#it would be nice... if you took the path of least resistance to your continued existence aka was a major ass who only cared about yourself

[warriorofthesky]

the winnower is real but the only way to fight it in-universe (if it has to be fought at all) is to be nice to each other and refuse to go apex predator on everyone. we win this argument by loving people and choosing friendship over war. in this essay, i will-

[lorei-writes]

Home Sweet Home

Habiba x Kenshin; Habiba & Hideyoshi (platonic) Comedy/Crack ~1.2k

My Meyday!Heyday gift for @spoopy-fish-writes <3 I hope my take on Habiba isn't too far off ^^"

Content Warnings: none

It was when Japanese tree lilac bloomed, although the people of Honshu were not warned of the fact; the pollen, it appeared, had simply spread, carried from the faraway Hokkaido over to the very lake Biwa. And the effects? Scandalous. Unprecedented… Perhaps merely incidental, given the grievous, quick-onset sighing that took over Lord Hideyoshi.

It was when Japanese tree lilac bloomed, although the people of Honshu were not warned of the fact; the pollen, it appeared, had simply spread, carried from the faraway Hokkaido over to the very lake Biwa. And the effects? Scandalous. Unprecedented… Perhaps merely incidental, given the grievous, quick-onset sighing that took over Lord Hideyoshi.

As per the usual state of affairs, the market sitting at the foot of Mount Azuchi spread far and wide, corridors of dumpling stalls interchanging with wooden jewellery, fresh fish, cartloads of colourful cloth, juicy fruit, fine metalwork, and any other produce one could dream of under the skies (at least provided that their dreams did not exceed the capacity of Sengoku-period-appropriate merchandise pool). Tens, if not hundreds, of feet ventured into that labyrinth, some leisurely strolling through the various shops, and some rushing forward without a care in the world. Children’s laughter rose high into the air, curious eyes shining and greedy hands pointing towards any spotted treats. At the heart of things, it was all very mundane in its loud opulence. Were it any different, it simply would not be Azuchi marketplace… And perhaps, in a certain dimension, it was not, or threatened not being one, or more precisely, ceasing to be one if things continued on as they happened to be that day.

Lord Hideyoshi Toyotomi sighed again.

Unusual.

Unprecedented.

Too early on in the day as well. (How many more wrinkles could his honourable forehead fit? That was yet to be tested.)

Shielding her eyes from the sweltering afternoon sun, Habiba Malik surveyed the surrounding stalls. Something glistened at the far edge of the horizon. A hawk that had found its prey, her arm snapped at once, a finger straight like the blade of a katana pointing at a cluster of fabric and precious gemstone stores.

“Full speed ahead!” she ordered.

Sasuke-the-ninja put his hand on Lord Kenshin’s arm. Lord Hideyoshi Toyotomi sighed again.

“No, Lord Kenshin. Nice warlords do not slice through crowds and mean warlords who cause bloodshed in enemy territory have to stand in time-out corners in the dungeon.”

Kenshin frowned, the expression soon melting into a pout. “It is not ‘full speed’ then,” he said, but removed his hand from the hilt of his sword regardless. His mismatched eyes darted over the street, perhaps searching for an alternate route to take… or for Habiba, for that matter, as she had already moved away, her head appearing above the distant waves of passing people. Whichever the case, he darted forward. And after him, Sasuke.

“And that’s why we’re being chaperoned.” And after them, Yukimura.

And after them? Hideyoshi.

Who else?

“No running in the crowd!”

“Why do we need an escort either way? Answer, Sasuke.” Kenshin ignored Hideyoshi.

“It was Lord Nobunaga’s one and only condition for your visit.” Hideyoshi resolutely resisted being ignored, although it required him to, indeed, break his rules and run too.

“I thought she said it’d be Masamune this time,” Yukimura added.

Hideyoshi’s lips parted, but to release no sound. And older lady falling into him, he supported her in his arms, his attention drifting away for just long enough for the group to leave him behind. Kenshin marched onwards, people skipping away from his path; Sasuke was shortly behind him, compensating for his lack of ominous aura with ninja-parkour skills (shops and stalls are just another path if you expand your mindset); Yukimura was last, walking like a normal person.

And then there was Hideyoshi, rushing forward yet not making any progress, and most definitely not preventing Sasuke from climbing onto roofs, or Kenshin from attracting superfluous attention with his sword-happy hand. As a matter of fact, he sighed again. Another crease marked his brow, more of its kind being added at each inconvenience. At last, he reached the store and rejoined the group.

“Would it hurt you to beha—” he started to speak, but forgot his tongue, Habiba staring at him with eyes as big as an owl’s. “What is it this time?”

“You’re frowning so hard you have a honeycomb pattern on your forehead right now. It’s the first time I’m seeing that.”

Hideyoshi ran his hand across his face.

“Look, it’s reorganised. Right now it’s more like… flooded rice fields?” she dully noted.

His eyebrow twitched.

“Huh… Are those seagulls?” Habiba tapped her chin, her eyes narrowing as she lost herself in thought.

“What are you on again, they’re just skiddly lines.” Yukimura shook his head.

“It’s a Rorschach’s test, Yuki,” Sasuke said. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “And I’m seeing two dancing bears.”

Hideyoshi sighed. Again.

***

Red light spilled from the sinking sun, each of the present warlords carrying an armload of wares, varying from golden wire and imported fabric, to drinks and snacks. The group split again, however, Yukimura leading the way out of the Azuchi castle town, followed shortly by Sasuke, with Kenshin tailing shortly behind… Habiba was second to last. Dusty clouds rose off the street as she turned on her heel, fabric billowing around her legs for but a second.

“I think I can see the bears now,” she spoke after a pause, thus breaking the quiet.

“And you never change,” Hideyoshi sighed. (Yet again!) His expression softened, however, a gentle smile curling the corners of his lips as he stepped forward to ruffle her hair. (Habiba ducked away from his hand and glared daggers at him. Alas.) “And that never changes either.”

Perhaps mildly stiff, Hideyoshi handed over the bundles he had carried thus far. Somehow, they were separated, standing at the edge of two different continents despite being just few paces apart.

“You know, you can always come for a visit.”

“Oh, you’ve missed me this much? ‘They grow up so fast’?”

“Hey, you…” Hideyoshi squinted.

“We all have to fly out eventually.” Habiba touched the back of her hand to her forehead, light getting caught in the earring dangling from her ear. “The only thing that doesn’t change is you pining after Nobunaga and Mitsuhide pining after you. No progress on those fronts still?”

“Habiba!”

“What? I have a bet! I can’t lose! If you’re going to take things so slow they don’t move at all, at least continue so for the next month or two.”

“I am doing nothing! There is nothing to continue!”

Habiba gave him the look. “Right. Sure. Absolutely.”

“I swear, you…” A groan churned in his throat. “Just come back whenever. Next time Masamune may not be grounded.”

“Grounded? In the dungeon? Kinky.”

Surrounded by decorum-induced-disingenuous complaints, Habiba turned on her heel again, this time towards Kenshin and his extended hand. She took it, the gentle squeeze delivered by his fingers a vow to always be there… and she stared at the sky, just for a moment, just for a little while. For a little while longer, until they had to head towards their inn. Whatever she saw in the orange clouds splashed in purple, she kept it to herself. Perhaps others would see it too. The sky would always be one and the same, even if different each day.

--

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[tytach]

Happy holiday truce @justalitlecreacher! I'm your gifter for this year~

Once again I apologize for getting your gift to you so, so close to the deadline. The ending still needs a bit of editing, but I'm too tired to look at my screen without seeing every words in double ^^' And you deserve to have a nice gift with a clean ending, so I'll deliver your gift in two parts. I hope that's ok with you!

I went with your second prompt: Jack and Danny bonding; mayhaps another camping trip.

Enjoy!~

Danny was looking dispassionately through the window, head resting in the palm of his hand, gaze lost in the ever blending rows of trees that lined the road. He sighed for the up-tenth time, sensing the draw of the portal growing fainter and fainter the further they drove away from Amity Park.

    "Come on Danno, it’ll be fun," Jack chimed in, ever the enthusiast.

    Danny hadn’t had a say in this ordeal. His dad caught him breaching curfew one too many times and, for some obscure reason, had come up with this camping trip as a punishment.

    "If you say so," he grumbled.

    He didn’t mean to be rude, but he couldn’t help the bad temper. It irked him to leave Amity Park for so long, even though he trusted his friends to hold the fort while he was gone. He couldn’t really explain where that feeling was coming from, but it left him with a bad after-taste in the mouth and a strange buzzing in his core.

    He rubbed at his chest irritatedly.

    Couldn’t his dad have come up with a normal punishment? Like no video games for a week? Like every other normal parent would have?

    The only silver-lining in all this was the promise he had managed to wriggle out of his dad.

    No ghost hunting.

    Hopefully he wouldn’t have to worry about his safety this week-end; at least nothing more than his dad’s regular carelessness.

    Jack’s eyes briefly left the road to focus on Danny, his fingers drumming on the wheel. He was not oblivious to his son’s mood; he just didn’t know how to deal with it. He hadn’t for a while.

    Short of having a better solution to lighten up the atmosphere, he turned on the radio, inserted a CD he fetched from an old dusty case and, soon enough, country music filled the vehicle.

    The familiar tune brought a smile to Jack’s face. They used to play these songs every trip they took when the kids were younger, and the whole family would always sing loudly to the lyrics. He automatically joined the chorus out of habit, finding joy in the memories it brought.

