#he'll be stepping up and raising fists about it

[bipunkharrington]

I try to respect everyone's interpretation of characters but I really do struggle to read fics where Theo says stuff about Eloise being worth so much more that him because of her position in life and about him not being worthy of her because he can't afford to give her a life of luxury

He's canonically a politically minded rebel who couldn't give a toss about her "station in life" and that's what she likes about him 😂

[dawnwriterimagines]

The Verdict Due

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x FEM!READER

Traitors Among Us (Part 1)

Innocents Among You (Part 2)

The Guilty Plea (Part 3)

Clear Skies (Part 5)

Summary: You head to Laswell to talk on the rest of your now ruined military career. Of course, you're forced to confront your team as it happens, the last people on earth you'd like to see.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

Simon's steps are slow, lacking energy or purpose. Releasing the buckles strapping his vest down to him, he finally arrives to his door, lifting the camo from himself.

His forehead pressing into the wooden door, he finds it harder and harder to open everyday, seeing reminders of you every moment of everyday, when he closes his eyes, when he lays down in bed. Hell when he opens the door. He hated this room now.

Outside of the place that you both had made your home away from war, from battle, from the base, this was where the two of you had once spent most of your time.

He raised his head off the door, before bringing it back down on it, then doing it again, this time hard enough to hurt. "Fuck," he cursed, cursing himself, his stupid decisions, the times he'd never get back, the mistakes he'll never be able to erase. Huffing out bitterly, squeezing his eyes shut, he's still for a moment, before banging his fist against the wall. "Fuck!" There's a crackle along the wall, a clatter of dust and dried paint hitting his feet.

A shuddered breath leaves him, swallowing down his grief, his anger at himself. But, he can't help it. He's ruined everything.

Simon's head stays there against the doorway, he doesn't want to go in.

His head turns a bit, seeing a figure down the hallway, straightening up, dark eyes squinting. "Johnny?"

Quiet and Still. The Scotsman's mouth is set in a hard line, he runs a hand down his face, smearing the mess he'd made of himself. "I..." he breathes deeply. "I saw her today."

"You what?" Simon perks up, eyes wide. He looks past his comrade, seeing the open doorway of your room, "She's here," he speaks, voice alight and hopeful. Making his way past Johnny, "She's here?" he asks this time, bracing himself at her doorway.

But, the room is a mess and void of you. He'd nearly forgotten how the soldiers had left it, the day it happened he could watch it, it would've been too finalizing of what he thought was your betrayal. Today was meant to be the day they'd clean it all up, due to plaguing themselves with missions and ops that required long weeks, long hours. No one wanted to think about what they'd done.

But, now they'd only made another mistake in waiting too long. And now you had to be greeted by this mess.

"I didn't know it was--" Johnny couldn't turn back to the room, back to Simon, as he spoke. "I didn't know we did so much to her. I thought--how long--how could I--" he shakily began. "--how could you?" Simon's eyes flicker to his friend, dark circles and sunken cheeks seem to worsen. "She was so...she couldn't even look at me, Si. Like I'd make her sick, like I'd--hurt her again...I've never--" his fingers claw at his chest, hoping to rip away the ache in his heart, eyes haunted to tears and staring into the dark of his memory as he thought back. "I'd never--" he can't finish.

"She was here?" Simon asked again.

Johnny's clouded eyes look to Simon, opening his mouth before opting for nodding. Clearing his throat, finally seeming to get a handle on himself, "Just left."

"She what?" Simon bolts out towards the stairs, pushing through the doorway and jumping down the first flight to rush through the rest.

As he gets to the lobby floor, he shoves through the door, revealing the hallway to him, running down the long stretch before ramming into the side wall to catch himself at the corner. He continues down the way, running as fast as he's able, before bursting through the side doors of the front lobby.

He sees you immediately, beyond the glass doorways.

"(Y/n)..."

He's running before he can think to get his legs moving.

---

Leaving the dormitories, finally leaving behind the spare hospital wear that you had swapped for your own clothes, you waved down the first vehicle you'd seen.

The driver letting you into the truck, the two of you unaware as he begins to drive off, Simon shoving his way through the residential doors and coming to a stop in the middle of the street as you drive away.

You, having hopped a ride with one of the soldiers making his rounds, the Jeep shakes with the changing terrain, providing more conversation than the trooper that was much too quiet. Shifting his shoulders, adjusting his fingers around the leather, glancing one too many times through the mirror.

It was getting weird. But, you were a familiar face on the base, unfortunately now, it used to be because you were good at your job, the best sniper they had on the force. But now, it was because you were the first proclaimed traitor of the force in decades and the first to be wrong about.

So, the new attention is nothing to be pleased about.

"Find something interesting to look at, soldier?"

Back straightening, body stiffening and eyes facing the road, the trooper swallows thickly at having been caught eyeing you. "No, ma'am!"

"Then I suggest you keep your eyes on the road."

"Yes, ma'am!" clearing his throat. "Sorry, ma'am, I don't mean to stare."

Arms crossed, head turned to watch the smaller buildings go by, your jaw clenched. "It's fine..." you breathe, before relaxing a bit more as the drive goes farther and farther away from the residential areas. Eyes flickering over to the still tense trooper, you mutter. "Ease."

His shoulders drop, head turning, flustered. "Sorry, ma'am."

It was always strange to be called 'Ma'am' by fellow soldiers, usually you were only a year or so apart, others you had been younger by ten years or older by five. But, this trooper was new to the force, young, clearly still jumpy, you had been the same after your first missions on the Task Force.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the trooper then speaks, shakily.

"You don't have to keep--"

"About what happened to you," he continued. "I'm not sure if you heard that yet, but it's--that sounds--I can't imagine. I'm sorry that happened to you."

For a moment too long you're quiet, holding your breath, staring at the scenery as it whistled on past, the wind whipping through your hair. Your nails tearing into your skin as you rake them over your scars, smearing the line of blood left after ripping out your IV line, abandoning it as you found a ride.

"Get any cool scars out of it, at least?" he jokes, lightheartedly.

Your eyes snap his way, his eyes widening before he looks back to the road, back to stiff.

You open your mouth to speak, but you can't. You're just angry, too angry to find the words. But, you don't want to take it out on him, he was just attempting to alleviate whatever burden he imagined to be on your shoulders. But, all it was was a reminder, this was all anyone could think of anymore, when it came to you, this ordeal.

The apologies, the reminders, the quiet looks, the whispers, the fucking gnawing pain still splintered through your spine, you were tired of it.

The car pulls up to the largest administrative building on the base camp, hopefully you were right and this was where Laswell was posted up.

Quickly pulling the car handle as the trooper steps out of the vehicle to assist you, you hurriedly speak as he reaches to touch you. "I've got it," you hiss out, harsher then you meant. Stepping down and off the platform, onto the sidewalk, you forget you don't have your IV pole to at least stabilize you. So, when you stumble, he grabs your arm, his other resting on your shoulder.

"Woah!" his grip lacks gentleness, though not bruising, it's enough to set you off.

Your arm goes back and over his arm, shrugging him off, roughly. "I said I got it!" Your palm pushing into his shoulder and sending him back and off of you, he shifts back and nearly off his feet, catching himself.

"Alright, jeez!"

You're stumbling back into the light pole luckily a few steps behind you, leaning yourself against the cemented metal, you balance yourself. Shaking off the buzz in your ears and rubbing away the tension built along your skin, taking a few shuttered breaths, turned away from the soldier.

The trooper takes a few steps away from you, expression lifted to frustration and annoyance, rolling his eyes, brows furrowed and back pedaling to the Jeep. "Fucking crazy," he mutters to himself, adjusting his gear and stepping up back to the vehicle.

But, he doesn't make it very far until you're on him.

"What the fu--!"

Taking the opening of his kevlar and yanking him out of the vehicle, unable to catch himself fast enough to get to his feet. You hold a steel grip on the collar of his uniform, literally holding him up by his straps, pulling his entire bodyweight off the ground, leaning down so you're face to face with him. "Say it again," you snapped, eyes dark and boring into his skull. "I wanna have a good excuse for what I'm about to do to you."

He was taller, probably stronger, but looking up at you, he could see the years of mayhem and chaos that's burned itself into your irises, made you the lieutenant he'd tripped up on properly respecting. "I didn't--I didn't say anything! I'm sorry, ma'am, it won't--it won't happen again!"

Nostrils flared, eyes flickering between his wide, fearful ones, your hands loosen around his gear. He falls forwards, landing on his forearms with a groan, releasing a relieved breath.

He looks up, watching as you turn and make your trek into the building. You had seemed so fragile before, with a limp in your walk, scars head to toe and those braces along your legs, he assumed you had no fight in you. He couldn't have imagined, five minutes, he'd be wrong.

---

"Laswell."

The Station Chief turns, manila folder files in hand, brows raised at the intrusion before her eyes widen at the sight of your tired figure.

"Gray..."

You don't wait to be invited inside, instead pulling up a chair as you let the door close behind you. Not fully out of a lack of respect but your legs were killing you and surely if you wait a second longer you'll literally tear a muscle. "You free?"

"Never. But, I can make time," she answers. "Is something wrong?"

You bite down on your tongue. What isn't wrong.

"I put in a request for council in resignation, ma'am. I'm just here to know if it went through."

"I did...receive your request," The woman is still quite surprised to see you, a bit off put at your presence, hearing about your scars was one thing, seeing them was another. "Of course. Though, I expected you to wait for my call before deciding to come to me."

"I'm sure," you feigned a slight chuckle that faded as soon as it started. You say nothing else but stare.

Laswell sighs, tossing down the folder she'd been holding. "Look, Lieutenant Gray--"

"Just (L/N)," you gritted out. "Please." You couldn't stand your codename at the moment, you didn't want to carry a single thing this team had given you.

"Lieutenant..." Laswell pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the long table, facing you, "You've accomplished much on the force, saved lives, eliminated threats that had the potential to level the united nations, your honors and distinctions. At the very least, here, your guidance is a treasure..."

"I'd like my resignation to be approved, Chief--"

Laswell continues. "I need you to careful think about what you're doing here, Gray--(L/n). I don't want you to be motivated by what's happened to you, you still have a place on the force, it doesn't have to be beside your team. Don't waste your talents in the field because of this experience."

"Experience," You scoffed at the word, nose cringing up in disgust at the downplay. "I didn't go on a rollercoaster at Disney World, god--I was tortured by my team for weeks while my fiancé threatened to kill me afterwards..." you were about to lose your mind. "What makes any of you think I'd want to stay here? Why can't any of you just respect my decision to leave? I'm resigning."

Laswell settles back into her chair, lips pressing together, she makes a hum of a sound. "I can arrange a transfer," she compromised. "But, my authorization goes through only after informing Price, he also needs to sign off on this."

Your jaw clenches, your fingers tightening around your clasped hands. "Then how about that favor you owe me?"

Station Chief straightens, brow lifting and arms crossed. "Excuse me, soldier?"

Sighing, reaching a hand into your bag, you bring out a folder of your own, some documents signed off. "I had to wonder who the evidence was sent to, given it was right after our mission and Price doesn't even look at his reports to sign off on something in under 24 hours, it wasn't him," watching as Laswell opened the folder, revealing her own name signing off on the interrogation, just a few of the photos that'd declared you guilty. "Thanks for ruining my career, Laswell."

She spreads out the evidence, her own signature on the papers, she breathes out. "And what are you trying to do here, Gray?"

"Stop calling me that."

"Trying to threaten me with what exactly--?"

"Nothing," you answered. "I'm asking for a favor, from someone I thought was my friend," you find it harder to say, Laswell's jaw clicks and she shifts in her chair. "You owe me that much."

"It's the job, (L/n). I was protecting our own, our resources were very promising."

"Until they weren't, huh?" you sarcastically gritted out.

"Yes..." Laswell sighs. "I do apologize, (L/n), but--"

"Just do this for me," you interrupted, pleading this time. "Please. I can't go to him, I can't even look at Simon, let alone Price. Forget about being in the same room with them. I just--I can't be here, this isn't where I belong anymore," looking down at your hands, the scars that circled your wrists. This was a final decision. "I'm resigning with or without you."

Rising from your seat, Laswell stands as you do, "You resign without clearance, they'll take everything from you. Your pension, your insurance, retirement, everything, you'll be dishonorably discharged, you understand that?"

"'Course, I do," you admit. "Honestly, I thought I'd be dead on a mission somewhere before I saw any of that, I don't expect anything out of this. Nothing's...worth any of this."

As you turn the handle to leave, Laswell speaks once more. "I just wanted to enlighten you on what I'm risking for you, signing off on this."

At that, you glance back to her, watching as the older woman sighs heavily, picking up a pen, opening up the manila folder she'd been holding onto previously. Opening it up to reveal your resignation papers.

"If I do this, when I call on you, Gray," Laswell says. "I expect you to be there."

As she wrote her signature down on the dotted line, you swallowed down the ache that's plagued you for weeks, "I swear."

As the station chief continues down the packet, turning to the next page and signing once again, you slowly slide back into your chair, sitting silently as you watch her sign off on your leave from military service.

You bring your hand up fast as a tear runs down your face, wiping it away before Laswell can see, sniffing quietly.

---

Walking slowly down the side hallway of the admin building, you stare out into space, your eyes glistening as you hold the signed resignation packet to your chest, pressing it to yourself tightly.

Passing the front desk, the security posted up at the elevators, you enter the main hall and come to a stop. Your grip on your documents tightening as you watch rain pour out onto the outer glass of the windows.

Watching the downpour outside, you can't seem to get your feet moving to just leave this place. That's all you need to do, just...walk right through it, into a car, past the gates, onto the highway. Just...go home.

As you flinch at the pitter patter of the rain hitting the building, a short burst of thunder, you try to inch your way closer to the doors but the closer you get, the more you can remember. The more you can feel.

The rain gets louder, and louder. It's cold, although you recall it being 90 degrees and in the middle of the desert. It must just be you.

Putting your folder away and into your bag, the automatic doors open for you, but it's too hard to step through. Staring out into the open landscape, the dividing border of the desert land and the gates surrounding the base. The dry ground now turning muddy, trucks driving by and the mud swelling up at the change in pressure, soldiers rushing through the rain, kicking up mud, flicking up umbrellas.

Breathing deeply, you scuff your shoes forwards, feeling the first drop hit your skin, it's warm, but it's no comfort. Gasping at the feeling, you stumble back into the building, the automatic doors closing.

Short gasps of breath quietly leave you, your nails burrow into the skin of your forearm, you stare at the rain as it pelts at the ground, flooding pot holes and falling into storm drains.

The automatic door opens again, you back up, shifting to the side, as an officer gives you a strange look as he walks past and into the rain.

Your hesitance to proceed into the rain was noticed by a few in the main lobby. Like Kyle, who still stood in his mission uniform, dropping off his reports to the main desk, getting off the elevator to see you staring up at the cloudy sky.

His eyes widening in shock, he's lost in his own world when he begins to take steps towards you, lips parting in disbelief, voice cracking as he breathes out to say, to beg or plead for forgiveness.

The automatic door opens again as you shuffle forwards to try to step outside, he doesn't fully notice your fear of the weather when he speaks.

"(Y/n)..."

You turn at the sound of your name and his eyes flicker to the large scar along your cheek, the red of your eye still, that had changed the color of your iris, maybe permanently. The way you hold your bag tight in your hands as if to shield it from the rain before yourself.

You don't say anything, he hadn't expected you to. You stare at him, surprised to see him, then the expression changes to terror, brows pulling inward and hands sinking into your bag to bring it closer. His heart aching at your reaction to him, his lips pressing together, he doesn't know if she should say another thing. Just let you go.

"(Y/n), I..." he can't help himself as he continues, breathlessly.

You back away from him, out of the building and into the rain. The moment it hits your back, soaking through your shirt, rain hitting the top of your head, down your back, you tense up and spin around.

Kyle's brows furrow, before worriedly witnessing as you curl into yourself instantly, crying out in terror, your hands coming up and over your head. "(Y/n)!"

Realizing what you'd done, your back hits the glass doorway, too late for the doorway to register you wanting to come back inside. You stumble to the corner of the building, just next to the doorway and under the too small gutter to find any shelter from the pelting water at your skin.

A loud sob leaves you, squeezing your eyes shut, you can feel the torture starting again, the unbearable freeze of your limbs, the force of crashing pounds of water along your spine. The screams they would pull from you...

Your torment lasts only a few seconds, suddenly the rain stops, but the sound continues around you. A coat settling around your shoulders and over your head, Kyle's hands on your shoulders, he's yelling over the thunder. "Come on, let's get you out of this. Come on, (Y/n)," he takes your arms. "Let me help you, please!"

"You did this," you cried. "I told you. I told you it wasn't me. But, you kept turning it back on! And then you'd leave it like that and it drove me fucking insane. I'll never be ok again, I can't--" hyperventilating. "Don't touch me, Kyle."

