#i’m so exhausted and so beaten and broken down

[clockworkbibliophile]

it’s so defeating when the last few weeks you spent so many hours applying to jobs and editing your resume to cater to each specific job listing and then not a single place contacts you for an interview, not one, the only contact i’ve received at all is from the places that contact about rejecting you. i’m so stuck. I need financial independence so I can move out and start to actually live my life but nothing. not a single place. i’m so afraid.

[bahablastplz]

All in | Chapter 15

pairing: Lee Felix x f!reader (mafia au)

summary: You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Yang Jungwon, notorious mafia boss. Your life gets flipped upside down when you're found beaten and bloody by SKZ, the rival mafia group, and you're quickly integrated into their lives. What will happen when you try to leave your old life behind and start anew?

chapter summary: Chan has thought up a punishment for you that doesn't really help your mental state; someone thinks of a plan to help.

chapter warnings: smut! unprotected sex

warnings: please see series masterlist for all warnings.

series masterlist ~~ series taglist ~~ main masterlist

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Beep, beep, beep, beep. Click! 

That’s the sound you get accustomed to a few times throughout the day. It’s Chan, unlocking the door to let himself in. Every time he brings in a tray of food for the two of you to eat, and most of the time you pick at it but you can’t find too much of an appetite. 

The first few times, you don’t talk to Chan at all. You’re completely silent, looking out at the forest through the barred window. Occasionally you would watch his mannerisms or react when he moves something a little bit too loud. Other than that, you make it a point not to speak at all. That’s how it started, at least. 

Each time a few hours pass in total isolation, you slowly become more and more stir crazy. Mostly, you look out the window. Sometimes, you do situps and pushups or practice the self-defense exercises that Changbin and Felix had taught you until exhaustion. You take a few naps. You take a shower. You finish the latest book that Hyunjin let you borrow. Chan visits you for dinner. You do not speak with him, eat your meal in silence, and watch as he leaves. You go to sleep for the night with an empty, hollow and rotting sensation in your chest that you have never experienced before. It might be anger directed towards Chan, but also an empty feeling knowing that you are unable to see Felix, who is in the same house as you. You wonder if he feels the same as you right now. 

Beep, beep, beep, beep. Click! 

You wake up to the sound of Chan unlocking your door in the morning with breakfast. You break your silent treatment, finally, though probably more out of boredom than anything else. You only respond to his small talk, tell him that the food is alright. 

The longer increments of time that would pass, the more anger you would find bubbling in your chest. 

“Do you really expect to keep me locked here forever?” you snap at one point. You have just finished rereading The Stranger by Albert Camus for the third time. “You know that’s how people start to lose their minds? Is that what this is? A torture device? Or is it still a sick, twisted ploy to get me to fall in love with you?” you walk around the room, pacing. Your hands are strung through your hair haphazardly as you let out a laugh. “Some sort of Stockholm syndrome to the extreme? You already fucking tried that, Chan! I’m stuck in this house with you, I can’t leave, and it didn’t work. What is your plan here?”

He blinks at you, sitting on your bed and crossing his arms across his chest. “I don’t know.” 

“You… you don’t know?” 

He chuckles and you feel your blood begin to boil. “Well, I mean, I don’t know how long I plan to keep you here. At least until the Heeseung drama boils down. Until I feel confident that Felix is just as broken down about this as you are? I mean, it’s the point of a punishment, yeah?” He runs his fingers through his hair and lets out a sigh. “Obviously I know you aren’t going to fall in love with me right now, not like this, yeah? But the thought of you and Felix, it’s so wrong, y’know? So I gotta nip it in the bud.” 

You blink away a tear but wipe it away quicker than he can see. You won’t give him the satisfaction of letting him see you cry. 

“I hate you,” you spit. When Chan stands, he closes the distance between the two of you. He swipes a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“You might want to watch your mouth for now, especially when you’re the one who’s not in control,” he coos. “If you want to start getting your privileges back, you might want to consider upping the sweet talk.” He leaves as a chill racks through your body and the door slams shut, lock clicking into place behind him. 

You’re not quite sure about *sweet talking*, per say, but you suppose you could calm it down with Chan for now in order to get things back to the way they were. It’s really hard, with the way your anger bubbles every time he enters the room, every additional hour that passes. You start to feel delirious, depressed with nothing much to do, sleeping far too much and eating far too little. 

The flowers start to wilt. 

The flowers that Chan had given you for your date. You don’t even know how long ago that was at this point, feeling a bit too disoriented. You watch over days as the petals start to turn brown, curling up into themselves and falling to the floor. It’s only once every flower has finally turned to black that you convince Chan to let you leave your room. 

It’s only to Hyunjin’s room that he lets you go at first. He supervises your visit. You sit on the corner of Hyunjin’s bed and you sit and talk, nodding politely when he speaks. He updates you on Seungmin’s condition, shows you his newest painting (which is stunning beyond belief), and talks about his latest venture to the bookstore. It’s more than he’s ever talked to you at once, and you’re sure he’s doing it because he knows the effects that the isolation has had on your head, but you appreciate it more than he could ever imagine. 

Chan checks his wrist watch, clearing his throat. He tells you it’s almost time for you to go and you can’t help the panicked feeling that bubbles in your chest. You know that Hyunjin notices it too, the frantic look in your eye as you look to him for help, but there’s nothing he can do about it. You wonder if he and Chan got into a disagreement about it, if anybody besides Felix had the gall to stand up to him about your circumstance but it’s unlikely. 

As Chan guides you out, Hyunjin remembers something, handing you a new book as if it were an afterthought. A brand new copy of Wuthering Heights is placed into your hands. 

“I think you’ll really like this one,” Hyunjin muses. “I hope we get a chance to talk about it soon. I purchased this at that bookstore I was telling you about. Let me take you there one day, okay?” 

You smile at him. A true, genuine, smile before Chan takes you back to your room for dinner. Feeling a little more hopeful, you eat more than usual and talk to him more than yesterday. You think he’s expecting you to thank him. You don’t. He wishes you a good evening before he locks you in your room for the evening. 

Something about Hyunjin’s words had struck you as odd. “I hope we get to talk about it soon.” Since you moved in and Hyunjin had started giving you new books to read, although he was always very sure of himself in his choices, you had never really talked about your choices. Even today during your conversation you didn’t talk about Albert Camus’ The Stranger, which you had read a whopping four times since your isolation.

This is why you’re not as surprised when you open the book and you find a note, wedged neatly between page eight and page nine. It’s not Hyunjin’s handwriting, but Felix’s. You can’t help it when your heart picks up and beats against your chest, a smile against your face despite yourself. 

‘Dear Sunshine,

I am so sorry for everything. Each day that I have not been able to see you and that I have known that you have been behind those doors has been Hell for me, as I’m sure they’ve been Hell for you as well. Let me take you far, far, away from this place if you would let me.

If you will take me, if you want this as much as I do, let us leave tonight. Leave your bathroom light on tonight and I will know that it will be okay for us to make our escape. 

Love, LF.’ 

Are you really reading this correctly? 

It was the first night here that Chan took off his belt and whipped you with it just for leaving when he told you not to leave. What would the punishment be if you and Felix were caught? You knew the answer, and you found yourself grimacing as you thought about it. If Chan found out that you and Felix had escaped—and you had a very, very short window of time before he came looking for you, until breakfast tomorrow—he would surely kill the two of you in cold blood.

Felix, was he really to risk it all for you? No questions asked? You knew you were. 

Turning off all lights in your room, leaving just your bathroom light on for the signal and to light up your path, you get ready. You throw on some clothes, a pair of thick socks and a pair of sneakers, athletic pants and a t-shirt underneath a hoodie. You try to dress both light-weight but also warm, easy for mobility in case you have to do some running. And you take a quick nap, since it’s still light out and you’re sure that the plan won’t take place until after nightfall and you should probably be well-rested. 

You’re right. You wake up a few hours later and it’s dark outside. Felix still hasn’t shown yet. You sit right by your door and wait for him. You wait and wait and wait, your heart beating so heavily out of your chest it might explode. You literally have to calm yourself down with breathing exercises several times because you find yourself so worked up. You can’t help it–you’re so nervous about seeing him again, and about the escape, about his plans, though you’re sure he has something planned out. 

After some time has passed, you almost wonder if maybe he isn’t going to show, but you laugh at that thought. It’s Felix. Of course he’s going to show. You have never met someone more true to his word and dedicated. You just hope that everything is going according to plan. And sure enough?

Beep, beep, beep, beep. Click! 

Light from the hallway spills into your room, encasing the darkness that surrounded you. When you jump to your feet, Felix pulls you in for a very chaste kiss. His name spills silently from your lips and you see him smile before grabbing your hand, pulling you into a silent run down the hallway. You can already tell that there is going to be a long night ahead of you, though you’re relieved when Felix leads you to a mundane car, a dark mini-van, and you can’t help but think thank god we aren’t literally running away. 

You hurriedly get into the passenger seat, Felix the driver’s seat, and the two of you drive away. You watch as the house gets smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror behind you until it completely disappears, and most of your anxiety along with it. 

“You came for me.” you say finally. 

“Of course I did,” Felix says, his voice soft. “I just had to work out the logistics. I’m so so incredibly sorry it took me that long. I hope you can forgive me.” 

“It’s really happening?” you ask him. “We’re really leaving?” 

Felix only smiles. “I did everything I could. I was even able to get your sister out of your house, I sent her somewhere safe where Chan can’t find her to retaliate.”

“Thank you, Felix,” you say, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Really, really, thank you.” 

He reaches over the center console and grabs your hand, bringing it to his face to kiss along your knuckles. 

“You have no need to thank me. This is my escape too. In reality, I owe you just as much.” Your heart squeezes at his words. You don’t really understand the weight behind his words but you hope that he will open up to you about them one day. About his past and his history with Chan. You stare at Felix, at the way the passing headlights illuminate his face and accentuate his features, and you just sit there and watch and watch, drinking him in and hoping that you will never have to let him go again. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You’re expecting to arrive at some sort of hotel/motel, similar to the one you and Felix had shared after the night at the gala. What you weren’t expecting was an apartment building, at least ten stories tall in the middle of a city a few hours away. 

Felix parks the car, a protective hand around your waist the whole walk to the building. He holds you so close you find it almost difficult to walk. The elevator takes you up to the eighth floor, where Felix leads you down the hall. The building looks well-kept, maintained inside, contrasting from its run-down exterior. 

Felix leans over the door, typing a code into the keypad. It swings open revealing a large furnished studio apartment. 

“This place looks really nice,” you admit. “It is a step-up from the motel. How did you…” 

“Chan isn’t the only one that has his connections,” Felix says, sighing as he throws a backpack down next to him. He closed the door behind him, locking it. He walks around the apartment several times, making sure that every window is locked and secure as well. “It’s safe here. We should be able to stay here for a few days before we need to pick up again. But this place is completely alarmed and equipped with security codes. He won’t find us here, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nod. You really do trust him. You feel safe. 

“The password for the front door is 0325,” Felix tells you. You don’t know why that action alone makes you want to tear up. You’re not a prisoner anymore. You’re really free. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, shucking your hoodie off of your body. You don’t miss the way his eyes rack over your frame at the way your shirt picks up slightly. How does he still manage to make you blush? “How did you get the code for my door?” you ask him. You had been wondering about it for a while, as there was no way that Chan had given it to him. 

“Hyunjin told me,” Felix discloses. “He was the only other person besides Chan that knew the code, in case of an emergency or if Chan was away and he needed to give you food.” 

“He was the only one?” you ask. “But that means… Won’t Chan know that Hyunjin…” 

“Hyunjin has already come to terms with things,” Felix says remorsefully. “I didn’t want it to go down like this either, but Hyunjin really was willing to make a sacrifice for you. For both of us. Nothing horrible is going to happen–he isn’t going to be killed, but I’m sure the punishment will be brutal.” 

You shake your head, unwilling to believe his words. “I can’t believe Hyunjin would do that for us. I really thought he was loyal to Chan.” 

“At the end of the day there must have been something he found more important to put his trust in,” he smiles. “I think he realized how bad your mental state was after spending over a week in that room.” 

“It was over a week?” you nearly cry. Felix holds you tight to his chest. You don’t cry–you’ve already come to terms with what has happened. When you pull apart, you look into his eyes and find that he has tears of his own that have started to build up. Now that is something that you had not anticipated. 

“I’m sorry–” he starts to say, but you crash your lips into his instead. Your hands pull into his hair and you push your body into his, do anything you can to get your body as inhumanly close to his as possible, so that you can feel every touch of his skin against yours. 

Felix’s hands wander underneath your hoodie, tugging off the material and throwing it to the floor in a desperate show. His hands roam your body, his lips never once leaving your skin. This time he makes it a show to suck a mark into any available surface, licking and sucking dark purples and pinks into your neck, collarbones, shoulders, breasts–any area of skin that was once pristine now has Felix’s claim on it. 

“You’re mine, do you understand? You’re mine and I’m yours.” 

“Yes, Felix, yes,” you agree, letting him push you back against the bed. He towers over you for a second, dropping to his knees onto the floor so that he can pull off the material of your pants. You lift your hips, allowing him to. You push your thighs together, utterly exposed in front of him but also so aroused by his stare and he grabs your thighs, pushing them apart. 

“Beautiful,” he comments. You throw an arm over your face, embarrassed by his comment. “Don’t hide from me, angel,” he says, kissing the insides of your thighs. “You’re mine, right? Can I compliment what’s mine? You’re not going to hide away what’s mine, hmm?” When you don’t immediately answer him, your chest rising and falling rapidly from his words, you feel a slight pinch come from inside your thigh. You look down at his mischievous face to realize he has just lightly slapped your inner thigh to get a response. 

“N-no, Felix,” you moan. 

“No, what?” he teases, his mouth going higher and higher still, his breath right above your center but waiting. 

“No, I’m not going to hide from you. Yes, you can compliment me,” you reply.

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” he groans. “Prove it, then. Open those legs wide for me.” And you do. You spread your legs as far as they would go and Felix rewards you by immediately diving in, his tongue lapping at your clit like a man starved. As much as your thighs tremble and shake and threaten to close, you don’t let them. Your eyes stay on Felix, and his eyes on yours. 

Suddenly, Felix pulls away with a pop. 

“What–”

He climbs onto the bed and lays down, leaving you utterly confused before he grabs you by the waist, manhandling you effortlessly by the waist onto his face. 

“Felix, what are you doing?” 

“I want you to sit on my face,” he responds, his hands caressing your thighs as if trying to coax you down to properly take your seat. 

“Are you sure? I–”

“Please, just, use me. Make yourself cum, and then I’ll fuck you open on my cock.” You can’t deny how appealing his words sound, and he had already worked you up just seconds ago so you can’t find the resolve to protest much longer. Eagerly, you sit. His tongue prods your entrance, pushing in as far as it will go. You rock yourself back and forth on his face, your clit occasionally catching on his nose, and you find Felix’s hands taking place on your ass to help you find your pace. 

Once you build up a rhythm you ride him in earnest, like nothing matters but him beneath you right now and your climax building up. He knows you’re close when he feels your thighs clench tighter around your head and your back starts to arch back, and your noises have become louder. You do exactly what he told you to do–you use him for your pleasure until you’re having one of the longest, most drawn-out orgasms of your life. 

When you finally crawl off of him, Felix wastes no time before flipping your positions, making your stomach turn with butterflies. He pulls his pants off in one swift motion and you take a moment to look at him in awe, to really just appreciate him and his beautifully toned body despite seeing it a few times before. 

You watch as he strokes his cock a few times, his eyes fixated on your pussy. He pushes forward, and just to tease–intentionally catches the head of it on your overstimulated clit, causing you to cry out. 

“Felix!” your hips buck up, your legs wrap around him, doing anything you can just to get him to enter you properly. 

“Do you want me that bad?” he asks with a smile, his voice a low timbre in your ear. 

“Yes, Felix, stop fucking teasing me, you know I want you–” and with that, he pushes right into you, fully sheathing himself in one thrust. Your hands come up to push crescent fingernail indents into his shoulders, just to ground yourself from the overwhelming sensation. 

Felix wastes no time before fucking you like he really means it, his hips pulling out to meet yours flush each time. The way his hips roll in a fluid motion into yours has you crying out, wrapping your legs around him. 

“Fuck, you’re clenching me so tight,” he pants. “I’m going to cum soon, baby. Where do you want it?” 

You wrap your legs even tighter around him. 

His hand snakes up to your neck, just placing it there, not even squeezing but it still causes you to cry out with a moan that is borderline pornagraphic. 

“You’re being so dirty, baby. Are you trying to tell me something? You want me to cum inside? Because you’re going to have you use your words to tell me that or else it’s not gonna happen,” he grins. 

His hips snap into yours so hard it’s almost bruising, but you’re so close to your second orgasm that you think you could fall over the edge any second. 

“FELIX,” you finally cry out. You’re sure the scratches you’re leaving into his back are going to leave marks, if not bleed. 

“Fuck, you gotta tell me now.” 

“Inside! Inside! I want you to cum inside, fuck, I love you Felix, please!” you sob. 

He kisses you. Rather, his lips smash into yours so hard you’re not sure what is happening, but you’re cumming so hard it’s blinding. You can feel him still as he fills you up with warm ropes of his cum. 

When you both finally come down, Felix flops beside you and you immediately curl into his chest. He embraces you, his hands stroking unknown symbols into your skin. 

“Did you mean it?” he finally asks. 

You don’t have to ask what he’s referring to. “Yes,” you reply. “I think I’ve known it for a long time.”

“I love you, too.” Felix tells you, grabbing your chin so that he can press another kiss into your lips. “You mean the world to me.” 

That night, Felix looks around the apartment again, making sure that everything is in its place. When you see that there is both a couch and a bed, you make a joke about sleeping on the couch that causes him to quite literally pick you up and throw you into bed with him. You fall asleep like that, intertwined in his arms, not worried about accidentally getting caught and what the consequences might be tomorrow. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You toss and turn. Images plague your mind. A guilt-ridden feeling plagues your gut. 

