#i've read three oneshots so far and like

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Doctor's Orders

Notes: I'm sick. That's it, that was the inspo. Written very quickly; not beta-read. Oneshot.

Pairing: Dr. Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: Established (but early) relationship; angst; fluff; Reader is sick; Robby is a little overbearing (lovingly)

Rating: T

Summary: You've seen him at work a time or two, but it's one thing to watch Robby assess a patient, and another to be the patient.

Your nostrils? Burning. Your sinuses? Stuffy. Your eyes? Tired. Your head? Heavy. Your skin? Raw.

You've been staring at your work laptop for the last two hours, hardly getting a thing done between the constant coughs, sneezes, and sniffles. Your eyes stray to the time, then double-take—7:18. Shit.

You reach for your phone, scrubbing one hand over one of your dry and itching eyes as you open Robby's contact and type a message single-handedly.

don't come over

You realize as it delivers that you probably sent the text far too late—Michael's probably already halfway to yours. But, there's always the possibility that he got waylaid at work, hasn't left yet. It wouldn't be completely out of the ordinary. You add:

can i see you later this week? what's your weekend look like?

A pause, three dots from his side, then a single—?

Before you can answer, your phone buzzes with his call.

You groan tiredly, reaching out and grabbing your water bottle. You can do this—sound firm, and normal, and not like you've been awake since 2 in the morning. You take a pull of water, wincing at the slight burning as it goes down, and then answer before the phone can ring for a third time:

"Hey."

There's a pause on the other end. Then:

"Everything okay?"

"No, yeah," You fib, "Work's run over and um—I've had a long day. Not a long day like your long days, obviously, but I need to decompress—alone, for a bit, you know."

Another pause from his side, and you wince. How bad do you sound? You know that your voice isn't as strong as it usually is, that it likely has the whining strain of your clogged sinuses in it, no matter what you do. Dangit, why did he have to call?

"Anyway," You hurry to add, "I'll see you some other ti—ti—" You turn your head, unable to stop the sneeze that wells and bursts, followed by another, then a third. Fuck.

"Bless you."

"...Thanks," You grumble, grabbing a tissue from the box. "Anyway, can I see you this weekend—?"

"I wanna see you now."

"Well, I don't want you to see me now," You insist.

"Open the door."

"Excuse me?"

You blink down at the phone as the line cuts abruptly, and curse as you hear a knock on the door.

"Are you flippin' kidding me?" You groan. You peer through the peephole, huffing at the sight of Robby there, his hand hooked around the strap of his backpack.

"Seriously, Robby?" You wince; it hurts to raise your voice.

"Let me in."

"I told you not to come over! I feel like shit and I look like hell."

"I don't care."

"I do!"

"Just let me take a look at you." You watch Robby eye the door beseechingly before he shakes his head, shrugging, "If you don't let me, I'll be worrying all night."

You sigh heavily, resting your pounding head against the cool wood of the door. It'll be faster to let him in than to argue at this rate.

"Five minutes," You grit out, and nearly miss his, "I'll take it," As you unlock the door and step back.

You've seen him at work a time or two, but it's one thing to watch Robby assess a patient, and another to be the patient. He's shrugging off his bag the second he's inside, his eyes skating across your face—your bloodshot eyes, rub-irritated skin, and otherwise unkempt appearance.

"When'd this start?"

"Yesterday."

"Is it just the sneeze?"

"...Bit of a cough."

"Covid test?"

"Negative so far."

"Temperature?"

"99.3."

"When'd you take it?"

"Like, twenty minutes ago."

He grunts, reaches out, cups the side of your neck. As tempted as you are to lean into his touch, you're annoyed—annoyed that he didn't just turn around, leave you to your wallowing on the couch.

"You hydrating?"

"Yes."

"Have anything to eat?"

"Tomato soup."

"Sleeping?"

"I've been busy." Not that you've been all that productive. But he doesn't need to know that.

"You work today?"

"I had to—I told you, I had a long day."

"Are you taking tomorrow off?"

"I'll assess in the morning."

Robby tips his chin down a touch, a chastising look sweeping across his face.

"Don't start," You warn, "I've got a lot of shit to do and I don't wanna hear it."

Robby huffs an affronted laugh before he holds his hands up, a mutter of, "Okay," Falling from his lips. "You take anything?"

"Tylenol this morning."

"So you're achey, too."

"I was. A bit." You fold your arms across your chest, taking a step back. "You should leave."

"It hasn't been five minutes."

"I don't want you getting sick."

"I appreciate that."

"Robby, seriously. You've been working all day, and you look like you haven't been sleeping, either. Your immune system is probably shot to hell."

"Speaking from experience?" Another glance in your direction before he concedes, "Okay. I'm going."

You watch, equally relieved and chagrined as he swings his bag onto his shoulder, rests his hand on the door knob, and turns back to you. He gives you one more look, and then leaves.

--

The second knock on your door that evening makes you wheeze, "Son of a bitch," As you haul your body off of your couch and trudge over to your front door. You peer through the peephole, ready to give Robby another scolding—but you don't see anyone.

You frown, cautiously opening the door and looking around before you look down. There, sitting on your doorstep, is a paper bag. You pick it up, casting another wary look around the hall before retreating inside.

You draw out a plastic pouch of your favorite Liquid IV flavor first, followed by three cans of low-sodium Progresso soup. A dual pack of Nyquil and Dayquil next, a box of tissues, a bag animal crackers—and at the very bottom, a scrap of paper. You pull it out, unable to stop your smile at the sight:

Rest up, call if you need anything. Doctor's orders

- R

--

"Can I ask..."

"Mm?"

"When I came over?"

"Mhm."

"How much of that attitude was you feeling crappy?"

You consider the question for a moment, pushing your mind back to those couple of weeks ago. Your cold is gone, cough has long since backed the hell off, and your sniffles are nonexistent. But—some of your annoyance remains.

"Honestly?" You twist your lips as you from the bag of takeout to face Robby. "I was pissed."

It stops him in his tracks for a half-second before he's setting the dishes on the table and resting his hands on the back of one of your kitchen chairs.

"Pissed."

"Yeah. I told you not to come over, you did anyway."

"I was almost here."

"Right, but you could've respected my request and turned around."

"You sounded awful."

"I fucking know," You scoff, "And I get that this is, you know," You wave between the two of you, "This is your thing, but I'm more than capable of taking care of myself."

Robby's eyes narrow slightly before he draws himself to his full height, rounding closer.

"Is that what you think that was?" He plies. "That I think you can't take care of yourself?"

"Well—"

"I know that you're more than able—"

"Then—"

"—But that doesn't mean you always have to."

You fall quiet as Robby comes to a stop in front of you.

"I know," You sigh, "But..." You shake your head as the words stall. "All you do all day is take care of people. I should be a break from that."

Your eyes slid shut as Robby's hands curl around your chin, tipping your head toward him.

"...Look at me, sweetheart."

You hesitate before you do as you're told, searching Robby's warm eyes nervously.

"You could be ordering me to do a hundred and one chores around here, and it would still be a break from what I deal with at work."

"But—"

"No 'but's. I like to know that you're okay. Helps me sleep at night."

You sway into Robby, catching his lips in a soft kiss, and relaxing as he tips his chin up, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Thank you," You mumble.

"Anytime, sweetheart."

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

 ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @artsymaddie

@winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: eye for an eye (series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

mob!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, smut, p n v, unprotected sex, table sex, light fingering, hair pulling, begging, past wounds, physical violence, angst, wound description, threats, some fluff, protective bucky, bucky barnes had issues, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: hi!! i spent all of jan doing my 50k word challenge on the daughter of rotsál first draft, but i thought i'd take these first few days of feb to update this fic! i also released a smutty/fluffy oneshot called sweatpea you should check out! my birthday and uni is coming up soon so i'm gonna try squeeze in some more work on the daughter of rotsál draft before that and maybe one more update / another one-shot but i'll see how i go! anyway, enjoy this is a spicy one! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

taglist: @nash-dara @sebastians-love permanent taglist: @globetrotter28

main masterlist | series masterlist

The shipment warehouse was a vast, hollowed-out space. Shadows stretched long beneath the dim, hanging bulbs. The scent of aged wood, alcohol, and rust lingered in the air, the faint remnants of the whiskey that passed through here on its way to buyers. Though mostly empty, clusters of wooden crates were stacked against the far walls, some sealed, others pried open to reveal their glass cargo, bottles of dark amber liquid reflecting the weak light. Scattered metal production tables dotted the floor, their surfaces scratched and stained from years of work. These were the stations where workers packed the shipments, but now, the tables sat abandoned, save for one.

At the centre of the warehouse, in front of one of the tables, three men sat bound to chairs. Rope bit into their flesh, tight enough that their fingers were already turning an ugly shade of blue. The table before them had been repurposed for something far crueller than packaging liquor. A collection of weapons lay across its surface—blades, hammers, pliers, each one arranged with careful deliberation. 

By the main entrance, Steve and Sam stood guard, their figures solid and unmoving, you eyed them cautiously as you passed through the threshold. They didn’t quite meet your eye, and you wondered if they could hear the deafening pulse that roared in your ears. The cold night air filtered in through the open doors behind them, a scattering of ash decorating the stone floor.

Bucky entered beside you, his steps slow and deliberate. But you could feel the unspoken tension rolling off him in waves. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, his shoulders squared rigidly, his jaw tight. The walk over from the Sootline had been silent, even if you could practically feel the heat of rage radiating off him. He didn’t seem eager to talk to you, even if his gaze would occasionally flicker to you to make sure you still followed along behind him. Maybe he feared he would find judgment in your eyes because he never held them for long.

“Bucky—” You called out softly, but the gangster shied away from your touch, the fabric of his sleeve slipping through your fingers. 

He strode forward, each step heavy, his boots striking against the stone with a slow, deliberate rhythm that sent a shiver down your spine. The sound echoed through the warehouse, filling it like a countdown ticking. You knew him. You had to remind yourself of that. You knew this man—the sharp edges of his cruelty, the weight of his fury, the way violence coiled beneath his skin like a second nature. You knew him intimately; you had felt the warmth of his breath, the roughness of his hands, and the steel of his will.

And yet, in this moment, he felt distant. Unreachable.

Even if he was angry, even if he had been cold and dismissive, his rage was not aimed at you. This was because of you. Because of what happened. The thought should have been comforting, a reassurance that you were not in his path and that his wrath had a different target. And yet, the knowledge did little to ease the weight pressing against your bruised ribs; it didn’t stop the breath from hitching in your throat as you took in the scene before you.

You were safe. You knew that.

But safety did nothing to silence the unease creeping through your veins.

The Iron Rats reacted the moment Bucky neared them. Two of them shrank back, their chairs creaking as they futilely tried to recoil from him. Their eyes darted between Bucky and the weapons on the table, their breath coming in quick, ragged gasps. One of them had already begun to tremble, his lips forming silent prayers, his body betraying him as he shook against the restraints.

But the third man—the one at the end—was different. He didn’t cower, didn’t flinch. He simply stared ahead, eyes hollow, his expression unreadable. It was as if he had already accepted whatever was coming and made peace with the inevitable. 

“Barnes.” You snapped louder this time, voice clipped. The gangster paused his movements, not even turning to look back as he raised his hand, silencing you with a raise of his index finger.

“I was considerin’ if the bird needed to see this.” He finally broke his silence, voice low with a dangerous edge. “But I think she needs’a understand, don’t ya think?” 

His hand struck forward, grasping one of the cowering men’s chins, forcing his head to look in your direction. You could tell his grip was bruising, even from a distance, the skin around his thumb growing white at the pressure. “She needs’a understand what happens to dirty fuckin’ rats that come crawling into my territory.”

Bucky released the man with a sharp shove, and the Iron Rat nearly sobbed in relief, his chair rocking back violently from the force. His breath hitched, his chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. Bucky barely spared him a glance. Instead, he dragged his fingers down the front of his suit jacket in one broad stroke as if ridding himself of the filth he had just touched. 

Then, without looking, he reached for the table, his fingers curling around the worn handle of a butcher’s knife. The blade was thick and heavy, meant to cleave through bone as quickly as meat. As he lifted it, it scraped against the metal tabletop, the sound sharp and grating—final.

Bucky turned to you, his fingers curling around the handle, weighing it in his grip like an executioner deliberating his next stroke. His gaze pinned you in place.

“Left or right, doll?”

The question landed like a punch to the gut.

“What?” You stammered back in response.

“Left or right?” His voice was eerily steady, too casual for the brutality hanging in the air. It was as if he were asking you to pick a wine for dinner, not deciding which limb would be lost. Your throat tightened. The Iron Rats were barely breathing, one whimpering, his chair creaking under his tremors.

You forced your voice to work. “Barnes, don’t you think we’ve caused enough damage?”

You knew you'd made a mistake the second the words left your lips.

Bucky’s head snapped towards you, his jaw ticking, something dark and dangerous flickering behind his eyes. The shift in him was immediate, electric. He abandoned the bound man without hesitation, closing the space between you in a few sharp strides. Your pulse stuttered.

He was on you in seconds, looming, his presence suffocating. You turned your head instinctively as his breath fanned hot across your cheek, but there was no escaping him.

“No.”

The single word was like a hammer shattering stone.

“We ‘aven’t caused nearly enough damage after what they did.” His voice, low and venomous, left no room for argument. His free hand clenched at his side, fingers twitching with barely contained rage. “You think I’m gonna let these filthy fuckin’ rats walk away after puttin’ their hands on you? Huh? After hurtin’ you right under my fuckin’ nose?”

Your breath caught, your ribs tightening under the weight of his fury. He leant in, close enough that his lips nearly brushed your ear. His words were a vow, a sentence carved in stone when he spoke next. “You’re under my protection. Mine. You’re mine. So fuckin’ choose, doll. Left or right?”

Your stomach twisted. The Iron Rats were silent, frozen, waiting for your answer as if it were their final prayer. You swallowed.

“…Right.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth curled, but there was no warmth in it. It was a razor-sharp thing, all teeth and no kindness. His eyes gleamed with something feverish, something manic.

“Good girl,” he purred. The praise was smooth, almost sweet, but his grip on the knife tightened, knuckles whitening around the handle. And then he turned. The Iron Rat barely had time to process what was happening before Bucky moved.

The butcher’s knife came down in a single, brutal arc.

A sickening crack filled the warehouse as steel met flesh and bone, followed by a scream so raw, so agonised, it turned your stomach. The man convulsed against his restraints, his bound arms jerking wildly, but there was nowhere to go.

Blood splattered across the metal tabletop, dark and glistening. It pooled. Dripped and painted the concrete floor beneath him. His severed hand tumbled to the ground with a dull thud, fingers twitching uselessly in the growing puddle of red.

Bucky barely spared the carnage a glance. “You touched her,” he said coldly, voice devoid of sympathy. 

“So I took your fuckin’ hand.” He tilted his head, considering the sobbing, writhing man before him. “Consider it generous that I ain’t takin’ both.”

The Iron Rat howled, his body convulsing. Tears streamed down his face, his cries dissolving into choked, incoherent pleas for mercy. Bucky wasn’t listening. He wiped the blade clean against his sleeve, smearing crimson across the dark fabric like a war trophy. Then, slowly, he turned to the second man, pointing the stained blade at him.

“Your turn.”

The second Iron Rat thrashed in his chair, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. His eyes, wild with terror, darted between Bucky and the ruined stump of the first man. Blood still poured from the wound, pooling beneath the chair, seeping into the cracks of the warehouse floor. The stench of it—sharp, metallic, raw—hung thick in the air.

“Please,” he sobbed. “Please, I—I didn’t even—”

Bucky slammed a heavy hand down on his shoulder, silencing him with a violent jolt. The Iron Rat flinched, chest heaving, tears streaming down his dirt-streaked face. Bucky turned to you again, the knife glinting under the dim warehouse lights.

“Left or right?”

Your fingers curled into your palms, nails digging deep enough to leave crescent moons in your skin, but the sting barely registered. Your mind screamed at you, an urgent, panicked voice clawing at the edges of your thoughts. Stop this. Say something. Tell him it’s enough.

But you didn’t.

Because you knew the truth now, Bucky wouldn’t listen. Any sense of cold calculation had snapped within him, as if his father himself had possessed his body. His blood was up, his fury ran red-hot and unchecked. Reason was a foreign concept to him in this moments, swallowed whole by vengeance and violence.

Your breath felt thin as you watched him, as you remembered what was left of Varlan Crey. The Rat King, so smug, so untouchable, had been brought to his knees. Felled not by magic or blades, but by the sheer, unrelenting wrath of Bucky Barnes. He had survived, maybe by the hand of a small mercy. Or maybe just dumb luck. Because you had seen it—the flicker of real, unguarded fear in Crey’s eyes. The raw understanding that, for the first time, he had stood at the very edge of death and only barely stepped back in time.

You swallowed, throat dry as dust. “Left.”

A shuddering breath left the Iron Rat, some final, pitiful sound before—

Bucky moved.

The blade came down hard.

The crack of severed bone and the wet, visceral tear of flesh split through the warehouse. The man’s scream ripped through the air, raw and broken, his body jerking violently against the chair. Blood sprayed across the table, warm and thick, dripping onto the floor. His severed hand landed with a sickening slap, fingers twitching before they went still.

Bucky tightened his grip on the man’s shoulders, keeping him from toppling the chair over as he convulsed in agony. He wiped the blade again, slow and deliberate, his gaze flicking to the last Iron Rat—the one who hadn’t made a sound.

The man met Bucky’s eyes with an eerie, empty calm.

No trembling. No pleading. Just quiet resignation.

A slight, bitter smile played at the edges of his lips as he tilted his head, gesturing to his left hand, which was secured against the arm of the chair. A soldier offering himself to the executioner.

Bucky exhaled sharply, amused. “Good choice.”

And then he brought the knife down.

The man grunted as the blade severed flesh and bone in one clean stroke, but he didn’t scream. His body twitched, stiffening against the pain, but he bit it down. His severed hand dropped onto the table this time, fingers curling inward, as if gripping something unseen. Blood seeped from the wound, a slow, steady stream.

Bucky studied him for a moment, almost impressed.

Then, satisfied, he tossed the knife onto the table with a dull clang. The first two Iron Rats were still crying, writhing, staring at their stumps like they could somehow undo what had been done. The third just slumped in his chair, pale and shaking, but silent.

“I think I should take an eye next, for even lookin’ at you. What’d you think, doll?” Exhaustion lay heavy in your bones as your eyes fluttered shut briefly. Bucky was upon you again, his gaze softer now, the fury still burning beneath the surface but tempered. He reached for you, his bloodied fingers grazing your arm in a touch that was meant to be comforting. “Eye for an eye, after all.”

“I don’t…” You stammered but leant into his touch by default. Steve and Sam had adverted their eyes, their expressions unreadable as they pressed their lips into a line. 

“I’ll choose for ya, how’s that sound, doll?” He rubbed a bloodied thumb across your cheek. You looked up at him through your lashes, hoping something in your eyes could pull him away. But his eyes settled on the faded split in your lip, and his gaze hardened. “They have to pay.”

Bucky stalked off towards the array of weapons displayed along the table once more. The knife he chose gleamed under the dim light, and Bucky tested the edge against his thumb. A single bead of red welled up but he paid it no mind. His attention was elsewhere—on the trembling man before him, the one still staring at his bleeding stump, breath hitching in raw, animalistic terror.

“Please,” the Iron Rat sobbed, voice wet, desperate. “Please, Barnes, I can’t—I—”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders like the weight of their begging was nothing more than an inconvenience. His hand was steady, practiced, as he tapped the knife tip against the man’s chin, tilting his face up.

“Didn’t fuckin’ ask for pleas,” he murmured, voice eerily even. “Left or right?”

The man shuddered violently. He turned slightly, eyes flicking to you as though you could save him as if you had any say. You swallowed, your tongue thick and useless, pinned in place by the weight of Bucky’s presence and the inevitability of what came next.

When no answer came, Bucky clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

“Left it is.” The knife sank into the man’s left eye in a swift, brutal motion. A high and raw shriek tore through the room, sending a shudder through your bones.

You flinched, but only slightly. The movement barely registered.

You had seen Bucky covered in blood before, had seen him like this before—violent, efficient, merciless. Yet you had also seen him in moments far removed from this carnage.

You had watched him bleed and had pressed your hands to his wounds to keep him from slipping away. You had felt his warmth seeping between your fingers, his breath shallow but steady as he let you take care of him. He had trusted you then, let you see him vulnerable when he could have just as easily pushed you away.

He had defended you against the Rat King, standing between you and the man who had wanted to carve you apart. If it hadn’t been for him, would you have been at the mercy of the Iron Rats? Tied to a chair like the three men before you? There had been no hesitation in him then, just like there was none now. And it was all for you.

The thought made your stomach tighten, but not in fear. Not entirely.

Bucky wiped the knife clean on the Iron Rat’s pant leg, a simple, thoughtless movement, and turned to the last man. The final Iron Rat had been silent the entire time, watching the carnage with eerie detachment. Even now, as the scent of blood thickened the air and his fallen comrades moaned and sobbed, his expression barely shifted. He only blinked, slow and deliberate, as Bucky approached.

“Ya know what I’m gonna ask,” Bucky said, voice quieter this time.

A pause.

Then, a small sigh.

“Right,” the man murmured, resigned.

Something flickered in Bucky’s expression—curiosity, maybe. Approval. He didn’t make him wait. The blade sank deep, and though the Iron Rat tensed, his breath hitching sharply, he made no sound. Blood welled, thick and dark, spilling down his cheek, but he simply slumped against the restraints, his ruined eye weeping crimson.

Bucky lingered, staring at him, head tilted slightly. Considering. Perhaps even disappointed.

Bucky only clicked his tongue before turning back to you. The shift was subtle but immediate. The hardness in his expression softened, his eyes no longer carrying the cold fury he had wielded so effortlessly moments before. His hand, still warm despite the blood smeared across his fingers, reached for you, grazing your waist.

“See, doll?” he murmured. “Now they know.”

Your breath caught.

You should have felt horror. Revulsion. But instead, as you looked at him—his jaw speckled with blood, his chest rising and falling evenly, the fire still smouldering behind his eyes—you felt something else entirely. Something that made your fingers twitch, something that made your chest tighten.

Maybe, just maybe, this was more than just lust.

You weren’t sure whether that should’ve terrified you.

But at that moment, staring up at him, your heart still pounding, you weren’t sure you cared.

—

Bucky quickly issued his orders: everyone was to leave but you. Sam and Steve moved without hesitation, grabbing a bloodied, barely conscious Iron Rat by the scruff of their necks and dragging them towards the exit. The metallic scent of blood lingered in the cold warehouse air, thick and rich, settling into your lungs with each breath.

Bucky didn’t watch them leave.

He stood with his back turned, broad shoulders taut, tension coiling through his body like a predator still primed for the kill. His suit jacket lay discarded on the blood-splattered table. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled to his elbows, the fabric marred with streaks of red. His hands—still wet with it—hung at his sides, fingers twitching slightly as if the violence hadn’t yet left his system.

You hesitated before moving, carefully stepping past the grotesque remnants of severed hands littering the floor. You focused on him instead, on the way his body seemed stretched too tight like he was waiting for another enemy to appear from the shadows.

Slowly, cautiously, you reached out, smoothing a hand over his forearm. The muscles beneath your fingers were rigid but warm, his pulse steady despite the chaos he’d unleashed.

“You showed them your hand,” you murmured, your voice soft and testing. “What will you do now?”

Your fingers traced a slow path up his arm, featherlight over the muscle, following the curve of his shoulder. When he didn’t pull away, you grew bolder, stepping around him until you stood before him. His face was speckled with blood; the scarlet splattered across his jaw and streaked along the bridge of his nose. His blue eyes, cold and unreadable just moments ago, stirred—just barely—as they settled on you.

“They needed to be taught a lesson,” he said simply, his voice still edged with the lingering embers of rage. A repetition of the words he’d spoken before.

You sighed through your nose, your hands splaying across his chest. His shirt was warm beneath your touch, the steady rise and fall of his breath grounding you. You pressed yourself flush against him, seeking—what? Comfort? Reassurance? An answer you weren’t sure you wanted?

“Yes,” you conceded, your voice quieter now, steadier. “But you’ve shown ‘em your hand.” 

