completely turned around on the arm.

You caught your breath and reached for your purse. Fuck, you had no phone. What was that asshole thinking? It didn’t seem like an accident.

The car that had bullied you into a crash pulled up along the barrier. You watched in the rear view as the barely visible tail lights glowed and a dark figure appeared between the car and the concrete. You squinted as the man neared, a long coat flapped around his tall figure as he held his hand to his face.

He came up beside your car as you heard his voice muffled through the glass and tapped on your window. He bent and knocked again as you shot him the finger. You were ready to give him a piece of your mind. You rolled down the window with the manual crank and growled, “what the fuck!?”

“Can I have your name, darling?” he asked in a sinisterly familiar accent.

“Screw you! You almost killed me!”

He turned his phone out as you screeched at him and quickly put it back to his ear, “that sound like her?”

A deep voice rumbled in the speaker and the dark-hair man nodded as he shielded his face from the blowing snow, “you owe me, brother.”

“Who the fuck are you?” you spat and reached to your glovebox. You grabbed the heavy flashlight and swung it at him, “get away--”

He caught with a leather-gloved hand and glared back at you. He tucked away the phone in his jacket. His nostrils flared and his green irises caught fire. 

“Let’s not do this, darling,” he warned, “my brother has given me clearance to use whatever force necessary…” he pushed the button and pulled open your door as he wrenched away the metal flashlight, “and while he seems the bigger brute, I assure you his cruelty cannot match mine.”

[ozarkthedog]

Retaliation: The Beginning

Summary: You love to playfully smack Chris’ Pecs. He finally gets even.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: Light Pec smacking and a non smut shower scene. I’d call this fluff.

Word Count: 883

Author Notes: My brain thought this was cute af. I’m splitting Retaliation into 2 Parts even though this first Part could be a stand alone. It’s totally fine if you want to read it as a stand alone and be done with it, but I want smut. So, Part 2 will be full of smut!

No beta, all fuck ups are my own.

Reblogs and Likes are amazing! Feedback and comments are encouraged!

Read Part 2 ~ Retaliation: The Aftermath

It started out so friendly.

Chris was prepping for another action movie, so he eating healthier and spending hours in the gym. Thankfully, he built one in the house you both shared. You thoroughly enjoyed being able to workout along side him when it was your time to sweat.

He was a magnificent creature. Almost gaining back the Captain America body, just with slightly less bulk. The only muscles that were back to Cap size were his pecs. Those muscles had a life of their own.

They were so soft, yet solid as a rock. You loved grabbing onto them when you rode his cock, licking and biting the hard muscle when he sank into you from above and but your favorite was giving them a good smack.

The muscle would bounce so nice under your playful assault. It was also fun to hear Chris’ reaction, either yelping or chastising you, as you ran far away out of his reach.

His always threatened you with retaliation, but never followed through. Until one day…

“Hey Sweetie, have you seen my shirt?” Chris asked you as he was gathering his phone and water bottle from the floor. He was sweaty from an intense workout, muscles swollen from all the reps.

He was shirtless and easy prey, looking around for the shirt that you sneakily hid behind your back.

Playing dumb, “I haven’t seen it, Babe.”

You tip toe over to him, ready to spring into action. “Oh, here it is.” You chime out.

Chris turns around as you throw the shirt onto his head so he can’t see your oncoming pec smack.

Smack!

You turn on your heels as you hear him yelp out in shock.

“Y/N!”

Already up the stairs from the basement, you laugh your way into the master bedroom. Taking off your sweaty clothes, you hop in the shower and wait for him.

After a few minutes, Chris steps into the shower. He finds you wet and soapy with open inviting arms and a sweet smile. He scoops you up into an open-mouthed kiss. His tongue slowly laps over yours as you push your body up against his solid form.

You pull away from him, continuing on with your shower. You can tell Chris is getting turn on by his stare and from his half hard cock, but he doesn’t interrupt you. You chuckle and send him a smile as you step out of the shower, letting him rinse off.

Just as you step over the thresh hold and onto the carpet, you spin around and land another hard smack to his pecs.

“Ow!”

You grab your towel to quickly dry off escaping into the Bedroom. You dress with super speed and make your way to the kitchen to prep breakfast.

Standing at the stove you stir cheese into the eggs as you hear Chris shuffle into the kitchen with a moan.

“Damn that smells amazing, Sweetie.” He say coming up to you from behind,  wrapping his arms around your smaller frame.

You smile, “Well, you’re a growing boy so you need a big breakfast.” Scraping the food onto two plates, he picks them up and brings them to the table.

You both dive into the meal, not needing to make chatter to quell the silence.

After, you wash all the plates and utensils as Chris lets Dodger out to run around. He stands next to and sets to drying the plates. You chat about your day ahead, Chris has an interview around 1pm, then he’s back to working out around 4pm again.

He goes to let Dodger back in, the pup scurrying in running towards his Lion as you take Chris into a big hug. “You’ve got this buddy.” Your voice is sincere. You’re proud of all the works he’s done, so you always try to motivate him when he’s struggling.

He keeps you in his hold for a deep kiss then let’s you step away. But not before you double slap his chest, his pecs bouncing beneath his t-shirt.

“Ughhh! Y/N!” He half groans, half yells.

You swiftly turn and scurry away. Fast on your heels, he reaches his hand out just about grabs your shirt when his phone rings- “Dammit” You hear him curse out stopping his pursuit.

You laugh darkly as you see him pout and head into his office taking the phone call.

You busy yourself for the next few hours doing laundry, organizing your closet and taking Dodger for a short walk around the neighborhood.  

You walk into the silent house with Dodger running straight for his dog bowl to munch away. You look around the house, his office, the living room and the den. Shrugging, you make you make your way to the kitchen. It was after 2pm so you knew he was done with his interview, maybe he’s laying down in the Bedroom?

Stepping into the Kitchen you’re blindsided by the force of muscles that wraps around your body, throwing you over a rugged shoulder.

“Ahhh, Chris! Put me down!” you bellow out at him, trying to swat his ass but your arms are too short.

He chuckles darkly, “I don’t think so, Love. It’s my time to get even.” Giving your ass a hard spank as he walks to the bedroom with you…..