    Danny resisted the urge to put his headphones on and tune him out. It would just be two days of this.

    Just two days.

________________________________________

    Slowly, practical asphalt roads turned into bumpy dirt tracks. The last half hour of the trip was spent cutting through the forest on paths barely large enough for the GAV. With his dad’s questionable driving skills, Danny was glad he was already dead.

    They eventually arrived in an empty clearing a couple hours before sunset. Despite being here against his will, Danny wasn’t above helping unload the GAV —especially if that gave him the opportunity to make sure his dad had kept his word. While Jack was busy mounting the tent, Danny looked around the modified van, searching for hidden weapons his dad would have brought regardless. He was relieved to find none.

    They kept busy setting up camp, barely exchanging words other than giving directions to each other. This was fine with Danny. Occasionally though, Jack would point to something he found funny, or tell a story he was reminded off. Danny would acknowledge him, but he didn’t see the point of continuing the conversation beyond that. Jack didn’t seem to mind.

    He really started to feel the awkwardness when they settled around the fire for dinner.

    With nothing else but the food to busy their hands and minds, Jack tried to open a proper conversation with his son.

    "So, Danno. What have you been up to lately?"

    Danny raised an eyebrow at him.

    "What do you mean?"

    Jack stuck a raw sausage to a stick and brought it to the fire.

    "We barely talk anymore. What’s new in your life? Any new video games? A new cool place to go in town? …A girlfriend?"

    Danny refused to acknowledge that last suggestion.

    "Er… the Nasty Burger has a new burger with twice the meat and four different types of cheese," was the first thing he thought about. "It’s pretty good? We’ve been ordering that a lot with Tuck lately."

    Jack looked at him with interest.

    "Oh really? What types of cheese?" He prompted.

    Danny shrugged.

    "I don’t know, it’s cheese."

    There was an awkward pause.

    "Well, you make it sound pretty good," Jack commented. "Maybe I’ll try it one day."

    "You should."

    The conversation lulled to an uncomfortable silence.

    Jack turned his sausage, watching it cook slowly, while Danny munched on his own.

    Jack wasn’t stupid. Sure, he was often lost in his work, and he tended to be oblivious to what most people apparently tended to notice naturally; but that didn’t mean he was unobservant. He just picked up on details no one paid attention to.

    Like the fact his son had grown progressively more distant in the last two years. Oh, Danny did try to act like it wasn't the case; but he couldn’t fake the missing glee that used to fill his eyes. That’s what had first given away the fact that something had changed in his life. Something big.

    Jack had a few theories, and he feared any of them were true. But it was his duty as a father to try and help his son, no matter how much it implied he had failed his child.

    He took a deep breath.

    "Listen Danny, I—"

    Danny got to his feet abruptly, effectively interrupting him.

    "You know what we forgot? The ketchup! I’ll be right back!"

    He was gone before Jack could tell him the bottle was right next to him.

    Not long after, the Fenton Ghost Detector beeped in his pocket.

________________________________________

    Danny flew as fast as he could, following the pull on his core. He couldn’t believe a ghost followed him all the way here.

    No, scratch that— actually he could. With his luck, there was no way this wouldn’t have happened the night he didn’t bring a thermos with him. He silently cursed himself for his negligence.

    Danny flew in circles in the general area he could feel the ghost being, until he spotted a young boy moving slowly through the darkened forest.

    Huh, not one of his regulars then.

    His irritation receding, he approached the boy carefully.

    "Hi," he greeted in a warm tone.

    The boy turned to him. He looked to be around seven, and was dressed in clothes that were definitely not from this century, nor the last one. Yet he barely had any glow to him; if it was not from his floating bare inches above the ground and Danny’s ghost-sense, he could almost have been fooled into thinking he was talking to a living, breathing child.

    "Hi!" The boy replied, seeming genuinely relieved to see Danny. "Can you help me?"

    "Sure! What do you need?" Danny smiled at the wandering soul.

    He wasn’t used to that kind of clientele, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to help.

    "I’m lost and I think I broke my ankle, I can’t walk. Can you help me find my dad?"

    The boy’s right ankle was indeed all twisted. Danny didn’t point out that it didn’t stop him from moving around; the kid probably hadn’t realized what had happened to him yet, and Danny knew better than to bring up that kind of subject.

    "I can’t stay for long, but I can search with you for a bit if you want," he offered, knowing full well that the boy’s dad had probably passed a long time ago.

    "Thank you!" The boy smiled as he resumed his trek. "The forest is very big."

    Danny nodded.

    "That it is. What’s your name?"

    "Allaster. You?"

    "I’m Danny."

    Danny floated next to him as they passed slowly through the bushes, calling the boy’s dad with him.

    But as the minutes passed, Danny realized he couldn’t bring peace to Allaster. At least not at this time of the night, and definitely not while his ghost hunter of a dad was waiting for him not too far from here. If he found out about Allaster… He might not have any weapons with him at the moment, but Danny was sure that wouldn’t stop him from turning the weekend into a ghost hunting trip nonetheless. And thus despite his promise.

    He decided to bite the bullet.

    "Allaster, I need to warn you."

    The kid ground to a stop, his attention returning on Danny.

    "I came into this forest with my own dad. If he finds you, he could hurt you really badly. You need to leave."

    Allaster’s eyes clouded over.

    "What?" He asked, his voice small.

    "Just for a couple nights," Danny insisted.

    The kid shook his head vehemently.

    "No!"

    "Please, I don’t want you to—"

    "My dad told me that if I got lost, I had to stay right where I was so it was easier to find me. I can’t leave! I CAN’T!"

    And with that last shout, he vanished.

    Well, that had gone well. Danny ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. He should have known better than to ask a ghost to leave its haunt.

    Hoping that the kid wouldn’t reappear before their trip was over, he flew back towards the camp.

________________________________________

    Danny landed behind the GAV. In a flash of light he turned human and hurried back towards the fire.

    "Sorry, it took so long, I really couldn’t find the…"

    Danny stopped suddenly.

    "…ketchup. Dad?"

    The camp was empty, a burnt sausage resting over the dying fire. His dad was nowhere to be seen.

    He started looking around the camp, inside the GAV, in the tent.

    Nothing.

    He was mildly starting to panic when his dad emerged from behind the trees, closing the zipper of his hazmat suit.

    "Wow, that was a big one," he laughed, before sobering at the sight of Danny’s state. "You ok, Danno?"

    Danny chuckled awkwardly, suddenly feeling very stupid.

    "Yeah I’m ok," he said, rubbing his neck. "I just thought— you know, with all the ghost attacks that maybe…" He didn’t need to elaborate further.

    "Careful Danno, you’re starting to exhibit symptoms of chronic Amity Parkers," Jack winked. "But I’m glad to see you’re staying alert."

    He put a new log in the fire, and just like that, they resumed their awkward dinner.

________________________________________

    Danny didn’t sleep well that night. It wasn’t because of his dad’s overly loud snoring —although that clearly didn’t help.

    Danny couldn’t stop shivering, assaulted as he was by a constant chill. His breath kept fogging.

    He could feel Allaster roaming the forest.

    At some point he sneaked out and went looking for the kid, to no avail. Allaster didn’t want to be found.

    He just hoped it would last until they left.

[smoll-tangerine]

congrats on your first year anniversary! can i have a jaehyun x reader fic, unrequited love to lovers au (both as working adults) with the prompt “I’m not jealous.”? Thank you ❤️

[a/n]: thank you so much and apologies for taking so long with your request! i had a small writer's block for this request and wondered just how exactly should i write this. decided to go with friends-to-lovers instead of unrequited love-to-lovers because it was easier for me to write that. i think i took a different path from what people would usually imagine with the prompts you picked, so i hope all my readers will enjoy this very subtle romance drabble! 

PAIRING. office worker!jaehyun x female office worker!reader GENRES. romance, office!au, friends-to-lovers!au, domestic!au PROMPT. "i'm not jealous" WORDS. 1047

WARNING. mentions of alcoholic drinks

You and Jaehyun were assigned to cook for a small party. Doyoung got promoted recently and his new position required him to go to your company’s Singapore office for a period of six months. The only logical thing for you and your friends was, of course, to throw him a party at your place.

A sigh came out of you as you perused your fridge that was luckily stocked with a lot of meat, knowing the boys will surely eat a lot of them. Jaehyun raised an inquisitive brow at you and chuckled.

“Is deciding how much meat we need for tonight something that warrants that big of a sigh?” he asked you kindly.

You shook your head. “No, actually, I was just thinking about how you, Doyoung, and I joined the company at the same time, and look at him now, promoted and shipped off to the Singapore office.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to miss him,” Jaehyun said with a snort, jokingly.

“Har, har,” you replied. “He’ll be back in six months. What is there to miss?”

“Then why the sigh?”

You gave Jaehyun a small look and closed your fridge. You leaned your whole body against it and then crossed your arms. “Promise you won’t make fun of me?”

He smiled mischievously. “Depends.”

You rolled your eyes and motioned him to follow you to the living room, where you had a small glass cabinet displaying some of your favourite alcoholic beverages: the Hennessy XO cognac your parents had gifted you when you got your position at the company, the Disaronno Originale amaretto you bought for yourself, your favourite moscato white wine from Jacob’s Creek and–

“High West’s Midwinter’s Night Dram whiskey,” Jaehyun said in admiration when you pulled out the bottle. You handed it to him and he turned the bottle around while whistling lowly. “You sure know your alcohol. Doesn’t a bottle cost about $300? How did you get your hands on this?”