Kyle swallows thickly, head hanging low, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before leaning down to you. "I can't leave you here like this, please, love," he hauls you up to your feet. You shove him back, pressing yourself further into the corner, shaking, "(Y/n)--"

"Don't put your fucking hands on me. What don't you get, huh?" you spat. Pulling off the jacket he'd placed over you, tensing at ever drop of rain that fell over you after, but you toss it back at him. "I don't want anything from you. Never again."

"I'm sorry," Kyle clutches the jacket. "I'm so bloody sorry. I'm sorry for every damn thing I'd ever done to you. I'm sorry we didn't listen. I should've never done that to you. I didn't want to, I just--I thought I was doing the right thing for all of us," his voice breaks and he cries under the rain as his little sister, his family, hatefully stares him down. "I thought you'd give in, that it'd be over as quick as it started! I'm sorry I couldn't trust that you were telling the truth all that time."

"I don't want your apology!" you yell. "Cause you'll never know the same feeling. You'll never understand what you've taken from me. What you've done to me--" hiccupping painfully.

Kyle looks away from you, inhaling with a shudder, reddening eyes are covered as he raises his hands to run over his face.

"Your apologies. Your wishes for forgiveness," you seethe. " You should keep them. They mean nothing to me."

With that, you shove on past him, re-entering the building and rushing down the hallway, you turn the corner away from Kyle. Leaving the distraught man out in the rain, the automatic door sliding closed as he looks on after you.

Part 5 OUT NOW!

[steddie-as-they-come]

everybody talks

i could not tell you what this is. i wrote it all in one sitting. enjoy or whatever

It starts with the graffiti.

Scribbled in thick, permanent marker across the boys' gym lockers.

STEVE HARRINGTON FUCKS EDDIE MUNSON

The custodian tries half-heartedly to scrub it off, but he only manages to get about a letter and a half off the locker before his shift is over. It's back up by the next day anyway.

Half the school is walking on tiptoes around Steve, waiting for him to blow up and demand a manhunt for the culprit.

The other half is snickering and laughing as he walks by in the halls.

Steve doesn't give two shits. He holds his head up high and walks onwards, ignoring the laughs and the kissy noises. He needs to graduate. He needs to not get eaten by a terrifying monster from an alternate reality. More pressing things happen to Steve Harrington than grade school graffiti.

Until he turns the corner and sees Eddie Munson glaring furiously at his closed locker.

He doesn't speak to him. Even if the graffiti isn't a big deal, there's no need to add any fuel to the fire.

Eddie finally steps forward and wrenches open his locker door. The crowd milling in the halls begins to laugh.

Papers spill out, dozens of them, cascading over the floor and burying Eddie's shoes. One slides all the way to Steve's feet.

He looks down automatically.

There's an atrocious drawing of two stick figures bent over each other. The one on the bottom has two lines of curly hair, while the one on the top has a singular swooping line of graphite.

Great.

Steve swiftly scoops it up and crumples it in his fist, shoving it in his pocket. He'll toss it out later.

As he hustles past Eddie, steadfastly not looking in his direction, he thinks he hears Eddie mutter, "Every class period."

Steve turns a corner, and the train wreck that is Eddie's locker is gone.

He slides into his seat, knowing the band girls who sit in the back corner of the classroom are whispering about him, but finding he couldn't care less.

The teacher starts class.

He reaches into his pocket and slides the crumpled paper between his fingers, over and over.

Steve raises his hand. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

The teacher nods and waves him away, and Steve scrambles out the door, rounding the corner.

Eddie's still there, kneeling by his locker, trying to scoop up papers.

Steve kneels next to him. "Hey."

Eddie jumps like an alley cat that's been spooked. Steve could swear his hair starts bristling, puffing up.

"Your majesty," Eddie finally says, glaring back at the pile of paper like Steve'll disappear if he doesn't look at him. "To what do I owe the pleasure."

It's not really a question.

Steve answers it anyway. "Came to help," he says simply, picking up a piece of paper that has EDDIE MUNSON X STEVE HARRINGTON written on it in bold letters, surrounded by stupid little hearts. "After all, my name's on half this stuff."

"How kind," Eddie said. "Keeping me distracted while your buddies key my van or something?"

Steve reels back. "Huh?"

"I'm not dumb, Harrington," Eddie says, crumpling up another sheet of paper. Steve can barely catch EDDIE HARRINGTON on it before it's balled in Eddie's fist. "I get this is a prank or whatever. I just can't understand why you'd involve yourself with me. The King and the Freak."

"'Cause I'm not the King anymore." Steve says, standing to drag a nearby garbage can closer. It's already half-full of papers. "You sure don't listen to gossip, Munson. Billy beat my ass and I lost every friend I had. So. I think it's a prank on both of us."

"Oh."

Eddie, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, shuts the fuck up. Steve had seen people lose their meals to his impassioned school cafeteria rants, but it only takes Steve Harrington to shut Munson's infamous mouth.

Wait, that sounds wrong.

They keep cleaning in silence - relatively. Steve starts balling up the papers and tossing them at the trash can, unable to stop himself from hissing out a yes! if he makes the throw.

"Impressive," Eddie says dryly. "Can you do this?" He raises one hand in the air like he's about to take a pledge, and in the other he folds and rolls a slip of paper until it's shaped like a joint.

Steve chuckles. "Nope." He takes the fake joint, and it comes undone in his palm, revealing the same crude stick figure couple from earlier.

Right.

Steve had forgotten what they were doing here.

Evidently, Eddie had too. He looks down at the drawing, then snatches the paper from Steve, tossing it in the trash, two spots of pink high on his cheeks.

He scoops the last of the papers into his arms, dumping them in the trash can. "You can go back to class," he tells Steve, settling down with his back against the locker.

"What are you doing?" Steve says, slightly caught off-guard by the dismissal.

"Seeing if those pricks will try to do it again." Eddie says, folding his knees up to his chest. "They do it all the time. I think there's a jungle's worth of trees just being used to make shit for my locker."

"You're just gonna guard it?" Steve asks.

"Sure," Eddie says, picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. "What else have I got to do?"

Steve plops himself down next to Eddie. "I'll guard with you," he says stubbornly.

"Seriously?" Eddie asks, like Steve's particularly slow. Steve's gotten that tone of voice a lot in his life.

"Yeah." Steve says. He parrots, "What else have I got to do?"

"You're just gonna fuel the rumors, dude." Eddie says. "My name's mud around here. You know that damn well."

"Sure," Steve shrugs. "But it hasn't been half-bad hanging out with you, and I don't care what these jackasses think of me anymore. Bigger things to worry about."

They settle into a comfortable silence, watching the students pass by, their whispered comments and curious glances bouncing off the duo. Eddie taps his fingers rhythmically on the ground, humming a tune Steve doesn't recognize but finds oddly comforting.

He reaches into his pocket to feel the small paper, then tugs it out. Is it dumb that a stupid drawing is making him think about himself this much?

"Hey, Eddie," Steve starts, hesitating. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," Eddie says idly.

"How do you... I mean, when did you know you were gay?" Steve asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie's expression turns to one of suspicion, but he answers anyway. "I guess I always knew, deep down. But I really figured it out in middle school." He looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye. "Why?"

Steve bites his lip, considering his next words carefully. "I think I might be... different too. I mean, I've only ever dated girls, but lately, I don't know. I feel... something."

Something means he worried for weeks when Billy beat the shit out of him because suddenly all these feelings were tugging at his brain. Feelings for people like Eddie Munson.

Eddie's eyes widen slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. (What? Steve's not looking at his lips. Huh?) "Steve Harrington, the former King of Hawkins High, might not be straight? Now that's some gossip I'd actually pay attention to."

"Shut up," Steve mutters, but he's smiling too. "I'm serious."

"Well..." Eddie trails off. "We can try it out?"

Steve's heart skips a beat. "Huh?"

"We can try it out." Eddie repeats. "But, uh," he leans close, his breath ghosting over the shell of Steve's ear. "Just so you know, I prefer to be the one on top."

Weeks later, the school is overtaken by a new kind of graffiti. Papers plastered to every surface, a spiky handwriting (usually used to write setlists and D&D character sheets) adorning each and every one of them.

EDDIE MUNSON FUCKS STEVE HARRINGTON

[enigmatist17]

I was right in the path of the snowstorm that hit us this week (and another coming this weekend yaaaay), and thought of my boys :)

This is part of the Mecha Pilot AU by @keferon :)

My other AU fics here

---

"RATTY, WHAT IS ALL THIS STUFF?"

Deadlock didn't yell, at least not that Ratchet had ever heard, and he sure as hell never sounded uncertain.

"What're you goin' on about?" The mechanic certainly didn't have some pep in his step as he hurried to his Cybertronian, a wrench gripped in one hand as he headed to the personal bay he'd set up for Deadlock. The door was open, revealing a heavy snowfall that Ratchet had forgotten about, the mech staring at the weather with a glare.

"What is it?!" His plating rattled in slight discomfort as Ratchet raised an optic ridge (no, eyebrow? Eh, he'll ask later) at him, clearly unconcerned by the strange weather. "The sky hasn't done this before."

"That would be because it hasn't gotten cold enough 'til now." The wrench in his hand gets shoved into his toolbelt, and despite the lack of his jacket, Ratchet steps out into the snow with an amused smirk. "See? Safe an' sound." True to his words, Ratchet didn't appear in any pain, aside from a shiver that wracked his frame as the white flakes started to coat him. "It's called snow."

"Why is there snow? It has been cold for days now, your bitching about it has told me that enough." Slowly, the mech reached out to Ratchet, his digit twitching when the first few flakes landed on it, but no warnings popped up in his HUD.

"We didn't have the right temperature for the water vapor in the air to condense, but we do now. I forgot we were even gettin' a storm, which means getting home is going to be a bitch and a half."

"You drive in this stuff?" The Cybertronian asked, letting the curiosity running through his processor bleed through more than he usually would have done. "Is it not dangerous?"

"Well yea, but we've adapted over the years." The human responded as he moved to come in from the snow, Deadlock using his hand as a cover. "Sit here, let me go get my jacket and other boots on."

"Alright." Deadlock watched Ratchet head back inside his shop floor before returning his optics to the snowy landscape in front of him. He had seen something resembling this snow a few times, but it had been through quick pit stops at planets to scavenge shards of energon that left him no time to actually examine the frozen precipitation. It's cold against his servo when Deadlock scoops up a generous helping of the snow, compacting into a vague ball shape when he closes his servo into a fist, remaining solid even after he grabs it with his other servo.

"We call that a snowball." Ratchet had also put on a hat and some servo coverings, crouching to scoop up his own snow. "I'd rather you not throw that one at me, but pick and target and launch."

"Is this snow a weapon?" Now that got his attention, the assassin picked out a random tree and launched the snowball as hard as he could, all of the collected snow on the branches falling off as it connected with a loud thud.

"Not as effective ones, that's for sure." Ratchet snorted, nailing a nearby parked car right in the windshield. "Nah, it's for fun usually, though you're gonna kill me with how hard you threw yours."

"I'd never hurt you Ratty." Deadlock purred, offering his servo with a grin. "I want to see more."

"C'mon, the lake might be frozen over." Ratchet hopped up onto the offered limb, bracing himself against the wind as Deadlock began to venture out into the snowy forest, pausing every so often to look at the snow-covered trees and rocks in interest. "So Cybertron doesn't have snow?"

"Not that I was ever aware of? What we consider organic on Cybertron isn't the same definition for you."

"Fair enough." Ratchet lapsed into silence as Deadlock headed to the lake he had crash-landed next to what felt like a lifetime ago, the mech clearly surprised by the sight when they reached the clearing. "Well?"

"..." Deadlock carefully set his human down before approaching the water's edge, the surface now solid to the touch. "This is...cool."

"Yes it is." Ratchet snorted as he joined the mech, testing the ice with one foot. "Hm, might be strong enough..."

"For what?" The mechanic looked up with an amused look before taking a step forward, Deadlock watching in slight awe as he began to walk on water like he was strolling on normal ground.

"You can't always do this, but sometimes we get lucky. It is pretty cool." He grinned, the alien reaching over to steady him with a digit when Ratchet wobbled slightly. "Thanks."

"As much as I kinda don't like your planet all this much, I could come to like this snow and ice." The assassin purred, using his digit to lazily pull Ratchet around on the ice in a random pattern.

"Not the biggest fan, but I do enjoy the occasional snow day myself." Ratchet shrugged as he did a poor man's version of ice skating, only upright do to his tight hold on Deadlock's digit. "Glad you're enjoying it."

"Only because I'm with you." The look on Ratchet's face made the corny line more than worth it, Deadlock chuckling as he continued pulling the human around on the ice. "How long will it be like this?"

"I don't know, probably a few days. Best enjoy it while we've got it."

"Works for me." Sure, Ratchet can't feel much of his body by the time Deadlock decides he's done enjoying the view, but it wasn't all bad when he's carefully placed inside the mech's warm interior for the trek back. They end up dozing off in Ratchet's workshop when neither of them feels like dealing with what would be a nasty drive to Ratchet's home, the falling snow filtering through the moonlight lulling them both to sleep.

[l-egionaire]

My Warrior!Penelope AU: Telemachus

Since Odysseus is home and I don't see the thing with the suitors happening in my version of the au, what ends up going on with Telemachus? Well, with his father being slowly poisoned by treacherous servants, I imagine him taking over as man of the house. His father is becoming so weak and sickly that he starts taking on more and more of his responsibilities, meeting with court, talking with the townspeople, performing diplomatic and so on. It's hard, and stressful. Not only do the more senior members of his father's court look at him like a child trying to play king, but he also has to constantly check in on and try to take care of his ailing father and secretly fearing that he'll lose another parent. It's hard on him and he feels like he doesn't have anyone to help....until one day, while trying to argue a trade negotiation, the members of court around him seem to freeze.

"Wha-whats going on?

"That'd be me."

He turns to see Athena standing next to his chair.

"What's happening? Is time....frozen?"

"Nope. I just sped up your thoughts. Gave you a little extra time to think."

"Whoa....cool!"

Athen chuckles.

"Lets have a little chat..."

Soon, Athena is there acting as both his friend and advisor, teaching him about diplomacy, treaties, negotiation, and politics, as well as training him in the art of battle, now that her warrior of the mind was....unwell. However, she offered him other aid as well. She explained her suspicions about his father being poisoned and suggested Telemachus cook his meals in secret to test it. Sure enough, once he stops eating the food given by the servants, he begins to slowly recover.

Under Telemachus's watch, Ithaca and Odysseus grow stronger. But still his council doubts his abilities, during one meeting even getting into a fiercesome shouting match with him over a deal he made to ask another kingdom for help protecting them with so many of their soldiers gone. It gets to the point that they're shouting him down, and he's about ready to rip his hair out...when once again, time slows down around him. But this felt different than Athena's quick thought. Hers seemed to fill the air with a calm, cooling aura that made his thoughts flow smoother. This was hot, humid and filled his mind with searing rage.

"Are you just going to let them talk to you like that all day?"

He looks to his side, in the opposite spot to where Athena would usually appear, and saw a tall, muscular figure in full armor and blood red cape.

Telemachus's eyes widened.

"Ares...."

The war god looked down at him with blazing red eyes.

"You are the leader. ACT like it. Don't allow them to simply push you around like this."

Telemachus then turned back to his council. He grit his teeth and, as time returned back to its usual pace, slammed both fists against the meeting table.

"ENOUGH! While I understand your concerns, this is MY decision! And I won't have you questioning it!"

That made them quiet down and Telemachus could swear he heard low, rumbling laughter.

After the meeting, Ares appears to him in his room, Athena also there glaring at him.

"Why are you here?"

"To assist the young prince, of course."

"I'm ALREADY helping him!"

"Can a king not have more than one counsel? Can a warrior not have more than one master? Besides, I certainly was more help today than you were."

Athena growls and raises her spear but Telemachus steps between them.

"No! He's right. I think....I think he can help me. In a different way then you, I mean."

Athen grimaces while Ares give her a smug smile.

"Ugh...Fine..."

And from that day, Telemachus splits his time between being trained by the two gods. Athena teaches him battle strategies and techniques, Ares gives him physical training and Exercise. Athena teaches him about reading treaties and Ares takes him to hunt and skin a boar. Athena trains him in the buisness of diplomacy and bridge building and Ares coaches him on the basics of war and battle. Strangely, while both gods talk poorly of the other, it's not uncommon for one of them to watch while he trains with the other.

One day, both watch from a balcony as he works with a spear against a training dummy.

"......He's a good lad.....he'll grow strong. Grow well."

"Yes, I'm sure he will......and I have to imagine he'd grow better with his MOTHER."

"........."

"Ares, it's been TWENTY YEARS. WHERE is Penlope?

".......She......she accured the wrath of two of the gods. And Father, saw fit to...to punish her...."

"What? Punish her how?"

"Well, first he.....he.....you know how father is with women...."

Athena's eyes widen.

". Oh, Odysseus is going to KILL him."

"Father is king of the gods."

"And Odysseus will still find a way to, for putting his hands on his wife."

Ares can't help letting out a chuckle.

"What did he do after that?"

"He....saw fit to banish her to the Land of the Giants."

"The Land of-She could be KILLED! Ares, why haven't you DONE something!? Why haven't you talked to him or tried to help her!?