[starkeristheendgame]

Tony hadn't been the same since pepper died in a car accident and leaving him with their daughter, morgan. Then everything changed when he and morgan goes to a flower shop and meets florist peter.

I loved this one! Gosh, there were so many ways I wanted to take this. Thank you so much for the prompt, Non! I hope that this satisfies you. I was so tempted to make this a two parter 😅 If you enjoyed this, please consider giving it a reblog! 

TW: Mentions of grief | Grief processing | Allude to depression  SFW

This time of the year always rolls around quicker than he can prepare for it. Her birthday is hard. Their wedding anniversary is harder. But this...The death date...It hits like a freight train, an unstoppable force of grief and nostalgia that if not for Morgan would render him useless. 

As it is, dates outside of Halloween, Christmas and her own birthday don’t really mean much to her at this age, so where he wakes up immediately wanting to go back to sleep for the next week, she wakes up and begins bouncing on his head, shrieking about cereal and flowers. 

“Wh’was ‘ah ‘bout flowers?” he grumbled, rolling away out of the danger zone of her spindly little legs. This was a day of shit-pot luck, though, and no sooner had he settled on his side away from her did a flailing elbow strike him across the temple. 

“Flowers! You left a note on the fridge that said we needed flowers today,” she chirped, planting her tiny hands on his bare shoulder and shaking him with strength no six year old should possess. When his brain had stopped rattling around like a marble in a bean can he grumped and groused his way into sitting upright, rubbing at his temples. 

After Morgan had gone to bed he’d stayed up, drinking the whiskey he’d promised himself he wouldn’t buy and looking at the photographs he’d promised he’d never unbox. It was the same every October 11th, a habit harder to break than being addicted to crack. It left him worse for wear each time, doubling his misery. 

“Alright, bug. Go make yourself cereal. Daddy’s gonna shower and get dressed.” Her bony little heel caught him in the kidney as she scrambled off the bed and he wheezed as he pulled himself upright, staggering into the bathroom. 

Not for the first time, he considered enrolling her in a martial arts class. She could be a champion by the time she was ten, if not just for the fact that all her opponents would be in the accident and emergency room.

He ran the shower too hot and stayed until his skin felt over-hot and numb, and forced himself to dress in a semi-nice shirt and the cleanest pair of jeans he owned. When Pepper was alive he’d always dressed to impress, loving the way she’d tease him or grab him by the shirt to drag him back into the bedroom, but these days the outside world was lucky to see him at all. 

Morgan was on her second bowl of Lucky Charms when he dragged himself downstairs, and she looked at him intensely for a moment. “It’s Mommy’s death birthday, isn’t it?” she asked after a moment and he forced himself to contain the flinch, wandering over to her and soothing a hand over her hair, before he tugged her against his stomach in a hug. 

“It is,” he confirmed roughly. It’d been five years but it was still like rubbing citrus over a fresh wound. He hugged her tighter for a moment, then let her go. “That’s why we have to get flowers today. We have to take them to Mommy’s grave.”

He reached for the lopsided note on the fridge and crumpled it, then threw it in the waste bin. 

Pepper had wanted an ‘environmentally friendly’ burial and had been one of the first people in Manhattan to be buried in a ‘grave pod’, a hemp pod filled with seeds and fertiliser and her body. Over the past five years her burial had birthed a small silver birch tree with a sprinkling of wildflowers at its base. 

The stupid tree made him smile each time he saw it, no matter how much his heart hurt. It was just the type of person she’d been, to do something so out-there and environmentally conscious, even in death. He was smiling now just at the thought of it, a quirk of his lips chased by bitterness as he let Morgan pull him down the street. 

He always let her choose the flower store they went in it, and today she steamrolled other pedestrians out of the way on her mission to reach a gold and blue fronted store that proudly proclaimed itself as The Natural Gallery.

The store front was covered in various bushels and bunches, and even had a small stand full of singular flowers that were clearly left overs or on their way to wilting with a sign say ‘take one and spread some happiness!’

The scent of flora and soil was rich when Morgan yanked him through the doorway, and Tony breathed it in deeply as he looked around. The store’s arrangements inside had been organised like a rainbow, a solid curve of shelves that ran in a horseshoe shape from one wall to the other and behind the service desk. 

Morgan immediately abandoned him to peruse the selection and Tony wandered up to the desk, peering with vague boredom at the unorganised mess that covered the desk as he waited for them to be served. There was a rustle from an open doorway just off to the side, a dull thump, and then what looked to be a teenager came staggering through the open space in a cloud of glitter. 

Tony took a wary step backwards and was prepared to make his excuses to leave when the teenager turned around, and he suddenly found himself utterly disinterested in speaking at all. The young man was a touch on the shorter side but leanly built, with a chiselled face clinging to the last of its baby fat and the most doe-ish set of brown eyes he’d ever seen, shade matching the glitter-dusted mop of curls that sprawled over his temples. 

Pretty. That was the word for it. 

“I knew I heard you guys! Hey, I’m Peter. Sorry about the carnage, it’s a birthday thing,” the young man gasped, shaking off his shirt and bounding up to the desk with energy that could rival Morgan’s. 

“What can I do for you today?” the florist asked, leaning against the counter in a casual pose. Tony noticed for the first time then that he was wearing a women’s style wifebeater, a shirt that proclaimed in glittery pastel letters Nazis deserve to be punched. 

“I uh, I need flowers. For a grave.”

The florist’s cheery face immediately morphed into something softer. Tony hated that so he looked away. Hated the stupid expressions of pity and sympathy that people cast him every time he mentioned Pepper or her death. But when he forced himself to meet Peter’s eye again, it wasn’t exactly pity that he was met with. It was just something...Gentle. 

“Of course. Are there any flowers in particular you know they liked, or any arrangements you had in mind?” the florist was already reaching for a notebook and the sample book as he spoke. Tony glanced over his shoulder to reassure himself that Morgan was still mooning over the pretty flowers, then turned back. 

“Colourful. None of that... Sad, plain crap,” he breathed after a moment, keeping his gaze off to the side. Morgan had found an abandoned flowerhead on the floor and was cradling it carefully in both hands as she waddled towards them. 