Your eyes bulged out slightly at the price tag. “Wait, is it actually $300?”

“I mean, it’s probably one of the least expensive ones if we’re talking about the nice and expensive whiskeys, but definitely one of the best ones out there, in my opinion,” Jaehyun rambled and furrowed his brows. “Don’t tell me you bought this without knowing its worth.”

You shrugged one of your shoulders. “Bought it? No. But I certainly didn’t know its worth when it was gifted to me.”

Jaehyun suddenly went silent, his eyes still on the bottle of whiskey. “Who gave it to you?”

He looked so crestfallen. You resisted the urge to laugh at his demeanour. He looked kind of adorable with his pouty lips, so adorable that you felt like teasing him. But you knew that Jaehyun wouldn’t take your teasing too well as he gets embarrassed very easily.

“An old uni professor gifted it to me, actually,” you revealed with a reminiscing smile, “when I told him I got my first permanent job. Who would have thought that six years later, I would still be working there?”

He looked at the bottle again and noticed something odd. “Six years and you never opened it once?”

“Nope,” you answered, popping the ‘p’. “This is the part where you promised you won’t make fun of me.”

You looked at him, making sure he wouldn’t, and only continued when you got his confirmation, “I told myself I was only going to open this bottle when there’s something to celebrate, and perhaps with a special someone if that ever happens.”

“A special someone?!” Jaehyun’s voice squeaked and you snorted. He quickly cleared his throat and repeated with a more serious tone, “I mean, a special someone?”

“Yes, a special someone,” you replied with a small laugh, emphasizing the word to make fun of him. “Maybe I should open it with Doyoung since he got a promotion.”

Jaehyun scoffed loudly. “Doyoung? Please, why would you open such a precious bottle with Doyoung out of all the people?”

You tilted your head in amusement. “Are we feeling jealous, Mr. Jeong?”

“Jealous? Me? Of Doyoung?” Jaehyun rolled his eyes. “I’m not jealous.”

You put the bottle of whiskey back into the glass display cabinet before you two went back to the kitchen to finish cooking. Jaehyun still seemed dispirited from your small conversation about your special bottle of whiskey, for some reason, and he didn’t utter a single word while he was cutting up the vegetables.

Jaehyun was the first person you befriended when you joined the company. He was popular with everyone thanks to his kind and caring nature, it was a wonder how he was still single. At first, you only thought of him as a friend, but your feelings slowly started to develop over the years and eventually, you admitted to yourself that you liked him in a romantic way.

You shamelessly used your friendship to your advantage and flirted with him whenever you could, much to Doyoung’s chagrin who had to witness your conversations every day. Not to mention, it didn’t help that Jaehyun would also shamelessly flirt back with you too.

However, you two never crossed that line.

Both of you had some issues to work with. Jaehyun had his heart broken by his ex and you had commitment issues. It was hard for the two of you to start a new relationship, but there was no denying that you two had feelings for each other.

Slowly but surely, you two took steps to cross that line together.

You leaned on the counter next to Jaehyun. When he finally noticed that you were not doing anything but staring at him, he grew shy. “W-why are you staring at me? Am I that good-looking?”

“Yeah,” you admitted without hesitation. “You’re very pretty to look at.”

“You think I’m pretty?” You nodded and his eyes crinkled. “Well, I think you’re pretty too.”

You hummed in response and rested your chin on your palm. “Say, Jaehyun.”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s open that bottle of whiskey together one day.”

Jaehyun’s hands suddenly stopped and his eyes slightly widened at your declaration. When he saw how serious you were, he dropped the cutting knife and his hand then went to your cheek, caressing it in soft circles.

“Yes, let’s do that.”

[peace-for-levi]

And They Were 'Just' Roomates? [Levi Ackerman x GN!Reader]

Synopsis: Levi and reader are roommates and he is stuck with his feelings while you are dating Zeke Jaeger. Two years after graduating university, they now live together and Levi is still stuck pining for you whilst you're with Zeke... until you break up.

Tw: alcohol consumption, reader is a drunk, emotional mess, some drunk making out, levi being a diehard SIMP and Zeke being kind of an asshole.

This was part of july prompt event 'Roommates', hosted by @anlian-aishang ! thanks for hosting this!

--

From fellow students, to friends, to work colleagues, to roommates and… well, that was it, right?

Levi Ackerman walked down the hallway of the apartment, his hands trailing against the architrave. Leather satchel was thrown around his shoulder that was full to the brim of English papers and his other hand had a glass of water. He was wearing a buttoned up blue shirt and grey slacks and his nice shoes. One would say he was dressed nicely… but could the same be said about his roommate?

“[F/n].” He called out to you through the door after knocking.

It was Friday morning, and anyone would be in a good mood on a Friday, right?

Wrong; not you, anyway. After what happened last night, you traipsed into the apartment late at night and the sight of you made Levi stand up from the sofa and pause the nature documentary he was blindly watching while correcting papers. You walked through the door with the spaghetti straps of your dress hanging down your shoulders, your mascara dripping down your face from your tears and your eyes red-raw as you continued to gasp in massive strokes.

It was an ever-evolving situation with your ex, Zeke. He had grown increasingly angrier and more jealous of your living situation with your friend. Loads of fights and resentment from him towards you and the raven-haired man you lived with had you questioning your feelings towards him. And perhaps towards the end, your love for him had run out… You don’t know how they zapped up so quickly; you and Zeke had once considered marriage and a life together, and it was going well even when you and Levi moved in together initially. After all, Zeke was over at your apartment basically all the time.

And perhaps he noticed the way the raven-haired man looked at you, or the way his hand rested on your shoulder a bit too much, or the way he had your takeaway order memorised.

Perhaps he had figured out Levi’s secret feelings for you…

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when he dumped you in public last night. At you two’s favourite café. At the place of your first date.

And so you wandered in late last night sobbing your heart out, instantly throwing yourself onto the couch next to Levi, despite you knowing he wasn’t the most touchy-feely person out there. Still, to your surprise, he wrapped his arms around you after a few seconds and rubbed your back in circles as you cried. You looked and felt disgusting; fat teardrops and snot dripping down your face, and yet he still chose to hug you

He was just such a kind person. Such a kind friend. A kind roommate.

He wasn’t an idiot. He had been listening to you cry yourself to sleep for the past month now, watching you intently type away on your phone when you two were probably having another fight. He heard you crying and yelling over the phone during arguments from your bedroom. After all, he had his failed relationships too. He knew the process and the path this was taking. And you were there at his side when his relationships had failed.

Being roommates and teachers at the same school did have its perks. Levi had rang ahead of you and told your principal you were taking a sick day.

Levi sighed when you hadn’t opened the door. He wasn’t running late by any means, but he loved to be early. Loved it.

They’re alive… right? Yeah, of course, he said to himself. He leaned down onto the door handle - hands being full and all - and pushed inside.

Curtains were drawn shut, your takeaway from last night knocked over on your desk, teddies and various gifts from the relationship were torn apart on the floor… Levi did his best to walk around every obstacle in his way until he came across the bundle of sheets and blankets. He walked over to the other side of the bed and sat down. He peered down at the floor below him and saw all the tissues you had tossed out over the side.

You wasted the entire box of tissues - the lavender scented tissues and that were his favourite! - but he’d lecture you another time. You were clearly not having a good time.

“[F/n]...” he called out gently. You shrivelled up in response and he sighed for the umpteenth time. “Will you at least crawl out of your blanket prison and drink some water? Damn it, I can’t have you getting dehydrated from your crying last night.”

Oh, but he couldn’t resist the urge to lecture you even the tiniest bit!

“And you used all my good tissues… Erwin got those for me.”

“Erwin can take those tissues and shove them up his ass!” you yelled.

Levi’s face softened at the fact you were still so miserably looking. You didn’t show it on your face - in fact, you looked totally emotionless and empty - and you didn’t respond to his advances. He peeled away the covers and saw you lying in a fetal position clutching your phone, eyes staring at the text messages intently. He snatched your phone and typed in the PIN - you two were that close that you knew each other’s PINs - and he saw you had been texting Zek And he had sent a few messages back.

Zeke: You still don’t know why I dumped you? Are you that slow?

Zeke: I have seen the way he looks at you. I have seen the way you look at him and the way you smile at him. You two are so-called ‘roommates’ but don’t pretend I have forgotten you two’s history in college! How can you two ever expect to be just roommates?! Never contact me again. What a damn waste of two whole fucking years.

The raven-haired man shook his head and he made the decision for you to block his number and delete all media and traces of him from your phone.

“You’re not texting him anymore,” he told you, “He wasn’t good for you. He was never going to be good for you, [F/n].”

Your hand reached out for your phone and you plugged it back in to charge it and you rose from your lying position. Good heavens, you looked… not good. The bra you had worn to bed was poking out of your camisole and your hair was a mess. Levi reached forward and pulled the strap up, being careful to not let his hands linger too long.

You didn’t seem to be in the mood for talking, and he didn’t blame you. He was just trying to look out for you, as a roommate… right?

He pressed down on his knees as he stood up and stretched. He reached down for his leather satchel and told you when he’d be back and to try not to let this take up more of your sick days. “Drink your damn water, too.” He warned.

Levi left with a ruffle of your hair and you collapsed back into bed, pulling the covers back over you. He procured his blazer from the coat hanger that he normally wore over a button-up and put it on. He felt around for the keys and wallet in his pocket and hurried down the stairs to the carpark. He opened the door to the car and buried his face in his palms.

Was he really not that subtle? Had Zeke seen through it all?