Minho, who gets anxiety on missions, who wanted to get away from his family and the life of crime from his childhood, but couldn’t let Jisung go alone for fear of what Chan would do to him.

Changbin, who has only wanted to protect his family, but instead Chan has held that over his head.

Hyunjin, who didn’t really know how to find himself after being told who to be, who didn’t know what to do with his life, exploited by Chan. 

Jisung, who has never had anybody tell him that he is good for more than shooting things and a life of violent crime, and had Chan take advantage of that. 

Seungmin, who had only one dream and had it taken away through an injury, was falsely promised by Chan that one day he could get the surgery and recover to play baseball again. 

Jeongin, who turned to a life of crime but was told he could have the money to go to fashion school, all if he would become Chan’s lackey. 

Even Felix, who you’re sure has been through something just as horrible, though he hasn’t told you yet… 

At the end of the day, there’s one common factor in all of this evil. 

You know that you can’t stay here and live a fantasy life, where you get to escape and be free while the rest of them are trapped there and still living in a nightmare. At the end of the day, you have started to develop close relationships with each and every one of them, and you can’t bring yourself to think more about the horrors that Chan continues to inflict on them each day while you get to run away with Felix. 

Picking up Felix’s arm, you kiss him on the head. You feel very remorseful for what you’re about to do, for the amount of mental anguish you are probably about to put him in when everything was finally going to go your way. You wish you could have relished in this a little bit longer. 

Opening up the bedside table, you grab Felix’s car keys and his gun. 

This has to end, and it has to end now. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

a/n: we're getting close to the end! two main chapters and two mini chapters left!! sorry for the delay today guys, I only had this chapter half written i wrote the rest in a coffee shop lol <3

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[nataliasquote]

Can’t You See This Is Breaking Me? | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha isn’t quite ready to give her entire life for the woman she loves

Warnings: injuries, blood, stitches, no happy ending

wc: 5.2k

note: this idea was given to me by @katyaromanoffpetrova (love you 🤍) and she’s fuelling my love hate relationship with angst. Also, this was so hard to condense, so I’m sorry if it’s lacking detail. I tried to cram three years of a relationship into 5k words :)

-⧗-

It was no secret to anyone how little regard Natasha had for her own life. Even since her very first Shield mission, she’d been a force to be reckoned with, partly down to her pure destructive nature. She didn’t care if taking down Hydra agents meant coming away with a bullet wound or two. Or if destroying an enemy testing laboratory meant four broken ribs and a cracked collar bone. As long as the job was done, that was all she cared about.

Nick Fury was getting tired of how many lectures he had given a young, 25 year old Natasha in his office when he’d read her completed mission report. He knew why she had such a blatant disregard for her life but it didn’t make it any easier seeing one of his best agents beaten and bruised each week. The redhead barely flinched when her wounds were inspected, but to be honest she didn’t really react to anything.

She was more of a ghost really, a pale figure soundlessly walking the halls at night. If her injuries didn’t let keep her awake at night, then the nightmares gladly took their turn, drenching her entire body in a cold sweat and leaving her shivering in her tangled sheets. But if the dark circles under her eyes looked worse, her friend and mentor Clint didn’t utter a word.

The structure and routine that manifested week by week kept her grounded and focused. Wake up, train, eat, surveillance, sleep. Missions were a welcome break from the otherwise monotonous rhythm Natasha had found herself in. She much preferred working solo as opposed to in a team, but Shield was all about team work so she had to suck it up.

A lot of the time she found herself alongside Clint Barton who weirdly offered her a feeling of comfort. She liked how he never pried too much into how she was feeling, or her past, but kept a look out for her whenever they were together. Her icy demeanour slowly melted away thanks to his warmth that he never failed to show her.

He showed her how to let people in, how to not keep her heart so tightly guarded in fear of actually feeling something about someone. And as much as she would hate to admit it, he was right. It did feel better knowing people cared about her. But it also terrified her at the same time. Vulnerability wasn’t her strong suit.

Yet somehow she had managed to let her tough exterior be pushed aside just long enough for a certain someone to wiggle her way in and take up permanent residence inside the redhead’s mind.

Y/n Y/l/n wasn’t really anyone compared to Natasha. Sure, she was a shield agent, and a high ranking one at that, but that was nothing compared to an Avenger. She’d spend years in their shadow, always looking up to Natasha Romanoff. I mean, who wouldn’t? She’s pretty badass.

But the young agent thought her relationship with said Avenger would end at idolisation and daydreaming. She never expected to suddenly be living amongst them in the compound. But when an empty training room was suddenly disrupted at three in the morning, it was a sign things were to change forever.

Y/n relished the silence that the training room at night brought. Most of her colleagues preferred to train in a group at 7am, but insomnia often brought her into the gym a lot earlier. She loved it though; a way to clear her head and exhaust her body whilst maintaining peak physical fitness required in case of a last second mission.

Lost in a world of music playing through her headphones, Y/n failed to notice the door slowly open, caught up in her boxing routine on the punch bag. She should have been more aware of her surroundings, like she’d been trained, so that she didn’t nearly jump out of her skin as a voice cut through her music.

“You’re gonna get a sore back if you keep using the wrong form.”

Without having ever met in person, Y/n would recognise that voice anywhere. She whipped around and quickly pulled her headphones off around her neck, cheeks flushing as she took in the woman in front of her.

A black sports bra and navy sweatpants was all that adorned Natasha’s toned body. She stood there with a hand on her hip, the other holding a small towel, a water bottle and her own pair of headphones. Y/n desperately tore her eyes away from the widow’s toned abs, feeling her own insecurities creep upwards. She itched for her sweatshirt that lay discarded on the bench just out of reach. That was the last time she ever trained in a sports bra.

“You keep twisting your back as you punch. You need to move from your hips.” Y/n just looked at her with surprise, not fully processing that they were having a conversation at all. “Do you want me to show you?”

“Yeah, sure.” That snapped her out of her trance. Y/n took a step back and allowed Nat to place her things down before she packed a swift punch to the bag, sending it swinging slightly on its stand. Y/n couldn’t lie, she looked really good, arm muscles tensed as she threw a few more punches. Her form was impeccable, but of course it was.

“When you swing round you have to rotate your hips for momentum. Just turning from your back will cause injury.” Y/n nodded, mirroring her stance on the punching bag beside Natasha. “Unless you’re doing lots of smaller ones, then you need to keep your hips still. That just comes from your shoulders.”

Nat threw a few more punches before Y/n copied, missing the small smile that broke out on the Russian’s lips as she observed. Fast learner, she noted, nodding in approval as Y/n turned back to her.

“Very good.” She bent down to grab her things, back muscles on full show to Y/n who just could not stop staring. You’d think she was used to the sight of toned bodies after working out everyday, but there was something different about Natasha and she couldn’t quite work it out.

“Thank you. I’m Y/n, by the way. I work in-“

“I know who you are,” Natasha said casually, looking the woman up and down. “You work with Hill. She talks about you.”

Y/n’s eyes went wide. “She does?”

Nat smirked. “Yeah, why? Does she not talk about me?”

“No, she does- we do-“ what happened to calm and collected shield agent she once was? Reduced to a stuttering mess of words in front of a pretty redhead. God, Y/n cursed herself for not being able to talk to women.

“I’m joking, don’t worry.” Natasha gave her a soft smile before walking off to the weights section, her headphones shutting out the world so she could focus.

Y/n however, could not focus on anything except that brief interaction. It was probably so small in Natasha’s life, yet it would consume Y/n for at least a week, if not more. Maria was going to have a field day with this.

Except it wasn’t small in Natasha’s life. The flustered agent had left quite a mark and Natasha found herself creeping down to the gym at 3am most mornings, hoping to see the woman she’d grown to love so much. And, more often than not, Y/n was there, punching away at the bag and pausing when Nat came in.

Over a course of many weeks, both had changed their training plans to match each other. It felt nice working out with another, Natasha had to admit, and Y/n was so easy to talk to she set the redhead right at ease. They talked and laughed and Y/n noticed how the usually uptight Russian had come out of her shell a lot more since that very first night.

However, one night didn’t go so smoothly. Y/n was in the training room first, of course. She sat on the bench and adjusted her socks, keeping herself busy until Natasha arrived. The past couple of nights had been just her as the redhead had been on a mission, but Maria informed her that she would return tonight, so Y/n anxiously awaited her return. She was more worried about Natasha than she let on, but they had no relationship outside of those four walls so she bounced her knee, willing her new friend to walk through the doors.

And she did. Except this wasn’t the confident Natasha she usually knew. No, this Natasha was walking stiffly, almost as if she was in pain.

“Nat?” Y/n asked, standing hesitantly at the sight of her. Small cuts and bruises littered her face and what skin was exposed under the neck of her tactical suit. Agents always had to report to medical following their return from a mission, but by the looks of Natasha, she hadn’t done that. “Why- what are you doing here?”

“Can’t miss training with my favourite girl, now can I?” She tried to sound upbeat but it fell flat, her pain evident even in her voice.

Y/n pushed aside the butterflies that erupted in her chest at those words and sprung up to help her, guiding Natasha to the nearest bench and forcing her to sit. She took note of how Natasha’s hand tightly clutched her side and she feared the worst.

She thought for a second, feeling Natasha’s eyes all over her face. “May I…?” She gestured to the zip on Natasha’s suit and the redhead nodded, stiffly manoeuvring her arms out of her sleeves as Y/n tugged it down to her waist. The agent had switched to processional mode and ignored how close Natasha’s bra clad chest was to her face as she inspected her side.

“What happened?” She asked, crouching down with a hand gently resting on the redhead’s knee as she gently felt the skin around the wound.

“Some stupid agent snuck up on me and threw his knife. Shit aim though.” Of course she tried to make a joke, but Y/n wasn’t laughing as she looked into her eyes. The redhead almost wanted to roll her eyes, and she would have done if anyone else looked at her with pity like that, but Y/n was different. Safer.

“Why didn’t you go to medical?”

Nat looked down, averting her eyes. “I didn’t want to. I hate it there.”

Y/n knew not to push. She didn’t know much about Natasha’s past but knew enough to know that it must have been horrific to endure. She sat back on her heels and bit her lip in thought.

“Will you let me sort it? I keep a suture kit and supplies in my bathroom.” She caught Natasha’s eye and gently squeezed her knee, trying to establish enough trust between them to let her accept the help. But Natasha was stubborn, so there was truly no way of knowing which way she’d swing.

“Ok.” That was not the expected answer but Y/n was happy to hear it. She knew not to help Natasha up, the redhead probably would have punched her, so she collected her things and led them both back to her apartment, walking a bit slower than normal to help Natasha keep up.

Her room was nothing special and probably looked identical to Natasha’s as they both had Shield issued rooms. Although Natasha’s would be fancier thanks to Tony Stark and his upgrades.

There were no personal items on any of the surfaces, not even in the bedroom. Natasha looked around with a frown, not liking how bare everything seemed. Not homely, that’s for sure. Even the bedside cabinets were empty, not even a picture frame for decoration.

“Take a seat anywhere, I’ll be right out.” Natasha chose the couch by the small coffee table and sank down onto it. The couch wasn’t anything special and neither was the table, ring marks displaying its age and use on the surface. The overhead light was dim but brightened up as Y/n stepped back into the room, a medical kit tucked under her arm.

She worked in silence, only broken by a hiss of pain from Natasha as the alcohol stung her wound. Y/n muttered an apology under her breath but kept working, fingers brushing gently over the soft skin as she made light work of stitching it closed. They weren’t the neatest but they’d do the job just fine.

“Thank you for this,” Natasha spoke into the silence, her eyes fixed on her fingers that rested on her lap. “You didn’t have to.”

“Maybe not, but I wanted to. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Natasha stayed silent for a moment, trying to organise her thoughts. She had people who cared about her, the Avengers, but not quite like Y/n had. She didn’t care who Natasha was, or how well she could take down enemies. She just enjoyed her presence and cared for her as a human being, something she rarely felt like she was.

“Can I make this up to you?” She tentatively asked, the strong Black Widow now a weird mess of nerves. What even was this?

“No, you don’t have to-“

“Come out with me on Saturday, into the city. Can I buy you lunch?”

Y/n stifled her smile and hid her face whilst packing up her equipment. She knew Natasha was asking her out on a date, albeit in a very roundabout way. It warmed her heart though, seeing her so soft. It was a side very few people ever got to see.

“Ok, sure. I’d really like that.”

Natasha smiled. “Now I know where you sleep, I’ll come pick you up.”

Y/n scrunched her nose at the odd phrasing. “You had to make it weird.”