“Alright, I think I have an idea for an arrangement. And when are you looking to pick up?” Peter continued, flipping to a blank page in his notebook and immediately beginning to scrawl in slightly messy cursive. 

“Today. Any time.”

The florist seemed surprised, pausing and chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip, but then he nodded and jotted down another note. “I can get something done in half an hour? I’ll just need a $10 deposit, and-- Oh, okay.”

Tony held out his bank card, gaze dropping down to Morgan as she approached the counter. “Take the full cost now,” he instructed blandly as she set the flower down on top of the counter. 

“Mister! This one lost his friends. And his body,” she greeted, pushing the flower across the counter towards the florist, who cast her a warm smile and picked up the flower head with the same careful cradle of his palms. 

“Oh dear, so he has,” he agreed, inspecting the flower carefully. “But that’s okay, because I know of a special job he can do even without a body.”

Morgan appraised him for a long moment before speaking. “Flowers don’t have jobs. They don’t need money,” she informed him seriously, before he turned to look up at her Father with pleading eyes. “Can we get cheeseburgers?”

Weak as he was, he couldn’t deny her anything even when he felt like this, and once the florist had rung up his card and handed him the receipt they left the store and headed to the nearest burger van. 

Morgan chose her customary single cheeseburger with so much ketchup it dripped out of the sides, and they sat down on a nearby bench to people watch as they ate. 

“I think his shirt is right,” she piped up after several bites, and he cast her a weary, wary gaze, reaching out to rub ketchup off her mouth with a napkin. 

“Who’s shirt, bug?”

“The pretty flower man. His shirt said we should punch Nazis. I think it’s right.”

Tony blinked at her and wondered where she’d even learned about Nazis (perhaps he should have paid more attention to the curriculum sheet her elementary had mailed him) before he bit into his own burger, watching passively as a particularly bold pigeon chased after a small, fluffy dog. 

They’d passed almost twenty minutes by the time they threw their wrappers in the bin, and Tony let Morgan tow him along back to The Natural Gallery. 

Peter was ready for them when they stepped inside, despite the fact that they were five minutes early. The young florist was half-hidden behind a large arrangement of colourful flowers that made Tony’s chest constrict when he saw them, and he weakly let go of Morgan’s hand so she could power on ahead to the counter. 

Peter looked over to greet them and seemed to realise that Tony needed a moment, because he immediately began to talk to Morgan about the flowers. 

“The tiny blue ones are called forget-me-nots. Your Daddy didn’t want anything plain, so I used these instead of a flower called baby’s breath, which are tiny white flowers. These big ones are sunflowers, these are roses, and look, here’s the flower you found on the floor!”

Tony forced himself to wander closer. The arrangement was an artful splash of primary colours tied together with what looked like coloured rope, and the slightly rumpled flowerhead had been sewn into the front of the front of the rope, almost like a brooch. 

It was the exact kind of simplistic yet artistic thing that Pepper would have loved, and Tony could feel his throat start to close up the longer he stared at it. 

Peter didn’t do him the indignity of offering any pandering sympathies or well wishes, the energetic florist simply explained the meaning behind the flowers used, explained the rope was hemp dyed with red wine so it was all 100% biodegradable, and gave Morgan a pretty, yellow flower to tuck behind her ear.

Tony left him with a $10 tip for being a ray of sunshine despite the fact that he’d undoubtedly been a prickly, unapproachable customer, and that was the end of it. 

Until a few months later, when Morgan hauled his ass straight back to The Natural Gallery like a greyhound after a rabbit for Pepper’s birthday. 

Her birthdays were probably the ‘easiest’ of all the dreaded dates. It was more nostalgic than painful, and he often passed the day away looking through old memories and thinking of all the birthday plans they never got to do together.

This year, however, Morgan insisted on getting Pepper flowers as a present, and hadn’t even hesitated between the car and her single-minded charge to the florist. Tony was beginning to suspect this was premeditated. 

The store hadn’t changed much since they’d last been here, and the florist was already at the counter with another customer when Morgan barged through the door. 

“Hello again, little Miss. Stark,” he waved at her as she hauled Tony towards a display of pink flowers, and he frowned before remembering his name had been on his bank card and he’d told the florist to hold the arrangement under ‘Tony Stark’. It was painfully obvious Morgan was his daughter, so it was also easy to denote that her name would be Morgan Stark.

Still. The kid had remembered, out of all the names and people he’d seen in the months since.

It didn’t take long for the young man to finish up with the customer, and then the florist stepped around the counter, coming towards them with a broad smile. Tony desperately tried to remember the guy’s name, even as he found himself distracted by the lazy-casual outfit the teen wore. 

His nails were painted purple. 

“Peter! Mommy needs flowers for her birthday!” Morgan shrilled in greeting, and Tony could feel his expression twist. She said it so simply, as if ‘Mommy’ was just at work or home and it made that familiar sinking weight in his chest grow. In front of them Peter’s nose scrunched when he smiled, and he set his hands on his hips in mock thought. 

“Hm, that’s a good present for a birthday! Do you know what flowers Mommy likes best? Or her favourite colours?” The florist - Peter - was just as cheerful as Tony vaguely remembered him being the last time. Tony piped up before Morgan could talk again. 

“Same as last time. Please. Colourful.”

Peter seemed to get it instantly. His cheerful smile took on the softest warmth for a moment, before it became vibrant and lively again as he looked down at Morgan. “I think we can manage that, hm? If your Daddy doesn’t mind you being my assistant for a few minutes?”

“Daddy doesn’t mind,” Morgan answered on his behalf, and Tony found he didn’t have the motivation to argue, standing back and watching and Peter let Morgan pull him all around the store, pointing out every bright and pretty flower she came across. 

Against his own will, something fragile and new began to bloom in his chest. It felt horrifyingly like warmth, like something...Verging on fond.

And it wasn’t entirely for Morgan. 

The florist was a natural with her. He didn’t talk to her like most people talked to young children, infantizing and almost condescending. He listened intently to every word she said and taught her little snippets about each flower she pointed out, letting her touch the petals and letting her tow him around without ever reaching for her first, mindful of the fact that she was not only her own person, but the young child of a stranger.