Your fingers curled slightly into the fabric, gripping him, holding him there with you. “You’ve told ‘em another woman is close to you—other than your sister. One that commands enough of your attention for you to do this.”

His eyes flickered with amusement. “Ya scared, doll?”

“No.” The answer was immediate, instinctive—but the certainty of it wavered, even in your own mind. Was that really the truth? “I just want to understand why you’d expose a weakness like that.”

He snorted softly, his bloodstained hands coiling around your waist, holding you there. His grip was firm and possessive but not forceful. There was no threat in his touch, only something else, something deeper, something that made your stomach twist.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to hope. Maybe he would finally say something—something real. Something sweet. He always left you with vague declarations of ownership and lust.

Because he cared, he had to—right? No man would do what he had done tonight if he didn’t care. No man would make a spectacle of his violence, an open display of his wrath for the sake of a woman if she meant nothing? He had carved his rage into flesh and blood for you and left a message in the ruined bodies of those men. You mattered to him.

Didn’t you?

But when he finally spoke, his words weren’t what you wanted.

“You have your worth, spirit-raiser.”

A flicker of disappointment bloomed in your gut. You could have pulled away. Should have, maybe. But you didn’t because you needed something from him: reassurance, protection. Proof that he would stand between you and whatever enemies would inevitably come for you now that he had placed you in the centre of this war.

Perhaps tonight had been proof enough.

Conflict and confusion pressed heavily in your chest, warring with the heat between you.

Fuck Becca’s warnings.

There was something here, wasn’t there?

Your hand slid up, fingers ghosting over the rough stubble of his jaw. You cradled his face, pulling him closer. His breath was warm, tinged with the faint scent of whiskey and blood, and for a moment, you hesitated—just a moment—before pressing your lips to his.

Bucky responded instantly, like a man starved, his eager hands gripping your waist with a bruising intensity as if grounding himself in your presence. A sharp wince pricked at your ribs, but the hunger in his kiss quickly drowned it out. His lips moved against yours with fervour, rough and consuming, parting only to let his tongue sweep into your mouth, claiming and demanding. You melted into him, your body yielding beneath his, heat pooling low in your stomach as his touch ignited something primal in you.

He moved with purpose, guiding you backwards. His hands were restless, roaming up your spine, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your blouse, searching, craving skin. The cool air kissed your exposed flesh as he fumbled with your buttons, the urgency in his touch making his movements clumsy. You gasped into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his kiss as your own hands wandered lower, gliding down the firm planes of his chest. The taut muscle beneath his white collared shirt flexed beneath your palms, solid and unyielding.

His breath hitched slightly as you dragged your nails over the crisp fabric, feeling the faint thrum of his heartbeat beneath. You felt the shudder in his body as your fingers found the buttons of his vest, slipping them free with deliberate ease. Bucky���s hands found your breasts, moulding the soft flesh through your brassiere with a rough, needy grip, his thumbs sweeping over the peaks in slow, teasing circles. Your head tipped back, a breathy sigh escaping your lips as heat coursed through you.

The vest was discarded in a swift motion, tossed aside without care, and before you could fully react, Bucky’s strong hands lifted you effortlessly, hoisting you onto the cold metal of the production table. The chill of it sent a shiver through your body. Still, the heat between you and him was overwhelming, obliterating any thought. His body pressed between your legs, the hard line of him nestling against you through the fabric of your skirts.

His mouth devoured yours again, possessive and unrelenting, his teeth catching your bottom lip in a sharp, fleeting bite before his tongue soothed the sting. You whimpered quietly into his mouth. Clinging to him, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to earn a low groan from deep within his chest. His thumb grazed over your nipple, teasing through the lace, and your breath hitched.

The world beyond this moment ceased to exist. There was only Bucky—his touch, his breath, his desire pressed into your skin like a brand. And you welcomed it. Welcomed him.

You could already feel the hard length of him, pressing insistently against your inner thigh through the layers of fabric. His heat was unmistakable, searing even through the barrier of clothing, and a shiver rolled through you. The anticipation was unbearable. You reached for his belt, fingers nimble and eager—

But Bucky chuckled, low and deep, knocking your hands away with an easy flick of his wrist. His pupils were blown wide, dark pools of hunger that drank you in as you leant back on your elbows, your body sprawled out before him. His lips were swollen, slick with the mingled taste of you both, his breath warm against your skin. Your chest heaved, one breast exposed where he had tugged it free from your brassiere, the cool air sending a shiver through you.

“Greedy, ain’t ya?” he murmured, voice thick with amusement, but his touch was anything but teasing. His hand slid beneath the heavy fabric of your skirt, fingers dragging up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You barely had time to process the sensation before he grabbed the delicate waistband of your tap pants and tore them down your legs, the lace rasping against your skin as he wrenched them past your ankles and boots.

The discarded scrap of fabric landed somewhere on the warehouse floor, forgotten. His hands were already on you again, possessive, insatiable. You let out a low groan, head falling back as he trailed a digit through your wet slit, humming in delight as he found you already dripping with desire. “Don’t need an arousal potion for this, do we?”

You ignored his quip, instead wrapping your legs around his waist. He chuckled at you, rewarding your eagerness by pressing one of his digits into your cunt. You clenched around him with a whimper, hips rocking as you internally begged for more friction. 

“Let me hear your noises, doll.” Bucky commanded, his spare hand trailing up your thigh. You whined softly, bucking your hips once more in a silent plea. The gangster smirked down at you, pressing a second digit into you as you squirmed beneath him. 

“Please, Bucky.” You mewled, pulling him closer with the legs hooked around his back. He obliged, slowly pumping his fingers in and out. You could hear the squelching of your wetness, your body shuddering with impatience at the leisurely pace. 

“You want more?” He purred, teasing you with a quick flick of your clit with his thumb. You clenched around him involuntarily, a breathy gasp leaving your mouth as pleasure rocked up your spine, a new wave of electricity flooding your gut. 

You pushed yourself up, hands grasping his broad shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle beneath his shirt as you pulled your bodies flush. The heat of him seeped into you, intoxicating, overwhelming. Your mouth found the column of his throat, breath hitching as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to his exposed skin. His pulse thrummed beneath your lips, quick and heavy, and you traced it with your tongue, savouring the salt of his skin.

Bucky let out a sharp exhale as you dragged your mouth along his adam’s apple, teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh before sucking a bruise into his neck. His grip on your thigh tightened, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, but you didn’t care. You wanted them. You wanted him to brand himself into your skin the way he had branded himself into your mind.

“Please,” you breathed against his ear, voice hushed, desperate. Your tongue flicked along the shell, teasing, before you nipped at his earlobe, letting your teeth catch just enough to make him groan. “I need you inside me.”

The words sent a shudder through him, a growl vibrating deep in his chest. “Turn around, bend over the table. Now.”

Your head tilted, temple resting against the firm plane of his shoulder as you gazed up at him, your breath uneven. His fingers twitched inside you, a steady rhythm still building, each pump igniting a slow, unbearable heat in your core. A sharp gasp left your lips as pleasure twisted through you, your body tensing in response.

“My ribs—” you managed to gasp, wincing as the dull ache reminded you of your bruises.

Bucky stilled for a moment, a flicker of something soft crossing his face, a rare moment of tenderness blooming between the two of you. His breath was warm against your cheek as he considered your words, his free hand smoothing over your hip as though grounding you.

“You’ll be fine,” he murmured, low and reassuring, though the husk of his voice betrayed his restraint. “I’ll try to be gentle.”

Gentle. A rare promise from a man like him.

Then, just as quickly as he had stilled, he withdrew. A wet heat lingered in the absence of his fingers, and you shuddered, your walls clenching around nothing. A soft whimper escaped before you could stop it, your body betraying the ache of emptiness. You unhooked your legs from around his waist, knees wobbling as you moved, turning yourself around atop the table.

The cold metal kissed your stomach as you laid your front flat against it, one breast still bare from where he had pulled the fabric away. A shuddering breath left you, anticipation thick in your veins as you braced yourself against the surface, your hips lining up with the edge.

Behind you, you heard the sharp metallic clink of his belt buckle, followed by the slow rasp of leather sliding free. The head of his cock pressed against your slick opening, teasing but not quite entering. You whined into the table as his large hands stroked up the back of your thighs, gripping the flesh. 

“So wet,” he muttered. His voice was thick with hunger as he pushed your skirts up, bunching the fabric around your waist, leaving you utterly exposed to him. His hands trailed down, calloused palms smoothing over the curve of your ass before he spread you open, admiring the slick evidence of your need. “So good for me, huh, doll?”

A desperate whimper left you, your body shivering under his touch. You pressed your folded forearms beneath your chest, arching your back in an attempt to save your bruised ribs from the unforgiving metal table.

Then, at last, he pressed into you.

A gasp tore from your throat, your body instinctively tensing as he stretched you open. The intrusion was thick and slow, overwhelming at first, your cunt clenching down against the pressure of him. Your teeth sank into the flesh of your thumb, muffling the choked moan that threatened to spill free. Bucky cursed under his breath, withdrawing just enough before easing back in, working you open with slow, deliberate strokes.

“Ya like this, don’t ya?” His voice was low and strained, his grip tightening on your hips as he pinned you in place. The firm drag of him inside you sent sparks of heat flooding through your veins. “Like me claimin’ you? Like knowin’ I’d fuckin’ tear through them bastards just to keep ya safe?”

A broken moan left you, your body trembling against the metal. Your fingers curled into fists, nails biting into your palms as he set a steady rhythm, each thrust pressing you further against the table. The slick, filthy sounds of your bodies moving together filled the empty warehouse, the echo of skin meeting skin mixing with your ragged breaths.

Bucky groaned, his hands wrapping around your hips as he rocked into you harder, deeper, pulling you back onto him with every thrust. Your mind swam, the bruising grip of his fingers the only thing tethering you to reality.

“Tell me, doll.” His voice was rough, a demand wrapped in silk and sin. His hips snapped forward, driving into you so deep it left you gasping. “Tell me how much you want this.”

“Please—” The word came out in a small, needy sob, your voice trembling as pleasure coiled tight in your belly.

Bucky growled, a deep, guttural sound. One of his hands abandoned your waist, sliding up the length of your back before tangling in your hair. His fingers twisted into the strands, yanking your head back with a sharp tug. A strangled moan burst from your lips, your back arching instinctively. Your nails scraped against the metal table, searching for purchase as he fucked into you harder, faster.

The steady, brutal rhythm of his hips grew relentless. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure up your spine. A filthy symphony of desperate moans, ragged breathing, and the wet, obscene sounds of him driving into you echoed. Bucky groaned, the sound low and primal as he chased his release. His grip on your hip was vice-like, anchoring you in place as he pounded into you without mercy. You could only hope Sam and Steve weren’t lingering nearby to hear the sinful chorus of your pleasure.

A sharp cry tore from your throat as your body tensed, pleasure spiking hot and fast through your veins. Your legs trembled beneath you, knees nearly buckling as your orgasm coiled, threatening to snap.

Then he tugged your hair again, the sting mingling with the pleasure in a dizzying rush, and you came undone.

Your cunt clenched around his cock, a strangled moan ripping from your lips as your body spasmed beneath him. Stars burst behind your eyelids, pleasure flooding through you in rolling waves. Wetness dripped down your inner thighs, evidence of your release slicking his length as he fucked you through the aftershocks.

Bucky let out a deep, shuddering moan, his hips stuttering as he followed you into bliss. His grip on you tightened, his cock pulsing as he spilt inside you, filling you with hot, thick ropes of cum. He kept thrusting, his movements growing erratic, chasing the last remnants of pleasure as he wrung out every drop of ecstasy.

His fingers slowly uncurled from your hair, his grip loosening as the tension drained from his body. You collapsed against the table, breathless and spent. You lay motionless beneath him, allowing him to use you as he rode out the final waves of his release, his heavy breaths mingling with yours.

Gods, you were going to need to take an anti-pregnancy potion after this.

PART EIGHT

[mattsjuul]

GRAVITY. chris sturniolo

༣ summary: chris is on tour and misses his girlfriend .ᐟ ♡

༣ pairing: clingy!reader & tour!chris

༣ warnings: suggestive, just a cute lil oneshot tbh, pet names ( i think only one tho ), long distance ???? idk

༣ authors note ♡: ok i rlly didnt know what to do for this tbh i js wanted to write for chris lol!!!! this MIIIGHT get a pt 2 tho. so twoshot!

you stand in your kitchen, your mind constantly filled with thoughts of your boyfriend while he's off on tour. is he sleeping? maybe he's eating something. i hope he's enjoying it. is he gonna call me? isnt he in new york? thats three hours ahead. three whole hours. so if its six pm here then its... seven... eight.. nine. nine pm there? so is he asleep? i dont know if tour's got him sleepy. gosh. can he call me? i bet he looks so good right now. fuck. then your thoughts are interrupted by a very specific text tone. it's chris! "Hey" "R u busy imy" you read, causing you to almost start jumping for joy in front of your open fridge. although you do a little squeal instead. "definitely not" "call me im begging" you reply. "I like that" he replies, making you giggle to yourself. seconds later, your screen lights up with a picture of chris with a big smile holding your dear friend, madison, 's cat.

"well hellloooo" you answer with a smile far too big. "hey sexy" he smiles back just as much. "i've been waiting for this call" you admit. "yeah? you been thinking about me?" he asks in a cocky tone. but it was lowkey doing things to you. well. highkey. "you'd like that wouldnt you?" you ask. "yeah." he proudly says. "i was actually about to rub one out since im alone. show me your tits" he jokes. "don't tempt me" you giggle. "i mean.. you're free to do whatever you want. you're an adult with free will in your own home" he babbles on. you take a deep breath, honestly debating it. why not? he's seen them pleennttyy of times. more so, touched them plenty of times.

"ya' know." he interrupts your debating. "i've had lots of time to think. especially to think about you. and ya' know, we're never really apart for longer then a week. and it's made me realize that you really hold me down. i feel like i need at least one night with you every week to function. not like night.. i mean one sleep. i feel like it's made me sleep not so well. is that crazy? i'm not making sense. but then also, it'll be like 10 am here and i'll argue with nick or matt and i cant run to you. you'd be asleep and i dont want you to be upset the moment you wake up. i hate this seperation. i hate making you wait.. like what if you stop liking me before i get back. fuck. you're not hanging out with that actor guy you like, right?" he goes ooonnn n on. well boobs wouldnt be too appropriate right now. "okay.. no" you reply for starters. "and i dont think it's crazy. i get it. but you're veeeryyy cute for thinking all this. i love you chris. i miss you so much." i say. "i love you. can i see your boobs?" he asks, a giggle escaping your lips at his very stupid words.

yet you lift your top up, getting a shocked look from chris. "oh.. i like those.. a lot." he says, a big smile on your face as you shake 'em a little. "just.. stay there for a second" he says, seeing him moving around, clearly pulling his sweats down. "join me, yeah?"

a/n: ohhhhh em geeee.... idk if i like this tbh lol. but lmk if u want a part two w phone sex hehe. im sorry its so so short sad face.. i actually rlly liked writing this tho idk. yaaay hope u like :') ♡ lmk if there r any mistakes pls i didnt proof read!!!!!! (im in class..) 🐻‍❄️

[usahanahaki]

Love me in Ruin

[Trafalgar Law x Reader]

PROMPT: After being lovers, becoming enemies was easier than becoming strangers.

Synopsis: You're held hostage on your ex's ship, and the past you and he both supposedly buried resurfaces along with the feelings you both harbored.

Author's Note: Oh my god, a decade later and I finally got around to writing my first Trafalgar Law oneshot (might become a fic? idk). I've been so down bad for this man since I was in middle school lmao, and I've always wanted to write a lovers to enemies story for him. Please note that I gave the reader the epithet Titania (the first Law fanfic I ever read did this, and I wanted to pay tribute to that). Lastly, this takes place in Wano, so if you aren't that far yet, some things may not make sense. There are some slight? plot spoilers (but nothing major), just characters that may not be familiar if you're not at Wano yet.

Side Note: Wrote this while listening to the following songs on repeat: Disease by Lady Gaga, Crashing by d4vd (with kali Uchis), and TILT by Irene & Seulgi. If you don't mind listening to music while reading, I recommend putting these three on repeat.

Warnings/Content: toxic!exes, mentions of past betrayal, anxiety, co-dependency, spoonfuls of angst, not necessarily a happy ending?I don't actually know what this is; Law and reader are just doing what toxic exes do best: dancing around each other till one folds. Law and Reader match each other's freak. No smut (yet) just kissing and sensual touches. In terms of citrus scale, I think this is lime? Def not lemon lol

Roaming these halls once more, you were reminded of your place. Nothing but cold grey metal pipes, cold chilling vents, and cold grey doors adorned the walls. Letting your fingers trail the metal pipes lining the submarine, memories of the past of when you first boarded the Polar Tang played like a silent film in the confines of your mind. This is my home too, right Law?

God, reminiscing on the past was such a drug. Indulging in the sentiments and feelings left in those memories was so addictive. You're my home Law. It was hard to leave the mind, when rationally, the only happiness and safety you had left remained in the depths of those fleeting moments. I can't live without you Law. Indulgences after all, were meant to provide relief and temporary asylum from past transgressions. But this is reality, not the past. And in this reality, this very moment, survival is the only means of perhaps rediscovering happiness and safety.

But being back aboard the Polar Tang was anything but relieving. No, not like the past. This was not the home you once found safety and comfort in.

These walls, these floors, and halls closing in are enemy territory.

He knew you were here. He knew where you were. It was only a matter of time before the distance that he and you put between yourselves became zero. The rhythmic click of his heels against the metal floors that reverberated throughout the hall was a sound you were all too familiar with. Yet again, reality was not in alignment with expectations. That familiarity was completely null, and in its place, was the sound of your archenemy slowly approaching. 

You knew all too well that Law wasn't one to let his enemies come anywhere near his family, especially not after Corazon. And that principle once used to apply to you too. But this time, you are not a Heart Pirate. You are not family. Like an ancient curse, the words "you are no longer his family" were mentally and erratically repeated over and over. 

Once a confidant and once an equal, all that remained were past titles of what you and he once were. 

His languid movements, yet firm grasp on Kikouku only reaffirmed what you and he both knew. This was not the reunion either of you ever anticipated having. 

Law did not move from his position, and his face remained hidden in the shadows, but you didn't need the light to know the nuances of his expression. Brows furrowed and cold eyes that did not look upon you with the softness and love you once knew. This was the cold, sharp, and calculated demeanor that the seas and its inhabitants knew of the man that donned the title "Surgeon of Death". A terrifying man rumored to carry life and death in his palms like playthings stood before you.

"Lost already? I thought your time with the navy would have fixed your stupidity, Titania". 

You scoffed. "Rest easy, Surgeon. These halls are engraved in my bones." Your hands remained in your pockets, but the chilling numbness that slowly spread wasn't alone. Digging your nails into your palms proved useless in ceasing the tremors. They were muscle memory—reminders of what would inevitably come.

You spoke again, "Congratulations on defeating Doflamingo, Law. Kaido, sends his regards". Law took a step forward into the light. "If you're gonna tell a lie, you should at least try a little harder to sound more believable." "Oh but he does!", you mused, "After all," your eyes wandered back to the walls, before settling back on him, "he personally sent me to greet you. He knows just how much you miss me." 

The pounding of your heart, seemed louder and louder with each beat. Law smirked, "How kind of him." He continued to move towards you, his grip on Kikouku did not waver, and his eyes remained locked onto you. Standing before you, the time you both spent apart was clear. You were not the same person you were two years ago, and he was not the same man that once held your vulnerabilities with care.

The man that stood before you was the same one that ripped your heart out in exchange for becoming a Warlord.

His free hand slowly made its way to your jawline, fingers grazing your cheek before slowly caressing your face. His eyes roamed freely, carefully analyzing the vision before him, "You haven't changed." Your right hand trailed up Kikouku, then moved to envelop his clenched fist lovingly.

"Are you sure Law?", with your left hand, you swiftly pressed your thumb right under his lips and index below the chin, forcing him to look at you directly, "Why don't you take a closer look then." Your steel resolve was not lost on him; he knew what the consequences were when he made his decision to be a Warlord, and he stood by his decision. At least, that's what you told yourself.

What gears were turning in his head? What did he have planned? What was the purpose of you being aboard his sub? Much to your dismay, there were too many unknowns at play for this little game you and he had going on to continue. Right now, you were a hostage on an enemy ship playing hooky with your ex.

Getting back to Onigashima to report back to Kaido was your top priority at the moment. After all, he had ordered Bao Huang to summon you and the other members of the Tobi Roppo for a special announcement. Yet here you were, not in Onigashima, not with the Tobi Roppo, not present for the special announcement, but stuck with your ex on his ship.

Law sighed, before letting go of your face. "You might have changed Titania, but my feelings for you haven't". You scoffed. "You certainly have a funny way of showing it, Surgeon." "Oh? We're back to Surgeon? I liked hearing my name leave your lips," he leaned in close to your ear, "Maybe I should leave you singing my name again, hm?" 

Countless times under the moon’s piercing glow, Law repeatedly had taken all that you had to give and more. What was even left of you for Trafalgar Law to take? A man who hid his immense need for unholy retribution against a foe like Doflamingo from the rest of the world and to an extent, his own crew, was one that needed to be clinically studied. 

And the papers may have concentrated on the Strawhats' conquests in Dressrosa with brief mentions of Law's contributions here and there, but it didn’t take a genius to guess who was the mastermind methodically moving each piece in place for checkmate. 

Eyes remaining glued to his figure, you gently placing your hands flat above his chest, then let them glide down softly as you recommitted his tattoos and anatomy to memory. "Sorry to disappoint", hands stopping near his stomach, you hooked your index finger around the belt loop closest to his zipper, then pulled him in even closer with your eyes glaring back at him, "but my concerts are no longer exclusive to you, Law".

Oh you had his full attention now.

Law was no longer mentally multitasking between his plans and what to do with you. There was nothing left for him to mull over. He had claimed you many times before, and now? Well, the tally was about to increase once more. Hell, who knows maybe he'd take you over and over again until he got his fill. There were many who dared to wonder what the Surgeon of Death looked like beyond his steel exterior, but only you had managed to see the fragility that lay beneath it all. At least, that's what you had hoped.

Hell if you became privy to what the man's intimate life looked like after your once shared one ended. How revolting. The mere thought of another person engaging in the same intimate acts with him that you and he once shared, was enough to push you over the edge. It's fine, you half-heartedly told yourself. You lay your head gently on his chest, pressing your ear to hear his heart beat. He's alive.

You lifted your index finger, and dragged your nail across his bare skin down his chest, and his breath had run ragged, "You want me Law?"

Tilting your head up, you began to press light kisses into the side of his neck and smiled, "Earn me." 

He was in for it now.

[roonotrue]

Hi, for your one shot event, can I request GN or F reader 🪻🎁👿 with Malleus, please (hopefully I did it right)

~~~

General Masterpost

Events Masterpost 1

Requested From: Oneshot Request Prompts 5/29 (starts) - 6/19 (ends)

You did it perfectly homie! I've been itching to write a Malleus fic lately too, so I'm really glad I got a request for him!

I hope you like the fic- and for anyone who doesn't get the emoji's cuz you don't know the event but wanna read anyway- the prompt is 🪻Crush, 🎁Gifts & 👿Jealousy, and it's mostly 🌸fluff. Also kind of a birthday fic? I had an idea for this and just went for it- so I hope you enjoy!

~~~

"You know, you shouldn't worry so much, I'm sure the Prefect will like anything you give them!" Lilia assures the crown prince, but Malleus can't find it in himself to feel any less anxious about the small black box in his hands with it's Diasomnia green ribbon.

Lilia had recommended that for your birthday he give them something more simple than what he'd initially planned.

But with all the priceless gifts you have given him, how can he possibly settle for something 'simpler'? 

They weren't expensive or luxurious gifts- but they were something worth far more to him than material value alone. They were meaningful. Thoughtful, and quite often handmade. Gifts you gave him not for any special occasion or to garner his favor or earn something from him in return- but gifts that you got him simply because you saw and 'thought of him.'

To think that he runs through your mind enough that simply seeing a new flavor of ice cream at Sam's Mystery shop inspires you not just to buy it for him, but to try and learn to home-make ice cream yourself for him.