“You know me,” she replied with a wink.

~~~

That date was a catalyst for many more to follow, and many midnight training sessions too. It took six more months of flirting and secret meet ups before Natasha pulled her heart out and wore it on her sleeve, asking Y/n to be her girlfriend.

The agent wasn’t stupid, of course she said yes. And at first their relationship was purely in the honeymoon stages; sneaking kisses in the hallway, comforting touches underneath the table, more midnight training and also moving in together. Natasha’s apartment was bigger than Y/n could ever have imagined and she adored the bed, starfishing face down on the mattress the first time she saw it.

But that was two years ago. Sure, they were still very much in love but something had shifted between them, creating a rift that Y/n had started to notice more and more. She knew what was causing it too.

Natasha was going on missions every other week, for days at a time. And she’d fallen back into her old habits, putting the job and the result over the safety of herself. More times than not did she come battered and bruised, open wounds bleeding as she walked into the bedroom. Y/n begged her to stop, to stay home more, to reduce the amount she went on even just to one a month, but her desperate attempts were met with a slammed door and a wall in Natasha’s mind. But she still persisted, trying again the next time Natasha came home. But it was useless.

Y/n always waited up for her though, the nerves of what state Natasha would be in when she returned making sleep pretty much impossible. Whatever she imagined, somehow it was always worse. She used to quiz Natasha as she led her into the bathroom and patched her up, placing kisses on each bruise that she found.

But now they barely said a word, Y/n almost running on autopilot as she cleaned cuts on Natasha’s back for what felt like the millionth time. It was draining her, anyone could see that, and being on edge all the time had made Maria notice.

“Take a week off to clear your head,” her supervisor had ordered, not taking any protests into consideration. “I don’t want to see you in this office before next Thursday, Y/l/n.”

A week off would have been great for anyone else but her. Natasha was away, again, which left Y/n with no ways to fully distract herself like she usually did to cope. She spent the first day in bed, holding onto Natasha’s pillow as her tears soaked the pillowcase. She hated how out of control she felt when Natasha was gone. It was her job, yet Y/n often wished Nat would retire, or at least pull back from constantly being in the field. But that’s what her girlfriend loved, so she had no choice but to respect it.

But on the third day of very little sleep and increasing stress levels, Y/n hit breaking point. She stared at her ghostly reflection as she splashed her face with some water, trying desperately to snap herself out of the lie she was feeling. But under the glaring lights all she could focus on were the heavy bags under her eyes and her discoloured skin, pink blotches littering her cheeks and forehead. She’d been picking at her skin to cope, but it did nothing but make her look worse.

She remained a zombie all day, curling back under the covers at 7pm to shut out the world. There was no telling when Natasha would return but part of her didn’t want it to be yet. She didn’t want to see the state she was in, the mess that she’d have to clean up. She loved Natasha, she really did, but with no contact allowed on her missions and no updates from the team, Y/n was starting to question if their relationship was even working.

She flicked off the light and turned to face the wall, images flashing in front of her as she worried herself stupid about her girlfriend. What if she wasn’t coming home? What if she’d been kidnapped? What if-

The apartment door opened.

Y/n held her breath, pulling the covers tightly under her chin as she waited. She knew the sound of Natasha’s footsteps based on her different moods, but the assassin stepped so lightly it was hard to tell. She felt footsteps getting closer and closer and she squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to face the horrors to come. She wanted one more blissful moment, but her heart was racing in her chest and her throat was getting tight.

The bedroom door opened.

Light from the living room flooded in through the small gap as Natasha stepped through, brows furrowed at the darkness. It wasn’t that late, but maybe she’d missed something. Wasn’t like she was around much.

“Y/n?” She whispered, not wanting to turn the light on. But she didn’t need to worry about that when suddenly the room was bathed in light. Her girlfriend was sat up in bed, eyes blotchy as she stared at her with a hand on the light switch. “What happened?”

“What hurts?” Y/n asked, sliding off her side of the bed and padding over to the bathroom. “Stitches? Probably bruising too.” She was talking to herself more than Natasha, hands working to gather her supplies. But she was stopped when a pair of rough hands gathered hers inside them, tugging her away from the sink. “What are you doing?”

“I’m ok,” Natasha said, removing one of her hands to gently cup Y/n’s chin, tilting her eyes to meet her own. “Just a couple of bruised ribs, but that’s nothing.”

“At least let me look at them.” Natasha knew she wasn’t going to take no for an answer so she unzipped her suit and pulled it to her waist, revealing the nasty colourful sight. It was swollen and tender and Y/n cursed under her breath. She grabbed the tiger balm and gently applied it, trying to steady her shaking fingers as they touched Natasha’s skin.

“How have you been? How’s work?”

“Its fine, thanks.” Y/n wasn’t going to admit that Maria made her take a week off. She avoided Natasha’s gaze as she worked, even though there wasn’t much she could do for bruised ribs. “I’ll get you an ice pack when you’re dressed.” That was Natasha’s dismissal cue and she took it, but not without lingering in the doorway to watch Y/n for a moment.

By the time Natasha was dressed in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, Y/n had wrapped the ice pack in a towel and handed it to her. There was an uneasy tension between them and Natasha could see something was on Y/n’s mind, just waiting to be said.

“Y/n-“

“This is your last one, right?” She couldn’t help herself but blurt out. Somehow she found the confidence with her back to Nat, sitting on her side of the bed. “Please tell me it’s your last one.”

“Of what?”

“Your missions, Natasha.” She bent one knee and tucked it beside her as she turned her body to face Natasha who was still standing in the middle of the room, ice pack pressed to her ribs. “How many times are you going to keep doing this? Coming home in a state! I never know if one day you’re just not going to come home at all.”

Natasha bit her bottom lip. She knew this was going to happen, it always did. And shutting Y/n down didn’t exactly get easier with practice. “Don’t do this again Y/n, please. You know what my answer is.”

“No, Natasha. I’m not gonna accept that anymore. I’m not asking you to quit all together. I just mean reduce the number you go on, take up desk work or surveillance, just something, anything, to get you out of the firing line.” Y/n ran her hands over her face, trying to keep herself together. But the more she spoke, the stronger her emotions got. “I can’t live like this anymore!”

Natasha had placed her ice pack on the bed, not feeling the need to hold it up right now. She couldn’t move, even though she wanted to run to Y/n. “I know you don’t like it-“

“I hate it.”

“Ok fine, you hate it,” she held her hands up in defense. “But that doesn’t mean I suddenly have to stop.”

Y/n stood up from her position, not wanting an ache in her back from turning so much. She and Natasha were now at eye level although the redhead’s stoic face was a lot more composed than her own.

“You’re not listening to anything I say. I never said you had to stop. Ever. Because that would be hypocritical coming from me.” Natasha pulled a ‘sounds about right’ face which Y/n just ignored. “I’m just asking you to reduce the amount you go on. Once a month, maybe? You can still be in the action, still do everything you love, but that way you’re safer and you’re here more. I hardly see you.”

Natasha shook her head. “Our line of work isn’t safe Y/n, even you know that surely.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She was getting defensive, having reached her limit of Natasha trying to shut her down.

Natasha was too stubborn to give up, even when she knew she fucked up. She just couldn’t let it go. “You rarely leave this place! Always stuck in the same office, the same four walls going insane every day! I don’t know how you do it! I’d rather quit than do that.”

“I do that because I can still contribute to the missions without the risk of getting blown to hell,” Y/n spat, taking full offense to Natasha talking down about her job. Sure, she didn’t go into the field as much as the other agents but she preferred to be in the chair, handling everything from above. “And you know damn well those missions you love don’t work without someone like me.”

“And that’s great, for someone like you. But I can’t do that, you have to understand me. I can’t be behind the fight, I have to be in it.”

“No one else goes on as many as you do, Natasha. Don’t you think that just once, someone else can take a mission-“

“I don’t care Y/n!” Natasha may be a passionate person but she never raised her voice. So her elevated tone made Y/n’s jaw clench, her innate response whenever someone shouted at her. “You don’t get to dictate my life! That wasn’t our agreement-“

“Agreement? What, so this is, are we some kind of, I don’t know, contract that you’re obliged to?”

Natasha scoffed, her eyes rolling back at the pure ridiculousness of her statement. This whole argument was pointless really but she entertained it, too stubborn to give in or let Y/n win. “Oh come on, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m just sick of lying here in fear every week wondering if you’re actually going to come home or not! I can’t keep doing this Nat.” Y/n was having a hard time keeping Natasha in her vision as tears blurred in her eyes. But she wouldn’t let them spill. Crying meant Natasha won and she was done with backing down.

“We can’t keep having this conversation, Y/n,” Natasha grunted, running her fingers through her hair and tugging out the messy braid. “You know I can’t stop. This is my life, it’s what I was made to do. I can’t live without this job!”

“And I can’t live without you!” Her voice cracked and a tear slipped down but she fought the urge to wipe it, praying Natasha didn’t see. But she did see. Of course she did. The Russian noticed everything.

Natasha went silent. That was the last thing she wanted to hear. In this line of work, relying so heavily on someone wasn’t a good idea. She knew that, it had been drilled into her since she was a child. But Y/n didn’t, and that’s where she slipped up.

“Don’t say that.” Heavy emotions and Natasha Romanoff didn’t really mix well. “You have to, one way or another. You can’t just rely on me Y/n.”

“Nat, I am in love with you but lately it feels like all you care about is your job. When is it going to feel like you actually want to be here? With me?”

“I do Y/n, I do-“

Y/n dropped her head. “I know there’s a but coming.”

Natasha looked at the defeated form of her girlfriend and winced. She never thought she’d ever be in the position where she had to choose between family and her job. But she knew what her choice would be, what it always had been. Long before she even had a family.

“This job means everything to me. I didn’t choose this life, like you did, I was forced into it. It’s part of who I am, and I can’t just stop doing that to be with you.” The second those words fell from her lips Natasha knew that was the wrong thing to say.

Y/n adjusted the collar of her shirt and started to pace. If she was sitting down her leg would have been bouncing all over the place.

“What, that’s it? You’re just gonna call this whole thing off because you can’t take a break from your job?”

“What ‘whole thing’?”

“Us, Natasha! Us!” Y/n stopped in her tracks, gesturing between them both. They were on opposite sides of the room, a clear divide in space and opinion. “Unless there isn’t an ‘us’ anymore. Maybe I’m just the girl who keeps your bed warm and stitches you up in the middle of the night, no questions asked. Occasionally gives you head if you are really in the mood-“

“Stop it Y/n.”

“Stop what? It’s the truth, isn’t it? That’s all I am to you.”

“‘No, you’re so much more.” Natasha’s fingers were fidgeting with each other and they’d stumbled across a small cut on her palm that they were now playing with, the pain trying to keep her grounded. “But you have to understand that I can’t just take a step back. I love this job more than anything because I actually get to do something good with my skills that have been used for the opposite my whole life. I just need you to understand that, please!”

“You’re not gonna stop, are you?” Natasha just stared at her, chewing on her bottom lip. “No matter what, you will keep coming back here in a mess and I will keep fixing you up and we will keep having this conversation. Is there an end to this?”

“I won’t come here then.” Natasha stated simply, eyes darting momentarily to the bathroom door. “I’ll go to medical, where I should be.”

“You hate it there.”

“You hate me here.”

Y/n sighed, her breath shaky. This was the longest they’d ever fought for, and fighting Natasha was mentally exhausting. She had an answer to everything.

“I don’t hate you here, I just wish you’d fucking listen to me for one goddamn second!” Natasha nodded, almost challenging her to speak.

“I am.”

“I didn’t want to say this, but you haven’t exactly given me much of a choice. It’s me or the job, Nat. You choose. And you know what? If you choose me, you still keep half your job! But if you choose the job, you don’t get to keep half of me.” The last part sounded stupid but Natasha knew what she meant. She only had half of Y/n right now. The half that slept in her bed and fixed her wounds. If she chose her, she’d get the other half she fell in love with back.

But she couldn’t, could she? Natasha looked down, not wanting to watch Y/n’s face respond. “I’m sorry…”

“Get out.” It was barely a whisper but Natasha heard it. “Get. Out.” Y/n didn’t want Natasha to see her cry but when their eyes met again, Y/n’s were flooded with tears. She didn’t care, how could she when the green ones staring back at her were so cold. Natasha didn’t say a word, only grabbing her sweatshirt and slipping out of the room. The faint jangle of her keys sounded as the door slammed shut and only then did Y/n allow her walls to come crumbling down.

She collapsed onto the bed, only this time hugging her own pillow close as she choked out her sobs. They echoed around the room and her gag reflex kicked in from how hard she was crying. But all she could see was Natasha’s emotionless face staring back at her, not a hint of remorse visible in her eyes.

Reaching to flick off the light, Y/n caught sight of something that made her cry harder. Her bedside table hadn’t been empty for two and a half years. A single picture frame now sat there. And it was in that moment that Y/n wished it had just stayed empty.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Okay so it's Christmas and 80s!Jason and fem!reader are roommates and both of them are too broke to go back home for the holidays so they just spend them together and the Christmas spirit brings them closer (fluff,smut)

❤️💚❤️💚❤️

Warnings: smut, fingering (f receiving), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

He looks so cute in this picture I can’t 🥹

You’d been working overtime to save up to go home to your parents for Christmas but it wasn’t enough and you were stuck at home in your stupid apartment for Christmas.

You were exhausted after another long day, shoulders slumping and barely able to keep your eyes open as you fumbled with the key in the lock.

You opened the door to find your roommate, Jason, using the couch as a stepping stool to hang lights from the ceiling. He moved it across the room to do so and stumbled when he heard the door open so you got to watch him flail about trying to regain his balance on the once plush cushions.

You walked in and dropped your bag, looking around curiously at all his work. Boxes covered the floor, old beaten up boxes carrying decorations that had seen better days. In the corner was a scrawny little tree, it was full but it was literally half your size.

“What..?” You didn’t even need to finish your sentence. Jason came down from the couch and walked over to you.

“I know you were trying to get home to your family this Christmas and you couldn’t, right?” You nodded at his recap, still looking over his work. “Well, I couldn’t make it either, so I brought Christmas to you!” He said happily, smiling brightly.

You nodded in understanding, picked up your bag, and brought it with you to your room. Jason watched you go, smile fading. He couldn’t blame you for still being upset, this wasn’t exactly Christmas with your family, he got the cheapest tree he could find and stole decorations from storage in the basement, ones he figured no one would care if they suddenly went missing.

Jason went and finished up hanging lights around the ceiling and went to get you to decorate the tree. He knocked on your door before pushing it open and peeking in.

You were sitting on your bed, looking through some old pictures of you with your family, but you looked up when Jason came in.

“You wanna decorate the tree?” He asked hesitantly, turning and stretching his neck to try and get a look at your pictures.

“You got ornaments?” You asked, raising a brow.

“Kind of, guy down the hall was throwing out some broken ones.”

“So, you got us lights don’t light up and ornaments that could cut us.”

Jason chewed his cheek. He went to sit on the edge of your bed next to you, leaning on his arm behind you. He looked over your shoulder at the pictures of your family in your hands.

“We could put those on the tree.” He suggested, taking one from you. A picture of you with your mom and the dog you got for your fourth Christmas.

You thought about the idea before sending him to get his own family photos.

The apartment was warm, the lights that worked sparkled about the room, the ornaments glinted on the tree, framing your carefully placed pictures on the branches.

Jason came to sit beside you from the kitchen, two cups of hot chocolate in his hands. He set them down on the beat up coffee table you found in an alley a few weeks ago. “Feeling the Christmas spirit?”

You stared at the mugs for a moment before shaking your head. “No, I want to be with my family.”

Jason’s eyes flicked between you and the mugs. “I can be your family.” He offered, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you to his side. You rolled your eyes at him. “I’m serious, I’m warm and cuddly, I cook for you, once the band thing works out I’ll be just raking it in.” That got a chuckle out of you.

“Once it works out.” You repeated, looking to the tree in the corner. Close to the top were two pictures, one of you with your family the other of Jason when he was younger, wide smile on his face while he held up a bass, behind him was a Lenny Kilmister poster.

“It’s gonna work out, I’m telling you.” You smiled and looked back up at him, his eyes, his lips… without thinking you closed the gap, pressing your lips to his.

Jason was quick to return the gesture, rubbing your arm. His free hand went to your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze before moving up. “Maybe you just need to relax.” He mumbled against you, moving down your neck.

He undid your belt and fly of your jeans, letting you melt into the cushions of the couch while he rubbed you through your panties.

You wriggled out of your jeans, getting your panties down with them, soft and pink with lace fringe and a little bow. Jason rubbed your clit and slow circles, listening to your heavy breathing in his ear as he nipped at your neck.

A soft gasp left you when he pushed a finger in, curling it just right. He went slow, taking in every noise, every twitch, seeing what you liked and finding a good speed before adding another.

You could already feel yourself getting close, back arching and thighs trembling, body heating up. “Jason,” you started, tugging on his hair to get his attention, as if you weren’t all he was focused on, “tell me- tell me what you want to do.” You mumbled between moans.

“What I want to do?” He repeated, pulling away from your neck to look you in the eye. He kissed your lips. “I just want to make you happy, I want to make you cum and scream and I want you to forget about your family and just be happy with me.” You bit your lip, a whine leaving you. “Can you cum for me, sweetheart?” He asked, kissing you again.

It was perfect timing, your eyes rolled back, your hand fell from his hair. His arms tightened around you and he littered kisses all over your face while you came down from your high.

Jason pulled you onto his lap, getting your jeans on your ankles. “So, I was thinking movies? Get some Christmas pj’s?” You stared at him trying not to laugh at the immediate change.

“Seriously?”

“What? I got hot chocolate, the TV functions, I think.”

[bohemianblasphemy]

You get hurt in a fight and are unconscious for days. Billy doesn’t leave your side, holds your hand and talks to you. When you wake up, he’s right there and he actually cries and admits he’s in love with you.

😭😭😭😭

That dreaded fight replayed in Butchers mind like a movie as he sat by your unconscious side in the hospital bed.

The scene of Black Noir striking down on you in the split second you showed vulnerability, the awful sounds of your cries as your body hit the hard surface of the concrete ground, your sentience slipping into the darkness.

Butcher never left your side since that day, sitting in the uncomfortable chair next to your bed- hoping, even praying that you would make it out of this mess. For four days he didn’t leave that hospital, glaring at anyone who dared tell him to take a break.

“You’ve always been a tough one, love.” He whispered, his calloused hand intertwined with yours. “You’ve beaten the odds before, don’t make this the only exception.” His thumb ran over your delicate knuckles.

The room was quiet, except for the occasional electronic noise of the machines hooked up to you.

“Remember when we took down Translucent? Bloody hell you were on fire that day, so fuckin’ strong…” he continued to look at you, his heart aching at the sight of your battered, fragile body. “Strong enough to fight through this yeah? I know you can…”

