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hawthorne-bias · 16 days ago

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ivory mist

Steve and you are like the opposite poles of two magnets—drawn together no matter the distance or obstacle, always finding your way back to each other.

tags: steve rogers x you; angst with a happy ending; hurt/comfort; one domestic quarrel followed by one ton of domestic fluff; steve 'the-best-boyfriend-ever' rogers.

warnings: mild allusions to abandonment issues present in the story. steve calls you 'sweetheart' and 'honey'. no gendered language used for the reader.

word count: 972.

a/n: pictures used in header are from pinterest. dividers used here are by @saradika-graphics. mcu and its characters aren't mine. likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!! hope you'll enjoy reading this!! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

The apartment feels lifeless without Steve.

No sound of his steady footsteps on the hardwood floors, no low hum of his voice as he tidies up or works on a project. Just the hollow, echoing silence and the soft ticking of the clock on the wall, counting every agonizing second since he walked out.

You sit curled up on the couch, your knees drawn to your chest and your arms wrapped tightly around them. The blanket you grabbed earlier is tangled around you, but it doesn’t offer the comfort you’re seeking—

Nothing does.

It was a stupid fight. You know that now. Hell, you knew it even as it was happening. But somehow, your emotions got the better of you, and what should’ve been a minor disagreement exploded into something far bigger, far uglier than you ever intended.

He had stood there, jaw tight, his eyes clouded with hurt and frustration. The words he didn’t say seemed louder than the ones you both hurled at each other. You were ready to keep arguing, ready to push, until his quiet, steady voice cut through it all:

“I need to leave before I say something I’ll regret.”

And then he left.

The door hadn’t slammed—it clicked softly behind him, the sound somehow more devastating than if he’d stormed out in a rage. It felt final, even though deep down, you knew it wasn’t. Steve wasn’t the kind of man to walk out for good. But the image of his retreating back, the tension in his shoulders, the quiet pain in his eyes... it was enough to shatter something inside you.

That was hours ago. Hours of trying to keep busy, trying to distract yourself from the ache in your chest. But nothing worked. You folded laundry, washed dishes that weren’t even dirty, and even tried watching TV, but every second felt heavy, suffocating. Eventually, you gave up, curling into the couch and letting the tears come.

By now, you’ve cried yourself into exhaustion, your head pounding and your throat raw. But the tears still come in waves, your mind replaying every word, every look, every moment you wish you could take back.

When the sound of keys turning in the lock reaches your ears, you freeze.

The door creaks open, and there he is—Steve.

He looks tired, his broad shoulders slumped and his hair slightly disheveled like he’s been running his hands through it all day. His eyes, those piercing blue eyes that you adore so much, soften the moment they meet yours.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, his voice thick with regret.

Before you can say anything, he’s closing the door behind him and crossing the room in a few long strides. He drops to his knees in front of you, his hands reaching for your face.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing tenderly against your tear-streaked cheeks. His touch is so gentle, so full of love, that it only makes the tears start all over again.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, your hands grabbing at his wrists as if to anchor yourself. “Steve, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh,” he soothes, shaking his head. “No, sweetheart. Don’t. I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have walked out like that. I just... I didn’t want to say something that could hurt you.”

“But I hurt you,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” he says softly, his forehead pressing against yours. “And I didn’t mean what I said either. We were both upset. It happens.” He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “But I’ll never walk out and not come back. Never. You have to know that.”

“I was so scared,” you admit, your voice breaking as you clutch the front of his shirt. “I thought—what if—what if this was the one time you didn’t?”

Steve’s face crumples, his eyes glistening as he cups your face more firmly. “Oh, sweetheart. I could never. You’re my home, my heart. I’d be lost without you.”

You sniffle softly, the tears finally subsiding as his words wash over you, easing the ache in your chest.

Steve shifts, pulling you off the couch and into his lap on the floor. His strong arms wrap around you, holding you close as you bury your face in his chest. The steady thump of his heart against your ear is the most comforting sound in the world.

“I hate fighting with you,” you mumble into his shirt, your voice muffled but heartfelt.

“I hate it too,” he replies, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But it doesn’t change how much I love you. Nothing ever could.”

You pull back slightly, looking up at him through damp lashes. “I love you too,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Steve smiles, his dimples softening his face. He leans in and kisses you, slow and tender, like he’s pouring all his love into that single moment. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and his hands trace soothing patterns on your back.

“Let me make dinner,” he offers, his tone light.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound breaking the tension that still lingers in the air. “You’re cooking? Should I call for backup now or wait until you set off the smoke alarm?”

Steve grins, his dimples deepening. “Hey, I can follow a recipe. Sometimes.”

You laugh again, the sound fuller this time, and lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder.

The fight feels like a distant memory now, the pain of it replaced by the warmth of his embrace.

And as the steady reassurance of his love settles into your heart, you realize, no matter what, you’ll always find your way back to each other. That’s what matters. That’s what will always matter.

if you've enjoyed this fic and would like to be tagged in my future fanfics, please drop an ask into my inbox! thank you so much for reading this!! <333

[minors and ageless blogs will not be tagged in the nsfw fics, by the way! i'm sorry!!]

steve rogers masterlist || general masterlist

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #captain america x you #captain america x reader #avengers x you #avengers x reader #steve rogers #captain america #[my posts: steve rogers]

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hitlikehammers · 12 hours ago

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Early November, 1984 and all Eddie wanted was to light up behind the Byers' place in peace🚬

he went all that way and all he got for it was a maybe-dead💀-but-definitely-unconscious-king👑-slash-maybe-babysitter(?), plus some shithead children directing his van🚐 to those fucking abandoned labs that may as well be lit up in neon lights screaming 🚨THIS IS A FUCKING TRAP🚨

Eddie shouldn’t be here. Like, not in a it’s forbidden kinda way, but more in a, there’s no real reason for him to fucking be here.

Save for the obvious.

It’s just…after the whole dead-not-dead thing with the youngest kiddo, the property around the Byers house has kinda turned into no-man’s-land; easy place to get high when Eddie wants a change of scenery, basically, with no one trying to break his nose, or call the pigs.

Or snatch his supply.

But when he hears that fuckface Hargrove call out, the tone on him—and Eddie’s real sensitive to tones, he can guess between the lines for everything he can’t read—he perks up; listens in. Stays put out of sight.

(And no, he does not cream his pants when Harrington calls back, Jesus; taunts like the cocky prick that he is—

And no it is not a close thing or…whatever.)

Point being: he hears more than sees what happens. Up to and including a gaggle of literal fucking children dragging Harrington toward wha Eddie thinks is Hargrove’s eyesore of a car, one of the sheepies crossing around like they’re planning on driving it, and Eddie’s not one for the rule of law or anything—definitely not if it’s Hargrove’s property that’s on the line—and fuck yes Eddie’s driven without a license, and far below the age to get one, but, but—

He’s tripping over himself to turn the keys in his own ignition and swinging the van around quick enough to kick up dirt before he leans over and throws open the passenger door.

“Hey,” he hisses, low but not quiet, he needs them to hear but he doesn’t know if Hargrove’s gonna storm out any second, it’s a delicate balance; “hey, get in,” and he’s crawling over the seat to open the back, too, to push things to the side to mostly leave it flat, tossing blankets to the middle with no care for their cleanliness because there’s no time for that shit, there’s no time and then he’s grabbing the hinges of the doors and flinging his whole top half around to eye this hoard of strange ankle-biters and what’s revealed quickly to be their still-weirdly-attractive-when-beat-to-shit charge in Steve Motherfucking Harrington, trying to project some degree of meaningful trustworthiness, because he is trustworthy, here and now, but they’re kinda in the fucking clock of crazy-eyes-Mc-West-Coast stumbling out of the house, so Eddie’s kinda gotta urge these rugrats with real feeling, waving his hands to the point where his fucking wrists hurt:

“Get in.”

And of course these little urchins still and just, raise a fucking eyebrow at him. Like they’re not working on an inexact sort of fucking timeline—

“Who the fuck are you?”

Yeesh. He wasn’t off when he said they were ankle biters; the little lambies have teeth.

“I just wanna help,” Eddie tries to say it with as much of the genuine concern that he really and truly feels, and not get weighed down with the probably-suspicious-off-the-bat vibe of pulling up in a random van just to start the exchange out with waving some strange kids into the back of it.

Jesus, that sounds terrible, wow, okay.

He gets it.

“No,” oddly, not the ringleader girl who eyed him first but it’s the curly headed boy now who stands up, squares his shoulders, and stares Eddie down with an only-slightly-less-menacing glare. “No, you’re not gonna hurt Steve.”

“I don’t want to hurt him, I swear,” Eddie’s honestly surprised by how unmuddled his tone bleeds put as desperate, versus irritated by this motley crew of munchkins trying to fight him when he is risking his own neck to help them.

And…King Steve, but then: can he be that motionless, hanging awkward from the noodles limbs of a handful of preteens (at most)?

“I just want to get you out of here, somewhere safe,” Eddie bites his lip, wonders where the fuck he intends to go and realizes he was probably just going to drive toward his home and hope for the best; “Er, somewhere safer than here,” and they don’t fucking budge, little assholes, and Harrington doesn’t fucking twitch, and just, just…

Ugh.

“Come on,” he urges them again, just shy of begging; lets how fucking nervous he’s getting seep clear into his tone a little, but he honestly doesn’t think he’d have convinced them to move if not for the crashing of something in the house behind them, and—well.

Nothing like impending doom to speed shit along.

“I wanted to drive,” the redhead’s muttering with a scowl as they heft the body they’re barely keeping off the ground and awkwardly feed Harrington head-first up to Eddie where where he’s crawled properly into the back of the van to help, and Eddie thinks these little fuckers just might be more wild and feral and insane even than he originally would have guessed for how they make to scramble behind their Steve; only just manages to steady and lower the royal body as careful as he can before the hoard clamors in and denies Eddie so much as a moment to press his finger under Steve Harrington’s flop of bloody hair and touch below his jawline where those stupidly infuriating moles of his speckle his skin, marks that Eddie’s hasn’t ever really paid attention to ever, nope, Eddie only needs now to assess whether he’s just accepted a dead fucking body into his van but: no.

Maybe a little sluggish, but pulse’s strong. Which: Eddie doesn’t care about past the legality of it all. Beyond getting saddled with a murder charge or some other bullshit.

No other reason. Of course. Yeah.

The only thing that floors him more than the Hardy Boys-plus-Girl on steroids tearing onto the cushions around where their unconscious charge is laid out, as Eddie shifts into gear and makes to get the fuck out of dodge, like, yesterday, is the even-louder voice in his head that asks probably the most pressing question:

The fuck did the King do, and how, and why, to make these children this loyal?

What follows all that is quite arguably—actually more than that; definitely a strong contender for—the most surprising thing that’s ever happened to Eddie. That could maybe ever possibly happen to Eddie, in any circumstance for any reason within any universal construct or reality. And he’d been really marinating in his Munson Doctrine this year, too, having been forced to reevaluate some shit after the letter arrived to hammer the most disappointing nail in the coffin of Eddie’s first senior year, but then…fuck everything, then there were the stupid little sheepies and their stupid gorgeous goddamn babysitter—which still, still: what the fuck was that, who the fuck even was Steve Harrington?—and Eddie’d barely even put the ink down to dry before all of them banded secretly together and shredded that motherfucking document before it could even properly take root in Eddie’s brain.

All while something else entirely started to take root in his chest, in his hea—

Well. Something. Something that wasn’t even remotely recognizable inside his most recent—and most polished to date, if he does say so himself—draft of the Doctrine like, at all.

Which is the point.

Because Harrington was indeed alive, and did indeed wake up, and clocked Eddie quicker than expected, even by name—Munson? What the fuck?and hell if that hadn’t fluttered between Eddie’s ribs an indefensible amount that no one would ever know about ever, thank you very much, but still: Jesus H. Christ—

But all his own humiliating discombobulation at the not-even-hands-just-voice-and-presence-of-the-golden-boy aside: it’s a damn good fucking thing Harrington wakes up, and is definitely not dead, because Eddie knows where the King lives, and he knows he’s not driving in that direction but had instead been foolish enough to give these shitweasel munchkins the benefit of the doubt here, like that there maybe was a safe house or some shit, fucking sue him, he was a little prepccupied, yeah—by the threat of a chase with that Hargrove fucker and then by the absolutely spectacle of Harrington screeching at the wayward waifs like a harried mother at the stovetop, because fuck, but Eddie nearly crashes them into three ditches and at least five trees for for trying to watch and he can’t even pretend otherwise—but the end result is definitely not a fucking safe house, and these little asshats have directed him in the wholeass wrong direction, if the undeniable fact of the old abandoned labs at the edge of town looming big through his windshield, looking at least slightly less abandoned (as if that’s not goddamn terrifying in and of itself), what the fuck has he literally driven into, is he an accomplice, and to what, and just, just Jesus—

“Hey.”

Eddie is honestly wholly jolted out of his spiral for a lot of reasons, here. The low tenor exhale of a sound in a voice too kind and open and invested, to much like music given what it does to Eddie, what music means to Eddie and what this voice shouldn’t fucking mean too straight out the goddamn gate. The proximity of a body close enough to feel the warmth of each breath. The indefensible feeling of it being nearly erotic out of nowhere and with no justification at all—just the reality of Eddie’s world right now, to feel the barest brush of the side of a body alongside his, leaning forward where he’s still in the driver’s seat. All of that would tip his world at the very least into a different sort of spiral pattern, breathless in a completely other way.

But.

What knocks Eddie hardest and most effectively in one go is the hand on his shoulder, braced to comfort and steady, and the realization in the flesh of how fucking big it is, how the span of that palm, those fingers, because Eddie knew those hands looked big, not that he’d studied them with any real…attention or anything but feeling them was something entirely other, and the touch, the touch is…is—

“Hey,” and Harrington’s breath is close enough then to tickle Eddie’s hair, goddamn: “breathe.”

And where Eddie hadn’t been wholly aware that he wasn’t, y’know, doing the breathing thing so well, either for the absolute insanity of the evening or the ominous spread, all proper D&D-style foreshadowing of nope don’t go there not now not ever waiting where these menaces had directed him to drive; but whatever the reason, where Eddie now takes a gulp of air in now that fucking burns, there’s Harrington, leaning over a little more, a second hand on Eddie chest to steady him as he falls all while he’s fucking squeezing Eddie’s shoulder, only a second before he’s getting ready to jump out of the van like he wasn’t just beaten unconscious like, five fucking minutes ago.

What the actual flying fuck.