Such genuine care and kindness that is borderline non-existent here at Night Raven unless someone wants something in return, is worth so much more than anything he could buy you with money.

"I know they will, but that's what makes this so difficult. I don't simply wish for them to like my gift, I want them to adore it as I do all of their gifts to me." He sighs as he tucks the box into his coats inner breast pocket to give you later.

"THE HUMAN WOULD BE COMPLETELY FOOLISH TO NOT ADORE ANY GIFT GIVEN TO THEM BY THE GREAT LORD MALLEUS!" Sebek helpfully shouts from across the table where he sits next to a sleeping Silver- who slowly wakes at the freshman's yelling.

"Is it time to head to Ramshackle yet?" Silver asks as he rubs his eyes and Malleus shakes his head, but Lilia answers in more detail.

"Cater's supposed to message me when Ace, Deuce, and Grim manage to get them out of Ramshackle and into town so we can all go over and set things up. It shouldn't be long now. It's a shame Trey already baked everything for the party- I would have loved to try my hand at making some cupcakes for our dear prefect's birthday!" Lilia floats towards the kitchen fridge grabbing some tomato juice for himself and all three of them glance at each other as the elder's back is turned.

Malleus thinks over his choice of gift as Silver makes a sarcastic jab at Lilia for his cooking.

... He should have gotten them something more grand.

An elegant, jaw dropping gift that they would remember for the rest of their life.

Afterall Lilia also mentioned he, Diamond, and Viper combined had to fight tooth and nail to stop Al-Asim from buying you an entire parade for today, so he can only imagine the gift and or gifts the wealthy heir may have gotten you.

Malleus is no stranger to the fact that you have others that care very deeply for you here at Night Raven. Others with titles to their names and great fortunes to spend just like him, trying to ensure you have the best birthday possible today.

It's a good thing, and not at all a surprise to him. You have such a brilliant personality and heart, how could it not attract more attention than just his? Yet... He knows that it also means your attention will be torn between all of those attending this celebration of your life today.

How frustrating...

He needs to keep his mood light though- and his powers under control. The last thing he wants is to cause a thunderstorm on your birthday because of his frustrations at not having your sparkling eyes on him the entire event.

Taking a steadying breath he already made the decision days ago to give you a more extravagant gift during the party- he doesn't want to be outdone by anyone after all- and the one he's got resting in his pocket later.

Hopefully if he can get a moment alone with you- even if it's after the party.

He spends the whole walk to Ramshackle when Lilia finally gets the all clear from Diamond, and the entire two hours they spend decorating and setting the party up with the help of the other dorms, thinking.

Trying to plan a way to speak with you alone once the chaos of the party erupts.

"Oh! They're back on campus- ETA 10 minutes! Everyone get into place!" Cater suddenly shouts and everyone picks up the pace, quickly darting around to finish some last minute touches and then gathering in the common room.

He stands patiently in the back as everyone talks among themselves, the chatter turning to hushed whispers when they hear the front door being unlocked.

"It was nice getting of campus at least-" You turn the corner into the common area and every shouts.

"SURPRISE!" You nearly jump out of your skin at as the crowd of all your closest friends bombard you.

Malleus chuckles as he watches at a short distance way- letting you take your time to smile, laugh, and greet everyone one by one, pure joy lighting up your face at the realization of what they've all done.

A surprise birthday party.

It was Trappola and the little Direbeast who initially came up with the plan, but when they started expressing it to everyone else, it took far less effort than they apparently thought it would to get everyone onboard.

Malleus isn't sure why. You have done so much for everyone here at Night Raven, have been with them through so much- of course they would want to celebrate you. You celebrate their birthdays with them after all- granting them thoughtful gifts and going out of your way to make sure they have fun.

So of course everyone would want to do the same for you tenfold. Even Kingscholar put in some extra effort to help Clover carry baked goods over from Heartslabyul and decor from Pomefiore. Not without complaining, but still.

The party is quite rambunctious. The group of friends you've managed to acquire in your time here at Night Raven are as odd as they are impressive. A unique mixture of people that before would have ripped their own teeth out before being friendly with each other.

And now here they are, bickering lightheartedly and laughing and smiling just for you. So that you can be happy on a day just for you.

Everyone snacks on the baked goods made by Clover and some of the snacks and drinks brought by Ignihyde that Schoenheit is actively complaining about how they're unhealthy, while Viper and some others a preparing a proper fresh cooked dinner in the kitchen now.

"Hornton!" His head darts to you, an instant smile on his face when he hears you call him that silly and bold nickname of yours.

You're making your way to him, your second year friends breaking off into a conversation of their own as one of the Leech twins annoys Rosehearts and Kalim tries to keep Riddle from exploding at the teal haired man.

"Child of man. Happy birthday- and while you weren't the one to invite me per say, I am happy to be here nonetheless. Did you enjoy the surprise?" You smile brightly up at him- giving Al-Asim a run for his money (as much of it as he has), and he truly does start to understand the meaning of the phrase 'butterflies in ones stomach.'

"I loved it! I can't believe you all managed to pull this off- working together like this for me of all people-"

"You of all people deserve it the most, dear prefect." He interrupts, not daring to let them say a single thing to undermine themselves of the effect they've had on Night Raven as a whole.

Of the effect they've had on him.

"Oh- well, I'm glad you all think so... This is really nice, being able to celebrate with you all- though, though everyone keeps asking about me doing an interview like you guys had to do- Floyd wants to be the one to throw cake at me..." You laugh and Malleus chuckles as well, he forgot about that aspect of traditional NRC birthday celebrations.

"Well, I wouldn't mind witnessing your interview, though, I did wish to ask you if perhaps after the party, I might be able to steal your attention for a short moment alone?" He glances around before he asks the question, making sure no one else was listening in.

You tilt your head at him in curiosity- an adorable motion that he has to hold back a chuckle at.

"Of course! Can I ask why though?" You start and he opens his mouth to answer but-

"Prefect! Ortho brought some games over from Idia for you! We should totally play some of them!" Ace shouts from across the room, catching your attention and Malleus's glare.

"Oh, okay! You wanna come play too, Hornton? I can teach you to play." You offer but he shakes his head.

"I wouldn't wish to dull the mood by accidently breaking any of the controllers as I did last time I attempted to play a 'videogame' at Lilia's encouragement." He sighs still recalling his sour mood that day at being unable to comprehend the game Lilia was trying so hard to teach him and the crushed controller in his hands.

"Oh, well you can just come watch me play if you want?" You offer instead and he smiles softly.

"I would like that very much." He stands behind the couch as Howl, Sebek, and Felmier sit on the couch itself and you sit on the ground in front of the couch with your legs crossed, closer to the tv.

Trappola and Spade sit on either side of you while Grim makes himself comfortable sitting in your lap and the younger Shroud hovers by the arm of the couch. Lilia floats behind the couch next to Malleus, and the others gather around quickly as well when you start playing the game itself.

He isn't to focused on the screen though, the bright colors and fast pace game hurting his eyes. Instead his attention remains on you. He's glad you like the surprise party. He'd been skeptical about it when Lilia informed him about the planning of it, but seeing your delight from the moment you realized what they'd all done put to rest all of his worries.

However... As his eyes remain on you, he can't help but notice how the others give you similar looks of admiration and fondness. At some point, when you switch to a multiplayer game you and Trappola get into a playful shoving match trying to throw each other off and win.

Your laughter is infectious and all of your freshman friends join in on cheering you on, even Sebek chuckles a bit at Trappola's loud complaining of it all.

... Maybe he should try his hand at learning to play these 'videogames' again.

It takes far more effort than it should for him to get control of the foul envy burning in his chest, and to keep the clouds at bay outside.

He'll not ruin your party with bad weather from his poorly controlled emotions. That and it's not very dignified for him as a crown prince to be feeling this way to begin with. You are not just his friend. You weren't even his friend first. You were theirs. You've known them much longer, so he has no right to wish to tear your focus away from them.

And yet he does. He wishes very much to be the one your having so much fun with right now.

He turns his attention away from the scene, and instead wanders away to the kitchen to check on Viper. Perhaps helping him with his task will distract him from these stubborn feelings.

He ends up being tasked with setting the table- which he opts to do by hand. Normally he'd magically set everything up in a matter of seconds, but he wishes to take his time. Just until you finish playing games and he can attempt to capture attention again.

He shouldn't feel the need to- you've already agreed to speak with him later tonight, and yet his over a century of well practiced patience seems nonexistent today. He wishes to be by your side in solitude from the others now.

How shamelessly selfish of him.

He finishes with the table just as Viper finishes cooking and calls everyone to the incredible smelling feast. The Scarabian student truly is an excellent cook...

He tries to focus on said food as much as possible, and not the scene of you and Al-Asim praising Viper for his hard work, which turns into you teasing him for how embarrassed he becomes at said praise. Nudging him with your elbow, and patting his back in reassurance. Laughing with Al-Asim-

He almost shatters his glass of water in his hands when the wealthy ruby eyed heir hand feeds you one of the roasted vegetables from his plate.

He manages to place it back on the table in time, keeping his expression neutral and fist clenched in his lap under the table and out of sight. He closes his eyes for a brief moment to stop the thunder from roaring outside, but he cannot seem to banish the grey clouds that start to dim the sunlight.

He's grateful at least though that no one notices. Everyone is to distracted by their conversations amongst each other to notice the cloudiness outside.

After dinner Clover brings out the cake he'd made for you- which he politely declines a piece of, much preferring a simple bowl of ice cream instead. At least that helps lighten his mood.

And then you start accepting gifts. He doesn't pay much attention to what others give you throughout the exchanges.

He does, however, note that Kingscholar got you an expensive wooden chess board with wooden and gold gilded pieces, making a smug comment about teaching you to play properly, but not letting you win so easily.

Al-Asim got you an entire set of handcrafted gold and rare gem laced jewelry from the Scalding Sands- a luxurious gift that you accept hesitantly as Jamil stands behind him mouthing 'I'm so sorry.'

The sight makes him chuckle.

Schoenheit, almost predictably, got you an entire set of his favored, and very much expensive, skin, and hair care products as well as a promise to take you with him for a spa day soon.

Lilia gifted you a rare trinket from one of his travels to a distant land, Silver got you a quilt that according to your reaction, you've been wanting to buy from Sam's for some time now but didn't have the money too. Sebek got you a fiction book set- one that Malleus recognizes as a series of books by the same author on fae traditions, history, culture, and fairytales.

When it comes his turn to grant you his gift he carefully summons it, a small box then the one resting in his coat, but with a far more grand gift.

A sterling silver, rare Briar Valley gemstone encrusted brooch of the Draconia family crest, with a powerful protection blessing cast on it by his own hand to ensure your safety so long as you have it on your person wherever you go.

It also acts as a permanent invitation to the Briar Valley and the castle whenever they should so desire to visit him.

"I would welcome your presence anytime." He smiles as they instantly hook the brooch onto their dorm vest.

"This is incredible, Hornton! It's so pretty... Thank you- I'll wear it with me everywhere!" You vow and before he has time to process it, your arms are around his torso.

You hug him tightly and while he would like to return the favor, with his heart beating in his chest as rapidly as it is, he's not sure he'll be able to control his physical strength even the slightest bit. So instead he gentle rests his arms around your shoulders to reciprocate your remarkably bold act of affection.

"How very bold of you- you never fail to surprise me. I'm very glad you like it, child of man." He chuckles and hums as he lightly closes his eyes, cherishing every second of the hug before you pull away to get an earful from Sebek about your actions.

He spends the rest of the party beaming, counting the seconds as slowly, one dorm at a time, the guests take their leave as the party ends, with Diasomnia remaining last, having promised to clean everything up.

Mostly for the sake of Malleus being able to do so easily with the snap of a finger.

"Hornton! You wanted to talk to me alone right? Why don't we go for a walk while the others finish cleaning? Since they won't let me help." You pout a bit at your last words and he chuckles lightly.

"I would like that, prefect. Shall I lead the way?" He offers you his arm, and attempts to keep his heart from skipping a beat when you giggle and accept it, leaning into his side as he leads you outside.

The night air is cool and the stars and moon shine above- the sun having fully set nearly an hour ago.

"Did you have fun today, child of man?" He asks- already knowing the answer, but wanting to make sure anyway.

"I did. All of this... It was so nice of you all to surprise me like this- and all of your gifts were so generous and thoughtful... Really, all this effort just for me just feel like to much..." They admit with a gentle, tired sigh making Malleus look to them with a soft look and an even softer smile.

"To much... Child of man I dare say all of this isn't nearly enough to celebrate you and all of the happiness you've brought to us. To me. Perhaps I should have agreed more with Al-Asim on his parade idea?" He hums lightheartedly and chuckles at your wide eyed horror.

"Please no. I'd be so overwhelmed, and I'm pretty sure Jamil might actually walk into the ocean." You laugh nervously and he carefully pats your hand in assurance.

"Worry not, while I do believe you deserve everything this world has to offer, I will only grant you that which will make you truly happy. Or at least that which I hope will make you happy." He sighs wistfully, the weight of the small gift in his breast pocket growing every step he takes with you by his side.

"And that's already more than I could ever ask for... Thank you Hornton- for your gift, and just for being here. I was really glad to have you here today. This might just be the best birthday I've ever had." You squeeze his arm tighter and his eyes sparkle at your words, unable to tear his eyes away from you.

"It overjoys me to know that you value my mere presence so much. Most here at Night Raven do not..." He can't help but lean further into your touch, your warm presence perhaps the most comforting thing he's ever felt in his many years of life.

"Well, they're all foolish not to. You're a wonderful friend, Malleus." Your voice turns very serious as you say that, dropping the nickname for a moment to show as much, stopping in your tracks to look up at him.

And for a lack of better words, it makes him swoon.

"You have no idea how happy it makes me that you feel that way, and... I wished to speak with you alone because I have another gift I wish to give you- it's not as grand as my first, but... You bless me with the most wonderful hand crafted gifts and gestures that I wished to be able to return the favor." He brings a hand up to grab the wrapped box in his pocket and hand it to you.

Watching as you take it carefully from his hands like it's made of precious glass.

"Malleus, you didn't have to go out of your way to handmake me anything-"

"I wanted too. You mean more than you'll ever know to me, prefect. I wanted to try and show it with more than just an expensive gift, but with one I put as much time and effort into as you do for me." He reassures you and gestures for you to open it.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't nervous. He keeps a calm, content face, but his insides are fluttering again. It's not perfect, he knows it's not, but it's as good as he could get it.

"Malleus... Did you really make this yourself?" You murmur as you pull the black cord bound necklace from the box.

The cord had been difficult to tie without magic, but he'd seen you tie friendship bracelets by hand enough times for your friends that he simply knew he had to do it himself as well.

Still, that was the easy part in comparison to using pliers to wrap the silver metal around the sparkling green emerald to then tie the cord around. He kept breaking the pliers, and at one point even crushed the gem in his hand and had to select a new one from his personal horde.

Hence he had to settle for the less-than-perfect way the silver is coiled around the gem. It's still pretty in it's own right, if not a little uneven. Perhaps he should have chosen a more jagged crystal shard instead? It would have looked less out of place to have messy silver wrapped around it then the perfectly rectangular emerald...

"I did. It took more time than I planned, and I have a far greater appreciation for jewelry makers now." He murmurs, almost more to himself than to you and you chuckle at the words.

"It's beautiful... I think I'll wear this everyday too." You smile, putting it on, the cord long enough to slip over your head and onto your neck.

"Then it's brilliant that you look beautiful wearing it." He sighs at the sight of you.

You look perfect. You always do to him, but wearing both the necklace and brooch he got for you, stars and moonlight casting an ethereal glow around you... He's half a mind to confess right here and now, but...

Not yet.

He's still waiting for his grandmothers response to the letter he sent her about wishing to court you, and while he plans to do so with or without her permission, it would be much easier for both of you to have it.

For now, simply admiring the slight flush that rises to your cheeks at his words is enough.

"I must admit, child of man, I have spent much of today stewing in envy." He confesses that at least and you perk up, eyes wide and head tilting in that adorable way it does.

"Envy? Why on earth- or well, why in wonderland I suppose- would you be envious, Hornton?" You ask him and he takes a small step closer to you.

"You've gathered quite the collection of close friends, prefect. All of which vie for- and even require your attention constantly. With all of them in attendance today, I found myself selfishly wishing to be in their place several times throughout the evening." He explains and your face softens, smiling up at him so very fondly.

In a way no one's ever looked at him before- not even Sebek for all the boy's loud admiration for him.

You reach forward, carefully intertwining your fingers with his, holding his hand as if it was made of glass.

"Oh, trust me, Malleus. No one could ever have my attention the way you do."

...