He recalled stories with you, his voice shaky with emotion- hoping that you’d somehow hear him. He spoke of how your presence warmed up his cold being, someone he looked forward to seeing everyday.

“Y’know it’s bloody stupid…” he continued, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “God I’m so in love with ya, it hurts. I can’t do this life with ya in it…”

Butcher pressed his lips onto your knuckles gently, wishing he could turn back time so he could have been there to get you safe.

Another day broke as the sunrise beamed from between the white blinds in your dark room, creating a soft glow over the thin white sheets that covered you. Butchers had fallen asleep from exhaustion, but his hand still encapsulated yours.

A sudden stir within you began to awake you, the sound of your heart monitor starting to quicken.

Butcher awoke as soon as the sound hit his ears, looking over you as the flicker of hope within him grew stronger.

Your eyelids fluttered and you fingers moved, blinking as you woke up to your unfamiliar surroundings and trying your best to focus. When the blurry haze slipped from your eyesight, the first thing you saw was Billy’s face.

“Billy…” you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper. Butcher couldn’t help but let his tears fall from his eyes- a shaky sigh of relief fell from his chest.

“You scared the bloody hell outta me…”

“I’m sorry…” you whispered, squeezing the hand that he held in his. His tough facade had broken.

“I thought I was gonna lose ya, you mean too much to me I can’t-“ he choked on his words, pausing to take a breath as he looked at you- seeing that soft smile you managed to crack, making his heart swell.

As his tears fell on his rugged cheeks, he spoke up again.

“I love you, sweetheart. I’m so in love with you…”

His confession hung in the air between you, vulnerability in his gaze. You felt a rush of emotion, warmth flooding your chest as you processed his words.

You removed the hand that was help by his and brought it up, brushing away the tears tracing his cheeks.

“I-i love you too, Billy, so much…”

His heart soared, chuckling through his tears as he leaned forward slightly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I ain’t letting ya go, never again.

[hexb0nes]

when swallows fly low — pt. 2 of this post (originally a standalone work, but due to popular demand, a second part has been added)

the lab becomes a second home, as you spend your waking hours tending to a comatose viktor. you inform your workplace that it was a family emergency, that your husband was gravely ill and needed care. you wish it was a lie.

jayce also resides in the lab for most of the day, only leaving to grab the two of you meals. although you refuse to leave viktor’s side, jayce acknowledges the importance of keeping you fed. earlier in the week, he attempts to pry you from the cocoon, only to get a slap across the cheek. you offer jayce no words, you barely look at him unless he’s delivering you a meal.

on occasion, mel visits the two of you, usually bringing fresh clothes and updates from the outside world. you don’t care what political shambles piltover is in now that half of the council is either dead or have resigned. it’s the council’s fault, anyway. had they given zaun independence beforehand, maybe jinx wouldn’t have blown up the whole building. or maybe it’s jinx’s fault, she pulled the trigger. she lives up to her name.

“hello,” the councilor pokes her head inside the lab, “how are you two-” she sees the sorrow in your eyes, “how’s everyone doing today?”

“no sign of viktor waking up yet,” answers jayce, but his words are like static to your ears. you’re fixated on your husband, as you brush your thumb against one of his cheeks. it was part of the routine; wake up, eat, monitor viktor, eat, attempt to wake him up, eat, sleep. you press your forehead against your husband’s, the zaunite display of affection and love, “i miss you,” you whisper, tears threatening to spill just like the days before, “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry for all of this.”

mel watches the exchange with a small frown and cups a hand around jayce’s ear to ask, “have they left the lab at all since the explosion?”

“no,” confesses jayce, “i tried once, but it ended rather, uh,” he points to his cheek, the light red remnant of your slap present, “poorly.”

mel nods, “i see,” she turns her gaze back on you comforting viktor, the goo pulsating through a variety of colors, “shall i give it a try?”

“be my guest,” jayce steps aside to allow the councilwoman further access into the lab.

mel’s heels click against the lab’s hardwood flooring, as she approaches your side. you bear the appearance of utter grief, your clothes disheveled with grim coating your face and hair. an uneaten sandwich and apple slices lay on a plate by your makeshift living situation.

“hello,” the councilor gives you a soft greeting. you take your eyes off viktor for a moment and mel can see their decrepit state, bulging under bags and bloodshot sclera, “have you been able to eat or sleep?”

“i’m fine,” you reply, the same answer you’ve given mel on previous days, a scratched record on a broken gramophone. mel’s glossy lips tighten into a thin line and she looks up at viktor’s unconscious face, “any progress as of today?”

“i think his eyes fluttered for a moment when i gave him a morning kiss,” you report, “but other than that, the same as yesterday and the day before and so on.”

“hey,” mel places a hand on your shoulder, “we’re here for you. you know that, right? regardless if you need someone to talk to or a shoulder to cry on,” she squeezes your shoulder.

“i’m done with tears,” you swat her hand away dismissively, “thanks for stopping by,” you face away from mel and resume your unblinking stare on viktor’s cocoon. mel frowns deeply and eyes jayce from afar, “i’ll be back together with a fresh change of clothes,” she returns to the blacksmith’s side and gives him a hug, “keep me updated, alright? he’s strong, he will wake up.”

jayce gives mel a small, forced smile and silently nods. the councilor pecks him on the cheek and exits the lab, the door clicking softly behind her. jayce’s shoulders slump and tears form in his eyes, exhausted and beaten down.

“you don’t get to cry.”

jayce tilts his head up at the sound of your voice, monotone but firm, “what?”

“i said,” you walk up to the taller man and grab him by the neck, jerking him downward and forcing him to look you in your dimmed out eyes, “you,” your hold tightens.

“don’t,” and tightens.

“get,” jayce lets out a croak for air.

“to,” you dig deeper into his flesh.

“cry,” you release your hold on his neck and jayce gasps for oxygen, panting hard. you take a step back, a sinister part of you relishing in inflicting pain on such a strong and resilient man.

jayce rubs his neck, feeling the small indents your nails left on his tan skin, “i- i’m sorry, i’m sorry for everything,” he rasps, voice somewhat sore from being choked out for a solid minute, “i thought you, out of everyone, would understand.”

“i understand that you betrayed your partner because of your selfishness,” you jab an accusing finger at jayce, “that you betrayed me, someone who has been there for you since we were kids. you’re a fucking bastard of a man.”

“i saved him,” jayce states, “i saved your husband, i saved him.”

“do you honestly think i wanted him to die in that explosion?” you laugh bitterly, “do you think i wanted to lose whatever remaining time i had left with him? of course the fuck not! i never wanted him to die!”

tears begin to roll down your cheeks and fall to the floor like raindrops, “but subjecting him to this? treating him like a science experiment? that’s the last thing viktor would’ve ever wanted! you, out of all people, should’ve known!” you bang your fists against jayce’s chest, as you wailed, “you turned my husband, one of my best friends, the man i vowed to remain faithful and true to, into some sick science project because you couldn’t fucking handle the thought of him dying!”

jayce stares down at you, as you continue to sob and hit his chest with your fists, taking the blows easily and wordlessly. tears of his own fall from his eyes. you try to hit jayce more, but soon, you grow too weak to muster a punch, as you collapse onto your knees and weep with the pain of a thousand losses, “you broke your promise, you broke it…”

jayce opens his mouth to retort when a sudden gasp echoes through the chambers of the lab. you perk your head up and see viktor’s eyes open away, gasping and grunting, “viktor!” you rush up to your husband, as he breaks free from the cocoon, pulling the off-white goo with him like string, “oh my gods!” he stumbles forward and you catch him in your arms, “oh, my shining star, viktor! you’re awake!”

“wh…” your husband looks up at you, his irises’ usual honey amber replaced by a kaleidoscope of various colors, “what…” viktor holds up a hand, purple and mechanical with the skin replaced with a almost wire-like texture, “what am i?”

“you’re alive!” jayce proclaims and joins in the hug, “you’re alive, that’s what you are, viktor!” you reluctantly let jayce hug you, as viktor hugs the two of you back. once the hug is finished, jayce covers viktor’s naked body with a blue blanket and a cry of joy escapes your lips, as you press your forehead against viktor’s, “baby, i’m so happy you’re awake.”

“i told you to destroy it,” he whispers, his accent puncturing his words, “why didn’t you destroy it?”

you cup viktor’s cheeks in your hands, one of the only parts of his body untouched by the hexcore’s fusion process, “i tried to stop him, i tried, i swear on our vows that i fought to honor your wish,” viktor peers up at jayce for confirmation, to which jayce states, “it’s true. they tried to stop me from reviving you.”

“i was supposed to die,” your husband’s tone is matter-of-fact and devoid of emotion, “but you didn’t allow me such a privilege.”

“viktor, please,” jayce’s voice tightens with sorrow, “i couldn’t- i saved you, i had to do something!”

viktor looks back at you and his eyes flicker between a wheel of purple, pink, and blue shades, “you,” his fingers brush against your face while he analyzes you with a child-like curiosity, “my miláčku.”

“yes,” you answer, smiling as widely as you could, “i’m your miláčku and you’re my shining star.”

“thank you,” his voice sounds off, but you ignore it, “thank you for honoring my wish,” he reaches for his crutch and adjusts his hold on the blanket, “we must go.”

“go?” jayce nervously chuckles, “what do you mean by that?”

“we’re leaving,” viktor intertwines his hand with yours, “we must return to zaun,” you look up at your husband in confusion, “we do?”

“viktor, please,” the bigger man chokes back a cry, “why are you going? you need to rest, to recuperate- no,” viktor cuts him off, “it’s time for us to part ways, this is goodbye.”

your eyes dart between jayce and viktor, “i…” your words fall short and you nuzzle closer into your husband’s side. you see jayce’s heart shatter, as you and viktor head towards the door, “please don’t go,” he pleads with you both.

“goodbye, jayce,” viktor answers.

with one final look, you offer jayce a small frown and reply to him.

“i’m sorry, jayce.”

viktor and you exit the lab, leaving jayce alone, as the door slowly closes on your relationship with the man of progress.

[moments-on-film]

Moments on Film: Carmy’s Vital Signs

One of the most fascinating things about The Bear is the full body acting from Jeremy Allen White. As with any performance, as an actor he makes many intentional choices, but there are several that I have noticed that are so in the moment and realistic, his body experiences them as his character. His actual vital signs—body temperature, pulse rate, breathing rate, blood pressure—are all a part of his character and are often visible onscreen, making it very hard to differentiate between the performer and the performance. He is so immersed in the character, you can’t help but worry about him and his health, both as a character and as an actor, to the point where his acting often feels dangerous. He surrenders himself and his body so fully, it is absolutely mesmerizing to watch. Below are several examples from season 1 and season 2.

Season 1:

Carmy and Sydney Meet

The scene where Carmy meets Sydney for the first time immediately struck me. Because of their undeniable chemistry, you very quickly get the sense that they just “get” each other. Sydney glides in and literally gives Carmy the breath of life he’s been missing. She wakes him up and reminds him who he is as much as who he could be. Carmy’s eyes show us everything in this scene and all that he’s been through leading up to this moment. It’s all there. The deep, deep sadness, grief, the exhaustion, how traumatized he is, beaten down, burnt out, sleep deprived, and desperately in need of help. He looks sick. When Sydney says, “I know who you are”, his face cocks to the side and his eyes lock into hers. He looks hypnotised by her. He says “oh yeah?”, but his eyes say, “No, I’ve forgotten. I’m exhausted and beaten down. Please help me remember. Let me be what you see.” And she does. Watch the scene again and listen to his breathy exhalation when she says “you’re the most excellent CDC…”It’s as if by being seen and understood by Sydney, the spell is broken and he can finally, actually breathe again. The relief of this moment, due to her belief in him and how she’s sees him is the first time we ever see him smile.

The Phone Call

This scene really made an impression the first time I saw it and it continues to. Carmy picks up the ringing phone and it’s a call from someone he doesn’t know named Nico. This person asks if Michael is around and in this moment Carmy goes through so many emotions. He is so caught off guard to be asked about Michael that he literally says, “Uh, uh, no. No, no. He’s not here this second.” If you watch closely, when he hears Michael’s name his pulse instantly elevates to the point where you can see the vein on the left side of his neck throbbing. As the scene goes on he starts to tense up and becomes weak and eventually has a panic attack that leaves him with a pounding heartbeat, so severe he has to sit down and then get out of there, as fast as possible. It’s an incredible moment of physical acting where the actors’s body is truly serving as a vessel for the character.

Fights with Richie

In this scene, Carmy is fighting with Richie over the C health code rating The Beef just received. Carmy believes it’s Richie’s fault since he left cigarettes by the burners, when in reality, it was Carmy’s fault. Carmy and Richie scream at each other and it gets physical. He’s so angry in this moment, his face slowly becomes completely flushed red, and his forehead stays pale. His pulse slams against his neck veins. I don’t know how many takes this scene took, but to achieve this level of body acting, even once, is incredible. The actor’s body doesn’t know that they are acting, it responds as if it’s a real moment they are experiencing.

In the scene above, Carmy and Richie are again fighting. This time, because Richie admits to selling drugs out of the back alley of The Beef and Carmy finds out. Is this what Carmy’s dad used to do at The Beef? Uncle Jimmy mentioned they last fought about drugs, among other things. The idea of selling drugs is so triggering for Carmy, it made me think there is a backstory here that has to do with his family. Carmy also finds out it was Michael’s idea to sell the drugs. This revelation both devastates and infuriates Carmy with such equal measure that he simultaneously looks like his going to burst into tears and completely explode. Look at the tears in his eyes. Look at the gripping tension he’s holding in his neck. You can just feel his heart rate rising as the scene progresses. It’s another incredible moment where this actor is literally giving his full body to service the story.

Sydney Quits

One of the worst moments in the series for Carmy is when Sydney quits. She’s calm, but she gets in his face with her final words. Given Carmy’s severe abandonment issues, and how much he needs Sydney and wants her there with him, this moment clearly devastated him. He practically doubles over. When Sydney walks out, so does his ability to breathe. He is struggling for air. His face, which normally becomes flushed and red in moments of extreme duress does something different here. He’s in such agony, his face completely drains of all color. He turns white as a sheet. This response, to me, signaled a different type of deep, deep emotional pain. How the actor was able to control his body to exhibit these internal emotions externally is remarkable.

Al-Anon Share

In acting, a performer always has to be thinking about their moment before—what were they just doing, what moment did they just come from, and how is that impacting them in this particular moment? When Carmen attends Al-Anon in the season 1 finale, he is coming from all the events that took place previously, including a traumatizing nightmare, which he awakens from violently and painfully. He’s regretting everything he did the day before, he’s hearing his brother’s voice, and he hasn’t slept well or rested, maybe in months, or years for that matter. Physically in this scene, it makes sense for him to look dishsheveled. He goes a step further though. In this scene, and often in the series, he literally looks like he’s running a fever. Once Carmy starts opening up, we see sides of him we have never seen before. One striking moment is when he’s sharing that Michael used to tell him “let it rip.” When he shares this, he almost seems a little embarrassed. In this moment of raw and open vulnerability, he blushes, and his face flushes, slowly. He then smiles, so sweetly. The fact that his character feels embarrassment and his actual face will flush, on command, as a performer, will never fail to astonish me. You can’t plan for your body to have that reaction. You can’t fake it either. He is living in all of Carmy’s moments with his own flesh and blood.

Sydney Comes Back

In the season finale, Carmy discovers the money his brother has left for him to pursue their shared dream of opening a restaurant together, The Bear. While Carmy and the team are opening the cans where Michael left the hidden money, Sydney appears. She again glides in and reminds him who he is and who he can be. But this time it’s different, this time she reminds him who she is too. Carmy then envisions what they could do—what they could be—together. Carmy has missed her so much, he regrets their last minutes together, but in this moment, all that fades away. He breathes, easily and deeply at the sight of her. Every cell in his body bends towards her. Carmy’s eyes invite her in to build the restaurant with him as much as his words do. His pupils actually dilate when he first sees her and looks into her eyes. Again, these are not physical acting choices that you can just plan or manipulate. Your body has to be going through these emotions for them to present themselves in the way that they do.

————————————————————————

Season 2

Season 2 of The Bear is different. To me, they have messed with the actor’s face in a way that has taken away a huge part of what makes him uniquely compelling. He lives in the moment, he acts with his whole being. He lets his eyes, body, and skin all tell the story. What they’ve done to his face this season is very noticeable to me. Carmy, as a character is stressed, exhausted and haggard. He doesn’t take care of himself and he’s not vain. It’s a huge disconnect to see him looking flawless in certain scenes, with no color showing through anywhere on his face, like he just had a facial. It doesn’t make sense for the character and it limits him and what he brings as an actor. His skin often looks like glass this season, and whatever fancy stuff they did to him took away his ability to have his emotions show through his skin at the level they did last season, which is a huge reason why the performance felt so visceral and real. They saw his emotive skin flushing and imperfections as a liability, when in fact, they are an incredible asset. He doesn’t look like anyone else, and it’s real and refreshing to see onscreen. I wish they didn’t take that away from him.

Despite what they did, he is such a good actor, he pushes through and can still physically convey the heart of what Carmy is feeling in each moment. Below are several moments that made a huge impression.

Scene with Claire

The first time I watched this scene I had to pause and watch again. Why does it feel so awkward? Among other things, it’s because Carmy is not breathing properly. Watch it again but this time only listen to his breathing. He is so distressed, talking about the fire suppression he can barely get enough air. You would think Claire’s presence would calm him down but she doesn’t. He can’t accept the moment. At times, he is subtly gulping air and his voice is shaky in a way that the scene doesn’t necessarily warrant. This was a huge indicator to me that something is wrong. It feels very off. He is so ill at ease and tense. Speaking of moments before, Carmy later reveals in this episode that the previous night he had a “gnarly panic attack.” So in this scene, he presumably had a very rough night and did not sleep well. He’s very worried about the test, waiting for the other shoe, and is self conscious about if what he’s saying is boring to Claire. All of these anxieties impact him and he’s having a lot of trouble stilling himself and calming down. We now know that Claire is not Carmy’s calm, or his peace, or his safe place—that’s Sydney. We don’t fully know that until the next episode. It’s as if the actor internalized that truth and is giving us a clue to it now. This is subtle, expert character work and an extremely difficult physical action to fake as an actor. He would have to be so keyed into the subconscious emotions of the character to let these nervous ticks run through his body. I’m telling you, watch the scene again and only listen to how much trouble he has breathing in certain moments. It’s not normal how tense he is here and an incredible foreshadowing into what we later learn he needs that actually soothes him and calms him down—Sydney.

Panic Attack in the Alley