"YOU THINK I WOULDN'T IF I COULD!? It is because of my blessing alone that Dionysus and Father did not SLAY her! It's the sole reason she still lives! I told her the same. And she.....she asked me to watch over the boy. Make sure HE stays safe."

".....There really isn't ANYTHING you can do?"

"You KNOW how our father is Athena. Besides, this punishment comes from Apollo. His favored son. And I'm.....I'm not......he won't listen to me."

"....But he might listen to US."

Ares looks at her.

"....You really think it would change anything?:

"I think it woud at least show we're serious. We NEVER agree on anything.

"...Why would you help me?"

"Because Telemachus needs his mother, and Odysseus needs his wife back. And i promised them both that if I could, I would do everything in my power to bring her back to them.

"....Very well sister."

[d3stinyist1red]

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄʜᴏʟᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

(cholo basically means a hispanic boy who dresses with baggy clothing(search up cholo outfit), and like has a diff speech pattern, btw imma js make him kinda like an edger bc why not they fine asfff)

(his name gon be miguel bc yes)

yan cholo who is ur hb, who you met freshman year in homeroom.

You were busy on your phone before getting your leg kicked by someone beside you. You looked at whoever did that with narrowed eyes, why did this beta js kick a sigma like you..???

He had an fluffed up edger cut, with a slit eyebrow. He had some baggy clothing, proclub grey sweatpants with a black T-shirt with a silver necklace. He was attractive to say the least.

"Put your phone away, chica! (girl or chick)"He said playfully, nodding his head to the teacher making you look, he was helping to you to not get your phone taken by that old ass dusty teacher

you quickly put your phone in your pocket and thanked him. "No problem, hermosa. (beautiful)" He smirked at you, you could hear his accent very well. You tilted your head at him before looking away, not really understanding what was the last word he said (UNLESS U DO, IF U DO PRETEND HE SAID IT UNDER HIS BREATH OR SUM SO U COULDNT HEAR))

yan cholo who began talking to you the whole homeroom after that, and soon you realized he switched his classes to be matched up with yours.

yan cholo who is now ur besty westy hb, who u tell to put u on to someone

ʏ/ɴɴɴʟᴜᴠsᴋɪᴛᴛʏs

miguelllll

put me onto on of ur friendssssss

ᴛʜᴇʏғᴡᴍɪɢᴜᴇʟ

ma, dont start with this bullshit

none of those assholes deserve you, alr mami?

yan cholo who buys you cutesy shit even tho he never did that with any of his ex gfs, only you. But he isnt even dating you too!

"hey ma, got you a lil sum" He said as he wrapped his arm around you, interrupting a convo you were having with one of your friends who js stared at him with heart eyes. He gave u a kuromi plushie that had some pocky taped to her hand. You quickly thanked him making him rub his neck sheepishly,before tapping his cheek .

"cmon baby, give me a peck for it, yeah?"

yan cholo who tells you all of the drama and whenever theres gonna be a fight, grabbing your hand and leading you to someone getting pressed if u want to see a fight. But if you dont like ppl fighting, he'll drag you away from it, and distract you with something else

yan cholo who is possesive of you, always following you around in parties, arm either around your shoulder or waist.

There was this one time, he wasnt on your tail or following you since he was grabbing snacks for the both of you guys and some fool from another neighborhood took this as a chance to started talking to you at a party. The guy was laughing, leaning in too close.

For you, it was someone actually wanting you and u were mad excited bc miguel greedy ass wouldn't even put u on to his friends, but to miguel? It was a threat. His fists clenched, his blood boiling as he was walking to you, noticing the guy talking to you.

He stormed over, stepping between them with a cold stare. “You got somethin’ to say to her, you say it to me, homie.”

The guy backed off instantly, giving miguel a dirty look before mumbling something under his breath and walking away. You raised an eyebrow, "Boy, are you fr? I was gonna finally bag someone bruh"

"Ma, you have me. You don't need anyone else."

yan cholo who talks about you to his homies, absolutely gushing over you like u were a celebrity. And his homies were mad confused bc the man has NEVER been obsessed with any girl, not even his past gfs. He would barely even mention his gfs!

yan cholo who whenever you guys hung out, whether it was grabbing a bite at mc donalds or cruising through the streets with the windows down, he treated you like a queen. He’d make sure you had everything you wanted, always checking if you was comfortable, if you needed anything. He'd make sure to pay for everything, not letting you even touch your wallet, He'd open doors for you, give you flowers, on valentines day he'd give you hello kitty bouquets with money, and hot chips

yan cholo who was jealous of any man who got into a 500 mile radius of you

“Yeah, I ran into Alex today at the store, yk that guy that fought with eric? Yeah, he saw me and said hi” You said offhandedly as miguel drove

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. He tried to keep his voice calm. “Oh yeah? Did you say hi back? Don't talk to him, princesa(princess). Hes no good for you. ” he finally said, his voice low, like a warning.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, catching the change in his tone. “Relax, it’s not like that. He’s just a friend.” Miguel furrowed his eyebrows and kissed his teeth, not bothering to respond knowing he'll start raging.

yan cholo who every morning, he’d be at your locker, waiting for the moment you'll walk down the hall. His eyes would lock onto yours the second you appeared, his heart pounding harder than it ever did during a fight. You didn't notice the way he would glare at anyone near you to back off, and leave the two of you alone.

When you finally made your way over, you dapped him up, and opened your locker. “Hey, you got the notes from yesterday’s class?” You asked him, finally looking up at him.

He’d play it cool, nodding and pulling out his notebook without a word. Inside, though, he was a mess. Every time you spoke to him, he wanted to say something—tell you how he couldn’t stop thinking about you, how you was the only thing that mattered to him, how he couldn't even sleep thinking about you and your gorgeous face. But he couldn’t, instead, he handed you the notes. “Yeah, here. Whatever you need, mami.” He said smirking down at you.

yan cholo who whenver you gave him a casual wave goodbye, he had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms and tell her she was his amor (his love) and no one else’s.

yan cholo who plays soccer only to impress you, every kick, every pass, was an excuse to show off for you. He could hear his teammates calling for the ball, but all he cared about was making sure Y/N was watching when he scored. And when he did—blasting the ball into the net with a perfect shot—he didn't bother to cheer. His eyes darting back to Y/N instead, seeing if she was impressed with his goal

yan cholo who daydreams about you before games, His teammates often tease him about his crush on you. They notice how he lights up whenever your brought up in conversations or whenever your around and how he tends to play better when he knows she’s watching

yan cholo who is a lil too obsessed with his hg y/n <333

yan cholo who is ur hb who hates seeing u with men <33

MORE COMING OUT

BTW I DID THIS ONE FIRST BC I ACTUALLY LOVE THIS IDEA SO MCUH HELLOO??

IM MEXICAN BTW SO I THINK ITS OK TO POST THIS IDK

GUYS IS THIS GOOD???? IDKK

HELP I NEED A CHOLO EDGER IN MY BED RN LIKE COME HERE PAPI

HELP I HAD TOOOO MUCH FUN WITH THIS

[22ayla21]

That request with Krateros trying to interfere with Mydei’s relationship with reader and how Mydei reacted to THAT was beautiful.

I was wondering if we could get a more in-depth look into Reader doing everything she can to avoid Mydei because she believes Krateros’ words about how her presence would destroy the Prince and by extension the Kremnoans? And how Mydei pursues her refusing to accept any other answer but the truth after she distances herself and tries to avoid him until she eventually breaks down and admits that it was his teacher who told her that she would ruin him? And Mydei gets mad at her for believing that before assuring her that a future without Reader is one that he will not accept

I Won't Let You Go

Evil words assured her that she was unworthy of him. However, she was his whole world and he had no intention of letting her go.

She knew it was inevitable.

From the very beginning, from the moment she found herself among his people, their cold, disapproving glances spoke for themselves. She didn't belong in this world. Their culture, their beliefs, their traditions.

She heard whispers behind her back. Crude, sharp words, full of contempt.

"She will never be one of us."

"He's blinded, but sooner or later, he'll realize his mistake."

"She's dragging him down."

"She will cause discord. We must not allow it."

These words, like poison, seeped into her mind, poisoning the confidence she tried to maintain. She didn't want him to be torn between her and his people. She didn't want to become a crack leading to division.

And so, when night enveloped the camp in quiet, gloomy peace, she made her decision.

She packed her things, trying to be as silent as possible. Her trembling fingers gripped the fabric, and a dull ache settled in her chest, which she tried to suppress. This had to be right. This was right. But everything changed when heavy footsteps sounded behind her.

Mydei.

She didn't hear him come in, but she felt his presence with her whole being. It was always like that—weighty, warm, searing.

He didn't say anything immediately. He just stood there, watching her prepare to leave. And then something in him broke.

A sharp sound echoed in the room—he knocked the bag out of her hands, and it fell to the ground. His breathing was heavy, as if he had just run several miles.

She couldn't look him in the eyes. But he wasn't going to let her avoid it.

His hands—strong, hot—landed on her shoulders, turning her to face him. And then she saw it. His gaze. It was full of anger. Not coldness, not indifference, but rage mixed with despair.

"How could you think I'd let you go?"

He didn't say it aloud, but she didn't need to hear his voice to understand. Her heart beat in her chest too fast, too loud.

"You know what your people say," her voice trembled. "I can't be the cause of discord between you and them. They won't accept me, Mydei. They will never accept me."

He clenched his teeth, the muscles in his neck tensed.

And then he stepped forward, forcing her to retreat. Another step—her back touched the wall. His hands were on either side of her, cutting off her escape.

"I won't accept that."

His voice was low, firm.

"I won't accept that as a reason for breaking up. I won't accept their words as truth. And especially, I won't accept your leaving."

His fingers clenched into fists and then relaxed. He raised his hand and ran his fingers along her cheek—a desperate, almost pleading gesture.

"You think you can just leave?"

She felt her resolve cracking.

"I..."

"No."

His voice cut off her words.

"No. You will stay. With me. You have no right to decide for both of us. I won't let you go."

His palm rested on the back of her head, forcing her forehead to press against his chest. She could hear his heart beating fast.

And then she broke.

Her hands gripped his clothing tightly, her shoulders trembled. She felt him hug her, as if afraid she would crumble in his arms. And at that moment, she understood: he would never let her go. Never.

It didn't matter what his people said. It didn't matter what obstacles stood before them. Because for him, only one thing mattered.

Her.

[steddiealltheway]

For some reason, Steve and Eddie do not know how to greet each other. Maybe it's because their friendship is somewhat new, and they both don't know how to outright say, "How the hell am I supposed to say hello?"

So, it just kind of becomes a thing between the two of them to almost rapid-fire greetings until they land on a mutual one. And usually... it takes them a while.

This time is no exception.

Eddie sees Steve and lets his heart do a little flip that he knows isn't just nerves from their little greeting thing, but eventually, he'll learn how to push those feelings down. He just can't help it when Steve always looks like a- like.... okay, he's hot, and Eddie's brain goes to mush whenever he's around him.

Speaking of being around him...

"Hey!" Eddie says throwing his arms out wide for a hug while the kids walk around them.

Steve counters him by thrusting his hand forward going for a handshake while saying, "Hey, man!"

They both laugh at their awkward greeting and move on to the next one. For some reason, Eddie goes for a bow, and Steve does Eddie's signature devil horns while sticking his tongue out which really should not be so damn attractive.

Then, Eddie stands up straight and goes for a high five while Steve goes for a fist bump. "Almost had it," Steve says with a wide smile.

"We'll get it on this next one," Eddie states. Then, he moves his elbow forward as Steve does his little finger wave.

"I definitely should've seen that coming. That's on me," Steve says running a hand through his hair.

"No worries, man. But I won't lie, I'm starting to run out of greetings, and they're about to turn weird," Eddie admits, but this is usually the fun of this game. Somehow they always get to some mutually weird greeting that no human would actually ever do.

So, Eddie prepares himself when Steve gets a rare mischievous look in his eye and asks, "Ready?"

Eddie nods then jumps into the air as Steve raises his foot up, luckily not kicking him but getting fairly close.

"Were you trying to kick me?" Eddie asks with a laugh.

"Was going for a footfive," Steve replies with a smile.

That smile is going to be the death of Eddie one of these days. And for some reason, with that thought on his mind, Eddie suddenly remembers that sometimes people kiss each other on the cheeks as a greeting, and wouldn't that be funny?

"Ready?" Eddie asks, excited for his plan.

"Ready," Steve replies.

Unexpectedly, Steve steps forward as Eddie does the same. But Eddie doesn't chicken out of his plan. So, he quickly leans forward, but Steve must entirely misread him because suddenly he is kissing Eddie. Like... full-on kissing him. On the lips. With his hands gently cupping his face.

When he pulls away, Eddie is still a bit in shock, but Steve just raises his hand in a high five and excitedly yells, "We found a greeting!" Like they usually do as if he did not just kiss him.

So, Eddie does the only thing he can think of and celebrates with him as if nothing life-changing just happened.

When Steve walks away, Eddie can't help but get stuck on the fact that they're going to have to go through the same process when saying goodbye again. Is he allowed to test his luck?

He glances around and realizes that no one else witnessed their little moment, having gotten used to their antics long ago. But maybe when everyone is leaving and they're around the two, Eddie won't be so lucky. If anything, he can say he was going for a cheek kiss.

So, the night goes on, and Eddie tries as hard as he can to forget the kiss.

It does not work at all.

And before he knows it, people are starting to leave, and Steve is even looking at him expectantly. So, Eddie walks up to him and says, "Bye, man." And before he can even think of a way to say goodbye to cover how much he wants to kiss Steve again, Steve is already leaning in.

This time, Eddie easily meets him in the middle to properly kiss him which gives him butterflies in his stomach until he hears Dustin say, "What the fuck?"

Steve and Eddie jump apart breaking the kiss, but Steve quickly defends them. "We found our new greeting!"

Eddie thinks he might die on the spot. This is going to be a recurring thing? Jesus H. Christ. Steve is going to be the death of him.

"Good for you?" Max says as she walks out the door clearly weirded out but Eddie thinks she could care less.

Everyone else kind of dismisses it as well, but Dustin just stands there flabbergasted.

Steve takes a small step forward with his hands on his hips and his eyebrows raised. “You got a problem, Henderson?” Steve asks, more fearful than accusatory.

“No!” Dustin squeals then calmly continues, “No. it’s just I…” he trails off and looks between the two before shaking his head. “I don’t want to see any tongue,” he states.

“Gross, I would never in front of you kids!” Steve says shoving him out the door while ruffling his hair.

“No promises!” Eddie shouts after him, but then it hits him that Steve just said he would make out with him with the kids not around… and right now the kids are all gone.

Oh shit.

The door closes behind Dustin, and Eddie knows that he needs to leave the Harrington house. Especially because he’s the kids’ ride home.

He ducks his head, letting some strands fall in front of his face, and says, "Goodbye, Steve." He takes a few steps toward the door but is stopped by Steve's hand on his shoulder.

"Eddie?"

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, sounding a little too hopeful.

Steve just steps in front of him and cups his face. "This okay?"

Eddie melts into the touch and grabs Steve's hips. "More than okay."

He's not sure who moves first, but Steve is pinned against the door, and Eddie fulfills his secret wishes of taking Steve apart as he learns that Steve wasn't lying when he said no tongue only in front of the kids.

There's a loud knock on the door, and Dustin is suddenly yelling, "Hurry up in there! Some of us have a curfew!"

So, Steve and Eddie reluctantly pull apart, but Eddie can't help but kiss him one more time and wish him a good night.

In the car, the kids grill Eddie to answer when the hell they started dating, but Eddie assures them that they're not. Then, they all take bets on how long it will be, and Eddie chimes in that he's pretty sure he's not supposed to hear their bets.

(Secretly, he wants to make El's bet of two weeks come true.)

Eddie knows it's just a fluke though. Steve is probably just kissed starved after his series of failed dates, and Eddie is just an outlet.

It's pretty depressing when it's put like that but... Eddie is willing to take anything from Steve.

So, he can't be too upset when Steve kisses him the next time he sees him. And the time after that... And the time after that...

But, then it shifts to whenever Steve sees Eddie after he goes in another room, the bathroom, hell, sometimes Steve just says he hasn't looked in his direction in a while and misses him before he swoops in to kiss him.

It shifts even further when Steve starts purposely making excuses to get Eddie alone only to make out with him. They're not even good excuses. He once asks, "Eddie, can you come in here to observe the color of the inside of this door?"

But every time Eddie thinks maybe this is not good for my heart, Steve looks at him sweetly and says, "Hi," before leaning in to kiss him again.

And maybe it would be easier to distinguish whatever the hell this whole greeting thing is if only Steve wasn't acting all lovey-dovey outside of it. He starts insisting on sitting next to Eddie and slinging his arm around his shoulders. He even starts whispering flirty stuff in his ear that makes Eddie turn bright red - he didn't know someone could do that to him.

And the kids are getting worse in the van, insisting that they each have their bet in the bag with it being any day now.

And Eddie knows they're all wrong.