How could he help himself… not when he had been hiding his feelings for you for over two years now… He thought that by being roommates and by living with you, he secretly hoped your living styles would conflict, or you two may not have clashed as friends but maybe living together would be too difficult…

...Or was that all an excuse just to be closer to you? After all, you were two freshly out of college looking for an apartment each, but when he told you he found a nice enough place that was decently priced - and how he was your best friend - how could you say no?

Levi wasn’t one to fake innocence or naivety; he knew exactly what Zeke was referring to when. By which you two had drunkenly hooked up four times throughout your degree. And so started the intense feelings he had for you.

He remembered his feelings started out so innocently. You two were in the same education programme and you took a few modules together and naturally by spending more and more time together, you two got closer. Feelings developed and were repressed time and time again. You’d go out together all the time on walks in the middle of the night or grab a drink at the end of exams, but by not giving this a label, nothing came out of it. You two were just hanging out - not dating - and over time, you convinced yourself that that was all you two would ever be: just friends. Friends with feelings for each other, but friends nevertheless.

And this worked until you two got obscenely drunk at your twenty-first birthday party in your dorm, and woke up in the same bed together the following morning, clothes strewn about and his muscular arms wrapped around you.

And you both told yourselves that it would never happen again, and that it was a one-time thing. That you two would remain friends and never cross that boundary ever again.

Until it happened again not too long after… and again and again and again.

And you two both knew the last time that you two weren't even all that drunk…

He shook his head. No, he couldn’t allow this to clog up his mind and leave him feeling mentally congested. But of course his mind couldn’t help but wander to how good you looked - not including today - or how kind you were. And he recounted the sounds you made and the way you moulded to his touch those few times.

Fuck, I’m in too deep, he says to himself as he begins to drive.

.

.

.

By the time the clock ticked five in the evening, he checked his phone again having not checked it for a few hours. He was sitting in his car now and removed his blazer. He was sitting in the private teachers’ carpark but that didn’t stop a few people knocking on his car window. He would get startled initially but he would give a lazy wave of his palm.

[F/n] [L/n]: Hey Levi. Sorry for all the tears last night. But a few friends have invited me out to get my mind off of… everything. I’ll be heading out at around 5 for a meal and then I’ll be back a few hours after that I think!

Levi shrugged. At least you told him you were going out so he didn’t have to worry.

Alright, see you then and be careful. Don’t lose your keys while you’re out, he texted back.

A notification came through right away.

[F/n] [L/n]: You’re too mean! :( You have no faith in me bestie?

He rolled his eyes. No, he texted back and put his phone onto the phone holder and headed home. He was happy you managed to crawl out of bed as it is, never mind you heading out with your friends. This would do you some good. You normally hung around with the same friends from college too and he knew they’d take care of you in this more fragile state.

Good, he didn’t have to worry about you not eating properly - because, no, Ben and Jerry’s did not count as a meal - or you staying in your duvet prison. He could go home and relax and watch his favourite series he was watching. Perhaps he’d order food or do some yoga…

Wow, he was so easily pleased.

Normally you would text your roommate every couple of hours or so. By 10PM rolled around and no update from you, he eyed his phone and placed it down again. You were fine, surely. He just needed to know you still had your keys so that he didn’t have to stay up waiting for you.

They’re fine, hopefully, and I’m getting tired, he said to himself, his eyes fluttering shut. He reclined onto the sofa more, head connecting with one of the plump cushions and sleep overcame him for a short while.

Or so he thought.

He woke up again when he heard a crowd of young people parading outside the alleyway where his apartment block was located. He inhaled sharply and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm and leaned over to check his phone. Damn, still no update from you.

He stood up from the couch and knocked on your bedroom door. “[F/n]?” he called out. No answer.

Okay, clearly it was more than just a meal. You were probably out drinking. No, he wasn’t going to fret.

You didn’t drink too often, but if you were ever emotional while drinking, you were definitely wild and more prone to danger. As soon as the intrusive thoughts began, his phone began to ring. He could feel his palms sweating already. He wiped them off the slacks of his pants he had not changed out of and answered the phone.

“H-Hello? [F/n]?”

“Hi, this is Levi, right?” the female voice came. A little bit slurred but the person seemed okay. “We took a few classes together in college, it’s Christa Lenz.”

“Ah, Christa, yes. Is [F/n] alright?”

Christa seemed hesitant at first. “Um, well… no. Not really. We had a meal and whatever and they were fine then, and then another girl, Sasha, suggested a few drinks. [F/n] seemed up for it and it was all going okay. A bit tipsy but they--”

“Get to the fucking point.” He snapped.

“--[F/n] saw Zeke enter the bar around an hour ago, and they panicked and drank a lot more… Like they downed seven shots already.”

“Is [F/n] okay? Are they awake or conscious?”

“I mean… we’re outside Trost Bar now not too far from your place, but we’re sitting down because they feel nauseous standing. That, and they’re crying a lot. Uh. They’re kind of a mess right now.”

Christa didn’t hear Levi say anything else, but once she heard the footsteps, the door opening and the jingling of keys, she knew he was on his way. Levi momentarily stopped and ran back inside your apartment and grabbed a bottle of water, some painkillers, an empty shopping bag in case you needed to get sick and a few other essentials. He raced back down to his car as fast as his legs could carry him to rush and collect you.

He stepped on the gas. Thankfully, Trost bar was no more than a ten minute drive away but that didn’t mean he was going to take his sweet time.

He could recall the bar vaguely, it was an ideal location for students. It was spacious, but it was also popular so people crammed into it leaving little to no space for anyone else. The bar is hundreds of conversations all trying to compete with the rock music that dominated the atmosphere. It would boom in the speakers and there were speakers everywhere. At first he was confused how he could recall so little else about it but he remembered how much the loud music used to deter him and he’d only ever stay for an hour at a time.

He slowly came to a halt when he found your friend group sitting with you on the pavement. He parked across the road and after looking both ways, he ran across to you. Christa looked up, followed by Mikasa and Sasha. You on the other hand had your head buried between your legs. Levi knelt down and pulled your face into his hands.

“Sheesh, you’ve seen better days.” He remarked. You were clever to have worn waterproof mascara but everything else smudged and rubbed away. He pulled you up by your hands and slung your arms over his shoulder. “Thanks, you guys. I appreciate this.”

He walked you over to his car, but he heard the not-so-silent remark from one of your friends.

“There’s no way they’re just roommates, right?”

He only sighed, sat you down in the seat and passed you the shopping bag he brought from your apartment. He went round to the boot of the car and got you a bottle of water before sitting into the front seat. Leaning over to the glove compartment, he tossed your makeup remover wipes at you with the simple command “wipe” and he pressed on the accelerator.

You could say he was prepared, for sure.

An inexplicable feeling of anger had overcome the short man once you saw you in this drunken, emotional state. You would be able to see it in the way his thin brows had knitted together and the way his teeth ground against each other. Even in your drunken state, you could tell he was driving a bit faster than normal.

The ride home was silent, the tension was palpable. You finished removing the makeup and most of it had gone. Levi noticed you toss the wipe on the floor in your half-sleepy, half drunk state. Under normal circumstances he would have snapped at you to pick it up. Not tonight, though.

“Leviiii…” you drawled, your speech still slurred. When you didn’t get the response, you poked at his muscular thigh repeatedly until his hand reached down to seize your wrist. “You’re-” followed by a hiccup, “you’re angry at me.”

He was angry and he was trying to piece his emotions together. He felt anger towards you for drinking yourself into this state rather than dealing with your emotions in a more healthy way. He was thankful and appreciative that as a roommate, you never drank too often so he never had to come collect you like this, but he hated being held to that title.

Maybe he was angry he was only your roommate. Or he was angry at himself for being jealous of Zeke and angry that he wasn’t the one who got to wake up to you in the mornings after a night of euphoric, raw passion. Because, wow, that man had to grit his teeth and put on headphones many times when Zeke came over.

He was angry at Zeke for upsetting you this much and getting you so upset in the first place. For being so awful to break up with you in the place you two had your first date. He was angry at the thought of not realizing how much more you deserved. If Levi had gone to the bar, he was sure his first would have connected with the bearded-man’s jaw at some point. He was angry that Zeke never appreciated you the way he would have, even if he wasn’t the most emotive or touchy-feely person.

“I’m sorry, Levi…” you murmured, and Levi found himself slowing down. He didn’t want you to apologize, but the tone in your voice that was laden with guilt made his heart lurch forward. He saw a hazy light in the distance and began to glide towards the side of the road. In your blurry state you could make out where he was taking you to. “Levi?”

“Get out.” He said, plainly.

You blinked a few times as you prepared to get out of the car, knowing you’d probably wobble a bit. The dimly lit sign of the OPEN above the diner did make you suddenly hungry.

“I need coffee.” Levi muttered as he opened the door for you.

“Y-You could have used m-mine…” you mumbled, speech still slurring but you were becoming more lucid now.

He could have used yours, but he knew how nice it was to get some fried food after having a few too many drinks. Plus, he knew that you have gotten quite sensitive before when drunk or even a bit hangry. He walked to the double doors that were polished so clean you couldn’t see the glass. He walked in ahead and opened the door and held it open.

