#guess I have a lot more wips than I thought

[pheedraws]

girl help she's having blorbo thoughts again

[stevieschrodinger]

So what if like the thing that makes Alpha and Omega pairs, true mates or whatever, is like a detectable thing that they can test for. And like, everyone has their little blood test at birth and then on say, their 18th birthday, the Alpha gets informed as to who their omega is.

Obviously it's a bit of a sexist deal and lots of Omega and their supporters are trying to get it changed so that both parties are informed, to make it fair, and that is getting some traction but right now, the Alpha gets told and the Omega has to wait for them to show up.

Except when Eddie, fucking excited as all hell to meet his Omega finally, opens his envelope to find Steve Harrington's name starring back at him and Eddie just. He just can't. Steve's one of the biggest bitches at Hawkins high. And even if Eddie can, sort of, get past that, Steve's a snob. He lives in a fucking mansion and has a nice car and preppy clothes and yeah...Eddie is going to get rejected stone cold and that would be fair because he doesn't have a single thing to offer and Omega like Harrington.

Eddie burns the envelope.

And yeah, he can't help but watch Steve a little more now that he like, Knows, but he does his best to put it behind him.

And Steve gets into a fight with Nancy wheelers new Omega, when Nancy gets her envelope, and it's not Steve's name inside and it looks like Jonathan came out on top and Steve...well, he looks beaten and sad and that nearly makes Eddie cave but...no. no.

Right up until he has Steve under his hands, pinned to a boathouse wall with a bottle to his throat and Eddie's been thinking of Steve has his Omega for so long it just kind of slips out. Eddie whispers it, 'Omega' and the bottle drops to the floor and shatters more.

And Eddie has to watch it play out from close range on Steve's face, dawning realisation. Deep hurt. And then anger. An angry shield that comes down as he pushes Eddie off.

"Dustin explain to Munson what's up, I'll be outside a minute.". And Steve just stomps out and there's fuck all Eddie can do about it.

And then he kinda gets distracted by hell dimension stuff. For a bit. And Steve's clearly fucking angry with him and Eddie, well, what the fuck is Steve expecting Eddie to do, right? Steve would never have wanted him in the first place. So Eddie is fucking angry. And it comes out spiteful, calling Steve 'big boy' like he knows it'll rile Steve up. Throwing his jacket at Steve so he will cover up, because he can't bare to look at all the skin Steve is showing, especially with fucking Wheeler hanging around. And if it got something of Eddie's on Steve, well then, it doesn't fucking matter does it? Doesn't mean anything.

And it's not until it's all done, and Eddie wakes up fucking high as a kite on pain meds, with non other than Harrington sitting by his bedside that it all slips out, "what are you doing here?"

Steve shrugs, won't look at him, "waiting to see if my Alpha dies, I guess."

And he just sounds so...bereft. so broken.

"Steve, I just...look-"

"Doesn't matter. You've made it clear. It's fine. And you're going to live I guess so I'll just-" and he's standing, turning to leave.

And Eddie knows Steve now. Sees him with the sheep. Knows he isn't a bitch. Knows he's just...a good guy. Knows he isn't any of the things Eddie thought he was.

"You grew up in a fucking castle." Steve pauses, sitting back in the chair to frown at Eddie.

"What has that go to do with-"

Eddie clears his throat, it's dry and scratchy and hurts but he has to do this. "You grew up in a castle. Nice car. Both parents. Preppy clothes, fucking, shitty fucking jock friends. Steve, you would have rejected me in a heartbeat. I live in a fucking trailer and sling drugs on the side I'm not- I couldn't do that to you."

And Steve just, he just starts crying. He nods, wipes his eyes, "I might have," he admits finally, "I don't know what I would have said...but I needed you. Since then I needed you so much and," he sniffles, wipes his pink nose .

"And I didn't know. I couldn't have and I am so sorry but could we just, now, can we just-" and it hurts like fuck but Eddie bites it down because Steve is half clambered into the bed next to him and yeah. Yeah, that's perfect.

[bbgghost]

lot to love: chapter 1

blurb: you are the nineteen year old, younger, mutant sister of Mystique. you go to Professor X's school and have been since you were young. this is going to be slowburn with wolverine ♡♡♡

a.n. this is my first time writing!!! but i love logan hopefully this is okay :3 i didn't know whether to call fire boy pyro or john so yeah -

c.w. there are some very brief very small references to past abuse, this is to align with Mystiques storyline! logan is obvi at least 150 years older than the reader so age-gap! I made the reader have cherry red hair just because Mystique does and I think it's a universally pretty hair colour!

masterlist

‘The main reasoning that the U.S. government used mutants as weapons during World War Two was because of what?’ You read the first question in your head. Biting your lip you looked at Bobby’s paper next to yours. You could barely see what he was writing, what with his arms basically covering the entire page. You rolled your eyes and lifted you body up ever so slightly. He’s supposed to be your friend and he’s covering the goddamn answer! A low grunt wakes you from your thoughts.

At the front of the classroom sat the one and only Logan Howlett. His long legs were rested on top of the table, and his blue buttoned t-shirt lay open over torso, revealing his classic white tank. His eyes were completely stuck on you and once you made eye-contact, his left eyebrow raised. You gulped harshly before shying away from his cold stare. Lowering your body, you circled ‘C’ and moved on.

Logan teaching was very rare, and as a student you barely even saw him. It was only when he was talking to Marie that you actually got to see him up close. Him taking your class was a ‘favour’ he was doing for Charles, at least that’s what he said.

The time was nearly up, the clock high on the wall indicated you had two minutes to go. You quickly made some educated guesses before hearing Logan’s deep voice. “Times up, kids.” You circled the last answer as ‘B’ before putting your pen down.

Looking over at Bobby you made desperate eye-contact with him, before mouthing ‘That sucked ass!’ A small snicker was heard from Logan next to you as he grabbed your paper. You turned back to Bobby as he merely shrugged. Rolling your eyes, you slouched and fidgeted with your pen again.

”Do you think we’ll have him teach our class again?” You asked Marie. “I don’t know, I think Professor X wants to get him more involved in school when there isn't too many missions.” She replied. You hummed before you guys had reached your lunch table. Sliding in next to Pyro, you dropped your folder before grabbing the tray he had gotten you. “Thanks.” You said gratefully to the boy next to you. He nodded softly before flicking his lighter.

Sticking the straw into the juice box, you glanced at the couple across from you as they ogled at each other. “Do you guys ever stop?” You complained. “No, no, I think we need to be more grateful they don’t have the ability to stick their tongues down each others mouths.” John laughed. “Ew. Gross.” You cringed at the thought, and in an attempt to rid the idea, looked away. Your eyes landed on the opening that the cafeteria doors provided to the rest of the building. Luckily enough, Logan walked past. He was now only wearing the wife beater and blue jeans. You noticed the brown cowboy-like belt he was wearing, holding together the 70's look he was portraying.

"Hey, is it cool if we dip?" You wipped you head around at the sound of Rogues voice. "Yeah, sure." And both Bobby and her were out of the cafeteria in seconds. You still had a good bit of food left on your plate, so you slowly ate pieces of it.

Next to you, you felt Pyro's fingers play with the ends of your hair. “I liked the blonde hair you had last Monday. I think it suited the way you looked.” He commented. “Oh, yeah?” You questioned as you made your hair fade to a warm blonde. “See it matches your eyes wonderfully.” He whispered. "Thanks." You muttered.

You both took bites out of you lunches, you let your eyes drift off. He kept his eyes trained on you. It made you bones crawl under your skin, and sweat brewed in your palms. You stayed calm though, your face still the same colour as ever, no pinker.

When you finished you turned to look him deep in the eyes. You blinked at him a couple of times. He mimmicked you actions. “I think we should get back to class.” You said firmly as you touched the edge of your dark blue folder. “Yeah.” He agreed before turning back to his lighter. You quickly grabbed your blue folder before stepping over the bench. “See ya.” You muttered, scattering out of the hall.

Your face cringed looking back on the moment. Gritting your teeth together harshly, you jumped up the stairs to your dorm. You opened the door, grabbed a stick of gum and chucked it in your mouth before closing the door and running to your next class. Running was an exaggeration, you thought, a fast walk was more like it. You walked past Logan, again, who gave you a raised eyebrow before speaking up.

“Hey blondie! Slow down! You’ll hurt someone.” He called out. Already a good ten metres away from him you stopped your fast pace and slowed to a stroll. What did he care anyway? From what you heard he wasn’t exactly a stickler for the Professor’s rules. You rolled your eyes, again, before you turned into a different hallway.

When you turned into the classroom, the Professor was already starting his lecture. Embarrassed as everyone stared at you, your hair changed back to it's normal cherry red. Sitting down at your usual seat in the back, you began scribbling on the lined paper of your notes. Hearts, bows and a letter 'W' adorned the corner of your page. You almost drowned out the voice of the Professor, but instead decided on trying to better your grades and started paying attention.

It was later that same evening. It was a warm cool spring afternoon, and after having yet another vivid nightmare, you decided you’d had enough. You slipped on your pink uggs and grabbed the journal and pen that Storm had gifted you. She had a motherly protectiveness towards you. As your teacher, she had noticed that you were often distracted during day-to-day life in the Mansion. And after your reluctance to express your feelings verbally, she suggested to write it all out.

This leather bounded, lined-page notebook had seen you through many purposes. When you had made it downstairs, you made a quick cup of tea and sat at the bench. You glanced at the time on the oven that was diagonal to your position. 1:00. You huffed before opening to a new page in your journal.

I can’t sleep again. Another dream about being back at home with my sister. They’re getting more vivid as the days go on, but never clear enough where I know exactly what’s happening. It’s always a flicker of light, a picture of Raven and then my old bed back in my old bedroom. I wish I could know the full story of my child. It’s so conflicting, feeling like I’ll never truly understand what was going on then. God, I was so young. I can’t believe they ever wanted to

You ceased your writing as footsteps slowly got louder and louder. You looked up, biting your lip to see Logan. His hair still perfectly shaped, and his wife beater still tucked in his jeans, he stood before you. “What are you doing up kid?” He questioned. You shut your book and placed the pen on top of it. “Uhm, I don’t know.” You answered, avid in eye contact. He just hummed in response and glanced at your journal that you had both your hands over.

“You writing something?” He asked. What kind of stupid question is that? “Yeah…” Again, all he did was hum. He turned and opened the fridge, huffing when he realised there still wasn’t any liquor. Logan decided that a glass of water would have to do. When he grabbed the jug you noticed yourself ogling at his back muscles. You ignored yourself, just some silly thing I’m naturally attracted to, right?

He filled a glass with the water, and sat the jug on the bench. You watched him the entire time, but once self-aware you glanced back down at your hands. Your nails were short and stubby, so you fixed it and made them manicured instead. You tapped the fresh acrylics against the leather of your notebook. The noise made Logan look to you again.

“Neat trick.” He commented. You made eye contact with him. “Yeah I guess.” You grew your hair out longer and twisted it around your finger. “What’s up with you kid, you were pretty talkative this morning?” He said softly. You blushed and let your hair fall in front of your face. “I forgot you heard that.” You whispered in reference to the comment you’d made this morning about the test the Professor had made him supervise. “I don’t know, the usual stuff.”

“The usual stuff.” He repeated. “Don’t I know that well…” You puffed out a laugh before resting your chin in your hand. “Why are you up?” You said quietly. His eyes flittered to yours, “same thing I’m guessing.” He had a knowing look in his eyes. You know he had heightened senses, you didn’t know anything about mind reading. “Nightmares.” You said so softly he didn’t know if you had even spoken.

“ ‘s that why you’re writing?” He asked. You nodded and grabbed your cup to take a sip out of it. He mimicked you and drank out of his glass. “It’s a good habit. Don’t get rid of it.” He said before walking out of the kitchen.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: another week...

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

When Bucky leaves, you feel less than relief. It’s easier to breathe without him around but your heart continues to race. You don’t move until you see him drive away. You steel yourself with the manufactured lie before you go back inside. 

As you do, you’re surprised to find Roxie beside your mom, both of them close to the front window. You sigh. Were they watching? You guess you can be thankful Bucky hadn’t done more than talk. 

Your mom faces you with a sheepish grin, “so... did you get it?” 

You look between her and your sister. Roxie has her phone in hand and an arch in her eyebrow, “I’d die for a boss like that.” 

“I...” you glance the screen before she can hide it. Oh. She had a picture of him pulled up on Google. So, they both know exactly who he is. 

“He must be really hands on if he came all the way down here to offer you a job,” Roxie tilts her head. 

“That’s the sign of a good boss,” your mom insists.  

“Really, I think his eyes were the kicker. So blue.” 

“Rox,” your mom nudges her. “A man like him, he’s got line ups, I’m sure. Besides, she’s too young for him.” 

“Well, I’m older,” Roxie smirks, “maybe she can get me a job too.” 

“Er, uh,” you wring your hands, “I should start dinner.” 

“You didn’t say if you go the job,” Roxie challenges. 

“Yeah,” you utter softly, “I got a job. Just cleaning.” 

“Hey, it’s better than nothing,” you mom assures as she comes to you. She puts her hands on your shoulders, “I’m so proud of you.” 

“Mom,” you try not to look pained as you return her smile, “it’s nothing. Really. A cleaner.” 

“We all gotta start somewhere.” 

“Yeah,” Roxie scoffs, “most of us a lot sooner.” 

“Oh, don’t be such a downer,” your mom lets you go to spin on your sister, “don’t rain on her parade.” 

“Whatever. I’d rather hand out flyers than clean toilets,” she rolls her eyes. 

You purse your lips and shy away. You feel worse that they believe you so easily and why wouldn’t they? No one would think that someone like you would merit such a preposterous offer from a man like Bucky. You still can’t really believe it. 

Maybe it’s just some twisted hallucination. You could wake up tomorrow and be just like you were before. You never thought you would long for that but now, being alone, being the loser, that feels safe. Being noticed, being someone, that’s terrifying. 

🃏

You take your time making dinner, a brief escape from reality. The distraction keeps you busy enough that your chest stops thrumming, yet your nerves are still spastic. You’re not very hungry once it’s done but you make yourself eat. 

Roxie heads off for work shortly after you gather up the dirty dishes and your mom goes to change into her pajamas. She startles you as you scour the pan you used to bake the chicken. You splash yourself and hiss. 

“Sorry, hon, I was just coming to check on you,” she leans against the counter, “you’re nervous, aren’t you?” 

You shrug, to fraught to answer. 

“You get restless, I can tell. You do everything just to keep from fidgeting,” she says, “it’s going to be okay. You’ll be just fine and you’ll see, it’ll be nice to have your own money.” 

“I know, mom,” you murmur, turning your face down to the sink, “it’s not that I don’t want to work, I just... I guess it’s the change that freaks me out.” 

“Change is good, even if it’s scary,” she says. “You’ll see.” 

“Mm,” you hum and try not to shatter, “I just want to help out.” 

“Hon, you worry about yourself. Please--” 

“No, I owe you.” 

“Owe me? I’m your mother. I just wish I could give you more,” she smiles and squeezes your arm. “If you’re not some busy working girl, we’ll celebrate on my day off.” 

“Sure,” you accept grimly. 

She leaves you and you’re silent as you finish up the dishes. You put them away and wipe the counters. When you finish, you shut off the lights. You say good night from the doorway and retreat into your room. Tomorrow. That’s all he said. That’s the only detail you go before he strolled off. 

You grab your phone and fall back on your bed. All you want is to lose yourself in a fic or a discussion board or even just scrolling mindlessly. You can’t. It’s like he’s taking over everything. There it is, that little icon you rarely see, a new message.  

You pull down the menu and stare at the preview. Two hours ago. You’re surprised he didn’t show up to check why you hadn’t answered. Again. You will at least need to send something before the night is over. 

‘Hey doll. I’ll send a car tomorrow morning at nine. Just bring yourself.’ 

You shudder and stare at the blue bubble around the text. Oof. Nine? That’s early for you. You suppose it’s about time you break that bad habit. 

‘Sorry. I was making dinner. Nine is good. Thank you.’ 

You hit send and put your phone down. You slide your laptop across the bed and open it up. You’ll watch something. That old BBC drama you found on the free streaming service has been pretty interesting, but you think you only have one episode left. That’s good, you can’t be up all night. 

Your phone buzzes. Shoot. Alright. You can do this. You have to get to it. You swipe up your phone again, surprised to find it’s still shaking.

Oh no. He’s calling! 

You panic and nearly hit decline before you manage to drag your thumb the other way. You put the phone to your ear, unable to muster even a squeak. What do you say? 