If Eddie weren’t a goddamn idiot, he’d put the van in reserve before anyone could get out the back, fuck the way they’ll be thrown against the sides, at least they won’t be walking—willingly—into whatever the fuck’s waiting, all angry red and kinda…pulsating in the distance in a way that may or may not be a trick of his own paranoid mind, and then spewing little glowing motes into the air like lightning bugs.

Which could be charming, if it weren’t way fucking past the season for that shit.

And in fairness, the whole experience of Steve Harrington touching him and leaning close and breathing near him and telling him to breathe? That shit does carry him through—mostly—the hours that will follow, cliche and genuinely fucking embarrassing as it is, as it will be, to acknowledge at all.

But in the now—

“Thanks, man.”

And…oh, well, fuck.

As in point number one: that hand—bothhands—really are distracting as all hell but then also, simultaneously, very much point number two:

What the actual fuck.

“What?”

Apparently sending Eddie-usually-eloquent-enough-to-spin-some-pretty-bullshit-on-demand-Munson reeling outta nowhere is this fucker’s MO. Probably for the best that Eddie’s been writing him off as a pretty airhead for years now—if for nothing more than his own sanity.

Or else, like…relatively speaking.

“You got us here,” Harrington gestures out the window and…yeah.

“Here?”

That’s the relative part. And the insane part to be thanked for. Because where they’ve ended up is definitely the DoE labs that were supposed to have shut down or whatever, after people disappeared and came back and disappeared again and also didn’t and were never gone and fake bodies and whatever.

No one thanks anyone for bringing them to a place like this.

“And it’s more than I could have asked someone to do,” Harrington’s going on like it’s a casual thing, a favor like walking his goddamn dog and not more like what’s actually staring them down inside the fencing, namely the building that doesn’t look as abandoned as advertised by half, and definitely doesn’t at all look like the only thing it’s missing is a big neon sign blinking TRAP! FREE TRAP! IN THE MARKET FOR A QUICK PAINFUL DEMISE AT THE HANDS OF THE WORLD’S SHITTIEST TAINT FACTORY EAST OF ARMPIT-IAPOLIS? STEP RIGHT UP! ALSO REMINDER: CLEARLY A TRAP!

“Harrington,” Eddie doesn’t love the way his voice trips over a bonafide gulp. “Steve.”

He also doesn’t love how much feeling sneaks into that part because one, where the fuck’d that even come from and two, he…

Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever said this guy’s first name out loud. As in…ever.

He doesn’t love how nice it feels, how scary but bubbly-warm it tingles at the base of his throat and the pit of his stomach.

So there’s all of that.

Still set inescapably under the threat of the non-existent-but-no-less-real-neon-sign-of-death and…stuff.

“We know what we’re doing,” Steve’s pats Eddie’s shoulder again, moves the hand from his chest like he’s pulling away, like he’s leaving to go toward the trap and Eddie whips his head around just in time to catch Steve shrug sheepishly and add:

“Like, mostly.”

It is not at all lost on Eddie, how Steve doesn’t even try to sidestep that he’s walking into the gaping maw of probably death, here.

That might be the most terrifying part of this yet.

“I could,” Eddie’s voice is a crackle, so he tries clearing his throat, licking his lips; “I could at least try to help.”

That comes out a little stronger, but not steadier, and he doesn’t really think he’s making his point very well at all.

But then there’s Steve, and his hand back full on Eddie’s shoulder, saying:

“You could,” like he believes that; “and we’d be grateful,” added in like he means that too.

And most unbelievable of all of it, what he tacks on last with a squeeze of his hand and a lower pitch for no reason Eddie can figure save to catch inside the clench of his pulse so it takes to jittering like fucking mad as the King himself exhales:

“I’d be grateful.”

And what the fuck does that mean, said with eyes so bright when the night’s so dark?

And what the fuck does it mean when Eddie’s heartbeat starts jittering, a butterfly between cupped hands, until:

“I need you to be safe though,” and the words have physical form, brush Eddie’s frizzled curls straight behind his ear like…tenderness, delicate.

What. The. Fuck.

Eddie blames the way his heart goes form butterfly to battering ram, ready to crack through his ribs for no reason save a feeling he can’t justify, but’s too real to pretend away as less when he half-fucking-moans:

“What about you?”

Because Steve’s shepherding the kiddos. He’s keeping Eddie on the sidelines, safe. He’s charging into battle with a handkerchief and a bat and a goddamn pair of rubber gloves found from somewhere, sticking out his back pocket like he’s flagging in day-glo, holy hell—

But who takes care of Steve?

“I’ll see you at school,” Steve winks, leans this time to bump one shoulder straight to Eddie’s and then he’s jumping out the back of the van, and he’s moving too fast and—

“Harrington,” Eddie calls, suddenly forgetting he’d ever been trying to keep quiet, to avoid attention of whatever they’re going out to face, Hargrove or harbingers of worker fates, or both at once; “fuck, fuck,” he hissed as he trips over shit that got shifted back in his way as he stumbles to the doors and yells:

“Steve!”

And it’s like maybe saying his name does something to Steve himself, too, because he pauses, and even for the distance, the little curve of his lips isn’t a smirk, it’s a smile.

It’s fucking beautiful.

And then he’s saluting cockily before he turns on his heel with just one last parting shot;

“See you on the other side, Munson.”

And the tunnels beyond only let him watch so long, see so far. The weird shit in the air, and the bandanas he can see a scuffle over, to make sure they’re tied over noses and mouths, lit by weird pulsing colors, obscene squelching noises he can hear the echoes of even this far back and just, just…

Typical eldritch fuckery from a monster manual.

That doesn’t belong in real life.

It’s a fucking trap, Admiral. Good fucking god.

And Jesus H. Christ, but Eddie hadn’t even had the chance to light up tonight as he’d planned, as he’d explicitly driven out to do.

For fuck’s sake.

>>>part two???

For @miraculousmultifan, who requested Post-S2; 'Now, I’m not going to deny that I was aware of your beauty. But the point is, this has nothing to do with your beauty. As I got to know you, I began to realise that beauty was the least of your qualities. I became fascinated by your goodness. I was drawn in by it' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST—very late, obviously, and MID-S2, rather than post but it ENDS UP being post-S2, promise 🖤

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here @pukner @ravenfrog @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95 @warlordess @wheneverfeasible @wordynerdygurl @wxrmland @yesdangerpls @yourmom-isgay @1-tehe-1

divider credit here

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things s2 #proposal: what if eddie gets involved circa S2: the great harrington v hargrove showdown?#developing relationship #eddie was just trying to smoke behind the byers' house okay?#he explicitly DID NOT sign up for the unconscious king of hawkins high making a getaway in his van with his apparent brood of children!#he DEFINITELY EXPLICITLY DID NOT SIGN UP for the FEELINGS THAT COME LATER #boys and their FEELINGS #(seriously eddie goes about catching feelings like 0-to-60 here)#eddie munson: the most reliable getaway car driver you're ever gonna find #steve harrington: unfairly attractive even when beaten to a pulp and bloody on the floor of a van with his feral ankle biters standing guar #developing to established relationship (just give it some time)#happy ending #stranger things #gift fic #miraculousmultifan #hitlikehammers v words #hitlikehammers writes #hitlikehammers' hobbit-birthday prompt fest

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venusincleo · 1 day ago

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𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲.

⁰¹. ʳᵒᵃᵈ ᵗᵒ ʸᵒᵘ.

Warnings: MDNI • Explicit • Giselle Knowles x Terry Richmond, fluff, angst.

Summary: In which Giselle Knowles is the graceful yet saditty and highly successful hairstylist known as GiGi, and Terrance Richmond or TJ, is the reliable and sought after town mechanic. Their five year old friendship is filled with a long lasting crush that TJ is too invested in to abandon, and an attraction that makes it hard for Gi to stick to her guns about not wanting anything romantic with him. But, one day, when she needs someone to confide in, TJ gets a chance to show her that age ain’t nothing but a number.

Word Count: 2.6k❣

A/N: I have no business starting anything else knowing what my drafts look like but... here we are 🥲 I couldn't resist. I hope you enjoy! 🫶🏾

p.s. this is part one of this miniseries so... stay tuned! ♡

• • •

𝑨𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒏 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒕 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝑯𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒏, the young man worked tirelessly to make good on his promise. Hands covered in oil rubbed against the cloth he had hanging from his waistband, and then, he shut the hood of the Range Rover Velar that belonged to his last customer of the day. Upon hearing the metal door click in place, the young woman ended her phone call, and turned to view her car.

Her Louboutin heels clicked along the concrete flooring of the garage, and as she approached the gentleman, his eyes couldn’t help but attach to her frame.

“Thank you for this TJ, really.” Her deep, buttery southern rasp eased from her lips effortlessly as she reached her hand out to touch his arm in thanks. He gives her a boyish grin, his aquamarine eyes gazing into her dark hazel ones.

“Don’t mention it. I told you, any time.” She returns a smile of her own, her pretty almond shaped eyes lighting up at the man who wouldn’t dare to not keep his word. Especially with her.

“And you don’t have to keep calling me TJ. Terry is fine.” He advises her. With a playful roll of her eyes, she creates just another inch of distance between them as she can sense where he’s trying to steer the conversation.

“Boy, please. Yo mama named you TJ, so I’m gon’ call you TJ.” The large young man only shakes his head, cleaning the few tools he previously used on his rag and setting them back in his tool box.

“Okay, GiGi.” Though he mumbles, the bass in his voice makes it so that even a whisper has projection, and the beautiful woman drops her jaw playfully.

“Wow.” She exclaims, shaking her head dramatically. Terry only scoffs at how she takes her own medicine, and then, the room falls quiet for a moment. Once he has all of his things organized back in their rightful place, he turns the lights off and starts to lock up, signaling to his counterpart that it was time to go.

“Oh, um…how much do I owe you?” She asks genuinely.

With all intentions of ignoring the question he thought she’d known better than to ask by now, Terry fastens the rest of the buttons on his work shirt, and quickly throws on his jacket. As he pats his pockets for his keys he realizes he’s good to close, yet he sees his friend still standing beside her truck.

“You’re all good, Gi. C’mon so I can close up.” He tries to be definitive about it, but when he sees the woman still as can be beside her car door, he releases a soft breath.

“No, you come on. I feel bad for holding you past closing time. Let me make it up to you.” Just as the words leave her lips, Terry is allowing his eyes to glaze over her every feature. He hadn’t allowed himself to get too distracted by her earlier, as he wanted to get done working on her car as soon as possible. But seeing her within the low light of the setting sun, and the darkened garage now, a flood of feelings came back full force.

Her naturally brunette tresses were straightened to perfection, with layers falling around her face. Romance curls lingered along her shoulders, accented with the tiniest streaks of blonde. The dark hair brought out the depth of her hazel-brown eyes and Terry had to fight to not get lost in them. Or lost in the soul behind them.

Giselle Knowles. Daughter of the Knowles family who were all known for their entreprenurial spirit; and she was no different. When they first met, his mother introduced them in hopes that the sweet young woman she met in church would take interest in her true southern gentleman of a son. If only Mrs. Richmond knew that her plan would result in the opposite, and that GiGi would have a hold on TJ, she may not have introduced them.

Now, five full years later, after initially trying to court the siren of a woman and learning that she only wanted a friend in him, he had vowed to himself to be whatever she needed. So far, that was a mechanic and confidant, but he was always hoping for the moment when she would make it more.

"You hungry?" She asks, finding anyway that she can reciprocate the huge favor he had just done for her. Finally giving in to the insistent woman, Terry scratches along his temple as he shifts his weight.

"Yeah, I could eat."

“You still eat like a growing boy, I see.” Gi watched across the small table as Terry dove into his meal, chicken bones and utensils be damned. He stopped for a moment, glancing his icy blue eyes her way, before he lowered the half bird to the paper it was served on. His large hands fished for a napkin from the dispenser in the middle of the table, and ultimately grabbed the last one, bringing the thin piece of tissue paper to his mouth to wipe off the grease and chicken juice.

When he finally looked at his longtime friend, they both burst into a fit of laughter, remembering all of the times that she had witnessed TJ scarf his food down like he didn’t know where his next meal was coming from. Recovering from the tear inducing laughter, she could only shake her head, thinking of the response TJ gave her when she asked if he was hungry.

“Tal’m ‘bout, ‘I could eat.’ You was starving!” She continues to laugh, and Terry takes this time to admire her smile, as he chuckles a little beside her.

“I be try’nna tell you. Im not the same boy that you met some years ago. I’m a grown ass man, I gotta keep my weight up.” He flexes his muscles under hand and Gi’s eyebrows raise as she watches the muscles under his veined arms contract.

“Yeah, yeah, put those away, there’s kids around.” She jokes back, playfully glancing around their vicinity.

“Oh… oh.” He straightens his posture, and puts his arms in front of himself as if that would make him any smaller. They share a more quiet laugh, and then their eyes connect for yet another time tonight.

It’s almost awkward, as they look at each other for a moment longer, just taking the other in.

“When was the last time we got together like this?” Terry’s voice is soft in his inquiry, his hands reaching for the empty napkin dispenser to busy himself. Giselle feels his gaze get a bit more intense, and she averts her eyes to the half-eaten basket of fries before her.

“Um…” She thinks back to the few hangouts she’d had with friends throughout the year, and she can only single out one in particular.

“I think the last time it was just you and I was… after your mom’s memorial day cookout. So, May.”

“Damn, and it’s December, Gi.” Terry lets a beat of silence pass and then he’s shaking his head in thought.

“Nah, you gotta clear your calendar for me like twice a month, atleast one.” He reasoned. Friends that lived in the same state had to see more of eachother. Right?

Giselle takes a deep breath in, and looks to the side of her at the local chicken restaurant that was getting emptier and emptier as the hour passed. Her cheeks heated slightly as she assumed the implications of his words.

“Look, Terry. I told you before, you’re too young for me.” His eyebrows furrow for a second, and then a humored look fills his face in place of his natural pout.

“What are you talking about?” He asks, clearly. GiGi blinks at his apparent obliviousness, and motions toward him with her hands.

“I’m talking about you, saying I need to clear my schedule for you.” She repeats his words, and he finds himself scoffing at her assumptions.

“I don’t know what you were thinking, but I meant just to get together and catch up so…” Terry shrugs off the confusion, yet Giselle can feel even more heat rising in her cheeks and her palms grow sweaty. Why did I say that? She starts to rake her brain for when she missed the cues, or maybe created one from thin air.

Maybe he wasn’t pining after her anymore.

“Sorry…” A nervous laugh encases her apology, as she avoids his eyes at all costs. Suddenly, it seemed like if she looked at him she would burst into flames.

She recognized the feeling of embarrassment all too well, but… what was it that was pulling at her heart? Welling in the pit of her stomach?