Maybe he doesn't need to wait for his grandmothers response after all-

~~~

Word Count: 4,031-ish

So this was about a 1,000 words longer than I planned it to be, but, eh, the inspiration just hit for this on, and I'm pretty proud of it. I hope you all enjoyed, and I'll get the next request out in a day or two! ~ Roo

[jessesluvr]

Hi I'm so glad you're here!! I haven't read all of your work yet but it's amazing and please keep writing love u!!!💞💞

Okeyyy, so I thought maybe you could do something like this where the reader is Tommy's daughter not biologically but she came into his life (like Ellie and Joel) before he came to Jackson and before he met Maria he was still clinging to Joel then. But after a few years in Jackson we got used to the rules of this place, we go on patrols and help with every task and we are even good snipers just like Tommy. But Reader is in love in jesse from the beginning, she was always afraid to talk to him about it but because Jesse gets along well with Tommy and started being a member of the council she had the perfect places to watch him from a distance, but everything changes maybe on patrol or when they left to Seattle (after Joal's death to find Ellie and Dina) or simply Tommy giving them a work. that's yours now, I haven't read all of your works so I apologise if you've already written something like that byeee 💞💞

in the silence after | jesse x reader

author's note : holy moly ! this is by far the longest oneshot i've written so far. my fingers are gonna fall off. but that also could be because all i've had is an energy drink lol. i hope you all enjoy! tysm for requesting. i will be writing fluff after this. ps. i love you most!! take care of yourself! <3

summary : as tommy’s adoptive daughter and a skilled sniper in jackson, the reader has always quietly loved jesse from afar—until a violent ambush at the theater forces her to confront just how much she stands to lose. after dragging jesse home wounded but alive, she stays by his side through every step of his recovery, and amid grief and healing, they finally admit what’s always been in their hearts.

word count : 3.6k

the first thing you remember is the rain.

that night, it came down in sheets — cold enough to soak through your coat, cold enough to make your teeth chatter so hard you bit your tongue bloody. the empty road stretched out like a scar in the earth, buildings crumbling to either side, bones and rust in every doorway.

you hadn’t eaten in two days. you’d stopped counting hours. your last bullet had been spent three towns back; your knife was dull and chipped from too many cracks in too many skulls.

and the sound behind you — low and wet, not human anymore — it had been following you since dusk.

you were thirteen. maybe fourteen. the years had blurred, smeared into a shapeless smear of hunger and running and cold. you didn’t know how long it had been since kansas city burned. since your family had died. since your name had stopped feeling like it belonged to anyone.

by the time you reached the gas station — sagging roof, shattered windows, the stench of old fuel and rot — your legs barely carried you. you stumbled inside and bolted the door behind you, ribs aching with every breath.

it wasn’t safe. you knew that. nothing was safe. but you needed one hour, just one, to breathe. you crouched behind the counter, knife trembling in your grip, heart pounding like it would crack your chest open. and that’s when you heard his voice.

low. calm. tired. 

“c’mon out.”

you froze. the voice came again—edged with weariness, not threat. “ain’t here to hurt you. i heard you runnin’. betcha you ain’t armed much either.” slowly, shaking, you peeked over the counter.

a man stood in the doorway — rifle slung over one shoulder, wet hair plastered to his brow. his beard was thick, shot with gray. his eyes looked washed out with exhaustion. but not cruel. not hungry. the man crouched down, palms open. his voice softened.

“name’s tommy. ain’t gonna hurt ya. you alone?”

your throat burned. no words came. you just nodded.

tommy’s gaze flicked over you—the blood on your sleeves, the ragged cut on your temple, the bruises blooming along your arms. his mouth tightened. “aw hell,” he muttered. “c’mere. we gotta move.”

when you didn’t move, he reached out—not fast, not grabbing. just offering a hand. you stared at it like it might vanish. but something, some scrap of instinct deeper than fear, made you reach. your fingers brushed his. rough. warm. solid. tommy helped you to your feet.

“you got a name, kid?”

the words caught in your throat. you hadn’t said it in months.

“...(y/n),” you rasped. he nodded once. “alright, (y/n). let’s get the hell outta here.” and you did. 

the months that followed blurred.

tommy didn’t talk much at first. neither did you. he had that look—the same one you’d seen in too many other survivors. like something inside had been ripped out and never replaced.

but he didn’t leave you behind. not once.

through forests, across rusted bridges, through towns choked with cars and bones, tommy kept you close. if you lagged, he slowed. if you flinched from a sound, he checked it first.

and when you were too tired to walk, too sick to hold your knife steady, he carried you.

he taught you how to shoot. first with a battered old pistol, then with a rifle longer than your arm.

“breath steady,” he’d say. “don’t yank the trigger. squeeze it. like you’re lettin’ it go.”

the first time you hit a can dead-center, tommy ruffled your hair, a small smile ghosting across his face.

“hell of a shot, (y/n).”

your chest swelled. no one had praised you in... years, maybe.

and every night, when the fire crackled low and tommy would fall into a restless sleep, you’d hear him mutter a name — joel.

you didn’t ask.

you didn’t need to.

you could see it in the way tommy’s gaze always drifted west. in the way he would wake some nights gasping, clutching for a rifle that wasn’t there.

joel had been everything to him.

and now, somehow, you were too.

by the time you reached jackson, you weren’t the same girl who’d stumbled into that gas station.

your coat was patched. your hands were steady on a rifle. you could spot an infected from three hundred yards out through the scope tommy had given you.

and when tommy introduced you to maria, his voice didn’t waver.

“this is (y/n),” he said. “she’s... my daughter.”

maria’s smile was warm. real.

you didn’t know what to say.

but when she pulled you into a gentle hug and said, “you’re safe here,” something broke in your chest.

safe.

you hadn’t been safe since the world ended. you stayed. and slowly, brick by brick, you built a life. patrols became routine. you trained harder, pushing yourself to outshoot even the older scouts. tommy gave you your own rifle, a beautiful bolt-action with a scope so clear it felt like cheating. “you’re better with this than anyone i know,” he said one crisp morning, watching you drop three targets at 400 yards.

you smiled—a real one, this time.

“i had a good teacher.”

that was when you noticed him.

jesse.

tall, sure-footed, always half-smiling. the kind of person who looked like the world hadn’t chewed him up and spit him out. the kind of person who could still laugh. at first, you told yourself it was nothing. a crush. stupid. but every time you crossed paths — every time you caught him grinning at dina, or leaning in close to talk with tommy during council meetings — something in your chest twisted.

you wanted to be near him. you wanted to hear that easy voice, that laugh that felt like sunlight in the gray of jackson. but every time he looked your way, really looked, your throat locked up.

you were tommy’s girl. the sniper. the quiet one. you couldn’t... risk it. couldn’t risk jesse seeing how much you wanted something as fragile as his attention. 

so you watched.

from across the mess hall. from the catwalk above the council chamber. and through your scope, when jesse would spar with the younger recruits in the courtyard. you told yourself it was enough.

it had to be.

you weren’t there when joel died. you were halfway to lookout point with a broken scope in your pack when the call came in. the radio static was sharp, frantic. you ran. by the time you reached the gates, tommy was already on his horse, face white as bone.

he didn’t speak.

didn’t need to.

the look in his eyes said everything.

joel’s body lay cold. blood pooled beneath him, seeping into the wood grain. ellie knelt beside him, shaking, her voice hoarse from screaming. tommy stood frozen in the doorway, gun trembling in his grip. you sank to your knees beside him, hand on his arm.

“tommy,” you whispered.

nothing.

you felt it, even through his jacket — the way his muscles quaked, the way his breath came in shallow bursts. when ellie’s cries broke the silence — a sound so raw it barely sounded human — tommy finally moved.

he holstered the gun.

walked over to joel.

and knelt.

he stayed there for hours.

you stayed with him.

the days after blurred.

funeral. silence. more silence.

ellie was gone. dina too.

no one knew where.

tommy drank.

you caught him at the old lookout tower two nights later, a bottle in his fist, rifle at his side.

“you shouldn’t be here,” you said softly.

he didn’t look at you.

“you need to come home.”

his voice cracked: “i can’t. not without him.”

your throat burned.

you sat beside him, leaning against the cold metal.

“he wouldn’t want you to do this,” you said. “you have me. i need you.”

tommy flinched.

but when you reached for his hand, he didn’t pull away.

when word came that ellie had gone to seattle, tommy changed.

steel hardened behind his eyes.

“i’m going after her,” he said.

you didn’t argue. you were already packing. jesse found you in the armory. “you’re going too,” he said, not a question. you nodded. he stared at you a long moment. “you always did follow tommy,” he said, trying for a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

you looked away. but when you shouldered your pack, jesse’s voice came softer. “...come back safe, (y/n).” your heart caught.

“i will. you too.”

something flickered in his gaze — something you couldn’t name. and when he offered his hand, you took it. held it a moment longer than you meant to.

then you both let go.

seattle smelled like rot.

rot and smoke and rain.

you’d been in the city three days.

three days of crouching through flooded streets, weaving between crumbling buildings tangled with ivy, listening for the telltale clicks of infected echoing off concrete.

three days of tommy moving like a ghost ahead of you, his grief wrapped around him like a second skin.

three days of jesse staying close—too close, sometimes—voice low in your ear:

"careful." "step there." "on your left."

every time he touched your arm, just a brush of fingers to guide you past a wire trap or across slick stone, your heart kicked so hard it made you dizzy.

you told yourself it was just the adrenaline. you knew it wasn’t.

the first fight nearly killed you. you’d taken point, rifle up, covering a long stretch of flooded freeway. the clicker came out of nowhere, rising from the water like some rotted nightmare.

you fired. missed.

it lunged.

you stumbled back, breath ragged, knife flashing too slow—

then jesse was there. a blur of motion. he tackled the thing sideways, blade sinking deep into its throat. rot burst out with the stink of death, and jesse dragged you both down behind a rusted car as the rest came.

your hands shook as you reloaded.

jesse pressed close beside you, voice hoarse.

“you good?”

you forced a nod.

he caught your chin with blood-slick fingers, turning your face toward his.

“look at me.”

your breath caught.

you looked.

his eyes were dark, fierce. not angry, afraid.

not for himself.

for you.

“i’m good,” you whispered.

slowly, he let you go.

but that look stayed with you the rest of the day.

night fell.

you camped in the shell of an old bookstore — second floor, windows boarded, the rain hammering outside.

jesse took first watch.

you pretended to sleep, lying on your side, watching him through half-closed eyes.

he sat near the window, rifle across his lap, shoulders hunched.

and when he thought you were asleep, he whispered:

“...don’t get yourself killed, (y/n).”

the words were so soft they barely reached you. but they landed hard. your fingers curled tight around the worn strap of your pack. he cared. more than you’d let yourself believe. more than you’d let yourself hope.

the days blurred after that. rain. mud. blood.

every time you fought, jesse was there. at your back. at your side. grabbing your wrist and hauling you to safety when your foot slipped. shouting your name when a runner came too fast.

once — in a flooded stairwell, your leg pinned under a broken beam — jesse had cut his hands raw freeing you. he hadn’t hesitated.

not once.

later, when you tried to thank him, voice rough with shame, he’d just touched your face — thumb brushing a smear of dirt from your cheek. “no need,” he said softly. “we’ve got each other.” your heart had nearly split in two. you almost told him then.

almost.

but the words caught in your throat like broken glass.

so you said nothing.

and neither did he.

the theater smelled like dust and sweat and fear. tommy, jesse, and you all huddled around the map. ellie stepped out from behind the curtain. “where are you goin’,” tommy asked. “needed to get some air,” she replied. “they got what they deserved—” tommy started saying. “but she gets to live,” ellie spewed out. 

tommy sighed, “yeah.. is that okay?”

“it has to be.”

“i’m going to go pack the duffles,” tommy said, walking through the endless rows of seats in the empty theatre. the door clicking shut behind him. 

jesse moved—his hand found yours. you startled—then squeezed back, hard. his voice came low, for you alone: “i’m not going anywhere.” your throat closed, you glanced at him, saw the raw promise in his eyes. “i can’t lose you,” you whispered. “you won’t,” he said. simple. certain. like he believed it.

you wanted to.

“hey,” he murmured. “sit.” you shake your head and just lean against the stage, back to the curtain. the wood was cold through your jacket. but jesse’s thigh pressed warm against yours. and for a heartbeat, you could breathe.

jesse took a moment before he turned his attention to ellie, “how are you doing?”

“fine.”

“ellie,” you say, as you reach to touch her arm, but hesitate. “fine,” she said, turning her attention towards you and jesse. “thanks for coming back for me.” ellie said as she let out a sigh. “my friends’ problems are my problems,” jesse said fiddling with his fingers. you hummed in agreement, “we just want what’s best for you ellie, we have your back.” 

“you guys are such saps,” ellie said giving a small smile. you gave her a small, light punch to the shoulder. “okay, how about.. my own friends can’t get out of their own damn way?” jesse replied. ellie nodded, “that’s better.”

jesse turned to you—his voice steady, warm, grounding, “soon,” he whispered. “we’ll be home soon.” you turned to him. smiled, small and aching. “promise?” he grinned, soft around the edges. “yeah. promise.”

you wanted to kiss him then.

you would’ve.

it was silent for just a mere moment before all that was heard were the sounds of tussling and a muffled grunt. jesse, ellie, and you all looked at each other, ellie muttering a “shit!” before you all were racing to the door tommy had went through. 

jesse was first.

bang.

jesse jerked against you—breath catching in his throat.

“fuck—!” 

blood burst from his shoulder, bright against his shirt. you caught him as he stumbled back, pulling him hard behind the broken seats. your rifle clattered to the floor. 

“jesse—no—no no no—”

he gritted his teeth, breath shallow.

“shoulder—just the shoulder—”

you pressed your hand to the wound, desperate.

his blood soaked your palm.

“stand up! hands in the air or i shoot this one too,” abby’s voice—raw and jagged with fury. another shot cracked the air, her gun now fixated on tommy. 

around you, chaos erupted:

ellie screaming. tommy groaning, yelling at ellie to get you three to safety. 

you curled tighter around jesse, voice shaking. “stay with me. stay with me.”

his fingers brushed your cheek—weak, trembling.

tears burned your eyes, “i can’t lose you—”. jesse’s grip tightened, a flicker of strength. “you won’t,” he whispered.

another gunshot.

you flinched, shielding him with your body.

“i’ve got you,” you choked. “you’re not leaving me. you’re not.”

ellie’s voice rang out, raw and furious. abby shouted back.

but all you heard was jesse’s ragged breath in your ear.

when the fight shifted, abby moving for tommy, you seized your chance.

“hold on,” you whispered. grabbing jesse under his good arm, you hauled him toward the stage wings — step by agonizing step. he hissed in pain but didn’t fight you.

didn’t let go.

neither did you.

behind the curtain, hidden in the shadows, you collapsed with him against the old wood. your hands shook as you checked the wound — bleeding, but not fatal. not yet.

“you’re okay,” you whispered, voice breaking. “you’re gonna be okay.”

jesse’s gaze locked on yours — dark with pain, but steady. “i’m not leaving you,” he whispered. and somehow, through the terror, you managed a broken laugh. “good,” you said. “because i’m sure as hell not leaving you.”

the sounds of the fight roared and faded around you—like waves crashing, distant and unreal.

you pressed your forehead to his, both of you trembling. “i love you,” you whispered again — a vow now, not a confession. jesse’s lips brushed yours — soft, fleeting, everything. “i love you too,” he breathed.

and when the next shot rang out, you shielded him with your body again, teeth bared. 

the rest was a blur, too busy focused on keeping you and jesse safe. minutes felt like hours, you’re unsure how long it had been but all you knew was jesse needed help. 

you finally heard a call of your name, motivating you to call out for ellie. the makeshift bandage around his shoulder was soaked through. but his eyes were clear now.

alive.

“fuck,” ellie whispered. “fucking... fuck.” her voice cracked. you looked over, saw her shoulders shaking. you wanted to go to her. but your arms wouldn’t let go of jesse.

couldn’t.

jesse’s fingers curled weakly around your wrist. “check on her,” he rasped. you blinked. “not leaving you.”

“i’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, managing a ghost of a smile. “go.” you hesitated. then squeezed his hand, pressing a kiss to his temple. “two seconds.”

you crossed the stage, boots whispering against the boards. knelt beside ellie. her breath came in sharp, ragged pulls. “hey,” you said softly. she didn’t look up. “they almost killed us,” she whispered. “she almost killed jesse—”

her voice broke. you reached out, rested a shaking hand on her back. “i know.” ellie lifted her head, eyes bloodshot and wild. “jesse—”

“he’s alive,” you said firmly. “she didn’t take him.”

ellie’s gaze flicked past you—to where jesse leaned against the pillar, pale and panting but watching her with tired eyes. a sound tore out of her, half-sob, half-laugh. “i’m sorry,” she choked. “i dragged you both into this—” you caught her face in your hands, gentle but unyielding.

“stop.” she blinked. “this wasn’t you,” you said. “and we’re not leaving you behind. got it?” ellie stared at you: broken, furious, guilty. then nodded. a tear slipped free. you wiped it away with your thumb. “let’s go home,” you whispered. 

the gates of jackson loomed like a promise you didn’t dare believe. snow dusted the walls. torches burned against the fading dusk. the ride back had been a blur — jesse slumped against you in the saddle, breath shallow but steady.

your arms around him, holding him up. holding him here. every beat of his heart against your ribs had been a small, desperate victory. you’d counted each one.

you still were.

maria met you at the gates—grim-faced, eyes shining when she saw who you carried. “you’re back.” alive. not whole. but alive.

they rushed jesse to the infirmary. you followed, wouldn’t be pushed back, sat through the hours of stitching and bandaging with your fists clenched, your heart lodged somewhere behind your ribs. when they finally let you near him, he looked pale and drawn against the stark white of the sheets.

but his eyes opened when you touched his hand. and he smiled. “you kept me alive,” he whispered. you choked on a laugh. “damn right i did.” you pressed your forehead to his. “i’m not ready to lose you yet.”

his fingers tangled weakly in yours. “you won’t.”

the first few days were the worst. fever. pain. you barely left his side, slept in a chair by his bed, hand always on his arm so he’d know you were there.

when the nightmares came, you held him through them.

when he woke shaking, you whispered him back to calm.

maria brought food. tommy came and sat sometimes—didn’t say much, just presence, solid and grieving in his own quiet way. ellie came once, stood awkward and hollow in the doorway.

“i’m glad you made it,” she said softly. you nodded. she looked at jesse, something unreadable in her eyes, then at you. “i’ll see you both later.” she left without another word.

bit by bit, jesse got stronger. you changed his bandages with trembling fingers: careful, precise, hating the way his breath hissed when you touched too close to the wound. “i’m sorry,” you whispered every time. and every time, he caught your wrist—kissed your palm. “stop apologizing. i’m here. with you.”

when he was strong enough to sit outside, you wrapped him in blankets and led him to the orchard behind the lodge.

you sat together on the bench beneath the bare trees — snow drifting softly around you. jesse leaned into your side, warm and solid. your hand in his. neither of you spoke for a long time.

then, voice low and rough, he broke the silence, “i thought i was done.” your throat tightened. “so did i.” jesse turned—met your gaze, dark eyes shining. “but when you dragged me away... all i could think was—i wanted more time with you.”

you swallowed hard. “there is more time,” you whispered. “i’m not letting you go.” he smiled, slow and aching. “good. because i love you.”

the words knocked the breath from your chest. you cupped his face, thumb brushing the stubble on his jaw—and kissed him, slow and deep and full of every heartbeat you’d feared might stop. when you pulled back, your forehead rested against his. “i love you too,” you whispered.

later, back inside, you tucked him into bed — kissed his temple — sat close as he drifted toward sleep. you looked at jesse — pale but breathing. fingers tangled with yours even in sleep.

you hadn’t lost him.

not yet.

and you’d fight every damn day to keep it that way.

[unholyhelbig]

will you do werewolf!kate again? :3

Title: All Mine. All Mine. All Mine. [A Once Bitten, Twice the Idiot Oneshot]

Summary: Three Years into your stay at the compound, both you and Kate decide to take it to the next level. But the choice has some consequences that you weren't quite prepared for.

Trigger warnings[18+]: Fingering (r receiving), Edging (if you squint), biting, marking, claiming, A/B/O (If you squint, it's a werewolf story come on), slight overstimulation, shovel talks, mentions of drunk driving, death, cannon typical violence, horrible grammar- I don't proofread.

[A/n:Hell yeah you can have more! This is probably a little spicer than you wanted but it's been in my drafts for awhile and it's about damn time they fucking did this. Plus I've had a hard day, so they fuck nasty.]

Read the Full Series:

[Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six, Part Seven]

Her nose was glacier cold against the nape of your neck, exploring the expanse and breathing in the scent that lingered there. Kate had nipped the skin before, but didn’t quite bite down the way she wanted to, the way that every cell in her body screamed and pleaded for her to. She held herself over you, reveled in the way you pushed yourself closer, arched to feel her warmth with each desperate inhale.

“Katie, please.”

She smiled into your throat, you sounded so breathless, hand splayed against Kate’s chest, fingers curled just enough to create the slightest bit of sting. Kate shifted her knee and centered it against your core, drawing a moan from your lips. A perfect, beautiful moan that she wanted to hear over and over again until the day she died.

You grabbed her chin, directed her hazy eyes to your own, muzzy and glazed over but not too far gone, not just yet “Stop teasing, for the love of God, just fuck me.”

“Oh baby,” Kate mocked you, jutting out her lower lip “I don’t think you’re in the position to make demands right now.”

A frustrated and animalistic growl escaped you as you attempted to grind down on her clothed knee. It didn’t’ satiate a thing, not like you wanted it to. Kate silenced any further protests with another kiss, all teeth and tongue and licking hungrily into your mouth. It did the trick. Really, she was quite the expert with her tongue, and her fingers started to wander below the elastic waistband of your pants, making your stomach flutter in anticipation.

Kate wanted to bite you. God did she want to bite you. Of course she’d done it before. Multiple times in multiple places. It sent a rush through her in a way she couldn’t’ describe. You were hers and though the rest of the house knew that just by your intertwined scents, there was something invigorating about the temporary markings.

She didn’t’ want it to be temporary. She wanted to latch her teeth onto that one tender spot that meant more than that. The one her wolf knew claimed you as hers forever. Something that worked almost as a ring did for humans. Hell- Kate would get you a ring too. She’d get you a million rings. She’d get you anything your heart desired if it elicited delicious noises like the one that just rumbled through you when she swiped two fingers through your wet folds.

“Oh… fuck”

Your nails started to drag up her back, nose now in the crook of her neck, breath molten against a forbidden expanse of skin. You pulled her tighter against you as Kate slipped seamlessly into you. You couldn’t possibly get any closer to her, but you tried nonetheless as she fucked into you, slow and steady and sensual.

“K-Kate, shit, just like that.” You panted timidly “I need,”

“What baby?”

There was no uptilt to her voice this time. She’d cave in a second to whatever demand you purred out. Kate would drop to her knees in a second. She’d worship and kiss across every inch of your body. She felt you clench around her, mewl then swallow roughly as if building up to something. She knew you were close.

“Bite me, mark me.” You dug your nails in deeper. Kate stilled her movements, her chest heaving up and down in stuttered pants as her eyes softened from primal to something of wonder. She stared down at you, slightly pointed teeth glinting in the low-light of the waning moon. “Make me yours, I… fuck, Kate. I want this.”

“You’re…” She hesitated, that goofy grin that you loved so damn much on her face, strands of sweaty hair falling into her slate stare. “Not just saying that because I’m edging you right?”

“You’re edging me?”

“Was going to.”

“Well forget I said anything,”

Kate curled her fingers, and you whined, dragging your fingers across her chest, leaving pink marks raised across her collarbone. “Not something you can walk back on, darling. Those are some big words.”

You ghosted your lips against the sharp cut of her jaw, hot and tantalizing enough to raise goosebumps against every inch of Kate’s body. She shuddered against you, felt your devilish smile at her reaction , her fingers pumping slowly in and out of you, making your words wobble “Good thing I don’t want to walk back on it, Ah-”

Kate was robbed of your brilliant stare once more in exchange for a breathy, wonderous exhale. Your damp breasts pushed against the plush fabric of her bra. You’d voiced in the past how frustrating it was when you were nude and she was mostly clothed. A severe disadvantage for you to get your paws on her skin. But it gave Kate all the more opportunity to tease you.

“Can’t go back if I do this, baby.” Kate dropped her head back onto your shoulder. Your scent was so sweet, so primal. She felt an ache in her jaw, your wetness soaking into the sheets, sticky around her fingers and across your thighs as she worked you closer to pure bliss, adding a third finger. “You’re mine forever.”

“Wanna be yours.”

Kate could hear your own words slurring with lust, but more than anything, she knew what you sounded like when your teeth became too crowded for your mouth. When your wolf wanted something to bite into. Namely her. When your eyes shot back open, they were a deep and primal yellow, so golden they reminded Kate of the sunset, of hellfire.

Kate’s voice was a snarl “Say it again.”

“I want to be yours forever.”

Her breath quickened, a thrill rushing through her. Kate rewarded your obedience, brushing her thumb steadily over your swollen clit. Your breath pitched as you pressed into her. Kate knew you were getting closer, knew your tells. You were shivering underneath her, hands traveling from a desperate grip on her back to a gentle caress on her sides. Switching tactics from begging to coercing and pouting out of needy abandon.

Kate felt the saliva fill her mouth, licked a stripe across your collarbone and stopped right at the salted strip that she wanted to claim the most. She sped up, nipped lightly. She had to bite you first. But true to her nature, she dragged it out in an infuriating way.

It was embarrassing, the way you whined for her. “Katie, please.”

She smiled devilishly, so close and hot against the nave of your neck, before an even more delicious sensation filled out. The moan that you were meant to release died in your throat. Your orgasm ripped through you as you clenched around Kate’s fingers, her teeth sharp enough in your shoulder to touch bone.