He allowed himself to briefly imagine what it would have been like if Pepper had lived. If they’d had a son before Morgan, so she could grow up with a doting older brother that would smile at her the same way and indulge her every whim. Another doting family member to wrap around her little her finger. 

“And one for Daddy too!” brought him out of his twisted musings and he looked across the room. Peter stood with a little wicker basket full of orange and red flowers, and Morgan had what looked to be a tulip tucked behind one ear. 

Peter was holding another in his hand, and when he looked up the teen tipped his head a little, arching a brow with a smile that said may I?

He grunted, and while Morgan busied herself with preening in a tiny mirror, Peter crossed the room towards him.

“She’s wonderful. I hope if I ever have children, they turn out like her,” the teen murmured as he reached out and carefully tucked the flower into the breast pocket of Tony’s jacket. This close he smelt like flowers and a refreshing undertone, like clean water. 

There was flower pollen in his hair and his lips were bitten a rosy pink. Freckles dusted the bridge of his nose in the barest hint of colour. 

“She takes after her Mother,” he said it before he could even think about the words, but Peter’s smile remained steady and warm, with none of the usual overly sweet pity he was often met with. 

“She takes after you, too. The perfect mix, I imagine.” And was that... A touch of teasing, maybe? The slightest sparkle in those eyes? Tony shifted under the scrutiny and looked over Peter’s shoulder, back to his daughter. 

He supposed it was true. Morgan had every bit her Mother’s personality, but looks wise she’d taken after him the most. Her dark hair, fair skin and shapely jaw were all his features. 

“She’s better than I am,” he breathed after a moment. She had none of his bitterness, none of his cynical bones. Perhaps it was her youth, but not even losing her Mother had soured her outlook on life. When he looked back Peter was still staring at him, and Tony realised just how close they were still standing. 

Evidently, he wasn’t the only one. 

“Are you gonna kiss ‘im?” Morgan asked from a little way across the shop, and Tony jerked, looking at her in alarm, but Peter simply gave a light chuckle, turning away and moving back towards the counter. 

“Your Daddy is very handsome, but I’ve got to organise these flowers for your Mommy! If I get started, do you think you’ll remember to come back in twenty minutes when they’re ready?” 

Morgan solemnly promised to be back here in exactly, precisely twenty minutes, and immediately demanded that Tony took her to find some juice. Tony held her hand as they walked out of the store, and he frowned down at her. 

“Don’t say things like that again, sweetheart. I’m not going to kiss random people. Especially not on Mommy’s birthday.” It came out perhaps a little sharper than he’d intended, and he bought her an extra juice to make up for the almost hurt way she’d looked up at him afterwards. 

The flowers were just as beautiful as last time. He left Peter with another tip, and tried to ignore how Morgan spent ages telling Pepper’s tree all about the ‘pretty flower boy’ that was ‘her and Daddy’s new best friend’. 

He didn’t have the heart to correct her, and he had the sneaking suspicion that the next time she came with him to get flowers for something, she’d drag him straight back to The Natural Gallery. 

He was half right, as it turned out. Morgan’s apparent adoration for the florist had transferred into a love for flowers, which became a blatant excuse to visit Peter again when it became clear Tony didn’t know anything about plants beyond shoving seeds into the soil of their backyard and hoping for the best. 

“Peter will know!” she announced, after five minutes of the two of them standing helplessly in the plant food aisle of their local gardening store, staring at no less than forty different brands and bottles of plant feed. 

“Honey, he’s just a store florist, he might not know everything about actual horticulture,” Tony tried valiantly, but she would hear none of it, and first thing the next morning she woke him up by kicking him squarely in the middle of the spine and shouting PeterPeterPeter!

Thus, he found himself hobbling gingerly into The Natural Gallery barely an hour after its opening time, grimacing at the early morning sunshine and cradling his coffee, which he’d had to pour into a travel mug because the longer he’d taken to drink it, the darker Morgan’s stare had gotten. 

“Hi! Welcome to-- Tony?” Peter came up short where he’d popped around the corner, looking surprised to see them. It had been less than three weeks since their last visit, and the teen looked the most put-together Tony had ever seen him, far too chipper for this hour. 

Morgan greeted him with a wave that bordered on violent, and she promptly ditched Tony in the doorway to bound up to the counter. 

“We want a pretty garden but Daddy is useless and doesn’t know anything about flowers, so you have to come to our house and help us!”

Tony shot upright then cringed and reached for his back like an old man. 

“Now, hang on. We never said anything about him coming over,” he warned Morgan, casting Peter an apologetic glance as he forced himself to catch up to his runaway child, giving her a stern look when he finally leaned against the counter. Morgan, unperturbed, looked at him like he was a simpleton. 

“How else is he gonna help us plant flowers? Duh, Daddy,” she huffed at him, before she looked back across at Peter. 

“I want pretty flowers like the ones you have. Daddy bought all the seeds and everything but it still looks plain and boring.”

He was almost offended on behalf of his garden. He had a very nice lawn, thank you very much, and the few flowers that had somehow survived with Pepper being there to care for them still came doggedly back every year. 

“Morgan. You know the rules about going to strange people’s houses and inviting strangers home,” he reminded her pointedly, mock flicking her between the eyes. 

“But Peter is our friend, and you said friends are allowed home as long as I ask and you make sure its safe!” Morgan protested, and Peter cooed. 

“Aw, I think you’d be a wonderful friend, Morgan, but your Daddy is right. But! How about I give you and your Daddy some tips to write down for getting a really nice garden, and maybe you can take pictures when it all blooms and come show me?” Peter’s looked up at Tony when he said it, and Tony found he couldn’t do anything except - somehow - smile. 

God, Pepper would have loved this kid. 

It took Peter offering Morgan a freshly bloomed pink lily for her to fully accept the fact that she couldn’t bring her new ‘friend’ home, but eventually she came around to the idea, and Tony found himself in a surprisingly spacious back area of the store, surrounded by various floristry supplies and flower off-cuts and Peter tapped around on a slightly beaten up laptop, showing them different plants that were generally ‘safe bets’ to have in a garden, fertiliser types and the most common downfalls many a hopeful gardener faced when starting out. 