When she was quiet for too long, Terry began to feel a slight pang in his chest. He knew her well enough to recognize when something was wrong; her face would fall, accentuating her pretty little pout and and then she would get spacey, glancing around at anything that wouldn’t grimace at her for staring. Just like she was now.

“Gigi?” He called out for her. But the only thing that changed was her eyes flickering up to his.

“What’s wrong?” What’s wrong? Maybe the random jump in her core when she watched him flex his muscles, or the way she smiled wider when she looked over his caramel complexion. This was not good.

“Nothing… and please don’t call me that.” She softens her tone so that she doesn’t take out her internal frustrations on him. But despite popular opinion, nothing had been peachy keen over on her side. Except for the money, but still, taxes came to mess with that too. Now, she was feeling things she had never felt before.

Terry jerked his head back slightly, confused by her sudden disdain for her widely known nickname.

“Everybody calls you GiGi, why can’t I?”

“Yeah, and everybody thinks they know me. They may know GiGi the hairstylist, but they don’t know Giselle.” She blinks and her eyes barely gloss over as she realizes the truth she is about to speak.

“But, you know me. So it’s different.” Terry listens to her deep country twang and hopes that he’s hearing her right. Is she… confessing?

He adjusts himself in his seat, and leans forward so that he can read her face better. He couldn’t afford to misunderstand her.

“So what would you rather me call you?” Yours.

“Everything good over here?” It takes Terry everything in him to drag his eyes away from Giselle, but when he does, he looks over at the waitress and gives her a polite nod.

“Cool.” She grabs the leather booklet with their bill from her wide apron pocket and places it between them on the table. “You guys can take care of that when you’re ready.”

Giselle was still too in her head to fully process that Terry was pulling two twenties from his wallet and telling the waitress to keep the change. But when the pretty young girl sauntered off with the paid tab, it was just them again. And they were able to pick up where they left off. Yet, Terry wanted to take the conversation somewhere else. Someplace where they wouldn’t be interrupted.

“Let me walk you to your car.”

In an effort to shield themselves from the cool fall night of the bustling downtown area, Giselle and Terry walk closer than before, foraging for heat. Their steps are slow, in tandem, as if they wanted to soak up the next few minutes of being next to each other. Both of their minds played their conversation back, scaling the words for different reasons.

GiGi hoped that she was clear with her doting, yearning words. But all she could remember was being vague as hell. And that wouldn’t serve either of them right now.

Terry paced over the words that he heard, dipping between them to try and read some other meaning. Was he missing something? It was pulling at him. A feeling a little too familiar, yet, it was shared now.

Their hands grazed the other as they walked as if they were joined at the hip. It was comfortable this way. Existing in the reality of the thing without fully acknowledging it.

But, Terry didn’t want comfortability. He wanted clarity.

“You still didn’t answer my question.” Giselle looks up at his side profile and then he turns his head so that his eyes can meet hers. For a moment they search inside eachother, hoping to get to the bottom of such intense feelings. Just as quickly as she looked at him, GiGi allows her eyes to fall to the pavement in front of her.

“Gi is fine. No one calls me that.” It wasn’t as different as she had first thought. And it surely wasn’t all that she had in mind for him to call her, but it would do for now.

“Hmph.” Terry lets his eyes rest on her for a moment more before he directs them to the path that they are walking on, and soon, they are reaching her glossy black Range. Silence was all that filled the space between them, and since she didn’t know what else to say, Giselle began to reach for her car door handle.

“Gi.”

His deep, gravelly voice calls out for her and she doesn’t give it a second before she is turning around to see what he wanted. Arms outstretched in front of him, Terry motioned for one of their infamous hugs, and though her eyes glossed over at the thought of him holding her with her feelings so raw, she didn’t deny him.

Giselle’s arms wrapped around Terry’s neck as if it was instinct, her body extended slightly as she stood on the tips of her toes, even in her Louboutins. Terry allowed his arms to squeeze her tight around her torso, holding her against him tenderly.

And for the first time the whole night, it was clear what each of them felt. Their heartbeats heightened in pace at the same exact time, pumping at the same exact rhythm.

GiGi tried her hand at taking a deep breath, which did absolutely nothing for her bleeding heart. All it did was allow her to take in a closer whiff of Terry’s scent, and she found her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. She had no idea that the faint smell of motor oil, with his natural musk and the woody smell of his rosemary cologne would mix so well. But, it did something to her for sure.

“You get home safe, a’ight?” He begins to pull away yet they are still close, and her eyes open to gaze into his longingly. Without another thought, Giselle leans her face up and places the most velveteen kiss on his thick lips, her mind completely clear, just for a second.

Then, her eyes open and her inhibitions come rushing back in.

“Uh-I…” She tries to find the words but she is completely dumbfounded. It’s like her body was putty in his hands, but she didn’t want to do too much. She couldn’t.

As she begins to step back, Terry pulls her back in, and presses his forehead against hers.

“Stop holding back.” He rasps, wholly taken by the charm she had worked on him. It didn’t take her lips touching his for his feelings to be ignited, but just the thought that they were feeling the same things had his extremities ablaze. “Say what’s on your mind.”

“I want you.”

• • •

I do not condone any translations, replications or plagiarisms of my original work. Please do not repost as your own. Reblogs and comments/notes welcome. ♥︎

• • •

༓TAGLIST༓

@motheroffae

*let me know if you want to be added to the ongoing tag-list in the comments*

#black fanfic writer #18+ mdni #romance #terry richmond #terry richmond x black oc #terry richmond fic #beyonce #beyonce knowles #beyonce knowles x terry richmond #giselle knowles x terry richmond #Spotify

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dragonfly0808 · 1 month ago

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Hiatus

So… this is a post I’ve been debating with myself these past 2/3 weeks on whether to make or not.

Some of yall may have noticed that I’ve been taking quite a few breaks from s4 and I have unfortunately just finally allowed myself to acknowledge that I’ve hit a bit of a writing block when it comes to my Winx Club rewrite.

I’ve had a few frustrations during s4 (even though I’ve managed to keep my writing up to my own personal standards, it’s been very difficult) and- despite being halfway through the season, unlike past seasons I still have no idea what I’m going to do with s5 and it’s just been getting to me.

And now I am forced to accept that if I keep forcing myself to churn out chapters and stressing out over keeping you all waiting until I’m satisfied with every chapter, the only thing I’ll do is kill my creativity and my love for this rewrite.

I’ve been working on this rewrite for nearly 3 years and it kinda low-key shames me to say that I am officially placing it on hiatus.

To me ‘taking a break’ and ‘hiatus’ are 2 completely different things, I know I’ve taken breaks before but I always had some vague idea of when I’d return but this time… I just don’t know.

I have been working on my Original Novel and works for other fandoms that have just been filling me with inspiration in a way I haven't been able to feel with Winx Club for a bit now.

I hope I have built up enough trust over these past 3 years for you all to believe me when I say that I will be back. I am not the type to leave things unfinished, especially a story that means so much to me and that I am so very proud of and that has helped me grow so much as a writer and has helped me get through some difficult times and express certain emotions and grief in a way I never could’ve if I hadn’t dived into this 3 long years ago.

I was really hoping to post chapters for Xmas and New Years as I have past years but I just can’t- HOWEVER, on January 28th, the third anniversary of Veiled Wings and Shattered Panoramas, I will post… something. I don’t know if it will be a chapter or not but I will do something for the anniversary.

If you wanna know what I’ll be up to; I will be working on my Original Novel since I have finally landed on exactly what idea I want to work on. I will also be working on 2 projects, one for ATLA (Zutara post-canon self-indulgent thingy) and another one that I honestly don’t know if I’ll go through with since it’d be a pretty big project and I’m still thinking about how I’d go about it, but that I am very inspired and excited about.

So yeah, thank you all for your never ending support and- again, I WILL BE BACK, this is not an abandonment of the rewrite, it’s just me having to prioritize my mental health and protect both my love for writing and my love for the rewrite. I’ll be going through my inbox this next week and answer a bunch of stuff that I just haven’t really looked through in a while.

Thank you so much for understanding and for your support. I hope you will wait for the return of the rewrite and that maybe you will give my other projects a chance when I post them. I will be posting a lot of my inner thoughts on the rewrite and my other projects chapters + thoughts on my Ko-fi if you wanna check that out.

I wish you all Happy Holidays!

With eternal love and gratitude,

Yours Truly, Dragonfly

#winx club #winx rewrite #winx #winx headcannon #winx fanfic #winx headcanons #veiled wings and shattered panoramas #Crossroads of destiny and will o’ the wisps #i will return

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phanamu · 5 months ago

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So. No One Knows AUs.

Based on canon Danny was seriously considering telling his parents what was going on a month after his accident, and even actually tried to at breakfast before Jazz interrupted. Later, Sam low-key talks him out of it while she's projecting, and one Lunch Lady fight later Danny seems to entirely abandon the idea.

So. What if those two things didn't happen?

I know it kind of defeats the point of No One Knows, but it could be fun to explore what happens when No One Knows at first except Danny and his parents.

What would change for Jack and Maddie? Assuming they're not terrible parents who value their work and spectrophobia over their still-breathing and actively ecto-irradiated child, because that idea is being brilliantly explored already by other phans and I'm squishy. Would they focus on 'fixing' Danny? or on helping him understand?

How do the older Fentons handle the guilt over his accident? Do they consider shutting the portal down and taking up new work, or do they double down because now it's more important to understand than ever? What if ghosts keep coming through, and they see for themselves how much better equipped Danny is to fight them at first? How do they handle the newfound fear of other people hunting their son, ghostly and otherwise? How much freedom do they allow Danny to either moonlight as a protector or still be a normal kid?

Would they tell Jazz? On the one hand it would be less complicated and convoluted to pull her into the loop, but would her skepticism of ghost studies, criticism of her parents methods, and the desire not to either pressure Danny out of his privacy or take her focus off graduating in two years be seen as a barrier? If so, for how long? and what would be the fallout of her finding out on her own?

How do Danny's friendships weather the strain? Again, already being brilliantly explored, but well worth asking. Are they Danny's last slice of normal? Do they even know he had an accident, or did he abruptly go quiet on them? How much do they push? or worry? How much messier does it get as Phantom becomes more well known?

And then there's Vlad. Jack and Maddie may not draw the dots right away, but how quickly does he start to feel threatened by the possibility? Does it change anything, seeing how the Fentons respond to Danny both due to and despite of what he's become? Is he found out, and if so, how? Does he take a different tactic and try to worm his way into his old friends' confidence? Does he leverage his expertise, and to what end?

Does Danny come out of this feeling more or less compassion for himself? More accident than monster? Freakish victim or budding hero? I can't see him doing anything but rising up to the fight if a fight has to happen, but is he working with his parents or against them?

How much does the game change when No One Knows becomes the Family Secret?

#Mu Speaks #Meta #No One Knows AU #Family Secret AU #Danny Phantom

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kindersurprisebacterium · 7 months ago

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Frigid (Ghost/Soap/Reader)

CW: Threesome, Anal, Vaginal, Oral (Giving/Recieving), Facials, Slight Breeding Kink, Alcohol

Gender Neutral AFAB Reader. They/Them Used

WC: 4.2k

The frigid air chapped my face. My eyelashes had frozen together in the blizzard-like conditions. Despite the layers of thermal clothing I had on under my snow gear, the chill went straight to my bones. I clenched my jaw tightly, hoping to dull the sound of my clattering teeth.

Tucked up ahead between two rocky ridges was a plain looking concrete building. Through the blinding snow, it could’ve been easily mistaken for just another steep cliff face. I glanced back at the two men beside me. Captain McTavish’s brunette facial hair was now speckled with white. A blush had settled on his cheeks as the frost nipped his skin. Ghost was the furthest behind. While the balaclava on his face shielded him from the whipping wind, I didn’t doubt that he was miserable, trekking supplies through the deep snow.

We approached the safe house. It looked like an abandoned bunker. Graffiti defaced the gray concrete exterior. Without a window, I couldn’t glance at the interior just yet. Johnny pulled out a set of keys from his pocket, the clanging just barely audible over the roaring storm. He inserted the key into the rusted knob and twisted, pushing weight onto the door with his shoulder. The door gave way and the three of us quickly rushed inside, slamming the door behind us.

“Please tell me there’s a space heater or something,” I said as I brushed the snow off of my coat.

“Think so. Dinnae see why there wouldn’t be,” Johnny huffed as he stepped into another room. The lights flicked on, and the low hum of electronics whirred to life. I glanced over my shoulder as one of the vents clattered, drawing my attention. I reached my gloved hand up to the vent. The faintest wave of heat washed over me. I grinned as I slipped my gloves off.

“Central heating. They really spoiled us this time,” I said with a laugh. I undid the zipper of my overcoat next. I stepped into the next room, glancing across the arrangement of couches. It was decorated as if it was a home. A cow skin rug covered the floor. Atop it sat a wooden coffee table.

“Are we sure this isn’t some kind of fancy bomb shelter?” I asked, dropping my coat on the floor.

“Bloody looks like one,” Ghost muttered. I stepped out of my boots, leaving them by the door to dry. My fingers went to the buttons on my overalls, snapping them out of place.

“Drinks!” Johnny shouted from another room. His boots clattered against the floor. With every step, the bottles in his arms clinked. I grinned at the Scotsman as I stepped out of the overalls. I felt much more comfortable in my sweats, without the suffocating feeling of gear on me.

“Nice score, Johnny,” I said as I took a seat on the couch.

Johnny was one of the first people I’d met on base. Being a computer expert, we often worked closely together. His personality was what struck me first. Others had said he acts like a puppy. I couldn’t help but agree. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to see that beaming grin of his.

It was on one of our nights off, at a bar near base, that we became friends. We spent the night talking over whiskey and swapping stories. He was affectionate, and touchy. With anyone else, I would’ve been put off, however it suited him perfectly. A simple touch of the shoulder could put you at ease instantly.

Ghost was another story. The two of them were close, I knew that. Ghost was a prominent figure in the many stories he’d told me, and in the field the two almost always shared a tent. They’d been working for years together by this point. And yet, I couldn’t ever seem to break through his tough exterior.

Any time we’d go out drinking, he sat silently, offering a small chuckle or a grunt occasionally. It was only after a few glasses that you’d really hear his voice, deep and gruff. And it was only after a bottle that I ever got to see his face. That night ended with the two of us dragging him back to base, nearly tripping over our feet to step over the trail of vomit he left.

“Aye, they got bourbon. Tha’s fer you then.” He said, handing me a bottle. I popped the cap open with a grin and took a swig. The liquid hit my throat with a heat high enough to melt the snow off of my lashes. I pursed my lips as I swallowed, humming lightly. It was strong, much stronger than anything we had on base. I set the bottle between my thighs and watched as Johnny set the bottles on the table. I patted the space next to me with the palm of my hand. With his own drink in his grasp, he sat next to me.