Steve has just hit a rough patch and he's content with using Eddie until the next girl comes along.

Once again… that sounds really bad. But it has to be the only way that Eddie deserves this.

But maybe he should end it before things go too far.

With that in mind, Eddie goes to Steve’s house unprompted and without anyone else for once. He needs to make it clear that a new greeting is needed.

He gets there quickly and rushes to the front door before he can change his mind. He can do this. He can set a boundary.

But then Steve opens the door and his whole face lights up when he sees Eddie. “Finally. I was wondering when it would just be you, but I didn’t want to push it.”

Instead of dodging the kiss once he’s through the doorway, Eddie completely gives in to the way Steve desperately throws himself at him practically devouring him. And Eddie is a very weak man.

Every kiss breaks his will and he begins to wonder why he should say anything and instead just accept anything he can.

Then, Steve starts kissing his jaw and down his neck and Eddie freezes up. Whatever comes next, he definitely does not want it to mean nothing.

Luckily, Steve notices and pulls back. “You okay?” He asks looking him in the eye.

Eddie shakes his head. He’s not. God, he really likes him. But he can’t go any further or this will tear him apart.

“Hey,” Steve says gently. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Eddie thuds his head against the door and feels so dumb when his eyes start to burn and his bottom lip starts to tremble. “Please don’t hate me when I tell you this.”

“I could never hate you, Eddie.”

Eddie laughs humorlessly. He’s going to flip out when he finds out. “I like you, Steve. As in, I have feelings for you.”

Steve waits a moment, brows furrowed, and Eddie is sure he’s going to kick him out. Instead, he asks, “But…?”

Why is he prompting him? “No but. That’s it,” Eddie states. Maybe Steve just heard him wrong?

“Okay?” Steve says as if it was the most obvious confession in the world. “And why would I hate you when you told me that?”

Eddie’s eyes widen. Does he not get it? “Because I like you! Like… romantically! And I can’t have you kissing me since it means nothing to you and everything to me!” His heart pounds in his chest as Steve takes in what he’s saying.

“Holy shit,” Steve says having the realization.

“Yeah, holy shit.” Eddie thuds his head back against the door again. Hopefully he’ll let him down easy.

“No, I mean holy shit holy shit,” Steve crowds into his space and cups Eddie’s face. “Did you not think I had feelings for you too? Hell, I thought we were like… dating by now.” Steve pulls away and runs a hand through his hair anxiously. “Holy shit,” he mutters in disbelief.

Eddie just stares. “You thought we were dating? Like… you have feelings for me?”

“I thought I made them clear after the second time I kissed you! Why would I make out with you if we were just friends?”

“I don’t know!” Eddie yells back and runs his hands over his face. He laughs. “Oh god, none of the kids will win the bet because we have no idea when we started dating.”

“There’s a bet going on?” Steve asks with a small smile. “What did El say?”

“That’s who I was hoping for! She said we would be dating two weeks from… Oh, that was two weeks ago exactly,” Eddie realizes with a big smile. Maybe she won fair and square after all.

“Want to make it official then since I somehow forgot to?” Steve asks with a big smile.

Eddie pretends to actually think about his answer before considering, “Maybe I should review all the bets first.”

“Eddie,” Steve says exasperated.

“I’m joking. I will be glad to be your boyfriend… if it means El wins the bet.”

“Eddie.”

Eddie can’t help but laugh at Steve’s irritation. He leans forward and easily kisses him. “You’re going to get tired of me so fast, boyfriend,” Eddie can’t help but tack on at the end.

“I’d like to see you try, boyfriend,” Steve replies before kissing him again.

From then on, their greetings only slightly change. In addition to the kiss, they always say some form of, “Hi, boyfriend.” The kids quickly get tired of it, but Steve and Eddie never do.

[gothamite-rambler]

Tim entered Bruce's office, burying his inner rage and clenching his fists to contain it.

Tim: Hey, Bruce. I'm probably going to get arrested today along with that coworker, Kylar. Can you bail me out when that happens?

Bruce: Sorry… what?

Tim: I'm about to punch Kylar in the jaw, and I'm going to get arrested for it. He'll end up in the slammer too after what he did to my car. Have a good meeting.

Tim left the office humming to himself, while Bruce hurriedly followed, dragging Tim back in just as another worker looked on, intrigued by the exchange.

Bruce: Tell me what's going on, and I can handle it.

Tim: Kylar found out I have a boyfriend because he asked, “Hey, who's the guy that's always dropping you off at work? Your boyfriend?” I said yes, and it shocked him, so he wouldn’t let it go. How dare I actually get out of the house, right? Then he found out where I lived and spray painted the slur that always refers to a bundle of sticks on my car. I have video proof and confronted him, but he doesn’t care… he just doesn’t care! So I’m going to deal with him myself. See ya at the police station.

Tim attempted to leave the office again but was dragged back in by Bruce. Frustrated, Tim crossed his arms.

Andrew (the coworker chuckling): Oh, dude, that sucks! Kylar has always been toxic. If he could’ve, he would’ve started a podcast in college. Punching him at work isn’t worth it.

Bruce: Exactly, thank you, Andrew.

Andrew (popping gum in his mouth): You should hit him outside of work.

Bruce (calmly): Andrew, shut up. Tim, not that I'm dismissing your anger, but you can’t go around hitting people in the face.

Tim (raising an eyebrow): Really, Bruce?

Bruce: You know what I mean. As long as you have evidence, and I talk to other workers who witnessed this, we can handle it like mature adults. Probably by firing him.

Tim: Alright… And I can’t punch him after work?

Bruce: No, you should go home. I’ll drive you.

Tim: A day off from work? Sure... Because if I’m around Kylar for even five minutes, I’m going to—

Andrew: Not on the clock.

Bruce: He’s right.

Tim nodded, leaving Bruce's office with his father close behind. Just as they stepped out, Kylar spotted them and quickly walked away, clearly intimidated by Bruce Wayne’s presence.

pt 1

pt 2

pt 3

[kaz-dekadent]

17+6

viktor x gn!afab!reader

cw: dom!reader, sub!viktor, trans viktor, czech viktor, dumbification, pegging, riding, finger sucking, size difference (tall reader),glorious orgasm delay, handcuffs, slight pain, safe sex, some fluff at the beginning, use of y/n

summary: viktor is tired after a bad day at work, so you help him relax and strap him until his brain melts

note: this is my first fic so please be nice also english is not my first language !! also tw for purple prose, bad english and cringe

It was 10 PM and you were laying in your bed in pajamas, while the LED lights on the ceiling glistened, changing colors. You were rewatching  your favorite show for probably the third time. Maybe fourth, you've lost the count. The phone beside you vibrated with a notification.

It was from Viktor.

 I am home, miláčku.

You smiled to the screen. You heard the bus arriving on the bus stop. It must be his. A minute later, the stairway filled with his slow, gentle steps, accompanied by the knocking of a crutch. Then, he opened the door. You untangled yourself from your blankets and rushed to the door to see him.

As you came closer to Viktor, you noticed that was slouching more than usual. The dark circles under his eyes seemed bigger.

"Do prdele..." he cursed in Czech under his breath, while taking of his patent leather shoes. Then, the double-breasted trench. His amber eyes fluttered, as he saw you looking at him. "Hello, Y/N," he said with a weak voice.

You felt the handle of his crutch on your back. He pulled you towards himself by it, supporting himself by holding the closet door, then leaned on you, nuzzling his face in your chest.

"Hello, Viki." You wrapped your hands around Viktor, stroking his messy, sweaty hair. His small body was tense. "You look so tired."

"Believe that I am."

"Go to bed, med," you whispered, proud of yourself and the new Czech petname you discovered for Viktor. It meant honey.

He looked up at you with a raised eyebrow, moving some centimeters away. His palms were leaning on your torso. "Did you pull a petname from Google Translate again?"

"What do you mean it's not a real petname?"

"It is not," Viktor countered with a smirk. "It actually sounds more dumb than romantic. Next time actually google some Czech petnames."

Your hand gently pet his hair. "If he consents, tonight he'll become much dumber than my petname from Google Translate.” You thought in the privacy of your brain. No, he'd be too tired.

"Anyways, go rest. I'll make us some sweetmilk."

"Add some med to mine," Viktor mocked you, going out of your embrace.

When the sweetmilk was done and steam was coming out of your matching cups, you arrived in the bedroom. Viktor was already laying on his stomach, hugging the pillow you were resting on before. Now changed from his formal wear, he was wearing just his white boxers and your T-shirt. It was so big, he almost sank in it. His crutch was leaning on your side of the bedside table. You put the cups of hot sweetmilk on the tabletop and laid beside him.

Viktor crawled onto you, as if you were his pillow. He was small and light, so you were only uncomfortable by his back brace digging into your stomach and the boniness of his figure. You ignored it, glad that your precious genius was resting on top of you. He was cold and still tense after hours in the academy.

You were stroking his back, unsure if he wanted to talk. His face was buried in your chest, eyes closed and chapped lips were smiling delicately.

"How was your day?" You asked, moving your hand to his hair.

Viktor grumbled. His fist squeezed the material of your t-shirt.

"At least terrible. These rich pricks of the council rejected our project yet again". You nodded, gently stroking him, listening to his sweet voice and thick accent, as he ranted about the council, lab research and miscalculations. How he made mistakes calculating, having to handle the same numbers again and again while everything and everyone was distracting him. How these privileged rich assholes of the council underestimate him. How the academy has too many stairs, and how much pain it causes him, and how they don't want to add an elevator, because, how they said it would be an unnecessary expense. How hard social interaction is, how complicated people are, how stupid is small talk.

"I am tired of using my brain."

"Do you want a massage, Vik?" You laid your hands on his shoulder blades, so small your hand could cover them completely.

Viktor got up onto his forearms, then smirked. "What if you fucked me instead?" These words sounded sweet like honey in his Czech accent. "The safeword is... med." He smiled playfully, turning up your chin with his finger.

"Viktor, sweetie..." You rolled your eyes. "Chose something else than this stupid petname from Google Translate"

"Something else, you say? What about deactivate?"

"That's better. Now get off me," you said, lightly pushing him off.

You waited for that moment. The moment you could see his tiny, fragile figure tremble and squirm under you. Or on top of you, maybe? Viktor came off your chest, then sat with his legs crossed, watching you get a strap from your underwear cupboard. He smiled, bouncing his healthy leg. The strap was, in fact, his creation.

After you changed the LED lights to rosy pink, you took off your shirt, tossing it to the floor. After Viktor took off your shirt of himself, his eyes stopped at yours, deciding between looking at your chest or your hands putting on the strap on your hips. He swallowed, seeing what size is about to go inside him. Break him in half.

Viktor laid on his back with his hands above his head, then stretched, looking at you provocatively.

So you got on top of him, holding his tiny waist. He held onto your shoulders, as his amber eyes lit up with smugness. You knew it won't last long.

You moved your hips just an inch.

Viktor's cold breath hit your chest. He quietly moaned, as he felt the tip of your strap touching his clit. Just a little stroke and his eyes ascended in a drunken daze into the back of his head, eyelids dropping.

Oh, how breakable he was.

"Mmph... miláčku..." He whimpered.

"Yes, Viki?" Your hand caressed his hollow cheek.

 "Please..."

He was humping the air, trying to reach the strap, desperate for any stimulation.

"Please what? Use your words, sweetie."

"Y/N, please... I... I mean... Stick your strap inside my holes. Please. Disintegrate me."

What an excellent selection of words.

"I'm afraid you'll have to earn it," you said, pressing your finger onto his dry, chapped lips.

Viktor muffled his whimper.

You changed your position into a cross-legged sit. Viktor sat on his knees, putting a thin pillow in between the bends. He put his hands on his lap.

"Open your mouth for me," you instructed him.

Viktor followed your instructions, even sticking out his tongue. And oh, Lord, he looked so adorably dumb for you. So pathetic.

Two of your fingers entered his mouth. You felt the rough texture of his tongue as you pressed it, making him gag. But he stood still. As you explored his open mouth, a string of drool leaked from his lips, staining the sheets with his saliva. There he was, your genius man transformed into a drooling mess.

You took the fingers out for a second. A string of drool dangled between your fingertips and Viktor's half-opened mouth, like a spiderweb.

"What is 17 + 6, Viki?"

Viktor tried to focus back his dazy gaze. "It's uhhh..."

It's the same man who not even three hours ago did calculations your mind couldn't ever comprehend.

"It's difficult to think, huh?" You said with a condescending tone, stroking his cheek, then put your fingers back into his mouth. "Then suck, it will be easier."

He obeyed, sucking two of your big fingers like a popsicle. He was cotton soft and wet inside. You slid your fingers in and out, until you hit the back of his throat. And it was as if you pressed a "dumb" button in him. He gagged, and you felt as he convulsed. Viktor's amber eyes unfocused, then slowly closed, like a feather falling onto the floor. The base of your fingers was encircled by his lips, as he made the prettiest noises known to man. He looked featherheaded.

How fortunate that those professors from the academy do not see him at this moment. Only you were ever permitted.

"Good boy." Your fingers left his throat and he made a sweet moan. "What position should I fuck your hole in? Are you in a lot of pain today?" You asked, pulling down his boxers to reveal a bush his happy trail led to.

"Please..."

"Hm?" You grabbed Viktor's chin, forcing him to look at you. "Isn't it hard, using your brain to make such big decisions?"

So you laid on your back, inviting Viktor to sit on your hips, thick strap in front of him. The tip reached above his belly button.  Your hands grabbed Viktor's waist, and they almost encircled it. You put him on your strap. His bush tickled your skin. He whined, as his creation, tailor-made for his pussy, stretched him out and pierced deeply. A bulge appeared on his stomach.

"Ride me."

Viktor obeyed. But struggled. He moved his hips weak and slow. You saw how much difficulty it causes him.

"I can't," he said just two words. With someone else, in another state of mind he would push through, not wanting to seem weak. But he didn't.

"I can help you with that, Viki."

Your hands grabbed his hips, moving him back and forth. Viktor's eyes widened, as his frail body was quivering in overpowering pleasure. You couldn't see a thought in this previously clever gaze. His face made a grimace, as he quietly mewled. His fingers went down to his clit. He was pleasuring himself, making circles on the swollen, pink button.

You stopped.

Viktor looked down at you with confusion winkling in his honey-colored eyes.

"What is 5+3?"

"It's uhhm... It's-"

You returned to moving his hips, this time harder and faster, making him bounce up and down. The bulge on his stomach migrated every time your hands moved his hips. Juices soaked from his hole, drool dripped from his mouth, as if his brain was dripping away simultaneously. His eyes got coated in a drunken haze, his breath became harsh, his pale cheeks - rosy pink. He laid on you, barely able to take more.

You disintegrated him.

He was about to climax. His chest rose and fell, as he huskily breathed in and out air. You took his limp figure out of yourself, then got off the bed.

"Y/N, please..."

"Wait."

You took a bullet vibrator and handcuffs out of your cupboard. You locked a cuff on Viktor's limp wrist, then put the cold chain through the crate of the bedframe. He gave you his other wrist. You locked it.  After the bullet was cleaned, you sticked it inside his stretched, pink pussy, hearing him whimper. You turned on the lowest setting.

"Turn it up, miláčku..." Viktor begged with a sharper, less foggy gaze and a raspy voice, looking at you sitting on the edge of the bed. You stroked his sweaty hair and turned up the vibrator's setting...

...just to lower it again. You were met with a whimper. He moved his hips with desperation for just a bit more stimulation that would let him transcend the edge.

He was so needy you pitied him.

"Stop toying with me, Y/N. I beg you, for the love of god. Please... Please, let me cum."

You turned the setting almost to maximum. Viktor gasped for air. Your hand caressed his cheek.

"What is 1+2?"

"Hmmph... " The brilliant scientist couldn't put together a single word.

You turned the setting to maximum and Viktor gritted his teeth, suppressing a scream. It sounded like a squeak. You slid your finger between his lips, parting his teeth, making him cry out the loudest, most heartrending moan.  His back arched, making him flatten his stomach and accentuate ribs that peeked out of the back brace. He squirmed on the bed, hissing and tugging on the handcuffs as the metal clanked, his noises getting higher and higher, until they transformed into shallow breaths like into ultrasound.

The amber eyes shined from tears. "Kurva do piči... Kurva, kurva, kurva."

"Huh... Please, Y/N, have mercy..." Viktor hissed between teeth. "It hurts..."

"Deactivate," he said, almost sobbed out the safeword. "Deactivate, deactivate, deactivate."

You took the bullet out of his soaking wet hole, then freed him from the handcuffs. After you handed him his boxers, you helped him sit up next to you. Viktor leaned on you, resting his chin on your shoulder. He was trembing. His pale body has taken on a rosy pink color.  His skin, wet from sweating, warmed yours like a thermophore.

The feeling of his delicate, warm skin against yours was a delight, but you had to let go of it. You handed Viktor his crutch, that was leaning against the bedside table, near to two cups filled with sweetmilk.

"Go to the bathroom, sweetie," you said with a gentle voice. "I don’t want you to get any infections."