As Morgan leafed intently through one of the many flower-based magazines laying around, Tony forced himself to speak. 

“Sorry. She gets ahead of herself.” He didn’t need to elaborate on what he was referring to, but Peter just cast him a broad, warm smile, and nudged their shoulders together lightly. 

“Don’t apologise. She’s a delight. I almost wish I was her age again. I don’t mind when you guys come here. It makes the day a little bit brighter. Who knows, maybe one day I might even get to see you smile.”

And Peter more or less embodied the smiley face emoticon at the end of the sentence, grinning sunnily at Tony before Morgan thrust a magazine page in his face and demanded to know what flower was being shown in the picture. 

They left with a stack of print-outs and magazines, and as Morgan sat in the car on the way home she looked across at him thoughtfully. 

“Peter is very pretty.” She probably meant it as a question, but it came out so firmly it sounded like a statement. He let the car roll to a stop and side-eyed her warily. 

Was this her first crush? No, it couldn’t be. She was six. Tony hadn’t had his first crush until... Okay, yeah, no. It could very well be her first crush. 

“Do you think so?” he asked after a moment, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. She looked at him like he’d just asked her what 1+1 was, and rolled her eyes before she looked forwards again, apparently not dignifying him with a response. 

The next morning she woke him up right at the strike of six, and not even an hour later he found himself on his knees in the dirt of the garden, diligently rooting around in the dirt to pluck out weeds, rocks and to replace no less than half of the dirt with fertiliser from a big, stinky bag while Morgan dutifully moved each and every critter they came across to safety. 

It took him four hours, but eventually every border of the garden had been re-dug, replanted and soaked through with the garden hose. Tony schlepped off to the shower with a groan, almost regretting the outcome of raw dogging his wife, no matter how good it had felt at the time. 

He lathered himself up thoroughly and felt somewhat more alive by the time he made his way downstairs for another well earned cup of coffee. 

To his both his joy and his dismay, gardening with Morgan became A Thing. Twice a week if it didn’t rain they dragged the hose out of the garage and watered all the grass and tiny little green shoots and once every two weeks they both found themselves kneeling in the dirt to painstakingly weed the soil and make sure their little ‘baby flowers’ as Morgan called them were growing unhindered and healthy. 

Perhaps worst of all, he found himself thinking about Peter each time he tended to the garden or watched Morgan chat excitedly to her teachers and friends about all her new flowers and the pretty flower boy who taught her and her Daddy how to have a nice garden. 

He thought of that sunny smile and those bright eyes, the curls that permanently looked like the kid had just woken up and the random assortment of clothing he seemed to just roll out of bed and throw on. 

He’d had one or two hook ups since Pepper had died. Had briefly tried dating before he’d found he hated the differences too much, hated the lingering cloud of Pepper over each potential relationship, hated the way other kisses tasted like betrayal. Yet here he was, thinking about the lips on a kid he’d met three times. 

Almost three months had passed, and Morgan had dragged him back to the gardening store to see if they had any pretty ornaments they could put in the garden. He turned to ask her if she wanted to bunny or the fox when he realised with a jolt of cold panic that she was no longer at his side. He tried to calm himself and glanced up and down the aisle, but she wasn’t in sight either. 

Alright. Calm. She was probably the next aisle over. She knew not to wander off without telling him, but maybe she’d been distracted or he just hadn’t heard her. He set the ornaments down and jogged to the end of the aisle, stepping around the other one. No Morgan. No Morgan in the one on the opposite end, either. 

“Fuck!” he huffed, spinning on his heel. The checkout desks? Maybe she’d tried to find a toilet-

“Tony!”

He spun on his heels and stared as he spotted Peter trotting towards him, hand in hand with one Morgan Stark, who looked happy but a little meek, especially once she met his eye. 

“Hey, Mr. Stark. I’m so sorry, I was here buying seeds and I turned around and she was right there. She said she was here with you and she saw me walking and wanted to say hello. We came straight back to you, didn’t we, Miss. Stark?” Peter asked, looking down at where Morgan hung off his arm like a guilty koala. 

“Uh huh. Because walking off from Daddy without saying isn’t good and makes him sad.” She evidently repeated from something Peter had said, looking up at the florist before she let go of his hand and bounded across to Tony, clinging to him when he lifted her up. 

“Sorry Daddy. I didn’t want to make you said. I just wanted to see Pretty Peter,” she mumbled into his shoulder. 

Peter’s cheeks were pink when Tony looked across at him again, and there was soil under his pink fingernails and dusted on his shoulders. 

He took in a breath. 

“Well... Maybe I can give Pretty Peter my number. Just so next time you run off because he’s better looking than me, he can call me so I don’t get sad, huh, bug?” he ran a soothing hand down her back when she pulled away to grin and him, and Peter’s cheeks looked like hot coals by the time Tony hesitantly glanced up at him. 

“I’d like that,” the florist beamed at him, shuffling sweetly on the spot. “And, for the record... I think you’re plenty good looking.”

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Breakable Heaven (pt. I) - p.l. dubois

As promised, here’s the first part of Breakable Heaven! I’m really excited for this one, there’s so many things I can’t wait for you all to read. This chapter is more setup and background, but I promise it’s all worth it! I’d love it if you reblogged (helps me know people like my work!) or pop into my inbox and let me know what you think! I read all the tags :)

part I part ii part iii part iv

June 4 (thurs)

Laurel clipped her pager back onto her scrubs, leaning over the counter of the nurses’ station. “You ready to go grab lunch?” She had just finished changing the bandages and administering pain medication for a little boy who was recovering from a heart surgery, and was looking forward to getting off her feet for a few minutes. The PICU floor was quiet, only about half of the rooms being filled, and there were no pressing matters that required her attention. If something drastic changed in the next half an hour, she always had her pager. 

Madeline looked up from her chair, where she was finishing up filling in a patient’s chart. “Sounds good,” she said, letting their charge nurse know that they were headed down. Madeline Peltier had been one of the first people to introduce themselves to Laurel when she started; having only been on the unit for two weeks herself, she was still getting a handle on the reins and was more than willing to show Laurel around. 