“Hey, doll,” Bucky’s voice drawls from the speaker, “hope I didn’t interrupt dinner.” 

“No, er, we’re done.” 

“Ah, and are you alone?” 

You frown, “yes?” 

“Good, good. Isn’t that sweet of you, cooking dinner for your family. That’s what I like about you. You take care of those you love.” 

You gulp. You don’t know what to say. 

“What was for dinner?” He asks as you hear a soft rustle. 

“Um, chicken and potatoes,” you answer bluntly. It’s an easy question. 

“You’re not busy or something?” He wonders. 

“Uh uh,” you shake your head even though he can’t see, “I’m just... in bed.” 

“Early night, huh?” He asks. 

“I guess, I was going to watch a show.” 

“Right, right,” he clicks his tongue as something taps followed by other indiscernible movements, “you in your pajamas? Bet those are cute?” 

“Not... yet,” you croak. 

“Mmm,” he purrs, “I just got out of the shower.” 

“You... did?” 

“Getting ready for tomorrow,” he explains, “gotta admit, I’m a bit impatient. You’ll see that about me, doll. When I want something, it’s hard to wait.” 

“Uh, oh...” you stutter out. 

“For you, I can,” he vows, “doll, do me a favour.” 

“A favour?” You echo thinly. 

“Mmm, yeah, I want you to get in your pajamas and send me a picture. Just to tide me over,” he coaxes. 

“A picture?” You open your eyes wide and gape at the wall. 

“Sure, just a taste. I wanna know what I should imagine next to me when I lay down.” 

“What?” You squeak, shocked by his insinuation. Imagining you?! 

“I can’t help myself. It’s lonely here.” 

“I...” you pick at your lower lip, “one sec. I... I gotta...” 

You put the phone on the bed and push yourself off the mattress. You trip on your own feet and hope he can’t hear you stumbling around. Your pajamas are kind of silly. You don’t really have any sexy ones. Maybe if he sees them, he’ll change his mind. 

The only matching pair you have have snoopy on the top and a large check bottom on the pants. You fish them out and change. It’s okay. He can’t see you at that moment. Still, it feels like he is watching you. Just as his presence has lurked around you all day. 

You go back to your phone and fumble around, “sorry, I... just... figuring out the camera.” 

You hear his timbre but can’t make out his words from the small speaker. You open the camera app and flip the camera. You move around, trying to take the pic, and lean the phone on the top of your dress. You angle it and mutter to yourself as you struggle to set the timer. 

You take several pictures before you’re not entirely discontent. You look awkward in all of them. The pants, like all your pants, are too long and gather around your feet. You don’t know how to pose either. Quite frankly, you look frightened in every single one. 

“Alright, I think...” you babble and find your way into the conversation and choose the least egregious frame. You hesitate and close your eyes as you push your thumb down on the arrow. 

You bring the phone back to your ear, “are you still there?” 

“Always, doll,” he assures and once more, the phone shifts around noisily. “Mm, Snoopy? I like it. More of a Woodstock myself but... Mm mm mm, you look good.” He pauses as you wriggle and your cheeks burn hotly. “Sexy.” 

“No,” you burst out without thinking. 

“No? You don’t think I’m telling the truth?” 

“I didn’t... say so, it’s... just pajamas,” you sniff, “sorry, I didn’t mean to argue.” 

“Doll, relax. Thing about you, you don’t even have to try.” 

You don’t reply. You have no idea what to say or even if you should believe him. You saw the picture, you look in the mirror every day, you know what you are. It still feels like some weird game. 

“Here, gimme a sec,” he says from his end. 

More rustling and the noise of a digital shutter. Your phone vibes shortly and you pull it away from your cheek. You squint at the screen as it lights up and an image buffers in the conversation. 

“Huh, uh, it’s not loading. My phone is--” you nearly swallow your tongue and gasp. 

Oh gosh. It’s a picture of him in almost nothing. Just a towel. His long hair is damp and pushed back and his dark beard contrasts his bright blue eyes as he aims the lens of his phone at himself in the mirror. His stomach is ridged with muscle, his chest trimmed with hair that trails down, and the towel hangs low, giving a generous hint of his pelvis. The vee above the fabric feels overly salacious. 

“Doll?” You hear the low tone of his voice and make yourself look away. You raise the phone again to your ear. “Everything okay? You got really quiet.” 

“I...” 

“You like what you see?” He asks coyly. 

You put your hand to your forehead, your flesh is fiery. It’s so much so fast. Just that morning, you’d convinced yourself you would never see or talk to him again. And now he’s sending you pictures like that and... flirting with you? 

“Yes,” you eke out then cover your mouth. He snickers and you clear your throat before you peel your hand away, “sorry, I mean... you’re... you... you must work out.” 

“Doll, you’re too adorable,” he says. 

You don’t say a word. You’re mortified. He knew you saw that. He knows you’ve seen him like that. He sent it! 

It’s all too much. You’re lightheaded. You rub your chin and shiver. 

“I should... sleep.” 

“Mm, me too,” he says, “hopefully I dream of you.” 

You giggle nervously, “really?” 

“Sure, doll. All I can do is dream. Until tomorrow,” he sighs, “and what about you? You gonna dream about me?” 

You squeak and stammer, “I... I... I...” 

He laughs again, “you really are so cute in those pajamas.” 

“Please,” you blurt out, “delete it.” 

“Now, why would I do that?” He challenges. 

“I don’t... know.” 

“I love it,” he insists, “you’re not deleting mine, are you?” 

“N-no, no, I’ll keep it.” 

“Hm, good,” he intones, “it’s all for you so don’t you go showing me off to all your friends.” 

It’s your turn to laugh. “Promise, I won’t.” If only he knew you don’t have any friends to show. 

[tkwrites]

Summer Decisions - Quinn Hughes x ofc

gif from gabelandeskog

Title: Summer Decisions - Quinn Hughes x ofc

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts

Warnings: Highly emotional, angst. mild fighting, lots of anxiety, swearing, crying, fluff. If I missed anything, please let me know. 

Summary: An invitation to his family reunion over the fourth of July has Quinn and Sarah tumbling into a long conversation about their future in the off-season and beyond. Though the ensuing fight is resolved, the reality of their commitments vs. their love for each other is put to the test.

Word Count: 4,600

Comments: I’m back with some highly emotional goodness. This fic was halfway done for a long time until your overwhelming reactions to my WIP ask game really got me in gear to start writing again. I really like the way this turned out, and I hope you do, too. It's, like, 98% dialogue. So if that's not your thing, I won't be offended if you skip this one. But it is setting up all of our off-season fics.

If you enjoyed this, please let me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing. 

I love Quinn and Sarah, and I’m constantly blown away that so many of you love them, too.

Summer Decisions

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

“My parents want to know if you want to come to our family reunion over the 4th of July. It’s in New Hampshire.”

“Oh,” she said, voice quiet. 

“Is that not okay?” 

“It’s just a big step,” she said, “meeting your whole family.” 

“I’m meeting your family in June, aren’t I?” he asked.

They’d discussed him coming to visit when she went home for a few weeks after school. Were it not for the Canucks making it into the playoffs, she would have bought a ticket for the Monday after her classes would be done. Instead, she pushed her visit back until mid-June, wanting to be in Vancouver to support him through the entirety of their run, however long it may be.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” 

It was a little strange to her how comfortably serious they were, but she couldn’t imagine life with Quinn any other way. It was that fated belonging she’d talked about so much when they first met. Even still, it was a little jarring to think about him meeting her family or meeting his before they even hit the six month mark. 

The phrase, ‘when you know, you know,’ never made sense until she met him. She knew, and even though it felt too fast and scary sometimes, she knew it would all turn out okay. 

“So we’ll fly out from Van, what? The night before?”

“I’ll have to fly out from Michigan.” 

“Michigan? Why?” 

“I thought I told you we train in Michigan in the summer.”

“You did, but I thought… I thought maybe that changed?” 

“Why?” 

“Because of us?” she gestured between them. 

“I mean, I’d love for you to come with me.” 

“I can’t do that, Quinn.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t just pack up and move to Michigan. I still have my research work, and if I’m not working or in school for more than 6 weeks in a quarter, it violates my education visa. Not only will I have to move back to the States, I won’t be able to finish my degree.” 

“Then I’ll fly you out every weekend.” 

Pricked, the old wound split open, and she couldn’t quite hide the annoyance in her voice, “so it’s up to me to fly to you?” 

Shit. He hadn’t taken her schedule into account again. “Sorry, no. Of course I’d come here, too.”

The annoyance still fresh in her mind she found herself asking, “why do I have to remind you my time matters for you to take it into account?”

Quinn winced. “I know your time matters. I’m sorry, it’s not fair for me to assume you could just pack up and move or fly out every weekend.”

“Then don’t bring it up again,” she said. 

Okay then. 

“I’m trying here, Sarah. This is all new to me, too.” He’d never felt close enough with June to figure out a summer situation. They saw each other once or twice when he was gone, and that was enough. Looking back, that should have been a huge sign about the trajectory of their relationship.

“And yet, I assume because I have a vagina, I was raised to take other people into account.” 

“That’s not fair,” he said. 

“No? Then why do you always jump into me coming to you? Into me changing my plans? Into me inconveniencing my life before you do?” 

Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to go this way. This was supposed to be a nice, light conversation about how he wanted her to meet everyone he loved. 

“Maybe we should just break up for the summer,” she said when he didn’t say anything.  

“What? No!” Quinn sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, hurt and disgruntled she would even suggest such a thing. 

“What would you suggest, then?”

Instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. “Do you want to date someone else?” His voice was hesitant as he braced himself for the blow. 

“No. Of course not.” 

“Then why do you want to break up?” he asked through the relief easing his mind. “Why would you even say that?” 

“Because we won’t be together.”

“That doesn’t mean we should just call it off. Why do you always jump into ‘we should break up’ or ‘I should go’ when something hard comes up?” 

“I…” Sarah broke off, caught. “I don’t know.” 

“Maybe you should figure that out because I’m willing to put in the work here,” he said, gesturing between them. 

“That’s not fair.”

He raised his eyebrows instead of throwing her words back in her face. 

“I’m sorry, Quinn. I am trying, and I know you’re trying.” Tears pricked at her eyes, “I’ve just…” her mind whirred, trying to find the right explanation. In the end, as it always did with Quinn, the truth won out. “I’m scared I’m going to fuck it up and I don’t want to lose you.” 

Bridging the space between them with one big step, he pulled her against him. When they boiled down to the heart of the problem, they were both scared of the same thing. 

Tucking his nose into her hair, he breathed in the calming, smokey scent that was uniquely hers. “I don’t want to lose you, either,” he said. “We can still be together. Just separately.”

A laugh snorted from her nose, and she pulled back, “what?” 

“Long distance?”

It was Sarah's turn to suck on her lip. “I’ve never done that before.”

“I have. It's not easy. But I think we're both committed enough to make it work. Plus, we'll see each other pretty often.”

She had her thinking face on as a pregnant pause passed, so Quinn didn’t interrupt.

“What would that look like?” she asked, finally. 

“We’d talk on the phone and video chat a lot. I can come see you every weekend.”

“That doesn't make sense, Quinn. You go to Michigan to train and be with family. If you're flying back here every weekend, won't that mess with those things?”

“Probably, but —”

“Then it's out of the question. You need to do what you need to do.” 

He felt whiplashed. “I thought you wanted me to come here.” 

“Only in equal measure to me coming to you. I won’t let you give up your summer training for me.” 

It stuck him how much care and understanding were laid out in that statement. 

“Just like I know you wouldn’t want me to give up my research for you. It wouldn’t be fair.” 

Still wrapped in each others arms, Sarah rested her head on his shoulder as they thought. 

Tucking his face into her hair again, Quinn breathed deeply. As always, that smokey, vanilla scent was so calming to him. He couldn’t ever get it out of his mind. 

“This fucking sucks,” he said, voice muffled.

“I know,” she agreed. “I wish it could be different."

It couldn’t. They both had commitments that needed to be fulfilled, and they just didn’t match up.

“I wish I’d known. I would have made different plans.” 

“How would you have known?” she asked. “We only met four months ago.” 

“Has it only been that long?” he asked. The reality of the swiftness of their relationship hit him full force. “I feel like I’ve known you forever.” 

“I know. I do too.” 

“I don’t want to go the summer without you,” he said, caressing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. 

“I don’t either,” she agreed, “but it’s not like it’ll be five months where we just don’t see each other.” 

“Four,” he corrected. 

“What?” 

“Four months, I come back in September.” 

Well, that was a relief. 

“Okay, four months. I mean, we already have stuff planned. Let’s talk through what we do have,” she suggested, breaking away from him all together and pulling her planner from her bag. Flipping to the summer months, she lay it on top of her comparative physiology textbook and sat at the table. The urge to make a plan itched beneath her skin. 

He sat next to her, leaning in.

“So we have my family in June,” she said, pointing out the 10 days she had blocked out for her visit, “I sort of expected you’d come on the weekend?”  

“Yeah, that sounds good. And our reunion over the forth,” he said, flipping the page. “Then, we’re going to Hawaii at the end of July. You can come. I’ll get you a ticket.” 

“Hold on, have you talked to your family about this?” 

“No, but it’ll be fine.” 

She shook her head. 

He couldn’t believe she was turning down the option to spend two more weeks together. 

“That’s your family vacation, Quinn. I’d love to come, but I don’t want to go inserting myself —”

“You’re not inserting yourself, I’m inviting you.” 

“And I’m telling you I won’t come unless all your family is okay with it. Including Jack.” 

Even though Quinn had assured her Jack was a good guy and very devoted to his family and would come around once they met, he was still aloof anytime she happened to be around when he and Quinn were talking. Even Ellen had said as much, but Sarah still felt hesitant. Until she saw it from Jack himself, she wasn’t about to jump into an already planned vacation. She knew what it was like having a new person join the family. She didn’t want to make it any harder than it had to be. 

Quinn huffed. 

“The last thing I want is to come between you and your brothers,” she said gently.

His expression softened. “Okay. I’ll talk to them about it when they’re here.”

“So, it looks like we’ll see each other every three weeks or so, depending on when you come to Nevada and what Hawaii looks like. At least until August.”

Every three weeks felt like too long. He could hardly stand a week on the road, and they weren’t even living together. Yet. 

“I’d like you to come out to Michigan,” he said, “meet the guys. See the house.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “And you can come back here sometime here,” she said, her finger circling over a few weeks in August. 

Quinn nodded. It certainly wasn’t going to be easy, but it did feel better to have a plan.

“Are you renting this place out for the summer,” she asked, “while you’re gone?”

“I kind of thought you might move in here.”

“What?” 

“I mean, it’s just going to be empty, and I’d really like to live with you when I move back.” 

She couldn’t believe he could drop such a huge bomb so easily. As she tried to reconcile what he was saying, she repeated, “what?” 

“I mean…” he paused, voice and expression suddenly hesitant, “only if you want to.” 

Her brain finally caught up, “it’s not that. It’s just…we haven’t even talked about living together, and now you have this whole plan about how I should live here over the summer.” 

“I just thought there’s no real need for you to pay for rent anymore, since you spend so much time here anyway.” 

“I…” she was struck with the care in that statement, “that’s really sweet, Quinn.” 

He beamed.

“But I can’t live here alone all summer.” 

Expression falling, he opened his mouth.

“I just —” she interrupted before she lost her nerve. What was one more in a series of already vulnerable conversations? “I’d love to live here with you, but I can’t…I don’t know how my depression will act up if I live alone for that long. I’ve never lived on my own before, and I don’t think a summer where I’m missing my boyfriend is the best time to start.” 

The thought that she’d be here alone hadn’t crossed his mind. Not in a concrete way. Like, he knew she’d be here, and he knew he’d be in Michigan, but he never thought about it like she would be the only one in the apartment.

“Oh,” he whispered, taking her hands in his, “then of course not.” 

His immediate acceptance made tears rush to her eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” Quinn asked as she took a hand back to wipe her face. 

Smiling despite the tears on her cheeks, she shook her head. “I just really love you.” Her voice sounded full, almost like she had a cold.

“I love you, too,” he said, feeling a little confused, “but I don’t know why you’re crying.” 

“Just…” How could she explain something like this? “The way you accept and trust my needs. It’s really nice.”

“The last thing I want is for you to be unhappy, Sarah.” 

This brought on a new wave of tears, and she tucked her head into his shoulder, trying to pull herself together. 

Quinn still felt a little whiplashed but tried to roll with it, running a soothing hand over her back. 

“What?” he asked when she mumbled something into his shirt. 

Pulling back, she wiped her nose before repeating, “I’ll have to sign a new lease. It comes up in July.” 