Viktor stood up and already lurched, desperately holding onto his crutch, almost falling onto his knees. As he walked, he held onto everything - the wall, the closet, the door. His legs looked like they were about to collapse. Because of you.

"Do you need help, Viki?" You asked.

"I can handle it myself. But I'm glad that you are concerned."

After he slowly and lumpishly left the room, you took a sip of your sweetmilk. The thick, sweet drink got cold. You took of the strap and laid it on the floor. It can be cleaned later. You wrapped yourself up with the soft blanket. When you turned on your show again, you saw Viktor, still struggling to walk.

Viktor clumsily fell onto the bed. "Could you help me with the braces?"

"Of course, sweetie." You untangled yourself from the blanked and kneeled on the floor before him. "Give me your leg."

You loosened the latches, then delicately took the brace off. A red outline of the brace has imprinted on his skinny leg. Then, you sat on bed again. Viktor took off his shirt, revealing the back brace. You took it off him, unscrewing the screws in his vertebras.

You lifted your blanket, inviting him to lay by your side. Viktor curled up beside you, as you felt how small he was compared to you. He laid his head on your forearm. the dark, soft hair brushed against your skin. His breath got deeper and slower, tiny chest rising and falling. You could sense his warm exhales on your chest. You unpaused the show and checked if he was sleeping - he was.

You left a soft kiss on Viktor's forehead.

After the episode ended, you felt Viktor moving beside you. He whined, waking up from the nap, then stretched, accompanied with another whine.

"You're awake." You took a strand of hair of his face.

"Thank you, miláčku," he said, looking up at you with sharp gaze in his amber eyes. "The fucking was incredible." His chapped lips left a kiss on your cheek.

Viktor rolled to the other side and looked at the strap on the floor. His hand reached for it.

"I wonder which material I used for this strap caused my brain such a reaction."

“Me too, Viki,” you answered, kissing him on the forehead.

[honeybeefae]

For headcanon monday, I have this one in my head that when Azriel finds his mate she’s going to be so SMALL in comparison to him, like just so short and little standing next to this big Illyrian warrior - but Azriel LOVES it, finding any excuse to pick her up/carry/generally hold her, constantly teasing her about her size, and omg how *protective* he is over her not only because she’s his mate but because of her size, and she is just a ball of feisty energy that clearly has no fear of a n y t h i n g

STOP THIS IS SO CUTE OMG

Azriel With a Short Mate:

Azriel was already certain he didn't have a mate. He asked the Mother every night for years when it was his turn, when he would join his brothers, but when they went unanswered, he finally turned away from the childish dreams.

So, color him floored when he catches sight of you, his chest tightening with something he was too scared to think of.

You were arguing with someone right outside of Rita's; your small stature was immediately noticeable compared to the tall man you were fighting with.

He felt a surge of protectiveness overcome his senses, his shadows already reaching out to you before the guy not so gently pushed you.

Everything seemed to slow as he stepped forward, fists already curled, until he saw your own fist raise and collide with the man's jaw.

His eyebrows raised in surprise, stepping to the side as the man stumbled back and fell to the ground.

Your breathing was ragged as you shook your hand, curling and uncurling your fingers as you finally looked up at him.

And everything clicked into place.

The two of you grew closer quickly and, within months, already moving in together.

In that time, you realized Az LOVED your height. You had opened up about it one night as being an insecurity.

He listened and then held you close, able to completely cocoon you in his wings as he stroked your hair and whispered to you how beautiful you are.

"You're perfect, Y/N. Look how well we fit together."

He might also say this during sex but that's a whole other post.

He loves to hold you when he takes you flying, enjoying the way you can bury your head into his neck when he swoops down suddenly.

He carries you whenever you have too much to drink, when you're too tired to make it to bed, when you're sick, really just any time he can. It's his favorite thing.

He makes sure to match his stride whenever you two are walking, holding your hand and gazing down at you with the most adoring eyes.

Everyone teases you about your height difference, especially the IC, but Azriel makes you feel so secure that you no longer mind.

Even Az teases you sometimes, leaning his arm on your head or holding this where you can't reach when you're being a little bit of a brat.

The best thing about your height though is how protective he is of you.

You can hold your own in a fight, everyone knows that, but Azriel is so quick to rush to your defense. He'll stand in front of you, basically hiding you from how much taller he is as his wings flare and his shadows whisper against your ear not to be afraid.

You are his life. His heart. You are too precious to lose.

And, despite his protests, you protect him just as fiercely.

You basically have scary dog privilege. And you love it.

[calcifermovesthecastle]

Dressing Up (Crocodile x F!Reader)

Crocodile is nice in this. Daddy Kink, Slight Dacryphilia, Orgasm denial, reader is feeling shy. Mihawk is there in the beginning but is not a part of it. 3k words

__________________________

"I don't think he'll like it." 

You frown at yourself in the mirror, lifting your arms and turning your body side to side. The deep blue dress- less of a dress and more lingerie- clings to the bits of your body you hate and reveals the parts you hate the most. You grip at the slits that start at your waist and try to pinch them further closed, hoping for more coverage that the article of clothing simply doesn't allow.

"No, I really really don't think he's going to like it." You shake your head and turn around, looking at the shopkeep. "Are you absolutely sure this is the dress he ordered? You didn't maybe mix them up?" 

"I'm sure, miss. This note came with it." 

She hands you the piece of paper, and sure enough, Crocodile's familiar handwriting sprawls across the page. You groan outwardly, turning back to face yourself in the mirror. 

"This does not look good on me. You're sure?" 

"Quite, miss." 

"Ugh," You make a face at yourself, turning to the side. It really does leave nothing to the imagination, and you huff, burying your face in your hands. "It's dreadful. I'm sure he's going to hate it."

But this is the dress he wanted, so you hand the shopkeep the money and wrap your coat as securely around you as you can when you exit the store. 

-

By the time you're standing in front of the door to Crocodile's office, your hands are trembling. You've just raised your fist to knock when Buggy bursts out the door, grumbling about "fair treatment" and "just you waits" and "You'll sees." Before you can step out of the way though, you hear Crocodile say your name and look up in horror to see him waving you in. 

OhnoOhnoOhno. You walk stiffly into the room, arms hugging your coat tightly and securely to your body. Crocodile raises his brow, puffing on his cigar. He leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees. He doesn't need to say anything, you understand the little order. 

"I-" You swallow, looking up, face beet red. You lower your hands, fists clenched at your sides. You're positively trembling, now, eyes flitting to Mihawk sitting opposite the couch to him. 

"Well if it's got you this worked up, doll, I know it's everything I've wanted and more. Show us the dress," Crocodile says. 

You know you have to. Squeezing your eyes shut, you slowly take the edges of your coat and slide it off your shoulders, down your arms. It falls into a puddle around your feet. 

"Holy shit," 

HEHATESIT!

"Give us a spin, baby," Crocodile says. "Hey, look at me." 

You crack an eye open, meeting Crocodiles eyes. There's a hard, almost hungry look in his eye that tells you he definitely doesn't hate the dress. Still mortified, but calming down a bit, you raise your arms and slow spin on the spot, ensuring Crocodile (and Mihawk) get a good view of all angles you and the dress have to offer. 

"'mere." Crocodile pats his leg, so you walk over and sit on it. He grabs a generous handful of your hip and jiggles it a bit. You look up at him, blinking through the smoke he puffs from his cigar. 

"Yes?" 

"You look damn good in that dress," He says. You flush even more, wide eyed. "Mihawk, give us a minute." 

Sighing deeply, Mihawk gets up and leaves the room, closing the door securely behind him. Crocodile wastes no time pulling you fully into his lap, eyeing you hungrily. He takes his cigar out, setting it out in the ashtray next to him. His hand snakes into your hair, pushing you into a kiss. His mouth works yours open, tugging with teeth at your lower lip, tongue working its way in. The hand in your hair snakes down to your ass, groping and palming and smacking, then to the meat of your hips, hand slipping through the fabric slit and palming at your bare skin. You wrap your arms around his neck, gripping your wrist to make sure you stay put. 

You break from the kiss, looking up to get some air. Crocodile takes this opportunity to kiss and bite at your exposed neck. You let out a soft moan at the light pain of it, hips tilting forward in search of friction. 

"Lay down on the couch," He says. You immediately heed his words, earning a smile from him. "Good girl." He maneuvers his way down between your legs, pulling the fabric of your dress over your leg, out of the way. You take a deep shaky breath, hands grabbing at the cushion of the couch. 

Crocodile always takes his sweet time when eating you out, working you up and making you feel so good every time. You attempt to keep your moans soft and quiet and dainty but damned if he doesnt take the breath out of you when he does this. His tongue slides between your folds, with just the right amount of pressure against your clit, and you cry for him. 

"I'm gonna-" 

"No," He pulls back, a smug look on his face. Just as your on the precipice of release, you come down just as fast, and exhale shakily, looking down to meet his eyes. 

"No?" 

"No. Not yet," He grins, climbing back over you to kiss you again. You can taste yourself on him, and whimper slightly. "What's my girl bein' so shy for? It's just you and me in here." He teases you with a smile, hand tugging slightly at your hair. "You were perfectly bratty yesterday. Where'd all that attitude go?" 

You cant possibly go any redder. You close your eyes, trying to hide your face in your hands. "I'm embarrassed!" You say weakly. 

"Look at me." 

You open your eyes, and Crocodile tilts his head, still smiling that smug smile. "Move your hands." 

You do, and he kisses you firmly, languidly, a comforting reminder that this is just Crocodile, and everything is more than okay. 

"Baby," He starts, hand slipping between your thighs. His fingers brush against your pussy, ever so slightly, and you arch towards him. "What do you have to be embarrassed about?" 

"I…I don't know…" It's a terrible attempt at a lie, and he sees right through it. He sits back, lighting another cigar. His eyes never leave your body. 

"Touch yourself." He says, throwing his arms over the back of the couch. The order catches you so off guard that you jump. 

"T-touch myself?" You whisper. He nods, closing his eyes and taking a long dreg of his cigar. You slide a shaky hand between your legs, circling your clit with your first finger. Crocodile opens his eyes and watches you, satisfaction apparent on his face. 

"What do you have to be embarrassed about? The dress looks damn good on you. You're beautiful." 

You moan, sticking your two middle fingers inside your pussy, pushing them in as deep as they'll go. 

"I-" You pause, wondering if you should tell him the truth. You press your thumb to your clit and massage your g-spot with your middle fingers. "I don't feel beautiful, Daddy." 

"Why not?" His eyes soften as he watches you pleasure yourself. You want to hide your face. 

"I don't like my body. I don't like the way I look and the dress just makes it worse." 

"That's not true at all." Crocodile says. You moan, tears of shame pricking at your eyes. "You are beautiful. I wouldn't lie to you about something as serious about your looks. You're all I ever wanted in a woman, baby." 

It's been a while since you'd met Crocodile, when he was the head of Baroque Works. You've since come to being comforted by his presence, but some of your old insecurities have managed to weasel their way back into your brain. 

"I've gained weight." You say flatly. He hums, grinning. 

"It's hot. I love the way you look." 

"Ohhh," You find the right rhythm and pressure, finally, and start riding your hand, bringing yourself closer to your peak. "G-gonna-" 

"No. Stop." 

You cry out, but pull your hand away from yourself with a wet squelch. Your orgasm evades you once again, and you feel your pussy clench around itself. You whine, scrunching your face up. Crocodile puts the Cigar in the ashtray and stands, helping you to your feet. He leads you by the hand out into the hall, and down the stairs to his room. He locks the door behind him, and slowly walks around you, admiring your body and the dress and all of you. 

"It really is a good dress. Wear it tomorrow." 

"In front of everyone? What about all these hickies?" 

"Everyone'll know your mine," He leans down and kisses you again. You melt into him, mentally thanking him for being so careful with his hook. "Take it off for now." 

"Yes sir," You step back, slipping the dress off your shoulders, and push it down past your hips to step out of it. While you're doing that, he takes off his coat and shirt, tossing them on the chair. He strides over to the bed, getting comfortable, and calls you over. You follow, arms crossed over your chest, still feeling shy. 

"Ride my face, baby." 

"Oh- Daddy I don't think I-" 

"Come here." He helps you on the bed, pulling you snug against his side. He presses a long kiss to the top of your head, then your forehead, then your nose, then a soft one to your lips. "You feelin shy today, and that's okay, but you still gonna be a good girl and listen?" He kisses you again, furthering the spell he's casting on you. You whimper again, holding his face in your hands. "You know I wouldn't make you do anything you really don't wanna do." 

You nod, exhaling. Crocodile kisses you again. 

"I think you've got this in you, babydoll. Think you can ride my face like a good girl?" 

Slowly, you nod, sitting up. Crocodile gets comfortable again, helping you get into position straddling his face. 

"You look beautiful up there," He says, a husky look in his eye. You smile at him, hiding your face in your hands. He grips your thigh with his hand and pulls you towards his mouth. You steady yourself and sink your full weight down onto him, moaning loudly when his tongue slides into your pussy. He groans into you as you begin to grind your hips against him. 

His nose presses into your clit so perfectly, nudging against it with the movement of his tongue. You moan into the empty room, hands flying to the headboard to steady yourself. With two missed orgasms, it doesn't take long for you to build up towards the third. Your thighs start trembling, and you exhale a dry sob. 

"I'm so close oh please let me cum, Daddy!" 

Just as quickly, he pulls you off of him, grinning. You immediately whine at the loss, looking down at him in desperation. 

"Not yet. You gotta earn that tonight, baby." Crocodile helps you off of him, and he sits up, leaning against the headboard. He undoes the button on his pants and pulls them down his thighs, his erection springing against his stomach. You stare at it, never not shocked by how big he actually is. He coaxes you into his lap again, lining himself up against you. You rock back onto him, eyes closing as he stretches you open. 

"That's it, babydoll. Nice 'n slow. Take your time gettin used to it," He murmurs into your ear. You moan, wrapping your arms around his neck again. When you finally manage to get all of him into you, you pause, hips flush against his, and relish in the way it feels when he finally fills you up again. He catches your lips in another kiss, hot and heady and oh so delicious when he starts rocking his hips into you. You moan into his mouth, breasts rubbing against his chest, body moving in tandem with his, chasing your (hopeful) release. 

"Baby you feel so good around me. Your pussy's so tight. You're doing such a good job taking my cock, Baby." Crocodile grips your hip in his hand, helping to guide your movements. "That's my good girl." 

"Daddy please. I'm getting so close, please let me cum." Your voice trembles. 

"Look at me." 

You look up at him, brow furrowed, lips puffy, and he groans, a devilish grin spreading across his face. 

"Don't you dare cum, baby girl. You hear me? I'm not stopping, don't you dare cum." 

"I need to! Please!" 

"I can feel you getting close. Don't you dare, babydoll. You can do it. Be a good girl for me, hm?" 

With all your might, you clench down, taking slow deep breaths as you try not to cum. Crocodile, true to his word, does not stop, and it takes a few moments more for you to come down. 

"That's a good girl. Feel that cock in there? How good does it make you feel?" 

"S-so good, Daddy." You moan, burying your face into the crook of his neck. 

"Yeah? You wanna cum?" 

"Please!" 

"You gotta earn it, remember?" He smacks your ass. You yelp, but he's immediately massaging the area with his palm.

"H-how?" You practically beg him, the need to cum electrifying your very bones.

"Say you're beautiful."

"But-" 

Crocodile pulls out of you, flipping the two of you so that you're caged underneath him. He rubs the tip of his cock against your entrance, purposfully catching it against your clit. 

"It's not going back in until you say it," He says. You feel tears spark in the corners of your eyes, and meet his eyes. 

"How can I say it when I feel so ugly all the time?" 

"You know that's not true, or I wouldn't be this damn hard for you." He teases. You shake your head slightly. "Baby, all you gotta do is say it. You'll start to believe it." 

"I'm beautiful," You whisper, hiding your face in your hands. Crocodile pushes back in, and you toss your head back against the pillow as he fills you again. 

"That's my good girl." Crocodile pumps into you, a look of concentration on his face. He builds you slow and steady, giving you all the praise in the world you crave. He's an expert when it comes to you, and knows exactly how to handle you in each an every situation, from bratty to feeling small. He always takes such good care of you, never making you question what you mean to him. 

When he picks up the pace, you babble helplessly as he rocks into you, quick and hard and a harsh contrast to the intimate slowness of before. You're properly drunk on him now. You cry for him, tears running down the sides of your face as you wrap your arms around his neck, your pussy fluttering around his cock. 

"Daddy, can I please cum?" You ask him desparately. He grins at you, rewarding you with a sweet kiss. 

"I think you've got a few more in you," He says. This is what, the fourth? Fifth? Time he's denied you, and you sob when he slows to a stop. 

"I don't! I can't please!" You beg him, pulling him down on top of you. "Daddy please I can't take it anymore!" You cry into his shoulder, hugging him tight. 

He pushes back in, exhaling slowly. 