Madeline was also one of the few on the floor who was just as comfortable in English as she was in French. French had been Laurel’s foreign language through college, but she was made rudely aware upon her move to Montréal that the pronunciation and slang of Canadian French was very different from the Standard French of Madame Anderson’s rural Minnesota classroom. Her grasp of the language was good enough to take the Québec nursing licensure exam — which wasn’t even offered in English — but the spoken dialect was proving much more difficult to pick up. They walked down to the cafeteria, on the second floor, grabbing some sandwiches before swiping their ID badges for the employee discount. 

“I still think they should give us free food,” Madeline said moodily, unscrewing her water bottle and taking a sip. 

Laurel laughed. “When hell freezes over, maybe. Doctor’s lounge usually has some pretty nice stuff set out, or at least that’s what they say. Pity our cards don’t let us in, I’m not above identity theft.” Madeline snorted into her sandwich. 

“What are you doing this weekend?” Madeline asked a few minutes later, starting to peel an orange. 

“Uh, not much?” Laurel said. “Getting my papers together to resign my lease in a few weeks, grocery shopping, but nothing big. It’s been a long few shifts this week and I’m mostly just looking forward to taking it easy. Why?”

“If you’re up to it,” Madeline shrugged, “Patrice and I are going out for dinner Saturday night and we’d love for you to join us.” Patrice was Madeline’s long-time boyfriend, they started dating in university and had been together ever since. 

Laurel rolled her eyes. “Madeline, thank you for the offer, but I don’t want to keep being your third wheel.” 

Madeline let out a conspiratorial grin. Oh no, Laurel thought. This can’t be good. “As it would so happen,” she said, “you wouldn’t be third wheeling. One of Patrice’s friends is back in the city for a few months, and I think you two might hit it off,” she sing-songed. Madeline had been trying to set her up from practically the moment they met; whether it was someone from her gym, one of the critical care fellows, or apparently, her boyfriend’s childhood friend. They were always nice guys, but nothing had ever stuck for more than a date or two. 

---

Twelve hour shifts meant that, at least on work days, there was no way Laurel was going to have the emotional or physical capacity to make herself a real dinner. She’d order in occasionally, but it more common to just pull together something quick like a frozen pizza or grab whatever leftovers she could find in the fridge. Yesterday’s chicken and rice it was, then. Sticking it in the microwave, Laurel opened the door to her balcony, letting Piper out to use the bathroom. Piper was an eight-month-old chocolate lab, the love of her life who she had adopted just after the new year. Laurel had always grown up with dogs; back in Minnesota she had Jackson and Lucy, and she had been missing them more than a little bit since moving to Canada. Piper was incredible. Intelligent, loyal, and so friendly that even her neighbor’s notoriously picky five-year-old son had taken a shine to her. She wolfed down her food, grabbed Piper’s leash and her water bottle, and headed out the door. 

June 5 (fri)

The intricacies of language were hard. And, somehow, learning the intricacies of a language you already knew was even harder. Laurel was trying her damndest to pick up Québecois French as fast as humanly possible, but while she could conjugate l’imparfait in her sleep, the accent and vocabulary were what was really throwing her off. But she intended on making a life in Montréal, and staying as long as she could, so there really wasn’t any option but to hit the books. Immersion worked for some people, and thank God she knew the medical terminology to communicate with her patients and their families, but it wasn’t quite the same when she was struggling through telling the mechanic her car needed an oil change. In a perfect world she’d have someone to help her one-on-one, but she didn’t want to ask Madeline for that big of a favor. And while she made decent money at the hospital — she could afford her own apartment and had a little left over every month to put into savings — it was nowhere near enough to pay for a tutor. So Duolingo, and podcasts, and Youtube lessons it was. 

Letting out a groan, Laurel leaned her head into her hands, shutting her laptop. She wasn’t going to make any progress being this frustrated. She bent down to scratch Piper, whose favorite spot for naps was a blanket right beside Laurel’s desk, between the ears, pulling her leash and collar off of their book by her bedroom door. Piper’s ears perked up, and soon enough she was running around the apartment wagging her tail as fast as it could go, a slightly exasperated but nevertheless laughing Laurel following. She finally managed to clip on her leash; at fifty pounds, Piper still had a little bit of growing left to do, but she had already proven she was more than capable of bending the will of a full-grown and otherwise capable 23-year-old woman. 

She had discovered Parc Saint-François-d’Assise a few weeks after adopting Piper, and had thanked her lucky stars for finding a dog park so close to her apartment. Having a schedule like hers meant that she couldn’t always get her to a weekly training or obedience class — plus, the French that she did know certainly didn’t include ‘heel’ — so the time spent socializing was well-appreciated. It was only a fifteen minute walk, and Piper was good enough on a leash that she only stopped once to bark at a squirrel in one of the many birch trees that lined the street. The park was an acre or two, small enough that she could see all the way across and keep an eye on Piper as she let her off-leash, but big enough that there was more than enough room for all the animals. It wasn’t particularly crowded that Friday; Laurel was confused for a moment before she remembered that most people were busy at 11 AM on a weekday. There were a few families, with kids out for the summer from school, and a man playing in the far corner with his two small dogs, but not much else. 

Laurel leaned down, unclipping the leash from Piper’s collar, and gave the chocolate lab a scratch on the head. “Have fun, girl!” Piper never needed much encouragement, and took off running almost before Laurel had even wrapped up her leash. Rolling her eyes and laughing, she picked up her phone. A text from Allison, one of her only friends in the city aside from Madeline, inviting her out for her birthday next week. Madeline, giving her the address for the restaurant the next night. The Duolingo owl, threatening her with bodily harm if she didn’t log her language progress for the day. She was so engrossed in checking her email that she didn’t hear the shout for her to look out, or the two bulldogs barreling towards her at full speed, until they had knocked her off her feet and she landed straight on her ass. 

“Desolé. Vas-tu bien?” The man asked, holding out a hand and helping her up. Laurel nodded, brushing the dirt off her jeans. 

“Ouais, ouais. Pas de problème, pas de mal. Ils sont chiens, non?” 