The couch cushions shifted under his weight. He threw his arm over my shoulder, now dressed down in a pair of thermal garments.

“To a job well done,” he said, lifting his bottle. I chuckled, clinking my drink against his. “You still need to show me how you rigged the detonator up to that computer.” He brought the bottle to his lips, eyes closing as he took down a few drinks.

“Course,” I said, nudging him with my shoulder. “Ghost, what are you drinking tonight?” I asked the man. He picked up a bottle of what looked to be vodka. With Cyrillic letters, I couldn’t quite tell.

“Mystery Slav juice,” he grunted, taking a seat on the other couch. “Bloody hell my back is killing me.”

As the night went on, my limbs got warmer and warmer, and my bottle grew emptier and emptier. Mask discarded, the stuff man sitting across from me began to slowly open up.

“You ever hook up with anyone on base?” Ghost asked with one of his legs crossed over the other. I laughed at the question, tightening the grip on my bottle.

“Nah, never gotten that desperate,” I answered. He furrowed his brows, brown eyes flicking between me and Johnny.

“I thought you two were going at it,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“Simon, I said I wanted to, not that I had,” soap sighed. “Damn blonde cannae listen can he?” He whispered next to my ear. I chuckled, feeling an intense heat rise in my cheeks. The admission didn’t surprise me, but saying the quiet part out loud did.

“We got damn close that one night, course I was actually dolled up. Figured that might’ve done it for him,” I pushed my elbow into his ribs. Simon tapped his fingers against the arm of the couch, lips pressed tightly together.

“C’mon don’t get jealous now, Ghosty.” Johnny whined, squeezing me tighter. His tone made me stop. I glanced up at the blonde sitting across from me, brows furrowed as I sifted through my thoughts. Jealous? Sure, it could’ve been a joke, but the looks ghost was giving me were just that, jealous.

“Are you two…” I paused, looking at the two in hopes they’d cut me off. Johnny opened his mouth, as if he were going to speak, then closed it again.

“Couple times,” Ghost spoke bluntly.

“More’n a couple,” he corrected, “why, you getting jealous too?” The answer to his question was an undeniable yes. After that night of drunken, grabby hands, I couldn’t help but wish it had ended differently.

I set my glass down on the table, refusing to answer his inquiry. Out of the corner of my eye I saw his jaw drop. The corners of his mouth turned up into a smirk as the realization struck him. I was.

“Oh my god,” he gripped my jaw, turning my face to look at him. “You are!” I pushed away from him, trying to hide my flushed cheeks. With a soft plop I landed on my side on the couch. Johnny stood up with a grin, setting his bottle down and bringing his hands to my calves. He pulled me down the couch and onto my back, then quickly leaned down to pull my hands away from my face.

“I d’nt even think you wanted to go there,” he grinned, eyes scanning my face.

“Johnny we almost-“

“You fell asleep!” He bursted out laughing. “They fell asleep on me!” He explained to Ghost.

“I was drunk!” I retorted, wrestling against his grip on my wrist, “I didn’t want it to end like that,” I pouted.

“Well, how’d you want it to end?” Ghost asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

I couldn’t help the rush of heat that went between my legs. The way he looked at me with half-lidded eyes and dilated pupils- it drew my attention. Johnny gently placed his hand on my cheek. I brought my gaze back to him, brows furrowing as I opened my mouth to speak.

“I wanted it to end with us fucking- I really did,” I confessed, glancing away from him. He pushed one of my legs up over his hip and leaned down, hips pressing flush against mine. From underneath the layers of wool, I could feel something stiff pressing against my thigh. My head spun as his face grew closer to mine.

His lips were chapped, and his stubble scratched my cheeks, and yet I couldn’t pull away. The way his hands skimmed up and down my body had me holding my breath. Our lips moved against each other at a steady rhythm. I could taste the alcohol on his breath. It was bitter and smoky, just like his voice.

His warm fingers slid underneath my sweatshirt. I twitched under his touch, whining against his lips as his fingers teased my ribs, toying with the band of my sports bra. With a muffled groan, his lips moved to my jaw, hot breath teasing my earlobe as he pressed messy kisses to my skin.

“Simon,” I spoke up, looking over at the blonde. He simply grunted and stood up, not even sparing me a glance as he walked past the couch. I sat up, slipping out of Johnny's grip. I followed after the brit, my feet thumping as I hurried my pace. My fingers gripped his arm and roughly spun him around. With a firm grasp on the collar of his shirt, I pulled him down into a kiss. Without another word he gripped the back of my thighs, lifting me into the air. I crossed my ankles behind his back and smiled against his lips.

Ghost’s lips were soft. He tasted of tobacco and sweat. His fingers gripped my hips tightly. His thumb stroked my thigh gently as he took a step forward. Maybe it was the booze, maybe the lips on my skin, but a heat struck me. It started in my face, toasting my cheeks. Traveling lower, a steady simmer settled in my stomach, dipping even lower.

The couch creaked as he dropped me onto the cushions. A pair of warm hands went to my thigh. Johnny tugged my leg up onto his, spreading my knees apart. Simon took a seat at my other side, gently caressing my knee with his fingertips. Johnny reached out, grabbing the blonde's face and pulling him into a quick kiss.

“You in, L.T.?” Johnny asked with a smirk. Wordlessly, Ghost nodded. “What about you, huh? Think y’can take us both?”

I leaned in, pressing my lips to the Scotsman. He smirked into the kiss and began hastily undoing the drawstring of my sweats. He kneeled between my legs, tugging roughly at my sweats. My body jolted as he yanked them down my hips, along with my underwear. He gripped my thighs and pulled me further down the couch until my ass was hanging off the cushions. He threw my legs over his shoulder and leaned in, licking a thick stripe up my cunt. I threw my head back against the couch and choked out a moan. With one hand I gripped Simon's thigh tightly, with the other, I tugged on Johnny's Mohawk.

Simon gripped my chin tightly and tilted my head to the side. He roughly began sucking and biting at my neck, leaving purple splotches behind. My breathing grew shallow and fast. The attention Johnny focused on my clit clouded any thoughts in my head. He traced tight circles around my clit with the tip of his tongue. My hips twitched, bucking away from his mouth. With a bruising grip, he held my hips in place, forcing me to endure the pleasure.

“He’s good isn’t he,” Simon whispered next to my ear. His belt clattered as he undid the buckle. He pushed his pants down his hips, just enough for his cock to spring free. I let out a moan when I saw it.

I didn’t doubt he would be big. Being over six feet tall, it’s guaranteed. What I didn’t expect were the two barbells at the bottom of his shaft. The silver complimented his pale skin, now flushed red with arousal.

Johnny wrapped his lips around my clit and began roughly sucking. My thighs quaked and gently squeeze his head. My stomach tensed, drawing tighter with every flick of his tongue. Bringing my attention back to Simon, I held his cock and began slowly stroking him with a gentle twist.

“Use your fingers, Johnny,” Simon grunted as he leaned in for a chaste kiss.

My jaw fell slack as I felt the intrusion of two fingers. The sound it made as he began to slowly thrust the digits inside me was pornographic. Simon took advantage of my arousal, slipping his tongue past my parted lips, moaning into my mouth as I stroked him faster. At the end of every stroke, I teased his tip with the palm of my hand before slipping my hand back down his length.

Johnny added a third finger. Every thrust shot straight up my spine, sending shoelaces across my body. My vision blurred. I could no longer focus on the blonde beside me, and my strokes grew erratic. And then it happened.

He moaned. Directly into my cunt. It wasn’t a deep, growling moan, but a desperate whine. The vibrations pushed me over the edge. Both of my hands gripped tightly onto his hair, holding him steady as my climax wracked my body. My legs squeezed tightly around his head, and my back arched up off of the couch. The noises that fell from my lips were obscene and loud, completely unfiltered.

My chest heaved, sweat running down my sternum as I slowly came back to reality. As my vision cleared, I could see both men staring down at me with blown out pupils. Johnny's face was soaked. Droplets stuck to his beard, just barely visible in the dim light. Johnny cupped my cheek, gently brushing away the tears that had fallen from my eyes.

“There you are,” Johnny said with a smile. Simon pressed a gentle kiss to my temple, his fingers stroking my sore thighs.

“Are you okay? You stopped responding for a bit,” Simon asked as he put his arm around my shoulder.

“M’fine,” I slurred, placing my hand over Johnny’s.

“D’ye want to keep goin’?” Johnny asked. I nodded, pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “Let’s make up fer tha’ one night then, yeah?” He smirked. As he stood up, my eyes went straight to his cock. His thermal pants were already halfway down his hips. A string of pre-cum leaked from the tip of his cock. He glanced over at Simon, then nodded his head toward me. Simon circled around the back of the couch and gripped my biceps tightly. He pulled me toward the end of the couch until my head brushed against the arm. His thumb gently stroked my bottom lip, and then his lips were one mine. It was brief and teasing. I pouted as I watched him circle the couch again.

Johnny settled between my legs, hands stroking my knees as he gently parted my legs. His pants had been discarded among the pile of messy clothes by the coffee table. With his thumb he guided his cock into my entrance. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he inched forward.

“Feel so fuckin’ good,” he grunted, hips twitching as he bottomed out. Our bodies rocked in sync as he started up a steady pace, thrusting in and out of me. My toes were already curling. The way he filled me up was delectable, addicting even. He knew how to move, angling up to hit all the right places.

Simon placed his hand on Johnny's shoulder, nudging him to lean down. The brunette placed his hands on either side of my head. He stilled inside of me, squeezing his eyes shut.

I watched as his face contorted. He moaned out Simon’s name and began moving again. It was shallower than before, that was noticeable. But the look on his face more than made up for it.

“Keep moving, sergeant. Don’t want to disappoint, now do we,” Simon said from behind Johnny. I felt a blush creep across my cheeks as I realized what was happening. Simon was knuckle deep in Johnny, pushing his hips forward, and into me.

Johnny sped up, little noises escaping his mouth with every thrust. He grabbed my shirt, pushing it up over my chest. He pinched my nipples, toying with the sensitive skin. I whined and grabbed his wrist. My back arched up off of the couch as the pain drew me further into bliss. I reached up, holding his face with my hand. The stubble of his beard tickled my palm. I tugged him into a heated kiss. His spit soaked lips parted. I whimpered as he bit down on my lower lip.

And then his eyes screwed shut. He parted his lips and shuddered. Simon gripped Johnny’s hips tightly, pushing him forward until he bottomed out inside me.

“Let’s see who breaks first then,” Simon chuckled.

The couch creaked as the both of them began moving. With every thrust from Simon, it sent Johnny forwards, hitting deeper and deeper. Johnny now braced both of his hands on the arm of the couch, using the leverage to drill into me fast and hard.

“Fuck- y’feel so good!” Johnny moaned.

Simon reached forwards, gripping Johnny’s throat tight. I watched as his blue eyes glazed over, and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

“Like getting it from both ends, Johnny?” Simon growled, rutting forward roughly.

“I-I can’t- “he stuttered, eyes going cross.

“Yes, you can. Now c’mon, play with their clit.”

The vulgar display in front of me was already pushing me closer to my climax. The minute Johnny began circling his thumb around my clit, I twitched, clenching tight around his cock. Johnny shuddered, head hanging low. His blue eyes locked onto me, my scrunched-up face, and my quivering thighs.

“Ooh, you’re squeezing me, Johnny. You close?” Simon teased, moving his hand from Johnny’s throat, down his chest to toy with his nipple.

“Fuck yes!” Johnny cried out as his eyelids fluttered shut. I reached up and gripped his chin, pulling him close to me. I pressed a kiss along his jawline before pulling back.

“Johnny I want you to cum in me,” I spoke softly next to his ear.

His eyes shot open and his gaze met mine, as if asking if I was serious. I smirked, watching as he reached his orgasm. His pace grew erratic and arrhythmic. Obscenities flew out of his mouth as he came, flooding my insides with warmth.

“GonnaFUCKin’breedye. Soo good” he slurred, punctuating his words with a groan.

And then he stilled. His lips were parted as he painted, catching his breath. Sweat beaded down his forehead and chest. Simon pulled out, letting his hands drop to the Scotsman’s waist. Johnny whimpered and stood up on shaky legs. With a thud he threw his body down onto the other couch.

“Now I wanna see what’s got him all worked up,” Simon said, pulling a condom off of his cock. A condom which I couldn’t recall him putting on. He grabbed my hips roughly and flipped me onto my stomach.

“Nice and wet, aren’t you,” He smacked my cunt with the palm of his hand. I could feel the cum leaking out of me, running down my thighs. He pushed inside me all at once, knocking the breath from my lungs. I buried my face into the cushion, muffling the moan that came out of me as I felt him stretch my insides.

“Tight too,” he grunted. “Wish you hadn’t kept this nice pussy a secret.”

“Simon!” I cried out as he pistoned his hips in and out of me. He was faster, rougher than Johnny was, and yet hit all the same spots. The barbells at the base of his cock made me shudder as I felt them pressing against me.

With every thrust, his balls smacked against my clit. My stomach tensed as he continued his assault on my insides.

“Next time, Johnny and I oughta fill both your holes,” Simon spat, gripping tightly on my hair. I couldn’t help the heat that rose in my stomach, or that I clenched around his cock.

“Oooh you like that don’t you. Dirty slag,” he landed a harsh smack on my ass. I jolted, crying out his name. “Hear that Johnny? Looks like we’ve got some DP on our list.”

I glanced up at the couch. Johnny was sitting up, watching the two of us. His hand stroked his cock which was already hard again. I licked my lips, eyes flicking from his cock to his flushed face.

“Come here,” I said, biting my lower lip. He obliged, rising, and making his way toward me. I held my mouth open for him, reaching out to grab his cock with my hand. Simon grabbed both of my hands and roughly tugged them behind my back. I winced at the tugging pain in my shoulder, then returned my attention to Johnny. He slid his cock into my mouth, gently placing his hand on the back of my head. He pushed more of his length into my mouth.

Simon pulled out before sinking back in, roughly thrusting against my cervix. I moaned around Johnny's cock, earning a grunt from him. I could feel Simon's cock twitch inside me. I could feel that he was close with the way he sped up, somehow hitting even deeper inside me.