When the pair of you sat down, you ordered a cheeseburger and a vanilla milkshake which came with a side of fries. The already forming hangover was starting to hit but the smell of fried food was doing well to neutralize it for now. Fluorescent lights kept the counter lit and the slight hum that came from them was giving Levi a headache, but he tried to zone in on the jukebox in the corner that was playing some classics from the 70s. Still, Levi’s anger continued to brew and he knew he’d pop if he didn’t get home to sleep away his turbulent feelings. Once the food came, Levi quickly stood up to go to the bathroom and you eagerly ate, too engrossed in the saltiness of your burger and the sugar of your milkshake to even realize he had gone. He did swipe a chip from your bowl though and dipped it into some tangy garlic mayo once he came back, once he had shoved something into his pocket. You eyeballed him for a second.

“You didn’t actually go pee, you paid for me.” You deduced.

“You have no proof.”

“I can check your online banking,” you said, leaning over to swipe his phone. You heard him mutter something about how you didn’t know his PIN or login-details. “Two, five, one, two...” you whispered, the date and month of his birthday.

Levi only blinked and leaned over to snatch his phone. “Just shut up and eat your food.”

You munched in more tense silence. Once you finished, you two left and walked back to Levi’s car. Given how no one chased after you two, that confirmed that Levi had paid.

The more you babbled on the way home, the harder Levi gripped the steering wheel. The sooner you get over this breakup, the better for him. He knew it was just drunk rambling but he was getting so obscenely frustrated. He was tired, he wanted to sleep.

When you two arrived back home at the apartment, he walked inside and held the door open for you. If anything, he needed the paracetamol more than you now. He walked over to the counter to get a glass of water for himself until you beckoned him over.

You weren’t an idiot, you knew he was pissed. And you hated going to bed if you knew someone was angry at you.

“Sit next to meeeee!” you called out in a sing-song. You patted the seat next to you. “You’re so grumpy! Can we talk about it?”

“No. Don’t wanna talk about it. You’re drunk.”

“Am not!” you cried, standing up.

Levi leaned back against the countertop, chugging on the glass of water. “Oh, yeah?” he challenged. “Go on, then. Stand on one foot, hold it for thirty seconds.”

“Nooooo problemoooo…” you replied. You raised the sole of your foot to touch the side of your knee and calf and brought your hands into high prayer. You were doing it… you were doing it…

Until you stumbled and fell after four seconds.

“Hammered.” Levi declared.

You pouted. Okay, if he wasn’t going to talk, you’d have to make him. And what better way than to try to cheer him up?! You sprang to your feet and ran around behind the opposite side of the countertop, before crawling on top of it. You heard Levi beginning to question your actions but he had no time to react when you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. You just managed to force Levi into giving you a piggy-back.

“Smile for meeeee!” you beamed, pulling at his lips.

“Fuck off!” he yelled as he walked you over.

“Pleeeeeeeease!”

“NO! Get off me!” he cried, louder this time and flipped you onto the couch. “Fucking hell, you’re so fucking annoying and dense and you never know when to shut the fuck up!”

His uncharacteristic outburst shocked you as you looked up at him with doe eyes. He was tired and fed up, and he was feeling his jealousy simmering over. Like, hell, this never would have happened if you were never dating that furball to begin with. You never would have drank yourself silly. Even if you were dating Levi and you broke up, he could safely say he’d hate to hear you drinking away your emotions. He hated seeing you so upset over a man and he had to listen to this for over a month. For the past two years of him sitting with his feelings, he’s had to see you with a man who never appreciated you and you didn’t see just how much you deserved. Even if you didn’t find it with him, he was so convinced that anyone would have treated you better than Zeke.

In fact, he didn’t care if you never looked at him the same way he did you; just as long as you were happy with someone. He’d get over it eventually, even if it killed him in the process.

But how many more men would come and go because they could never accept the fact you lived with your best friend - your best friend you have been intimate with?

He’d never be able to forget those moments with you. Especially the last time you two slept together.

You two were basically sober, and yet you still wound up with Zeke not too long later…

Maybe hearing it from you as to why you could never give him an answer. He was your best friend after all… why couldn’t you tell him you weren’t interested?

He stood before you as the thoughts circled in his head like a never ending merry-go-round; one that had a scratchy, out of tune melody but still droned on and plagued him. He glanced up at you and saw your eyes were now beginning to water.

Shit, he forgot how easily sensitive you were when you were drunk.

"You know, Levi… I think you're so mean and grumpy at times, and that you don't understand me!" you cried. Even though you were deep in your feelings and a slobbery mess, you still threw your arms around him, always finding comfort in his arms.

Levi sighed and relented, guiding the two of you down to the sofa and he waited for the emotional, tearful outburst to pass. You sat on the right and he made what could be considered as a potentially suggestive gesture to rest his hand on your thigh. But that was it, he just rubbed your leg up and down as you continued to bawl and be a mess.

"Yeah, perhaps I don't understand you…" he murmured once you begun to calm down.

You sniffled and looked up at him. "What?"

"I don't understand you at times, [F/n].."

You blinked owlishly. "I don't get it. What are you referring to?"

Gosh, he was going to lose it. He knew he was going to lose it but he knew you couldn't help it if you were still confused, even if you were beginning to sober up.

Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it, don't say it...

"Why him, why Zeke, huh? You knew I loved you two years back. I still do. I knew at the very least liked me. So, fuck-- why would you even tough it out with him that long if he made you so unhappy?"

Fuck, he said it.

“Why couldn’t you at least tell me you didn’t like me back?” he asked, smoothing his black hairs back. “It’s been both great yet simultaneously agony living with you.”

You were silent, uncomfortably silent. He wanted to just tell you to forget what he said, but how could you? Not when he openly confessed.

Why did you get with Zeke… He never captured your heart the way Levi did in the first place. You tried thinking back to two years ago, but your mind was still fuzzy. It was a shame he did this while you were still a bit drunk, but at least you’d be most honest this way, no? Drunken words are sober thoughts after all.

At the time, were you, perhaps, scared to get romantically involved with your best friend? Was the timing of it all too wrong, close to graduation, where afterwards Levi planned on moving away? Could you have coped with long distance after being with him for the four years of your undergraduate?

“Maybe because I knew we were graduating soon and you wanted to study more out of state…” you murmured. “Maybe because you were my best friend and that would have made things messy… And if you were going to leave, I guess I needed to find someone else because I assumed nothing would happen…”

Levi looked at you as he spoke. Sure, that was the original plan - to move away - but he realized he’d be better off finding a job first to pay him part of the way and maybe take a sabbatical of sorts a few years from now to further his education. And it just so happened you two both ended up applying and getting accepted at the same highschool. And that you had been dating Zeke for four months now so what could he do except live with it.

“Maybe I was scared you only liked the times we were physical together and nothing more…” you added.

Levi sighed heavily. He had watched you the entire time as you spoke before turning to look at the countertop in the dimly lit kitchen area. He pressed down on his knees as he went to stand up. “Look, I’ll just--”

“N-No!” you interjected, grabbing him by the hand. “Stay.”

Levi’s eyes widened marginally and he sat down again, not shaking away your hand. Your lower lips trembled as you continued to stare at him, and he back at you.

You leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. It lasted just a second and there was no time for you to savour it.

“I’m sorry, Levi.” You mumbled.

But before you could babble another apology, Levi raked his fingers through your hair and placed a kiss to your lips.

“Don’t be. But fuck, wow, we really need to work on communication. Even if we are just roommates.”

You shook your head and you quickly moved to straddle him. This action shocked Levi to his core, evident by his wide eyes but they quickly became clouded with lust as you ground against him and leaned in for a soul-sucking kiss. His hands found your hips and his mouth moved in tandem to your own. He let you explore the recesses of his mouth with your tongue and he could only respond in kind as he removed the jacket you were wearing. He could tell you were definitely eager by the way you hand cupped his cheeks and smoothed over them constantly, pushing yourself in for more and more.

He was displeased at how much you had dominated him so quickly and had his head spinning and was quick to tighten the grip on your hips and pushed you down onto the cushion of the sofa. The two of you continued to kiss and grind against one another, your fingertips raking across his back. You arced your head back as Levi moved to leave sloppy kisses against your neck, sucking and biting occasionally until he was sure to have at least left some sort of mark in his wake. You pulled his head back to yours and bit on his lower lip. He let out a soft yet animatlistic groan and it only spurred you further. Every blissful noise that escaped you made his blood overheat and left a burning desire in his bones.

Fuck, he wanted this so badly. He had been waiting so long. It was just perfect; you fit and moulded to him perfectly. He’d love to take you right then and there on the couch but his conscience just wouldn’t allow him.

You weren’t entirely sober.

This could all change in the morning.

He groaned and pulled away once your fingers tried to pull at the fly of his slacks. He was quick to grab your hand and sit back up. He looked down at you again. “I respect you too much to do this now, not until I know you want this as much as me.”

“But, I do--”

“You’re drunk, you’re not able to properly say you want this or to consent. I can’t allow myself to do this now. It’d be different if you weren’t.”

“I can sober up quickly, look!” you pestered. You closed your eyes for a few seconds before they opened again. “See? Sober!”

He scoffed. “You just counted to five with your eyes closed and opened them again. The answer is no, [F/n].” He said, and stood up. “I’ve waited too long for you not to properly enjoy this anyway…”

You couldn’t help but blush at his last words. “Alright, roomie, will you at least come to bed with me then?”

He scoffed but you could see him smiling amidst the murky darkness of your apartment. “I guess so.”

You two pattered down the hall, you stopping to remove your heels halfway. You opened the door to your bedroom and changed while Levi put on his nightwear. You shuffled into bed in just a vest and cotton shorts and Levi was soon to follow. He extended an arm and you sidled up next to your roommate.