There was no pain, only pleasure. So much pleasure you figured you were about to black out. Kate hummed happily into your shoulder, the heat of your blood spilling against the pillow combined with the rush of your slick against Kate’s palm was pure bliss, something she worked you diligently through.

Your body worked on instinct then. Over the combination of your heartbeats and the loud inner howl of the beast inside of you, you dug your own sharpened teeth into the expanse of unmarked skin between Kate’s neck and shoulder.

All mine. All mine. All mine.  

The mantra was loud, almost deafening. The taste of Kate’s blood was sweet, so spiced, against your tongue. She trembled, moaned so sultry as your teeth sunk in. A blanket of understanding swept over you both, feelings so comforting and complete. As if two halves were melted together after resisting one another for centuries.

Kate released her bite, smoothing her tongue over the puncture marks in an effort to quell the sting. It was an instant balm. You groaned when her fingers were pulled from you as gently as she could manage, your noises muffled by her shoulder as you cleaned her own wounds with your tongue.

Primal. Instinct. You wanted so badly to care for her.

Her sweaty forehead pressed against yours as the two of you caught your breath. Covered in sweat and slick and blood. It was late into the night, and you were beyond thankful that Steve had splurged for soundproofing on the walls. Kate seemed to be thinking the same thing, both of you bursting into a fit of giggles, your hands moving to hide your face.

“Oh no, sweetheart. No getting shy on me now. You were just licking my shoulder a second ago.” Kate flopped onto her designated side of the bed with a groan. She had a dopey grin on her face as if she were the one who just got brought to orgasmic bliss.

A hum escaped you, eyes darting to the mark on Kate’s shoulder. It looked fresh in the pale moonlight. Pride filled your chest at the sight of it. You’d branded her, claimed her just as she’d done to you. You’d read about this over and over again in the library. The books were always at your disposal but there was nothing like this feeling. This rush of adrenaline.

You were eternally Kate’s, and she was eternally yours. Your wolves were intertwined. Your scents would mingle and your pulse’s would synch. She’d know when you were hurt and vice versa. There was a thrill to it. To knowing one another so intimately.

“God, you’re so beautiful.” Kate’s eyes were glossed over, an orange tint to them. “And mine. My girl.”

You curled into her side carefully, hand stretching over her bare stomach. She twitched, sensitive there. You could smell the metal of her blood. But you could smell yourself too. “All yours.” You sighed contentedly, tracing small patterns on her side, fingers eventually playing with the waistband of her pants. “Will you let me return the favor? Take care of you?”

Kate blinked at you tiredly, her smile lazy “You take care of me enough, darling.”

“You know what I mean.” Your fingers dipped lower. “I think… I can feel your heartbeat now.”

“Can you?” Kate seemed to catch her second wind, using her strength to pull you on top of her in a smooth motion. You could most definitely feel her heartbeat. It was rapid, impossibly to contain. She gazed up at you hungrily. “Care to test that theory?”

Natasha Romanoff stared dark green daggers directly at you. She hadn’t blinked in the last fifteen minutes, and she certainly hadn’t averted her attention in the last thirty. You’d let your cereal go soggy, the floaters spinning around milk that had turned a sickly gray. She took a bite of dry toast, chewing slowly. Still not taking her eyes off you.

The easy conversation at the kitchen table seemed to float naturally around you. Not many people converged for breakfast. The most vigilant today being the woman who had clocked you the second you walked in. Peter was excitedly rambling to Thor about his latest video game and Wanda, if she had noticed her wife’s staring problem, promptly ignored it in favor for the pancakes she was preparing.

You tried your darndest to focus back on your meal. But you couldn’t’ very well ignore the Beta’s attention. It made you sit up straighter, almost like the top of your spine was tied with fishing line and pulled taut with a string.

Kate, while you loved her dearly, had some business to attend to in the city with Clint. You silently cursed her. Would have not so silently if there wasn’t a high-ranking pack member watching your every move. Not that you were moving very much. Or at all. You subconsciously scratched at the bite on your shoulder, hidden by the black of your t-shirt and a bandage soaked in herbs to dull the scent.

While there was nothing to be ashamed of about the fact that you and Kate had officially exchanged bites, it wasn’t something you wanted to shout from the rooftops just yet. It was a big deal. It could change the dynamics of the home that you lived in. The people that you lived with.

“Natalia, stop slouching.” Wanda had finally joined the table, tapping her partner on the shoulder before setting a plate in front of her. There was a momentary relief. The spell seeming to break. “Ty povredish' spinu.”

She scrunched her nose, huffed, but picked up her fork like an admonished child before digging into her eggs and returning her stare back to you. This time, it was softer, but still curious, following the way your hand cupped your shoulder. The pressure was soothing over the ever-healing bite. It would be weeks until it scarred over.

“Y/n, is that all you’re eating?” Wanda asked “There’s some extra food on the stove. Help yourself.”

“I’m not very hungry,” You smiled, “Thank you though.”

Natasha lilted her head “Is your shoulder bothering you?”

“No, no. Just a little tired.”

You shook your head and stood quickly from your chair, the legs scraping against the linoleum. It caught the attention of Thor and Peter, a lull in their conversation at the sky darkened outside. You could smell the rain in the air. The last thing you wanted was to be trapped in the house with Natasha today. In the confines with any of them where they could corner and grill you. You placed the bowl in the sink and rinsed it to keep from answering any questions.

It was hard to keep things from Natasha, harder to keep things from Wanda. They’d been in synch with each other longer than you’d been alive. The Sokovian stared at you with a curiousness now that you couldn’t escape.

You’d nearly squeaked when Kate said she’d be away today. Not in the needy way, but in the panicky way that screamed ‘I can’t be left alone with these people’. Especially the two women who chewed slowly in front of you now.

It didn’t help that you awkwardly saluted before grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and retreating to the library upstairs. Your safe space. A space where you’d dutifully worked your way through all of the werewolf fiction and non-fiction at your disposal before moving on to the rest of the leather-bound fantasy that Steve had collected over the years.

A summer thunderstorm had started up in earnest now, leaving you with the orange glow of lamplight as sheets of rain sheathed the large bay windows in a dull gray. You found yourself curled up on the window seat, a blanket over your legs, watching the forest sway through the distorted glass. You weren’t getting much reading done. But you were thankfully alone. At least for a while.

Until you caught their scent.

They had the decency to knock like any parental figure did. It didn’t’ stop you from jolting and pulling the throw blanket up to your chin like it would protect you from their wrath. Your heart was in your throat, and you let out a measly “Come in” as you folded your pages over a bookmark, eyes wide.

Wanda was meant to disarm you. That’s why she entered first. She was a softer presence with her ease of a smile and fern-colored eyes. Her oversized cardigan that compensated for the chill of the rain. When it came down to it, you were more frightened of her. She drew harder lines and was more difficult to convince when you wanted something. The difficult parent.

Natasha followed. A hard scowl on her features. One that you could soften if you pouted hard enough. Not that you wanted to test that theory. You knew damn well that she’d caught your scent earlier. They were cornering you due to the fact and without Kate here you were very liable to crack.

“What are you reading?” Wanda asked.

“Not really reading. Watching the storm.” You shrugged, attempted to hide the wince as the bandage pulled at the sensitive skin around your bite. Warmth pooled in your gut in compensation. “It’s really coming down out there.”

You’d returned your attention to the collection of water at the edge of the tree line. Wanda sat on the other end of the window seat, Natasha at her feet with a throw pillow hugged to her chest. She looked softer down there, unassuming compared to the scrutinization in the kitchen. You didn’t outwardly look at either of them.

“They’ll make it back safely. Clint’s one hell of a driver.” Natasha assured softly. Her fingers played with the edge of the throw pillow. “It’s normal to feel more anxiety when you’re separated from your mate during a storm.”

You swallowed thickly, but didn’t take your eyes away from the windowpane. The slush of water was more interesting. At least, you told yourself that. There was a distinct uptick in your heartbeat that you knew both Wanda and Natasha could hear. It was deafening compared to the thunder that rumbled past the compound walls.

“malen'kiy volk” Wanda nudged your knee softly with her own.

 Her affectionate nickname was enough of a nudge already. Yelena had adopted the nickname after your first transition, always ribbing you for how small your wolf form was compared to the rest of them, slowly growing in stature and size and strength. The nickname seemed to stick regardless of your posturing now. You were nearly the same height as Kate, but didn’t match her intimidation.

Her pitch fur, her dark fulvous eyes. If she crouched down low to the ground and let a rumble from deep in her chest, she could startle something fierce. Sometimes, most times, you couldn’t imagine how you’d gotten so far in the first place. That night that you were darting through the woods. You’d both come so far, grown into yourselves and into one another.

“Not so little anymore.” Natasha grumbled what you all were thinking as if she were a wary parent. It’d been three long years since you’d moved into the compound. She seemed like a disgruntled mom, her fingers flexing around the pillow. “Was this… impulsive?”

“Legko, Natalia”

You weren’t outwardly going to admit to anything. There was nothing to admit to. Not without Kate here. For all either of them knew, you were sitting in your little nook reading a fantasy book in the middle of a storm. All of you could pick up on the scent of the rain, down-trodden and filling the room with a heavy feeling. A damp one that coated your skin.

“If we’re talking in hypotheticals here,”

“Which we are” Wanda purred out “Strictly.”

“Right. Then no. It was not impulsive. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been sure of in my entire life. Long before that first night in the woods when Kate” you frowned, swallowed the dryness in your throat “When Kate lost control, there was something missing, she was missing. It’s easy, you know? To mistake comfort for safety and safety for love but with Kate, with Kate it’s all three. With Kate, it’s everything. She’s everything.” You finally met Natasha’s eyes in understanding. “Hypothetically.”

“startling, isn’t it?” Wanda asked, hazel eyes filled with stars “How subtly we fall in love.”

“Sometimes it helps when you accidently pour gourmet coffee on them. They find it charming.

“No, they do not.”

A comfortable silence lulled over the three of you. Wanda and Natasha were to only two mated in the house. At least, they were. Clint had a wife, had children of his own that he spent time with just outside of the compound. He’d travel back and fourth throughout the day, but preferred his space. And a few looks were exchanged between Tony and Bruce that lingered, but no one ever dared to mention it.

The soft thud of a car door and the way your entire body thrummed with familiarity alerted you to Kate’s return to the compound. A blush inadvertently shaded your cheeks, head turning towards the library door. You could sense the way Wanda and Natasha smiled unabashedly at your barely contained excitement.

“It’ll feel like that for,” Wanda tried to pinpoint when it stopped, couldn’t seem to. “It’ll feel like that.”

You blew a fond breath from your nose, knees pulled tight against your chest as you rested your chin against them, perfectly content. Kate would find you. She always did. And until then, you were surrounded by the warmth of Wanda and Natasha and the storm. A beautiful family. A quiet hodgepodge of beasts.

When Kate entered, she did so hesitantly. She could probably scent Natasha and Wanda and yourself, crowded amongst the books, the stories that lie there. Her hair was damp and stringy with water, clinging to her forehead and soaked through her jacket. Standing there, in the doorway, you wanted nothing more than to accept her into your arms, to warm her diligently with heat that was your own.

However, the hardness in Natasha’s stare, the way the beta rose to her feet, kept you in your place. You had a deep sense that her shovel talking was going to be worse than yours. A lot worse. With the pillow discarded and Wanda rolling her eyes but keeping a comfortable hand on your calf with a gentle squeeze. A fond warning to keep whatever growl that threatened to bubble up deep in your throat.

Natasha’s hand wicked into Kate’s shirt as she backed her into the nearest wall. “You marked her, huh pup?”

“What? I don’t… would you believe me if I said no?”

The deep snarl that Nat let out was a decisive answer to Kate’s floundering. You wanted to feel bad, really. But you knew that Natasha was posturing and Kate was digging her own grave by stumbling through little fibs that probably tasted bad on her tongue. If there was real panic, you would feel it.

“Okay, okay” She swallowed hard “Natasha, I love her. It’s not like the first time. Not my wolf stirring something deep and wild within me that was uncontrollable and feral. I can’t apologize for that day enough. I can’t. But I don’t regret it because I wouldn’t have her now.”

Natasha’s hold loosened, but the intensity of her stare remained. Kate’s head thumped against the wall, chest heaving. She’d been through this song and dance before, as had you. On more than one occasion you’d answered to Natasha’s anger. To Steve’s sternness.

Kate’s head lolled to the side, a lazy smile on her face, she repeated. “I love her. So goddamn much. And the second we exchanged bites, something washed over me that I never thought I’d have. And I know what you’re doing. I know you feel some type of responsibility as a parent here because neither of us...”

She swallowed hard, averting her stare. Natahsa had released her hold entirely, stare softening to something of affection and hand splayed over Kate’s chest. Their breaths had evened out.

“I’m not going to hurt her Nat. I’d never hurt her.”

After a few deep breaths, Natasha patted her roughly on the cheek a few times. “Okay, kid. Okay.”

“Natasha,” Kate said softly, grabbing softly at the woman’s wrist. Instinctively the redhead swept her thumb over rain-tinged skin. “We appreciate you. Both of you. For being there. For taking care of us.”

“Thank you for letting us care.” Natasha whispered, smoothing away rain, and maybe something more.

Steve Rodgers brought the axe down with a practiced crack on the center of the log. It halved with a deafening echo, just as the last twelve had. The scent of pine filled your lungs. Each half falling to the side before Steve picked them up and tossed them into the pile with the rest. He did so with ease, didn’t’ pay any mind to you and Kate as you watched him.

He only did this when he was stressed. Went out to his happy place, a beautiful spot next to the lake. You could see why he enjoyed it so much. The clean air was a sedative to any type of anxiety that you had about speaking with him. You hoped it dulled the mix of your combined scents.

Kate had her hand on the small of her back. Both of your postures were assured. Your hands were clasped at the front and Kate’s jaw was steady, hardly showing the fear that you both admittedly felt. Eventually, after another three logs, Steve panted and let the tip of the axe remain in dirt, his blue stare flicking between you both. He pulled in a damp breath, edges of his lips pulled back from exertion.

“Something you two want to tell me?”

You didn’t want to throw Kate under the bus. That would just be rude. But she had fed you to the wolves at breakfast yesterday so could she really blame you for giving her a little shove forward that attracted Steves stare her way? She probably would later. But for now, she didn’t even protest.

“Steve, sir. Hi. Is that a new shirt? It looks fantastic.”

“Kate.”  

“It’s a nice shirt.” She defended.

“What she means to say, sir.” You stepped forward, rescuing your mate from shoving her paw further into her mouth. “Is that we did… have something to tell you about. Though, I’m sure Natasha has already spoken with you.”

Steve had a coy smile on his face, watching the way you smoothed your hand over Kate’s arm until you joined hands with hers. The warmth was overwhelming, her scent tantalizing and cool in your lungs. You wanted to lean your entire weight against her. The excitement of the day was starting to weigh on you, but you maintained a level of respect for the man in front of you.

He chuckled, shook his head “Y/n, you remind me of my mate.”

It was impossible to hide your shock. Both yours and Kate’s eyes widened at the same time, studying Steve as if he had grown a second head. He may as well have. In the years that you had known him, he had never mentioned having one. From the way Kate’s pulse picked up against your joined wrists, you figured she was in the same boat as you. Her perfectly shaped eyebrow lifted, head lilting in curiosity.

“She uh, she died in 2016. When you grow up with what we are in your veins it’s easy to forget how something as simple as a drunk driver can take things away from us.” Steve clenched and unclenched his jaw, held his eyes contact but shoved his hands into his pockets to keep his fingers from trembling. “We’re not invincible.”

“What was her name?” You whispered.

“Peggy” Steve beamed a brilliant smile “She was as stubborn as you could get. She had her values and would not let you forget it. But she was caring, loyal and kind. So, kind. And most importantly, she was there when I needed her. She was my rock.”

When he shook his head, he did so to reorient himself, to situate the fondness that overtook him. Steve had more heart than anyone you had ever encountered. It oozed off him. It made following his orders on the night of a full moon effortless. When there wasn’t a full moon, you’d follow him into war without question.

“From the outside, I might look like I have it together. But behind every man. Behind every woman is a support system. And for me, that was Peggy. For you, Kate, from day one, I knew that was y/n. It was only a matter of time. And I’m not going to waste my time threatening you into treating her the way she deserves or vice versa. I know you both will. I know what fate looks like.”

He picked up his axe, the dirt crumbling as it dislodged. Another log ended up on the pedestal. “As for pack dynamics, we’ll figure it out as it comes. We always do. Ranks change, people change. I don’t want either of you to worry about that. Enjoy your honeymoon phase just… for the love of god, lock the door.”

Kate laughed, not trying to hide the blush on her cheeks. “Thank you, sir, of course.”

“Captain,” You asked, giving Kate’s hand a squeeze to keep her in place. “Who helps you keep it together now?”

Steve let out an amused breath, the sweat on his brown glinting in the orange light of the sun. He brought the axe down on the log and you watched as it split perfectly in two, each half falling with a dull thud to the sides. “All of you. My family.”

[kurtsvonneslut]

Wait... what was the swanqueen fic recs? ...and are there more (...esp if theyre smutty) 👀👀👀

oh there are more!!!

first of all i'm just going to plug myself because why not. i have 78 swan queen works up - mostly oneshots, a couple longfics, including the fic i'm currently writing, change with the seasons. a lot of my fics are older (for example my 52 weeks of swan queen series was written in 2015) and i was a teenager when i wrote them, but i still find a lot of joy in them!!

now for the rest of the recs, i'm going to organize them as best i can into a few categories. also, a lot of these recs will be a bit older as i've been away from the fandom for a while, and am only just now coming back again. this is an open question if anyone else has recommendations to add in the reblogs!!!

longfics:

satin town by @coalitiongirl is probably my all time favorite fanfic, period. everything she's written for the fandom is incredible, but this one has always stuck with me. the dynamic between emma and regina (who is in full on evil queen mode) is just DELICIOUS and i love how she worked henry into the story. an absolute must as far as i'm concerned. PLUS she has a whole NOVEL out now, so go support that if you like the fic!!!!

the secret's in the telling by @the-pyrophoric-one is another classic in the fandom, and for good reason. the characterization is so spot on, and i absolutely love the arc of this story. the chapters are suuuuuper long though so it's a time investment!!

somewhere, someone must know the ending by maleficently who is not on tumblr as far as i'm aware is a divorce au. lots of angst with a happy ending. the same author also wrote an incredible three-part series called the fatal plunge, which remains, tragically, unfinished.

you gotta play dirty by amycarey who i'm not tagging because they don't write fic anymore. there's so many fics by amycarey that i absolutely adore (temporary distractions and keep the wolves outside by living well are also up there!!) but i chose this one because it's so unique to me. it's an au in which emma and regina are in a concert band together. i was a band kid myself, specifically a clarinetist, so i was pretty geeked over this!!

all that glitters is not (olypmic) gold by @queststar is another super niche but super fun and well-written au. in this one, emma and regina are olympic speed skaters. i just love the competitive energy between the two of them and the arc as they grow closer and eventually fall for each other. the author even got elizabeth mitchell to read some of it which is just. next level.

one fine star away by @bytherosebushlaughing is another au that gets a little meta, but it's sooooo much fun. in this fic, once upon a time is a tv show that regina, emma, and the others starred in. 20 some years later, the cast is reuniting, and the reunion is being covered by none other than one henry mills. it's such a clever fic, and i absolutely love it so far!!

oneshots:

of love and loss and love again by @snowivyimconfusi oh this one. this one is so bittersweet. emma and regina, grieving the losses of their partners, find comfort in each other. and more. it's so beautifully done, and i just adore ivy's writing style!!

what you thought you had to do by hoovahhoopah is the very first fic i read after making my ao3 account and it's still one that i love!! it's part of a six part series of oneshots called ill fitting pieces, but it also stands on its own just as well. just a beautiful, classic, canon-but-make-it-better kind of fic.

a woman moves when her heart has been broken by etotheswan because who among us wasn't absolutely destroyed by the season 3 finale???? this offered a lot of swan queen based catharsis while we waited for season 4.

monster-in-law by seriousfic is just a funny, light-hearted little oneshot about mary margaret trying to stop emma and regina's wedding by reminding them that they're all sort of related. a big departure from the seriousfic work we all know and miss dearly..... but enjoyable nonetheless thanks to their talent!!

and now, the moment we've all been waiting for, smut:

top of the list is, of course, our prophet of swan queen smut @angstbotfic. the making amends series is my all time favorite, and one that i recommended to my dear friend 27, but you can't go wrong with literally anything they've written.

wicked games by @starsthatburn is so. is so. it left me basically speechless. also recommended this one to 27, and i believe this is the one referenced in the ask they sent. it's the most insanely hot BDSM fantasy. if you like domme regina, look no further.

the thing she won't admit by beattheodds if you like butt stuff, here's swan queen butt stuff. need i say more?

paint it black by wily_one24 heed the warnings, this one is pretty dark. but if that's what you're into, this is the one. it's like if 50 shades of grey was swan queen and also good.

of love and loathing by morganlegaye and its sequel, transgressions of the heart are a hatefuck lover's dream. transgressions of the heart remains unfinished, but god is it good.

fealty by standbackufools you like throne sex? you like honorifics? you like D/s dynamic? enjoy :)

thank god it's BDSM friday by carrotlucky13 this one covers soooooo many kinks. emma and regina enter into a 24/7 BDSM lifestyle. for 95k words. i don't know what else to say but WOWOWOWOW. even if you're not into every kink in here it's still hot af.

emma's little problem by juicecup it's a magic!cock story with a slight humiliation kink if you squint, but otherwise mostly vanilla sex to round out a very kinky rec list.

go give these incredible creators some love!!! and remember, nothing motivates a fic writer quite like a nice comment :)

[elumish]

so i believe you said you were aiming to complete the reading challenge by the end of pride month. did you manage it? any books you particularly recommend?

I did not!

Since my last post I managed to read exactly zero new books, so I still have nine to go. (Actually while writing this I realized it might be 10 actually beause I repeated an author.)

I do have some recommendations:

If you want gay urban fantasy:

The Tarot Sequence by K.D. Edwards is one of the best series I've read in a really, really long time. The first three books are out so far and act as a complete trilogy, and then the next set of books is in progress.

The Soulbound series by Hailey Turner is much more classic urban fantasy and really gave me Ilona Andrews vibes.

Small Gods of Calamity by Sam Kyung Yoo is a horror/paranormal urban fantasy mystery set in Korea that gave me a flavor of urban fantasy I rarely get to see.

If you want fantasy romance or fantasy with strong romance elements:

The King's Weaver by Novae Caelum is a fun and interesting romantasy with a genderfluid princess and a bi king. I had a really good time reading it.

A Strange and Stubborn Endurance by Foz Meadows gave me the arranged marriage book I was looking for, which is saying something because I read a ton of arranged marriage books.

The Phoenix Keeper is about sapphic zookeepers and also phoenix husbandry, and it's cute and a fun read.

A Taste of Gold and Iron by Alexandra Rowland has some interesting worldbuilding and a slow burn.

The Stolen Court by Megan Derr has really good ace representation, which just scratches the surface for the queer representation in Megan Derr's books. I particularly recommend this series (Unbreakable Soldiers) and the Tales of the High Court series.

If you want fantasy with little to no romance:

The Hands of the Emperor by Victoria Goddard feels like one of those 20k oneshot fanfics that hits that really specific way, except it's 800 pages long. I've read it 4-5 times in the last few months.

The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett is a Sherlock Holmes-y fantasy mystery with some really creative worldbuilding and some dyslexia representation.

If you want sports romance:

Time to Shine by Rachel Reid is a fun gay friends to lovers hockey romance with what read to me, at least, as ace-spectrum representation (though it's not explicitly stated).

If you want contemporary romance:

One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston is a largely contemporary romance with a hint of fantasy, and it's also a book I put off reading for yours and then I read it in one night and cried a bunch.

Make Room for Love by Darcy Liao is a cute trans sapphic roommates to friends to lovers romance about labor organizing that I immediately recommended to one of my friends after I finished it.

In the Long Run by Haley Cass is a sapphic romance about a woman returning to her hometown after a long time away. One thing I really liked about this one is that both characters are late 30s/early 40s, which is a nice change of pass for romance novels.

If you want romantic suspense:

The Honor series by Radclyffe is one of the quintessential sapphic romantic suspense series. I didn't love book one when I first read it, but I actually jumped forward to the last book in the series (which has a genderfluid character as one of its POV characters) and really enjoyed it, and I've been working my way through it since.

Criminal Intentions by Cole McCade is a dark romantic suspense series with a really interesting setup, where the series is organized into "seasons" with short novels or novellas essentially making up each "episode."

Tallowwood by N. R. Walker is a tight, well-written standalone romantic suspense novel, and it's set in Australia so I got to learn some stuff too, which is always a plus.

If you want historical romance:

A Lady for a Duke by Alexis Hall is a great regency romance novel with a trans main character who reunites with her best friend who thinks she's dead.

[echoingbirdsofprey]