“I’ll buy you out of it,” he said as if it was the simplest, easiest solution to any of the problems they’d discussed that day. 

“I can’t let you do that, Quinn. That’s a lot of money.” 

He hated having this conversation, but it needed to be had. It was actually a little surprising to him that it’d taken this long for it to come up. June had asked him about it a month into dating.

“Sarah, I make eight million dollars a year. I can buy out your lease.” 

Her eyes went wide. They’d never discussed money so concretely. She knew he made big bucks. All pro athletes did, but, “eight million?” she asked. “What do you do with it?” 

“I have a financial advisor who’s helped me invest most of it,” he said, “and I don’t really have all eight million available all the time. But I paid off my parents and some of our families’ houses, and I give quite a bit to charity.” 

She’d seen the way he was with money. He never worried about it, but he certainly didn’t throw it at anything and everything. He wasn’t irresponsible. 

Opening her mouth to say something, she found her mind still reeling and closed it again. 

The annoyed look he would give her when she paid the dinner bill flashed in her mind. No wonder. He made so much more than she did. All the same, she wasn’t about to become some sugar baby. That went against nearly everything her parents had taught her.

“I still want to pull my weight,” she said.

Quinn was a little taken aback by the fierceness in her voice, “what?” 

“If we move in together, I still want to pull my weight.” 

His lips pursed, and he held back his initial response in favor of gathering more information. “What do you mean?” 

“Like, if I make $80,000 a year, I want to pay whatever percentage that is of what you make.”

“You only make $80,000 a year?” he asked. 

“No. Right now, I make $50,000 a year from my research stipend. It pays for my schooling, too, so it’s technically more, but $80,000 is a general base salary for a marine zoologist.” 

“You’ve been living on $50,000 a year?” 

“Yes, and I’ve been fine,” she said, giving him a look that stifled any follow-up questions he may have had. “My point is that if —” she paused to correct herself, “when we live together,” he beamed and she lost her thought for a moment before continuing, “I want to pull my weight, even if it is just a small percentage of the household. I don’t want to be some beholden trophy wife.” 

“Beholden?” he repeated, an amused smile playing on his lips.

“Yes, I don’t want to be some kept woman. A lot of financial advisors that I listen to say you should split the household and each pay the percentage compared to your salaries. How much do you pay here a month? Do you rent? Is it a mortgage?” 

“It’s a rental. It’s not really smart for me to buy a place when there’s a chance I may get traded in three years. It’s not enough time to build adequate equity on a home.” 

Sarah stuck a mental pin in that to come back to, “and how much is your rent?” 

“12,000.” 

“A year?” she found herself asking, even though she knew that couldn’t possibly be the answer.  

“A month,” he said with an indulgent smile, knowing it was her shock speaking more than anything else.

She wasn’t quite sure why, but this fact struck Sarah harder than anything else they’d talked about. She knew she’d never be able to afford an apartment like this on her own, but this was insane. More than a fifth of her yearly salary went to Quinn’s rent each month. She counted herself lucky to find a private room for under $2000.

“Okay, so if I make,” she paused, doing mental calculations - moving decimal points. Her voice was flat when she spoke again, “one percent of what you do…” She trailed off, looking into his face, “Quinn, this is insane.” 

“I know,” he agreed. “I’m happy to just pay, but if you would feel better paying whatever, I’m happy for you to do that, too.” 

 “So, I’d pay one percent of the household expenses.” Saying it out loud, it sounded so silly. One percent? That seemed minuscule, too insignificant to matter. “Maybe I could pay ten percent? One feels too tiny.”

“Sure,” Quinn said, knowing this was important to her. Unless she was storming in, trying to take over all the bills, he was happy to have her contribute in whatever way she wanted. “If you want to do that, let’s do that. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

They sat quietly for a moment, and he gathered his thoughts.

“I know it’s important to you to contribute,” Quinn said gently, “and I’m not saying you shouldn’t - but I just want you to know I’m happy to pay for things. I know I’m insanely blessed to make the kind of money I do to play a sport that I love. I’d really, really like to live together once I move back. So if that means I need to buy out your lease, I’m happy to do it if you’re comfortable with that.”

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she thought. If Quinn paid off her lease, she wouldn’t have to put off moving in with him or live on her own in this giant apartment or find a place to live for the two months between when he was home and when her lease was up. 

She wondered if this was one of those instances her grandmother often talked about. “Sometimes,” she would say while they were cleaning the basement or kneading dough, or working in the garden, “life showers you with blessings. And it’s up to you to catch them.” 

She always accompanied this wisdom by shaping her hands into a bowl as if to fill them with water. 

Sarah did the same now, pulling her other hand out of Quinns to cup them together. 

Eyebrows knitted together, he glanced from her hands to her face. 

She giggled and told him the story. 

“I should start doing that every morning,” he said, cupping his own hands together. 

“Every morning?” she repeated. 

“Well, every morning that you’re here. When I wake up next to you, I feel like the luckiest guy alive.” 

Despite it being incredibly cheesy, Sarah couldn’t help feeling moved. “Quinn that’s really sweet,” she said. “I feel like that, too,” she paused, feeling like she needed to add a caveat. “And I want you to know your money isn’t part of that. I would love you no matter how much money you were making.” 

“I know,” he said, leaning in to brush his lips over hers, “I’ve known that from the start.” 

His hands found her waist as their lips connected. 

A while later, that pin she’d stuck in for later snapped back into her mind, and Sarah pulled away. “What did you mean about getting traded?”

Well, they might as well have all the hard conversations all at once. “I’m in contract for the next three years, but after that, or even before, there’s always a chance I could get traded.” 

The trade deadline had already passed for the season, and Sarah had watched, fascinated, as players were moved around from club to club, like pieces on a chess board as organizations tried to build the best teams possible. Now, she had a new level of understanding, knowing lives and families were being uprooted in the process.

“But they love you here.”

His smile was wide and genuine, “I love it here, too. I don’t really expect I’d be traded anytime soon, but I can’t say never with what I do. I could get seriously injured, or my game could crash.” 

She gave him an incredulous look. 

“Its happened before.” 

“To you?” 

“No, but it has to people I know. I really like it here, but I can’t guarantee I’ll play here forever, or even for the next three years. I think I will, but I can’t say for certain.”

“What happens if you get traded while I’m still finishing my degree?”

“I don’t think that will happen, but I guess we’d make it work apart until you were done. Most players get traded right at the end of their contract, so we’d be apart for the rest of the season, and then we’d decide what to do moving forward. If I was moving clubs by choice, we’d decide where to go together. ”

She nodded. “Do you get any say in trades?” 

“I think I probably would, but it doesn’t always work out that way. I mean, Bo had a monster year last season, but they couldn’t come to an agreement, and so he got traded, and I know he would have liked to stay. It’s just never guaranteed.” 

“How do you live your life like this?” she asked. 

He shrugged, “you just kind of have to get used to the idea that things could change tomorrow.” 

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.” 

The concerns his parents had expressed when they were here snapped into place, and a sudden, consuming worry that she might not want this kind of life overwhelmed him.

“Are you,” he paused to lick his lips, trying to find the right phrasing, “I mean, do you think you could be okay with that?” 

Even as it was racing with anxiety, the worried look on his face melted Sarah’s heart. It was difficult to reconcile the fact that while it felt steady now, his life had the possibility of being in flux all the time, and that where he chose to work was only partially up to him. At the same time, she didn’t want to be without him. The pull between them was too strong, too fated in a way she couldn’t deny. She was too in love with him to be scared of the reality of his life. 

There was only one thing for it. “It’ll take some getting used to, but I think I can,” she said. Perhaps this wasn’t even something she needed to be worried about. Thoughts buzzing, she tried to think of players on Quinn’s level who’d been traded recently. She couldn’t remember any off the top of her head. She’d have to look it up. 

He gave her a relieved smile, and she saw moisture shining in his eyes. 

“Oh, Quinn,” she said, her hands coming up to cup his face. The course hairs of his beard tickled her palms. “I think I’d probably move to the ends of the earth with you.” The words just fell out of her mouth, and once they were out there, spoken aloud for everyone to hear, she realized how true they were. For someone so practical, it was strange for her to have such a frivolous thought mean so much. 

His face split into a beaming smile, and he pulled her into a hug. Tucking his nose into her hair again, he let a few grateful tears fall. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” he said. 

“I don’t know either.” 

A sudden, surprised laugh barked from his chest, and he pulled back with a raised brow.

“Oh no,” her hand went to her mouth as a blush blazed over her cheeks. “I meant that I feel the same way.” Shaking her head, she wondered if she had ever said something so stupid. “You’re the most understanding, accepting man I’ve ever met, Quinn. I’m so glad the Universe brought us together.” 

He nodded, “me too.” 

Looking into his eyes, which seemed more hazel than usual to the point that she could almost see a ring of green near the iris, the reality of what was coming hit her square in the chest, “this summer is gonna fucking suck.” 

“I know,” he said, pulling her into his lap. 

Arms around his shoulders to bring herself closer, her feet hung awkwardly off the sides of the chair. Though she knew her toes would be tingling from lack of blood flow within a matter of minutes, she didn’t readjust, savoring the feeling of his solid chest against hers. 

The deep breath she sighed out moved her whole body against his. “We’ll get through it together, right?” 

Tightening his grip, Quinn agreed. 

As the minutes passed, his hands traveled over her back in slow, calming waves that put her totally at ease. 

“Do you have homework?” he asked quietly, almost as if he didn’t want to hear the question himself. 

“Yeah, but it can wait a while.”

A pleased little hum filtered up his throat, and he pulled her tighter against him. 

“Can we move to the couch, though?” she asked. “My feet are falling asleep.” 

Laughing, he stood, hands cradling her butt to keep her wrapped around him. When she hooked her ankles around his back, Quinn filed the position away to try later. 

Halfway up the stairs, Sarah unwound herself from him. Sure, he was an athlete, but carrying her up the stairs was still taking a toll. 

She lay down on the suede couch and held her arms open for him. He gratefully lay on top of her, his head on her chest. 

Running her fingers through his hair, Sarah replayed their relationship in her mind. Knowing what she knew now, both about Quinn’s celebrity status and his quiet nature, the fact that he came up to her at all was a miracle. He could have any woman in the city, and he’d stuck his neck out for her. It was overwhelming to think about sometimes. She hoped she was living up to his expectations. 

Half an hour later, Quinns phone chirped with a notification, bringing them out of their sleepy reverie. By that time, they’d switched places, and Sarah was draped over him. 

“It’s 6,” he whispered into her hair. “I’ve got to get up to make dinner.”

Even as she whined, Sarah pushed herself up. This soft, caring version of Quinn was always her favorite, and she didn’t want to let him go. “I love you,” she said, looking down at him.

“I love you, too,” he said, standing and hugging her to him again before they had to get back to real life.

Her arms tightened around him. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you, Quinn Hughes, but I’m so glad you’re mine.” 

Tucking his face into her neck, he pressed a few soft kisses there before telling her, “Sarah Roberts, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Jan behind the cut; the one where Kon's soulmark isn't fake. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

The mark he’s got is just a lie, and that’s all he’ll ever have. 

“Are you hurt?" Clark Kent asks, because the asshole doesn't even have the decency to be an asshole, and Superboy feels like absolute shit. “Looks like you took a few hits in there.” 

“Uh–I guess,” Superboy says, resisting the self-conscious urge to try and hide the scorch marks on his jacket. He probably should’ve tossed it in the trash too, but–he doesn’t know, really. Maybe he can figure out how to fix it or something. The glasses were definitely a loss, but . . . maybe he can fix the jacket, if he tries. 

Like he even knows how to fix anything, Christ. 

“I’m fine,” he says again, because he’s not a crappy enough superhero to be concerning a civilian, dammit. Like, sure, he’s half-fried and feels like he got hit by a truck, but that’s not something you just tell the civilians. Especially not the civilians with press passes. 

Especially not the civilians who might be Superman’s soulmate and could tell him all about how bad you’d fucked up again the next time he came over to hang out or . . . whatever, exactly, Superman and Clark Kent do together. 

They must hang out, right? If they’re actually soulmates? Like–how could they not? If Superboy had a soulmate, he’d– 

He doesn’t have a soulmate. So like–it doesn’t matter, what he’d do if he did. He woke up with a fake mark that he was stupid enough to think was a real one at first, but that’s all he’s got. Just–that’s it. Nothing else.

So it doesn’t matter, what he’d do if he had a real one.

Clark Kent opens his mouth like he’s gonna say something, and Superboy can already hear the dude telling Superman how fucking weird he is later, and probably Lois Lane already has, and he just–he doesn’t know how he’d even explain it to– 

He needs to be normal about this, he reminds himself, and then does the most un-normal thing possible and just bolts straight up into the sky. Doesn’t even–say anything, or anything. 

He’d have been a lot less normal if he’d tried to say anything, though. 

Superboy takes off at full-speed and flies across town, and doesn't really know where he's going. Just–away, definitely. He wants to be away. 

He kinda just needs to, it feels like. 

It's stupid. It doesn't matter how far away he gets from embarrassing himself or fucking up or from Superman's probably-soulmate. It's not like it changes anything. It's not like it–matters. 

No matter where he goes, his own stupid self and own stupid issues are all ending up there too. 

Superboy ends up on top of a skyscraper, not exactly hiding up it but maybe not not hiding up it. He just–that's where he ends up. He sits on the ledge, and looks down at the cars passing on the street stories and stories below, and thinks about nearly getting Lois Lane killed and embarrassing himself in front of her and Clark Kent and being, like–stupid. 

Stupid enough to think he’d have ever had a soulmark. There's clones who do get them, he knows. Like–that's a thing. 

But he was supposed to be Superman, not anyone of his own, so he should've known better than to think he'd be one of them. 

He glowers down at his boots, then rubs the arm of his stupid scorched-up jacket that he doesn't know how to fix across his nose and mouth and just . . . 

Then he hears a familiar rush of air, and his first reflexive thought is fuck.

Superboy looks up to find Superman hovering in the air, like, a lousy ten feet away. Not even ten feet away. He tries not to cringe or look as pathetic as he feels, but he's sure he looks pretty fucking pathetic anyway. His jacket’s a mess and he's a mess and he fucked up something simple again and– 

“Kid?” Superman says with a concerned frown, floating in and down a little closer. “Is everything alright?” 

“Uh,” Superboy says, and then has the very weird thought that–like, maybe Superman isn't here to tell him he needs to be more careful or try harder, maybe he's . . . maybe he just came to, like . . . check on him, or– 

He crushes down that stupid thought, because what the fuck, like he's a fucking–like he's an actual kid or something? Like he can't take care of himself? Like he's really enough of an entitled dumbass to think that Superman would waste the time on that when he's got a whole city and a whole damn planet full of people without superpowers to worry about, and Superboy’s just, like, minimally scorched because of his own stupid fuck-ups anyway? 

And like, upset, he guesses. But that's also because of his own stupid fuck-ups. 

Fuck, he really is pathetic. 

“Yeah, all good here, man,” he says, and forces the usual grin he wears when he needs to look, like–confident, or whatever. Maybe it'll even work, if Superman doesn't pay too much attention to the scorch marks or how frizzy his hair probably is. “Uh–what's up?” 

Also, like, what the fuck are you even doing here? he doesn't ask, though he's kind of wondering about it. If Superman was anywhere near Metropolis when all that shit in the bank was going down, why wasn’t he in the bank? Like, Superboy is not egotistical enough to believe that Superman would not have gotten involved in that situation, with how bad a job he’d been doing at managing it. 

Honestly, on a day like today, he would’ve appreciated the back-up.

[nicestgirlonline]

sneaky

Pairing: Bucky x Reader 

Warnings: None! Just fluff!

Summary: You and Bucky decide to keep your new relationship a secret with somewhat disastrous results…

Word Count: 3.7k 

A/N: Here’s my entry for @the-slumberparty week 2 challenge blast from the past! I don’t really have an old WIPs, I was trying to jumpstart my writing again with this sleepover. So here’s a little sequel to dumb dumb, since you guys really really seemed to like that one! Hope you enjoy! Feedback is always welcome! <3 

part 1

That Valentine's Day was possibly the best night of Bucky’s life. He had finally gotten to express everything he had been feeling for you. Friday night bled into Saturday morning, neither of you getting much sleep. The months of yearning and pining all finally erupted into passion, lust and love.

Saturday morning quickly became Saturday afternoon, with lots of pillow talk, telling each other little secrets about yourselves, sharing childhood stories. A simple Postmates order and quick text to Steve meant no one to bother you, and no reason for you to leave his bed. 

Saturday night, or what Bucky was calling round two became Sunday morning and that brought about a little thing called the Sunday Scaries.  