In episode 9, cracks come to the surface, what’s done (literally) in the dark comes to the light, and Carmy is forced to physically deal with what he’s been suppressing emotionally. He experiences the worst panic attack we have ever seen him go through. He’s gotten so much worse and because of the incredible full body acting in this moment, it’s painful to watch. The conversation about this scene, rightly so, focuses on how Carmy thinks of Sydney to bring down his panic and breathe, but let’s talk about the physical acting for a minute. He’s shaking uncontrollably, every muscle is tightly wound and coiled. He can’t feel his hands. He can’t breathe. His skin is red and burning up with tension. He looks like a freight train is running through his body. His face contorts like he’s swallowing bile and is about to vomit. His acting is so real it is distressing to watch. Because he puts his body through so much, we are right there with him in every moment. We can truly feel what he’s feeling. He looks like he’s in real pain.

Eventually in this moment, Carmy focuses on Sydney—the first time he saw her face and when she came back to him, affirming words she’s told him about who he is and how she sees him. He’s kneeling at this point and is finally able to suspend his suffering, lower his panic, calm himself down and breathe. The flush on his face starts to lessen. The fever breaks and starts to come down as he focuses on Sydney and only Sydney. This is all conveyed without a single word from the actor. A montage shows us what he’s thinking, but the emotional stakes of this scene rely entirely on the actor’s ability to use his body to let us in so we can feel what he’s experiencing, and he delivers.

Carmy and Sydney Under the Table

The scene under the table is so tender and beautiful it brought me to tears. It’s a moment of truth, reckoning, concern, care, and yes, love, between the two of them. Carmy creates an environment that is gentle and safe, and Sydney softens and blossoms in a way that we have not seen before. There are moments that are so intimate, still and low it’s as if they are speaking to each other softly while laid out across each other’s chests. Sydney shares her fears and Carmy essentially tells her, “it’s ok. I’m here. We’re in this together. You’re safe with me and I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Physically, in this moment, Carmy is so attentive, and so at peace with Sydney that time literally stands still. They are in their own dimension. We are so used to seeing Carmy in motion, thrashing around and stressed, that this scene and the way that it’s acted feels like a deliverance. He creates a sanctuary for Sydney to feel safe. The physicality and voice of the actor creates this moment. They are 25 minutes to open, and his eyes are gentle, his voice is as soft as it’s ever been, he’s breathing steady and easy. He’s gently moving his hand but not out of frantic energy. He can’t soothe her with touch so he soothes her with words. This scene is a revelation in how the actor shows us Sydney’s impact on Carmy. In her presence, his entire nervous system is completely and finally relaxed and at ease.

——————————————————————-

All of what this actor gives and does as a performer engenders so much empathy for the character that his feelings become ours. We exhale when he does, and it actually hurts to watch him suffer. We worry about him, and his health, and care about his feelings. I think that’s why people have connected with this show so much. The rest of the cast is fantastic, but if we do not feel for Carmy and care about him as a character, the show does not work. He knows this, puts his body on the line, and gives it his all. He deserves the awards he had received for this role and I hope we get to see him continue this character in a season 3 and beyond.

Pay. The. Actors.

©️moments-on-film 2023

[lady-phasma]

Battered and broken

Frank Castle x fem!reader

a/n: This is out of left field but I found this and had forgotten I had written it after a Punisher rewatch in Nov 2023. So I’m putting it out in the world because why not.

Warnings: actually no smut (I know, right?!), hurt/comfort, description of injuries.

Summary: You’re an ex-Navy corpsman (yes, they call women that too in case you weren’t sure) and Frank comes to you for help and some comfort. Takes place after season 2 finale. 3.3k words

The knock on your door is faint, you could have missed it if you weren’t so attuned to it. You close your book and place it on the coffee table as you stand up from the couch. You unconsciously tuck a stand of hair behind your ear as you reach the door. You take a deep breath before looking through the peephole.

No one looking back at you. Only the top of a man’s head, a ball cap, his face toward the floor of the hall. You can tell by the slump of his shoulders he is exhausted. You slide the chain back.

“Come in,” you say as you open the door. Frank steps in sideways, glancing up at you. You let out a gruff sigh. This particular beating looks worse than any you’ve seen yet.

“Hey,” he grunts at you. He tosses his cap onto the kitchen table and pulls a chair out. The feet scrape on the floor. He nearly collapses into it. His body looks so heavy, like gravity has gotten stronger, pulls harder on him than anyone. He runs his hand over his hair and leans forward, nearly puts his face in his hands but thinks better of it when his busted cheek brushes against his palm. He rests his elbows on his thighs and lets his head hang. You quietly close the door and slide the chain back into place.

Your bare feet are quiet on the tile floor but are the only sound in the silent apartment. He doesn’t look up as you approach him. You stand at his side and sigh lightly. You touch the back of his head, gingerly, run your fingertips down his neck. So far, the back of his neck is the only part of Frank not covered in blood. There’s some there too though. You make another pass, equally gentle, but with your entire hand from the top of his head to his neck and let your palm rest against him.

You’re standing close enough to him that he leans slightly against you, shoulder to thigh. You wish you could take the weight off his shoulders but you’ll happily accept any that he’s willing to offer, even if it is only to prop him up. It lasts only for a beat. He can’t share the load. It’s not pride or ego. It’s a mix of fear and compassion. When he straightens up you slide down to squat next to him. You keep your hand on him the whole time, some small comfort for both of you.

“Hi there,” you nearly whisper. You dip your head as you speak, finding his face, assessing the damage. “Hey.” You reach up and gently put a fingertip under his chin. He lifts his head, barely, and meets your eyes.

“Hey,” he replies. He is beyond exhausted and, this time, beyond beaten. You suck in air between your teeth and drop your hand from his chin to his knee. But you smile up at him sweetly, a closed-lip smile that spreads up to your eyes. He almost smiles back at you but winces.

“I’ll be right back, darlin’,” you tell him as you stand up. You hear him let out a deep breath. You straighten your pj shorts as you pad through the apartment gathering supplies. Occasionally you glance over your shoulder to make sure Frank is still upright. You run through the list in your head and as you circle back through the kitchen you snag a beer from the fridge.

You lean over the table and let some of the items fall from your arms as you use a foot to slide a chair out. You sit down while pulling your chair closer to Frank, face to face if he sits up straight. He hasn’t yet. So you line up your supplies and then crack open the beer.

“Here. Drink this.” You hold the open beer bottle in front of him. He finally looks up and slowly lifts his head. It looks like it takes all of his remaining strength to rase his arm to take the beer from your hand. He takes a swig of it and sets it and his arm on the table. He leans back just a little in the chair.

You turn back to the table and your supplies, grab a washcloth and the bottle of isopropyl alcohol. You want him to lean back if it’s comfortable so you stand and step between his legs. He takes another drink of beer and rests his arm on the table again. Then he looks up at you. You have the cloth in one hand, alcohol in the other, and a tightness in your chest from those deep, dark, haunted eyes. That particular expression always makes you ache to comfort him, relieve even the smallest amount of his agony.

“I don’t have to warn you, you already know how this hurts. I’m guessing this is the least pain you’ve felt today.” You smile down at him and push some of his hair back from his forehead with the back of your hand.

Frank’s eyes soften slightly as he looks up at you. You feel his left hand move from his leg to yours as he slips his fingers behind your knee, up the bare skin of the back of your thigh. He’s not going any further, only wants the contact with you, but your skin still breaks out into gooseflesh. His touch is gentle for such large, rough hands. You let out the breath you had been holding and dab the cloth against the mouth of the alcohol bottle. You start at his forehead and move your way slowly down his busted and bruised face until there’s no more white on the cloth.

He only winces a few times and never much more than a reflex and never opens his eyes. Only once did he involuntarily pull away, but his cheek is split wide open, even he couldn’t override his body’s response to the alcohol in the open wound. You hold the cloth away for a beat as his fingers reflexively grip your leg. Then you go back to your job. It hurts him but it has to be done.

“Thank you,” Frank mumbles as you step back to sit down again, his fingers trailing off your skin as you move out of their reach. You toss the cloth on the far side of the table and start to set up the first aid kit and a small bowl you fill with alcohol. You close the bottle and look at him while you unpack suture supplies, bandages, ointment.

“Did you finish it? Is Amy going to be safe?”

He nods. Just barely. Even nodding hurts.

“Do you know where she’ll go?” You doubt it. He doesn’t want to be a liability to the people he cares about. Not knowing is safer, easier.

“Nah,” he answers as he looks down at his clothes, examines his hands, turning them over to look at the palms. He takes a drink of his beer. “Nah, I gave her some cash and got her on a bus.” Another swallow. “Maybe she’ll make something out of her life. Good kid.”

“Yeah, she was,” you nod. “Just misguided. Happens to most of us.” You stand up again and slide some things on the table closer to Frank, gently taking his beer from his hand and setting it out of your way. You step back into your position between his legs and before you can begin he reaches up and holds your hips in each hand. He leans forward and rests the top of his head against your stomach. You run you hands over his shoulders, one up the back of his neck. You make soothing sounds but you never shush him. The last thing you want is to make him feel like he can’t say whatever he needs to. These sounds aren’t words as much as gentle humming sounds mixed with it’s-okay-s. The tender moment doesn’t last long. Frank raises his head and slides his hands down your legs. He’s not holding your legs, only resting his hands against them as his forearms rest on his thighs.

You both know this normally sucks but it’s going to be so much worse without a topical anesthetic. Not that this is unusual for Frank, but this split cheek is awful. You decide to do it first. You choose the smallest needle and thread from your medical kit, the best choice you have for facial sutures but still bigger than you want.

You look down at him, soft smile on your face, and find him watching you. A touch of adoration mixed in with the exhaustion.

“This is going to hurt like a motherfucker babe,” you warn him unnecessarily.

“Don’t drag it out,” he tries to grin in that cheeky way but it hurts too much. “Get on with it.”

So you do. Occasionally, you feel his fingers tighten on your legs but Frank’s overall reaction to these stitches is a narrowing of his eyes, small twitches in his lower eyelids, and muscles flexing in his clenched jaw. The apartment is so quiet that you can hear, as well as feel, the sutures as you stitch him up. Frank’s breathing has a rasping quality that you don’t like in the least. Your corpsman’s instincts run through the list of possibilities and, combined with the shallowness of each breath, you’re pretty sure he has some rib damage and maybe a few hits to the throat.

As you tie off and cut the thread you assess the other wound on his chin. That could use a few stitches as well. You go about cleaning your needle, threading it, and try not to be distracted by Frank’s fingers grazing a path up and down the outsides of your legs. He’s started to relax. The endorphins from the pain of cleaning and stitching are washing over his brain. His breathing has begun to deepen and slow.

You look back at him and tilt his face up to yours by running your fingertip up the line of his jaw to his chin. You work silently, this area less damaged but requiring a bit more concentration. After finishing these sutures you drop the needle in the bowl of alcohol. You assess the smaller cuts and splits on his face and deem butterfly bandages appropriate. You unwrap a few and start closing the wounds on his forehead, his other cheek, above the bridge of his nose. When you finish you lean down and kiss the top of his head and cradle the back of his head in your hands.

Frank’s hands slide up the backs of your thighs, over your shorts, to the small of your back. His fingers slip under the hem of your tank top to rest against your bare skin. Unexpectedly, he leans his head forward and you straighten with a little surprise but you don’t stiffen. You let him rest his forehead between your breasts. Through the thin fabric of your tank, his breath is warm against your skin. You gently pet the back of his head and then rest your hands just above his shoulders. His shoulders are shaking a bit, trembling actually. You don’t think he is crying but he’s processing a lot of emotions after a day like this.

You both stay that way for a moment, not too long, and he sighs loudly. You move your hands from his shoulders. When he looks up at you, his eyes are red rimmed but a little less exhausted.

“Alright big man, come ‘ere.” You take a step back and gesture for him to stand up. You smile broadly at him, encouraging him that he can do it, that there is enough energy left in him. Frank groans as he stands but grins at you sheepishly once standing. He rolls his eyes at your mock clapping, praising his effort.

You step closer to him again and the smile falls from your face. You dread seeing how much worse shape his body is in if his face was that bad. It can’t be avoided.

“I’m fine,” he grunts as you move your hands to the hem of his shirt. “I’ll be fine.” But Frank looks away from you and clenches his jaw, chewing the inside of his lip. He doesn’t have much fight left in him.

You continue on your quest and gasp “ouch” when you see his bruised torso. It would be a miracle if he doesn’t have a cracked rib, but it’s probably more like two or even three. You pull his shirt up to his chest and he acquiesces, raising his arms up to help you. He jerks the shirt over his head and his arms out of the sleeves and flings the shirt on the floor. Even his arms are covered in dark purple bruises. You want to soothe him, run your fingers over his injuries, but you only allow your hands to hover above him without touching.

Frank’s face is a mix of embarrassment, frustration, and anger. And it infurates you that the anger isn’t at who did this to him but at himself for being a “burden” on you. You put a mental pin in that discussion, saving it for a better time. He won’t even look at you at the moment so there’s no need to try. Your compassion builds from your stomach and spreads a warmth across your chest as you realize he is actually embarrassed. Does he think that you see these injuries as anything other than his sacrifice? They certainly are not evidence of inaptitude or failure. Surely he doesn’t think that. That conversation will happen sooner rather than later but not tonight.

“Hey,” you prod gently. “Hey?” You wait and Frank eventually turns to look at you.

“Hi there, Mister,” you say as his eyes meet yours. “There he is.” You gently touch his face in the one spot not cut open. “Stay here with me, would ya?”

He tries to return your smile but can barely manage it. He looks down but presses his face into your open hand. He is so epically tired. You glance down at his chest again and know there is nothing you can do with your limited first aid supplies to help him. Maybe wrap his ribs after he cleans up.

“You wanna just do what I tell you for a bit? No argument?”

Frank nods against your hand then straightens up and clears his throat.

“Yeah, sure, whatcha got in mind, doll?” His lips twitch into a lopsided smirk and you would have hit him playfully if there were anywhere to hit him that wouldn’t hurt. You smile at him before squatting in front of him to unlace his boots. No easy feat given how long the blood-soaked laces have had to dry. When you have them loose enough you stand up so he can toe them off.

You casually slide a finger into one of his belt loops and give it a light tug. “Come on big boy.” You flash him a quick smile before leading him to the bathroom.

You can feel him watching you as you walk. You always can. He is hypervigilant about everything but he seems to study your movements, your muscles, any time you move. He’s seen you in less clothing but you like the way your skimpy pjs leave some things to his imagination. Your brain shuts off those thoughts the moment you enter the bathroom.

Frank stops in the doorway and leans against the jamb. You work on readying the shower, getting the right water temp, clean towels. You nod your head in the direction of his pants. “Those. Off.” He groans as he straightens up but you hear his belt, then zipper, as he complies.

The two of you haven’t done this exact dance before but so many variations on it that he know you have to do this for him. He can object, occasionally you let him fall into bed untended to as long as you get his bloody clothes off first. But just as he trusted his corpsman when he was deployed, he trusts you. Marines’ habit of following corpsman's’ instructions is beneficial, especially these days.

You turn toward Frank and quickly survey the damage to his legs. Not as bad as you expected but not great. The bruise on his shin is worrisome but the rest look reasonable, given the circumstances. Your eyes travel back up his battered body to his face as you walk the short distance to him.

“You gonna leave your shorts on while you shower?” you tease. You smile only slightly to indicate that you’re teasing because you aren’t sure if he wants this tonight. Not sure if he wants to be alone, vulnerable and alone, instead of vulnerable with you. You slip a finger under the elastic of his boxer briefs and wait. Wait for him to signal his decision.

Frank raises a hand and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He focuses intently on you ear, then your cheek, then your lips, and finally your eyes. His hand lingers near your neck and shoulder, fingertips barely touching you. His eyes flit back and forth between yours, reading your face, thinking, deciding. You wait. Always will.

“Nah, easier to shower without them.” He is nearly expressionless as he says this, a hit of a smile at the corners of his mouth. Before you can get started “helping” him remove his shorts, he leans forward and presses his lips against yours. Not quite a kiss, yet. He’s tired. You press forward into his mouth with yours and he kisses back. His lips are slow, tender, and cautious, and not because of the cut on his lower lip. He always starts off that way. As if he were unsure if he will break you, if he will break, or if you will finally rebuff him. You’ve never sure. You slowly, gently encourage him by running the tip of your tongue across his bottom lip while you kiss him back. That does the trick.

Frank snakes his hand from your neck to the back of your head and entwines his fingers in your hair while pulling your mouth harder against his. It’s passionate but not urgent. Nothing tonight is urgent. But this feels amazing, as if he hadn’t kissed you ages or would never get to kiss you again. You feel lightheaded when he pulls back. His hand stays behind your head, thumb rubbing small circles on your neck.

You remembered your objective and start to get him out of his shorts but he stops you and slides them down, steps out of them, and walks to the shower. He almost grabs your hand as he passes but lets his fingers graze your palm.

“I’m here, Frank. I’ll be in the other room,” you announce as you walk out of the bathroom, “but I’m here.”

You busy yourself with cleaning up, putting everything back, anything that doesn’t go into the bathroom. You want him to have some privacy, safe privacy to breathe. You take a drink from his open beer and pick up his shirt and boots. So much blood. You can sort that tomorrow. He���s still showering as you put the chairs back in place under the table. You plop down on the couch, sitting curled up on your feet, and rub your brow. You take a few deep breaths and then another sip of the beer. As you set it on the coffee table you hear the bathroom water turn off. You pick up your phone from the table, check for missed notifications, then silence it. Frank walks out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, as you are placing your phone back on the coffee table.

“Feel better?”

He grunts affirmatively and smiles. He walks over to you and takes a drink from the beer. Before you really know what is happening, Frank lays down on the couch, barely fitting because he lay with his head in your lap.

(May be continued…)

[brokenpieces-72]

What if, something happens on a mission and Spirit (Hybrid au), uses her body to protect one of the guys?

Something like this! (I have no idea why it’s blurry forgive me. Pic is from Superpower-Beyoncé)

Man y’all love angst. No judgement but dang. This one was a little tricky to come up with. Then I remembered Horangi.

Gamble

Missions go wrong, it’s not uncommon. It wasn’t even a mission though. You were in Korea for a time and you wanted to see what was in town. Horangi wasn’t fond of the idea, however with some pleading he gave in. Kyle and Johnny tagged along not wanting to leave you two alone for too long. It had been a good time for a while.

“So what is this?” You asked Horangi.

“Kimchi. It’s a little spicy.” He said simply. You tried it and it did have kick. You shook your head letting out an audible sound.

“Yep. Yep.” You said smiling.

“Too much?” He asked. You offered the rest to him and he didn’t mind finishing it off. You noticed he was keeping a mask on, and his tail was kept around his midsection under his jacket.

Kyle and Johnny took a moment to step away, Kyle trying to convince Johnny you could handle yourself, and Horangi would be there in case something went wrong. Something did go wrong.