“Depending on how this weekend goes, you and I may just need to take a sick day on Monday also.” He uttered after a few minutes of both your eyes being shut.

“What do you mean?” you asked, yawning.

“I haven’t had you in two years, ‘s been far too long…” he replied. He knew that alone would get you to blush so he settled in closer to you. He smirked and said, “sleep well, roomie” before heading off to dreamland.

You, however, continued to fantasize for the next hour or so before sleep overcame you too.

Was this the right decision to make after getting out of a long-term relationship just a day ago? You couldn’t tell. But you did realize back then when you were kissing him that there was something that was never there with Zeke. Maybe it was more love, or it was sensitivity. Maybe it was more attention to detail and consideration. Maybe it was the pining and the restraining he had to do that left to unbridled passion.

Well, you had a whole weekend to yourselves now - and perhaps Monday, too - and you were already excited for what was in store tomorrow.

.

.

.

Once your hangover goes away, of course.

[yanderenightmare]

could we get the bnha yanderes with a darling that’s actually really fond of their dark side and revels in the attention

yandere ! BNHA headcannons

TIP-JAR

goodiebag WARNINGS: anxiety, arson, drugs, guilt, delusions, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, mind control, DUBCON, yandere-themes

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

He had planned to be sweet, similar to his scent of caramel as opposed to what destruction he was capable of. He had planned to be patient, to tolerate whatever screams and cries his darling might have reacted with, but what he was met with wasn’t horror, but… something strangely akin to what he would call gratitude or even excitement or even lovesickness. He thinks she surprised herself more than she surprised him with how easy she folded, but once he got over the shock and not to mention the suspicion her compliant nature beckoned from him, he was only motivated to go harder, to be rougher, to be as intense as he had wished but had held back. She likes the attention, despite it being overwhelming and scary and brutal at times, she still likes it, maybe even because of it. Once he got over the fear of her acceptance crushing under the full weight of his obsession, he became cocky about it. She’s his little freak and he has the confidence and the reassurance to tease her for it now, thoroughly amused with how her eyes cross paths and her brows knit together, drooling and mewling with his hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing her neck with her tight little pussy clenching around his shaft as he drives into her. He exploits it, finding such great amusement and entertainment in hearing her pray for him to go harder and faster, even as she begins to cry, limbs shaking as she continues to beg for him, eyes like opium, wide and void with pooling darkness.

DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

Dabi had expectations. Expecting his little darling to not fully be at peace with his self-proclaimed ownership of her, he had decided to not pay her objections any mind. He decided that the hard way was the best way from the very start. But… his darling didn’t meet him with the type of reluctance he had expected. Sure, she was crying, but when he reached out his hand she didn’t bite like the sort of animal he’d expected, but rather, reached out ever so timidly and eyes so wide and glossy and sparkly and in search for some comfort. He couldn’t be harsh when she was being so sweet, he couldn’t be anything but appreciative when she curled up on his lap like such a soft little thing, hands gripping onto his shirt, sobs that seemed too tame for him to scold her, besides… it felt… nice. It felt nice to be the source of comfort as opposed to the factor of discomfort. It felt like absolution. He used to think he’d find clinginess annoying, but his little darling is clingy in all the right ways. Latching onto him when she’s crying, after a bad dream, all throughout the night, even when he’s the source to her pain, when he makes her jump up and down on his cock, her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers intertwining in his raven locks, legs around his torso, running to hug and welcome him home, kissing him, telling him how she missed him, how much she loves him, how much she needs him.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

He’s so confused. He kidnapped her. Kidnapped her. Took her, abducted her, stole her, forced her away from a life with little regard to her feelings on the whole ordeal, subjugated her to a tiny room with more flying specs of dust than light allowed to shine through the windows. It’s not even like he’s a handsome kidnapper either. Is she insane? Why is she looking at him like that? Why isn’t she afraid, why isn’t she swatting his hands away when he reaches to touch her? Why is she touching him? How can she touch his wrinkles, his scars, his cracking breaking skin? How can she touch his hands, his scarred deadly bloodied hands? And what is that look on her face? If he didn’t know any better he’d call it fascination, curiosity perhaps… adoration? No. No, no, no, no way. No way she’s simply just… accepting… enjoying… just as simple as that. To be honest, he’s feeling slightly freaked out, alarmed, concerned. This isn’t natural. This isn’t healthy. She should at least cry, if only just a little bit. But no. No, her fingers playing curiously with his hair when he’s playing videogames. At least she doesn’t talk to him like they’re chummy old pals, then he’d really feel the thin hairs at the back of his neck rise. But, when he touches her milky skin with his sandpaper-fingertips she doesn’t squirm, and when he pushes those same fingers knuckle deep inside her she doesn’t tell him to stop. He finds himself quickly enjoying testing the boundaries of his little darling, boundaries he’s yet to have found proof of.

SHINSO HITOSHI

He was expecting for there to be some debate surrounding his ownership of her, he was preparing to teach his little pet a thing or two about who was boss early on, but… she seemed to slip right into her role so naturally. Instead of him teasing her, she’s teasing him, mocking him, making him feel as though he has no control even as he stares into those wide milky orbs who no longer have the ability of mobility, yet still has the power to inch her lips into that eerie playful catlike grin, as though she’s excited, as though spiked with untamed thrill. She’ll talk to him as though there’s no danger, as though he won’t have her mind in his clutches by the end of it, almost as if she’s counting on it, waiting for it, coaxing him with words of her own. They’ll play like cat and mouse, one always either tempting or chasing the other. She’ll even laugh, eyes bright and vivid and spiked and twirling as she lets him catch her time and time again, in a way that makes him believe he’s the one that’s been captured. He’s surprised, to say the least, surprised because his little darling is in fact a little devil, a little baby-faced angel-eyed demon, who enjoys how the darkness feels against her skin, who loves how his inky-fingers feel when tampering with her mind, and has darkness of her own to drown him with too.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

He was preparing for a wild beast, but was happy to find his little darling settling in as though she understood that in the comfort of his house is where she belonged. Calling it a kidnapping became weird and sounded foreign when referring to their arrangement, especially when he came home to his darling in her apron, cooking, cleaning or sleeping so soundly on his couch you’d think she’d done so her whole life. She doesn’t flinch when he touches her, she rather leans in to greet the touch, her eyes heavy-lidded and joined with his gaze. And when he comes home, some days all broken and bruised and bloodied and smoke-ridden, his feathers ragged and plucked, she’ll fuss. Fuss and pamper and coo and take such good care of him, softly and sweetly patching him up, messaging wings, give his torn lip a kiss, stroke a careful hand through his locks. She’ll be so perfect, like an angel, a living breathing real-life angel. Or a guardian, something he’s always wanting. Someone to make him feel safe and loved and protected, despite him being the hero and his darling being the victim to his villainy.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

Here he was thinking she couldn’t possibly be any more of an adorable little darling than what she already was. He’s not used to being wrong about his calculations, he’s not used to liking finding faults in his calculations, but he has to admit he was pleasantly surprised with how his darling accepted his feelings easier than what he had expected. He had assumed it to be a lengthy and gradual and careful process, he was prepared to take his time, be patient, be supportive, but… his darling portrayed little of what anxiety symptoms he had imagined: panic-attacks, quaking, crying, screaming. She seemed more honored than anything. Amazed to have caught the eye of the Midoriya Izuku, the number 1. Hero of not just Japan, but arguably the whole world. She felt proud, bashful to be getting the attention, but thriving in it despite herself believing it was misplaced. Wanting to return Izuku’s worship, cherish, awe with appreciation of her own at every given turn. She would still yelp when he picked her up to carry her about, but who wouldn’t when his arms are the sizes of pillars. Though, the sound of surprise would always be followed by the sound of laughter, school-girl giggles that felt like the fluttering of butterflies against his chest. Also, when she slept on top of him. With one of his hands placed on the dome of her ass and the other holding a book up for him to read, the small feel of her drumming pitter patter heartbeats against his ribcage, so cute and comfortable and safe.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL 

He was expecting a fight, he was expecting annoying migraine-evoking screams, he was expecting thrashing, causing waves to fall onto the bathroom tiles when she was in the bathtub. He was expecting the worst, because that’s what good business men do: expect the worst, prepare for the worst, and find refuge in the fact that it was far from what hell they had imagined. But… it’s rare to be met with the exact opposition of what you had predicted, which was what had happened. There was no war, there was no fight, there was no riot, there wasn’t even the hint of resistance. There were still small tremors of fear though, yet far less than what he had foreseen. The type of fear you find when bringing home a new pet, more careful hesitant curiosity than actual fear, as though trying to find comfort in your surroundings, as though trying to settle in. He looks like a dangerous man, yet… her eyes aren’t terror-wide but big with anticipation, with a strange form of thrill. And though her actions remained feather-light she was still the first one to reach out, she was still the one to ask to witness the demolition and recreation of his quirk, she was still the one that chose to tie the knot to his tie in the morning. Though he was the one to have found and taken her, she was the pioneer.