"Alright, baby girl, I'd say you earned it." The tone of his voice tells you he almost slipped back into reprimanding you, but he's feeling merciful today, so it seems. He sets a fast pace, skin slapping skin as he chases your release for you. You come towards the edge rather quickly, but he's telling you in your ear to hold on for just a moment longer. The muscle in his jaw is tense, and he breathes out, nodding quickly. 

"You're there, baby. Let go. Cum on Daddy's cock, baby." 

You moan loudly, clamping down hard on his cock. You grind up and down on him, squirting as great waves of pleasure and relief wash over you and jolt throug you like an electric shock. Crocodile rides you through your orgasm, groaning at the way you're squeezing him. He slows to a near halt, pumping a few generous squirts of his cum into you before pulling out, finishing his release on your stomach and breasts. 

When you finally come down, you realize you're bawling. The sheer relief of finally being allowed to cum has caught up with you, and you let out a few sobs. Crocodile lays next to you and pulls you into his arms, Pressing kisses into your hair. He holds you while you calm down, letting you take the time you need to feel small. 

You must've dozed off, because after so long you're blinking awake against him. You wrinkle your nose. 

"We stink." 

"There you are," Crocodile says, smiling down at you. You smile back. 

"I don't know what you're talking about. And you can't make me wear that dress tomorrow." 

"Oh?" He raises his eyebrow, looking down his nose at you. "I let you come once and you wanna be a brat?" 

You giggle, shaking your head. You stand slowly, stumbling, and laugh as you trip and fall back into the bed. 

"No, but I'm ready to go get cleaned off. I don't want to sleep in a stinky bed."

Crocodile laughs, sliding his way out of the bed himself. He helps you to your feet. As you walk towards the washroom together, you smile. 

"You can't make me wear that dress tomorrow," You say again. He shoots you a look out of the corner of his eye. "But I'll wear it tonight, and sit on your lap during the meeting with Mihawk and Buggy so they can see all the beautiful marks you left on me." 

Crocodile laughs again, nodding his head. 

"I'm gonna have to punish the tease out of you later, doll." 

"I'm just doing what my Daddy wants," You reply, knowing full well you're going to eat your words later. 

He's going to make sure of it.

[lizslibrary]

Mirror

Summary: Reader is Bucky's next-door neighbor when they hear him having a nightmare. Reader helps him see his reflection in the mirror and reminds him that his scars are beautiful because they are proof that he survived.

A/N: Thank you guys so much for the support on my last story, It gave me the courage to write a second one. The last fic I wrote was done in the first person so I thought I would try my hand in second person to see how it goes. Please let me know of any compliments or criticism that you have, it would really help a lot! 🤍

Warnings: Nightmare, PTSD, Bucky being insecure, self-deprivation (Bucky,) Crying, hurt/comfort.

Word count: 1339.

__________________________________

You awoke to the sound of screaming from across the hall, it didn't take long to figure out Bucky was having another nightmare. You prop yourself up on one elbow, rubbing your eyes as you adjust to being awake. Forcing yourself out of your bed, you open your door and step into the dimly lit hallway of your apartment building. You gently raise your fist and knock on Bucky's apartment door, hoping he'll answer.

Not long after, the door creaks open and Bucky stands in the doorway looking disheveled and tired. He was wearing loose sweatpants, and his skin was gleaming with sweat. his eyes reddened and brimmed with tears yet to be spilled. You stare at him for a moment noticing how his long hair is sticking to the sides of his face, and how there were dark smudges under each eye.

"Bucky?" You say softly, almost as if he was a bomb waiting to detonate. "Can I come in?"

Bucky nods quietly, holding the door open a little wider. I look around noticing how messy his apartment is. Pillows and blankets were on the ground, and his boots were on two separate sides of the room, one leaning against the TV stand, while the other was in the corner. The only furniture in the room was a small, grey couch and a little coffee table that sat between the TV and the sofa.

Bucky stared at you silently, his eyes were dark. "I'm sorry I woke you." He said, his voice low and shaky.

You shook your head "Don't worry about it Bucky, it wasn't your fault." You say gently, sitting down on his couch and gesturing for him to sit next to you. "Are you okay?"

Bucky shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair "No" He says quietly, closing his eyes. "They won't stop, every time I try to sleep these nightmares keep coming back."

Your heart began to ache at the thought of Bucky suffering through these awful nightmares, night after night. You recall all the times when he would wake you up screaming, telling you how he had just dreamt about Hyrda, about how these visions of death and violence constantly haunt him.

"You don't deserve this Bucky." You say, observing the way he covered himself up with a blanket.

Bucky turned to face you "I'm a monster..." he said lowly. He opened his mouth but no words came out. Bucky closed his eyes tightly, and tears fell freely from his cheeks.

"No Bucky, you're not." You say, gently placing your hand over his shaking one. "Bucky, you've done nothing wrong, none of this is your fault."

He looked away from you, eyes falling to the floor "I know, but I still did it."

You sigh "Buck, listen to me." You say, keeping your voice gentle. "You were being brainwashed and manipulated. They made you do horrible things that you had no control over."

Bucky remained silent, letting out a deep breath before looking at you. "They ruined me Y/n, my body is filled with ugly scars." He said pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. "When I go out in public little people, children even, are scared of my arm...It just reminds me of my past and what I've done." He says softly "Hydra ruined me."

You place your hand on his blanket-covered back slowly making circles with my fingernails. "Bucky, you are the kindest most handsome man I've ever met, your past does not define your present." You say, "You have gone out of your way to protect and take care of me even before we became close."

His cheeks tinted pink "Y/n...thank you." He whispered, taking a deep breath "But-"

You stop him "No buts Bucky." You say firmly "Can I show you the Bucky that I see?" You take his hand, pulling the blanket off his back, and leading him gently into the bathroom turning him so that he can see his reflection in the mirror.

"What do you see when you look at yourself?" You ask, keeping your voice soft.

Turning his head away from the mirror, Bucky swallowed hard. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he took a deep breath. "Scars..." He mumbled, unable to meet your gaze.

You nod, rubbing his back "Anything else?"

Bucky peers back to the mirror, his eyes landing on the scar tissue that connects his shoulder to his vibranium arm, he clenches his jaw and grips the sink tightly.

Your gaze is soft as you watch Bucky look at himself, with sorrow and pain. He doesn't reply as he turns away from the mirror, dropping his head in shame.

"Listen to me bucky..." You say, standing next to him in the mirror "Your scars are beautiful."

He glances up at you "How could they possibly be?" He asks, fighting back the tears that welled in his eyes.

You smile warmly "Because you fought your way out of hell, you persevered through torture and you lived; they are a reminder that you survived." You tell him, your eyes never leaving his. "You are the strongest, most beautiful man I have ever met." You say, turning to face him.

Bucky wipes his eyes quickly, inhaling sharply. He stares at you a moment before letting out a deep breath "Thank you..." He whispers, averting his eyes once more.

You squeeze his hand lightly "You don't have to thank me." You say softly. "You deserved to hear it."

Bucky stares down at you, his glossy eyes filled with gratitude, before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into a tight hug. You wrap your arms around him in return, feeling the tension seep from his body. He sniffles "I don't deserve you doll." He whispers, bringing his forehead to rest against your shoulder.

"No, you deserve more."

You weren't sure why, but you felt like you needed to be persistent in reminding him that he was worthy of love and affection, regardless of what happened in his past.

"You're the best thing that has ever happened to me." He breathes, bringing his hand up to your head and running his fingers through your hair.

With a contented sigh, you let your fingers glide over Bucky's skin, tracing his muscles and spine. He shudders under your touch, tightening his grip around your waist. He leans into you, his forehead resting on yours.

"It feels good to hold you." He murmurs, pushing his nose against your cheek.

You smile against his chest "That's sweet Bucky, feels good to hold you too" You murmur.

Bucky lets out a soft chuckle, a light tickle brushing against your ear. You reach up, running your hand through his silky hair, gently combing it out of his eyes. You tilt his head up so that his eyes meet your own.

"Are you ready to go back to bed?" You say, staring into his eyes. You could tell that he was tired, his pale blue eyes looking dull and heavy.

He nods slowly, resting his chin against your shoulder before pulling away and walking into his room "Yeah." He mutters.

You turn around, walking back into the bedroom. As you shut the door behind you, you hear Bucky sigh as he climbs onto his bed. You walk over to the bed and sit down, facing Bucky.

He closes his eyes and lets out a long exhale "Thanks for talking to me sweetheart...You didn't have to stay up this long." He says, his voice cracking slightly.

You run your fingers through his hair "Don't worry about it Bucky, I wanted to." You say, leaning forward and kissing his forehead "Goodnight."

Bucky stares at you, looking at you as if he is trying to memorize every feature.

"Y/n?" He asks barely audible.

"Yeah?"

"Can you stay here tonight?" He says, his voice hoarse.

A small smile appears as you walk to the other side of the bed and gently crawl under the covers. immediately, Warmth envelops you as you settle into the blankets. You take a deep breath, feeling the heat from Bucky's body beneath the blankets. You lean forward, bringing your lips to his temple.

"Goodnight Buck." You murmur.

"Sweet dreams, sweetheart," he whispers softly, drawing you close to his chest as he drifts into the first peaceful sleep he has had in years.

[itsuki-minamy]

"K - LOST SMALL WORLD" (Novel)

EPILOGUE: FIRE CRY

Translation: Naru-kun Chapter guide: HERE

"Hey, Yata, did you know? Scepter 4 members live in dormitories."

That happened when he was eating with Totsuka at the bar counter. Totsuka suddenly said something as if he had always had an idea.

"What is this all of a sudden? I know... that guy told me."

Yata replied with a loud pout.

One day, half of the luggage suddenly disappeared from the room the two had been living in since the end of high school, and then moved into the Scepter 4 dorm, a statement that made him question his sanity. Was this the trick of the cat ears and earthworms?! He thought afterward as he stomped his feet.

Soon after, Yata also left that room. Every time he went to bed, he would notice the emptiness above his head and couldn’t help but feel nauseous.

"So, since it’s a dorm, does it have a dining room or something?"

"Eh? I don't know..."

"I wonder if he's eating enough food. You know, Fushimi is a picky eater, so I don't think there's much proper set menu in the cafeteria. What do you think, Yata?"

"I don't know! Why do I have to worry about the traitor's food?!"

When Totsuka continued to talk insensitively, Yata got angry and slammed his fist on the counter. The plate bounced off and the cup fell over, flooding the counter with water. Fortunately, Kusanagi wasn't there, so he was saved from punishment.

Totsuka looked surprised and took a step back. Feeling awkward, Yata looked down and pulled both fists, including the spoon in his right hand, out from under the counter.

He kicked the empty loft from below dozens of times above his head and fell headfirst onto his bed, clutching his legs and saying, "It hurts!" He yelled at himself... He just couldn't control his anger. He went crazy for a while, venting his anger outside of himself, but when he felt empty and stopped, something suddenly rose up in his throat and he felt an incomprehensible feeling of regret. Although he said he was sorry, he didn't know exactly what he was sorry for. However, for Yata, it was nothing more than a feeling of regret.

He regretted it. He grabbed a pillow and pressed it hard against his face, gritting his teeth so hard that his mouth cut and regretting it no matter what.

"Ah, if that guy changes his mind and apologizes, and says he wants to go back, we'll bow to Mikoto-san together. He's not the type to bow to anyone, so I'll bow to him, and if Mikoto-san doesn't feel satisfied unless he hit Saruhiko, then he'll hit me along with him."

"Well, if King really hits you, will Yata die?! Are you okay?!"

Totsuka was surprised at how over the top he was, so he flinched and said, "Ugh!" For Yata, coming into contact with Suoh's suspicions is scarier than any ghost story or horror movie.

"I... Still, I'm ready. I won't let Saruhiko get beaten up alone."

His voice was hoarse. However, he clenched his fist tighter, stared at the counter, and finished his sentence.

"Yeah, well, I think it's manly to be prepared for that, but isn't it a little one-sided? I wonder if that's what Fushimi wants."

"...? What do you mean? Don't say things like you already know them..."

He felt strangely angry and glared at him. Totsuka had a calm smile on his face as always.

"This is what King and the Blue King look like."

Then, he suddenly started talking again.

"It's not like they're just fighting each other like you think, Yata. Well, it seems like there's a lot going on in Fushimi's position, and it would be nice if we could talk someday... Even... If I say this now, Yata, you still don't get it, right?"

When he laughed at Yata, who asked indignantly, "Are you making fun of me?" Totsuka raised his hands in surrender and said, "Sorry, sorry."

"Well, remember what I said someday, somewhere. Even if I'm not there at that time."

"Hey, please don't say things like you're going to die someday. That brings bad luck."

When he said that in a particularly grumpy manner, Totsuka simply smiled.

++++++++++

No Blood, No Bone, No Ash!

No Blood, No Bone, No Ash!

No Blood, No Bone, No Ash!

As he excitedly waved his fists in the air, stamped his foot, and raised his voice, his surroundings became warm. Yata looked left and right with teary eyes.

He didn't know where they came from, but before he knew it, sparks were dancing all over the area.

It wasn't that... there was light. All around him, his friends were shaking their fists and chanting the same words in unison, and from each of their bodies light was born, like little lives separating. As if calling out to one another, the light gathered, dyeing the white landscape red as it rose into the sky covered in snow clouds.

"Ah..."

When he looked at his chest, he saw that the mark on his body was also exuding a soft red light.

Another light was born from within him and he let himself be carried away by the light of his companions.

He felt that Suoh's flame still resided deep within the mark that remained on his body. The flame filled his body with a gentle warmth. It was as if the fierce anger that Suoh had held within him as a wild king was dissipating and beginning to crumble.

"Mikoto-san..."

Following the light, Yata raised his tear-soaked face.

"No Blood, No Bone, No Ash! No Blood, No Bone, No Ash...!!"

He held the spot tightly and let out a loud voice as if to let go of the emotions welling up within him.

Looking up from there, he saw a line of armored vehicles with blue markings stopping on the railing of the bridge that connects Gakuenjima and the mainland. He saw a light gently floating above the bridge, moving away from the group of lights of his companions.

Fushimi was holding the same place as Yata with his hand, looking up at the sky with a strange expression on his face, as if he had lost some of his poison.

(Oh, shit...)

Yata cursed in his heart.

Why is he remembering that now? Totsuka-san, did he know he would leave one day? Was he talking about this moment?

Now that he can't do that again, he realized that he should have taken the plunge and asked Suoh what the Blue King meant to him.

He wanted to ask Totsuka what he really meant when he suddenly said something like that and said that Yata still didn't understand, but now that he can't do that again, he realized.

It's annoying for Yata to admit that, but if there's something that can help him, it's...

He's alive. They can still meet as many times as they want, express their doubts and anger, and try to talk.

"No Blood, No Bone, No Ash! No Blood, No... Idiot Monkey! No Ash!"

He doesn't know if he heard the insults mixed with his anger, but Fushimi glared at him.

The two exchanged glances on and off the bridge.

As everyone continued to chant in unison, Yata glared at Fushimi without taking his eyes off. He raised his voice even louder, intending to smash him into the bridge. He kept screaming even when his voice was hoarse, he pounded the ground even when he couldn't feel his legs anymore, and he kept swinging his fists even when he couldn't lift his arms.

[flametrashiraarchive]

Hey👋🏾 ! Can I request Shinjuro x Widowed Reader who lost her husband and child to a demon attack years ago and is now remarried to Shinjuro after after Ruka passed. And how Shinjuro deals with being in love with another partner while also being in love with his late wife still grieving her after all these years. Also I’d wonder how Kyojuro and Senjuro would take to having a new mom🤔.

Hey! Thank you so much for the prompt!

So, this story ran away with itself, but I think this had to be a longer piece because there are so many emotions at play here. I wrote this as if the events of Mugen Train never happened and Shinjuro never had that moment of clarity after Kyojuro's death. (Kyojuro will never die on my watch)

If you prefer, it's on AO3 here

Content warnings for: alcoholism, recovering from alcoholism, death of a spouse, death of a child, and Shinjuro just being awful at the beginning of the story. It is kind of a slow-burn but there is an explicit sex scene so minors DNI. 

A Rekindled Flame

Shinjuro Rengoku x F!Reader

Shinjuro curls his lip as you approach. "What do you want now?"

Your husband reeks of sake and stale sweat, his yukata falling open, exposing his broad chest and thick thighs to the neighbors as he sits on the porch. 

Enough is enough.

You hold your breath, "You know what I want. I've asked you every day since the day we got married; I want you to give up the drink and be a father to your sons. Kyojuro left for his mission brokenhearted."

"So?" 

"So… what if he doesn't come back?"

"Why should I care? He's a grown man. He can make his own damn mistakes."

"You're vile. You're shameful!" You were raising your voice to him now, which you never did. You would take shit from Shinjuro all day long, but when it came to the boys, you would defend them tooth and claw. Your fists coiled at your sides. "How dare you!"

Shinjuro's shock at hearing your raised voice buys you a second to snatch the sake bottle from the former flame hashira.

"Give that back!" He growls, trying to stand. He sways and stumbles back down. "I'm not finished."

You defiantly pour the alcohol onto the earth and hand him the empty bottle. "There. You're done."