As you walked along the busy streets you stuck close to Horangi or rather Horangi stuck close to you. You got an uneasy feeling, like he’s trying to hide behind you or something. You pulled off to the side and stop looking along the streets. Horangi was looking up and down the street like you’re being followed.

“What is it?” You asked. Horangi looked at you.

“Nothing.” He said trying to act casual.

“No it’s not.” You said. He tensed.

“You don’t need to know.” He snapped. When you flinched he softened. Fuck he knew coming out was a bad idea. You put an hand on his arm, looking up at him.

“I think I do.” You said.

Horangi looked up and then grabbed your arm.

“Run, don’t ask questions.” You ran following him through the streets, going up and down alleys, ducking around corners. You didn’t ask any questions until he took a moment to pull you closer to him against a wall. You pressed into him as much as you could, listening to his heavy breathing. You wrapped your arms around him, and squeezed gently.

“…we need to keep moving.” He said.

“You need to tell me what’s going o-“ a gun clicked behind you.

You were knocked out, and woke up in a dimly lit room. You were alone. Outside you heard shouting and someone being hit. You stayed quiet on the floor, not saying a word. When the door opened you shut your eyes pretending to be out still. You overheard them saying it would be better for you to be awake. That way your screaming could get the money they wanted. The door shut and you opened your eyes.

Horangi was on the ground, beaten and blood. You moved over to him putting your head to his chest to look for a heart beat. Still there. His breathing was ragged and they’d taken his hoodie.

“Horangi?” You asked. He looked up at you, exhausted.

“This is why… I didn’t want to come.” He said. You realized the situation easily enough and you hung your head.

“Gaz and Soap will find us.” You assured him. He chuckled, painfully.

“Your brother is gonna kill me.” He said.

“I’m sorry.” You said. You shouldv’e taken no for an answer. Left him alone.

“Hey… you didn’t know because I don’t talk about it. I kept to myself.” Horangi said. He explained that they were collecting debts he owed, and he’d given them everything he could but it wasn’t good enough. They were still after him for ranking up so much money, that he’d stayed away from his home town to keep his family safe. They thought you were his family.

“Where does it hurt?” You asked. Horangi tried sitting up, grunting. “Just tell me.”

“My ribs are broken, I think my shoulder is dislocated… black eye.” He said wincing.

“Okay that’s… we can still get out of this.”

“Kid, it’s not that simple, we could be anywhere, and your brother may be good with smells, but the odds of him finding us are slim.” Horangi said, starting to lose hope. Spirit was shaking, but didn’t show fear.

“We could still get out of here.” You said. You tried to sound hopeful.

“No-“ Horangi started, but then a shape of light shone on him, and you realized the door behind you had opened. Without hesitation your threw your arms around Horangi, covering his body with your own.

Hands grabbed at you trying to pry you off but you kept holding tight. Horangi begged them to leave you alone, trying to hold you just as tight. A swift kick to his already damaged ribs left him grunting and gritting his teeth.

“Leave him alone!” You growled at them. “Get the fuck away!”

“Come here you brat!” One of them yelled, grabbing your ears and yanking hard. you cried out. And Horangi held on tighter, yelling in Korean. They pulled harder and you tried tugging back, to no avail.

They tried then hitting Horangi and you clawed at their ankles, threatening them to back off. So they hit and attacked you instead. Despite Horangi’s pleas you endured it as much as you could, wincing. You swore they were going to break your limbs but you refused to let go of him. He was still your friend.

Then there’s a howl outside. The men stopped focusing on that, while you took the chance to see if Horangi was still awake. He was, and you gave him a pained smile.

“Guess I’m gonna die now.” He joked. You chuckled but winced from your bruised sides.

Johnny had brought not just Kyle but Price and König as well. The gangster had tried to hold you and Horangi hostage, but to no avail. They were wiped out easily. König helped you get Horangi to his feet, with you insisting on doing it yourself.

Johnny instead pulled you away from Horangi checking the damage.

“Johnny I’m fine.” You said, not wanting to be fussed over.

“You’re not, you need to get looked at.” He said.

“Is Horangi okay?” You asked. Johnny sighed. Why did you have to like Horangi, even after he’d gotten you in trouble and of course the rest of the team because they had to pull an impromptu rescue mission to save you both. It was silly, but if there’s one thing Johnny’s learned about you is that you can get attached easily.

“Horangi will be okay. He’s tough.” Johnny said, wanting to move on from the topic. You nodded and played with your hands.

When Horangi came out of the infirmary he found König waiting for him. Usually he was waiting on König. Horangi sighed, knowing how close you and König were, and likely how ticked he was that Horangi had put you in danger.

“How are you?” König asked. Just dandy, cause you know it wasn’t like he just got a young soldier in his gambling debt bullshit, and led to a bunch of collateral damage.

“Fine.” Horangi said.

“Spirit was worried about you.” König said. “I was too.”

That peaked Horangi’s interest. König looked a little red in the face at that.

“I’d heard rumours about your situation. Didn’t realize how bad it was. Horangi I may not be perfect, but I don’t keep that shit to myself.” König said. Horangi sighed, looking away.

“I should’ve told her.” Horangi admitted.

“She should have taken no for an answer.” König said. Horangi nodded. König stepped closer, looking unsure what else he should say.

“Just… Talk. Next time.” He said. Horangi gave him a half smile. With a pat on the giants shoulder, the two headed down the hall. “Spirit wants to see you.”

“I know she does.” Horangi said.

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends

[peachdues]

Succor

Sanemi x F!Y/N

I'm feeling horny and sad, so here's a horny and sad comfort one-shot I had queued, and I know y’all love some soft Sanemi

CW: hurt/comfort; mentions of death? explicit sexual content, creampie, emotional sex/love-making, crying. MDNI.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

He comes back bruised, beaten, and bloodied, but he comes back alive; and that’s all that matters.

But he also comes back a little more broken, and Y/N can see it in his eyes; can see it in how his head and shoulders hang limp under what is undeniably the crushing press of guilt.

There was a loss of life on this mission. Whether it was one or many does not matter because Sanemi will bear the entirety of its weight, and she will lose another piece of him to this war they wage on behalf of humanity.

So when he shuffles through the shoji door of her estate and drops his head into the crook of her shoulder, she wraps her arms around him and holds him close. She holds him tight, and maybe it’s because she’s trying to keep him together when she knows that he is about to fall apart.

And when his arms encircle her waist and crush her to him, and his lips find the side of her neck as he whispers, I need you, Y/N lets him have her completely.

She lets him tug open the sleeping kimono she wears before undressing himself and allows him to lower her to the unmade futon on her bedroom floor. She lets him kiss her soft and needy, while he wraps his arms around her waist and holds her impossibly tight against him, sliding into her with a soft groan.

Sanemi has lost today, and she knows that he needs to feel her in his arms, to know that she’s safe, and still here and breathing with him until the screams in his head subside.

She locks her legs firmly around his waist to hold him to her as he rocks his hips against hers, slow and steady. Her white-haired lover hardly pulls himself out, instead content to grind up into her core because he needs to feel as close to her as possible. But she cannot help but cry out from the friction that is becoming too much to bear, and she feels Sanemi pick up his pace, his hips moving a little harsher, his length dragging in and out of her more hurriedly, and Y/N clamps her teeth down around his clavicle. She knows that he is doing this now solely for her benefit, but tonight isn’t about her; it’s about him, and he needs to be comforted.

So, with great effort, she slides her hand down the rippled expanse of her lover’s back until she comes to his firm backside and presses down, limiting the push and pull of his hips until he slows back to that needy grind against her.

In her ear, Y/N hears Sanemi’s strangled moan of gratitude as he resumes the languid roll of his groin into hers. Y/N’s hand slides back up to grip his hair, tugging lightly until he removes his face from where it has been buried in her neck so that he can meet her eyes.

The lilac irises she loves more than anything in the world are filled with such exhaustion and grief and love that it causes something inside of her to break, and her eyes become mirrors of his own. Before she knows it, they are both crying because they are both so damn tired of having to sacrifice their comrades for every demon they manage to kill.

But Y/N can do nothing but wrap her hand around the base of his neck and pull him down to kiss her, to swallow the broken sob that bubbles up in his throat as his mouth moves desperately against hers.

“It’s okay,” she whispers against his lips as she breaks away to pant, a familiar heat beginning to coil in her belly as Sanemi continues to grind deliciously into her. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

The muscles in Sanemi’s arms flex as he tightens his vice-like hold around her waist, melding every inch of Y/N’s skin into his own as he rolls his hips harder against her. He buries his face back into the side of her sweat-dampened neck, his fingers digging into the sensitive skin of her sides. Suddenly, Y/N feels herself clench tightly around him and she cries out, her vision going white as she comes apart beneath him, thrashing against the blankets while her thighs spasm around his hips. Her back arches sharply, somehow pressing her harder against him, and Sanemi cries out her name in a broken shout. He comes and she loves him, and she loves him, and she loves him.

He collapses against her, and Y/N thinks she could die happily crushed beneath the full weight of her lover’s body. She almost cries again when he moves to pull out of her, wincing at the empty cold that fills her, leaving her only with the sticky warmth of their mixed pleasure between her thighs.

But Sanemi does not move off her completely. Instead, he shuffles himself down between her legs until his head comes to rest against her stomach, his arms still wrapped around her as they lay on her futon, both still panting as they calm their breath. Y/N’s fingers move on their own to stroke his mop of white hair as it rises and falls against her belly with each breath she takes. He presses sleepy kisses against the soft of her abdomen and nuzzles his face against her sensitive flesh; and though she can feel his hot seed beginning to ooze out of her, this somehow feels more intimate.

“Stay with me tonight,” she murmurs, fingers lightly scratching along Sanemi’s scalp as he hums in contentment against her skin. “Let me take care of you.”

Sanemi does not answer her, instead settling harder against her, and she knows that he won’t argue; he’s feeling far too vulnerable to pull away from her now.

Though the enormity of the night’s casualties still threatens to suffocate him, Sanemi thinks it might be a little easier to breathe now that he’s here, with Y/N warm and soft and alive beneath him.

And so, Sanemi sleeps.

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Burning Hearts Chapter 6

Pairing: Law x Straw Hat Zoan Type (named) OC 

Summary: You were teleported across the globe in an instant, away from your crew. Your body was badly broken and beaten, thrust into the harsh landscape of a Northern island. You are discovered by the Heart Pirates and brought back to health. Startled upon waking up in a foreign place with an unfamiliar crew, you are shocked with the news that you’ll be spending two years there. Trafalgar Law, the captain of the Heart Pirates has made a promise to train you, but will it become something more than a mentor relationship?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

**this chapter contains a brief scene of adult content! minors dni!**

Burning Hearts Chapter 6: A Difficult Return

— — 

It was around 3 in the morning when Law finally pushed open the reinforced door of the Heart Pirate’s base. He made sure to close the door behind him carefully, not wanting to alert his crew to his return just yet. He was exhausted and just wanted to fall into bed without any disturbances or questions from his excitable and curious crew. 

Law slunk quietly through the halls of the base and entered his office. Without flipping the lights on, Law lazily dropped his sword and backpack on his desk before retreating to his adjoining bedroom. He strips his shirt over his head, removing his hat as well in the process before letting them flop to his bedroom floor. He unbuckles his pants and steps out of them, leaving them splayed on the floor. Normally, Law was a tidy man, but today he just wanted to face plant into his pillow. 

And face plant he did. Not even bothering to get under the covers, Law flops onto the bed and immediately passes out… 

— — 

“Hnnnhhgg! Ah!” Daisy grunted and panted below him, hips squirming and bucking while she laid there accepting his cock greedily. 

“What’s that, Princess? You feel good?” Law huffs out while continuing his assault on her most sensitive bits. 

“Aaahh! Mmhmm!” Daisy nods feverishly and arches her back in pleasure. 

“Na uh, use your words. Tell daddy how much you love his cock.” Law commands with a punishing snap of his hips. 

“S’ so good, love it s’much!” Daisy’s eyes roll back in her head, a dumb grin on her face as she relishes in the feeling of coming apart. 

“Shit- Princess you’re squeeing me so tight… fuck I’m-“

Gone.

Law snaps awake in bed, covered in sweat on top of his comforter. His chest heaves. He notices a wet feeling in his boxers. As Law looks down at his lap, he sees the wet sticky evidence of having ejaculated in his sleep. 

Law sighs and flops backwards onto the bed. Why did this keep happening? What was causing this influx of erotic dreams… and why was it always her? She was a brat. They disagreed so much that he could barely stand to be in a room with her when they weren’t training… so why did she keep finding him in his dreams?

“Shit…” Law groans and rubs his tired eyes. Suddenly, his brow furrowed. “Why would I say that?”

Law cringes at the way he acted in his dream. Daddy? Princess? Who the hell did he think he was? He would never treat someone like that. Not like he’s ever had the opportunity to anyway…

Shaking himself from the dream, Law decides a cold shower would help him clear his head. He throws on some clothes to make his way to the bathroom. He steps into his office and makes his way to the door… but something catches his eye. A large green plant was next to his desk in a painted white pot with black spots. 

This wasn’t his. Someone had been in his office while he was gone. He had left all his letters and private papers from the Marines out on his desk, trusting his crew to follow the instructions to not enter his office. Law sees red. 

— — 

You whistle along to the music coming from the record player as you finish up breakfast. Your red jumpsuit hung lazily off one shoulder and you had your hair braided with some orange tulip buds in it. 

“Chow time, losers!” You shout as you place the platter of French toast in the middle of the dining table. The crew files into the galley as you finish setting up the table with orange juice and butter. “Last loaf of bread before your captain comes home, you better enjoy it!” You smile and pour syrup on the pile of French toast. 

“I’ll take seconds now, then!” Penguin grinned as he piled extra slices onto his plate. 

You smiled and mussed his cap playfully. 

“Eat up, buttercup.” You take off your apron (which was massively huge since you were borrowing it from Bepo) and hang it up on the side of the fridge. “You guys can rock, paper, scissors for dish duty. I have work to do in the garden oh-!”

Law bursts into the galley carrying a potted plant in one hand, pot hanging on by a thread. 

“Captain! You’re back! We missed you!” Bepo says as he stands from the table. 

“What the hell is this?” Law huffs out. 

“A ficus.” You cross your arms and lean against the fridge. 

“I know what it fucking is, I’m asking why the fuck is it in my office?” Law shakes the poor plant in frustration. 

“Every doctor’s office has a ficus. Good for the air quality.” You reply, casually gesturing to the air on front of you with one hand. 

“Why the fuck would you think you can go into my office without permission? And what the hell are you wearing? You look like a clown.” Law spits. 

“And you wear that crusty hat every day. Sorry if I’m not offended that you don’t like my outfit.” You chuckle. 

“You think this is funny? You come into my base and accept my training, and this is what I have to deal with?” Law angrily gestures at both the French toast on the table and the fresh green trumpet vine you hung from the rafters to make the space more homey. “I’m doing your captain a favor and you’re fucking ungrateful! And is that Cora’s record player?! Who fucking told you that you could touch that?” Law continued his verbal assault on you without signs of stopping. 

Your arms drop. Your brows knit together and your mouth tightens into a fine line. Law doesn’t notice your change in demeanor. 

“This isn’t your doll’s fucking dream house! This is my pirate base!” Law shouts at you and drops the plant to the kitchen floor, causing the pot to shatter. 

You gasp instinctively, bringing your hands to your chest. The only sound in the room was from the record player that was still spinning.

“Captain please… she was just being nice…” Bepo quietly tries to plea with his captain. 

“I don’t care. My base, my rules and while-“ Law replies but you interrupt him. 

“I… I painted that myself…” You stare at the broken pot on the floor, pieces littered between piles of dirt. You look back up at Law. 

“Fuck you.” You huff out with tears in your eyes. The grey smoke beginning to billow from your nose wasn’t lost on you, Law, or anyone else in the room. Feeling that you were close to losing yourself again, you storm off to your room and lock the door behind you. You slide down against the door until your body was seated on the cold metal floor. You bring your hands to your face and sob. 

— — 

*knock knock knock knock* 

“I’m busy” Law says without looking up from the medical journal on his desk. The door opens anyway. Ikkaku storms in with a bag in hand and comes right up to him. She drops the bag on the desk and gestures at it. 

“I cleaned up the mess you made during your tantrum.” She cocks her head angrily. She doesn’t give Law time to respond. “Why the hell are you so mean to that poor girl?” She asks. 

“That poor girl is stubborn and disobedient and she should learn that her actions have consequences. She won’t get stronger if we hold her hand the whole way.” Law looks back down at his medical journal.

“There’s a lot of room between holding her hand and whatever the hell you’re doing. And disobedient? What is she, a golden retriever? She’s a grown woman, Law. She just lost all her friends, has no idea where they are and is stuck here for 2 years with an asshole like you screaming at her. You expect her to hang on your every word? You need to get real. It’s not her fault that you can’t control yourself around her.” 

“And what exactly do you mean by that, Ikkaku?” Law seethed. “And if I were you, I would choose my words very carefully.” Law leaned forward in his chair. 

Ikkaku sighs. 

“What I’m saying is. It’s clear you’re having some… very big feelings about this girl. I don’t know what they are, all I know is you’re being a proper dick because you won’t deal with those feelings. I just think you should give her some grace.” 

“And I think you’re way out of line. Get out of my office, I have work to do.” Lap snaps. 

“Yes Captain.” Ikkaku resigns and leaves Law alone to brood. 

As the door shuts behind Ikkaku, Law closes the medical journal on his desk. He rests his heads in his hands and sighs. Maybe he did fly off the handle about the houseplant… but how else was she going to learn to take things seriously? 

Her carefree nature was so diametrically opposed to his own. It made his blood boil that she refused to take anything seriously, always flitting about and laughing when she made a mistake during training. Every time he reprimanded her, she would flash that cute smile and tell him to “loosen up, will ya? We’ve got 2 years.” 

*Cute?* No, wait. She wasn’t cute. He didn’t think that. She was annoying. Not cute.

Gods, he hated how much she reminded him of someone he used to know… 

— — 

For the third day in a row, Daisy had skipped their training session. Each morning, Law went to the clearing and waited. Waited for something that never came. As the sun set over the tree line, Law returned back to the base. Another wasted day. Frustrated, Law enters his office and flops down into the large leather chair in the middle of the room. His gaze falls upon the bag Ikkaku left on his desk days ago. He rises from the chair and approaches his desk. 

He unties the cinch around the top of the bag and empties it out onto his desk. The bag contained a dead ficus, a handful of dirt, and the broken pieces of the painted clay pot. Law carefully picks the shattered pieces out from the dirty mess and holds one in his hand. 

It was white with black spots. It matched his hat. She had obviously painted this specifically for his office. 

Law sighed. He reached to the side of his desk and opened a drawer. Law sifted through the drawer’s contents for a few moments before retrieving a small bottle of superglue… 

— — 

You were folding your clean laundry on your bed when a knock came at your door. You had spent the past several days since Law’s blowup in your room by yourself, leaving only in the very early hours of the morning to train alone and to tend the garden. 

“I’m not coming to dinner, I’ll eat later!” You yell towards the door. 

“It’s me. Can I come in?” 