“Gonna fuck another load into you,” Simon groaned, gripping my hips tightly. Between the dirty talk and the soft moans coming from Johnny as I swirled my tongue, I felt myself drowning in lust. My extremities were burning, muscles tensing as I approached my climax. My vision grew hazy as my eyes unfocused, and the pang of arousal in my stomach grew deeper. I pulled off of Johnny’s cock, contorting as I came. A string of obscenities slid off of my tongue in a sputtering, incoherent mess. Simon stilled inside of me with a grunt, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into my heated skin. With a tug of my hair, Johnny tilted my head. I watched as he jerked his cock by my face, brows furrowing as he reached his second orgasm. His cock twitched, then spurted pearly strings of cum over my face. I squeezed my eyes shut and parted my lips, sticking out my tongue.

Once he finished, he loosened the grip on my hair. I was left feeling utterly spent. I could feel the cum oozing out of me, making a mess of my legs. The strings of cum landed in my eyelashes, weighing them down.

“Is there a bathtub here? Something like that?” Simon asked from behind me.

“Down the hall. I’ll start the water.”

And then I was being lifted, pulled into a sweaty chest. With a swipe of his thumb, Simon wiped my eyes clean. I opened my eyes, only to be met with a brown gaze. I hooked my arms around the back of his neck, resting my head on his collarbone as he walked towards the bathroom.

Steam rose from the half-full tub. Johnny held out his arms for me. The tile floor was cold against my feet. Simon gently set me down, holding onto my hip in case I fell. I stepped forward and into Johnny's arms. Glancing back over my shoulder, I watched as the blonde turned away.

“You’re not joining us?” I asked.

“We’re not fitting in that tub. I’ll use the shower.” He mumbled.

I reached out, grabbing his arm. With a small tug he inched closer. I propped myself up on my toes and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips. When I pulled back he was smiling, the first time I’d seen it. It was subtle, just a curl of his lips, but it was definitely a smile.

Johnny helped me step into the tub. The hot water soothed my aching muscles. He slipped in behind me, pulling me into his lap. My back pressed against his chest, and he settled his hands in my lap, fingers gently skimming my thighs.

“So we’re doin’ this again, right?”

Masterlist

#ao3 fanfic #fanfic #read on ao3 #cod fanfic #cod fic #ghost smut #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #john soap mactavish #soapghost #soap x reader #johnny mctavish x reader #johnny mctavish x you

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unholyhelbig · 5 months ago

Note

Obsessed obsessed obsessed with Firecrest 🥺

Title: Firecrest (Part 2/???)

Read Part One

Summary: Kate Bishop and y/n have an unspoken agreement that revolves around being enemies with benefits. But when Kate's new mentor is someone Y/n is very familiar with, things become complicated.

Warnings: Parental abandonment, horrible parenting, slight mentions of blood, reader has villain tendencies, and horrible grammar because I never proofread!

[A/n: I'm so glad you enjoyed it! I'm honestly really digging writing it. If this is something you guys would like me to keep going, I'll do my best. Just let me know!]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

A sting worked its way through your knuckles before dissolving into a dull ache at your wrist. Sweat had started at your hairline and the small of your back before soaking through the wicked fabric of your tank-top. You could feel your shoulders cramping up. But, you’d stopped crying an hour ago. You feared that if you stopped assaulting the punching bag, then the tears would spill over again.

Lance had told you to take it easy. Your ribs had been bruised after the situation you’d left the benefit for. While you were grateful, said distraction packed a punch and you’d taken a swift kick to the gut and the side of a fire escape digging painfully into your side. It took everything in you not to throw the low-level criminal onto the pavement below.

Instead, you’d cuffed him and left him there until morning, or until law enforcement showed up. You were projecting, you were sure. But if your mother looked at you with pity one more time, you would have shoved him to his certain death.

You’d gotten out of the house and came to the boxing gym. The owner had given you your own key and it gave you enough privacy. If you had any tears left, you’d be able to shed them freely. You clenched your eyes shut and threw a solid round of punches, a scream of anguish ripping through your throat.

Two more hits and the bag became stagnant. Not the same, rocking defense that you’d been punching. You were used to the rhythmic sway and your eyes sprung open at the change in density. You’d ripped a bag before, sand spilling onto the floor.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You shouted, taking a step back. Kate Bishop was on the other side of the bag, holding onto it with a concerned stare on her features. Her annoying perfect features, despite the late time of night. You panted. “Shit.”

“I called out, but you didn’t answer. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m sorry.”

She released the bag and it swung back and fourth between you both. The chain that attached it to the ceiling squeaked in a rusted effort. Her stormy eyes flicked up nervously and then back to you. You knew that Kate used to come here with her father, her biological father, but you weren’t aware that she had the same key privileges as you.

You worked a hand through sweat-soaked hair and closed the distance to the side of the boxing ring. You used your teeth to pull open the plastic nib on your water bottle, soothed by the cool swallows. Kate watched you carefully. Her eyes roamed over your form, coated in sweat and toned from years of physical exertion.

You couldn’t stop your shoulders from trembling. Violent attempts from your body to assert it’s emotions. You could give in, and you could do so easily. But you would not. Not with Kate Bishop relinquishing her hold on the punching bag that you’d nearly turned to a pulp of sand and shredded upholstery. This wasn’t your dynamic. This wasn’t how things worked.

It was easy to take a lot of things that Kate was willing to give; a ride home from the gym, a doll that matched hers when the two of you were young, soft touches and harder thrusts. But one thing you refused to take was her pity. It leaked from her expression like a broken faucet and for some reason, that angered you.

“What are you doing here, Kate?”

“I came here to work off some extra energy. What are you doing here? I figured I wouldn’t see you for a few more months after you left the benefit early like that.”

“There was no reason for me to stick around.”

The answer fell from your lips in a deadened, emotionless tone. She clenched her jaw and then unclenched it, mulling her thoughts. There was an apprehension to her stance, even as she closed the distance between you both. She stopped just short of your fingers twitching to press against her hip, holding her in place. You lifted an unimpressed eyebrow.

Another swallow of now-warm water seemed to stop the uncertainty of your movements. You hoisted yourself onto the edge of the ring with a sigh, pressing your fingertips to your temples. Kate moved silently and leaned next to you. The quiet she offered was something you took, just like everything else.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Kate asked softly. You looked at her in confusion, lilting your head to the side. “You watched me fawn over Clint Barton for years. I had his posters in my room, and replica’s of his bows, and every news story ever written about him cut out and saved in a shoebox.”

“Because he’s important to you, Katie.”

“He’s your father.”

“He’s not.” You snapped. It was harsh. You forced yourself to relax, softening your voice. “He’s not. Lance is my father, and Clint Barton is far more important to you then he is to me.”

Kate swallowed thickly and hoisted herself up next to you. Her heat was overwhelming you with comfort. You didn’t have it in you to figure out what that meant, past your petty rivalry. She smelled of fresh detergent, of the winter air that clung to her so heavenly.

Her hand tentatively moved to your knee, and you didn’t stop her. You were still trembling and stilled at her closeness. “I’m not going to see him anymore.”

“Kate,” you chuckled sadly. “He’s your hero, and he trusts you enough to take over the Hawkeye name. You can’t throw that out because of his choices, and you certainly can’t throw that out because of me. We hate each other, remember?”

A look of sadness flickered momentarily against her features. The two of you had been in a constant head to head race to prove yourselves since you were young. Kate always came in first, and you had settled with second place; in school, in sports, in forced family outings. It used to end in toe to toe screaming matches.

But, the two of you were older now, and all that built up tension was easily released with stripped clothes and thrown around insults that did nothing but stir the excitement in your gut.

Being a hero was the only thing you were better at, than Katherine Elizabeth Bishop and you were sure that was about to change with Hawkeyes diligent teaching. Lance and Bobbi didn’t need the glory that came with being an Avenger- no, they kept the secret in the term secret agent.

“Right, of course.” She sounded out, nudged you with her shoulder. “But… you can still talk to me.”

You leveled her with an unimpressed stare. Despite her suave playboy attitude that infuriated you, Kate Bishop was not subtle when she wanted something. She chewed her bottom lip, both of her eyebrows raised in an adorable attempt to ease your nerves.

“Right, you’re right, sorry.” She moved to push herself off of the mat, but you wrapped your fingers around her wrist and gave it a tender squeeze. Kate froze in place before scooting back up, even closer this time. Her words reduced to a whisper, as if trying not to scare you off. “Okay.”

“Do you know what Terrigen crystals are?”

“We learned about them last semester, inhuman history. It’s a catalyst chemical that binds with red blood cells that are receptive to change.”

“Impressive.” You gave her a wolfish smile. “When I was growing up, my mom gave up her solo-agent status and conceded to joining a team, and one of their first missions together was to find, and retrieve these Terrigen crystals, the only ones in the entire world. They were meant to contain them, and nothing else, but things rarely go as planned.”

You were sure that Kate knew about the broken crystals that had leaked into the push and pull of the ocean. Fish naturally consumed the microscopic agent and soon, the Terrigen properties were distributed throughout the world commercially. Coulson had called it untamable. You remembered the fear in his eyes, and you had squirmed uncomfortably in the same Inhuman History class a year back.

“The day that things changed, my Aunt Daisy was in solitary confinement in the team’s underground bunker. My mom was busy running tests on her blood after she’d been exposed to the chemical agent. I knew how to stay out of the way, but happened to be in the lab with her when everything started to shake.”

“Shake?” Kate quirked a brow.

You nodded “The Terrigen crystal gave Daisy control of vibrational forces, but none of us knew that at the time. We just knew that something was wrong. The shaking startled everyone and my mom, she grabbed every Terrigen crystal but one.”

If not for Jemma, if not for her quick reflexes and wrapping her arms around Bobbi, sending them both from the lab before activating the safety seal, then neither of them would have made it. Indigo mist rushed from the shattered crystal and you remember the acrid floral taste that coated your lungs. It suffocated you.

“The last thing I remember about that day is my mother sobbing. She had both of her hands pressed against the glass surrounding the lab. She wailed like I wasn’t coming back, like she had failed me.”

Kate whimpered your name “Y/n,”

A tear drop hit the collar of your shirt and wicked nicely with the drying sweat. You used the base of hand to delicately wipe the rest away and came to the startling realization that Kate Bishop was one of the only people who had ever seen you cry.

“Everything went dark, then. I remember this hot, prickling feeling and it was hard to move. And then there was nothing. I know now that it was some… some type of cocoon of dirt and stone, but it crumbled away easily when the Terrigen had taken it’s effect.”

“That must have been scary.”

“Terrifying,” You let out a watery chuckle. “But in the end, I was in the best place possible for something like that to happen. I was surrounded by people who cared about me, who loved me, and who could teach me how to control the fire that’s always just below the surface.”

You pulled one knee to your chest and leaned your cheek against it, keeping a steady eye on Kate. She was already watching you. Fingers toying with the small brass zipper of her sweatshirt. She looked beautiful in the dimmed lights, and being this close, stopping to talk to her, had given you an even view of her freckles.

“Clint was on a mission in the Baltic Sea with Natasha, or at least, that’s how my mom tells it. Point is, he wasn’t there and even when he did return he took one look at me in solitary confinement and packed a duffel bag. There were arguments, I’m sure, but I wasn’t privy to them.”

The last time you had seen your biological father was when he knelt down at the sealed doors of the lab. His hand was massive compared to yours, it looked unnatural and alien when he pressed it against the glass. There was a finality in his stare. He’d called you Sparky, and you’d giggled like it was the funniest thing in the world.

You could see the turmoil in her stormy gaze. There was the sense of betrayal there, and the quiet contemplation of someone who had just found out the reality of their hero. Clint was her everything, her mentor, her teacher. He was the father figure she needed, and that was a clear line drawn in the sand.

Kate’s cold touch against your cheek, hot and tinted red from your earlier exertion, pulled you from your thoughts. Pity had replaced any semblance of anger she held onto. A whine moving involuntarily past your lips. You hadn’t realized how desperate you were for someone to touch you. For Kate to touch you.

Your relationship with the archer had never been any more than a succession of first and second place. A deadly dance that had culminated in open mouthed kisses and wandering fingers. This was one of the few times you’d had a serious conversation with her, a raw one that exposed wounds.

“I’ll do it,��

“Do what?”

You were hopelessly and pathetically lost. She smiled at that, an animalistic grin that often fell over her when she knew she was winning. You’d seen in countless times and couldn’t quite remember when it stopped annoying you and started turning you on.

“Pretend that we’re a couple,” She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, dropping her hand and hopping off the edge of the ring. You missed her warmth, but it didn’t last for long. Kate was suddenly posted up between your legs, her arms draped over your shoulders. She was so close you could smell the mint on her breath. “To piss off Clint.”

Your hands naturally found her hips, not daring to squeeze them, “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“First of all, you didn’t ask. You saw the way Clint reacted to us sleeping together and your instincts to make him angry kicked in. Secondly, I already told him we’re dating. I have way too much talent for him to drop me as a protégé just because I’m banging his estranged daughter.”

“Wow, you have such a way with words, Kate. Really, I’m just fawning over you here.”

She rolled her eyes, but you couldn’t stifle the phantom of a smile on your face. No one had ever offered to do something like this for you before. Especially not someone this close to the playing field. People had called you a freak for most of your life, an inhuman disaster that had a hot temper.

The anger you could control. It was the intensity in which you loved that got you into the most trouble.

Footfalls echoed against the rain-soaked streets of the city. A deep burn resonated within your chest, sweat forming against your collarbone and dripping down the small of your back. You’d never seen the benefit to tactical suits in the summer. They kept heat in like no other and by the time the night was over, your entire body ached.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You’d lost one of the targets. It wasn’t something you’ve done in years, but your mind was admittedly somewhere else. You hadn’t gotten much sleep in the past week and it was showing in your sloppy work. Your mother had given you a worried look that only lasted half a second before you’d taken off.

The man you were pursuing was faster than you anticipated, but it wasn’t hard for you to catch up. You never understood why people ran into alleyways. They’d most likely lived in the city for their entire lives and knew that most of them ended in construction zones, or the end of a brownstone.

His chest heaved as he felt the wall behind him, turning and pressing his back against the wall. If he was desperate enough to run, you knew that he didn’t have a plan past this.

The tactical suit came with a few benefits that staved off the discomfort. While your mother preferred her staves, you had always leaned more towards a quarterstaff, a hot, reactive, type of metal that would glow a dangerous neon orange at just your touch.

It extended with a mechanical whir, your head tilting to the side. “Dude, really?”

“Look, I’ll never do it again!” His voice cracked like he was adolescent, but the beard that splattered the bottom half of his face betrayed the effects of his fear. “Just let me go, please.”

You closed the distance that lingered between you both, using the end of your staff to push up his chin. Your voice leaked with mock sympathy “Really? You promise?”

Half of his face was dripping with the blue dye from an exploding pack in a bundle of bills. His hands were coated entirely, the lapels of his shirt smeared from his lackluster attempt to wipe away the pigment. The man nodded vigorously.