What My World Spins Around - A Twisters/TopGun Crossover Series by echoingbirdsofprey

This series has been a labor of love and a little confusing at times so I've made it a bit easier for those who wanna go back and reread and those wanting to start reading it in the first place. Below, you will find (in timeline order) how the "books" should be ready. I've included links to a03 and wattpad so that you can hop over there to read everything. As always, reader discretion is advised. These fics deal with some very heavy themes and how Tyler, Jake, and their significant others, Georgia and Samantha, deal with those ups and downs. Please consider giving the series a reread if you've read, or try it out if you haven't. Please comment, kudos, vote, reblog, share, etc. I absolutely love writing this series and it is far from over!

Tags: @djs8891 @mrsevans90 @barnesboo1967 @kmc1989 @dizzybee03 @khouse712 @coloraturadiva @crossskylinesandcontrails @rootedinrevisions @kaleysbookshelf @fantasyfootballchampion @fanficmom94

And if you'd like to be added to the tag list for updates, please reply to this post and let me know! Otherwise, enjoy! Links all under the cut!

BOOK ONE

Lightning On My Lips (Every Time You Kiss Me)

Tyler Owens x OFC Georgia Tennley-Owens

Rating: Explicit

a03

Wattpad

BOOK TWO

Delicate (Jake's Version)

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OFC Samantha Kazansky

Rating: Explicit

a03

Wattpad

BOOK THREE

Back Forty View (On Our Piece Of Ground)

Tyler Owens x OFC Georgia Tennley-Owens and Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OFC Samantha Kazansky

Rating: Explicit

a03

Wattpad

*Note - Book Four and Book Five can be read concurrently as they are happening roughly around the same time

BOOK FOUR

Spin You Round (This Dance Floor)

Tyler Owens x OFC Georgia Tennley-Owens

Rating: Explciit

a03

Wattpad

BOOK FIVE

Cure For A Callous Heart

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OFC Samantha Seresin

Rating: Explicit

a03

Wattpad

Oneshots and Other Collections

Listening To Dandelions

Scott x Kate, Explicit

a03

Wattpad

[justbelievinginmagic]

the dragon-blood chronicles ⎯ part 1: the spark.

pairing: namjoon x reader series summary: There are tales about dragon-blood men ruling over the kingdom of Bangtan for centuries; old myths that Crown-Prince Seokjin and second-born Prince Namjoon heard while growing up. Stories about bullet-proof, fire-breathing serpetine creatures with the ability to shift into human form and dominate the land with an iron fist. It was a fable of power, but just that - a fable. Dragon-blood folk have been gone for centuries. But when Prince Namjoon get sent away from the Palace at a young age for unruly behavior, things being to change in the kingdom as a war beings to brew, causing eight magical fates to intertwine. glimpse: Namjoon was the second born. The useless prince. The back-up. Forgotten and locked in a tower of a far-off castle, he brewed in his uncontrollable frustration at his fate... until a spark ignites that changes the path of the kingdom. warnings/tags: This is a repost of an older oneshot inspired by the song, we are bulletproof pt. 2 i wrote! i've updated it a bit to loop into the larger story and just to follow the way i write now! ive added about 2.5k new content so if you liked the og give this one a look! PG-13, Romance, Fantasy/Royalty AU, bad family dynamics, possessive & protective Namjoon, dragons, unspoken love, illness. word count: 7.1 k -> next chapter series masterlist

Heavy was the crown on the head of a king.

Namjoon wouldn’t know about that though – even if he wanted to know what the hefty load of a kingdom on his shoulders felt like, he would never have it. He was, after all, the second born. A spare prince. A back-up king. Second to the throne, third in life of the royal family.

The king, naturally, was first. First to enter a room, first to eat their meals (after a servant tested it for poison, of course.) But after him, it was Seokjin.

From birth, Seokjin was first for everything. First to be taught, first to eat, first to be tended to, first to be trained at swordsmanship. Namjoon was quick to learn that as he hobbled around the halls of the palace as a youngster. He was ignored among the royal family – seemingly weaker, smaller than his older brother when born. He made the queen quite sick during her pregnancy. When born, Namjoon was prone to illness as a child. An annoyance, a drain on the kingdom’s resources.

He still tried to follow after his older brother.  Seokjin, eldest by three years, tried when he could to be a good bother. He loved the idea of a younger brother, wanting to be the best of friends. He wanted to play Knights and Fiends with him; he wanted to teach him how to read and write; he wanted them to go on fishing trips like he read about in his fairytale books. The older brother played with his little brother only to have the sounds of his nanny calling to him distract him.

“Come along, Prince Seokjin. You have your classes. Leave him alone.”

He hated it, but complied with a frown towards Namjoon and a sad wave.

Namjoon, at the mere age of seven, couldn’t help but begin to try to gain attention. He wanted attention. He wanted to have all the attention that his brother had. He began to do what a child does when upset. Tantruming. Pleading for attention through misaction or disobedience. He’d throw his food to the ground at dinners, arms crossing over his little chest. He’d interrupt classes with cries of ‘this isn’t fair’. He’d fight as his nanny dragged him away from Seokjin, screaming. It grew to such a state – even with Seokjin’s quiet scold of pleadings - “Namjoonie, you’re going to get into trouble; please stop” – that the royal family acted.

That was when he learned he wasn’t loved.

Not like Seokjin. Never like Seokjin.

Namjoon was cast aside. Thrown into a tower at another castle. He was stole in the night – taken in a carriage and awoke in this new place. Alone.

His family didn’t love him. No, they didn’t. The little boy cried and cried.  

Namjoon was utterly alone now; all in the name that he couldn’t “distract the crown prince from his duties.” He was cared for enough to know that he was still a prince. Given the finest of things – silver, gold, and silken treasures to keep him content. A collection of maids and servants were there to feed and care for him and a table of knights were there to protect him. He was carefully watched over from a distance. Sadness ate a child and few cared. Few knew what to do when the little boy slammed his door and hid in the tower. The prince fell into a lonely state.

The knights protecting him looked at him as a stranger – an isolated boy, a spare – even if he strived to learn to study weaponry. He tried to join them on their practice range once; he was turned away.

“Your Highness!” there was a cry from a nanny. “You have no need to learn such a skill.”

No, he didn’t he sulked. He didn’t need to learn anything apparently. After all, the second prince had no need to learn of knightly duties, nor fighting, nor war, nor kingly duties. His brother had learned though; at the old castle, Seokjin beamed and preened about his lessons with swordmastery. But Namjoon didn’t need to know it. Because, in the end, Namjoon wasn’t the prince headed to the crown.

The Second.

He was the second.

What did that even mean? If he wasn’t a King, if he wasn’t a Knight, if he wasn’t seen as a worthy Prince either… what was he?

Namjoon learned – like most things in his life – he would have to adapt. He would watch things from afar, learning from high up in his windowed tower. Mimicking the motions the knights made, the strikes of the blade against his bedpost (instead of a training dummy) left deep grooves into the fine wood.

The servants gossiped about his anger issues and how he destroyed things. A monster of a prince.

Namjoon’s focus grew on things he could do without the roadblocks put up by the servants and the royal family. He couldn’t study metalsmith with the knights. But he could study wordsmiths.

Besides his tall tower room, he was granted access to the library. He threw himself into his studies – he learned charts for sailing, war strategy, language, public speaking, trade, and folklore. He’d learn to be king – even if he wouldn’t be one.

When a nanny asked what he was reading, he’d learn to lie a white lie. Just a fantasy book.

After all, wasn’t all of this a fantasy? What was a Prince to do when he wasn’t a Prince?

At first, he envied his brother. He used to think he hated him. Hated him for everything Namjoon couldn’t be. Namjoon fueled himself on that hate in the early years of his isolation – studying with spite on his tongue. Writing curses towards his brother in the sidelines of books. He knew his brother had all the highest advisors and scholars telling him this… and he knew Seokjin didn’t listen. Seokjin wasn’t a good student, in a traditional sense. He liked stories, and most of the history and war tactics the youngest Prince read about was not a good story.

Until he received a letter from his brother.

I don’t know where to turn. I’ve missed you, brother. I feel so lost. I don’t think I’m meant for this. I don’t think I’m meant to be King.

The words were scratched out over and over, as if even writing what was beneath was forbidden.

Father expects so much – expects me to talk with a booming voice. He wants me to be like our ancestors.

Namjoon knew what Seokjin was referring to – even if it had been years since he’d been by his older brother’s side or heard the tales of their family line. Everyone knew the stories of the dragon bloods. How they were creatures that could shapeshift into reptilian beasts that flew. Powerful myths. How they took the throne with ease and led with wisdom beyond this realm. How their royal bloodline supposedly came from them.

It was a story, a folklore. But it was still used to rally the people. The kingdom was strong, strong like a dragon.

Seokjin wrote to Namjoon for advice. And though he thought he despised the crown prince, he replied. At first because Namjoon’s nanny urged him to – “it’d be rude to not reply to the future King, my prince” – but soon he wrote to ease his brother’s worries. He was an aid in running the kingdom even at his young age.

He liked that.

He’d write advice for his brother, sending flocks of pigeons with letters. Books were his escape. And soon, so were you.

He was sixteen when he found you when he was looking for a novel in the library. It was early in the morning; the dew had barely settled on the grasslands. Namjoon stumbled down the stone steps into the grand library, sleepy eyed and still in his fine-tailored pajamas. It took him far too long to notice you. It was only when you let out the smallest giggle. His head snapped to the sound, and he saw you for the first time. A servant’s daughter dressed in worn dark browns and creams; an apron sat dirtied around your waist; it was clear you weren’t where you were supposed to be. Engrossed in a book, your eyes taking in gulps of words even if you stumbled over the larger ones – a finger resting over the word that seemed too complicated to pronounce let alone understand.

And instead of anger, instead of a tantrum, perhaps due to his isolation, he felt… kinship.

You liked to read like he did. You were like him. Alone in the place. He hadn’t seen someone his age before this, he was so used to the older figures rushing around. But you… you were like him. Even if you were dressed poorly.

“Excuse me?” His voice was now a rumbling deep thing with the brink of teenagerhood, deeper even more when dusted with the throes of sleep.

It startled you, slamming the book shut with a puff of dust from the old thing. Your gaze settled on the fine clothes – finer than you had ever seen – and a fear clung to your bones.

The worst-case scenarios tumbled through your head. You would be sent away. You’d be beheaded. Your family would suffer. Your eyes would be plucked out. He was an angry boy – you had heard the rumors and here you were trespassing. In the royal library. His royal library.

“My prince,” you stumbled to your feet, bowing your head. “I’m sorry – please forgive me.”

No, no, no he didn’t want this. He didn’t want fear or babbling or… to lose a possible friend. He had never seen someone in the library. It was his private library, too grand for a single soul to occupy. It wouldn’t hurt… to share. It felt like nails down a chalkboard, like someone was taking his to from him. Why was that so hard to concede to that? Sharing.

Still, he bit down on his tongue.

“No, please. It’s okay,” he tried to soothe.

His hands outstretched to touch your shoulder as if to urge you out of your bow. You shuddered under his touch as if he’d strike you. “It’s okay. Really.”

His voice, deep and warm, lacked the fire of anger. It was more like a hearth, bumbling with embers.

“What… what are you reading?”

“What… what am I reading?” you repeated, incredulous. Baffled.

He offered a small smile, cheeks red as he nodded slowly. He was so unused to this. So used to the nannies who were frightened of him or the tired old maids who didn’t want to put in the effort to care for him truly.

He tried to make himself look smaller, that’d help right? You were so much smaller than him already he noticed. He nodded again.

“It’s… it’s a fairytale, you probably wouldn’t like it,” she insisted.

“I like reading,” he said simply. “Tell me about it? Please.”

You licked your lips, eying him up and down before nodding softly. It wasn’t a beheading. It wasn’t a violent tantrum. In fact, he looked kind of sweet, bashful, as his sleepy face broke into a grin and he settled down next to the spot you were previously sitting.

Day by day, you’d meet in the early morning light of the majestic library. In that time, he’d hear what you were reading; even insisting on you reading the words aloud. He’d correct you where he could. Never did his corrections make you feel ashamed or stupid. He was surprisingly gentle with his words you noticed.

Your mornings – when you were meant to be preparing his breakfast - were spent reading beside the young prince. Eventually, when you got scolded so much, it made you cry and you were trembling in your shoes to miss a shift – he changed your schedule. While in the early morn you’d share your books, by mid-morning, he shared with you the books he loved – philosophy, folklore, science - while you rushed to make his breakfast in the grand kitchen. He’d lean against the cutting counter and stare as you whisked eggs and kneaded dough.  

It was sometimes difficult to be around him. The Prince was a handsome man. His hair was long for his age, curling up at the nape of his neck. You wondered if he cut it himself. Most servants were warned of his unruly temper and childish tantrums; they avoided him the best they could and it was easy with how much he stayed in his tower. He was violent… That was why he was sent away – at least, the rumors spoke of that.

The prince you grew to know wasn’t an angry person. No, he smiled with a softness, his cheeks squishing to reveal dimples. He listened as you spoke about things in your life– from the novels you had read and loved to the flowers you liked in the gardens to the work you loathed to do. (He had laughed when you mentioned you disliked when he requested bacon for the splatters of oil always burned your arms; he promised he’d request bacon less for your sake. He hadn’t requested it since.)

Namjoon enjoyed your company. You were his friend. His only friend.

He hadn’t had a friend before.

He cared for you, watched, and aided you when he could. He didn’t want you to suffer or feel alone. You were the only other teenager so far outside the kingdom’s town. It must’ve been lonely. He couldn’t imagine you hurting or else his heart felt like it’d burn up.

Even as he felt stirrings of things within him as the years went by, he focused on what you needed. A love that was selfless wasn’t second-nature to him. It was an effort. He didn’t want to be greedy and lose you. He grew fond of you beside him. His fingers intertwined with yours as you walked through the gardens, shyly at first, before it happened every time afterwards. Your hand in his was cool to the touch; he hoped you weren’t cold. He gifted you a pretty cloak a few weeks later, one that was the same shade as your favorite flower.

You leaned towards him when you read together. Sometimes your cheek was so close he could feel their warm. His lips would tingle and he couldn’t read the manuscript in his hands. All he could focus on was how pretty your skin was… how your cheeks were a reddish pink and your lips… oh your lips were so tantalizingly close for him to press a kiss to them. He swallowed down this love, keeping you close to him but guarded from himself.

Perhaps it was anxiety – the consequence of being friendless for so long. He was bashful, fearful. Him – fearful it made him want to shake his head at his foolishness. He ached to wrap you into his embrace, to shower you in kisses, to allow you to lay in his bed. But he settled for now, the softness of your friendship was a comfort. Your hand against his was still enough to get his heart racing. His love festered in his chest with the inability to grow further – if only he could speak of his fondness.

He claimed he’d try again tomorrow – and the next day – and the next.

However, as his love grew into a mess of tangled vines, an illness began to fester and choke him as well.

It had occurred when he turned twenty. At the stroke of midnight, you had knocked onto his bedroom door.

“Joonie!” Your voice chimed as he opened the door. Dressed in his pajamas, it should be improper but you had seen him in them many times before – you met him in them. His face lit up at the sight of the cake – his birthday cake. It was decorated with edible flowers from the garden and a gentle blue frosting.

“Happy Birthday!”

“Y/N,” he exclaimed. “This is beautiful – all for me?”

You giggled and he smiled wide enough his dimples peeked at you.

“Yes, your Highness,” you chuckled. “Don’t eat it all or you’ll get a stomach ache.”

“I won’t… aren’t you tired?” he asked watching you blink slow and steady like a cat.

“A bit; I wish I could stay awake longer but I wanted to be the first person to see you and wish you a happy birthday.” You claimed.

He wanted to press kisses all over your face; he wish you knew that you were sweeter than this cake. That you’d be the only one to wish him a true happy birthday. Instead, he simply place the cake aside on a desk and hugged you close.

“Thank you. I love it.” You.

You hummed happily. “I’m happy. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Not too early,” he promised. “I’ll take breakfast later, okay? Prince’s orders. Sleep in a bit.”

It was sweet. Even on his birthday he was treating you. You smiled up at him, squeezing his hand fondly.

“As you command it, oh mighty prince. But other than that, we will spend the whole day together.”

That sounded like a dream. With the door shutting behind you, he felt a giddy rush course through him. His skin warmed and his stomach filled with butterflies. Looking over at the cake, he took his finger and swiped at the frosting, tasting it. But the mere taste of the sugar felt like curdled milk in his stomach. Namjoon frowned. That didn’t make sense. Your treats were always so good. He loved this cake recipe in particular – you made it every birthday since you became friends.

Perhaps it was his excitement. His face already felt clammy. His hand shaky. Sleep claimed him quick, his cake left untouched.

He awoke in the morning to a fever, his skin burning hot.

“Stay away, Y/N,” he had called out when you insisted on helping him. A cool rag to his forehead, sweat trickled down his temple.

“You’re burning up, Joonie” you had murmured, swiping his hair aside. Once, you’d shake in your boots imagining touching the prince like this, but after your friendship grew through the years. You had stopped referring to him as your prince and simply as Namjoon, and later even Joonie – something he had smiled warmly at.

“Don’t want you to get sick,” he continued as you lifted a goblet of water to his lips.

“Shh.” You hushed as you let him sip the fresh water. It didn’t ease the fire in his veins. “You’re the one sick on your birthday.”

Namjoon’s fever didn’t break for days. It felt like his muscles were combusting, aching, and burning. No doctor had the answer. The royal family even came to visit – fearing the worse for the bedridden prince.

“Namjoonie, you better get well.” It was a light threat from Seokjin as he sat on the bedside of his younger brother. It wasn’t much of a threat when Seokjin sniffled and raised a handkerchief to his eyes.  “What would I do without your aid if you left? I’d be waiting for your letters daily.”

You worked on with a watchful eye. Wringing cool rose-water from a rag to place on Namjoon’s forehead as the crown prince held onto his brother’s hand. You couldn’t decide if the first-born prince was being genuine. You noticed other things though. The way the plump lips of Seokjin were bitten raw. The trembling broad shoulders. There was a quiet to Seokjin, a timidness even if he was built and grown as a Prince; he wasn’t built to be a King. Even a servant girl could see that.

It was as interesting as it was fearful.

There was a night when he refused to let you into his bed chamber. The large clanking of a goblet hitting the tiled floors echoed, and you had rushed to the door with his name on your tongue.

“Don’t enter,” his voice was pained.

“Namjoon, what’s wrong?” you asked.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” he sounded pained, his voice coming through gritted teeth.

Clanking and shattering objects came from within the room. You did not cease your calling. Servants whispered and gossiped about the prince having a temper tantrum in his weakened state. Some things never change.

The next morning, Namjoon’s fever broke finally. And you nearly cried of relief.

“You scared me so much,” you scolded the prince as you clung to his hand. His arms wrapped around you tight, pulling you closer and closer until you were in the bed with him. Surprised by not frightened, you remained in his arms. They trembled with a weakness, from the sickness you assumed, but they didn’t let you shift in his embrace. He held you close and breathed you in. You smelled of home. Of everything he cared for. The smell of food cooking on a hearth, of indigo flowers planted in the garden, of the vanilla hidden in old books. He trembled under your hug, but he pressed his lips to your hair, something you don’t miss. Fondness bloom in your chest like a flower.

“What happened yesterday?” you murmured, curiously.

You knew it wasn’t a temper tantrum. He didn’t do that. It wasn’t Namjoon.

He breathed out shakily. He felt… different. His skin felt tight to his bones; his muscles remained tense like a suit of armor forged into his own flesh – but he didn’t feel unwell. The fire that had burned through him had settled into a steady flow of embers through his veins. A comforting warmth, a harness-able power.

“I-I don’t know,” he lied as he held you closer.

After the illness, Namjoon held himself differently. He was taller, broader. He almost reminded you of Seokjin’s naturally wide shoulders – except Namjoon’s frame was different. More muscular, beefier.

He could lift you now, carrying you to your quarters ( which had moved to the castle, per his request ) when you fell asleep reading beside the prince. He was eating more – but maybe you simply forgot his appetite after suffering under the illness for so long. He’s moved into training again – now outside the tower he called his living quarters – something you knew he had liked to do after years of friendship.

He was different but the same. He almost seemed more at peace as he greeted you in the kitchens with a friendly kiss to your cheek.

He was bolder. Happier.

Different but good.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he wrapped his arms around you.

It was a welcome change; Namjoon had begun to hug you closer, wrap his arms around you more and more now. Your hand moved to rest against his intertwined arms.

“Good morning, Joon.” His chin rested on your shoulder, watching as you made his plate (and yours at his request – he loved eating breakfast with you.)

“You’re in a good mood,” you commented.

“I received a letter from my brother.” he didn’t speak of Seokjin with ill-will; he had spoken of the king with a tone of discontent – detested affection - before.

“He wants me to be his Advisor.” He revealed. He sounded excited, happy. “Officially.” He turned to rest his cheek fully on your shoulder, rubbing his cheek against your servant garb. “Father is preparing to shift things around, giving Seokjin more power in decision-making.”

Which Namjoon knew Seokjin hated.

“You have worked hard. You’ll finally be able to show off that big brain of yours in front of the court,” you added as you continued to slice the apple for your individual porridges.

“Finally,” he sighed against you. Things were looking up.

He dragged his cheek against your shoulder once more before hugging you close. As he pulled away, his fingers swiped an apple slice from the tray.

“Your Highness,” you scolded, making him chuckle out as he pressed another fond kiss to your cheek.

It left tingling warmth in its wake.

You couldn’t seem to rest despite yawns tumbling from your lips. Restlessness clung to your bones, making you stand from your bed. Your gaze peered out the high window to look into the night sky.  The tower room that Namjoon insisted on you having as you tended to him while he was ill was grand. It was larger than your homestead, draped in finery that you had been fearful to use. There was even a balcony to look out into the night sky – which you used now. Namjoon hadn’t asked for anything in return, simply saying he adored your company. He wanted you here. He had been kind to you; sweeter than ever.

The very thought of the prince made your heart race. Letting out a girlish giggle, your eyes continued to stargaze. Arms draping over the baluster, you pressed your cheek to the cool stonework. There were many stars you could name; Namjoon particularly enjoyed astronomy. You were naming each one you could.

There was the Chamaeleon, Corona Borealis, Lepus, Lupus, and the Dragon.  Your eyes drooped sleepily when something caught your gaze. There was flicker against the midnight skies like a shadow dancing across the stars. The shape made you shudder, your eyes widening like saucers.

It looked like a dragon flying high in the sky.

You blink, blink, blinked.

It was gone. No, you know what you saw. You saw the impossible.

“What are you reading, Y/N?” Namjoon asked after catching you in the halls of the palace, curled in an alcove he knew you favored.

“Folklore,” you commented.

He noted your sleepy eyes; lavender painted your under-eye area. His brows pursed – even if you continued reading with interest.

“What’s caught your attention, sweet one?” he chuckled softly before his fingers tucked stray hairs away from your face. Fingers grazed your skin fondly. You looked up at the gentility. He lips pursed into a frown. “You look like you’ve been up all night; were you reading by candlelight again?”

Your face didn’t lighten up like he loved. It made his stomach churn a bit. His brows pursed. He was far too easy to read like your favorite book.

You tried to comfort him, shaking your head. Your cheek pressed into his large, hot hand reassuringly.

“No, no; I just – Namjoon –, “ you started a sentence, pausing in your words.

Licking your lips, your tired mind caught up to your train of thought and you had to pause.

Everyone knew the tale of the dragon bloods. Creatures who could transform at will – fire breathed into their souls, powerful and greedy but wise. They took over the throne from an evil ruler; then they ruled with wisdom for decades. It was a tall-tale you were told since childhood. But… it was just a story. How could you have seen one? And why did it strike such fear in your heart for Namjoon and the royal family? Was it an omen? Was he in danger?

Your breathing shuddered.

You couldn’t tell him. He’d find you crazy.

Your gaze shifted from his kind umber eyes to the book beneath her fingertips.

“I’ve just been engrossed in this story,” you said quietly.

It wasn’t quite a lie.

He frowned, but brushed a thumb over your cheek soft. He didn’t like you keep things from him. But he’d let you for now.

“Seokjin-hyung truly doesn’t know how to rule; what did he do during all those lessons? He knows nothing!” Namjoon lamented, flopping down beside you in the grassy riverside. It was a heavy thud of his body against the vegetation.  

“Be careful,” you commented at his violent action yet he didn’t even grunt from the action.

“I would’ve loved lessons on trade routes,” he sighed out, frustratedly. His hands trailed over the wild indigo tousling in the wind.  He watched the petals pass through his fingers before huffing again.

“I know, Joonie, but you learned regardless. That’s resilience.”

He hummed out an agreement. His gaze shifted from the weeds beside his head to focus on you. You were reading again. A sight he loved. He loved when you were focused, immersed in something more. It was like he could see your brain working, see the imagination flickering behind your beautiful eyes.

The leather-covered book bore the same “History of Fae & Other Creatures” title. You’ve been reading it for more than a week now. It made his curiosity spike.

“What are you so intrigued about, sweetheart?” He leaned up on his forearms, gazing up at you with flower petals and leaves clinging to his long hair.