Amidst the bliss and happiness there was a lingering thought that kept bothering you. The two of you lounged in his bed, enjoying each other's quiet company, the moonlight of the early morning making the room glow blue. 

You bit your lip. Time to rip the bandaid off. Real life was going to be starting too soon again. 

“Bucky I’ve been thinking…about us.”  

“Really? Me too.” He started to pepper your face with kisses. “I’ve been thinking about all the ways I can have fun with my girlfriend.” You giggled as he started to tickle your sides. You wiggled your way out of his grasp. You propped yourself up on your forearms and did your best to put on your serious face. Which was very hard when Bucky was being so cute. 

“I mean it! I’ve been thinking, maybe we should keep this private? For a while?” You tried your best to keep your voice soft, the face Bucky made broke your heart, which was what you were afraid of. He looked extremely scared. 

“What’s wrong, what’d I do? Was girlfriend too soon? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, ” He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close against him. 

“No, no, you’re my boyfriend now.” You assured him. You took his face in your hands and he leaned into your palm in relief.  “I am really excited to be with you but we do work together. And there’s HR and office gossip and I don’t want that to affect us when we are still figuring out us. I guess I’ve never really thought about the power imbalance between us.” 

Bucky nodded albeit a bit reluctantly.  He untangled his arms around you so you were both lying on your side looking at each other. 

“I mean…I understand. You know I don’t really think of myself as a big superhero or something, but it is a ‘power imbalance’. Does it…bother you?” He asked scratching his face to avoid eye contact. You sat up, suddenly very confused. 

“What are you talking about, I’m the scientist who’s studying you? I’m the one abusing my authority here. It's all very unethical!” You exclaimed. 

“I don’t feel taken advantage of here, Doll. If anything, people are going to think I’m taking advantage of you.” Bucky chuckled. 

“Why?”

“I’m a bit older than you. I’m sort of famous for not so great reasons. I’m also literally more powerful than you?” He held up his left arm as if to show you proof. You dismissed it with a hand wave. 

“You don’t know that you’re more famous than me. I’ve been published in many academic journals.” You pointed out. Bucky shook his head. Gosh he liked you so much. He couldn’t even believe this was really happening to him half the time.  

“There were weeks of press coverage for my trial.”  You just rolled your eyes at that. Bucky was always so afraid that everyone saw him as a villain, but you’d never once felt any sort of danger from this sweet man. 

“Well, agree to disagree. But I still think maybe for the first two months we should just keep it quiet. So we don’t have to worry about anyone but each other. Just lowkey.” He pressed a kiss on the top of your head. 

“Yeah. You’re right, you’re totally right. We will keep things low key.” 

X

“Hey Steve, uhhh we’ve got a problem.” Bucky rushed into the breakfast room, thankful that Steve was the only one there. Steve queried his eyebrow at his panic stricken best friend. 

“What’s up Buck?” He asked. Bucky, seemingly slightly out of breath grabbed the side of the cabinets, he closed his eyes to try and get his 

“So you know how I told you about…on Valentines Day…and then we…so the weekend was…” He waved his hand to emphasis his pauses and Steve nodded along.  

“Of course,  I’m happy for you two, Bucky!” He said brightly, of course this must be some sort of post confession bliss the two of them were in making his friend act so strange.

“Well that's just the thing. Did you…tell anybody else about it?” He asked, his voice a bit strangled and his tone grim. 

“Uhhh was I not supposed to?” Steve asked, his face falling immediately. 

“Can you answer my question?”

“I told Sam about it. The two of you have been dancing around it for so long that we’re all just a little excited for you.” Steve started to explain but he could practically see the fury radiating off of Bucky in waves. His signature death stare was fixed on him. 

“Look, I really appreciate the um, support for my relationship. But here’s the thing, she doesn’t want anyone to know we’re dating.” He ground out, his teeth still clenched. “So we are going to be low. key.” 

“Look who it is. We were about to put out a missing person alert .” Natasha had slunk her way into the breakfast room, her voice dripping with self satisfied condescension.  “Getting provisions for the love nest?”

“God damn it, you told her too?”  He cried out. She shrugged, innocently looking away. Bucky grabbed his head, he was going to throttle Steve. 

“Oh come on, Y/N loves Nat. I figured she already knew.” Steve held his hands up in surrender, the captain certainly hadn't thought this was how his morning was going to go. Bucky turned his attention back to the super spy who was a bit too pleased with the unfolding drama. 

“Nat, did you tell anyone about this?” 

“Please, I’m a spy. I don’t just go around giving out important gossip with nothing to gain.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Romanoff!” He snapped back. 

“I’m still a bit confused why she doesn’t want anybody to know? Is that a modern dating thing, not telling people you’re dating?” Steve asked. It didn’t make much sense to him, what exactly did she think was going to happen if people found out? 

“She just doesn’t want the gossip and the pressure of everyone knowing about us to color the beginning of our relationship.” Bucky explained but his tone belated his true feelings. He absolutely did not want to keep this a secret. “So I told her I wasn’t going to tell anybody but I forgot I already told the biggest blabbermouth on the team.”  He quickly turned back to anger at his teammates. 

“I’m not the biggest blabbermouth…hm crap wait I forgot, Clint knows too.” Steve closed his eyes, wincing, ready for the smack upside the head he sorely deserved. 

“Loose lips sink ships asshole! ” Bucky was exasperated. 

“I didn’t know this was top secret information!” Steve countered. 

Nat stayed at the breakfast bar watching the two super soldiers argue, it was amusing but she had her limits. She had to intervene before Bucky had an aneurysm. 

“It's not so bad, we can do damage control. Tell Sam and Clint to keep quiet about it.” Nat said before taking a sip of her coffee. “And Wanda.”

“AND WANDA--” Steve looped an arm around Bucky’s waist before he could lunge at Natasha. 

x

Bucky Barnes: Hello Sam,  I am texting to inform you that Y/N and I are NOT DATING and please disbelieve the rumors to the contrary. Yours, Bucky Barnes

Sam Wilson: please learn to text like a normal person

Sam Wilson: You know I saw you making out with her in the elevator on Friday right? 

Bucky Barnes is typing…

Bucky Barnes: Sam, please disregard my previous message and meet me in the training gym on level 5 ASAP. Yours, Bucky Barnes

Sam Wilson: You don't have to sign your name I know it's you 

Sam Wilson: forget it

Sam Wilson: yeah I’ll be there

X Something wasn’t quite right. Your love life had never been better, Bucky was an amazing boyfriend, it was all you could do to not spend all of your time with him. The two of you would meet up after work hours and spend blissful hours back in Bucky’s apartment. But the rest of your work life, well it was starting to feel like people were avoiding you. 

Like the other day at lunch, you were sitting across from Bucky which wasn’t too unusual, you had been friends before you were seeing each other. The very tips of your shoes were touching, a special little secret way of holding hands. The two of you were discussing movies that were coming out, a totally neutral non flirty conversation. But then Steve walked in, looked at you then immediately spun on his heel and walked away. You furrowed your brow. That was a bit weird.

Or when you had bumped into Bucky at the gym on level 5. It had actually been a happy coincidence, you decided to do some yoga as you sorely needed to stretch your body out after being hunched over a microscope all day.  Bucky had been working out with Sam, Bucky lifting weights with Sam on the treadmill. You waved to the two of them and made your way over to say hi and Sam without saying a word jumped off the treadmill and started to jog out of the gym. 

Even Nat, which hurt the most, flaked on the movie night you’d wanted to have in the TV room. Then it was the domino effect, Steve dropped out then  Wanda and Vis dropped out too and soon it was just You and Bucky. 

“Oh nooo. What are we gonna do, watch the movie by ourselves? Just the two of us?” Bucky whispered in your ear as you were pouring popcorn into a large bowl. He grabbed you by the hips and waggled his eyebrows at you. You let out a little sigh and snatched the bowl before heading to the TV room.  You weren’t in the mood to flirt with him. The tv room was ready for what you had thought would be a big group. The lights were already dimmed and there were plenty of blankets and pillows around. 

You and Bucky settled next to each other on the couch. He grabbed a big fuzzy blue blanket and draped it over the two of your legs. He gave your leg a little squeeze beneath the blanket and winked. You just let out a sigh and grabbed the remote to fire up the Roku. Bucky frowned, this was certainly not what he thought their movie night would be like!

“What’s wrong Bambi? You seem down.” He asked, concerned. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his body. You let him cuddle you, resting your head on his chest 

“It just feels like all of our friends are avoiding me. I mean I thought we were friends. Co-workers I guess, you know I’m not great at reading people.” You sighed and buried your face in his chest. Had you grown more annoying these past few weeks ? He grabbed your chin and tilted your head up so you were looking up at him. 

“Honey, you’re great at reading people, don’t let your insecurity tell you otherwise. I’m not really a people person anyway so I was excited that it was going to be just us. Nobody’s avoiding you I promise. Want to just reschedule this night?” He offered. 

You shook your head. Rescheduling wouldn’t make you feel any better. Besides it was nice to be able to spend time with Bucky out in the open like this.  You still felt like your friends were all acting weird, but you trusted Bucky enough that you decided to let it go. 

“Well since it’s just you and me, we still have to watch The Princess Bride.” You relaxed into the couch, already pulling it up on the screen. 

“Sounds perfect.” 

X

You were working away in the lab, it was a little past lunch time but you simply couldn’t stop in the middle of your project. You could push yourself just a little bit and finish this in time to actually leave at a normal time tonight. You had a date tonight. You smiled to yourself. A secret date.

You were deep in the process, so much so that you didn’t even notice the secret date, arriving hours early in the lab. He gave your sides a squeeze making you yelp. You spun around to see your smirking boyfriend. 

“Bucky! Um, what are you doing here!” you asked, trying not to sound too excited. 

“I'm here to help you out with those samples you had requested from me.” He projected his voice around the lab. But it was for the benefit of no one, you were the only two there. You smiled, happily playing along. 

“Oh right! Those samples I requested.” 

“Those spit samples.” He grabbed the back of your head and crushed his lips to yours in a sloppy wet kiss. You slapped his chest as you pulled away from him giggling.

“Ew! Bucky, that's so gross, why would you say it like that!” But you couldn’t stop giggling. He smiled, clearly feeding off the laughter. 

“You’re the one who wants us to have this clandestine affair, I’m just trying to keep up appearances.” 

“"Why are you even here? You’re a little early.”

“It's my lunch break and I wanted to say hi and give you a kiss.” He took  one of your hands in his. You reached out and grabbed his vibranium hand as well so you were holding both. It made his heart flutter, how unperturbed by his arm you were. When he was with you it was like he was just a normal guy.

“Hi.” He murmured, rubbing his nose against yours. 

“Hi.” you breathed back. This time when your lips met it was sweet and soft. He slowly moved his lips against yours, you opened your mouth just slightly enough that his tongue could slip inside and ---

“So I’m pretty sure the Erskine notes were in here.” It was Bruce! Bucky felt a sudden rush of fear. Bruce wasn’t one of the inner circle who would just pretend not to notice their closeness. They could actually get caught!  

You quickly as hard as you could pushed Bucky away and he clamored backwards. You wiped your mouth, hoping somehow that would disguise yourself. Bruce poked his head in.

“Just looking for the Erskine notes. Uh, everything ok in here?” He took stock of each of you, freshly shoved apart. 

“Yeah, just leaving!” Bucky cried as he raced out of the lab. 

“I’m indifferent to him leaving! I’ll go grab the notes for you Dr. Banner!” You raced to the file cabinet not looking at anything but the ground. 

Bruce cocked his head at the strange interaction he just encountered. 

X

“Good morning Bucky!” You greeted cheerfully as he entered the breakfast room in the morning, Steve and Sam in tow. “Morning Steve! Morning Sam!” You quickly added as they filed in. As not to raise suspicion. 

“I get a good morning? Wow. Don’t I feel special.” Sam said with a smirk. 

“I say good morning to everyone. I’m just a morning person like that. How are you doing Sam? I feel like you’ve been so busy, I barely even see you these days.” You asked, trying to sound casual. You still felt like everyone was acting so weird around you. 

“Oh you know, mission after mission. None of them were in Hawaii either, it's all been Nepal, Siberia, whatever frozen wasteland they can dump me in.” He sat down next to you. You nodded along as he continued talking about his missions, eager to connect with your friend again. 

“Good morning troops. Ah and good morning Beaker. Didn’t think I’d see you this early on a Monday.” Tony Stark, sunglasses still on, his closes wrinkled like he’d just come in off a jet. It had been awhile since he was on at the Compound.  

You hoped you weren’t blushing at the comment. Bucky had talked you into another Sunday night sleepover, you were trying to be subtle about it but you were a morning person, it didn't make sense to pretend to show up later.

‘I didn’t think I’d see you at all Mr. Stark. It's been awhile, since you’ve hunkered down with us mole people in the lab.” You always had a professional but good natured relationship with Tony. He was your boss after all, which is why you found it a little weird to call him Tony. 

Tony let out a chuckle and started to make science small talk, about the lab and the projects you’d been working on. 

Bucky and Tony were not great friends. They had buried the hatchet, sure, but it wasn’t like the two drank beer and watched the game together. Cordial coworkers are best. 

Except Bucky didn't feel very cordial with Tony right now. Considering he had taken the only open seat next to you. He gruffly sat down at the table next to them with his coffee. 

You wanted to invite Bucky to come sit with you, or go over to his table, but that would probably be a bit too much for just friends. You peered over Tony’s shoulder to your grumpy boyfriend darkly having breakfast. You tried not to make it too obvious and still listen to his anecdote about building a mini laser. 

The two of your eyes would catch more often than not. Quickly turning back to whatever they were doing. Tony picked up on this immediately, he looked over his shoulder

“What do you keep looking at?” He spun around to look directly at Bucky who was frozen in place.  “What’s going on here? Are you two fucking or something?”

It was like everything happened all at once.

“Tony -- out of line.” “Uh HR?” “No no no you misunderstand.” “Which one of you told Tony?”

Everyone burst into action, all speaking over each other.  Wait what? You swung your head from pleading with Tony to your secret boyfriend.  The three soldiers froze. Sam took a deep breath. 

“I’ve had enough of this! Nobody told Tony. You two idiots are just so obvious that anyone could see it.” Sam said. As soon as he did Steve let out a huge sigh of relief, his shoulders rolling forward like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders.  

“I won’t have this, no way, not on my watch. Y/N. My beloved employee. With Mancurian Candidate? Under my nose, in my own lab?” Tony said indignantly,  putting his hand over his heart as if he was scandalized. 

“Tony! That’s really not very funny. You shouldn’t call him that.” You said your face a hard frown. and Bucky felt his heart burst with happiness. But then your gaze turned to him and he felt your icy stare.

“I--I can explain. You see I had actually texted Steve before we decided to be lowkey. It was before so really if you think about it. I didn’t do anything wrong. And Steve and his big mouth told a few people. But it’s just the people in this room. And Nat. And Clint. And Wanda. But that’s all.”  Bucky tried to explain to you as best he could. His eyes were pleading, he felt weak in the knees. You remained silent, your arms crossed. 

“Yikes, you’re in troooouble.” Tony taunted. 

“So basically everyone! Everyone I see on a daily basis. I can’t believe this. So they’ve all known the whole time?” You looked at Sam and Steve who both sheepishly nodded. You turned back to Bucky, you let out a shaky breath. People knew, and nothing bad had happened. Your friends had actually gone out of their way so you two could have some privacy.  “Well I guess there's no point in keeping this up then.”

“Hm?”

“I'm having breakfast with my boyfriend now, so if you don’t mind gentlemen.” You grabbed your breakfast bowl and moved your chair so you were sitting next to Bucky. You grabbed his hand and placed it on your lap. 

“Ugh, I'm nauseous you two are so fucking cute. Guess that’s my cue.  Come on, Commandos, take a hint.” Tony got up signaling to the other two who also rushed out of the room, more than happy to get out of the tense atmosphere. Once you were completely alone, you finally spoke. 

“I can’t believe everyone knows. Why didn’t you just tell me?” 

 Bucky let out a deep sigh. 

“I mean I kept it a secret from some people. Tony being one of them. I just…I wanted to give you what you wanted. But I mean to be completely honest I did want to tell everyone. I’m all in.”  

“I’m all in too!” You cried clutching his hand and kissing his knuckles. “That's why I wanted to try and slow things down so I couldn’t mess anything up. Now it just all seems so silly. I tried so hard to be sneaky too!” 

He took his hand off yours and gave your thigh a squeeze. 