TODOROKI SHOTO

Not much can change what Shoto has planned for his darling’s future. Whether she enjoys it or hates it, it will be accepted. What he plans to do with her, what soft-tinted or red-violent passions he plans on bestowing upon her, the fact that she likes it from the start hardly matters when through time she was going to learn to enjoy it anyway. He was always going to lick up her skin with his flames or make her skin whisper upon the threat of being frozen, until she’s a sweat-slicked feverish mess in his lap, and he was always going to take good soft care of her afterwards. But, he must admit, he’s surprised to find that the aftercare is such a sweet pleasure, seemingly rivaling what blissed-out state he can reach when playing with his little darling. He knew he would enjoy it, but… he could never have imagined the motherly touch his darling gifts him with, what tender smiles and heavenly laughs and the way she tangles herself with him, limbs an unruly yet comfortable knot. What more, when she asks to see his quirks, wants him to make frost-flowers on the windows or in the shower on the glass-walls, when she holds his hands as he creates little lanterns of dancing tendrils and wisps, ones she can tickle with her fingertips as they twirl in his palm. The way her eyes light up with that childlike-wonder he never seemed to possess when he was young, makes him feel a different type of warm far from burning.

TIP-JAR

[myherowritings]

anywhere the wind blows

SUMMARY. After hunting a bounty near Wangshu Inn, you sensed the faint scent of qingxin blowing in the familiar wind. It seemed like it was leading you somewhere.

PAIRING. xiao x reader

WORD COUNT. 2.2k

GENRE. fluff, pre 1.3 release

A/N. my first genshin fic of my fav character xiao !! i’m definitely still getting used to writing for this world and for him but i hope this isn’t too bad 🥺 i’m so excited for xiao’s story and banner and can’t wait to learn more about him! if 1.3 comes and totally undermines the small guesses abt the lore i added into this fic then…we pretend we do not see u.u ANYWAY PLS ENJOY xx sof

“A rock shieldwall Mitachurl with a resistance to cryo,” you murmured to yourself with a satisfied smile, picking up the ominous mask and heavy horn that it dropped from the fight. “No more terrorizing Wangshu for you.”

You had just accepted a bounty handed out to you in Liyue and arranged for the proper party to come pick it up. The rewards were promptly transferred to your tab and you bade the team who came to collect the Mitachurl a swift goodbye.

It wasn’t normally on your daily agenda to hunt bounty for money—though the mora was quite appealing, you couldn’t lie—but when the beasts were too close to civilization and scared both residents and passerbyers in Liyue alike, you felt a greater need to step in. And now, after a job well done with some mora in your pockets, you realized just how tired and hungry that search made you.

Looking up, you saw the peak of the inn from a distance and followed the silk flower-covered path there. It wasn’t often you frequented Wangshu Inn, but you have visited enough to know their Jueyun Chili Chicken and Almond Tofu were pretty solid reasons to drop by again.

Your appearance was rather disheveled from your fight with the Mitachurl but you weren’t too messy-looking—certainly decent enough to interact with other humans you hoped. Smoothing down your clothes and practicing a smile, you headed over to the outdoor dining area and were greeted by a waitress who led you to an empty table as she asked for your order. The exchange was pleasant enough and you were soon left to your own devices once your food swiftly arrived.

It was dark out in Wangshu. The bounty hunt took most of your late afternoon and by now the sun had fully set. The dining area was quiet and empty with only the moon watching over you.

You hummed, taking in a mouthful of the sweet Almond Tofu. The night was nice and peaceful and quiet, just like most of your evenings.

A familiar breeze blew against your face, chilling yet warm. Captivating. There was a faint smell of qingxin, like the flowers you grew fond of during your explorations around Liyue’s stone forests.

The wind was different from what you experienced in Mondstadt. That air was light and playful. Free.

The wind you felt just now, on the other hand, seemed to convey something more wistful. Almost yearning.

And it wasn’t your first encounter with this qingxin-filled breeze either. When you helped comfort Little Luo back in Qingce Village and fended off the pesky Hilichurls on her trail, this wind blew around you and cooled the heat from your cheeks. Around Bubu Pharmacy when you spent time with Qiqi, a zombie you happened to stumble upon one day, you felt the same curious breeze.

Part of you felt like you were being watched over. But not in a bad way. It made you feel safe and protected, yet empowered enough to continue your bold expeditions and help the people of Liyue when you were needed.

The wind stuck around as you finished your meal, the aroma of Almond Tofu wafting through the air from the wandering breeze, almost as if it was seeking a taste. Once your plates were cleared and your drink emptied, you headed inside the inn and hoped they had a spare room on such a short notice and—to your surprise—for once they actually did.

On the way up the stairs, you passed by an open balcony near the top of the inn where you caught a glimpse of a lean figure with dark hair looking up at the night sky. You normally would have walked away from the balcony and left the man to his own devices, promptly going to your rented room to get some much needed rest, but the familiar scent of qingxin flowers dancing in the wind made you freeze mid-step.

Wangshu Inn wasn’t too far from mountain tops where qingxin grew… It could have been a mere coincidence.

But in Liyue, you knew that believing such things could be a coincidence would simply be fooling yourself.

The person on the balcony gave no indication that he felt your gaze, but you knew intuitively that he had already sensed your presence despite not having moved a single inch. His stance was so steady you might have thought he was a statue if not for his teal-tinged hair blowing in the wind.

Could he have been the cause of the qingxin breeze that recently started following you around?

“Hi,” you said gently to more formally announce your presence. On the off-chance he didn’t realize anyone was there, you definitely didn’t want to startle him. But judging by the unsurprised expression on his face as he slowly looked over his shoulder, you sincerely doubted he was one to startle easily. “May I stand here?”

His eyes were scrutinizing but not unkind as they looked you up and down. You took your time examining him as well— From the top of his silky-looking hair to the blue tattoos wrapping around his arms and to the mysterious horned mask hanging from his hip.

“I suppose you may,” he finally replied with a single nod, his voice neither welcoming nor rude.

You stood a few feet away from him, leaning against the wooden balustrades as you let the cool air hit your face. The night was quiet and calm, dimly lit by the moon peeking through the foggy sky. Sighing, your eyes fluttered shut in contentment as you felt the wind soothe the aches from the bounty hunt in your muscles.

You wouldn’t normally let your guard down like this in front of someone you just met, but for some reason you weren’t the least bit on edge. He didn’t seem like a stranger. And you had a feeling that maybe he wasn’t.

“Have we met before?” you found yourself wondering aloud. The mask on his hip looked familiar, though you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, like you’ve seen it in a book you’ve read. And the air around him certainly felt familiar, though it seemed strange to describe why.

He didn’t respond.

Huffing, you tried a different approach. A more direct one. “Have you been following me?”

His brow raised but he uttered no words.

Was that approach too direct?

After a moment of silence, he said, “Were you not the one who followed me out onto the balcony? If I remember correctly, I was here first.”

“But were you not the one who drew me here with your qingxin-scented breeze?” you shot back, tone more curious than biting.

To your surprise, he said nothing to deny it. “Attentive, I see.”

“I’m not sure it’s quite that I’m attentive rather than you wanting me to know.” You hid a smile. He wouldn’t have made it so obvious otherwise, you were certain of it. For someone who held more power in his little finger than you could possibly fathom, you knew that him alerting you of his existence couldn’t be a mere accident.

“You’re right.” He shrugged. “But it’s not so much that I wanted to call you here than I didn’t mind if you happened to stumble by.”

You ran the palms of your hands over the railings, craning your neck to the side to face him. He was a puzzling creature, giving off the aura of something greater and more powerful than a human. The ominous mask dangling around his hip seemed to serve as a word of caution to indicate a menacing side he hadn’t shown you, but his calm stance and the small tilt of his head made him seem curious—almost inviting.

It was intriguing, to say the least.

“And why did you want me to, as you say, stumble by?” you said. “Not that I mind.”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, shaking his head and looking confused himself. “Intuition? I noticed you fighting, helping the people of Liyue. You’re doing a...good job.”

You shrugged, rubbing at the back of your neck as you shied away from his praise. “So you summoned me here to thank me?”

“I don’t know,” he said again, his impassive tone sounding almost frustrated.

At the small frown playing on his lips, you couldn’t help but let a noise of laughter escape you. He gazed at you in question. This whole situation seemed strange and peculiar, straight out of a dream you’d have at random only to forget the next morning. He seemed strange and peculiar, like a figure out of a story book lost in the ruins of Liyue.

And yet you found yourself enjoying this odd encounter.

“Well, Mr. Stranger, since you seem uncertain of so many things still, are you going to continue to have your wind follow me around Liyue until you figure whatever it is out?” you questioned teasingly, not at all minding that prospect.

He glared, looking slightly embarrassed. “It’s not that I was following you. I only sensed someone in need but happened to see you rushing along the way and decided to let you handle it. The less involvement in the affairs of mortals, the better.”

So he wasn’t a mortal himself, you thought, his words confirming your previous suspicions. Still…

“Is that so?” You quirked a brow. “And what is this if not for involvement in the affairs of a mortal?”

He folded his arms and didn’t say a word.

“Let me guess— You don’t know?”

“Hmph.”

You smiled. “Well, I guess it’s okay you don’t know. It’s okay not to know sometimes, you know?”

He blinked. “You aren’t making sense.”

“And you are?” you retaliated. “I still don’t know who you are or anything about you yet. But… I know you smell like qingxin flowers and feel like a cooling breeze. And I know that I rather enjoy it.”

The mysterious entity looked out into the mountain scenery, gloved hand resting on the dark balustrade. He seemed both lost in thought and completely aware of his physical surroundings at the same time. Suddenly, he spoke up.

“Xiao.”

Your gaze met his as he nodded once. “Xiao?”

“My name. Now you know who I am.”

You laughed, startled by how blunt he was. “I guess you’re right. Nice to meet you Xiao.”

“Hm.” Xiao waited one moment before he asked, “Do you plan to keep exploring Liyue?”