You let out a soft chuckle at the sight, reaching out to pluck the remnants away. Why were you nervous to tell him? Would he laugh at you? He hadn’t before. You knew your fears were foolish – a Dragon wasn’t coming to destroy his family line – and him. That was… not set in reality. Its been something you’ve ruminated on night after night as you laid in your cushy bed. You could’ve seen something totally real that night – a strange bird or a kite or a very solid looking cloud that moved really fast. Right?

Fiddling with the corner of the worn page, you hemmed and hawed. Namjoon waited patiently. Smiling up at you. He’s never been cruel or mean. Surely, he’d just tell you saw nothing. That it was the sleepiness. Reassure you. He fiddled with the fabric of your dress – a new one he had made for you of indigo blue.

“I just – I’ve been thinking of dragons recently,” you finally said, turning the page.

Namjoon paused, his smile freezing. His dimples weren’t showing as the smile faded into a confused frown.

“Dragons?” he asked again. Namjoon’s blood felt hot.

“I—you’ll think I’m silly,” you said, shaking your head – your gaze hadn’t left the page. “I thought I saw one the other night. I was tired though. Maybe I just was – I don’t know, day-dreaming.”

“Maybe,” Namjoon supplied.

He felt hot.

He’d tell them soon. He promised.

Namjoon’s face was grim as he sat in the rocky carriage. Stuck in the royal attire he often disregard around the palace, his limbs felt tight and itchy; his fine silver crown atop perfectly styled locks. His hair had been cut, by your hand at the insistence of the maids and caretakers. He was a Prince not some long-haired pirate! He felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. He was stuck in a carriage far away from you and only taking him further and further away by the second. It left him worrying. A pit growing in his stomach as the carriage shuttered against the rocky path.

Even if he hadn’t spoken his love to you, you hadn’t rejected his affections. His soft kisses to your cheek, his embraces where his hands remained respectfully at your waist, or his affectionate nicknames. It was more than friendship, surely you knew that. You weren’t dumb. You were the smartest woman he’d met. It was one of the many things he loved about you.

He felt anxiety creep up at the thought of the castle unprotected by him. You were unprotected. It made the fire splutter and splatter like lava within his soul.

But he had a duty – not to his father, but Seokjin.

It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.

The castle was a day’s journey, one that he handled as gracefully as one could. Soon enough, he was back in his childhood home – yet it felt unlike the true home he left behind. Bereft figures, dull colors of dark blacks decorated the halls. Sobs filled the streets.

After all, the King was dead.

Seokjin was going to be crowned – and soon.

It was the night after the funeral. Seokjin had barged his way into Namjoon’s quarters – a forgotten childhood bedroom. Everything had been left where Namjoon had place it. His dragon stuffed animal sat on the window’s ledge, looking out.

At least it has been, before Seokjin had picked it up and fiddled with it. Squeezing it, tossing it between his large palms, hugging it.

“I can’t do this, Joonie,” Seokjin hyperventilated.

“What are you talking about, hyung?” Namjoon tried to understand.

“The crown,” he blurted out. “The ceremonies. The ruling. The laws. The court. I’m not—I can’t. I’m not – built for this.”

Seokjin was trembling; his fingers digging into the stuffed animal harshly. His lips were bitten red, bleeding.

“You’ve grown up learning for this,” Namjoon countered, disbelievingly. “Its your-“

“I don’t care!” Seokjin cried out. “I—I never wanted the crown. I never—I can’t handle the pressures; Father, before he passed, he knew – he knew. He said if the crown failed in my hands that I’d go to hell. That I’d be cursed to be outcasted. History rewritten. He called me weak – he called me-“ Seokjin was sobbing. Namjoon had never seen his brother cry before.

“I don’t know what to do. You do.”

You know how to rule.

“Help me, Joonie. Please. Please I revoke my crown. I revoke it. I revoke it to you.”

There was a jostling outside your balcony, waking you with a start.  A grand wind pounded on the glass panels ferociously, rattling and creaking them violently. Your eyes flashed open and you looked about bewildered.

There had been no wind when you fell asleep. Especially not so violent.

“What is going on?” Your fear made you jump, holding the covers to your form as if that could protect you.

You saw no clouds nor tells of rain or wind last night. But now, it was almost like your window frame was trembling from the force outside.

Standing to look, what you saw nearly made you faint. There, outside your window – perched awkwardly on your stone balcony’s balusters – was a dragon. Larger than you by an incredible amount. Its form wasn’t even at its grandest; you could see its body was curling inwards; its large clawed paws were shifting underneath it as it balanced, almost similar to a cat. Its wings were outstretched wide, the width of them taking up the length of many men. It didn’t look threatening; there was no fire or brimstone. Instead, it almost looked clumsy. It was far too large for the foundation beneath itself. The stonework gave a horrible groan, loud and bellowing from the creature’s weight.  

A scream was on your lips, aching to tear out of your throat – but before you could, you saw before your very eyes the dragon begin to tremble and shrink until… there was no dragon there anymore. No, it was just Namjoon.

Namjoon was on your balcony.

Rippling muscles shuddering as he stumbled off of the stone baluster and towards you a wild look in his eyes.

“Y/N,” you could hear him even with your balcony window shut – however, not for long, as you promptly fainted.

He was a dragon.

“Darling,” you could hear a soft croon. “Oh, my sweet girl.”

Your head ached, but you could still recognize that voice anywhere. It was the same voice that had read you countless novels in the field of flowers by the gardens.

“Joon?” you queried in your drowsiness.

Blinking your eyes, you look up to see him, clad in his royal attire – the very attire he had left in – sitting beside you in your quarters.

“I’m so sorry,” he pleaded, rushing to press kisses to your knuckles. His crowned head bowing towards you in regret.

He hadn’t thought about how it could startle you – all he could think was he had to return home. Had to discuss things with you – his only friend, his love, his confidant.

“I—I, did—I had the strangest dream,” you murmur out. “You were a—” Your gaze traveled to the window, now open to where you had seen the creature perched in your dreams. Only to see the shattered stonework. The broken balusters laid messily in front of the gargoyles.

“A dragon,” Namjoon supplied, quietly. Almost bashfully like that morning you met.

Your eyes drifted back to him. His umber eyes were fiery, even if they were glancing away almost boyishly shy.

“What?” you asked quiet. “Namjoon, what?”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing a bit. His head tilted downwards. All the fire of a dragon he had – but its courage he still lacked, he scolded himself.

He lacked when it came to you; selfishly afraid and yearning to protect and shield you away from him.

“I’m a dragon blood. I-I learned about it a few months ago,” he said. “After my illness, I had these abilities. These powers…”

You stared at him; partial awe, partial fear, partial confusion, and partial betrayal painted your features.

Before you slapped at his shoulder, angrily.

“You—” You nearly curse at him, anger peaking.

His hands went to capture yours before you could slap at him again. Firm but not painful, his grasp was one of desperation as his brows crinkled in despair.

“I know; I know. I didn’t tell you. How would you have reacted?” he rambled on. “You would’ve thought me mad; you would’ve left me alone. You would’ve never spoken to me.”

His fear was laid out in a rush– you leaving him.

“I couldn’t bear that.” he whispered ardently.

“So, you lied!” you bitterly exclaimed. Your hands – now curled into childish fists – couldn’t shift in his grasp. He was strong.

“You never asked!” Namjoon countered smiling awkwardly. Your glare shut him up, his mouth opening and closing as his eyes shut. “That doesn’t matter I know. You can be angry later, please. I have news from the kingdom. I need you!”

A Dragon never needed anyone. But he needed her. He always would.

“Seokjin is going to revoke the crown – and I’ll be crowned king.” He said out in a flurry.

Once again, as if a bomb was dropped on you, your mouth dropped open.

“He’s revoking the crown?”

Namjoon nodded, almost excitedly. You could see flames dance in his eyes – had that always happened?

“This is horrible!” you murmured out, fear written in your face.

Nightmares of disasters flickered through your mind. Namjoon and Seokjin being killed in an uprising. Namjoon being prevented taking the throne. Seokjin lying to cause Namjoon’s death. So many worst-case scenarios flickered through your mind. Your mind was an expert at plotting the worse. Even if the dragon you saw was him – it could be a warning. He could be a warning of worse things to come.

“Darling?” Namjoon asked, his voice gentle as he saw your outburst – your fear and disapproval were the opposite of what he predicted.

“Seokjin doesn’t want the crown,” Namjoon reassured, hands leaving your wrists to cup your face. Tilting it his way to watch your mind rush faster and faster. He licked his lips as he saw your mouth shuddered.

“If you do this, Namjoon, the kingdom will be in uproar; they will fight against a shift in power – even if it’s as peaceful as your brother granting you the throne.” You countered. “It’s signing a war declaration.”

He let out a huff of a growl, smoke tumbling from his nose. His impatience bubbled up. He didn’t like being told that he couldn’t do something; he never had.

The smoke shocked you, but somehow not enough to scare you. It was just… new.

“I don’t want a war,” you said looking at him with a look he hadn’t seen before. Desperation and yearning. Longing. It was complex and somber and… soulful. He felt like he saw your soul for a moment. And it was scared for him. You didn’t want him harmed or put into harm’s way in any way. “And I don’t want you fighting in it.”

Want. Want. Want.

Namjoon wanted too. He wanted so much over the years. He had wanted his family’s love. He didn’t receive it. He wanted to learn. He was given road block after road block. He wanted you, all of you. And he forbade himself.

He wanted the throne. He wanted what he deserved. He wanted respect. Your breath left in a soft huff of a sigh. You pushed yourself up to sit higher on your bed, closer in his embrace, his hands sliding to your jaw to accommodate.

“I don’t want you getting hurt, Joonie.”

His fiery gaze eased a bit at your words. You were precious. Kind-hearted, gentle. His only true friend. His. And as a dragon blood, he was greedy. You were a treasure he didn’t know he hoarded. Until now.

“I don’t fear anything anymore. At least nothing like that.” he commented softly. “Not after the change.” He shifted from the floor to your bed, his tall form towered over you, but you didn’t feel discomfort as he embraced you. His thumb caressed over the soft supple skin of your cheeks, lovingly. “Why should a monster fear anything he can devour?”

You think if someone else had said those words a shiver would go down your spine. But it was Kim Namjoon. The very Namjoon who you’ve known for so many years. Namjoon – the prince who didn’t tattle on you – a servant girl – when you were avoiding work. Namjoon – who learned botany because you said you loved the wild indigos you found on the path between the castle and your homestead. Namjoon – who would sit beside you and point at the words you couldn’t decipher from old folklore scripts and ramble on and on about the history of them. Namjoon – the man who would grab your hand and sneak down to the river’s shores to skip stones with you. Namjoon - who had pressed soft kisses to your forehead when you fell asleep beside him in the grand library. Namjoon – who gently took your hand in between his as he confessed how much you meant to him beside the hearth of the fireplace.

Namjoon – the son of the Dragon, the inheritor of the flame – the rightful heir of the kingdom as a dragon blood.

It felt like two separate people – but even now, when his hand slid to your jaw – you could see both sides of him. The powerful being and the gentle giant. He would fight to protect you. And you knew deep down you would fight to protect him.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured lowly. “Of me, of a war.” He clarified. “What I am now – what awoke within me - is bulletproof, darling; I will not fail us. I will protect you and my kingdom.” And with that, he leant down, cupping your cheeks, and kissed your lips for the first time.  

You swore you could taste fire-smoke and ash on his lips.

[oxymorayuri]

❞𝐍𝐨 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬❝

Masterlist

A/N: A OneShot which became a ShortFic lol. Special thanks goes out to the reader who encouraged me to write more parts :3 So far I've had a lot of fun and it's just the beginning XD

✦ Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x Reader ✦ Warnings: will be mentioned in every chapter ✦ Spoiler: same as above lol

Status: ongoing

Description: It annoys you that you're starting to develop feelings for Ace. Unlike you, he's just unreliable, messy and has no brains. Sure he's hot as the sun but how can a woman like you be into a guy like him? Face your feelings… It's okay to get burned once in a while… As long as it's Ace…

! ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ !

ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ

Part one Part two Part three Part four Part five Part six Part seven Part eight Part nine Part ten

A/N: What makes me particularly happy? YOUR HASHTAGS & COMMENTS. LOL. I feel you guys… No… I LOVE you guys!

Here are some of my favorites ;D

#never wanted to be a cowgirl until ace - A/N: sameee gurlllll #awooga - A/N: I screamed when I read that. I definitely added that to my daily vocabulary, awooga! #ah one bed and so much Ace - A/N: We don't need a bigger bed if we can just sleep on Ace, do we? *-* #I would have him roast me a marshmallow if he were mine + #literally but also I'm the marshmallow - A/N: HAHAHA BRUHhh. *cries pls roast me aceeee #cannot wait to see y/n play the part of happy wifey - A/N: I'm telling you; we're going to have some fun *rubs hands together

Comment: RAHHHHH ATE THIS SHIT UP I LIVE LAUGH LOVE ACE MAN - A/N: Who doesn't babe… who doesn't… *-* Comment: ur way too good at this IT SHOULD B ILLEGAL - A/N: Awww pls stop… Or no, wait; PLEASE DON'T HHahaaha <3

byeeeee sweeties ♡♡♡

[solangeloficawards]

solangelo fic awards 2024 - winners!

happy valentines day guys!! <3 wanna thank everyone again for their participation and hype for this year!! just a reminder that this is all for fun, and if you were nominated but didn't win, there's always next year!! :)

and with that, here are our 2024 winners!! <3

nominations post

masterdoc

best angst!

1st place: When I Get Home to You by @2nd2ndalto (14 votes)

2nd place: work and play, they're never okay to mix the way we do by @buoyantsaturn (10 votes)

3rd place: if anybody asks, i'm taken (he is too) by @buoyantsaturn (9 votes)

best au!

1st place: IT'S A SCREAM, BABY! by @rosyredlipstick (25 votes)

2nd place: Doctor Doctor, Give Me the News (I've Got a Bad Case of Loving You) by @buoyantsaturn (6 votes)

3rd place: just an animal, looking for a home by @ikeasharksss (5 votes)

best canon compliant!

1st place: august by CordeliaRose (@cordelia---rose) (34 votes)

2nd place: three-in-one soap by @thelordofshrimp (8 votes)

3rd place: a handful of almosts by @thegoldenappleofdiscord (7 votes)

best fluff!

1st place: And now I have to act like I can't read your mind by @sunflowersandscreams (9 votes)

2nd place: good old-fashioned lover boy by brainrot247 (8 votes)

3rd place: just desserts by @thegoldenappleofdiscord (7 votes)

best oneshot!

1st place: buoyantsaturn by @buoyantsaturn (12 votes)

2nd place: cupid? more like stupid by @thelordofshrimp (11 votes)

3rd place: i love you more than i've ever loved myself by @thebhorror (7 votes)

best wip!

1st place: FAR GALAXIES by @rosyredlipstick (26 votes)

2nd place: kiss with a fist is better than none by @sunflowersandscreams (10 votes)

3rd place: it never took much convincing by penandblankpaper (@kiarrahatesboys) (5 votes)

best misc!

1st place: nico di angelo's autistic swag by @buoyantsaturn (14 votes)

2nd place: "it's so hard to hear over the sound of all the honking clown noses" by @buoyantsaturn (10 votes)

3rd place: up to speed by @solisaureus (8 votes)

best series!

1st place: The Ballad of Ladon Creek by Gates_of_Ember (@gatesofember) (15 votes)

2nd place: travel youtuber nico + some guy he's dating by @ethannku (11 votes)

3rd place: 1987 runaways au by @ikeasharksss (10 votes)

and...... (insert drumroll)

our author of the year for 2024 is @rosyredlipstick with 33 votes!!

runner up is @solisaureus with 12 votes!!

pls let me know if theres any broken links or anything wrong with the post! congratulations to all our winners! and we'll see you all next year <3

[whiskeythefishski]

Tag Game & Updated Fic Recs

Not going to answer all of these questions cause I don't have a huge back catalog of stuff, but this looks fun :) Also a while ago I did a list of some of my favorite fics and I'm taking the chance to shout out a few more!!!

Tag Game!

I was tagged by @lilac-hecox and @lorelilly (love you both!!!)

total number of ao3 works: 7! I've only been back in the fic game since last July and my posting schedule is NOT regular

total ao3 word count: 57,164

fandoms i’ve written for: Nowadays it's pretty much just Smosh, but in my sordid past I wrote for Minecraft YouTube, Homestuck, and Supernatural (please forgive me)

top five fics by kudos: Only doing top three since I don't have many:

And I Can Survive It (For Only So Long): An Ianthony exes-to-lovers. They're theater professors forced to work together on the spring musical, 'Nerdy Prudes Must Die.' (additional pairings: amangela, trevrasha, spommy, shourtney, dackie)

(make for me) A Soft Universe: Spommy sickfic oneshot in the universe of 'And I Can Survive It'

Kiss Me Like You Mean It: Trevrasha oneshot in the universe of 'And I Can Survive It'

do i respond to comments?: I try to! I'm not the best at responding, but I DO read them all and smile :)

what has the happiest ending?: A HARD DECISION. I think I have to go with hold on to the memories (I will hold onto you), the Shourtney soulmates oneshot I wrote for @lilac-hecox's Holiday Gift Exchange :) really proud of that one!

have i received hate?: thankfully no

do i write smut? if so, what kind?: Not yet. I'm gearing up to it, but it will likely be rarer.

do i write crossovers?: The closest thing to a crossover I have is 'And I Can Survive It,' where the Smosh cast is putting on StarKid's Nerdy Prudes Must Die. the StarKids do make occasional cameo appearances!

a WIP i’ll never finish?: The Minecraft fanfic I started writing when I was 12. Spilled a Snapple peach tea all over the notebook I wrote outlines in and totally ruined it. Gone but never forgotten.

writing strengths: I've been told that my character voices are well done, and I think I'm pretty good at scene-setting!

writing weaknesses: Fuck, what isn't? Writing regularly, for one. but also, TITLES. I cannot come up with titles for shit. That's why all my fics have shitty song lyric titles lol.

first fandom i wrote for: Minecraft YouTube :/ Or Narnia, if you want to get REAL technical (I think I was five lol)

favorite fic i’ve written: Fuuuuuuuuuuck. I think I'm the PROUDEST of 'hold on to the memories,' since it was really out of my comfort zone and also far longer than I expected, and I got to gift it to someone, which made me really happy. But 'And I Can Survive It' is probably my favorite.

tagging: Some of the lovelies from the Smosh discord!! I know some of y'all have been tagged already but I just love your stuff :) @sheisaquarius-blog @soupy-girl @toomuchsmoshbrainrot @spennininomenon @june-rassicpark

FIC REC TIME!!!

Going to try not to plug every fic I've ever read lol. There's SO MANY GOOD ONES this is only a quick handful.

Rated General Audiences:

"Poppies (Or 5 Times Shayne Gave Courtney A Poppy + 1 Time He Didn't" by lilacfoxes (@lilac-hecox) - Pretty much what it says on the tin. SO fucking sweet. Complete, 1 Chapter, 6k words.

Rated Teen and Up:

"always escalating (every touch)" by miss_soupy (@soupy-girl) - Trevrasha spy AU. Trevor and Arasha need to come up with better cover stories than kissing each other. Complete, 1 Chapter, 11.5k words.

"Love on the Ice" by lilacfoxes (@lilac-hecox) - Ianthony high school hockey player AU. Ian is forced to join the hockey team at his high school alongside his ex-best friend, Anthony. Complete, 1 Chapter, 45.5k words.

"Love Like Magic" by KALLIOPH (@sheisaquarius-blog) - Modern Magic AU. The Smosh cast run a bunch of adorable little shops, and also have unique magical abilities. Complete, 1 Chapter, 34k words.

Rated Mature:

"habits" by unknownteapot (@unknownteapot) - Amangela fake dating AU. Amanda needs someone to pretend to be her fiancée to help her inherit her grandmother's cottage. Complete, 16 Chapters, 30k words.

"The Palomino Room" by lilacfoxes (@lilac-hecox) - Ian and Anthony are snowed in at bed and breakfast. Complete, 1 Chapter, 11.5k words.

"All This Potential (Plus Gravity)" by Lorelilly (@lorelilly) - Spommy high school AU. Tommy offers to help Spencer bleach his hair. Incomplete, 1 Chapter, 7k words.

"Can't Catch Me Now" by Isaac_Potato - Hunger Games AU. Ian, Anthony, and several other victors are thrust back into the Games for the Quarter Quell. Incomplete, 10 Chapters, 67k words.

"nothing in the sky above us" by KALLIOPH (@sheisaquarius-blog) - A prequel to Kalli's amazing crime/mafia AU "i'm coming for you again." Future kingpin Ian and serial killer Anthony carry out their first crimes as teenagers. Incomplete, 1 Chapter, 4.5k words.

Rated Explicit:

"No Rocks, Only Chaser" by Lorelilly (@lorelilly) - Spommy bartender AU. Tommy isn't looking for love, but it finds him anyway. Complete, 5 Chapters, 60k words.

"collide the spaces that divide us" by undeadtwink (@doubleboyfriend) - Spommy ghost AU. Tommy meets and falls in love with Spencer, who is a ghost. Complete, 4 Chapters, 34k words.

"Missing Pages" by Lorelilly (@lorelilly) - Spemanda friends to strangers to lovers, sequel to Lilly's incredible fic "Chapters." Amanda and Spencer reconnect after five years apart. Complete, 1 Chapter, 14k words.

I KNOW I'm for sure forgetting some good ones, especially since I last made a list like this in July, but these are at least a few I'm fucking obsessed with :)

Anyways, enjoy y'all!

[merlinfromberlin]

Bumblebee & Ratchet Fic Recs

It's my birthday, so let me treat myself (and you) to some of my favourite fanfics exploring the dynamic between Ratchet & Bumblebee in TFP. Because I am a sucker for Ratchet and Bee and Ratchet having a soft spot for Bee.

Bumblebee & Ratchet Fics

Do You Like Bees? by @thinkingheron (Stardustjinn on AO3)

TFP. Ratchet needs a break from his Synth-En project, so Bumblebee takes it upon himself to make it happen. The Team is amused, Ratchet is not, and Bumblebee pays with a scratched paint and a dent. Oneshot. Warning we have an angry Ratchet.

I honestly love this story so much. It's incredibly creative and funny! :3 I love how cheeky and mischievous Bee is. I love how helpless everybody else is to stop his shenagigans. I love that, yeah, he's playing a prank and it's infuriating to Ratchet in the moment, but in the end it's not actually malicious. No one is hurt, it can be reverted easily and Ratchet recharges for a bit.

On another note: this fic is basically canon to me.

If Language Were Liquid by @equivocaleternity (equivocalEternity on AO3)

Bumblebee's voice box is malfunctioning again, and he joins Ratchet and Raf for a perfectly timed lesson on Cybertronian grammar.

This fic just hits all of my boxes: Ratchet, Bumblebee and an super interesting exploration of Cybertronian languages/linguistics/grammar. It's absolutely amazing! :3

Minus One by @gentle-hero-blog (carrot_top_monk on AO3)

A rewrite of the season 3 episode “Minus One”, in which the Autobots’ interrogation of Soundwave goes horribly wrong.

I almost wish that this was canon. It's such an interesting way to explore how Minus One could have gone differently. It's also a super interesting angle at a "Tyger Pax fic". I also honestly love the relationships between Ratchet, Optimus and Bumblebee in this fic so much.

And, maybe most impressively, it made me sympathetise with Smokescreen a little bit more than I did before. I still don't really vibe with him, but I feel like I understand him a little bit better now.

Spark of Courage also by @thinkingheron

TF:Prime, Aligned. Pre Earth. After a surprise Decepticon attack near the Well of AllSparks, Ratchet manages to save a sparkling from near death... or was it the other way around? Origin fic. Rated for mild violence.

Aaaahhh. I don't know how to even describe this fic but I honestly love it so, so much. Bee's immediate attachment to Ratchet is honestly so, so sweet. How Ratchet gets attached to Bee against his will. Bee's sparkling adventures are just absolutely amazing. He's got half the Autbot force exhausted with his shenanigans within the first three days without even trying to. And at the same time he's got all of them wrapped around his little finger. It's honestly one of the best portrayals of Bee I've ever read. I can only aspire to one day write such an adorable, fun and mischievous version of Bee. :3 Also: the background War politics/plot. And, Jazz is in it and he is absolutely glorious.

Honestly can't recommend this enough. <3

Dadchet Fics

Because, for some reason childhood trauma, grumpy old medic dad having a soft spot for his little yellow robot is my greatest weakness.

A glimpse in the Past by arctic_lotus on AO3

When they say you see your children before you die, it isn't always the good memories. ~ Ratchet seems to walk through the events leading to his deepest regret as a recon mission goes up in smoke.

Featuring lots of incredibly sweet vignettes of Bee's and Ratchet's relationship leading up to Tyger Pax. Sparkling Bee is absolutely adorable and Ratchet has a soft spot for him that is bigger than Cybertron itself. It's incredibly sweet. There is also some incredibly heart-warming Optiratch in there. ^^ It's a bit bittersweet but in the best of ways. :3

Autobots, Pass Out! by @yamiquietshadowflo (Quiet_Shadow on AO3)

Ratchet is far too busy and stressed to just drop everything he's doing and go to sleep, even Optimus gives him his best 'So-Disappointed-In-You Look'. Recharge? Who needs that when there is so much to fret about? (Un)Fortunately for the medic, Optimus isn't the type of mech who give up and he's not above for the most underhanded, sneaky tactic at his disposition: Sending in Bumblebee and Raf.

Adorable. Funny. Sweet. :3 I love that Ratchet knows exactly what Bee and Raf are doing, but is absolutely helpless to it anyways. Absolutely adore that it is implied that, now that this has happened once, Bee will keep making it happen. They deserve their cuddles. Optimus is absolutely hilarious, too. :D

Napping Spot by @keef-a-corn (Keef_A_Corn on AO3)

I have a soft spot for Bee and Ratchet. Sometimes you just gotta hold your little Bee. It's short and cute. I have nothing else to say.

Honestly, this is just utterly adorable. 10/10. Could read it every five minutes. I should probably read it every five minutes.

Promises and Failures by @theiceemperor (Windify on AO3)

He’d made up his mind the moment they found out that the scout’s T-Cog was missing. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to fix Bee.

Now this. Whenever I read this story, I just want to shake some sense into Ratchet because he ist just infuriatingly reckless. Because, yeah, he should definitely not have operated on himself and then not told anyone. At the same time, however, I absolutely get why he is doing it. That's his baby boy who's hurting, after all, and there's all that old medic guilt and self-consciousness and love for Bee that drives him to his decision. In the end I'd probably be too much of a sap to wrench him before hugging him. Even if he'd deserve it for endangering himself like that.

I also just love Bee and Ratchet's interaction at the end of the story. That just oozes their love for another. :3

Now go and read at least one of these fics, they are all absolutely amazing.

[unholyhelbig]

oversight request if ur down! what if nat’s enemies captured ronnie? how would nat get her back? (i love seeing this darker side of nat… she’s hot asf when she’s mad 🥵) thx !!

Title: We Have Your Daughter [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: When Veronica is taken from a friends house in the middle of the night, it's clear that reader and Natasha will stop at nothing to get her back and get revenge.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): Gun use, kidnapping, use of gags & zipties, broken glass, threating statements, knife use, strangling, and horrible grammar.

[a/n: This one wasn't my favorite thing I've ever done, but I was way too far to scrap it. I might take a small break from Oversight oneshots so I can clense my pallet a bit!]

Check out the full Oversight universe

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

The phone buzzed against the mahogany table on Natasha’s side of the bed. You were in a haze of sleep, something so cloying that it was hard to distinguish what the noise was. There were four monotone vibrations and then a silence so thick that you nearly drifted back into unconsciousness. But then, it started again, louder this time, it seemed, as the phone fell from the nightstand and to the carpeted floor.