“I mean…we can still sneak around sometimes. If you want. ” He had a playful glint in his eyes. “I mean, I had plans, Doll, a lot of plans. I was fully prepared to take you on every inch of that lab table.” 

“Sergeant Barnes! ” You gasped. “I think we may be a bit too loud for that level of sneakiness.” He took your chin in his hand and rubbed his thumb down your lip.

“I’m sure we can find a way to keep you quiet.”

[mangodoodles000]

Remember Me, Remember Me Not…

Hihihi, this is an au I have been working on for awhile now. The above is just concept art I made for the idea, but if you want more details then feel free to read below !!!

RMRMN au is about Missa and his job as grim reaper

Well… at least he thought that’s what his job was at first. His title would soon be revoked after Sir Reaper found a better replacement to take care of the mortals/life on earth

After a few moments of sadness, He would soon be taken to his newly assigned job.

As you may know, the grim reapers job is to collect the souls from earth and make sure that they make it to the afterlife on time, but what happens when the soul finally reaches the afterlife? That’s where Missa comes in, for his job is to make sure the soul finds eternal rest. (I’m still working on a name for his job)

His job sounds easy at first, but of course there are some challenges. Memories are what make a soul for what it is. The more happy memories the soul had in its lifetime, the easier it is for the soul to reach eternal rest. Not all souls have many happy memories, which leave them restless with anger and fear. Sometimes it is possible for an angered soul to find eternal rest but it’s very rare. If a soul can not find eternal rest, than it is bound to be reincarnated into a form of rage on earth (explaining why monsters exist in the over world)

The way he helps souls find eternal rest is in the afterlife itself.

The afterlife is just a mirror of earth (or the entirety of qsmp in this case) but it’s a wasteland. Every building feels like it’s been abandoned even though on the other side, it’s probably still in use. The only kind of life that exists in the afterlife is nothing but the souls that are brought here and Missa (or at least he thought…).

Missa would guide these souls to a place that seems familiar to them or that would at least bring comfort in a way. Once the soul finally feels at ease, it will go to sleep for one last time and fade to dust afterwards

——————-

That was a lot of writing rhesgshakahsgsjsn

If you made it down here, then I hope you enjoyed reading all of that

This is still a wip but it’s close to the idea I want it to be so I guess that’s a good sign.

I’ll keep adding more to the story when I have the motivation but for now enjoy what I offer

[sleepiexx]

Right Under Her Nose

Valeria Garza x fem!Reader + Platonic!John “Soap” Mactavish x fem!Reader

Note: This has been a wip for mooonths dude

Summary: Valeria had expected that her girlfriend just wanted space, albeit not so fond of the idea that she couldn’t respond to a simple text, she’d grant her wish and leave her alone. Oh how wrong she turned out to be.

Warnings: Lots of talk about blood, death, and some gore, kind of graphic but not super detailed, Valeria and Reader fight, and the first half is Valeria-less

Word Count: 3859

The only sound resounding in the near empty room was the dripping of blood, a sick echo of the liquid dripping onto concrete. (Y/N) was so out of it that she had originally assumed there was a leak in the ceiling, but she was wrong. She only realized it was the sound of her own blood when she saw the pool of the red liquid under her rippling in tune with the dripping noise.

She knew she was hurt, of course— how could she forget the rigorous hours of torture she had been subject to? But she didn’t know that a person could bleed this much and survive, it reflected in her physical state heavily. Everything hurt, even thinking.

How did she even end up here?

She led a normal life. She lived off of tips and the wage she earned by waiting tables at a cushy place downtown. After long nights and rush hours, she would return home to her apartment and plants. Along the way, she met a woman who she loved with her entire heart and was lucky enough to call her girlfriend. (Y/N) (L/N) lived as normal as life could get and yet somehow, someway, one of those life choices led to her capture and torture by members of the cartel.

“I don’t know anything!” She’d sobbed for hours as they dismantled her physical and psychological being without relent. Drawn out beatings, cuts, slashes, all blended together in her mind as one heaping pile of pain.

One name stuck out. The one that they had asked her about her connection to over and over again: El Sin Nombre.

She had no clue who El Sin Nombre was. She guessed they were some rival to the men who had been torturing her, but she knew nothing more than that and she certainly didn’t know how she fit into the equation.

She didn’t run with any cartels, or do drugs— hard ones anyway, she couldn’t imagine her marijuana use had anything to do with this. She knew for a fact that her plug didn’t dabble in selling or consuming harder drugs either, so it couldn’t have been him. Besides, who gets tortured for enjoying a blunt every once in a while? She was innocent, why couldn’t they see that?

The door pounded, wood splintering and cracking from the pressure. That wasn’t good. The cartel had been angry throughout her interrogation, that much had been clear with the way they had treated her, yet now they were unable to even keep their cool. What happened? Was she no longer “useful” to them? Had they decided she was better off dead? What made it so urgent that they couldn’t use the key and had to knock the door down?

The door finally caved under the pressure. The big group of men that (Y/N) had been expecting turned out to be just one man. One man with a gun.

Panic shot through her veins, a newfound energy along with it. She thrashed around in her chair, desperate to get away from him, yet the restraints didn’t budge.

He stomped towards her, a blank face as he held the gun in a position that suggested he was ready to lift and shoot at the drop of a hat.

She would do anything to survive, grasping at straws for a chance at life, “Hey- hey, wait wait wait- I thought- you need me, you need the information I have.” She didn’t have any information, she knew that, and it seemed so did he.

“Your information is not important.” He huffed, a deep glare etched into his eyes, “Something’s come up, I have to tie up the loose ends.”

His gun raised, aiming straight for her forehead. Tears fell from her eyes, with nothing to lose now she had no qualms crying to her heart’s content. All shame she felt dissipated as she sobbed and begged— begged for her life.

“Please- Please, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did please, please don’t kill me.”

Her throat felt raw as her sobs bordered on screams. She saw his finger wrap around the trigger and she closed her eyes as she heard a loud bang, waiting to feel the pain and then nothing at all.

But it never came.

She felt a spray of hot liquid splashing on her face, which she suspected was her own blood, but confusion consumed her as she still felt very much alive.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. The man who nearly killed her was on the ground, resting in a puddle of his own blood.

“What the fuck?” She whispered, eyes wide. She looked up, met with the sight of a man. He wore a uniform, army, and he had stubble and a Mohawk. He looked like any average soldier and yet after hours of unrelenting torture, you could never be too cautious.

She struggled against her restraints once more but it only proved to be a harder task now that her adrenaline levels were fading and exhaustion was taking over.

“Hey, Hey!” He called out to her, trying to calm her down, “it’s okay, love, it’s over. I’m gonna get you out of here.”

She calmed at the thought, staring at him with hopeful eyes. “Please.” She begged. At this point, she didn’t even know what she was begging for.

He stepped forward carefully, “I’m Soap, I’m going to try and untie your restraints. Is tha’ okay?”

She didn’t like how he treated her like a scared animal but she appreciated him narrating everything he was doing. It made things predictable, less scary that way. She nodded.

Despite getting the go ahead, he continued at a slow pace, in fear of startling her or triggering something. With the state of her blood-stained body, he could only imagine the horrors she had went through in however long she had been there.

She felt nervous as he had to stand behind her to untie her wrists. Out of her line of vision, he was unpredictable. But as a seasoned soldier, he knew that, knew exactly how she was feeling, and he would do anything in his power to alleviate some of the pain.

“The ropes aren’t budging, I’m going to use a knife to cut them off, so I need you to stay real still, okay?”

She nodded.

He sawed the ropes until they fell off with a wet plop onto the soaked floor. She pulled her hands forward, shoulders aching from having been kept in that position for so long. She stared down at the red lines that followed her wrists where the ropes had been. She had struggled so much that she rubbed her wrists raw and bloody.

He walked around to the front of the chair, where he squatted down and did the same to the restraints on her ankles.

Completely unrestrained, she got slightly overzealous and attempted to stand. Her legs were weak, though, having only stood few times in the past however long when the cartel felt gracious enough to let her go to the bathroom. She nearly instantly collapsed and likely would have fallen right on top of the dead man had the soldier not been there to catch her.

“Hey, easy, easy. Don’ think you should be walkin’ on your own just yet.” He looked down at her, trying to help her stand on her own but it was proving impossible in her state, “alright, I’m going to pick you up.”

One of his hands snaked down from where they were on her sides to the pit of her knees, picking her up in a bridal carry. She groaned at the movement, open wounds aching and sending shooting pains throughout her body.

“Steamin’ Jesus, what did they do to you?” He wondered aloud, concerned at the whines and pained moans leaving her mouth.

She didn’t respond, too emotionally and physically exhausted to have a deep conversation. As he carried her throughout the compound, her eyes began to shut, almost succumbing to darkness. Soap instantly took notice.

“Hey, you can’t go dying on me now, love. Gotta stay awake. Talk to me.” He hoped she would start rambling so he could gauge the state she was in without having to take his focus off of the compound in front of him, but she just blinked at him. It was a hard task to ask of a girl who had just been through hell. But Soap was witty, and he had no problem finding another way for her to talk, “What’s your name, hen?”

“(Y/N),” it came out like a whisper, but before this she hadn’t talked to him at all so it was progress.

“(Y/N)? I like it. What’s your favorite color, (Y/N)?”

“Blue,” she murmured.

He smiled, “nice color, I like green.”

“Green? Is your full name Irish Spring?” Her voice was weak, and wavering, so it was hard to get across a tone to match the joke she had made.

He shook his head, not understanding that she was joking, “I’m Scottish actually.”

“Irish Spring, like the green soap.”

He looked down at her and smirked, “I did not think you were capable of makin’ quips like that.”

She looked away, feeling some of the effects of the blood loss hitting her. Loopy-ness being the main one, she found herself unable to control her words, “What kind of name is Soap anyway?”

“It’s not a name.” He said, kicking down a door that stood in their way. Quickly checking if the coast was clear before finishing his statement, “It’s a callsign. My real name is John.”

“John,” she mumbled, “that doesn’t really suit you.”

“You can call me Johnny if ya like-“

Just as Soap thought he was making progress, keeping the hostage’s thoughts on other things, he was met with the sound of more cartel.

“Fuck.” He muttered, mind racing through all of his options.

(Y/N) could tell they were coming, her eyes were wide and her heart rate picked up. Fear consumed her once more. Especially as the soldier set her down on the ground.

“I’m going to deal with this, you stay right here.” He explained, not giving her room to speak as he b lined it out of the door, towards the gaggle of cartel members.

All she heard were gunshots, gunshots and screaming. She made an attempt at self soothing by rocking back and forth but it didn’t help that she was wounded to shit, making her movements jagged and painful.

What if Johnny died out there? What if her only hope at escape from this awful place was shot and killed defending her?

She didn’t know if there were more soldiers, or if it was just him, all she knew was that she needed him, desperately.

God, how she wanted to peek so bad, especially when the room went silent. But she knew she couldn’t disobey the soldier. Not when it was his judgement that had gotten them this far.

Like an answered prayer, he appeared right in the doorway.

“Hey, hen.” He smiled at her, trying to cheer her up, but it faltered when he saw just how harshly she had reverted to the nervous state he had found her in.

He walked up towards her, picking her up once more. “I’ve gotcha,” he coo’d, hoping to calm her down slightly. He knew he had to get her out of there, fast, so he sped up his pace.

It went like that for a while, until they finally made it to the evac point.

Soap could see the confusion portrayed by each of his team members as he carried the wounded woman towards them. She was covered in blood and limp, to the team she looked like a corpse, yet Soap could see her eyes staring at any and everything, they still had life behind them.

The masked man spoke first, “what’s this?” His critical eyes analyzing her.

Soap could tell that his teammate’s imposing presence scared the girl, so he nodded him off to the side, “This, Ghost, is (Y/N), the cartel was holding her hostage.”

Shortly after, he turned to (Y/N), not wanting to talk about her with them right in front of her, “this is my team, Ghost, Gaz, and Captain Price.”

The man he had referred to as Captain Price stood at attention as their evac helicopter came inbound. “Plenty of time for introductions on the chopper, Soap.”

He nodded and hopped in the second the aircraft landed. In the short time it took to load everyone in, he called out to the crew who had already been in the chopper, “can I get a medic?” He yelled, gesturing towards the blood coated woman.

Thankfully, of the small crew they’d taken with them, a medic was amongst their ranks. They took to the girl, packing her bigger wounds with gauze as she groaned in pain.

“Oh, fuck!” She called out, face twisting into a grimace.

“What did the cartel want from you?” Price prodded.

Soap went to get onto him for questioning her as she writhed in pain, but Gaz beat him to it, “Jesus, Captain, the poor thing’s gettin’ treated for extensive wounds and now is when you want to question her?”

The men stared at each other, but (Y/N) relented. “I- I don’t know. They kept bringing up some guy in a rival cartel but I don’t- I don’t know anything about it.”

A loud whine left her lips as a particularly deep gash was treated. She couldn’t stop the tear that fell down her cheek from the pain.

Soap frowned, trying to stay positive, “we’re gonna get you home, alright hen?”

And she nodded, reluctant but hopeful.

The rest of the ride was a blur, at some point she passed out, she only woke up days later in a bright hospital room. To her surprise, the Scottish soldier was by her side.

“Johnny?” She mumbled, voice raw and cracking from a lack of use.

His head shot up, staring at the girl who had been asleep for nearly four days. “(Y/N), hey! How are you feeling?”

She groaned, body sore, “like I’ve been hit by a bus.”

He chuckled slightly, “yeah, you look it too. But the doc says you’ll be back to your old self in no time, whatever that is.”

“So nothing too serious?” She asked.

His lips flattened, not liking the way her words discredited what she went through. “You took quite the beating, hen. Nothing deadly or physically altering, but you broke a few ribs, got a couple of deep gashes, and you suffered so much blood loss they had to drug you up until you were fixed.”

She sighed, taking in his words, “fuck, man.”

“But the doctor only let up on the drugs now because everything’s sorted, as long as you follow the doctors orders and get one last physical, you’re good to go home until the next checkup.”

Her expression didn’t change at the good news, “I- I don’t even know where I am. Or how to get home.”

Soap grabbed her hand, “Don’t worry about that, I’ll get you where you need to be.”

She gulped anxiously, but nodded nonetheless.

By the end of the day, Johnny fulfilled his promise. She was discharged from the hospital and he himself drove her back home. He even went as far as to walk her into her house and give her his number, should she ever need him.

She stared at the ground, never good at goodbye’s but still wanting to say her thanks, “Thank you, for everything.”

He pulled her into a hug, “No need to thank me, hen, you get some rest.” And just like that he was out the door.

Unbeknownst to the two, their goodbye had been watched.

Mere minutes after Soaps departure, frantic knocking sounded at (Y/N)’s door. Recent trauma still fresh on her mind, she panicked. A million possibilities flashed through her head, all ending with the cartel knocking down her door and taking her away once more.

That idea was shattered as (Y/N) heard her girlfriend yelling behind the door, “I know you’re home, (Y/N)!”

She hesitantly stepped towards the door, unlocking and cracking it open before Valeria pushed her way into the apartment with anger written all over her face.

Valeria slammed the front door shut, fuming words spewing out of her mouth before (Y/N) could even form a sentence, “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you like crazy for two weeks and you’ve just been gone. No voicemail, no text, not even a note.”

“Val I-“

“How could you just disappear like that? I care about you (Y/N), it really fucking hurts when you can’t seem to tell me you’re going somewhere.”

(Y/N) knew she was pissed. Valeria never talked about her emotions, ever, and here she was baring her wounds to (Y/N). Sure she was regularly angry, but (Y/N) knew her better. She knew that this was worse than any superficial fight they had ever had.

“Valeria-“

“And who was that man you were with, huh? Are you doing something behind my back?”

To (Y/N), this meant cheating, but to Valeria who had met Soap before, she had feared a full betrayal. She only fell short in her words as tears fell from her girlfriend’s eyes.

“No! No, I wouldn’t do that!” (Y/N) sobbed, “I was kidnapped, I barely made it out alive. He saved me!”

“Kidnapped?” Valeria whispered to herself, but (Y/N) heard it.

“I know, I know it sounds crazy- fuck, I feel crazy,” (Y/N) cut herself off, breathing out the last part, “but yeah, I was taken by the cartel because- because they thought I had ties to their rivals but I don’t, Valeria, I swear I don’t.”

Valeria’s face shifted to an expression (Y/N) couldn’t read. Some mix of pity, sadness, and almost… guilt?

She placed her hands on either of (Y/N)’s shoulders, “(Y/N), baby, do you remember who they were asking you about specifically?”

(Y/N) sniffled, “I don’t know, it was something like El Sin Hombre— no, Nombre? I don’t know, one of those. Why?”