He simply stares at you, too drunk to form a reaction. "You… my…"

You turn on your heel and walk back into the house, heading to your room. Throughout the year you've been married, you and Shinjuro have never once shared a bed. Not even on your wedding night. He'd barely even made it through the ceremony before he was passed out in a drunken stupor. If not for Kyojuro and Senjuro, you might have run away there and then. Your marriage is loveless by every definition.

"SENJURO!!" Your husband bellows through the house, looking for his youngest. You know exactly what for. He's too drunk to go and buy sake himself, so he'll send the lad to do it. You step out of your room and find Shinjuro staggering through the kitchen. "Where's the boy?"

"Not here." You weren't about to tell Shinjuro, but his youngest son was at the butterfly mansion, where he would stay until he was ready to come home. You've had enough. You have all had enough.

Shinjuro closes his eyes and his throat flexes. He's either holding back from yelling or vomiting or both. "When you see him, tell him I need more sake. Some hell bitch threw mine away." And then he stumbles off to his bedroom and slides the door shut. A few moments later you hear a thud, and then snoring. 

All things considered, it didn't go too badly. 

Before you finish your chores you head over to Ruka's shrine. It has been a decade since Shinjuro's first wife passed, and you know how much he's hurting. You've lived through it yourself. 

You had thought that having both lost your spouses, you would have been a compatible match and bonded over your shared loss, but Shinjuro had only ever reluctantly accepted you as his wife. You were more of a nanny and maid. 

"Ruka… I'm trying," you whisper as you kneel and light the incense. "I'll keep trying, for the boys and for him."

~

The next day, Shinjuro is in a foul mood as anticipated. He trudges from his room and instinctively heads to the porch before remembering the events of the previous day. 

"You owe me a bottle of sake," he grumbles, his voice deep and rough. 

"You owe me a year of my life. Let's just call it even." 

His thick black eyebrows furrow. "Where's Senjuro?"

"Gone."

"Gone where? There are chores to be done…"

You take a breath. "Senjuro left here yesterday morning. He's gone to stay with friends. Kyojuro and I thought it would be best." 

"What the hell is this? My whole good for nothing family turning against me?" He shakes his head, furious tears forming in his eyes. "Why did you take my son away?"

"I didn't send him, he wanted to go," you try to keep your voice firm but calm. Your heart is racing, and as much as you want to get the hell out too, you need to do this for Kyojuro and Senjuro. "Don't you see what you're doing to this family?"

Shinjuro scoffs. "You're the one breaking us apart. The boys are all I have!"

"Senjuro flinches when you walk into the room. Kyojuro works so hard every damn day to make you proud and all you ever do is drink and tell him he's worthless. I don't want to drive your family apart. I want to fix it. I need to fix it, because you have two wonderful sons who deserve the world. And all you're giving them is hell."

He stares at you. A tear runs down your cheek and you quickly wipe it away. He knows you lost your own son, that you blame yourself for failing to protect him from the demon who killed both him and your husband. If Kyojuro had gotten there just a second later, you would have died too. 

He steps toward you, muttering the first syllable of your name before he shakes his head. For a moment you could swear he almost showed you empathy. "So… what you're telling me is that I need to quit drinking, and then I'll get my boys back."

You nod. "I know how much you're hurting Shinjuro. I know Ruka was your world and you love her so much the pain is unbearable. But the drink isn't numbing it, is it? You're still hurting, and all the drink does is spread that pain to others." You take a step toward him and lay your hand on his forearm, gazing up at him with desperation in your eyes. "Let me help you, because you truly have such wonderful, kind sons, and they deserve a father. And you don't deserve to drink yourself to an early grave."

His jaw tightens and he looks away. "There's nothing left of me for you to save."

"That's not true." Your racing heart is breaking as you look into your husband's eyes and see there's no light in them at all. "Shinjuro, we'll get you back."

"It's impossible–"

"We're Rengokus. We do not give up. Please Shinjuro… let me help you and then… then I'll leave. You'll never have to see me again. But do this for your sons."

His eyes snap toward you. "Why would you leave?" 

"Because I know you don't love me. You never have, and that's fine." A bitter chuckle leaves your lips. "I don't love you either. Let's just do this one thing. If all we ever do is get you through this, I'll consider our marriage a success."

He stares at you for a moment before his gaze drops to the floor. "Alright. I'll do it. For the boys."

~

The first weeks are hell. 

The withdrawal keeps Shinjuro up at night. He shakes and sweats, throwing his guts up and snapping at you constantly. His irritability is worse than ever and you start to doubt either of you has the strength to keep doing this. 

Every night you pray at Ruka's shrine. It's a comfort to feel like you're both trying to help. The photograph of her gazes back at you with endless patience and grace, and you try your best to draw strength from the hope that she's watching your efforts.

You wash the sweat and vomit from his clothes, you brew tea to help his nausea and let him swear and grumble at you all he wants. But he doesn't touch a drop of sake. 

One morning, three weeks after his last drink, Shinjuro emerges from his bedroom and walks to the table where you're eating breakfast alone.

"Good morning," he says, his voice as deep and growly as ever but lately it's a little gentler. 

"How was last night?"

"Better…" he pulls in a breath and walks to the pot of rice gruel on the table, ladling out a bowl for himself.

"You're eating breakfast?" You've never seen him eat breakfast in the whole year you've been married. 

He nods. "Yeah… I'm hungry."

For the first time, your husband sits beside you and eats. He doesn't smell of sweat and sake anymore, he just smells like… Shinjuro. 

"I'm going to cut firewood today," he tells you as he eats. "I noticed we're getting low, with the boys being gone."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Shinjuro has never done chores. "Oh, thank you."

"Don't thank me. I live here too. It's only fair I do my share." He finishes his breakfast and sets his bowl down. His eyes are downcast. "I'm sorry." 

Silence hangs between the two of you. 

You aren't sure how to respond. There are no words to describe the tangled web of feelings you have for the man. There's so much resentment and anger. But you're proud of him too, so very very proud. And truth be told, though your marriage exists in name only, you're attached to him. 

His hand rests on your shoulder, so big and heavy and oh-so warm. "I've been a terrible husband and an even worse father."

"Yes."

He bows his head. "I know words mean less than actions, but I will atone for what I've done and become worthy of the name Rengoku once more." He pulls in a long breath and turns to face you. "My wife… will–" He shakes his head, composes himself, and says firmly, "Can I hold you?"

His request takes you by surprise. "But you hate me."

"No," he shakes his head. "No, I've never hated you. How could I? I've watched you keep this home running while I've sat idle and useless. I've watched you be a mother to the boys and put up with the hell I dragged you through with grace and strength." His gold and crimson eyes are fixed on you. "You are a remarkable woman, the strongest I have ever known. And I know I'm unworthy of claiming the title of your husband, I'm beyond honored to call you my wife."

You can only stare. This man is so different from the one you've been married to this past year. "Shinjuro…" his name emerges as a whisper before your lips curve and you smile at him for perhaps the first time ever. 

Words are unnecessary as you lean into your husband's embrace and his strong arms wrap around you as he buries his face against your shoulder. 

And God, it shouldn't feel this good to finally feel appreciated and loved by him, but it does. You hold each other as if your embrace could heal the deepest wounds, bringing your hand up to softly stroke the back of his head and his wild fiery hair.

"I'm so proud of you," you say at last. "I know nothing has been easy these past ten years."

"It hasn't been for you either, and I've made it so much worse." He pulls back from the embrace and looks into your eyes. "I'm going to be the husband you deserve, if you'll have me. But don't answer yet. Let me earn it." 

He stands and takes your bowls to wash them. When he's done he silently heads outside and it isn't long before you hear the rhythmic thump of an ax hitting wood. 

You go about your daily routine, keeping the Rengoku homestead together as best as you can. You clean, maintain, fix, and finally cook.

When dinner is ready you head outside to tell Shinjuro, but the sight which greets you knocks the air from your lungs. 

He's still hard at work, his torso completely bare and his yukata gathered about his hips. His body is so big and burly, softened by age yet still so strong even though years have passed since he quit his hashira training. He's sweating and his cheeks and chest are flushed a warm shade of pink. He's slightly breathless. The golden sunset highlights every curve and muscle of his body. 

You just… stand… transfixed. 

Your body knows what it wants immediately.

He finally notices you standing on the porch and wipes his brow on his forearm. "Everything okay?"

"Mhm… yeah…" you nod as heat creeps across your cheeks and pools in the pit of your belly. "Dinner's ready."

He nods. "Almost done." 

The heat in your belly seeps lower as you watch him swing the ax again. 

You have to turn away. It has been years since you felt anything close to desire, and the sudden onslaught to your senses is more than you can handle. Heading inside, you splash cold water on your cheeks and add the noodles to the pot, ready to serve.

"Mmm…"

Your heart flutters as you hear Shinjuro's low hum of approval as he steps into the house a few minutes later. "Smells like miso."

"Miso ramen."

"My favorite!"

"I know." You chance looking around and instantly regret it. 

His yukata is back in place but he must have quickly washed up outside as his hair is wet and scraped up into a ponytail. And though he's clearly made an effort to be presentable, the fact remains that his yukata is hardly big enough to fully cover his chest. You can't tear your eyes from the hypnotic sight of water droplets sliding down over his skin.

"Oh~" you clear your throat and turn back to the pot, fixing two bowls of ramen. "It's a shame Kyojuro isn't back yet. He loves this dish."

"Kyojuro loves every dish," Shinjuro chuckles as he sits at the table. "Feeding him costs a fortune. But your ramen is very good." A pained sigh escapes him. "I do miss the boy. I expect he and I will have a difficult conversation upon his return. Difficult but necessary. And as for Senjuro, I can only hope he wishes to come back home."

You set the bowls on the table and sit beside him. "He will. He wants his father. And I've written to him telling him how well you're doing, though it may take a while for the letter to reach him, since Kyojuro has the kasugai crow on his mission." 

Shinjuro pauses with his spoon mid air. "You did that for us?"

You nod.

He reaches out and puts his hand on yours. "I would marry you again, you know. I know you probably can't say the same and I don't blame you for that one bit. But I would marry you without hesitation." 

His hand completely covers yours; large, firm, and warm. You rotate your wrist and turn your palm upward to interlock your fingers with his. 

"It hasn't been easy, Shinjuro, but I would do this a thousand times over to meet the version of you I see today." His stubble rasps against your palm as you reach out and affectionately cup his chin with your other hand, lifting it ever so slightly so he sits a little prouder. "I knew there was a good man beneath all those snarls." 

He chuckles and smiles at you fondly. "Thank you. Ah, I should probably shave, shouldn't I?"

"It's up to you, I quite like the stubble."

"Oh you do?" He raises a thick, dark eyebrow. "Then I'll keep it."

Your cheeks heat. You're flirting with your husband! He laughs softly and continues eating his ramen. 

"It's good. Thank you. You're an excellent cook and an even better wife."

When evening comes and it's time for you to go to bed, you stand together in the center of your house between the two doors.

"Goodnight, sweet wife," he says, squeezing your hand affectionately.

"Goodnight, husband who is trying very hard."

He laughs before he turns and heads to his room. 

~

From that point on, each day gets a little easier. You sit and eat meals with your husband and both spend the day working around your home. You become a team, a family. And every day he recovers more of himself. Every day he becomes the man his family deserves. 

When he's a month sober, you prepare a special dinner; a little banquet just for the two of you.

"Oh my!" His smile beams as he sees all your hard work. "My darling wife, you really are wonderful."

"Thank you." Your heart leaps as he leans in and gently kisses your cheek. 

"No, no, thank you." He chuckles and sits down to eat. He'll never admit it, but since he sobered up it's very apparent that Shinjuro absolutely shares the same voracious appetite as Kyojuro. "Mm… tasty."

You sit together, shoulder to shoulder as you eat, discussing the day and what still needs to be done around the house tomorrow. When he's finished eating you hand him a letter. "It's from Senjuro." 

His smile falters and he suddenly looks timid. His fingers are shaking as he opens the letter. You already know the contents, you know it's nothing but sweetness– of course it is, it's Senjuro– but you know how terrifying this must be for Shinjuro. 

You put your arm around his back as he reads and a few moments later you feel him start to shake as he grits his teeth and a sob bursts out of him.

"Senju–" he cries, bringing the letter to his lips and closing his eyes. "Oh my sweet boys. I miss them."

You pull him into an embrace,  wrapping your arms around him; one around his back, the other cradling his head to your chest as you press your lips to his hair. "It's okay. You're doing so well, Shinjuro. They'll be back soon and they'll be proud to call you their father."

He nods and wraps his arms around your waist, holding you as his tears subside and he composes himself. "You're right. They'll be back and they'll have a father they can be proud of." He keeps holding you, keeps resting his head against you. "Thank you. I can never thank you enough for what you've done for our family." 

"I would do it every day, a hundred times over." You kiss the top of his head, letting your lips linger in his hair. The scent of him is so comforting now, so you draw a deep breath.

He raises his head to look at you, smiling softly, and leaning in to  place a gentle, loving kiss on your cheek. 

His lips are soft in contrast to his stubble which rasps over your skin and stirs a cloud of butterflies in your belly. 

Your heart races as you close the space between you once more and kiss his cheek in return. Your kiss lands a little lower, a little closer to his lips.

He mirrors your gesture, exchanging another chaste kiss at the corner of your mouth. And another. And another.

The air between you grows thick and hot as those chaste kisses become loaded with a deeper need. And with every kiss your heart beats a little faster.

Your faces are just inches apart, his shallow breaths fluttering against your lips as the lids grow heavy over golden hued eyes. His gaze drifts to your lips. "Is it…okay if–?"

"Yes." 

He chuckles, brushing his fingertips against your jaw and gently clasping your chin to bring your lips to his. His kiss is soft and tender, his lips slowly and tentatively caressing yours, as if he's rediscovering a path he once knew so well. 

But once he finds the rhythm his kiss grows more intense, and a deep, desperate moan rolls through his chest and echoes in you. The moment his tongue slips against yours you're both gone; lost to the heat and the pleasant tingles shooting through your bodies.

He pulls back for a moment, checking in on you, but you quickly close the gap once more, kissing him with all the passion and adoration you've craved for so long.

Your fingers graze over his stubble as you cup his face between your hands.

"Oh, my wife," he whispers against your lips as he switches from deep, hungry kisses to feathery, gentle ones. "My sweet wife."

He presses his forehead to yours as he traces your lips with his fingertip, making you shiver. 

"I should have told you every day; you're so beautiful," his voice is low and quiet and just for you. "I want to spend the rest of my life cherishing you as you deserve." He places a soft kiss at the corner of your lips. "I never thought I'd feel this way again."

You can hardly breathe; his tenderness is lovely and overwhelming. "I know I'll never replace Ruka. I don't intend to, and I would never expect you to stop loving her."

"You're right, I'll always love her, but I love you too, and there's room for both of you in my heart." He tucks your hair back behind your ear and kisses your temple. "I would never expect you to stop loving your late first husband either. The ones we lose, they're a part of us, and they would want us to be happy." He caresses your cheek and it isn't until he wipes away your tears that you realize you've begun to cry. "Before she died, Ruka begged two things of me: to take care of our boys and to find love again. And you've made both her final wishes possible. Ruka was my first love, but you are my last."

Your heart squeezes at his words. You caress his stubbled cheek before leaning in and letting your kiss tell him everything you can't find the words to express. His lips are addictive, and every kiss fans heat through your body. When you pull away you gently suck his lower lip, pulling a deep, needy groan from him.

"Oh~" his eyes flutter closed. One of his hands is at the back of your neck, the other drifts down to your waist. "You're making me weak, wife."

You can't help but smile as you lean in again and kiss him even deeper. That you can reduce this big, strong former hashira to whimpers with just a kiss is more thrilling than you ever imagined.

His cheeks are a deep shade of pink as he gazes down at you. "We have a lot of time to make up. I want to take care of you. Tell me how to do that."

"Well, we never got a wedding night," you say as your heart pounds.

"You're right." He kisses you again, runs his fingers through your hair. It seems he can't get enough of the sensation of you. "Would you like me to make up for that tonight?"

Your throat is dry, your breath stilted as you nod. "Yes. Shinjuro, right now I want nothing more."

You can see in his eyes how much this means to him. And you feel it too. It's not just the physical pleasure, but the intimacy, the outlet, the emotional release. He carries you to his bedroom and sets you down on the bed, his lips curving into a genuine and grateful smile as he kneels between your knees and leans forward, pressing his body against yours and kissing you. 

It's been so long since you felt anything like this, and your body drinks it in. Before long you're kissing like teenagers, both flushed, your bodies heating. You wrap your legs around him, grinding your hips against his, seeking friction as his tongue strokes yours. 

He chuckles softly. "Easy, little spitfire. I said I'd take care of you and I want to do it thoroughly." His fingers make short work of your clothing, laying you bare as his breath catches in his throat. "Beautiful," he whispers, his voice thick with reverence as he gazes down at you.

He kisses your neck, your collarbone, your breasts, latching onto your nipples with a wanton moan. 