“Oh, thank God, that’s a relief. I really thought I was going to have to take you in. The nearest station is eight blocks south and that would be a load of paperwork.”

“Yeah, yes, a lot of red tape” He shakily replied.

You slammed the quarterstaff into his gut. His breath left him, curling into himself as he fell to his knees. In the same moment, an arrow whizzed past you and lodged into his shoulder. His exhale of air turned into a scream of pain.

You groaned and pinched the bridge of your nose. The fletching was a dark purple, almost black under the light of the moon. Telling the difference between Clint’s arrows and Kate’s hadn’t become an issue until now. Knowing that he was in the same city as you made you feel ill.

“I had that!”

The staff retracted and you attached it back in place on your belt. So, what if you liked to play around with the perpetrators every once and awhile? You did good work, but there were long and deep lulls of footwork in the hero business.

Clint stood at the mouth of the alleyway. His stance was shadowed with the concise way he carried himself. You couldn’t tell if he was alone or not, but didn’t get the signature winter scent from Kate’s presence.

He strode up to the target, pulling the arrow from his shoulder with a gentle tug. He put it back into it’s quiver as if it wasn’t slick with blood. Clint cuffed him, dragged him into a sitting position by the arm. You watched his languid movements with a resentment you didn’t know you harbored.

“Yeah, it looked like you had it, Sparky.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

His blue eyes flicked down to your hands, watching for any signs of a dull glow. He didn’t’ find any. You balled your fists and clenched your jaw. You didn’t owe him anything. Tonight, he seemed to be approaching you with contempt, now that his initial shock had worn off.

Clint clearly didn’t’ know how to handle you, or the giant emotional elephant in the room. It was nearing midnight and there was a storm brewing, you could smell it. The last thing you wanted to do was stand by the dumpsters and discuss your feelings, so you started to walk away.

“Kid, wait. I’m approaching this all wrong. I’m sure you had it handled.” His words didn’t stop you, but he jogged to catch up and fell in step. You glared at him, shoved your suddenly cold hands into the pockets of your suit. “We need to talk about Kate.”

This stopped you in your tracks. He wanted to talk about Kate. All these years separated, living completely different lives and he wanted to talk about your fake girlfriend. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s talk about Kate.”

“You can’t continue to see her.”

You stopped, standing in front of him with your arms crossed. He had a few inches on you, but you carried his stance. One of the only things other than his stubbornness that you had inherited from him.

“I’m sorry?”

“Kate is persistent, I’m sure you know that. It took months of her poking and prodding for me to even agree to take her under my wing. She’s a good archer, but she’s reckless, thinks too much with her heart and not her brain. She can’t afford to have distractions right now.”

A brick dropped in the pit of your stomach. The flames seemed to lick viciously at your pulse points. But, you swallowed it back and let out a sad laugh. “You don’t think I’m good enough for her.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to, you did all the talking when you walked out on me at eight years old. Then you come waltzing back after years of building the family you wanted. The family that wasn’t filled with freaks.”

“Y/n, I don’t-“

“Because that’s all we ever were for you.” You growled at him. “the accident was just the excuse you needed to leave, and you’ve spent your time trying to make up for it by parenting every single stray that shows up on your doorstep expect for me.”

He was rendered silent, something that Clint rarely was. He opened his mouth and closed it again, a few times as if he was a fish out of water. You were breathing heavy, the words stinging your throat. You’d been harboring that for years, burying it deep inside. He’d tripped the metaphorical wire.

When he did find his voice, it was cracked and morose. “Okay. You’re right, you’re right.”

“I’m… right?”

He nodded sadly “I haven’t been fair to you, or your mother. I was a different person back then. I just don’t want Kate to get hurt, and I don’t want to hurt you more than I already have.”

A step back from him seemed to clear your mind. For a moment, you wanted to crash into his safe embrace, to breathe in the scent of his aftershave. He was your father, your biological father, and despite it all, you were drawn to his kindness.

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, mouth tasting of metal and bile. “You’re afraid of me, Hawkeye. You always have been.”

“That’s not true” He said it weakly.

“It is. You wouldn’t have run the moment I became different if you weren’t.” another step back and he didn’t’ dare to follow you. You vowed not to cry in front of him, or about him. Not now, and not ever, but you couldn’t stop the tears from streaking your cheeks. “You don’t have to worry about Kate Bishop. She can take care of herself. And so can I.”

#Kate Bishop #Kate Bishop x reader #Kate Bishop x y/n #Kate Bishop x you #Kate bishop x reader #Hawkeye #Hawkeye fanfiction #Marvel #Marvel Fanfiction #hurt/comfort #Ask #bobbi morse #lance hunter #mockingbird #clint barton #Reader has fire powers

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midknitefox · 5 months ago

Text

Nova Bamon.

Close ups + info dump under the cut ^^

absolutely obsessed with her freckles

anyways ahem

Nova Bamon is the daughter of one of the scientists at Urbanshade, an experiment conducted in secret for a long time before the breach.

Nova was only three years old when the experiments began.

She lived a life of solitude, kept in a self sufficient aquarium style tank in a secluded room.

She underwent procedures as her father wanted to try to solve gills before the rest of the company to prove himself. He quickly gave up when she gained her monstrous form, instead resorting to conducting experiments to see what exactly was happening to her.

Once discovered by the company, Nova was still isolated, as her father was disallowed from working on her.

She was incredibly violent, and had associated all forms of physical contact with being jabbed by needles. This led any who attempted kindness vulnerable to an attack.

Doctor Bamon, her father, kept very limited records of her, so the company had to try and figure out what exactly she was on their own.

Which meant more poking and prodding with needles.

Hint, it was Bull and Mako sharks ... maybe more things, haven't decided. suggestions open.

Her tank and enclosure room were kept dim, as she was noted to have extremely sensitive eyes.

Her excellent sense of hearing, quick speed, and agility led her to resisting experiments, hiding in various spots in her tank. Eventually the project was abandoned altogether when she was 16.

She spent the last 4 years before the breach in solitude.

When the breach happened, initially she refused to leave her tank, until she sensed the panic going on in the building.

When she did escape the newly unlocked room, she killed anything that came within sight.

Once her temper had cooled, and she'd become acquainted with Sebastian Solace, she found herself a medium sized tank, which shed find to sit in at times.

Nova, despite her extended solitude, cooperated quite well with Expendables, going as far as offering hints and tips, which had a mixed result- as she often lied, some of these would get Expendables injured or even killed.

If flashed by a flash beacon, she would hunt and kill everyone in the vicinity, her feral nature coming into play.

Nova has a tendency to return to her room, hiding for what is often hours at a time.

Nova has incredibly sensitive eyes, bright enough lights will render her blind for hours.

She has strong senses of smell and hearing as well, and tends to gravitate towards the smell of blood.

She likes the smell of blood, and seems to enjoy the taste as well.

She's very unpredictable, doing whatever pops up in her head.

She has an aversion to touch.

She also has a habit of making empty threats.

"Me?... my name is Nova... But if you tell ANYONE that, I will tear the flesh from your bones and feed it to the shark." Nova

She believes that anyone who knows her name can leverage it against her.

"Oh come on, just give me your arm, and I promise you can go home to Mommy. It won't even hurt. Please, Nova?" Doctor Bamon

She sees herself less as human and more as animal, and as such if supplies get low, is willing to eat dead Expendables. She already seems like she could eat more anyway, and you don't want to come across a starving shark...

She can breathe underwater through the use of gills.

Nova will ambush people.

Doctor Bamon, who is still alive, has in fact been trying to get his hands on her, which is kinda hard since she's in the facility and he's safely not.

Low-key shipping her with my expendable OC, a dancer who found himself framed for his sister's murder and ended up down there. Casually teaches her to be human. he's based off my Roblox avatar UMMMMM

low-key redraw of an old art. he's chill. His name is Anansi (someone else named him cuz he's very spidery originally but I dulled it down to be human)

that's all if u read this far I'm so sorry ok bye

#me going insane->#raaaaaaa #art #oc #oc art #digital art #pressure #pressure roblox #pressure oc #infodump #roblox pressure

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demonslayedher · 8 months ago

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Links, why started, and why abandoned:

Rengoku+Akaza Sitcom: It was very silly and rereading it still makes me laugh. I've had passing ideas here and there and have made two separate attempts to continue it, but I haven't captured the same flow. Kyojuro's efforts to get me fired as the lead writer and keep this sitcom canceled have so far panned out.

Low-Key Married AU: When I look at the notes sometimes I am like, "wow, this must be my most popular AU, but it is such a mess and I feel so bad for people trying to follow it." I got as far as The Nezuko Incident, but it was already super long, and rather than being engaging it felt more like it was just trying to give chronology to this AU. ZenNezu Angst (no link): I was in such an indulgent, angsty mood when I wrote it, and I wrote myself into an angsty hole. It was whump with an intended happy ending but by the time I went back to it I was not in as whumpy of a mood and I had forgotten how I was going to build up to the intended happy ending and found it meh. Also, I am embarrassed by how whumpy it is and even considered publishing under a different name.

Raw Sword Production: I want so badly for the fandom to appreciate the intricacies of Japanese sword production, which is why I put it into fiction format in the first place with Teppi being the vehicle through which readers can learn a complicated but fascinating process. I wound up learning a lot more since publishing that, and wanted to fix some details, as well as make it clearer with more illustrations, and add on the full process of smithing (instead of glossing over it in the conclusion and focusing most of the smelting). Got to about the point of polishing (one of the last steps), felt overwhelmed by the amount of illustration it would benefit from to be clear, and lost confidence feeling that even with all that effort, there probably would not be many people who read all the way to the end. Filler Arc w/ Character Beats: I still really like the ideas, have had ideas for how to expand it to a proper flow and make a solid story out of it, it had a very cute start, but I lost steam. I want Ufotable to make it instead and just let me direct. EDIT: So far it doesn't seem this one is going to win the poll, so I reread what 5577 words I had, and gosh dang it, it was cute. So I have posted it.

Again, zero promises of any of these projects getting more attention, even if they win the poll. But knowing what people would enjoy reading might provide more inspiration. EDIT: Guys, if you want "other," ya gotta tell me which one! Also, if you want more than one, feel free to say so too. Again, the point is to see if I can work up the inspiration to finish. If.

#this poll inspired by my efforts to try to sit down and work on original fiction again #only to feel terrified of it #and to have trouble finding the document with my notes on it but instead run into all these unfinished projects #my fics

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soon-palestine · 9 months ago

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Oxfam experts, together with cocoa farmers, will be at the World Cocoa Conference in Brussels (21-24 April), taking place against a backdrop of unprecedented production shortfalls and skyrocketing cocoa prices, which topped $11,000 per metric ton for the first time.

Chocolate giants have already raised prices for consumers to offset rising cocoa costs and, despite years of soaring profits and massive payouts to shareholders, have consistently pushed back on anything that could reduce their profit margins. New Oxfam analysis has found: - Lindt, Mondelēz, and Nestlé together raked in nearly $4 billion in profits from chocolate sales in 2023. Hershey’s confectionary profits totaled $2 billion last year. - The four corporations paid out on average 97 percent of their total net profits to shareholders in 2023. - The collective fortunes of the Ferrero and Mars families, who own the two biggest private chocolate corporations, surged to $160.9 billion during the same period. This is more than the combined GDPs of Ghana and Ivory Coast, which supply most cocoa beans.

Decades of low prices have made farmers poorer and hampered their ability to hire workers or invest in their farms, limiting bean yield. Old cocoa trees are particularly vulnerable to disease and extreme weather. Many farmers are abandoning cocoa for other crops, or selling their land to illegal miners.

Speaking ahead of the conference, Oxfam’s Policy Advisor Bart Van Besien said: “It’s ironic —the cocoa price explosion could have been averted if corporations had paid farmers a fair price and helped them make their farms more resilient to extreme weather. And it’s hypocritical —chocolate giants are paying high prices now that the market demands it, but have pushed back every single time that cocoa farmers have. The only way forward is fairly rewarding farmers for their hard work.”

And Ismael Pomasi, Chairman of Ghana’s Cocoa Abrabopa Association, said: "Nothing is more demotivating —all my hard work on the farm barely pays off. Between battling pests and the drought that is killing my cocoa trees, I'm really struggling. I wish I could afford irrigation. If the multibillion-dollar chocolate industry paid fair prices for cocoa, I could actually tackle these problems and make a decent living."

Oxfam spokespersons and farmers available for interviews in Brussels:Nana Kwasi Barning Ackay, project officer at SEND Ghana and Coordinator of the Ghana Civil Society Cocoa Platform (GCCP) (English) Ismael Pomasi, Chairman of Ghana’s Cocoa Abrabopa Association (English) Anouk Franck, Policy Advisor on Business and Human Rights, Oxfam Novib (Dutch, English) Bart Van Besien, Policy Advisor, Oxfam Belgium (Dutch, English, French)

Key dates: Oxfam spokespersons and farmers will come together to hand out chocolate produced by Ghana’s Women in Cocoa Cooperative (Cocoa Mmaa), and will be available for interviews and photos. 7:30-9:00am CET on 22 April at Place d’Albertine, in front of the World Cocoa Conference.

#Oxfam #cococa beans #nestlé #brussels

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blackwolfstabs · 7 months ago

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The Wolves of Woodsboro - Chapter I

summary:

Tara and Sam have been going to therapy together since the end of Richie’s family. For Tara, things have been difficult, but she’s surprisingly been able to talk about her trauma with their therapist without too much resistance. Sam, on the other hand, has found it very difficult to talk about everything and relive the life she’s been running from for so long, causing her to relapse into the bad habits of her late-teenage years. She holds a dark secret that’s sparked from the murders she’s committed, and it makes the line between her and Billy Loomis blurrier than ever. And when visions of her father and his voice in her head warn of another Ghostface-storm on the horizon, she begins to tie the identifying ribbon of her secret and bloodline into one. She’ll need to work with him to protect her family and uncover the last member of the Kirsch family as the Wolves of Woodsboro.

fandom: Scream

characters: Sam Carpenter, Billy Loomis, Tara Carpenter, Chad Meeks-Martin, Mindy Meeks-Martin, Danny Brackett, Ethan Landry, Richie Kirsch, Quinn Bailey, Wayne Bailey, Kirby Reed, Gale Weathers, Nancy Loomis

SPEED

characters: Sam Carpenter, Tara Carpenter, Mindy Meeks-Martin, & Danny Brackett

Samantha Carpenter had always been hung up on speed.

Always on the run. Running towards something, running away from something. She had always been unpredictable. She was mysterious to many and a misunderstood criminal to most. A stray dog, a wild horse, a feral cat, a savage wolf.