Valeria’s face darkened. Her eyebrows knit together and the guilty look deepened. Her glare burnt a hole into the floor.

“You do have a connection to El Sin Nombre.” She muttered.

There was a beat of silence before (Y/N) spoke.

“What?” (Y/N) asked, confusion evident, only making her more distraught.

Valeria’s eyes slowly lifted to meet her girlfriend‘s, “(Y/N), I am El Sin Nombre.”

“No.” (Y/N) mumbled, ever so slightly raising her voice, “No, you can’t be.”

She tried to squirm away from Valeria, but the grip on her shoulders was too tight. Eventually she gave up trying to get away and allowed herself to collapse into her lover’s hold, sobbing into the crook of her neck.

“Please, no.” She cried, “it hurt, Valeria, it hurt. Please god no.”

Valeria pet her hair, tears quietly streaming down her face. The sound of her lover’s pain rang out like rusted church bells, raw screaming echoing off the living room walls.

Knowing that all this was her fault— that all of (Y/N)’s pain was caused by her— it hurt more than any bullet or shrapnel that Valeria had ever felt buried beneath her skin.

“They hurt me so bad. Please, Valeria.” And, god, (Y/N) had no clue what she was begging for but all she could do in this moment was plead— for respite, for love, for an end to her pain. She was reduced to this residual ache, physically, mentally, everything hurt. She hadn’t prayed in years and yet now she found herself yearning for divine intervention.

She choked on her words, yet Valeria heard her loud and clear.

The statement made Valeria shake not only in sorrow, but in a cacophony of despair and rage.

“I’ll kill them.” Valeria’s voice carried a malevolent undertone, laced with venom and spite.

(Y/N) stilled, her eyes trailing to slightly meet Valeria’s despite the way the rest of her face was hidden behind Valeria’s shirt, “What?”

Valeria pulled her from her chest, cupping her hands around (Y/N)‘s cheeks. It was in this moment that she finally saw how bruised and swollen (Y/N)’s face was, the full extent at which those men had hurt her. A rage bubbled beneath Valeria’s skin. “I will kill each and every one of them, (Y/N).”

And it wasn’t perfect. Everything still hurt. (Y/N) still felt like she was splayed out on the floor with her guts ripped open. And yet, it was enough. The promise of healing— of fixing things, however violently things needed to be fixed. And so they sat like that, Valeria holding her lover as she sobbed, for the rest of the night, and many nights after that, as long as it took to heal.

Months later, Soap was working late at the base, filling out paperwork from a recent mission. It was likely he was the only one working this late in this part of the building. That’s why it surprised him to hear a voice from behind him.

“Working hard, soldier?”

He knew the voice, but he thought he had imagined it. He was shocked as he turned around and confirmed his suspicions. She was leaning on the desk behind him, arms crossed.

“Valeria,” he looked the woman up and down, scanning her for weapons, “Why are you here?”

She sat up from the table, uncrossing her arms, “I came to thank you.”

“Thank me? For what? I got you arrested.”

She raised an eyebrow, staring into his soul, “I know that. I’m talking about something different.”

His brows furrowed, “go on.”

“A few months ago you saved a woman who was being tortured for information.”

“(Y/N),” he confirmed.

She nodded, “(Y/N) is my girlfriend.”

His jaw nearly dropped at the statement. “She told me she didn’t have any connection to the cartel,” he frowned, slight betrayal ebbing at him.

Valeria shook her head, guilt coming back as she remembered (Y/N) sobbing the same thing to her, “She didn’t know, I hadn’t told her.”

That made him feel better, but he was still confused, “I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

Valeria’s tough attitude seemed to falter, “I just- Thank you. Thank you for saving her. I didn’t even know she was taken, I fear for what would have happened had she been there any longer.”

He nodded, “She’s a good person, never hurt her.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” And with that, Valeria walked right out of the military base— presumably the way she came in. Soap knew he should follow her, should track her down and capture her so she could be arrested. But when he thought back to (Y/N), he knew he could never do that to the poor girl. So he let her go.

[luimagines]

Still a shy poodle, but I wanted to share a WIP that I'm not sure I'll ever post.

Imagine reader joins the chain and Legend takes a liking to them. He isn't in denial, he absolutely knows he's crushing, but every time he catches himself looking at them or daydreaming about them he feels a flash of guilt because he can't let go of Marin. So he pushes his affection down deep and keeps them at arms length at all time.

Then they get hurt. He saw it happen. A lizalfos got behind them, and they didn't notice in time. He watched in horror as they fell, bleeding profusely from the head. Their body limp as they went unconscious. He yelled for Hyrule, as he sprinted to their side. Rage and guilt filling him as he fought the monster.

With nothing left to kill, he turned to them; adrenaline burning hot through his veins. Hyrule and Four were hovering over them, and a fairy danced around their head, frantically trying to mend your skull. Their eyes remained closed, body unmoving, except the shallow rise and fall of their chest.

Why? Why weren't they waking up. He didn't realize he was shouting until Warriors pulled him away; shaking his shoulders and telling him to calm down.

"There's nothing more to do than wait," Warriors told him. "It's on them now." Warriors looked at him with sympathy; having guessed the Vet's feelings long ago.

Legend wouldn't leave their side. He needed them to wake up. He begged Hylia, the three and any other being he could think of. "Please, please grant me this one thing. Let them come back."

Two days later they woke up. Confused and dazed the chain agreed that they were in no condition to move yet. Legend volunteered to stay with them, as the others got supplies. He refused to leave them alone, but he had no idea what to say after he had pushed them away for so long, but the silence was killing him, so he hesitantly called their name; pretending to be just checking up on them.

Still dazed they gave him a tired smile and a thumbs up. Legend smiled a little. "I'm glad you're okay," he said, softly. Almost too soft for you to hear.

They laughed. "Well the pretty redhead said Link needed me, so if course I had to be okay."

Link rolled his eyes. "Malon is going to be upset that a little hit to the head made you forget her name." Was it okay to joke about now that they knew they'd be alright? "Maybe lead with pretty if it gets brought up."

"I know who Malon is, Legend." Their grin grew a little dreamy. "No, the pretty redhead in the blue dress." Legend's heart nearly stopped. "She held me, told me you needed me still, but she'd hold and sing for me until I was ready."

Legend stopped breathing as you hummed a song that had haunted him for so long. He didn't realize he'd gotten up until he was right beside them. Didn't realize his own intentions until he put an arm around you, returning the dazed smile with a slightly watery one. He hummed the ballad until they fell asleep.

For the briefest moment as he looked up, he could have sworn he saw a flash of red and thought he heard a familiar voice on the wind telling him to hold the person in his arms close. Legend let his guilt wash away like the tears falling to the earth.

-🐩

Oh snap!

I like this a lot! What an interesting concept. Given what I was expecting, I too initially thought that mentioning Malon was a slip of the fingers. XD

I went back to see if I missed them being at Lon Lon until it made more sense in my head. I got it now.

Legend better let himself feel for Reader whole heartedly now. They held on just for him. Time to reciprocate now! >:D

[massivedrickhead]

“You haven’t been yourself” from the angst prompt list if you haven’t gotten it yet :)

Surprise! Bet you thought I'd given up on this prompt request (I had too) but I finally managed to pull something together.

I haven't really felt motivated to write at all for basically the whole year, and that really bums me out. So I'm trying my best to get back to some abandoned WIPs in the hopes that i'll get me out of this funk.

Apologies for the legth of time it has taken for me to get this out, I really hope it was worth the wait.

-

“You haven’t been yourself.”

Prompt taken from here

Read on AO3

-

“Are you even listening to me?”

Beca blinked and looked up from her phone. “Sorry,” she said. “What were you saying?”

“I was just asking if you’re okay,” Chloe said, frowning at the bags under Beca’s eyes. “You’ve been a bit quiet lately.”

“I’m fine,” Beca said, one hand rubbing at her tired eyes as she turned her attention back to her phone. “I’m always quiet.”

“Not like this,” Chloe said. Not with me, she wanted to add. “You just don’t really seem like yourself.”

Beca shrugged. “I’m fine,” she repeated, though she didn’t sound any more convincing a second time. “Work’s been busy.”

“Okay,” Chloe said, knowing she wasn’t going to get any more out of her. “I’m gonna go shower. Stacie text and asked us to meet her for drinks, are you coming?”

Beca shook her head. “I’ve got a lot of work to get done,” she said, frowning at her phone as she tried to clear the seemingly never-ending list of emails. 

Chloe resisted the urge to pull the phone out of her hand, and instead turned and headed to the bathroom, swallowing down her frustration as she all but slammed the door behind her. 

Beca didn’t even register the noise. 

Her list of unread emails was growing longer by the second, each one seeming more important than the last. 

She was in the same spot when Chloe emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, and she still hadn’t moved another thirty minutes after that, when a fully dressed Chloe was heading out the door.

“We’ll be in Albertini’s if you change your mind,” Chloe said.

“Uh huh,” Beca replied. “Have fun.”

The front door closed and Beca’s eyes remained fixed on her phone screen. 

She tried to read an email from her boss, but she couldn’t focus enough to take in the words. She read it top to bottom three times without taking in a single word of it.

She was too distracted by a throbbing headache that felt like it was pushing against the backs of her eyes. She was hungry too, and her back hurt from the hunched-over position that she’d spent most of the day in.

Her phone began pinging with messages from Stacie, no doubt chastising her for not coming to the bar, and five more emails had hit her inbox by the time she’d closed out the one she hadn’t been able to read from her boss. 

It felt like everyone wanted something from her lately. 

She felt pulled in too many directions.

Stretched too thin. 

Chloe said she hadn’t seemed like herself, and she was right. Beca wasn’t herself. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been. 

She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the itchy tiredness from her eyes, and pulled her attention back to the email.

Chloe arrived back at their apartment several hours later, a little buzzed but not drunk, and it surprised her to find Beca in the same position as when she left, as if time had been paused when she’d shut the apartment door.

Beca had looked up at the sound of the door opening, but her attention returned to her phone almost immediately. She’d made some progress on her emails, but not nearly enough to justify the length of time she’d spent on them.

“Have you really not moved the whole time I was gone?” Chloe asked, pouring herself a glass of water.

“I guess not,” Beca replied. “I didn’t even realise it had been that long.”

“Seriously, what is going on with you?”

It’s the tone of Chloe’s voice rather than the question that made Beca’s shoulders finally slump. Chloe sounded worried, and Beca hated that she was the cause.

“I… I don’t know,” Beca said. 

Chloe left the kitchen and joined Beca on the sofa. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“But something is wrong?” Chloe asked.

“Something feels wrong,” she said. “But I don’t know what. I don’t know why.”

Chloe let out a sigh and put her hand on top of Beca’s. “Okay,” she said. “How can I help?”

Beca opened her mouth but closed it again when no answer came. She shook her head and laughed. “I don’t know.”

“Have you eaten?”

Beca shook her head again.

“We can start there,” Chloe said. “I’m starving. Put that phone down and come help me make some ramen or something.”

Beca gave another quiet laugh but did as she was told. Chloe didn’t need her help making ramen, but Beca needed something to break this cycle she was stuck in. Something to focus on so she didn’t remain trapped in that indecision of what to do next.

“How’s Stacie?” Beca asked, following Chloe into the kitchen. 

“She’s good,” Chloe said. “She kept trying to set me up with guys at the bar.”

“Oh?”

“Uh huh,” Chloe said, smirking at the tone shift in Beca’s voice. “She doesn’t know I’m spoken for.”

“You didn’t think to tell her?”

“We said we’d do that together,” Chloe replied. “But you keep bailing on drinks.”

“I’m sorry,” Beca said, taking hold of Chloe’s hand and pulling her closer. “I promise I’ll come next week.”

“You’d better,” Chloe said. “Because if I have to politely turn down one more guy named Chad, I might lose it.”

[raccoonfallsharder]

an excerpt from Part Three Candied Apples. 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑

thievery in the garden.❤︎❤︎ ⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall masterlist | main masterlist

finally finished drafting the third (and final) part of ⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑ (a meetgroot), currently clocking in at 37 pages and 17,251 words of teasing, smut, and sentimental nonsense. is any of it good? who knows? but i should be done editing it and have it posted sometime next month (you can check the monthly forecast on july 1 and i should have a semi-concrete posting date by then). in the meantime, to whet your appetite...

fluff ✮ | spice ✩ | some smut ❤︎‬ | much smut ❤︎‬❤︎‬

18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 2/3 parts | wip | word count: pending.

“All right, sweetheart,” he croons, his mouth still just a breath from your jaw, from the soft needy flesh of your throat. You feel yourself sway toward him, but he shifts at the same time you do: pulling back, keeping himself just a whisper out of your reach. “Go on. Tell me what you’ve been thinking about, so I know what you like when I put my hands all over you.”

“I — I think about a lot of different things,” you manage to choke out. Your eyes flicker: catching him in your periphery, then casting back out over the city and the sparkling of its lights. You can see your rooftop community garden from here, and the ropes of plasma orbs draped like glittering diamond necklaces over the rows of growing things. You concentrate on it. Your breath feels shallow and thin, lungs straining with the weight of your need. “Sometimes I — sometimes I think about you being rough with me.” Maybe you shouldn’t say that. Maybe you should ask for gentle, for light touches and sweet words, for something romantic and soft. You do like romantic and soft, sometimes. But right now you’re so desperate — for touch, for his touch — right now you’re so greedy and needy and wanting — that any softer fantasies turn instead into bruising hands and welts left by claws, and thrusts so hard that your teeth click together in your dreams.

Admitting it aloud, though? You’re not sure you’ve ever been so humiliated in your life. Your eyes flutter closed in a wince, and your thighs clench under your ruffled skirt.

“Oh, yeah?” The drawl of his voice is low and entertained. He tsks. “Just like I thought — gettin’ yourself into trouble here, and too shy to do anything about it. You’re gonna have to be more specifical than that, princess.”

You bite your lip and hazard a sideways glance at him. “What — how—”

“What’s it like when you think about me—” His voice drops, turning predatory. “—being all rough with you?” 

“I — I don’t know.” Your breath feels even more tattered and frayed. “You seem — strong. I think you could maybe — throw me around if you wanted to?” God. You press your fingertips back into your cheeks, giving up the charade of pretending to being anything but mortified. “I guess — I’m not really sure how that would work since I’m so much bigger than you?”

He tilts his face in closer to you — a whisper of his fur against the back of your fingers. “Oh, I think I can figure it out.” Each word is bitten around a sharp-toothed smile. “So tell me more, shy girl. In these damp little daydreams of yours, do I got you on all fours?”

You hiccuping a gasp, knees suddenly wobbling at the image that flashes to the forefront of your mind. “Uhm, sometimes,” you whisper. “Other times, uhm — on my back? With, uhm, my knees folded up against my chest?”

He makes a sound in your ear — a sort of low, rumbling clicking noise. The edges of his fur vibrate against you. “Uh-huh. That sounds nice to me, angel. A real nice little thing you’re just aching to give me.” 

You swallow. 

“Anything else, when I take you rough?” It’s a purr, you realize — a true purr. You hadn’t known a purr could sound so dangerous. “You like getting your ass slapped, angel?” The endearment sounds like a taunt, now. 

You lick your lips. “I — I’ve never tried it before, but…” You trail off, everything in you furling so tight you can’t get the words out.

“But you think about it,” he finishes with a grin — so smug, so self-satisfied and sharp that you can feel it cramping your abdomen. Your eyes are wide on him when you nod, before they swerve away — trying to retain some last scrap of self-preservation.

Still, you can hear him chuckle — can feel it, teasing against the skin that’s crying out for him.

“You open to us trying a little bit of that, then?” he rumbles against you, tilting his head and dipping his nose deeper into the space between your neck and your shoulder — like he wants to nuzzle in, but won’t. He’s taunting you — maybe taunting himself too — and he’s close enough that you can pick up on the scent of him: something like juniper, and something like blackberries. Leather — probably from his uniform — and something sharp and smoky. You breathe it in greedily — take it into your lungs like you’d plant a garden of it if you could.

“M’not interested in smacking your face around,” the Captain adds, “but I’d slap just about any other part of you if you let me.” He pulls back, and from the corner of your eye, you can see his tongue run over his teeth — like he’s imagining tasting the warmth of your skin after it’s been struck a few times. “I’d frickin’ love to see you bounce, sweetheart.”

Your breath stutters out of your lungs in a shaky stumble that you try to crush back. Your fingers clutch rigidly at the edge of the wall. “I’d be okay with that,” you manage to squeak out, trying to reign in the thump of your heart on your breastbone.