There's so much time to make up for, and he loves you. He desperately does. Never once during that year of lonely hell did you ever suspect that Shinjuro was a man who loves to fuck, but as he kisses his way down your belly and over your hips, he can't hide the curve of his lips or the gleam in his eyes. 

His stubble rasps against your inner thighs as he teases you with hot, hungry kisses, inching closer and closer to where you so desperately need him.

"Just relax," he tells you in that soft, growly voice as he lies between your legs, his lips just inches from your pussy. "Let your husband take care of you."

And God, he does just that. Shinjuro eats your pussy like it's his first meal in forever, licking, sucking, groaning as he devours you. He's experienced; he knows exactly what he's doing, and he's enthusiastic about it, wanting nothing more than your pleasure and your fingers tangled in his fiery hair.

He listens to your moans, he pays attention, figuring out what works for you. Hooking a large, warm hand behind your knee, he lifts your leg and puts it over his broad shoulder and seals his lips around your clit, softly sucking as his tongue flutters. He's spurred on by your cries, your gasps, the way your legs tremble.

"Shinjuro…I'm close." 

It's music to his ears. He doesn't stop, he keeps the same pressure, the same pace, letting your pleasure build and build until you fall apart, bucking against his skillful mouth as he laps up every drop of your essence. When your trembling subsides he gently and affectionately nuzzles your clit with the tip of his nose. 

"God." You lie there panting as he kisses your inner thighs once more. 

"Do you want more?" He asks, lifting your leg and trailing kisses down your calf.

"I never want it to end."

He laughs quietly, shifting his body so he can lie on top of you. You kiss him deeply, tasting yourself on his lips as you run your fingers over his back. His muscles flex and relax beneath your touch.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" He whispers in your ear. 

"Yes." There's so much desperation in your voice. 

A low, approving moan emerges from him before he rocks up onto his knees and stands to undress. His body is just as strong and burly as you remember and just the sight of him makes your breath catch. His cock is hard and standing straight out, curved slightly upward toward the tip, and thickly veined.

His eyes are soft as he looks down at you, but the shallow rise and fall of his chest tells you he's anything but calm.

Raising up, you sit on the bed and put your hands on his hips, pulling him toward you. He smiles and obeys your silent command, stepping closer to you to lay back down on top of you.

"I can't tell you how good it feels to know you want me," he whispers close to your ear. "My God, I have such a beautiful wife."

He trails kisses down your neck, pressing his lips to your throat as you run your fingers through his hair.

"You feel so good, Shinjuro."

"I want to make sure you're good and ready for me first." He reaches down between your legs, his fingers gliding over your overstimulated clit and down to your entrance. He gently pushes his finger inside, gasping at the wet warmth of your pussy squeezing him. "Ohh~ my girl, you're so wet already."

You're out of your mind with desire and pleasure as he finds the exact spot to curl his fingers against. "Shin… oh…"

"Hm? Is that good?" He adds another finger, circling your clit with his thumb and watching your every reaction. 

He fucks you with his fingers deep and slow, stretching you out in preparation, enamored with your whimpers and the way you moan his name.

Lowering his head, he takes your nipple into his mouth and laps at it with his tongue. "Are you going to cum for me again, my love?"

"Y-yes."

"Good girl, I know you've got at least one more for me." 

You're damn near feral as he keeps coaxing out your pleasure, that big, warm body of his pressing you down against the mattress. Your inner muscles flutter and clench around his fingers. 

"That's it, my love. There it is. Let's get this pretty pussy all wet and ready for me." 

Your orgasm tears through you and you cry out in pure bliss as he keeps on praising you in his deep, rough voice. 

"That's my girl. Oh you look so beautiful; so ready for me. You want it now, huh?" 

All you can do is nod. He chuckles and pulls out his fingers, bringing them to his mouth before he sucks them clean. "Mm~ I'm never going to get enough of your taste."

"Shinjuro," you moan as your hips involuntarily buck toward him. Your need surpasses all other sensation. You need to be fucked and you need it now. 

Shinjuro's lips curve into a grin. He strokes his cock between your folds, coating himself in your slick essence before he presses his tip to your entrance. 

"God, you're so big," you gasp as he pushes into you. Even with all his preparation there's still a little resistance. 

"Nice and easy, little spitfire," he grunts, his brow knitting together as he slides slowly deeper. "Ohh, you feel so damn good."

He buries his cock to the hilt inside you,  leaning forward so his chest is pressed to yours and he can rest his weight on his forearms as he caresses your face and strokes your hair sweetly while grinding his hips against yours.

"Look at you, my pretty wife, taking my cock so well."

As your passion grows, his vocabulary dwindles to nothing more than grunts and gasps. He rolls his hips, aiming to hit every pleasurable spot with each slow thrust. He's patient, savoring the sensation of you as he kisses every inch of your face.

His restraint starts to fray as you rock your hips beneath him, hinting that you want more. 

Those golden eyes of his flutter shut, and his lips part around a silent gasp. "If you keep that up I'm not going to last, my love."

You kiss him, deeply, your tongue dancing slowly with his as you keep on rocking your hips. As much as you want this to last forever, you want him to feel good too. Watching him start to lose his composure is a beautiful feeling.

He groans against your mouth. "Do you want to get on top?"

"Yes." 

He rolls you over and lies back, letting you align yourself properly to ride him. Putting one arm behind his head, he reaches out with the other and touches the base of his cock, sliding up until he touches your pussy, tracing the seam where your bodies meet, with a deep, approving moan. "So perfect." 

You place your hands on his belly for balance and start to roll your hips, taking him slow and steady, rocking forward so your breasts are just a few inches from his face. 

"Ohh~" He's in bits as you ride him, his cheeks flushed, his eyes heavy-lidded.

Ever-desperate to please you, he strokes your clit with the pad of his thumb, watching the way you move like he's bound by your spell.

As your pleasure grows you start to move faster, taking him harder and deeper until you're riding him with desperate abandon. 

Your backs arch in sync as the pleasure becomes too much to bear, as waves of pleasure wash over you and you fall apart, he cries out, gasping, thrusting his hips up into you as he finishes. 

And then you collapse, fucked-out and blissful in the arms of your husband. Finally, finally after all this time.

You both lie there gasping for air, exchanging soft laughter and gentle kisses.

"I love you, wife." He pulls you to him, wrapping his strong arms around you as if he intends to protect you from the world. 

And finally you speak the words you've longed to feel since the day you married him. "I love you too."

You mean it. You truly do.

For the first time in your marriage you and Shinjuro fall asleep holding each other. And that's how you sleep every night thereafter. 

~ 

~A year later~

"YOU'RE HOME!" Senjuro is only fifteen and probably only half Kyojuro's weight, but he barrels into his older brother with enough force to knock the man flying onto his ass. The boys' loud, contagious laughter rings through the house. 

"Careful! Careful!" Shinjuro chuckles, ruffling his youngest son's hair before helping the eldest up from the ground.

"Thank you father," Kyojuro beams as he dusts off his hashira uniform and places his hand flat on Senjuro's head, measuring his height against himself and widening his eyes when he finds Senjuro is at nose-height. "Goodness! When did you get so tall?! You must stop growing. I'll be the shortest in no time."

"Then I'll call you 'little brother' instead." Senjuro grins.

A laugh shakes Shinjuro's chest as he places his hand on his eldest son's shoulder. "You may be the shortest soon but I'm still proud of you. I'm proud of you both. I have fine boys." He smiles affectionately. "How was the mission?" 

"Successful." Kyojuro lifts his chin proudly. "We prevailed, and the demon's would-be victims are safe. He won't hurt anyone again."

A moment later, Kyojuro is damn near swept off his feet a second time as his father pulls him into a tight embrace.

You can't help but smile from the doorway before heading into the kitchen. It's late spring, the air is fresh and pleasant, and everybody's home. It's as good an excuse to prepare a feast as any. 

Getting to this point took some work. There were many tears and long conversations. But in the end the family has come together and emerged from the darkness stronger. The Rengoku house is once again filled with love and laughter.

Kyojuro walks into the kitchen and wraps his arms around you. He knows what you endured throughout his father's recovery, and he'll never stop showing you how grateful he is. 

"I'm so glad you're home," you say softly as you hug your stepson back. 

He pulls back and his smile is beaming. Both Kyo and Senju have their father's hair and eyes, but Kyojuro is the spitting image of Ruka; his presence just as calming and comforting as the picture on her shrine. 

"How is he?" he asks. 

"Your father?"

"No, no I can see he's well. I mean…" his eyes dart downward to your stomach. 

You laugh, "Oh, you're so certain you have a new little brother?" 

"I'm positive, there hasn't been a girl in our family as far back as records go. Could you imagine a little girl with these eyebrows??" He laughs loudly. 

There's nothing wrong with our eyebrows," Shinjuro interjects as he enters the kitchen too. "Now, if you don't mind, your stepmother and I have a feast to prepare. You and Senjuro have a lot of catching up to do, I'm sure."

Your husband rolls his sleeves over his muscular forearms and gives you a wry smile as the boys head off, chattering between themselves. 

"We all love you, you know?" he says quietly as he begins chopping vegetables. "You brought this family back from the brink, and I can never thank you enough." 

"You thank me plenty."

"It's still not enough." 

He sets down the knife and stands behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning around to place a dozen little kisses on your cheek. 

You laugh– as you do so often these days– and kiss your husband, proud to be his and proud to love him so openly. Because Shinjuro Rengoku is a man to be proud of. 

The end

[strwbrychffoncke]

"cuando te vi sentí ,por fin ,que encontré algo real,, 1.5k words synopsis: you can't help but reminisce on the time back then when you met for the first time ,and realize that zayne has really only ever been the only one for you contains: childhood lovers! lnds zayne x mc!reader ,made-up childhood meeting between zayne + you ,caleb mention ,implied childhood crushes ,reader is making macarons ,you just reminisce + find your appreciation for zayne all over again note: (mostly edited!) played w sm ideas for this concept so hopefully the feeling is conveyed well? if theres any inaccuracies well lets just call this an au of some sort lolol :x

-

when you think back to your first encounter with zayne when you were children, you can't help but to laugh at yourself.

you remember how nervous you were to approach him, often observing and admiring him from afar before being urged by caleb to talk to him, and only then did you build up the courage thanks to him.

even then, he had caught you off guard that day after you had so carefully planned everything out.

. . .

zayne li had piqued your interest the first time you'd laid eyes on him.

it had taken you awhile to strike up conversation, spending a lot of time watching him from your window out of curiosity for the new boy that had moved in. you often noticed him either studying, reading something, or taking nature strolls through the afternoons.

it was peculiar, you thought, that you never saw him paying much mind to talk or hangout with the other kids. there were a good amount in this neighborhood, but it almost seemed like he'd avoided them, preferring to keep to himself (and his studies, you supposed).

he was a stark difference from caleb, the most popular kid on the block who would go out of his way to hang out with anyone who was willing, often inviting you along as well to do whatever he pleased that day.

noticing that others went out of their way less and less to invite zayne to hangout thanks to the continuous refusals, you asked caleb one day why that was.

"oh, zayne? well... i've tried a couple of times. he usually shakes his head or says he's working on his studies."

"what about when the others invite him?"

"well, the other kids make me go because they say he looks scary and like he doesn't wanna be bothered, y'know?"

"maybe he's just shy," you try to reason with him.

caleb ruffles your hair affectionately.

"maybe, pipsqueak. i'm sure with enough asking, he'll turn up one day."

a moment of silence passes and he speaks again.

"hey, wait, you haven't really talked with him yet, have you pipsqueak?"

you look down, shaking your head.

"well, why don't you ask him to hang out next time? maybe you'll be enough to convince him!"

"hm? why do you say that?"

caleb grins.

"no one could resist your cute face," he teases, pinching your cheek. at your whine of protest, he only laughs before letting go.

"try it tomorrow, just talk to him. i'm sure it'll work out!" he beams, giving you a thumbs up.

you nod, mind racing at the thought of finally speaking with zayne.

-

your heart is racing when you leave your home to make the short trek to zayne's house just a little ways away.

you take small steps, whispering words of encouragement to yourself and reminding yourself to be extra polite since you'd heard from caleb he was older than the both of you.

once you arrive at the front door, you hesitate, staring at the large wooden barrier: the only thing keeping you away from seeing zayne face-to-face.

you momentarily wonder if ringing the doorbell or knocking would be better before settling on knocking. you take a deep breath, raising a small fist to the door—

"did you need something?"

you practically jump out of your skin, surprised yelp leaving your throat at the sound of an unfamiliar voice.

you look back and forth before turning around, meeting face-to-face with none other than the boy you'd come here to meet.

zayne li.

you blink up at him, finally seeing him up-close for the first time.

he's a little taller than you, dressed fairly casual for the day in a plain button up and cargo shorts, black-rimmed glasses framing his round face, a book under one arm and dark hair neatly trimmed, green eyes staring curiously back into yours.

"they're not here right now."

you blink again at the sound of his soft voice invading your ears once more.

"huh?" you tilt your head.

"my parents, they're not here right now. they're at work," he says matter-of-factly. "you probably came to talk to them, right?"

you quickly shake your head.

"no! i came to talk to you," you clear up.

"me?"

"mhm. i see you a lot, but i haven't come to talk to you yet."

"oh."

"i'm y/n! its nice to meet you, zayne!"

your introduction is accompanied by a polite little bow, and zayne finds himself grinning at the enthusiastic yet shy approach.

"its nice to meet you," he returns, bowing back in return.

standing upright again, you point to the book he's holding.

"what were you reading?"

"oh, this?" zayne takes the book in his hands, turning the cover towards you so you can read it for yourself.

you lean forward, squinting your eyes at trying to read some complicated mix of words you haven't seen before.

"part of my studies," he mumbles when he notices your trouble at sounding out the words.

"this looks.... hard," you sulk, leaning back and looking up into his eyes. "do you find it fun?"

zayne absentmindedly flips through the pages with a thumb.

"its interesting to me," he comments, glancing at the small words on each page.

"oh, ok," you nod, though the look in your eyes tells zayne you don't really get it.

he wants to laugh, but holds it back.

he thinks about what else to say when you jump up again, wide eyes looking into his.

you seem to have remembered your reason for stopping by here in the first place.

"oh! caleb said you should play with us sometime!"

"oh?"

"yeah!" you step closer, hands subconsciously latching onto his arm.

"i noticed you don't really play with the other kids, but he— but i.. wanted you to join us sometime...."

your voice grows quieter with each word, suddenly growing shy at your own honesty.

"but! you don't have to. you're always studying, but i... really wanted to ask you, so...."

your eyes trail down to where you're latched onto zayne's arm.

"oh!" you quickly pull your hands back, interlacing them behind your back. "i'm sorry," you look down at the ground, rocking bacj and forth on your feet, embarrassed.

because of this, you miss the way a colorful blush is spread across zayne's cheeks, clutching a hand over his heart at the suddenness of your invitation.

you had been... watching him?

he had seen you too, seen you with caleb, smiling and running around with him and sometimes with others.

he thought you didn't notice him.

"um, s-sure."

you perk up, looking up at his face. his gaze is trained elsewhere, but he feels your eyes on him.

"i'll.. join you next time," he adjusts his glasses.

his heart thrums at seeing the way you light up, beaming smile clear even through his peripheral.

"really?!"

he nods, humming in agreement.

you jump up and down once, clearly excited. his gaze finally trails back towards you, catching your expression fully.

you're much brighter up close like this.

"ok! i'll come back when we play next time, ok? its a promise!"

you hastily shake his pinky before scampering back home, excitement overflowing at informing caleb about your success in inviting the shy boy next door.

zayne watches you leave, letting out a shaky sigh once you're out of sight, looking down at the pinky you'd interlaced yours with.

you were definitely something.

but how glad he was that you'd approached him first.

. . .

reminiscing about it, you can't help but think that, subconsciously, you'd always known zayne was the one for you.

when sometimes it felt as if caleb's friends were only nice to you because of your relation to him, it was different with zayne.

even if looking back, you may not have been particularly close (at least not for awhile), he made you feel seen, made you feel like you were being acknowledged as your own person and not simply the extension of someone or something.

unbeknownst to you, you had made zayne feel the same way.

where the other kids found him intimidating or difficult to approach, you were bright and so honest with him among your first meeting, and you continued approaching him after, surprising him each time with your energy and enthusiasm at getting more and more familiar with him.

while with caleb you grew something that was familiar and comfortable, with zayne it was more a mix of a different kind of understanding— a special, unspoken bond between the both of you.

you admired him a little differently once you got to know him, and that was because he showed interest in you, and solely you.

even now, years later, he knows you so so intimately, sees you for all that you are, all that you've been, and as you pipe out the colorful macarons for him on the tray before you, humming along to a shared favorite song on your playlist, you can't help the fondness in your heart grow for the doctor who you've yet to surprise with a little dessert after a long day at work, simply because you want to.

you suppose its yet another subconscious little thank you to him from back then for indulging you from the very first moment you met.

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a/n: my excuse to write out some childhood scenario w zayne bc i saw some art of it circulating and the ideas are endless lol :x

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