Like a wolf, she was strong and loyal. Like a wolf, she was judged and territorial. Like a wolf, she was reserved and distant. Very distant, and in more ways than just being the daughter of the legendary wolf that had started the endless franchise of killings in a Ghostface mask: Billy Loomis.

She was different. Her father promised her that title. And he given her something more. Something that hadn’t awoken inside of her until she held his murder weapon in her hands and wore his mask over her face.

“Murder’s in your blood.” Wayne Bailey, Richie Kirsch’s father, told had her.

“Your birthright.” He had said.

And he was right.

She was Samantha Loomis.

She was a wolf .

It had been 6 months since the Kirsch family had been sent to their graves, and a lot had happened. Moving on and holding on. It was different for all of the survivors. Sam, Tara, Chad, Mindy, and Danny abandoned their split apartments to come together under one roof in the suburbs. It was a small, one-story house, surrounded mostly by larger, newly built homes, but it was good enough for them. Furthermore, the three younger survivors had continued going to college, and like they had promised each other, the Carpenter sisters had been attending weekly therapy sessions together. The therapist they had been going to was the best they had met so far. She was understanding, low-key, and didn’t project herself as a know-it-all, just-there-to-get-paid counselor. This made it fair to talk to her.

Well… for Tara at least.

For someone who wasn’t used to opening-up to a stranger about her past, trauma, and scars, the younger sister was able to communicate herself fairly well a few sessions in. She was skeptical, but she had made a promise and she intended to keep it. Not to mention, her well-being needed to be secured in order for her to live the rest of her life.

After all, survivors didn’t run from their past, they outran it towards something better.

On the contrary, Sam was the opposite, which was surprising, since she had been the one consistent with trying to receive help before the 2023 Ghostface attacks had happened. Ever since she killed Richie’s father and sister, she hadn’t been the same. She hadn’t felt the same. Her aggression had grown along with her temper. She had become very territorial and instinctive. And she had been fighting in a tailspin with her Loomis-bloodline. It had taken her a while to figure out what these differences were from, but when her guttural feelings betrayed her insides to reveal themselves, she had learned quickly.

She was a wolf. Not symbolically, like anyone would assume, but a shapeshifter. Triggered by emotions, her form would change from a human to a wild animal, and no one knew. The visions of her father occurred more frequently, and she heard his voice often. He was a shifter, too, but he couldn’t tell if he had passed down that gene to her until it happened.

He explained that it was a mutation in her Loomis DNA, an awakening that bloomed when a trauma so severe affects the host to the point where murder feels right, and the killer instincts surge. Wolves were raised to hunt, defend, and kill, and that’s what she was good at.

Together, they were the Wolves of Woodsboro.

But she had kept it a secret from everyone. She was still trying to get a handle on it, hence why she shut down during therapy. She was indifferent, easily angered, and extremely defensive when she would be accused of trying to protect herself from vulnerability. Tara would even jump her from time-to-time, saying how they promised to do this together, but now she seemed to want no part of it. She didn’t understand it, and if she were honest, Sam couldn’t either. She was afraid of hurting Tara. She had hurt her too many times before. And she didn’t trust herself to let her sister and the rest of their household know.

These new, unruly instincts and behaviors were messing with her mind, hormones, and personality. It was like she was going through puberty again. She couldn’t seem to control certain things, and as a result, would run off at night and get into any trouble it brought her to.

That was when the wolf inside of her ran wild. All of the emotions she held back would rush to the surface, and her father’s voice would yell at her the whole way. She would run until her chest hurt so bad, she thought she was going to have a heart attack. She would chase prey until her eyes burned from being so fixated. She would kill again and again, until her muzzle and paws were soaked and matted with blood. And when she tore the meat and broke the bones, she’d eat until she was so full, she’d throw it all up. Just to get the energy out. Just to feel something more than anger, paranoia, and the distressing loss of control.

And then, she’d go to the lake and wash herself off, drink away the metallic taste of blood and vomit, and then go home. By that time, it’d typically be between 2:30 and 3:00 in the morning.

Danny waited for her every time she left. He never pushed her to tell him where she went or what she did, just asked if she was okay. She’d nod and say she was fine, but she knew that he knew better. She was exhausted, and he could see it in her eyes. She was queasy, and he could see it in her complexion. She was lost, and he could feel it in her kiss.

But he never pushed, and she never told. That was the way it was.

At least until a week ago… when it got worse.

There was a new darkness on the horizon. Nothing unpredictable, nonetheless, but just as haunting as the last two times it had occurred.

Ethan Kirsch was still alive and out for revenge against the two that ended his siblings and father. Billy had warned his daughter the moment the surviving murderer began his hunt. Every time she saw her reflection, he was there. Every time she was alone, he was there. As much as she knew he was trying to help her, she didn’t care. She didn’t want or need his help. Not when he was constantly whispering in her ear and grooming her into another version of himself. She was born a mess, so there wasn’t anything she could do to change her DNA. Sure, he had helped her with killing those who endangered her family previously, but he had quite the insulting way doing it.

It was bold and upfront. Frustrating and intoxicating. Making her feed into the side she never wanted to be. She hated being told that deep-down, killing excited her, because she didn’t want to believe that was true. But it was…

She didn’t ask for any of this. However, no one would ever see it that way, other than the four people that she lived with.

Now, they were in danger again. This was where their progress with moving on got caught up in ropes. This was where their “ happy ending ” ended. This was where she relapsed into a hellhound with a relentless drive for speed. To hunt, to chase, to maul. She hadn’t told the rest that Ethan was alive, because her father had told her that he was taking a different approach. He wouldn’t go public with murders or attack those who were connected. That would just end up in another game of strategy. He would simply attack.

He only had two targets. And those were the ones he would strike.

For this, Samantha planned to beat him at his own game. He couldn’t win if she found him first. And that was exactly what she planned to do.

“ Sam ,” Tara let herself into the garage to meet her sister, who was busy putting laundry in the washer.

Her voice snapped the older sibling out of her daze that she always got in whenever she was alone. She glanced over.

“We’re putting dinner up,” she informed, “Are you gonna eat or not?”

Sam shook her head. “No, I’m good.” She shut the lid to the washer and slid the detergent cap back on the bottle. She could feel the tension between them rise instantly as she moved to put it back where it belonged, dreading to turn around and face that same frustrated glare that she had grown used to for weeks.

“This is the third night in a row that you haven’t eaten dinner,” Tara spat as she faced her. She moved all the way inside to have the screen door shut, blocking the exit to make sure she didn’t just walk out on her. But when her sister just gave a small shrug, she pleaded. “Sam, what’s wrong? I mean, I get that you’ve been having a hard time with this whole therapy thing and trying to move on, whatever, but it’s more than that. I know it is.”

The she-wolf stared at her, her jaw tightening as she shifted her weight. Nightfall was when her anxiety, paranoia, duality, and psychotic symptoms triggered, so her appetite eluded her. Of course, she could force herself to eat, but making herself sick wouldn’t do any good when around the others.

“You’re not you anymore.”

This cut her like a knife, making her indifference vanish into a wave of emotion that took her by surprise as it threatened tears to flood her eyes. She wanted to tell her. Tell her everything that had happened since. Tell her why she was different, because she knew waiting on it would only turn out bad, like it did when she revealed the truth about their family. But every time she was tempted like this, a rugged voice hissed into her ear.

‘ “Don’t say a word.” ’

So she was forced to push it aside and excuse herself from the idea. “Not now, Tara,” she replied, refusing to meet the younger’s eyes as she tried to walk around her to exit. But her sibling’s hand clutched the door handle to hold it shut.

“Then, when? ” she demanded. “Huh? When are you going to tell me?” Tara’s eyes became darker than the shadows of the night, harder than the stone wall she was trying to break, and clearer than the indigo sky. “That’s been your answer every single time, one of us has tried to talk to you. You remember the last time you held a secret from me? How that worked out for you?” Her tone deepened into a growl as she found the older’s eyes, “Don’t make that mistake again.”

The more she talked, the worst Samantha felt. Because she knew it was true. Because she knew it was toxic. Because she knew she was repeating everything she had promised not to. As much as the Ghostface killings had taught her, she could never overcome the fear she had of herself. It was so twisted and confusing, relentless and exhausting. Yet, she couldn’t stop. She didn’t know how to. Her voice came out almost hoarse, quiet with the emotion and hatred she had towards this situation. “I’m sorry… I’m fine,” she lied.

This made Tara hot. “Don’t you fucking lie to me,” she growled. “You can pull that crap with everyone else in the house, but you can’t fool me, Sam.” She didn’t bother to hold back anymore as she let her anger raise her tone. “At the beginning of all this, you begged me over and over to go see a therapist and now, all of the sudden, you act like you’re not into it! I said we’d get through all of this shit together, and I meant it! But lately, I think I’ve been on my own… Because you’re never around anymore.” She knew her words were harsh, but nothing was changing. Someone had to confront her at some point. “You said you were never going to leave me again. Did your word mean nothing to you?”

And just like that, her older sister went from feeling guilty to defensive. Her blood boiled at that accusation. She glared at her. “Don’t you dare throw that in my face!” It was like a switch. “That shit isn’t the only thing I’ve been dealing with! Forgive me for wanting to keep you out of my drama that seems to get in your way so much—”

“You haven’t dealt with anything, that’s the problem!” Tara shouted at her. “I-I mean, we go to therapy and— and you just shut down. You don’t even try at all. I get that you have your own issues, okay, I got that, but I didn’t do this just for me… I’m doing it for you too.”

A deep growl stirred in the other’s throat. Her spine pricked, and her muscles contracted with the onset of needing to phase. She saw red, tired of everything and everyone, and it didn’t make it any better when her father’s voice purred again.

‘ “Time to go, Sam. You’ve gotta let it out.” ’

“Just drop it,” she warned and pushed her way past and out into the open air. She heard the screen door slam shut and footsteps follow her down the driveway.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Her younger sister had one hell of a mouth on her that she had no reins on, especially when it came to her. “So, that’s the way it is, you’re just gonna run off like you always do?!”

“I don’t expect you to understand!” Sam replied, without looking back.

“I don’t have to! I just want to know what’s going on!”

‘ “Hold it in.” ’

“It’s none of your business!” It was so fucking hard. Her voice was already changing.

“Bullshit! I have a right to know as your family! Your sister! ”

“Tara, please!”

“Is it your father? Is he the one doing this to you?!”

Sam’s whole body was tense as she made it to the double-gate that guarded the front yard from the backyard.

‘ “If you don’t want her to know, get the fuck out of there right now.” ’

She turned around to face her sibling, who stopped a few yards away. “I learned to trust you, Tara,” her voice was dangerously low, corrupted with a venomous streak that made the other go silent. “I got off of your back, so get the fuck off mine .”

Tara didn’t say anything, at a loss for words at the aggression of that warning that was easily a threat. She was offended, for sure, but she had never spoken to her that way before.

The evening breeze filled the brief moment of silence, before the wolf-shifter jumped the gate and disappeared into the night, leaving her sister alone in the half-light.

Her jaw shifted in disbelief as she stood there. “Wow,” she sarcastically nodded. If Sam thought keeping her in the dark, after everything they had been through together, was fair, she was wrong. Very wrong. She wasn’t asking for much, just for an answer. It didn’t have to be the ins-and-outs, it didn’t have to be deep, just something other than lies and deflections. Something that she could piece together. But she got nothing. Her sister was on thin ice, and her patience was getting there with this too.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she stepped back to retreat to the back door, “Okay.”

Her temper was still sharp when she ducked into the warm lighting of the living room, her hard gaze scanning the area for a single being.

“Everything okay?” From the couch, Mindy blinked at her. She had overheard the indistinct argument from inside the house—over the television—and she could tell by the look of the youngest’s face that it hadn’t ended well. “You two sounded like you were going to kill each other out there.”

“Where’s Danny?” the teen demanded, ignoring any questions and only focused on answers she was still looking for. She would find something , even if she had to wait all night until Sam returned to get it. Not that she expected her boyfriend to know, because she, as her blood, couldn’t even be trusted enough.

Mindy, while normally very inquisitive, had sensed something in her that told her to refrain from prying. So, she pointed to the room beside the fireplace that the two oldest household members shared, “In there.”

Tara slammed the back door shut and stormed in the direction she was pointed in, hearing the female twin call out behind her.

“Danny! Tara’s comin’ in hot!”

She entered the bedroom, immediately finding the male’s gaze as he looked over from the right side of the bed. As angry as she was, she knew it wasn’t his fault, so she would have to bite her tongue to avoid putting blame on those who didn’t deserve it. But Mindy couldn’t have said it better… She was hot . “Can I talk to you?” She couldn’t promise she wouldn’t lose it.

While this was a question, it came out like a demand, but Danny knew it was only a matter of time before she came to him directly, due to his relationship with her sister. He knew exactly what this was about. So, he wasn’t surprised or phased, just nodded, “Sure.” He set the towel he was folding down, muted the small TV mounted on the wall, and moved away from the bedside to listen to what she had to say.

Tara gently kicked the door closed to give some privacy, before stepping up to close the distance between them. “Does Sam talk to you at all? About… anything that’s been going on with her, since what happened 6 months ago?” She struggled to hold back her frustration, throwing her arm out and letting it fall against her thigh as she emphasized ‘ anything ’.

The other was as composed as ever as he shook his head. “Not lately. She talked to me once, but she didn’t say much, and I didn’t push her.” He could see her jaw shift behind tight lips, which led him to try to explain further, “Our relationship is different than the one she has with you—”

“ You’re a pushover ,” the younger cut him off aggressively, earning surprised silence that made her continue. “Sam is someone that needs to be pushed to open-up, because she can’t willingly do it herself. I’m younger than her, so she’s been hard-wired to keep shit from me, but, as an equal, you have the right to know what’s going on with her; especially if this relationship between you two is going to last.” She wasn’t even thinking about what she was saying before she said it, the words rolling off her tongue like second-nature. “She’s damaging every single relationship she has with the people in this house, the ones who care about her the most, and she’s having help doing it.” At this point, she had stopped blinking, staring at him like she had only stared at one other person: her sister. It was anger that masked desperation, because what she wanted was something that couldn’t be achieved by her hand.

Brackett stayed silent for a long time. As little respect as she had just shown for him, not only as a superior, but as a member of the household, he didn’t shout at her or show his offense. He simply stayed calm and listened to her… Because that’s what he had learned to do from knowing Samantha. Tara thought he didn’t know enough about her sister, but he knew more than she thought he knew. From the day they met, he had studied her. Her likes, her dislikes, her mannerisms, her habits… There were countless nights that he had listened to her talk or vent. There were other nights he helped her take her mind off of her pain, fears, and inescapable toxicity. He had felt every scar that stained her body for himself, because she allowed him to. She didn’t sleep with him for no reason, other than to be reckless with her sexual availability.