He chuckled, patting the smaller of the two bulldogs, which had decided to take a break from accosting passers-by to get petted. “C’est vrai.” They talked for another minute or two before saying goodbye, but she could have sworn it was an hour. 

Walking Piper home half an hour later, Laurel was struck with two realizations. The mystery man — bulldog dad, as she had started calling him in her internal monologue — had very possibly the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen in her life, and she’d be cursing herself for the next week for not getting his number. 

June 6 (sat)

Saturday meant Laurel had a day off, but more importantly, Saturday meant she didn’t have to set her alarm for 5:30 and could actually wake up at a semi-normal hour. Her internal clock didn’t wake her up until half past seven; even then, it was Piper’s soft barks that finally got her up, throwing on a pait of shorts, and leading her out to the courtyard down the hallway to use the bathroom before coming back to her apartment and throwing open the fridge doors. No 7 AM shift meant that she mercifully had enough time to make a proper breakfast. On shift days, there never seemed to be enough time to actually sit down and eat, and Laurel usually ended up just having a quick bowl of cereal or some overnight oats and making a protein shake to drink on the drive over. Eggs, bread, yogurt, a peach she had picked up from the farmer’s market. 

After the bread was done toasting and her tea was finished steeping, she gingerly carried the food out to the balcony, placing it on the table as Piper trotted out behind her. Laurel crunched her toast with one hand as she flipped the pages of a book with the other, a Shirley Chisholm biography that Victoria, her best friend from high school, had recommended her. It was almost an hour later when she finally found a good place to stop. As much as she may have liked to just camp out on her balcony all day and blow through the rest of the book, her pantry was crying out for a grocery run and she was running desperately low on ice cream. 

---

The dinner reservation was at 7, and by 6:30 Laurel was almost ready to leave. Her blue skirt fanned out on the couch as she sat killing time on her phone, tapping the floor nervously with the same pair of block heels that she’d worn to her university graduation. The restaurant wasn’t far from her apartment building, so a few minutes later, she decided to go, leaving Piper with a pat on the head and plenty of food in her bowl. Laurel laughed to herself on the way over, her eyes flickering over the skyline as she walked alongside the St. Lawrence River. 

It’s like what she had told Madeline over and over again, every time she tried to set her up on a blind date with a friend of a friend. She wasn’t actively looking for a relationship but wouldn’t be opposed to it. Whatever happens, happens. Biting her lip, Laurel decided that even if she didn’t hit it off with whatever guy Madeline was trying to set her up, even if things go horribly wrong and he’s the exact opposite of what she’s looking for in a partner, she’ll get a free meal and, hopefully, a new friend.

Laurel hadn’t been told much about her blind date, or anything, really. She didn’t even know his name. From what she had been able to figure out, he was from the area but didn’t work in Canada most of the year — so maybe he was in business? All Madeline told her was that he was tall, attractive, and had a dog. Or was it two? She honestly couldn’t remember. She trusted her and Patrice’s judgement, so if he had gotten their stamp of approval, it was good enough for her. She grabbed her phone out of her bag as she neared the restaurant, letting Madeline know she was almost there and asking where to meet her. She told the hostess she was meeting some friends, and Madeline walked around the corner less than a minute later. “Hi, love!” she said, reaching out and wrapping Laurel in a warm hug. “We’re over this way.” Laurel followed her around the corner and past the bar to a four-seater against the wall. She slid into the seat closest to the wall, leaving a space empty. 

“He should be back in a minute, just ran to the bathroom,” Patrice said, nodding towards the vacant seat and referring to her mystery man. A minute passed, Laurel scanning the wine list, before Madeline threw her hand up in greeting. 

“Salut, PL!” When Laurel looked up, she almost dropped her menu.

 “Oh my God!” The stranger — PL’s — eyes widened in recognition. “You’re the bulldog dad!” 

He chuckled, rounding the table to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. Left, then right. It had taken Laurel a while to get used to; even going to university in Toronto, cheek kissing was practically obsolete, but that changed very quickly upon her move to Montréal. “I am. Pierre-Luc Dubois, good to meet you properly this time.” 

Madeline looked between the two, clearly confused. “You know each other?” 

Laurel shook her head. “Not really, no. His dogs ran into me at the park yesterday when I was there with Piper, we talked for a minute or two.” 

Pierre nodded in affirmation. “So, Piper. The chocolate lab’s yours then?” 

“My pride and joy.” 

June 13 (sun)

 Over the next week and a half, it became more and more common for Laurel to meet up with the group on the weekend, or one of her off days, or really whenever she had spare time. She had learned that Pierre-Luc was a hockey player, Patrice explaining that they had played atom league together growing up and the friendship had somehow stuck. Come to think of it, he had looked a little familiar. The University of Minnesota Duluth was less than an hour drive from her hometown, and besides being the college that the majority of the 50% of college-bound graduates of her high school went to, it also had one of the best hockey programs in the country. So she knew the sport, followed enough to be informed, and had even become a de facto Maple Leafs fan from her time in Toronto. 

Sometimes Madeline and Laurel would bring another friend from the hospital along, sometimes it was just the four of them. Once, a Sunday afternoon coffee meetup turned into just Laurel and Pierre-Luc; Patrice had come down with a bad cold and Madeline was staying behind to look after him. If she was being honest, it was far less awkward than she had anticipated. Pierre had insisted on buying her iced capp, and they had settled in a corner booth, sharing a box of Timbits. 

“Patrice mentioned you’re from the U.S., somewhere in the Midwest?” Pierre asked, sipping his coffee. 

She nodded. “Cloquet, Minnesota,” Laurel sighed, “where there is exactly one hotel, one high school, and life revolves around the mines.” 

Pierre sucked in. “That sounds...interesting,” he said diplomatically. 

Laurel laughed. “It’s okay, you don’t have to mince words. The people are nice, if you think like they do, and the scenery is gorgeous, but…” She gathered her thoughts. “It’s not the place you can really dream big, you know?” He nodded. “Neither of my parents went to college, my mom’s a receptionist at the elementary school and my dad works in the mines. I knew by the time I was in high school that I wanted something more. There was just nothing for me there, and I didn’t ever want to feel as trapped and beaten down as some people I know.” 