An alien blue light filled the room and you groaned softly against the side of Natasha’s neck. You’d ended up laying fully on top of her; legs tangled. Your hands were under her, holding her as close as possible. The rhythm of her heart picked up when she stirred from her own sleep.

She blinked a few times before reaching blindly to the carpeted floor and retrieving the phone. It had stopped ringing again, but soon amped back up. The number was unknown, which formed a small marble of dread in the pit of your stomach.

Natasha sat up carefully and you shifted to the side to give her more mobility. Both of you shared a frowned look of confusion. It was three in the morning, and a stranger was calling. That was enough to arise panic in anyone, but with your profession, it seemed to echo further than most.

“Romanoff,” Her frown deepened, then. You couldn’t hear much, just the warbled and panicked voice of another. “Wait, slow down.”

She flipped back the duvet and stood up, flicking on the bedside lamp. You winced at the sudden brightness but tracked her frantic movements all the same. She was pacing. It often helped Natasha think. All trace of sleep had left you both.

“No, no. We’ll be right there. Thank you.”

When Natasha hung up and her eyes met yours, any hope of a peaceful existence had been sucked from the room. The words ‘I’m sorry’ seemed to be on the tip of her tongue. But she didn’t’ say it. Instead, she threw the cell phone on the end of the bed and moved her hands through her messy russet locks.

“Natasha,” you said, almost viciously. “What happened?”

“That was Luke. Someone broke into the house. We should… get dressed. We need to get dressed and get over there.”

Her words were broken, causing you to rise despite the wave of nausea that overtook you. Unsteady on your feet, you closed the distance between and grasped onto her shoulders as if to stabilize you both. Natasha’s eyes threatened to boil over with tears, they were red-rimmed and oh, so broken.

At thirteen years old, you both had deemed Ronnie mature enough to start having sleepovers with the other kids in her class. Of course, you’d meet with the parents first, and give them all the emergency contact information. Never tightening the reigns there.

But the Jones family were trusted more than most. Ronnie and their daughter Dani had been close since diapers. You’d spent days by the pool together and even took a family vacation with them to Niagara Falls this past summer, despite how ‘lame’ Jessica’s son deemed it when they dawned the yellow plastic ponchos.

“Is she hurt? I know we told Luke and Jess to call us first if something like this happens but if she’s hurt we really should get over there right away and get to the hospital. Call an ambulance maybe? God, please tell me she’s not hurt.”

Natasha’s hand cupped your cheek, and she peered into your eyes. There was sadness behind her stare that was incomprehensible. You couldn’t stop your thoughts from rushing at you in all different directions. Her touch quieted the noise, if not for a moment.

“She’s not hurt,” Natasha frowned, backtracked. “I don’t know if she’s hurt. She’s just… gone.”

The man said his name was Grant. He didn’t give a last name, and Veronica did not ask for one. Grant would do just fine. He looked like a Grant; his eyes were beady and black, his hair combed in various directions with a generous amount of gel. He was trying to look effortless and cool.

Veronica thought he looked like he was trying too hard. Of course, she didn’t say that, but the fact remained the same. The gag that had been nestled tightly against her mouth tasted stale, like the way a thrift store smelled. Maybe it was the carpet in the trunk of the car that lodged itself into her lungs.

She was calm and collected; prepared for something like this. As much as her mothers had poked and prodded and huffed and puffed when she suggested she start to learn basic things (like how to get out of zipties, or what to do if you were trapped in the trunk of a car), they had yielded.

Really, her aunt Lena had Yielded. While she still was discouraged from the heavy-hitting stuff, she did know how to break free of most contained spaces. She could also throw a mean punch if she put her entire body weight into it. But she had been sleeping when Grant shattered the window, and groggy when he hit her temple with the blunt end of his pistol.

The selfish part of Veronica knew that her mothers were scared right now, and reveled in it, for only a brief moment. She’d let out a grunt from being jostled when the car hit a particularly bad speedbump. Her teeth bite down harder on the gag, releasing a sordid taste that did not settle her stomach.

Even at the age of six, which Veronica remembers in bits and pieces, she knew that something wasn’t right with her mother. It wasn’t wrong, either, but it put her on edge and kept her voice trapped in her chest like a music box without a key.

You’d come home smelling metallic, sometimes like the salt of the earth itself. It was much less palatable than the sweet coffee that often graced your collar. She used to inhale the familiarity of it, but had stopped when you’d begin to get bruises and deep red gashes against your skin.

It was something that you’d try to hide from her, from Aunt Darcy, but in the deepest moments of your sleep, the fabric of your shirt would lift and expose the camouflage markings on your ribs or the crack of flesh on your back that Veronica was certain hadn’t been there before.

Then there was Mama.

Natasha. Natalia. Romanoff.

She’d heard every variation of the title. The name was spoken with a certain type of urgency in some, fondness from you, and fear from most. It wasn’t until Veronica was eight and paid more attention to those around her that she realized Natasha was the source of the un-well scent on you.

“Your moms whack people,” Dani had told her one day as they played up in her room. Veronica was meant to stay the night but there had been a heated and insignificant argument about who got to marry Malibu Barbie.

She’d whined back, “They do not,”

“They do too! I heard the other mommies at the playground talking about it. They whack people and it makes everyone else afraid of them and you.”

“You’re lying!”

Veronica had felt the tears prickling at her eyes. Not because Dani’s words were too much, they were just the right amount of hurt. Deep down, Veronica knew that something was fucked up about her family. And while they tried to shield her, it never stopped people from talking.

She would get looks from the parents of her schoolmates. Once that reeked of worry, and sometimes pity. It fed her anger, stoked the coal fire that burned within her. She shouldn’t be angry at her moms, she knew it was unfair. But as she clenched the barbie in her little fist, anger was the only thing she could truly feel.

“They don’t hit people!”

“That’s not what whacked means, dummy.” Dani seemed to catch her bearings, lower her voice to keep her own mother from hearing the accusations. “People that are near your family are never seen again. That’s what Cassie’s mom said. People that are near your family die.”

How could that be true? Things were so different here. There were different smells and Dani’s family didn’t eat around the table like hers did. The house was smaller and cozier. There were pictures on the wall that were black and white and worn with age. But there was love here, just like there was love in Veronica’s house.

A house with love couldn’t be a house where her mothers… whacked people.

Natasha held her with so much warmth at night. She read her two stories if Veronica asked and would get her a glass of water in the middle of the night. Sometimes, on the way home from school, they’d stop for ice cream even though you had cautioned against it.

Someone who let her get extra chocolate sprinkles was not a killer.

But the thought lodged itself in Veronica’s head and refused to leave. She was unnaturally quiet on the ride home, having called you to pick her up early from the wall phone. She held back tears and pressed the plastic close to her face until it was numb.

Natasha had cooked steak and mashed potatoes. Usually, it was Veronica’s favorite, but she watched as the pink runoff seeped into the white mush and quelled the nausea in her stomach by taking little sips of water.

She pretended not to notice the wary look her mothers gave each other, but it was impossible to ignore the way you cleared your throat, palming the wine glass to give your hands something to do. “Baby, is something bothering you?”

The dam broke. Veronica hated when you took that tone with her because it made her cry each time, made all of the hidden emotions bubble up until her cheeks were red and she was a sniveling mess.

This time, she blinked them back and looked between both you and Natasha. She clenched her fork in her little hand and drew in a breath. These were big emotions for such a small girl and she didn’t quite know how to swallow them.

“Why is everyone afraid of you?”

Your hand tightened on the glass you were holding, just loose enough to save it from shattering. Natasha had been mid-chew, her stare moving frantically to you before she swallowed and used her napkin to wipe the edge of her mouth.

“Sweetheart, did someone tell you that?”

Veronica seemed to tremble, shrinking into herself. She had gotten so verbal over these last few years, and this was a side that you refused to let her fall back into. You set the glass down and reached across the table. You covered her hand with yours, despite her refusal to unfurl it. It helped to ground her, had since she was little.

“Dani said that people are scared of you, and that they die around you. I called her a liar, a dirty liar, but she kept telling me it was true.” She looked up with tears in her eyes. “That’s not true, right?”

The silence seemed to answer her question, but she stared at both of you. She wanted to hear it. She wanted you to look under the bed and slay all of the monsters that were intent on grabbing her ankles and pulling her down. Natasha looked down at her plate, almost shy. You gave her hand a squeeze.

“Baby, it’s complicated.” You started, her wild eyes moving to yours. You felt her grow tense. “Your Mama and I, we want to be honest with you no matter what. This family is complicated, but that will never change how much we love you.”

They’d abandoned the food and spent most of the night explaining what they could. She was still only eight years old, and they held back from her. Each year of her life, they revealed more, eased her into it. And if she asked a question, they never, ever, lied. They answered truthfully- even if it wasn’t an answer she didn’t’ want to hear.

Veronica’s muscles had become stiff. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been shoved inside of the trunk, but light was leaking through the edges. She’d drifted in and out of sleep, her legs burning. She wanted to break free of her binds and stretch them out. Grant tied a good knot.

It was no matter, she thought, because her mothers wouldn’t let her linger for long.

Glass and blood sprayed across the back patio. Someone had clearly wrapped their hand and shattered it with sheer force. They’d cut themselves at one point or another, but it didn’t’ seem to stop them from muscling their way into the Jones’s home.

Luke, in his hulking nature, reached into the highest cabinet and got his daughter a glass of water. She hadn’t touched the muffin that was set in front of her. Luke was nesting, trying to ply her with gifts to ease the horror of what had just happened.

You felt bad, having to dredge it up when the memory was still so fresh. She had the deer-in-headlights stare. Wide eyes flicked to you and Natasha. She opened her mouth and closed it in succession twice. She looked like a fish.

It wasn’t that you hated Dani, you didn’t. She was thirteen-year-old child, after all. But, you were admittedly wary about her after she had brought Veronica’s walls down when they were younger. Kids, you reminded yourself. They were innocent, but they were also mean when they wanted to be.

“I already told you, “She said, frowning down at her untouched muffin. “We were both asleep when we heard a loud crash. It didn’t wake up mom and dad. I wanted to call the cops, but Ronnie was against it. Why haven’t we called the cops?”

The silence in the room was palpable. You were studying the edges of the glass, the dried dark blood against the edges. It was better for you to focus on that, than the fact that Veronica wasn’t here. You would spiral, then. You’d think about all the places she could be, and none of them were particularly good.

“Fine. There was a man with a gun in the kitchen and he… aimed it at us. Ronnie wasn’t scared. I don’t know how, the look in his eye was determined. Horrifying. He said that he wasn’t going to hurt us, he just needed her and then he would leave.”

“And she just went?” Natasha urged; her voice strained with exhaustion.

“Yeah, yes. I didn’t try hard to stop her, he had a gun. A gun!”

“Okay, alright. Thank you, Dani.” Luke placed his hand on the small of her back. She crumbled into him, dwarfed by his sheer size. Jessica glared at her own reflection in the mirror above the sink. She had been deathly quiet.

Suddenly, Dani looked so tiny in his arms, hugging her close. Your heart seized and you frowned at the broken glass at your feet. Natasha willed herself to continue. “Dani, I’m incredibly sorry about this. About all of this; but we need to know what he looked like.”

“I don’t know, he was tall and had these blue eyes that were just unsettling. He was sort-of good looking.”

Jessica seemed to find herself at that moment, working her hand through her hair. It was damp and unkempt with sweat. “You both need to leave.”

“Jess,” Luke interjected.

“You need to leave!” She raised her voice, turning to face the group. She kept her palms on the counter to steady herself, refusing to look at Natasha, but clocking you with a deathly stare. “We’ve ignored so much. We’ve watched Veronica when the two of you leave on your business trips, and come back looking like you’ve been raised from the dead. We pretend not to notice the guns you carry even at the fucking beach! But this is not something we can ignore. Y/n, this is my home.”

Her chest was heaving with rage but there was immense sadness in her eyes. Dani’s fingers clenched at the fabric of her father’s shirt. Natasha’s hands were in her back pockets, her red-rimmed stare trained on the ground.

“I understand. Thank you for everything. We’ll uh, get someone to come by and fix the patio door. I apologize for all of the trouble.”

Natasha moved to follow you, her hand on your shoulder. You hadn’t realized you were trembling until her firm touch was there to quell it. Her words were said with a gentle authority. “I made a few calls. A patrol call will be positioned across the street for the next week. Longer, if you’d like. I’m sorry.”

“Wait,” Dani stood from the barstool. “There’s one more thing. The man, he had on this gaudy jacket and there was a patch on the pocket. It was red and there was a skull with these tentacles coming out of it. Totally villain coded.”

You frowned, diverting your stare to the small bug light at the corner of the door. It emitted a small buzzing sound that was barely noticeable. If you stared at it long enough, the tears that threatened to spill over would eventually go away.

“I hope you find her.”

Dani had said in a quiet voice. And you hoped beyond hope that you did too.

There was ugly green tile in the bathroom. Veronica had counted them twice over, and then to check her blurry math, she multiplied the length and the height until the numbers matched. She was bored and cramped in the off-white bathtub of a shitty motel.

For the first half-hour, she had her eyes on the water-stained ceiling. There was an abnormally large roach that crawled in circles. It had the whole ceiling, why did it confine itself to one spot? She’d made up a story; the brown little bug was training for a race. He was following the imaginary track.

He’d win, she decided, tugging softly on her binds. Even if though the horsefly can move up to 90 miles per hour. They’d learned that in class and it was one of those facts that she just couldn’t seem to forget.

Veronica could hear Grant on the other side of the wall. He had made an exasperated phone call and threw it down on the bed. He’d been oddly gentle and patient with her when he removed her from the trunk and subsequently locked her in the bathroom.

After living with a family of deadly criminals for the better part of her life, Veronica toyed with the idea that she was being held for ransom. Her mama, she didn’t hesitate when it came to stuff like this. Veronica had asked her once if that was easier.

They’d been jogging along a small path that cut through the woods around the property. Natasha was used to doing stuff like that alone, pacing herself and breathing in the crisp scents that nature had to offer.

It had shocked her when Ronnie asked to join, but she was quick to agree. She’d slowed to a brisk walk when the girl started to fight for air. Natasha may have pushed a little hard, but she was content to walk with her daughter, all the same.

The question had caught her off guard. “Ronnie, I don’t think your mother would appreciate me answering this.”

“You’re my mom too.” She stopped by a particularly large rock, placing both hands behind her head to stretch her chest out enough to ease her breathing. “Unless you’re afraid of her.”

“You’re baiting me.”

Veronica gave her a wolfish smile. Of course, Natasha wasn’t afraid of you. She wasn’t. You would sometimes get a deep look in your eyes that made her squirm in her seat. It was the mom look- the type of look that you seemed to inherit from the moment you first hold a baby against your chest. The need to protect was deep seeded.

Natasha felt it too, especially with the girl that goaded her right now. But she knew when not to push, and when to gently suggest something to you. Right now was a terse moment that blurred the line between something you’d be okay with, and something you’d initiate the silent treatment for. She sighed.

“Sometimes, there is more to suffering than the pain that’s inflicted. Does that make sense?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Waiting for the end is more tortuous than the act of ending itself. What I mean is, putting someone out of their misery is not only a mercy in some situations, but a necessary evil. I’m not a monster, Ronnie.”

She believed her in that moment. Natasha wasn’t a monster. Not to her. She could see how some of her charges would think differently, but this was the woman who would curl up in fuzzy pajamas and watch shitty romantic comedies with her, even shedding a few tears when the lead got the girl.

Veronica let out a long sigh and slumped further down into the bathtub. An uncomfortable and sluggish hit of pain moved through her legs and to the base of her back. First the trunk, and now this.

Her body stiffened when she heard the giggle of the door handle. Heels dug into old porcelain as she pushed herself up. Parts of Veronica’s stance was numbed entirely. Her shoulders were tight with tension, and a fine layer of dust was kicked up.

Grant clenched his jaw and unclenched it at the sight of her. He’d left her to her own devices for far too long. She watched carefully as he unscrewed the cap of a water bottle. The seal cracked and she relished in the sound, praying that it hadn’t been tampered with.

He knelt down against the side of the tub, pulling her gag from her mouth. She drew in a desperate and clear breath, clocking him with a glare. Sickeningly, he smiled at that. “You must be thirsty.”

She didn’t’ dignify him with an answer but allowed him to guide the water bottle to her lips. She gulped down more than half in a hungry fashion. Spare drops soaked into her collar and drip against her jaw. He pulled away and recapped it.

“I want you to know this isn’t personal. I’m not big on the whole ‘kidnap kids’ thing. I have a son of my own, and I wouldn’t ever want something to happen to him.” He paused and resituated himself into a more comfortable position. “This is business. I do what I’m told.”

Grant was trying to relate to her, make her feel some sort of sympathy for him. She wasn’t going to fall into his tactics. Instead, she glowered at him. “I hope he has a good mom. Because when mine find you, he’s going to need one.”

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m counting on it.”

This time, you had made sure that the gun was fully loaded. You were all for showmanship, leaning into the nickname that those who roamed the streets had given you. Even those who didn’t, a woman at the laundromat or the waitress that had replaced you at the diner all knew you as Roulette.

Once upon a time, you couldn’t push past the shadow that Bucky Barnes had created. He was the Winter Soldier, Natasha’s immoveable force of nature. She’d command him with a solid hand and anyone on the other side of that wrath was doomed.

It was a reputation that was impossible to live up to, yet somehow, you had done it. Not only could you kill with such ruthless abandon, but you had found a family along the way. Bucky would never question Natasha’s orders. But the two of you made them together, and that brought a new type of fear.

When Leo Fitz had moved for the weapon tucked into the back of his neatly pressed pants, you made sure to move with a quickness that rivaled anyone else in the room. The tip of your revolver was pressed to his temple, his gloved hands raising in surrender.

Ophelia Sarkissian smiled. Blood dripped across her teeth from where Natasha had connected her fist with bone. She was slammed up against the back wall of her office now. Her mantle shook with the force of the hit, and dust rained down from the ceiling.

“That’s the problem with old buildings,” she said, a mix of sticky saliva and russet discharge. “The aesthetics are there, but you sacrifice the integrity of the room. Don’t you agree, Nat?”

“I’m not here to discuss architecture.”

Natasha reached into her own pocket, not releasing her hold on the leader of Hydra. The little organization of evil had gotten admittedly bigger than either of you thought was possible. They’d gotten more men, more property. But they were resigned to Hells Kitchen and that was simply not under Natasha’s jurisdiction. She never found it in herself to care, not until now.

Knives were Yelena’s weapon of choice, but Natasha still found joy in the subtle bout of fear that flashed momentarily across Ophelia’s serpent stare. Leo attempted to move, but stilled when you pulled the metal hammer back on the revolver. All you had to do was pull the trigger and there’d be a new mural in Ophelia’s office.

“Natasha, would you mind calling your dog off? Doctor Fitz is a brilliant scientist. It’s not any old brain she’s fixing to blow out.”

The side of the silver blade had found its way to the edge of Ophelia’s eye, not quite touching it, but she knew that the slightest movement would spear her iris. She stopped squirming under Natasha’s threats.

“Okay, okay! What is it that I can do for you lovely ladies?”

“What is it you can do for us?” Natasha’s voice was a thick and hollow growl. Any sign of mercy had escaped her, one hand clenching the woman’s throat, the other pressing the tip of the knife hard enough to break porcelain skin. “Sweetness, I think you know exactly what we want.”

“You’ll have to be more specific, Natty. I have my fingers in a lot of cookie jars.”

“If you’re inclined to keep your right eye intact, I suggest that you lead us to our daughter. I have no trouble taking a woman’s sight.”

Ophelia laughed and it infuriated you. Rage and impatience made a dangerous cocktail. You had tolerated the woman and her lackies through dinner parties and the occasional get together. But that was the extent of your relationship.

Seven full years and she still viewed you as nothing more than Natasha’s pet waiting to be house trained. You’d long since left your probationary period. You’d married the woman who had an iron grip on the city and in turn, raised a competent daughter in your stead.

“I have no godly idea what you’re talking about. You think I’m stupid enough to steal from you? I wouldn’t take a wine glass, much less your daughter. I have some common sense. What led you to believe that I would?”

You hated to admit that you believed her, but you still refused to remove the gun from Fitz’s temple. “The symbol on the jacket of the man who took her. It was your insipid mass of tentacles.”

Fitz cleared his throat “Ma’am, it could be Ward.”

“Ward?” Natasha asked.

“I fired him months ago. He’s mostly harmless but would do anything to get into my good graces. I suppose it would be possible for him to pull a stunt like this. Last I heard, he was living at the Motel six off county.” Ophelia gritted her teeth “It’d be greatly appreciated if you both left before you do something you regret.”

Natasha mocked a pout, dragging the tip of the blade against the side of Ophelia’s face. A trail of pin-prink spots of blood rushed to the surface of her skin. “But you’d look so good with an eyepatch.”

Veronica had drifted into an incredibly fitful sleep. She could hear the world around her; the skittering legs of the bug that ran laps on the ceiling, the slow and steady drip of the sinks faucet, the football game that Grant had turned on to drown out her movements.

It was the unmistakable sound of woods splintering that had caught her attention. Ronnie forced herself to control her breathing, just like you had taught her. She clenched down on the sour tasting gag in her mouth, heart pounding violently in her chest.

The television had been turned off and Grant’s muffled voice seeped through the crack in the door. She knew that her mother’s preferred to work silently. They tried to shield her from everything and everyone that held a potential threat. But there were some things that Veronica wanted to see. Including the downfall of her captor.

She made a small noise against the back of her gag and slammed her heel on the puke-colored tub. The dull thumb was enough to halt the movement in the room. There was shattered glass, and an exclamation that could have only been from Natasha.

Grant had locked the bathroom door from the inside and closed it. There was a strong hit that rattled the weak wood. Her breathing picked up as another hit caused the door to bend like it wasn’t a solid force at all, but entirely breakable.

Finally, it gave way and you stumbled into the bathroom in a cloud of slivers and dust. None of that seemed to bother you, eyes darting directly to the tub that your daughter had been housed in for the last six hours.

Veronica was reduced to a bubbling mess of tears. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted to see you, needed to see you. There was something so warm and safe about your touch and it cut through the cold bathroom air like nothing she had ever felt before.

“Oh baby,”

Your voice cracked as you dropped to your knees, making quick work of the gag. Veronica’s jaw ached when you removed it, tossing the cloth aside. You used the very knife that Natasha had used to threaten Ophelia with to cut the zip ties that had cut dark purple bruises into her wrists.

“Oh, my baby, I’m so sorry.”

She gripped you with a strength that reminded you of the first day you’d dropped her off at kindergarten. She’d cried then too, wetting the collar of your shirt with nervous tears. Veronica had clung to you and wicked her fingers into its fabric. It broke your heart to let her go then.

You’d had a meltdown in the driver’s seat of your car with all the other parents that had emotional attachment issues. It was where you met Jessica for the first time. She’d dropped Dani off. Her second child so it was easier this time. She brought you a beer and told you that everything would be okay.

“Mom,” she whispered, over and over again, gripping you to make sure you were real. She was much too old to carry, but you didn’t give a damn in this moment. You scooped her up like she was six years old again and she wrapped her legs around your waist without any protest.

You tucked her head into the small of your neck. “Keep your eyes closed, baby girl. You’re safe now.”

Veronica clenched her eyes shut and dug further into you. She tried to ignore the noises she heard in the single-bed motel room. The choking sounds that Grant let out as Natasha did what she did best with the electrical cord of a lamp.

She kept her eyes shut in the freezing stairwell, and even when the warm mist of an early-morning dew coated his skin. She waited until she could smell the familiar leather of her mother’s car, and even then, she held you in a vice grip that you weren’t willing to let go of anytime soon.

You’d taken your jacket off and draped it over her shoulders. She curled into herself in the backseat of the car. It only took a few more minutes for Natasha to exit through the same service door that you did. Her hair was disheveled, a long gash against the side of her arm that you were certain would need stitches later.

Black blood dripped from the wound and pooled from her fingertips in small splashes against the pavement. She didn’t’ seem to notice, her adrenaline screaming loud enough to quell any pain she would have felt.

Natasha gently urged you to the side before she climbed into the backseat wordlessly. Ronnie seemed to let out a long breath of relief. She launched herself into the woman’s arms. Natasha grunted at the force but squeezed her as tightly as she could, letting her cry.

“Mama, I’m so sorry.” Veronica sniffed “I shouldn’t have gone with him, but he was going to hurt Dani.”

“Do not apologize moy malen'kiy strelok.” She pressed a kiss to Veronica’s temple, fighting back tears. “Never apologize.”

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