Yes, she was reserved, and too much for her own good, at that.

Yes, he had the ability to break her down, if he chose to do so.

Yes, he technically was helping her sabotage herself, because she’s terrified of the dark potential inside of her that she can’t decide is an advantage or not.

But he trusted her.

He trusted her, because he knew where she had been and how she had handled it. He trusted her to trust him when she was ready, because he knew trust needed to be earned. He trusted her to make the decisions she believed was right for herself and the family she had vowed to protect.

And for these reasons, he respected her privacy. He knew there was something bothering her. He knew it was driving her crazy and that’s why she wouldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and stayed out late at night. And so, that’s what he needed to tell Tara.

“I get what you’re saying,” he finally began, his gaze having fallen to the carpet while processing everything she had thrown at him. He raised his eyes again to meet her, “But, Tara, you have to understand that, mentally, your sister doesn’t know what the right decision is to make. She never has. Her father is a murderer that is so well-known, her connection to him has forced her to live in a world of a thousand enemies. When she runs from it, it debilitates her. When she faces it, it haunts her. It doesn’t matter how much myself, or you, or anyone else tries to get it through her head. It is up to her on what she wants to share and when she wants to share it.”

“Okay, I understand that, but why can’t she trust us?! I figure after everything we’ve been through, she could. Like, why… Why is it so hard for her to just be honest?” Carpenter’s anger had run its course for the night. She’d blame it on her homework and the late nights, but the truth was she just wanted her only sister to confide in her so badly. It hurt her to not feel like she was capable of helping her in a critical period. She had willingly let Sam be a part of her life—she wanted her to be—she literally told her that…

Why couldn’t she be a part of hers?

And Danny had an answer to that. “Because she’s scared to be honest with herself,” he told her. “She still hasn’t accepted herself. She’s gotten close, but she can’t give in to what she might become. Not yet. And if she can’t be honest with herself, then how is she supposed to be honest with anyone else?”

Tara just blinked at him, her expression almost blank as she couldn’t seem to evoke enough understanding to outrule what she believed was more imperative to her sibling’s well-being. “She needs the ability to see herself as herself and not Billy Loomis. And right now, she doesn’t have that. But we sure-as-hell do. She’s not a psycho, she’s my sister. She’s not a criminal, she’s your girlfriend. She’s not a murderer, she’s our family. ” Her brow hardened, and her tone deepened a little as her words became imperative and emphatic. “If it’s help she needs, we’ve got it.”

He agreed with her, knowing good and well they had just made it to the same page. However, he also knew that with how fast Samantha seemed to be progressing through this phase she was experiencing, chances were that ‘ help ’ went into the wrong hands.

There was only one other person that was around her as much as they were, if not more.

Only one other person could call themselves her family .

Only one other person she feared more than herself…

Her biological father.

“I think someone else beat us to it.”

TAGLIST: (gonna start one for this story bc i know a few people who are interested)

@alphawolfstabs @fantasylandbitch @bowergirlwitch let me know if you'd like to be tagged for updates on this fic!

All my best! 🩶

- parker (BWS)

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ohwell-itsme-but-danganronpa · 11 months ago

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Co-parenting Found Family

[Miu (has a baby), Rantaro, Tsumugi & Kokichi friend group, Saiouma]

Me: you ever read a crackfic one-shot and realize you'd want to read a serious longfic with the same premise? cause now I am thinking of this stupid.. pregnant Miu shows up to saiou's apartament, asking Kokichi for help but instead of going with the crap about her not realizing she's pregnant for this long, I would like it to be angst inspired by her lhs

Clown: Yessss!!! I read that one!!! Absolutely loved it, mostly because I'm a sucker for them navigating something like this so ridiculously

Me: I liked it too, the joke about her not being able to tell rubbed me the wrong way, but it was actually nice after that, I would read more of it if they write a continuation

Me: basically, Miu ghosts everyone for a few months, not that unusual, she can disappear in her projects, she pops back up to brag about the prize she got for it when she's done, but not this time, this time she shows up to saiou's apartment, severely pregnant and devastated turns out she jumped headfirst into a relationship with some guy, tried to go through with her baby-trapping idea from LHS, because, hello abandonment issues, and for a bit it looks like she's exactly where she wants to be, but then, only weeks before she's due the guy ditches, leaves some note about realizing he's too young to be a father, and he's gone also, I'd add https://archiveofourown.org/series/976308 friend group to the mix, so while Ouma is the first person she comes to, the whole gang unites to help her

Clown: The friend group coming together instead of another potential partner is clenches fist so good. Miu is someone who is pretty fixated on relationships, it's almost as though in her mind she won't really be completely until someone loves her that way. So to give her a chance to move past that in this situation is just so interesting AND ITS JUST SO GOOD! In my mind for her to come to ouma of all people. Because he provided some familiarity to her, some safe space where she can in her own way step back into her usual. And Ouma would low-key go "shit. I'd jump shit too" and shuichi sends him a look but doesn't dare say anything because he kinda agrees. And it's a complete wreck but it's good

Me: yeah, if it's platonic relationships being as important as romantic ones, if not put first (actually, love Kokichi kicking Shu out so he can focus on comforting Miu), I am an insane person unapologetically I just think. found family coming together to raise a child. like if you agree I've done it before with DICE adopting a kid and I'll do it again

Me: Kokichi would agree with being the father, he's going to use it to gaslit their other ex-classmates (I imagine this is a few years post-HPA) into thinking he's the one who ended up with a kid their friend group + Shuichi know the truth of the arrangement, but that's it she might have been in a state of shock when she suggested it to him, but he's embraced it he Will be "the ultimate dad", (she regrets coming to him instead of Rantaro or Tsumugi when she sees all the custom print tees he got) he's telling Kaito about His pregnancy and childbirth experience the next time he comes over, he's preparing stories when it's aliens that got him pregnant, but no it was actually one of those dinosaur foam pills he swallowed, unless… Kaito, who just wanted to eat lunch with Shuichi: Shuichi, who is a simp: [relieved emoji] he won't help you, Kaito

Aalliyah: He swallowed a watermelon seed

Clown: He's taking this so seriously jagdjdhs He laid an egg [pensive emoji] I love shuichi just going along with it. Everyone expects some sort of something from him and he's just "We planted him in our garden from a toe nail and-"

Ves: this is gonna be the most spoilt baby

Me: on some bigger (as in just about the whole class is there) reunion, (probably a regular event organized by Kaede, like a movie or boardgame night) they look to Rantaro, who's always been the most reasonable of their group, and he's just mentally in the hehe hoho I'm an uncle and doesn't have more to add, he's zeroed-in on the baby, will get back to you later, maybe. [replying to Ves] oh, absolutely Tsumugi is part of the problem, always making something but. there is always somebody who wants to carry the baby never left out of sight

Clown: How do the squad [sunglasses emoji] , eventually find out??

Me: I think after Miu cries herself to sleep Kokichi texts their group chat using their emergency code (sacred, extempt from lies) to get Rantaro & Mugi to come over the next morning so they can tackle it together because in reality, he's a little overwhelmed too, and in the moment doesn't know yet if Shuichi will adjust to this with him so they all eat breakfast together, reassure Miu that they'll be there for her no matter what, start making a plan, a shopping list, beginning of a schedule, then Kokichi has to take the first scary step of the plan - talk to Shuichi about it; but Shuichi is like: yeah, of course because how could he expect his boyfriend not to help out? this is literally why he loves him, of course he will go a little overboard when it's for his found family he knew he had to prepare himself for Something when he saw Miu crying on his couch, at least it doesn't involve committing crimes against whoever hurt her, for now.

Clown: It's a big step!! (And very sudden) Even if it'll be a shared responsibility It's an entire new person! One that ouma is already in his mind accepted he'll be there for. He wouldn't immeadiately expect Shuichi to agree to something like that on a whim, but to know Shuichi is willing to look for solutions, to stay and work through it with him without question because of course. Sobs. Yeah. They've GROWN!!! Planning would be hellish though. Oumas filling the table with hundreds of scribbled papers and everything. Yes absolutely we need to sign this bitch up for maternity classes. Fuck it, Rantaro you go too, check in with us later. Tsumugi!! Need 3 months of baby clothes STAT! SHUICHI!! you just sit there and look pretty…SIKE ERRAND BOY GET THIS FOR ME

Me: let's be real, he's the first to sign up for those parenting classes and buying books about it but yeah, he does make Miu go too, for sure

Clown: Yeah he would!! He wants to be prepared

Me: also not to take from egg's family au directly but https://eggs-can-draw.tumblr.com/post/711383943783579648/omg-i-just-thought-so-byakuya-would-be-like Togami's motherhenning = Kokichi here and, while this is all sweet, I think Miu also needs to get mental health help, get that girl some therapy, she needs to work out the flaw with her logic, because, while it was already proven wrong when the guy left her, she needs to be given alternatives and you know, I think she would struggle with her feelings about the kid, it was supposed to be her ticket to being loved, and the kid is certainly getting a lot of love, but… maybe she would want more attention for herself? how is she meant to score a relationship now? she's going to need help understanding that those people are her family and that she's already loved

Ves: yeah!!! i think kokichi would b pretty blunt abt it too he tells her to shape tf up

Clown: YEEEAHHH. Honestly having a lot of people helping her out, some who give out reassurance easier than others, is a good start. But she is in that place where she's looking for something else to latch on. Usually that's the kid. I feel like had she gone through this alone she'd be one of those mothers constantly flipping through "You ruined my life" and "your the only thing in my life that loves me unconditionally" towards her kid. Ouma definitely helps in the way that he doesn't sugarcoat a thing.

Ves: local cluster b morons try to make a child well-adjusted baby'll be ok tho i think

Clown: Yeah baby will be ok! Everyone gets therapy [gun emoji] by law

Ves: praying that includes whatever poor man miu fucked up RIP king the kid is gonna be FUNNY when it grows up tho

Clown: [2 sob emojis] they'll be the ultimate comedian

Ves: saihara please pretend to be normal they need a balancing influence

Apollo: That kid is gonna commit crimes and use the skills Shuichi teaches them to get away with it

Clown: Somehow they pick up only on saiharas ingrained need to find the answer to questions The question is what would happen if a fork goes into an outlet

Apollo: They manage to somehow get the baby proof thing off the outlet and Kokichi fucking dives to stop them

Clown: Miu is just "let it happen. This is how I learned!"

Apollo: Kokichi just looks at her, blood dripping from the cut in his forehead and mumbles about how 'That explains a lot' Kokichi acts like kids will be kids and thus they get injured so there's no need to panic but the kid trips and he freaks the fuck out Like the kid doesn't even fall over. They stumble slightly and Kokichi is instantly there

Clown: He's the doting one. He's sobbing going, "my god. Your going to hate me one day. I'll be cool!! You can do a drug!"

Apollo: Poor Shuichi wakes up to Kokichi sitting up in the middle of the night because he's stressing over if he's cool or not and Shuichi has to remind him that the kid isn't even a year old yet and thus, has no idea what cool even means

Beez: smh shuichi just lie to him and say he is

Clown: Shuichi for real he needs to know, is he the lamest guy at the daycare?

Apollo: He's too tired to lie right now. Kokichi bursts into tears because is this his way of saying he isn't cool?

Clown: The pure betrayal!! From the one he trusted most!!!

Apollo: It's 2 in the morning [sob emoji] Kokichi has to have his devices taken away because he's staying up searching up how to be the cool guardian Ves: miu and him fight over who's the cool one when the kid is older (it;s neither of them)

Me: I can see Miu and Kokichi arguing about which one of them is cooler, but it's definitely Miu who lets the kid get away with things (like not brushing teeth) to be cool, and would likely mean the letting them do drugs thing, Kokichi would scold her for that and then his version of cool is teaching them lockpicking and making the scary faces, which in turn, she tells him off for

Apollo: Kid says it's Rantaro and both of them decide that he must go /silly Rantaro is riding the high while running away from Miu and Kokichi

springbug: it [rising the baby] surprisingly goes well too sure the kid might pick up on swearing at the age of 5 BUT THAT'S OKAY

Apollo: I mean, kid's gotta learn at some point Okay but father's day at daycare and just Shuichi, Rantaro, Kiibo and Kokichi all show up [idek why Apollo added Kiibo to the mix, he wasn't mentioned before, I didn't skip anything like that]

springbug: "i'm the father" "no i am" "what are you guys talking about? i look just like them" "sorry ma'am, im actually the father"

Me: nah, daycare, kindergarten etc. people think Miu and Kokichi are divorced or something if they come together they probably have some of their barely censored banter; sometimes Kokichi comes in with Shuichi, or it's Shuichi who drops the kid off on his own while he's on the way to work, kid refers to him by his name and calls him "dad's boyfriend"; sometimes uncle Rantaro or aunt Tsumugi come to pick them up; both Miu and Kokichi love to act like they're a single mom, works three jobs when other kids' parents try to ask them about life, and sometimes complain about each other

springbug: imagine gonta taking them to the park and showing him all the cool bugs [smiling face with tear emoji]

Me: once the kid is a bit older they let Rantaro and Gonta organize a camping trip for them and their friends, Kokichi is crying when letting them go because he's a motherhen and his baby is growing up and not scared to sleep away from home and him because the bugs will kill them

Clown: Miu and Kokichi giving their all to be divorcecore so true Everyone has ideas of the outrageous affair that ended their marriage that never happened

Beez: u just know the tea is PIPING among the staff

Clown: They're picking sides for sure

Me: imagine someone on the staff is homophobic so one of those days when it's Shuichi's turn, he gets told that his gay agenda is the reason the kid has to live in a broken family he's so confused the asshole is dealt with, but the anecdote lives forever also, I think Kokichi is the parent that always takes the chance to help out at school when they ask for a volunteer to join the trip or some event at school idk, if it's an universal thing, but here it's common practice that when little kiddos go on trips around town one or two of the class moms are asked to join after the first time the teacher is like "does anyone other than mr. Ouma wants to join? [sweat smile emoji]" but he persists he's just a little to prepared for anything to happen and kids feed into that energy and it becomes entirely beyond the teacher's control

Clown: OUMA BECOMES A PTA MOM AKSHJDHD The children are the next in line to be a part of his criminal organization so he needs to see them regularly, duh

#ndrv3 #danganronpa #miu iruma #kokichi ouma #kokichi oma #oumasai #saiouma #shuichi saihara #rantaro amami #tsumugi shirogane #gonta gokuhara #made by me #writing prompt #writing inspiration #kaito momota #kaede akamatsu

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