You freeze upon hearing Law’s deep voice on the other side of your stateroom door. You hadn’t seen or spoken to the doctor since he berated you in front of his entire crew. 

“Ok.” You call out. 

The door opens slowly and Law enters, closing it behind him. He was carrying something under his arm. Upon closer inspection you see that it was the planter that he had broken on the kitchen floor, however now it was all in one piece again. 

“You’ve been skipping training.” Law states. 

“I’ve been training. Just not with you.” You cross your arms over your chest. “So are you here to yell at me again, or did you need something else?” 

Law swallows nervously. 

“I am here to apologize.” 

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. 

“Oh?” You cock your head. 

“I behaved selfishly. I wasn’t considering anyone but myself.” Law struggles to maintain eye contact with you, gaze shifting from your face to the floor. “You did something kind for me and I… I don’t always receive things like that well…” 

“Clearly.” You reply. 

“Maybe that was an understatement… Regardless, I am sorry I acted the way that I did and I hope that we can continue our training.”

There was a silence.

“Thank you for apologizing. I’ll keep training with you, Law, but if you ever and I mean EVER, treat me like that again I am done here.” You firmly state as you point at him accusingly. 

“I understand.” Law holds the plant pot out towards you. For a surgeon, he did a really shitty job trying to glue it back together. Couldn’t he have just ‘shambles’ed the pieces back into place? This looks like he did it by hand. “I… I couldn’t save the plant…” 

You walk towards him and grab the pot out of his hands. Your right hand grazed his left briefly and Law inhaled sharply. 

“It’s ok, I’ve got a few more in the garden. I’ll keep it out there then.” You turn to place the pot on your desk. 

“No-“

You turn around with a questioning look.

“I… I’d like another one. Good for air quality, you said…” 

You smirk. 

“I’ll see what I can do. I’ll bring it by tomorrow evening after training.” 

“Right. I will see you tomorrow then.” Law nods and awkwardly shuffles out of your stateroom. 

*what a strange little guy…* you think to yourself.

xx 

[shxtodxroki]

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚝𝚑

Summary: It’s been just about a day since Izuku’s return to U.A. after exiling himself for the sake of you and the rest of your classmates, and you’re determined to help him warm up and feel safe once more with a cup of hot cocoa and some cozy cuddles.

Flufftober Day 7 Alternate Prompt: Hot Chocolate

Warnings: Mental health struggles in line with Izuku’s mental state during the vigilante arc

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x Gender Neutral! Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Check out my full Flufftober masterlist here!

He’s doing better now. Or at least, he looks to be doing better, in comparison to the frail, exhausted, beaten down boy you had dragged through the doors of the U.A. dorm just 24 hours ago, seeming so lonely as he clung on to your warm frame oozing with worry despite his insistence that he shouldn’t drag you down with his presence. You had barely left his side since the moment he returned to the dorms, struggling to let go of him even long enough to bathe himself though he desperately needed it now that you finally had him back.

He had spent most of the day resting, catching up on the sleep he had clearly been deprived of while out on his own. You were working with your classmates to keep him well-fed throughout the day, seeing how frail and worn out he looked after his brief life of solitude. All Might even made a point to bring food for the boy, his guilt shining through as he blamed himself for your boyfriend’s initial departure and the burden weighing him down. It had been a combined effort to get Izuku to where he was now, snuggling into your side with a blanket over his frame while you hold him close and run your fingers through his fluffy hair as he finally seemed somewhat content to be back in the dorms. 

“How are you feeling, ‘Zuku? Do you need anything?” You ask for what feels like the millionth time since the previous night, your hands gliding smoothly through his forest locks since you had long ago worked out any tangles. His wide, beautiful eyes look up at you as he hears your voice, his voice soft and gentle as he responds.

“Mmm…. I’m still a little cold…” He mumbles quietly, not meeting your eyes out of guilt. He feels bad putting so much on you, feels bad that he left you to worry about him while he was out on his own, and most of all, feels bad that just being with him puts you in even more danger than you would have been in otherwise as a U.A. student and future hero. Your brow furrows, not out of annoyance but rather concern, at his response. You had hoped your body heat and the thick blanket would be enough to warm him with time, but it seems that the cold from the outside him had managed to chill him to the very bone during his time away in a way that wasn't easily remedied, marking him with these lonely and bitter chills.

Luckily for both of you, you believe you just may have the perfect cure for his shivers and iciness.

“...I think I have something that can help you, baby. Can you stay here for a second? I want you to keep yourself bundled up as much as possible, and I’ll be right back.” You look at him with a soft, loving gaze as you speak, your hand moving to cup his cheek as your thumb gently brushes against his rough skin. Safety and security are what he needs right now, and you’ll be damned if you can’t give him that, at the very least. You’re gentle with him, maybe gentler than he needs, but you can’t stand anything else but the softest touches to his broken down frame right now as you carefully make your way out from his hold while still leaving him cozily wrapped up in a pile of blankets.

“Alright…” He practically whispers, seeming so unsure and dull, so unlike the bright, eager Izuku you used to know. This fight, the impending war against the villains who have been looming over the school and the world for so long, seems to have sucked out his joy like a leech. You need to find a way to bring it back, to return to him even an ounce of his happiness from before. You just have to. You can’t stand seeing him like this.

You don’t clue him in to what you’re thinking, however. You don’t want him to worry about you right now, not even a bit. So you simply offer him a soft smile as you make your way to the kitchen in the dorms, pulling out two mugs as well as two small plates as you temporarily exile those concerns from your mind. Even if you can’t do much, you can at least do something small for your boyfriend. He deserves it, he deserves the world right now and you would give anything to bring it to him.

You know the kettle takes around 10 minutes to boil, so you quickly turn that on as you set two packets of hot cocoa mix aside for the moment. The bag of marshmallows in the communal pantry is thankfully fresh, not yet fallen victim to Denki’s persistent habit of leaving them half-open until they go stale, and you set two large marshmallows onto the small plates on the counter before closing up the bag and returning it into the pantry.

The marshmallows spin and inflate in the microwave for a few seconds, growing puffy and gooey and perfect for s’mores before you swiftly pull them out once they've cooked enough to finish assembly. Sandwiched between a graham cracker on either side with a layer of chocolate in between, within five minutes you’re staring at two delectable sweet treats for you to share with your boyfriend, setting them aside as you turn to the kettle to see if it’s heated up yet.

It is, you realize as you see steam brewing and flowing from the lid, though you nearly jump out of your skin before you even get a chance to pour the water into the mugs. Two rough, calloused arms encircle your waist from behind as hands work their way beneath your shirt to gently brush your stomach, and after a moment the realization dawns on you that Izuku’s come to see you in the kitchen despite you asking him to stay on the couch.

“I missed you.” He mumbles pitifully, burying himself into the thin fabric of your shirt as he pulls you into his hold. Your heart melts at the touch, knowing he means more than just today with those words, and tears spring to your eyes at the thought that he felt so lonely and needy after so many days out on his own. You refuse to let them fall, though, as you turn to face him and hug him in return, still so relieved to have him back in your arms again after so much time apart. "I always miss you."

“I always miss you, too. You can stay here with me if you want, baby. I’m almost done anyways.” You whisper with a voice brimming with love, your heart cracking and mending itself back together all at once as you press a tender kiss to his forehead and cradle him in your arms. “I made s’mores, I know you love them.” 

His eyes seem to brighten a bit at the sight of the treat on the counter, subconsciously leaning more of his weight into you as you carefully pour a sufficient amount of hot cocoa mix into each of the mugs in front of you with the chocolatey scent wafting into the air. You quickly follow up with the kettle of hot water, filling the mugs nearly to the top before adding a splash of milk into each just the way you know he likes. No words are exchanged between the two of you for a moment, just a simple hum of contentment from your boyfriend’s lips as he watches you pull out a packet of mini-marshmallows and let him relax and melt into you. You load both cups up to the very brim, adding extra marshmallows into his cup for good measure as your free hand brushes against his where it rests on your stomach.

“....Sorry I didn’t stay on the couch like you told me to.” He whispers into your ear, the feeling sending shivers cascading down your spine as you wipe down the counter and move to put everything away with Izuku trailing behind you.

“Don’t apologize, you know I’m always happy to be around you.” You chide gently, now lacing your fingers through his and squeezing his hand lightly. You’re delicate as you pry his hands from the hold he has around your torso, placing his mug in one and his s’more in the other as you grab yours as well. And finally, finally after days of worry and stress and pain, a small smile blooms on his face as he makes his way back over to the couch with you right by his side, at peace for a brief moment following so many months of unease. You’re careful to bundle the two of you up tight in your mountain of blankets as you cuddle up closely to one another, your mugs in your hands as you swipe a puff of marshmallow off of Izuku’s face with a giggle. He nuzzles gratefully into your hand in response, and that night Izuku falls asleep warm, cozy, and most of all, loved, tucked into your side with a belly full of hot cocoa and s’mores and a heart full or warmth.

Request - Anonymous said: Izuku for flufftober, he’s the fluffiest of the fandom

A/N: Sorry this is so late, the past few days have been super busy and I didn’t have time to write when I thought I would! I literally pulled an all-nighter and didn’t sleep until like 8AM yesterday trying to get some classwork done, but once I finally slept I had some time to write! I’m gonna try and catch up on the Flufftober days I missed super quickly, but I still had fun writing this and think it turned out super cute so I hope you guys enjoy it as well! :D Also my requests are open right now, so if you have any requests please feel free to send them my way! :]

Taglist: @flufftober @pasteldaze @papijean @deadmans-toe @trashy-bowtie @palenightmarepersona @eunoiasa @lady-juliette @swiftbyul @tsukkisukkii @shotos-angelic-whore

If you’d like to be added to any of my taglists, you can fill out this form here! Thank you for your support <3

[singularattitudeofasafetypin]

The Great War: Part 1

In The Heat of the Fight

Summary: During the battle to keep another planet from falling to the Separatists, Hunter and the squad are given a new mission. One that might have unintended consequences.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: None

A/N: This is gonna be a series, I hope you enjoy it!

Please don't copy my work

Fire rained down overhead. Hunter ducked behind the rocks, shielding his head. The ground shook and debris settled. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, he scrambled up the moment the dust began to clear, scanning the battlefield for sight of his brothers.

There was Tech... Echo, Wrecker... Crosshair! They were safe but there was no time to breathe. One second was life or death.

"Regroup!" he ordered, "Tech and Wrecker take the left flank, see if you can disable their cannons. Echo, you and me will take the right. Crosshair cover our assault!"

His brothers sprang into action, trusting his commands implicitly and without question. The droids toppled like dominos thanks to Crosshair's cover. Hunter and Echo drew the rest away, allowing Tech and Wrecker to slip through unnoticed. In ten seconds flat, the cannons powered down, groaning to a standstill.

Ten seconds, Hunter thought. Tech wouldn't be happy; his record was nine! Still, there wasn't time to worry. The battle wasn't won yet.

It was won fifteen minutes later when reinforcements arrived. Gunships obliterated the remaining droids and sent their tanks into frantic retreat. Hunter would be lying if he said he wasn't relieved. Every bone in his body seemed weighted down with exhaustion and his eyes ached with the threat of a migraine on the way.

The regs with their militaristic routine and order were already setting up camp. More gunships landed and soldiers filed out. As usual, Clone Force 99 stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Everyone alright?”

Hunter’s mask of leaderlike review hid a wealth of genuine concern. Four weeks they’d been stationed here with no promise of aid. He wasn’t sure how much longer they could have gone on. Dirt ridden and bruised as they were, no sign of injury. It was more than he could have hoped for.

“We made it through like we always do!” Wrecker grinned, nudging Crosshair’s shoulder with more force than intended.

“You almost gave away my position,” he bit back and Wrecker rolled his eyes.

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

Hunter winced. Yeah, this was definitely gonna be a migraine. Echo shot him a look and took the lead. “Good work disabling those cannons, Tech!”

“Hardly, I could have beaten my record if Wrecker had not pulled the wrong wire!”

“You said the blue one!”

The battle hadn’t broken their spirits in the least. A grateful smile stretched Hunter’s mouth as he slipped away. Everyone was safe, reinforcements were here, now a dark room and a bunk were all he could think about.

“Sergeant?”

Hunter scrunched his eyes against the light. Oh, was it too much to ask? He turned. An ARC Commander was approaching, datapad in hand. More orders. Couldn’t they just rest?

“We’ll handle this front now Sergeant,” he said, tucking his helmet under his arm and pressing the datapad into Hunter’s palm. “Looks like you’re going up in the world!”

Through bleared eyes, he made out the illuminated words. His gaze shot up at once.

“What?”

*

“It makes no logical sense to assign us to the capital.” Even after Hunter had taken a well-deserved nap, Tech was still going round the same point, “There is no tactical advantage to station us so far from the front-.”

“It’s nowhere near the action!” Wrecker groaned. Crosshair flicked his toothpick at him; Wrecker swung and missed.

“Whatever they want, I’m sure it’s important,” Echo chided, ever the peacekeeper, “The royal family requested us specifically.” He eyed Hunter as he slid into the chair next to him and raised an eyebrow. “How’s the headache?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Hunter heaved a sigh, “Getting there.”

“Well, take it easy,” Echo didn’t look convinced, “We’ve got half an hour before we arrive.”

“Technically twenty-eight minutes.”

Tech regretted the words as soon as they’d escaped him. After all they’d been through the last month, everyone needed a break—Hunter most of all. It was his quick thinking and heightened anticipation that had managed to keep them all safe.

Crosshair rummaged in his pack and tossed a canteen of water. Hunter caught it in his outstretched hand. Neither had made eye contact.

“Take care of yourself, Sarge,” Crosshair’s voice normally dripping with sarcasm, seemed softer, “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

He nodded a thanks, drank deeply, and leant his head against the seatback with closed eyes. He could feel the squad exchange a look but none said a word. A hush fell over the cockpit ‘til only the Marauder’s thrumming engines could be heard. Wrecker eased a ration bar out of its wrapper as quietly as he could.

*

It felt more like ten minutes later when the ship touched down, Hunter didn’t miss the care Tech put into the landing, but at least he was starting to feel better. Tightening the straps on his armour, he checked and re-checked his gear. The squad stood to attention, no squabbling, no bickering, not a word. Maybe he should get a migraine more often!

Before they could read the notion in his eye, Hunter grabbed his helmet and opened the hatch.

From the dim ship’s interior, it was like stepping from night to day. Sunbeams streamed down from the cloudless blue, reflecting off of bright white marble and refracting through crystal glass. The palace rose before them, a lattice of towers and parapets, sweeping buttresses and exquisitely paned windows-stained gold and green. The sight was blinding, Hunter squinted against the glare, quickly averting his eyes to the approaching palace guard. The captain offered a hand and Hunter shook.

“Clone Force 99?”

“That’s us.” The captain gave a short nod and turned on his heel. “Any particular reason we’ve been called in, sir?”

Hunter’s question was met with a wooden,

“This way.”

*

The palace halls were somehow more dazzling than their exterior. Light glittered in green and gold fractals across the echoing marble floors. The captain led them wordlessly into the throne room, as wide and spacious as a dreadnaught’s hangar hung with rich silk banners and sparkling chandeliers.

Seated on the ornate throne at the end of the room, the Grand Duke of Juunath was the picture of nobility but the toll the war had already taken on his rule weighed visibly in the lines of his face.

The captain saluted and the clones followed his lead. The Duke didn’t show that he’d noticed. Beneath his helmet, Hunter frowned. Instead of addressing them, the stone-faced ruler seemed to stare through the squad, Hunter noted his white knuckles on the arm of the throne.

“In the wake of this war reaching our system,” the captain began abruptly, “And in the hopes of pressuring Juunath to surrender, the Separatists have issued a threat against the royal family.”

Here he paused.

“What kind of threat?” Hunter asked, uncertain still of the mission they had been sent to fulfil.

“A threat against the Grand Duke’s daughter.” A spasm constricted the Duke’s mouth for a split second. “You have been enlisted to protect her.”

Hunter sensed the intake of breath behind him, he could picture all his brother’s faces in his mind’s eye. A protection job? Those were rare for regs, and even rarer for them!

“Why us?” the question slipped out before he could stop it, impertinent as it was. The captain’s eyes flashed dangerously. “This place seems pretty well guarded, why do you need us?”

The Grand Duke stood.

“You are experimental Clone Force 99, aren’t you?” the query rang rhetorically around the chamber. “I have been assured you are more capable than an army.” He stepped down from the dais, keeping his eyes locked with Hunter’s visor. “I want an army protecting my daughter, Sergeant.”

And Hunter saw it. Beneath the rigid mask of dignity, Hunter saw the maddening terror of a man whose child was in danger. He lowered his gaze and held his tongue.

*

“These are the best bunks we’ve ever had!”

Wrecker didn’t complain that his legs would’ve hung over the edge. Well accustomed to the world being too small for him, he revelled in the soft padded mattress and clean sheets. Hunter had to agree. Thought he didn’t doubt they were nothing compared to the resplendent beds in the guest rooms, as barracks went, this was by far the most luxurious they’d seen.

With little in the way of unpacking, Hunter sat on the edge of his bed and took a moment to breathe and assess the charge they’d been given. This had the potential to be a very tricky task or an excruciatingly long stay.

At least the squad were comfortable.

Crosshair had already stolen Lula and Tech was tinkering with the lights over his bunk. Oh yeah, they were settling in nicely.

They reported on time for their scheduled orientation of the palace thanks to Echo’s impeccable time-management.

Fortunately, this palace was old. Juunath’s history was fraught with war, despite its more recent reputation for peace and exploring the arts. Behind its shimmering façade, this was a fortress designed to be defendable. It was always a comfort to have the walls on your side.

Even the garden they trod through now, though light and airy, had clear points of defence and multiple exits, some more obvious than others.

No doubt Tech was recording the countless twists and turns meant to confuse an enemy and would have a holomap constructed by evening, so Hunter wasn’t clinging too hard to the captain’s spiel.

Something else had caught his attention.

He wasn’t sure at first; the ghost of his migraine could still be messing with his senses but now he was certain. The familiar heartbeats of his brothers thumped in rhythm in their usual positions at his side, their footsteps and breaths almost white noise to his accustomed ears. Ahead, the new micro expressions of the palace guard were rapidly blending into the background.

But there was one more heartbeat in the garden.

One he had yet to lay eyes on.

He threw a discreet glance over the leaves and lilies but saw no one. He heard her catch their breath. She was young, curious, afraid of discovery, but not a threat.

Leaves rustled imperceptibly somewhere off to the right and she were gone. Probably just a gardener but a smile tugged at Hunter’s mouth and he wasn’t sure why.

Echo nudged him.

“You will meet the princess after they have dined.” At this point, the captain faced them, his expression more unyielding than ever. “You are not to make her aware of the threats against her life, nor are you to disrupt her regular routine, or do anything to frighten her by order of the Grand Duke.”

Not tell her? Hunter interjected, “With respect, sir. She’ll have questions-.”

“Do I make myself clear, Sergeant?”