His hand snaps out, black skin on black shadows, and he grips the line of your chin and turns your face abruptly toward him. It’s sudden, and maybe a little scary — your heart and belly both tumble inside you and you choke on a gasp — but it’s also the first time he’s really touched you beyond his knuckles teasing under your sundress-strap, and the featherlight bracelet of his fingers on your wrist. You immediately melt into his grasp. Everything inside you leans into him, until you dazedly think that he’s holding you up, just by his fingertips kissing your face. He startles at the way you sink into his demanding grasp — then lets another pitying smirk curl the corner of his mouth. 

“Needy little Terran pet,” he muses, stroking his thumb just once, back and forth along your jaw. You struggle to hold back the little whimper wisping up over your ribs, and you think at first that you’re successful — but he must see your throat working, because he laughs again: softly, this time, but meanly. 

“Gotta say though, angel, I’m not interested in what you’re okay with.” 

For the first time, his voice drops from a quiet, mocking sort of laughter and into something closer to a growl. It sounds dangerous, but your body doesn’t seem to realize that — or maybe it doesn’t care. Your skin prickles deliciously: every muscle straining for him, every cell lighting up and begging. 

“M’only interested in what’s gonna make you wet. And what’s gonna make you whine for more.”

Your mouth pools with saliva and you have to swallow. “W-what about you?” you whisper, and your voice is as shivery as new leaves in a manufactured Knowhere breeze, trembling on the play of shadow and soft glow, filtering over the rooftops and glimmering between the branches of Groot’s trees. “What did — what do you think about? What do you like?”

The threat in his voice drops away, but you’d be a fool to think for a moment that he isn’t still a predator in his own right. The smirk grows wider: unrepentant and leering. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” he purrs. “I like to run my frickin’ mouth.”

wind·fall /ˈwin(d)ˌfôl/ noun. an apple or other fruit blown down from a tree or bush by the wind; an unexpected piece of good fortune.

semi-shy touch-deprived reader tries to avoid meeting knowhere’s intimidating captain. is profoundly unsuccessful.

based on a prompt by @creativepromptsforwriting: The apartment she moved to has a beautiful, well-tended garden. After a while she finds out that her neighbor is the one tending to the plants and she decides to help him out one day.

⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall masterlist | main masterlist new! flower dividers & banners by @/saradika-graphics

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In Bloom 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, allusions to trauma, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After wasting much of your youth in a toxic situation, things are starting to look up. That’s until you meet a certain flower seller.

Characters: Cole Turner, short!reader

Note: My sweet pathetic man.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You’re silent as you walk next to Cole. He’s so much taller than you. The sun beats down and adds to the heat beneath your flesh. You fold your hands together as your eyes scan the fields and pollen tickles your nostrils. 

“So... you have a good week?” He asks, his voice crisp yet brittle. 

You nod, “mhm.” 

“Everything okay now?” 

“Uh...” you blink and shake your head. “I guess.” 

“Just that last time, you sort of... ran away from me. So if I did anything, I’d like to know so I can apologise,” he explains. 

“Oh no, you didn’t... do anything. It’s just me.”  

Another lull rises around you. You twine your fingers together and wring your hands until your knuckles hurt. He steps ahead of you as you approach the greenhouse. 

“It’s hot inside so if you need a break,” he says. “Let me know.” 

You nod and go through first as he waits. He follows and you look around at the tables full of long planters. Some are just sprouting, others are about to bloom, while others are overgrown. He points you along a row and you gratefully latch onto the distraction of the flowers. 

“You know, I was really looking forward to this,” he says. You glance at him in surprise. He grins and his blue eyes meet yours. “Really. I’m not just saying that. I don’t meet a lot of people very interested in all this. Or who know so much.” He turns and puts his hand on the table, “Maybe I forgot to say but your garden is beautiful. I can see all the care you put into it.” 

You look back to the pansies, “it’s Aunt Bev’s.” 

“Yeah, but she said you do all the work.” 

“She’s nice that way,” you shrug. 

“You’re too humble.”  

You shake your head and look closer at the petals. 

“You can touch. It won’t hurt them.” He says. 

“Oh, no, it’s...” you sniff. “Smells nice in here.” 

“Yeah,” he wipes his forehead, “but hot as hell.” 

“Ha, yeah,” you tug at the collar of your shirt. “A little.” 

“Well, you can look around as much as you like. And after, I’ll show you the loft.” 

You keep your eyes on the table, “the loft?” 

“Yeah, sure, it’s neat. You’ll like it,” he says. 

You continue to wander down as you admire all the different species and stems. Cole gives you your space. You’re thankful for that. Not just because it’s warm but because you’re not quite sure about all of this. He’s nice, his Aunt Jill too, but you’re just not used to all this. 

The longer you linger, the thicker the sheet of sweat that drenches your body. You feel it seeping into your clothing. You head back to the door and peer around. You don’t see him anywhere around.

Did he leave? Why would he do that? You don’t know where to go? You could get lost here! 

He pops up from behind a table, “oop, you all done?” He asks as he swipes back a shank of hair from his forehead. “I was just transferring some bulbs.” He bends and lifts a large planter up beside the others. The strength in that act further echoes your size difference once more. 

“Mhmm,” you confirm. “It must be a lot of work doing all this.” 

“I have help. Ma and Dad. They do what they can, you know? But I wish they wouldn’t. They deserve to enjoy their retirement.” He goes to the door and pushes it open. He holds it for you again. Outside, a breeze cools you. 

“Right,” you agree. 

“You know, if you got the time...” he begins then waves away his words. “Nah, you know what? I was just thinking out loud. Never mind.” 

“Wh-what?” You ask nervously. 

“Really, it’s nothing. I don’t wanna be too much. You know,” he hooks his fingers in his pockets and pushes his shoulders up. “I’ve been told I can be.” 

“Ah, er, right. Well... okay.” 

“Look, I should just ask,” he points you along, past the greenhouse. “I could use some help so you could maybe stop by and—I'd pay you. Obviously. It’s work. Is it like rude to offer you a job?” 

You stare at him. It’s unexpected but not really rude. It does make you feel lesser. You know it’s not his intent but you can put the puzzle together. He knows you don’t work, that Bev takes care of you, and a few extra bucks would be a help. Plus, it will get you out of the house. 

“Can I think about it?” You ask. 

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he agrees eagerly. “Take as long as you like.” 

“Erm, thanks. It’s nice of you to... ask.”  

The wind rustles the green grass as you sink back into nervous tension. He guides you along to a barn and you near curiously. He steps ahead of you and slides open the large door. He turns back and smiles at you. 

“Come on,” he beckons you with his hand. As he enters, he shrugs out of his denim jacket. He hangs it on a peg. “How about you? You wanna put your sweater up?” 

“Oh, I guess,” you look down at the crochet; it’s itchy from the heat. You slip it off and hand it over. His fingers brush yours as he takes it and hangs it over his jacket. 

“Just up there,” he points to the ladder. 

“Oh? Okay,” you eye the rungs and rub your palms together. 

“Need any help?”  

“Um, no, I can...” your voice trails off and you reach for the ladder. 

You climb and your uncertainty ascends with you. What are you doing here? You’re suddenly afraid at the realisation that you’re all alone. That you don’t know how you could get out if you need to or if anyone would hear you cry out. 

No, this is Cole. You don’t have any reason to expect that. Aunt Bev says things are different now. Not all people are bad. Not like your mom. 

Cole follows you up. You stand and look around the loft. You see the dim shapes of furniture set across the wooden slats. 

He shuffles by you and opens the window, pushing the doors outward. The sunlight streams in and limns the space. There’s a day bed on a worn rug right in the center, a table to one wall with chair, a basket of apples on top, and a shelf of books.  

“Sometimes I just need a space of my own,” Cole says. “I thought, I don’t know, you might like it. You seem like the type to appreciate solace... you’re so quiet.” 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“For what?” He blinks at you. His eyes catch the sun with a twinkle. His hair curls with the humid sheen on his skin.  

“For... being quiet.” 

“I don’t mind. I’m sorry for talking so much,” he grins. 

You nod and bite your lip. You look around and pace along the floor, each step creaking. You go to the shelf and browse the book spines. 

“Do you read a lot?” He asks. 

“Sometimes,” you answer. “More now...” More now that you don’t have to hide your books. 

“You got a favourite?” He comes up next to you. Close. Too close. You don’t want to embarrass him by stepping away. 

“I don’t know. I read... I read Murder on the Orient Express. It was interesting.” 

“Wow, that’s a good one,” he praises. “I’m kinda into anything. Don’t get much time to read but I take my moments.” 

“Mmm, yeah.” 

Again, silence. You look down. You don’t know what to do or say. You feel like you have to explain yourself. You’re making him uncomfortable. Your mother always told you how weird you are. 

“I--” 

“You--” 

You both try to speak at the same time. He gestures with his hand, “you first.” 

“I...” you breathe. “I only really hang out with my aunt so... so... so...” you start to panic. You’ve already said too much. 

“Hey, it’s fine. I spend all my time with plants and at the market. By the time I’m done selling, I’m too exhausted for friends,” he says. “So, no pressure. You never have to talk for no reason. It’s always quiet out here. It’s nice.” He stares at you a moment before he looks back at the shelf, “I’d say it suits you.” 

You exhale. You feel a little better but still on edge. You teeter on your feet. 

“Can we go back inside? I don’t want Aunt Bev to worry.” You utter. 

“Sure, of course,” he answers, “you’re gonna think about it? Working with me?” 

“Yeah, I’ll think.” You agree. 

He moves first. He goes the ladder and turns. He starts down as you approach. You follow as his boots hit the ground. You descend, rung by rung, but you can’t find the next as you get halfway. You slip and gasp, Cole echoing you. 

He catches you as you fall and flail. You let out a squeak as he holds you in his arms, hiking you up so you don’t drop. Your shoulder is crushed to his chest. He’s touching you. Your hair feels like it’s going to fall out of your head. 

“Um, sorry!” You squeak. 

“Don’t be. That was close,” he sounds breathless himself. “I’m just happy I caught you. You okay?” 

“Y-yeah...” you stutter. 

He stares at you and you gulp. You stare at the collar of his shirt. His throat bobs and you squirm. 

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckles and sets you on your feet. “There ya go.” 

“Thanks,” you cling to his arm as you steady yourself. You let go and fold your arm against your chest, hugging it with your other. 

“Come on,” he says and puts his hand behind you, not touching you.  

You emerge from the barn back into the yellow daylight. There’s a steady hum of insects and the soft flow of wind. You follow the beaten path back to the house. He lets you up the steps first and you go inside. He’s right behind you as you enter. 

“Sweetie,” you aunt surprises you as she appears in the archway to your left. “There you are! Did you see all the pretty flowers?” 

“Mhmm,” you nod and give a tight-lipped smile. 

“Everything alright? You look flustered?” Jill nears from behind her. 

You keep nodding. Cole laughs softly, “she had a bit of a slip but she’s okay. Maybe a bit of the heat getting to her too.” 

“Oh yes, it’s so hot today,” Jill agrees, “honey, how about something to drink? Maybe one of those delicious muffins you made?” 

She comes to you and squeezes your arm. You flinch and pull away. You’re still tense from falling. Right into Cole’s arm. You swear you can smell him.  

“Mom,” he warns. 

She looks down at her hand and retracts it, “sweetie, I’m so sorry. I forget. I can be so touchy-feely.” She shows her palms. “I’m surprised Cole’s keeping his hands to himself. He’s the worst for it, you know?” 

“Ma,” he coughs again. 

“Oh, that sounds worse than it is,” she cackles. “No, what I mean is he’s just a hugger, you know? He’s always been one. And he does give the best hugs.” 

“Ma,” he says a third time. 

“Right, right,” she huffs, “so, how about some iced tea?” 

You look at her, then Aunt Bev. You’d hate to be rude and you are a bit thirsty. Especially after being out in the dry heat. 

“Yes, please, thank you,” you say. 

“Not at all, sweetie,” she smiles, “Cole, would you like some?” 

“Sure, ma,” he says, “thanks.” 

Jill preens and struts away. Aunt Bev comes closer, “I am so happy you two are getting along. Oh, Cole, thank you for showing her around.” 

“Not at all. You know, I don’t get to show off very often.” 

“Really? But this place is so pretty. Isn’t it, dear?” She asks. 

You blanch then nod vehemently. You just want to fade into the background. You’d hope with your aunt and Jill, it’d be easier to do that. 

“Oh, and your muffins are fabulous. You really should have one,” she insists. 

You try to smile but your cheeks pinch tightly. 

“You know, I might just do that,” Cole intones. “Can I get you one?” 

You shake your head. He lingers, waiting for an answer. You choke out your voice at last, “no, thanks.” 

“Right,” he accepts and turns away. 

You peek over at Aunt Bev as she smiles after him. She likes him. If she likes him, he can’t be very bad. She’s not always so happy either. Especially since you came around. More often, she’s worried. You don’t want to always be a problem for her. 

“Um, Aunt Beverly,” you say, “I... Cole said I could come help out. He’ll pay me.” 

Her brows rise and she turns to you, “oh, really? And you want to?” 

You stare at her. You don’t know that you want to but you know you should. 

“I’ll do it,” you say at last. “I like the flowers.” 

[nyxronomicon]

CAPTURED. WITH JING YUAN. I NEED TO KNOW.

this was supposed to be porn but i wrote almost 3000 words of plot and they don't even kiss! anyway just bc i like you here's the entire wip

send me a wip and i'll post something about it!

jing yuan x stellaron hunter!reader

cw: enemies to lovers vibe (though i never got to the lovers part lol), lots of swearing, reader is sarcastic & pessimistic, mentions of suicide (falling to death)

.

Captured. It was honestly kind of embarrassing. Of course, the same fate has befallen Kafka and Blade, but that was expected. Your role was to stay unseen, to let them distract the general while you carried out your part of the plan.

That soft smirk on his face when you literally bumped into him. You instantly wished you were paying more attention to where you were going rather than making sure you weren't followed. Then maybe you could have avoided getting caught. Although he looked a little different from the photo, this was undoubtedly Jing Yuan, the General of the Xianzhou Luofu.

"Oh?" He chuckled. "And who might you be?" The iron grip on your wrist suggested this was a rhetorical question, not that you were going to answer. He just smiled, your silence answering the question just as well as your words could have.

"I'm afraid I'll have to take you into custody." His smile was almost apologetic. It was infuriating. He was infuriating. You opted to continue your silence, seeing how this was uncharted territory.

He was gentle with you despite the fact that you were an intergalactic criminal. It was odd, to say the least. This wasn't the first time you were caught like this, but it was by far the most pleasant. He simply boarded a starskiff with you, taking you to aeons know where. You weren't even cuffed, not that there was anywhere you could run to at this point.

You watched your captor as the starskiff glided through the air. You'd seen pictures of him in the briefing, but none of them did him justice. He was incredibly hot, his long silver hair flowing gently in the breeze, framing his strong jaw and that stupid smirk he still wore. Your eyes trailed down his form, noting muscles that could only be maintained with daily training. Despite the situation, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about how attractive he was.

Maybe if you hadn't chosen this life, you could have found someone noble like him to spend your days with.

You shook off those thoughts, reminding yourself that you weren't bound and could make a run for it as soon as you docked. You needed a game plan. You didn't really know where you were, but you could get help from HQ if only you could escape. So as you felt the starskiff slow and the cloud knights busy themselves by hitching it to the dock, you jumped off the boat and ran.

You bolted down the only path you could find, but were quickly met with a dead end and the voice of the general.

"You didn't really think it would be that easy to escape, did you?" He chuckled. You looked over the ledge to the fall below, not realizing he'd approached you from behind until you felt his body against yours. He grabbed your wrists in one hand, easily restraining you with his strength. Not that there was much of a point in making a run for it again.

"I guess I should have figured there would be nowhere to go from here." You finally spoke.

"Don't worry." You could hear the smile in his voice as he firmly pushed the back of your head with his spare hand, forcing your gaze down to the foggy abyss. "Falling would be a fate far worse than what we have to offer here."

"Is this not a prison?" You hissed back at him.

"It is. But at least you’ll live. And I promise this is better than the other prisons you’ve been to." So he did know you. He didn't just stumble upon you by accident, he was looking for you. It was no wonder how he captured the other two so easily.

-

General Jing Yuan had thrown you in a cell days ago. You hadn’t spoken to a soul since, only knowing the hands that brought you meals three times a day. Admittedly, the cell was much nicer than any of your past prison stints, although the others had their gaps in security that this one just didn’t seem to have. Even if you made it out, Jing Yuan made it clear that you’d need a starskiff to get anywhere.

You were stuck.

Not knowing the status of the other Stellaron Hunters made this all worse, and none of them knew what happened to you, either.