Pierre leaned back in his chair. “Do you go back often?” 

“Once a year, maybe twice?” Laurel said, shaking her head. “I’ve only got a few good friends back there, and trust me, they’re much more excited to come to big-city Canada than I would be to go back to a town of 12,000 people.” 

“Fair enough.” 

Conversation between them flowed easily, so easily that before she knew it, two hours had gone by and he had to leave for a skate. As she walked back to the metro, Laurel couldn’t help but shake the feeling that the two hours she had spent with Pierre had felt more like a date than any she’d been on since moving to Montréal a year ago. But it couldn’t have been a date, because it wasn’t supposed to be. Right?

 June 15 (tues)

 It was half past seven on Tuesday, and Laurel was just getting home from work. She loved her job, genuinely, but twelve hour shifts were no joke. Spinning her key ring around her finger, she stopped in the mailroom, unlocking her box and fishing out the stack of envelopes that had accumulated in the two days since she’d last checked. Walking over to the elevators, she held the bundle in one hand as the other punched in her button to the third floor. Laurel flipped through the envelopes as the doors opened. Water bill, bank statement, letter from Immigration, Refugees, and Citizenship Canada. Hang on. Laurel stopped at the last envelope, running her finger under the flap as she turned her key in the lock, opening the door with her hip and letting it slam shut behind her. 

She had applied a little over a month ago for her permanent residency card, which she had been assured by everyone she asked would be a relatively easy and painless process. “You’re a nurse, and a good one. I could use ten of you,” her charge nurse had stated. “You went to school here, you have a Canadian degree and a Canadian license. There’s no reason they would cause you any trouble,” Madeline had said. And she had done her due diligence, double-checked every piece of information, checked off every document on the list. Done everything she was supposed to do. So when she unfolded the paper, the words shocked her. 

Denied. Laurel brought her hand shakily up to her mouth as her eyes raced down the letter. No explanation was given, all she was told was that her application had been rejected and she had until September 17, when her work visa expired, to leave the country. The first thing Laurel did was frantically grab her laptop, seeing if there was some way she could apply for a visa extension, but the deadline had passed; she’d have to go back to the consulate in Minneapolis and try to re-apply from there, but her chances weren’t good if she’d already been rejected. The second thing she did was collapse on the floor, Piper nosing herself under her arm, and cry. 

June 16 (wed)

When the group met up for lunch the next day, Madeline noticed something was off about Laurel almost immediately. Normally someone who was hyper-focused on the task at hand, she was stirring her straw around in her glass, nibbling at a piece of bread and answering questions shortly if at all. “What’s up?” she asked carefully, catching Laurel’s eye as she tried to busy herself with straightening her napkin. There wasn’t really a way she could get out of answering that one. 

“I, uh, I got a letter yesterday,” she said. Pierre and Patrice stopped their conversation. All eyes were on her. “From immigration services. They told me,” her eyes pricked with tears, “they told me my PR application was denied, and I only have until the middle of September before I have to leave.” 

“Like, leave the country?” Pierre asked. She nodded. “But can’t you renew your visa or something?” 

“No, I looked into everything.” Laurel said in frustration, shaking her head. “There’s not enough time for it to be processed, I’d have to go back and reapply in the States, and even then the chances aren’t great.” 

Madeline leaned over, wrapping Laurel up in a hug. “Oh, Laur. I’m so sorry,” she said. “You don’t deserve this.” 

“It’s just hard,” Laurel started, “knowing that there’s nothing there for me back home. That’s the whole reason why I came to Canada in the first place, to get away. To get out. I’d have to retake all my licensure exams and find a new job and I don’t want to have to start all over when that’s not at all what I planned for. I thought I’d stay. I thought this was going to be my home” 

“I can call my friend who’s a lawyer, see if he’s got any ideas?” Patrice offered. 

Laurel smiled weakly “Thanks, Patrice, but I really don’t think they’d be able to do much. I was on the website for hours, and there’s like two ways I wouldn’t be kicked out of the country. And I don’t think I’m going to be able to give birth by September 17,” she said, letting out a watery laugh. 

“You’d have to marry someone or something to stay,” Madeline said. 

“Yeah, that’s the only other way it was going to happen,” Laurel agreed. “But seeing as how I’m obscenely single, I don’t see that happening…” She trailed off. 

“I’d marry you,” Pierre said suddenly, shrugging. 

Laurel’s head whipped to her side. “You’d what?” 

“I’d marry you. We’re both single, by all accounts you’re an amazing nurse and deserve to stay. We get married, stay ‘together’ for a few years until you get your citizenship, and then tragically inform the citizenship and immigration people that while we tried, it just didn’t work out, and get a divorce. Easy peasy.” 

Laurel almost burst out laughing, the idea was so ridiculous. She almost couldn’t wrap her head around what he was offering to do. He couldn’t be serious. Right? 

---

Laurel slung her arm over her head, body tangled up in bedsheets. According to her phone, it was well past one. She couldn’t sleep. She had tried rain sounds, counting sheep, drinking a cup of chamomile tea, but nothing was working; she just wasn’t able to still her mind. Honestly, she couldn’t stop thinking about lunch earlier. More specifically, what Pierre had said. 

As much of a bad person as it may have made her sound, the more she thought about Pierre’s offer, the more it made sense. He was incredibly attractive, so it wouldn’t be hard to fake a marriage to him for a few years. She really didn’t keep in contact with anyone from back home in Cloquet aside from her family and a few friends from high school, so it’s not like there would really be anyone to blow her cover. And she really, really wanted to stay in Canada. It wasn’t just the scenery, or the general human decency of everyone, or even the universal healthcare that pushed her to stay. She had fallen in love with the people, the city, and didn’t want to go down without a fight. 

Rolling over, she grabbed her phone from her nightstand, pulling up Pierre’s contact. Hey, she texted. Laurel immediately cursed herself as the three dots popped up on his side. Hey? She was going to ask this man to marry her and the best she could come up with was hey? He wrote back immediately. Hey. You’re up late, what’s up? Laurel took a deep breath. How serious were you about offering to marry me? His second response was even faster than the first. As a heart attack.