Cold as iron was his tone. This was not a matter up for debate and the look in the captain’s eye reminded Hunter forcefully of the rank he held.

“Yes, sir.”

*

“Don’t think the palace guard are very pleased to have us around,” Crosshair mused, cleaning his rifle and checking the scope.

Tech looked up from his data pad and grimaced, “When is anyone?”

Before long, the summons came and the five clones trooped down the darkening hallways. The lowering sun turned reflections from gold and emerald to bronze and olive. The hum of after-dinner conversation wafted toward them with the scent of the sumptuous meal already enjoyed.

Hunter stopped short.

It was her. Just like in the garden. The same heartbeat.

“What is it?” Echo stepped closer, already braced for action. So were the others, as attuned to Hunter as he was to everything else.

“Nothing,” he stammered, shaking his head, “It’s nothing.”

Before they could argue, he pressed forward.

The dining room expanded, lit by flickering lanterns and rich laughter. The Grand Duke sat at the head, entertaining a handful of delegates and courtesans. He caught sight of the clones and his smile waned. Standing and dispensing a few words of polite dismissal, he watched the company filter into another room and heaved a sigh. Only one member of the party remained, she stood at his side.

The Duke motioned for them to approach and forced his features into a nonchalant expression. “Well darling, these are the clones I told you about.”

The princess turned and Hunter’s heart skipped a beat.

She smiled graciously and bowed her head in greeting. Her eyes were intelligent and calculating but something kept them from meeting his gaze. It was probably for the best; at the present moment it was all Hunter could do to keep at attention. For once, he was grateful for his helmet.

“As I said, they’ll be acting as your personal security from now on-”

“But you still haven’t told me why!” She interrupted. Her voice was sweet but an incredulous note warped its melody. “Has something happened that you aren’t telling me?”

Her father enveloped her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Everything is fine, but you can never be too careful.”

He went on to explain how one of the soldiers would be accompanying her everywhere she went as an added precaution, there was a war on after all, but her eyes scanned each member of the squad in turn and Hunter couldn’t help but feel she was drawing her own conclusions.

“There will be a security briefing tomorrow morning but I’m sure you’ll hardly notice the difference!” The Duke concluded, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

The princess smiled and Hunter’s heart started again.

“Hardly!”

***

Part Two

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please leave a comment and let me know if you’d like to be tagged when/if I write more Hunter stuff.

Love you guys!

Tags: @clonethirstingisreal

[yanderefarm]

I had a random idea involving prisoner yan so I’m here once again in your inbox:3 be prepared this will probably make little sense

with the scenario of final boy reader there isn’t a lot of room for like domestic fluffy moments, which is something I love don’t get me wrong, but prisoner yan might be annoyed at his darlings refusal of his love! :(

Imagine having him in a basement somewhere isolated, out in the woods somewhere. You’ve beaten and bruised him, broken his bones, taken his limbs, starved and drowned him. The whole nine yards, anything your sadistic brain can think of :3, but then it’s like a switch flips. You’re finally being tender with him for the first time and after all the harsh treatment it’s like a breath of fresh air! But the love doesn’t last long and as soon as he’s even partially healed it’s right back to torment. You make him think he did something wrong and that’s why you are no longer affectionate. Repeat the cycle, drive him mad with confusion on what he’s doing wrong. After long enough soon he won’t be able to tell the difference between the love and the abuse :3

does this make sense 😭 I hope it does I was thinking about this all morning

-🪐 anon <3

honestly i love this idea.... good way to break him.

i also imagine like the reader having no one else in their life anymore. everyone else has kind of abandoned them after the trauma took its toll on their mind so the only thing even resembling a family or love is the prisoner. he has what he's always wanted even without intending to, he's the center of your universe. so everytime a major holiday comes around or you're just so exhausted from all the endless abuse. you are genuinely sweet with him, not even as the act but because you just want to hold someone and love them for a moment.

a quiet peaceful thanksgiving dinner, he's cuffed to a chair so he can't stand up and he has limited movement of his arms. the little clank of the chains always reminding you it's not normal but you keep acting like it is. or a Christmas spent curled up by the fire, he's bound and gagged while you cuddle against his broad chest. you even got him a Christmas present and one you bought for yourself for him to pretend to give you.

it's sad how desperate for the little bit of normalcy you are. how you cling to the man who took everything from you because you have no one else. how deep down a part of you knows that you can't kill him even if you want to because somehow you've formed a sick sense of love for this monster. he knows it. he knows you love him. he takes every bit of abuse and torture in stride because he knows that you're just showing him how deep your love burns.

he promises if he gets free he'll kill you, he describes all the horrific graphic things he'll do with you as he kills you. but deep down a part of him knows that killing you would be the kindest thing he could do, its the only way he could properly reciprocate all the love you've poured into him. even if he fully intends to keep your corpse as his girlfriend.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Mmmmmm new genre, free-to-torture hero!!! have funnnn cute butt~

These were probably the first ten minutes in the last twenty-four hours which were bearable. Assessing the situation was difficult, given the lack of information the hero had.

A lot of broken ribs and neither their femur nor their back were doing so well either. In truth, the hero was quite sure they wouldn’t survive this. The first hours or so had been alright: even though they didn’t have any weapons, they were doing pretty well, fighting against whoever came through that door, but with time, they’d grown weaker and with that, were subdued by the torture and violence.

“I came as soon as I heard. An opportunity like this attracts many flies.” The hero looked up at their nemesis who seemed uncharacteristically unfocused. They avoided the hero’s eyes, walking up and down the small room the supervillain had set up. “You got a lot of fans waiting for you outside.”

The hero didn’t answer. They were exhausted, ready for the villain’s fist or a knife. With the only rule being “don’t kill the hero,” they were ready for a lot worse. A few broken bones were merciful.

But the villain didn’t lash out. Instead they walked over to the hero and crouched down.

“How many people were in here?” The hero shrugged and it was the truth: they didn’t know. Time was weird here. It was weird when they were outside of their normal routines. “Alright…”

The villain sighed and to the hero’s huge surprise they opened a water bottle.

“It’s cold, so be careful,” they warned and buried their hand in the hero’s hair at the back of their head. They pulled a little, forcing the hero to lean back and drink when they connected the bottle with their lips.

And the hero did drink, greedily.

“Easy,” the villain said, decreasing the tilt of the bottle. “Take it easy.”

The hero grabbed the villain’s wrists weakly when they pulled away.

“It’s alright,” the villain mumbled. “It’s yours, okay?”

The hero didn’t let go of them, they couldn’t. They weren’t ready for more pain, for more broken bones.

Hell, they’d been in their apartment, all vulnerable when the supervillain had kidnapped them. They weren’t even sure if they could find peace again if they went home. Being torn out of their bed, drugged, beaten…they hadn’t had time to think about it but for some reason, all of it came crashing down on them.

With the little strength they had left, they pulled the villain towards them and the villain made a sound close to a yelp. They nearly fell onto the hero. However, they managed to put their hand on the wall behind their enemy and steady themselves.

Rather desperately, the hero realised that all the stability they had left came from their nemesis. An enemy they knew better than anyone, an enemy who knew them better than anyone. They cupped their face, thumbs on the villain’s cheeks and their other fingers around their jawline.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” the hero whispered. They were nose to nose and the distance between them was less than little. Lips nearly touching. They were breathing the same air, each other’s air, looking at each other, holding each other…

“I…” the villain began but didn’t manage to finish. They couldn’t seem to concentrate today. Their eyes dropped to the hero’s lips but jumped back up in the split of a second.

“Do they pay to be in here?” the hero asked. It was a question that had just crossed their mind. If there was one thing more humiliating than being locked up and tortured, it was someone else making money with it.

“…at first, no. The supervillain changed their mind, though. 10,000 for ten minutes. 75,000 for an hour,” they said. They started to move softly, letting their fingertips go over the hero’s torso. Whenever they touched a broken rib, the hero hissed, tears forming in their eyes and it was with great despair that they caught themselves wanting to beg.

They hadn’t begged. Hadn’t sobbed when the others didn’t pull their punches. But right now, with the villain touching them, the hero wanted to beg and cry. They wanted to completely shatter in the villain’s arms.

“I wanted to pay more but they only let me do an hour,” the villain said gently. “I don’t think I can do much in that time, but…”

They’d brought painkillers, bandages, food…the hero wanted to cry their eyes out and come with them but they also knew that both of them would be killed as soon as they came out of that door.

“I’ll find a way to get you out of here. One of my henchmen is coming by later today as well. He’ll bring you something warm to eat.” They started working on the hero’s torso, bandaging wounds and stitching the nasty ones. The whole time, the hero needed to touch them, needed to feel their skin on theirs.

More than once, the villain reminded them that they needed both hands to stitch the wound.

“You’ll be out by tomorrow, I promise. I know it’s too much to ask for but…I need you to hold on a little more.”

The hero nodded weakly but their tears wouldn’t stop when the hour was over.

pt. 2

[deanwritings]

FwB: Chapter 10 - Blurred Lines

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: FwB - Friends with Benefits.

After walking in on Y/N following a fun encounter, Dean and Y/N decide it would be beneficial and much easier to use each other for their needs. But can they keep it just about sex?

FwB - Master List

Word Count: 2,132

Warning: 18+ themes and language.

Gif:

A/N: This is it!! The final chapter!!

The drive back was excruciating, and not just because of how beaten up you were. You and Sam, despite how tired you both were, were working overtime to make sure Dean wouldn’t fall asleep. You were still worried about a potential brain bleed with how hard he smacked his head, and if he got more than an hour of sleep, you had to wake him up and check his vitals. To say he was cranky was an understatement. He would swat you away any time you tried to check him, and any attempts to keep him awake with conversation was met with a wall of silence. 

You weren’t sure if it was because he got his ass kicked or if he was still pissy following your talk. All of your anger and pain had faded away when you saw him crumpled up on the car. Now all you cared about was making sure he was okay. But Dean seemed to be holding a grudge either against you or the monster. Maybe both. 

Sam, who is normally happy to keep to the speed limit, hightailed it back to the bunker, managing to get you back in under eight painful hours. 

As you drag yourselves through the garage and into the bunker, you let your bags fall at the table. Sam disappears down the hallway, his brother right behind him, but you reach out to grab Dean before he could follow.  

“Hey, I know you’re exhausted but you can’t go to bed.” You offer gently. You and Sam would need to still keep an eye on him for the next sixteen hours. If he managed to go a full day without any worsening symptoms, he would be in the clear. Until then, he would have to have to be under someone’s observation. Since Sam drove the whole way back, you offered up the first watch.

“I don’t need you to babysit me.” He snaps, pulling his arm out of your grasp. You frown at him and cross your arms. 

“I’m not babysitting you, I’m taking care of you. Don’t be an asshole about it.” You huff, turning away from him and digging into your bag for a hoodie, the bunker cold from a lack of heat while you had been gone. 

“It’s not like I want to sit around and watch you. I would much rather grab some sleep, too.” You remind him. It’s not like you were doing this for fun. You were going on about an hour or so of sleep, maybe, not to mention all the alcohol that had been in your system when you had been abruptly awakened. And it’s not like Dean was the only one injured. Your side was still aching, as was your shoulder, but you kept that to yourself, considering Dean was much worse off than you. 

“I’m not your problem.” He grunts, but settles himself down at the table anyways, replacing the first aid kit ice pack back on his head after taking it off when you first arrived back. 

“I could definitely argue that you’re a problem right now.”  You mutter under your breath as you pull your sweatshirt over your head, but as you settle into the fabric, you catch a roll of Dean’s eyes. He’s heard you. 

“Stop being a baby and suck it up.” You say louder, meaning for him to hear you this time. 

Dean grumbles something, but unlike him, you can make it out.

“What?” You snap.

Between the pain of your likely broken rib and your exhaustion, mixed in with Dean’s nonstop shitty attitude, you’ve just about had enough. 

So let’s just say you weren’t in the mood for whatever bullshit he was about to start with. 

Dean just stares you down, his lips pursing as he decides if he wants to actually speak up louder. 

“Just say it,” you order. If he wanted a fight, so be it. Anger was a great replacement for pain. If he wants to have a temper tantrum like a toddler, you’ll stomp your feet and yell just as loud as he can. 

Bring it on, bud. 

“Why’d you end it?” He asks quietly, his tone a complete shift, and you're thrown off by his question. 

You open your mouth, but words evade you.

Why the hell was he bringing this back up now?

“Why does it matter?” You turn away from him, rezipping your bag as a way to distract yourself from the question. 

“Because I want to know – that’s why.” He states matter of factly, as if that’s the only explanation he needs. And maybe it is. 

You take a deep breath and shake your head. Is it even worth telling him? 

Once Dean was in the clear, you weren’t planning on staying around. You had made up your mind last night that you were going to leave the bunker for a while. You weren’t sure how long, and if you would make your way back, but you needed space from Dean. You needed time away to let your heart heal. Because if you had to see Dean every day, watch him fall back to his normal patterns of flirting with waitresses and disappearing on Friday nights, you would never recover.  

So if you did decide to tell him, you wouldn’t have to deal with the awkwardness that would surely follow. 

But with how pissed Dean was, it didn’t seem like the right time to pour your heart out to him. 

Instead of answering, you just sigh, not able to come up with a good enough lie that would get him off your back. 

Without a word, you stand up from your bag. If you weren’t going to answer him, you might as well walk away from him. Maybe if you take long enough, his concussed brain will forget he even asked you. Which was an awful thought, but this was an awful conversation. 

“For the record,” Dean’s voice follows you as you’re about to step into the hallway. “I wasn’t ready for it to end.” 

Your breath catches as your feet stop. 

What the hell did he just say?

You pivot, not fully turning towards him, but enough to make sure you could see him.

“What?” You don’t mean for it to come out harsh, but your disbelief is short circuiting your brain. 

Dean drops the ice pack from his head onto the table and stands up. He takes a few long strides towards you, but you don’t move.

“Look,” he waves his hand. “I know you had that rule that you can back out at any time.” He continues getting closer. “And I respect that.” You now turn your full body to him, only steps away. “But you owe me why.” He stops in front of you, his green eyes staring down at you.

You swallow down the lump in your throat as you look up at him, your heart pounding in your chest as you can almost feel him he’s so close.

“Why can’t you just let it be?” You whisper, your voice failing you. 

You watch as his eyes scan your face, and as you feel tears prickle at your eyes, you hope that in the dimness of the bunker, he can’t see them. 

“Because I don’t want to.” His voice matches yours as he continues to watch for your reaction.

When you don’t answer, he leans in closer, and without thinking, you close your eyes and lean into his touch, until your lips find his, moving slow and steady, both of you taking your time, savoring the feeling as your fists ball up against his chest and his hands cup your cheeks. 

Your heart feels like it’s going to explode, completely overwhelmed. Your lips begin to quiver.

It’s too much.

“Dean,” your voice breaks as you pull away. You feel a tear push past your lash, trailing down your cheek. “Please don’t do this.” You swallow hard. It was all too much. The pain, the exhaustion, the fighting, and now, whatever the hell this was. Your thoughts were completely jumbled and your head felt it was going to explode from the pressure of confusion. 

You feel him recoil away from you, his hands dropping from your face as you open your eyes. He’s somehow already put space between you, his head cocked away from you, his eyes shut and jaw tight. 

Your hands shake as more tears pool in your eyes, spilling over without hesitation. 

“Dean,” you call out to him, but he won’t look at you as you watch his cheeks flex at the sound of your voice.

He was right. You at least owed him this. And it felt like it was going to crush you if you kept it in any longer. 

“I broke it off because I blurred the lines.” You admit hastily, part of you hoping your words were jumbled enough that he won’t fully hear you. But as he slowly finds your gaze, his eyes are glossy and confused. 

You take a deep breath, shaking your head, tears splattering on the ground.

“It started off as sex, but somewhere along the way, all the late nights together, I.” You take a deep breath as your heart pounds in your chest, your hands tingling. “I wanted more. I want more.” You correct yourself with a humorless laugh, knowing that’s something Dean can’t give you. You shake your head and lick your dry lips.

“And I know that’s not what you do, Dean. You don’t do relationships, and that’s okay. That was never the agreement. But I can’t just be your fuck buddy anymore, Dean.” You feel resolution flow through you at your honesty, the words and feelings you had been battling against for weeks finally set free, and you take a deep breath and square off your shoulders, your tears subsiding. 

“Why?” His eyes find yours, and your shoulders drop as your heart breaks all over again.

Because now you’re seeing what you had missed when you were in the motel; it wasn’t a bruised ego. It was Dean Winchester’s worthlessness enveloping him. Just another person in his life he wasn’t good enough for that was leaving him. 

“Dean,” your voice breaks. This time, you walk towards him, and his eyes never leave yours as you take his large, calloused hands in yours. You refuse to break his gaze, and it sets your resolution for your next words.

“You are the best man I have ever met. You care and love like no one else.” You swallow, a smile painting your lips as your next words come to mind. “All wrapped up in one handsome and sex-defying package.” You laugh as more tears fall, and your chest warms as a smile breaks out on Dean’s face, his tongue running over his lips as he shakes his head.

His fingers play along your palm, and he swallows before speaking again. 

“Sweetheart, all I want from you is more.” He whispers. “And yeah, me and relationships have never really worked, but if you let me, I’ll give you everything I’ve got.” His eyes shine down at you, and you can hear in his voice, he means every single word. 

You nod your head vigorously, your hands jumping up to his face and pulling him down to meet your lips. His arms encircle your waist, lifting you off the ground as he pulls you against him as you smile against each other. You wince as he unknowingly digs into your injured side, breaking the kiss as he sets you down on your feet, concern etched onto his features. 

“I’m fine,” you assure him before he can ask. “Just a bruise,” you fib, knowing that if you tell him the truth, he’ll go into doctor mode and begin fussing over you, and you aren’t willing to lose this moment just yet. 

You move your hand from his cheek and brush his hair away from his forehead, careful to avoid the bump.

You frown.

“This better not be the concussion speaking.” You narrow your eyes at him, though a smirk tugs at your lips. 

Dean just shakes his head at you.

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” His arms tighten around your hips this time to avoid your “bruise” again as his eyebrows quirk up.

“Well I think I’m your pain in the ass now, so you better get used to it.” You grin, your hand falling to the nape of his neck. 

“I think I can get used to that.” His eyebrows raise with a grin as his hands find your ass, giving it a squeeze. 

“You're incorrigible.” You huff with a smile. 

“Well you better get used to it,” he mimics you, leaning back down and finding your lips again.

That's all folks! Hope you enjoyed it. See you next time!

FINAL FwB TAG LIST

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