Not that they could help you if they did.

You sighed.

The silence of the cell was deafening.

You heard footsteps. The droll pacing of whatever poor Cloud Knight guarded these cells, most likely. You laid back on the hard cot trying not to think about how dismal the situation was.

"Bored already?" A familiar voice spoke through your cell door. Your eyes darted to the small opening where you could see locks of silver hair spilling over Cloud Knight armor.

"Did you come to keep me company, General?" Your voice was hoarse. Apparently, that happens when you don’t use it. "Pretty sure that’s against the rules." You watched the window, your only glimpse of the outside world.

"Is it?" He chuckled and leaned down, his eyes finding yours through the bars. "Luckily, I’m the one making the rules here." He sported another infuriating smirk.

"Fuck off." You scoffed, looking at the ceiling.

"Come now," He tsked at you. "You’re leaving me hanging after I came all the way out here to visit you?"

"You just want to know what the Stellaron Hunters are planning, right?" You sighed. "I’m not a snitch."

"I never accused you of such." He was so nonchalant. You wished there was a warning in his file about how punchable he was.

"Then what could you possibly have come here for?" You glanced back at the window momentarily before looking up again.

"Kafka seems to have escaped." Jing Yuan smiled.

"She did?!" You immediately sat up, staring at his infuriating grin.

"We were wondering if you have any information to offer. We can make a deal." He was completely unreadable. He seemed all too casual about this, but he was like that about everything, from what you could tell.

"What kind of deal?" You knew you shouldn’t even ask, but you were feeling lonely and bored with no one to talk to, so you just wanted to extend the conversation.

"So you have information that might be valuable to us, then?" Jing Yuan stood again, his chest taking up the window as it did when he first spoke.

"I might." You said too much. Still, you didn’t really plan to say anything more.

"Good." He chuckled. "We’ll keep you here a bit longer, then. And how stupid do you think we are? Let Kafka escape?" His laugh was heartier now. "Yeah, right."

Shit.

"You lied." You hissed, trudging up to the little window to get a good look at him.

"You trusted me." That fucking smile was maddening. You wanted to strangle him. "That was your first mistake." He paused for a moment, clearly imperceptive of the growing fury on the other side of the cell door. Either that or completely apathetic. "Well, I guess your first mistake was watching your back instead of your front." He sauntered down the hall with one last quip. "Made my job a lot easier, though."

-

Time didn’t really mean anything to you anymore. You could count the meals, but there was no point. Jing Yuan visited you occasionally, but there was no pattern to it from what you could tell. He mentioned a while ago that Kafka and Blade were gone, so you were all alone here. Today felt especially quiet until you heard the familiar gait of the general.

"I’m tired, Jing Yuan." You said when you heard the footsteps stop at your door. You didn’t even need to look to know it was him. "How long have I been here?"

"Do you really want to know?" He was already bent to look through the window, seeing you laying on the cot like usual. You thought for a minute.

"Yes." You looked at him through the window, seeing an empathetic smile. Something about it always ignited your anger again. He was holding you here for no reason. He never even questioned you about your activity. You couldn’t even remember what crime you committed other than being a Stellaron Hunter.

"Its new year’s today." He watched your expression carefully. Two months. You’d been in captivity for two months. "I thought you might appreciate the company."

"Liar." You’d taken to calling him a liar whenever he extended an olive branch. It was more of a reminder to yourself not to take him at face value.

"C’mon." He chuckled. "That was one time. Can’t I feel a little empathy for my favorite prisoner on a holiday?"

"Favorite prisoner?" You scoffed. "What kind of title is that?"

"You don’t like it?" He tilted his head, reminding you how badly you wanted to strangle him.

"Yeah. I love being reminded how trapped in this hellhole I am." Your voice dripped with sarcasm. He chuckled again, each time it got more grating.

"I brought you something." Jing Yuan was as unreadable as ever.

"How generous of you." You sat up on the cot, hoping it was something to eat other than dry rice.

You watched as the general pulled out a pair of fancy handcuffs with a wide grin, holding them in front of the window. They were intricately carved, but still unmistakably sturdy.

"You’re kidding." You sighed.

"I’m not." Jing Yuan always seemed so amused, you wanted to wipe that smirk off his stupid face. Was he purposefully trying to anger you? There’s no way it wasn’t intentional at this point. "The fireworks are in an hour. I thought I’d take you to the roof to see them."

"Pass." You scowled.

"I thought you were dying to get out of here." He grinned. "This might be your last chance for a while."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"You’re wanted on a lot of planets. That’s gotten your case caught up in quite a bit of bureaucracy. It could be months before there are any changes to your situation, and it’s likely it’ll only get worse." He lowered the cuffs out of your view, looking directly at you through the barred window. "I’m afraid this will be your last chance for fresh air for a while."

You looked at him, weighing your options. As much as you loathed the thought of spending the new year with him, you felt like you were going insane in that room. Maybe later you could headbutt him or something just for the satisfaction.

"Why are you doing this?" You finally asked, wondering if he had an ulterior motive.

"It would be a shame for you to miss the new year." He simply smiled. What a stupid reason. There was a dash of melancholy to his voice that you couldn’t quite place, like maybe taking you out like this would mean more to him than it did to you.

You wanted to reject him on principle, but he was right. You hadn’t been outside in two months and you were desperate for a change in scenery. He seemed so empathetic towards you, maybe you could even inspire him to do this again. Or give you better food. Aeons, the things you’d do for better food…

"Fine." You muttered. You could hear the metal latches shift as Jing Yuan unlocked your cell door. This was the first time you’d seen it open since getting thrown in here. He casually walked over to you, opening the handcuffs. You stood, begrudgingly allowing him to cuff you.

The metal was cold on your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body. You hadn’t been this close to another person in months. It was like you forgot what it felt like to touch someone. The brush of his fingers on your skin… you hated to admit it to yourself but it felt really nice. Warm. Inviting.

He finished cuffing your hands behind your back and wrapped a hand around your elbow. "Shall I escort you?" He chuckled, his good spirits as infuriating as ever.

"I can walk just fine." You tugged your arm away from him.

"So be it." He shrugged. "I’ll note that there are Cloud Knights stationed throughout the jail, so there’s no point in trying to escape."

"Yeah, yeah." You rolled your eyes.

He tried to make idle chatter on the way to the rooftop, but you were busy taking in the new scenery. The halls were empty and labyrinthine, and even as you tried to memorize the route, it got jumbled in your mind.

You arrived at an elevator, which Jing Yuan called using his fingerprints. Just another insurmountable barrier to your escape.

"You're not listening to me." He said when you got in.

"No." You scoffed. "I don't really like you."

He feigned offense at your words. "I'm your only regular visitor and you don't like me?" The general pouted.

"You're the one who locked me up." You sighed, leaning against the elevator door. "You don't get to be my friend and my captor."

"I see." He laughed that infuriating laugh again. It was like everything you said was a joke. Like he never took you seriously. And yet…

You stomped on his foot. As he recoiled away, you closed the space between you, getting in his face.

"Is this a fucking joke to you?" You growled. Despite having him cornered in the elevator, he was still taller than you. Stronger than you. And he knew it too with the nonchalant smile he wore, even now. "What am I, your little trophy prisoner? The Stellaron Hunter left behind?"

"The Stellaron Hunter left behind…" Jing Yuan repeated your words. "I guess Elio knew this would happen to you, too." The elevator door opened to a small room.

"Whatever the reason, it couldn’t be helped." You shrugged. His tone made you more irate than usual. Maybe you were feeling defensive. The thought had crossed your mind many times in that cell, but you remembered Elio’s words. His gentle tone, his unshakeable confidence, and an intimate focus on you and your worries accompanied them. In time, you will know that this, too, is destiny’s plan.

"Do you really believe that there’s nothing they could do?" Jing Yuan spoke, unlocking the door in front of him. He opened it, the soft natural light spilling in. The air smelled so different, so fresh. You almost wanted to forgive the general for dragging Elio through the mud.

"Maybe they’ll pluck me right off this rooftop. I’m sure Elio knows we’re here." You hissed, glaring at him as he held the door open for you. "Maybe I’ll jump. Destiny is a cruel mistress, as they say." You smirked, wondering what would happen to Jing Yuan if you died because of such a frivolous activity.

He laughed.

The fucking General of the goddamn Xianzhou Luofu laughed at your escape plan.

The sound grated on your ears. Did he have any idea how annoying he was? It was so patronizing how little he thought of you. Just the idea that Destiny’s Slave would come back for you was funny to him, and you were facing a life sentence if not the death penalty! How sick and cruel destiny was to make you spend what could very well be your last moments outside with a man like him.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt: the last son of Krypton meets Hypertime Kon.

“Half-Kryptonian, half-human,” Bruce reports flatly, clearly not liking the answer. Clark feels his heart clench painfully in his chest again at the confirmation, even as obvious as it was to his eyes. “Specifically, fifty-four percent Kryptonian to forty-six percent human.” 

“I think it’s more like fifty-two and forty-four, technically,” Kon says. Bruce looks irritated again, but Clark’s immediately curious, since that obviously doesn’t add up to a full hundred percent and also he just wants to know everything about this kid. “They custom-built the last four percent or something, I guess, so it’s kinda . . . synthetic DNA, probably? Or something, I dunno. That’s where the TTK and the part where I haven’t collapsed into clone soup comes from, though. Apparently, anyway.” 

Clark feels briefly nauseous at the mention of collapsing into . . . “clone soup”, which just leads to all sorts of horrifying mental images, but Kon says it casually, as if it’s not an actual concern and more just a morbid reference, which is . . . still concerning, admittedly, but at least less concerning than it could be. If he’d had to watch Kon degenerate to death while knowing his other version would never even know what had happened to him . . . 

That sounds like a literal goddamn nightmare come to life, yes. And he can’t imagine being that version of himself, either, and just never, ever knowing. Just having that empty place in his life forever, and never knowing why it had happened or what had happened to the person who belonged in it, and just hoping against hope, without knowing it was already too late. 

God, what a thought. 

“Satisfied, Batman?” Clark asks, trying not to think about it. They’ll get Kon home. If there isn’t a way to track down his home reality with science, magic is still on the table. The League is full of resourceful, well-connected people who are owed a lot of favors, and someone always knows someone.

“Not even remotely,” Bruce replies, stepping away from the scanners and gesturing Kon towards Diana. “Lasso.” 

“Batman . . .” Clark sighs, folding his arms. “You’re three Robins deep and they’ve never had to answer to the Lasso of Truth.” 

“None of them showed up already wearing a bat on their chest and claiming ties to one of the most singularly powerful people on Earth,” Bruce retorts flatly. “And even if he’s telling the truth, for all we know this boy’s Superman is a supervillain.” 

“He is definitely not, actually,” Kon says, shooting him a dubious look as he folds his own arms the exact same way Clark just did. Clark resists the urge to take the imitation as flattery. Bruce looks exasperated, very briefly.

“Then you won’t mind telling Wonder Woman’s lasso that,” he says. 

“Robin would tell me to ask for a lawyer, I’m pretty sure,” Kon says, still more dubious. Bruce looks very exasperated. 

“Well, he isn't wrong,” Diana says, clearly amused.

[darkkitty1208]

on fic writing and fandom: where am i going forward?

So. It's a bloody dull Friday and I'm writing this post--have been meaning to, for a while--because I can't stop thinking about it. It's just a few (a lot, actually) thoughts I've had in my mind the past few days that I've decided to spill into a single post, which turned out far longer than it needed to be, but nothing too important. Under the cut.

I've been a fanfic writer for a while now. Not a long time by any means, but a while nonetheless. My first fic--which is now orphaned like a few of its brothers for undisclosed reasons, though if you're an og you might be able to guess why--was dated back to the 18th of November 2021. 3 years later and I've got a humble 89 works and counting (the orphaned works and unposted wips unincluded). I can safely say I've improved quite a lot since then.

Where are you going with this, then, Kitty? Surely you aren't here just to brag about your writing progress?

Well. Not exactly. But I'll start with this: I guess what I'm trying to say is I've lost the spark.

You know. The old feeling. That boost of serotonin you get after you finish a piece you're proud of, or when you get lovely reviews on ao3, or when you get a kudos email, or a new mutual, or some wild tags under your silly post. The spark. I haven't felt it in a long time, now. The last time it's been so palpable was... I'm not sure. Probably last year's October. That was a lot of fun. I was most prolific in fic writing, that year. It shouldn't feel like a long time ago. Because it wasn't.

Don't get me wrong. I love all this. All that's going on right now. The comments I'm getting--even if fewer than I had before--and all the other interactions, I appreciate and enjoy and love them so, so much. And writing my newer fic projects are well exciting. But it just isn't the same anymore. I'm afraid it never will be.

(Maybe it has something to do with the lack of interactions lately. Maybe? I don't really know, either. I'm sure we're all well aware the fandom is past its peak, and with the current developments in the MCU I am frankly unsurprised, but I dunno.)

I guess that's part of the reason I've been less active lately. I've been inactive as a whole this year, admittedly, and disappearing far too often for far too long (and I notice some of my friends are, too). I just didn't get the same joy from being in a fandom like I had when I first started this blog, or my ao3 account.

In hindsight, I've probably been a little too dependent on fandom to provide me serotonin. The past few years have been hard, the years before that, too. Life just keeps kicking me in the arse time and time again. I guess I've been using fandom and fic writing as a coping mechanism, and once I've had my fill, the joy dies off to something a little more dull. Like a gum I've been chewing for too long that the sweetness has since worn off.

Honestly? I don't want it to be this way. I want to live without being so dependent on my presence online. I want to live without only knowing joy through internet interactions. I've got to learn to. It sounds silly, but it's true. (I think I may be slightly chronically online, oh no. x'D)

So naturally my first instinct is to distance myself a little. I contemplated quitting, but I can't do that. I don't see myself ever doing that, no matter how many times my brain convinces me that I might.

When this year started, I had set some goals for writing. One of them was to write for more whumptober prompts than I did last year or complete them all. I did like 21 prompts or something last year. Of 31. Within a little more than a month. While still balancing all the life stuff I had going on. This is, if not obvious, an extremely ambitious goal. I am not insane. I don't know what I was thinking. I can't possibly do that now, can I? Not with all the stuff that's been happening.

...

Can I?

...

Yeah, no. Definitely not.

See, that's another thing: writing. Probably the thing I'm trying to get at in this post but otherwise derailed completely from. Fuck my brain.

I'm sure many of you have noticed that I've been writing significantly less. I still post, obviously, but not as much as like, last year when the number of works I had went from a few to far too much. That had helped me improve quite a lot, actually, but those days I barely slept because I just insisted to replace my sleep time with Writing Shit For The Gays. It was pretty unhealthy now that I look back at it. My sleep schedule is still shit now but, yk. Some things just never change.

I was really, really caught up on wanting to be good at writing. Like, really good. I wanted to make awesome things. I wanted to write like a real fucking pro. Like all the more popular fandom authors I look up to. I want to be like the big dogs in fandom. It sounds so silly. I did everything; sprinting daily, setting a minimum of 500 words writing sessions every day, trying new writing styles, churning out works after works, writing for prompts and events and gifts and the like. I was enjoying it, yes, but was it really something I did for myself? Or was it because I wanted to please other people or impress other people for their validation, which is something I'm entirely too dependent of? Was it for the numbers?

Well. It was more for that than for me, I realised a little too late.

So yeah. Fuck wanting to be good. I want to write for the hell of it. I want to write something that's for me. Not what the majority of the fandom or other people want to read, but for me. Which is why I absolutely loved writing works like just a matter of time, how to kill a god, or how to become a god, because they're not meant for other people but myself. (Ironically that last work is a gift but, yk. I still liked it.) I know I joke about self-projecting a lot, but it's been seriously helping me rediscover the joy of writing that doesn't come from the incessant need to be good or perfect or focus on producing more and more and more. It makes me feel like a kid again. Also, I'm only realising this now but I'd rather get like 5 people who enjoy reading my works so much and express them to me rather than 100 people who silently thumbs up at me and then go away to consume another fic or demand more. (All this to say I still love interactions, it just shouldn't be my no. 1 priority to get them when writing fanfics.)

But yeah. None of those works are perfect. They're not meant to be. But they're mine. They're me. They represent me. And it's so, so great to feel that in writing. I've been so stuck up on being some sort of content machine. I'm doing this for myself, how could I forget? I've been saying this since the beginning, I don't know why I'm still struggling to do it. God. It's ridiculous.

Anyway. That's that. This has become a very long ramble. Thank you for listening to my Ted Talk. And for letting me waste your time, if you make it to the end of this post.