At his question, you briefly considered your options for the near future. You liked Liyue and there was so much you had left to see. Was it like home to you? No— Not yet anyway, though it could be if the situation was right. But that didn’t mean you wanted to leave just yet.

Not when you may have found a reason you would want to stay.

“For the time being, yes.”

He nodded in satisfaction. “That’s good. You being there to help the people of Liyue means less involvement with mortal affairs for me.”

Though his tone was haughty, he didn’t seem like he actually minded what he considered mortal affairs. If he did, why would he be so alert when he sensed people in need?

“And, if you ever need assistance during your ventures, I’ll be there.”

Xiao’s words comforted you as you looked at him, his hair blowing in the wind. Maybe one day you could reach out and touch it. But not today.

You sensed this meeting was about to end. The breeze picked up and you could feel him getting ready to leave. Whether he was going to leave to go to bed or leave the mortal world, you weren’t sure. But you would rather treasure this encounter than dwell on an inevitable—and hopefully temporary—farewell.

“Thank you, Xiao. And if you ever need assistance with...whatever it is you do, I’ll be there too!” you said confidently. “As I’m sure you’ve seen, I’m pretty handy at weilding a sword myself.” You doubted he would ever need much help in the physical or martial department. “Or, I could simply lend an ear as well.”

It happened so fast, you weren’t sure if it was actually there, or if your eyes were playing tricks on you— Xiao smiled. At least, you thought he did. But in the mere blink of an eye, it was gone.

Still, you don’t think you would ever forget that peaceful image no matter how hard you tried. Not that you wanted to.

Sensing the night coming to an end, you asked, “When will I be able to see you like this again?”

He paused. “In this human form, you mean?”

You nodded, though you figured the answer would be those three familiar words he had said many times tonight.

“I don’t know.”

A wry smile played on your lips. Knew it.

“The mortal realm is not where I naturally belong,” explained Xiao, amber eyes glowing brighter than the moon in the sky. “But I will meet you again in this state soon.”

The scent of qingxin grew stronger as the wind picked up. His skin grew paler, almost translucent as he met your gaze one last time for the night.

“Even if it takes time, at least the wind will tell me when you’re near.” You smiled, raising your hand in a wave. “Goodnight, Xiao.”

“Sleep well, traveller.”

And in your dreams that night, with qingxin in the air, you felt contentment and serenity in ways you never had before. You would see the entrancing being who called himself Xiao again. Soon. But you had the wind to keep you company while in wait.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bent, not broken 3

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; violence; injury; blood; fingering, mean Steve

This is a dark!fic and features the winter soldier and Captain Hydra x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: An attack leads to the uncovering of decades old secrets when you are taken by the deadliest assassin in the world

Note: Here’s part 3. Right now I’m bouncing between things but open to suggestion for the upcoming week for ongoing series. (I’ll likely just add onto my Lee fic).

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The days passed like a pendulum, swinging between paranoia and suffocating tension. You felt like an animal caught and caged. Much of your time was spent in that room, abed and alone. Your only contact was when Steve brought you your meals but the soldat did not appear again. You were relieved not to have the silent watchdog around but it also made you uneasy.

The pain dulled. Your shoulder loosened up first and no longer sent a jolt down your arm every time you moved. Your ribs were another issue and even as the agony was less intense and consuming, the echo of the injury remained. You felt brittle as if one wrong move would break you completely.

Then, when the pain was not so strong to distract you, you grew restless. The walls seemed closer together and the meals further apart. Steve’s appearances were brief and mostly wordless. He’d linger to check on your injury or bark at you to eat, but he wasn’t as talkative as your first day in the hideaway.

There was little for you to do. You were left with a copy of War and Peace and the tight font often left your eyes fuzzy and fatigued, your mind as well. There was a booth hidden behind the narrow door and you washed when you felt up to it, the water ice cold. You spent much of your time staring at the ceiling, wishing it would collapse on you.

You weren’t stupid. You knew it was all methodical. The indifferent isolation. You were being conditioned like a dog with a bell and it was working. You longed for any contact, any company, and conversation.

That day, the door opened but you didn’t move. You laid with your head on the pillow, arms crossed, and one leg over the other. Steve placed the metal bowl on the nightstand and sighed as he stood by the bed. You felt him watching you as you ignored him for the pale white above.

“Sit up and eat,” he said.

You glanced at him. The scar through his eye wrinkled as he grimaced and tapped his fingers on the table. You shrugged at him and sighed.

“I’m not hungry,” you said.

“Eat,” he repeated.

“I will,” you relented, “when I feel like it.”

“Now,” he grabbed the bowl and put it over your chest, “come on.”

You rolled your eyes and sat up and took the bowl. His eyes clung to you as you bent your legs and stirred the thick oats. The goopy mixture made a gross noise as you did.

“You don’t like it?” he said.

“Bland,” you took a bite, “doesn’t matter.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” he rebuked, “you better be done by the time I return.”

You looked at him as he turned away and headed for the door abruptly. You choked down the thick porridge and took another bite. You were hungry but the pasty oatmeal went down like rocks.

When he came back, you scooped up the last mouthful and put the bowl aside. He neared and draped a lilac dress by your legs. You stared at it then looked him in the face. His expression was as impenetrable as the mountain compound.

“What is that?” you asked dully.

“Don’t be stupid and put it on,” he put his hand on his hip, “I’d say it’s a bit more fitting than that prison uniform.”

“Is it?” you grumbled as you tentatively reached for the purple fabric.

“Or you can go naked,” he reached out and jabbed your shoulder.

“Fine,” you turned your legs over the bed and watched him expectantly.

He raised a brow and waited. You shied away at his unflinching stare and swiped up the dress. You crawled to the other side and kept your back to him. You took off the shapeless shirt and dropped it behind you. You pulled on the dress and stood, pushing down the baggy bottoms. The dress floated at mid thigh and left you feeling exposed.

“Your ribs are healing,” he remarked, “you should be able to take the bandage off.”

You faced him as he went to the foot of the bed. He waved you over and continued to the door.

“Should get the kinks out,” he said as he set his thumb in the sensor and the metal slid up, “a proper tour is in order.”

You neared as he turned and waited for you to precede him. As you passed, his eyes slipped down your body and he tilted his head. You looked away quickly and carried on into the hallway. There was little point resisting a man who could break you in two with his pinky, especially in your state.

“Looks good,” he said as he followed you out and came up arm to arm with you, “you know, you, me, the soldier, we’re the only ones who know about this place. Not that you know much, huh?”

“I don’t like games,” you retorted, “I’m… tired. Please, don’t--”

“I found this place in 1955,” he led you along the shining halls, “it’s had a facelift since then. A hobby on the side. Used to be Stalin’s hideout, akin to Hitler’s bunker if anything ever went south. When he died, the co-ordinates were lost. They sent me out to find it…”

“They? Hydra? Why--”

“Because the other guys didn’t care,” Steve said, “I saw how they celebrated my death as some patriotic feat. Like I was just a shield. You know, the ‘bad guys’, at least they don’t try to lie about what you are. They use you exactly like they need to and don’t sugar coat it.”

“And your… friend… you like how they use him?”

Steve stopped short and caught your arm, “it’s best for him. He couldn’t handle a clear mind. We keep each other safe, like we always did.”

“Mmm,” you hummed.

“As I was saying,” he nudged you onward, “I gave them a fake map and all they found was a demolished bunker. It kept them happy and me too. I got a place to lay low. Place of my own.”

You turned down the next hall. You were quiet as he led you along, past that room with the bar and around another corner. You lost sense of direction as he took you deeper into the hideaway. You came into a large corridor with a glass wall that overlooked a mountain pass without. You were breathless as you stopped to peer through.

“He’ll hurt you again,” Steve said bluntly, “we both know that.”

“Then why keep me here? You can let me go. I wouldn’t say a word, I wouldn’t even know what to say--”

“And why would I do that?” he asked blithely as he admired the deep drop and jagged offshoots.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“It’s much more fun to keep you,” he chuckled, “and he wanted you so taking you away won’t do shit.”

“I don’t--”

He raised his finger and hushed you. He squinted as he listened but you didn’t hear anything but the winds on the other side of the glass. Steve’s mouth slanted and he stepped past you. You turned to the end of the corridor and heard a soft padding that grew to a tremulous stomp.

“Speak of the devil,” Steve taunted, “sounds like a rough mission.”

When the soldier emerged from the next hall, you gasped. His face was a smear of grit and blood, his locks dangling and slick around his mask. His gear was torn and gashed in places and his metal fist clenched as the plates of his arm bore even more scratches than before.

He stopped and his eyes dilated as he saw you. Steve went to him calmly and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, you’re back,” he said softly, “snap out of it.”

He tapped the mask so the soldat looked at him instead. Their eyes met as the soldier’s chest puffed and slowed. Steve’s other hand went to his chest, just over his heart. The captain leaned in and kissed his temple, issuing a whisper you could not hear.

You were too shocked and confused to do more than watch. Steve gripped Bucky’s jaw and turned his gaze onto you. He smirked as he held him.

“Look at her,” he slithered, “isn’t that what you wanted? A pretty little plaything.”

The soldat didn’t move, just stared.

“She’s all ready for you,” Steve let go and clapped his chest, “isn’t that a nice dress, huh? A nice peek of her legs… don’t you want to know what’s underneath? Don’t you want to touch it?”

You took a step back as goose bumps rose on your skin. Steve released him and snickered. The soldat brought one boot down and then the next, marching slowly towards you.

“Let’s have some fun,” Steve boomed and his eyes narrowed over Bucky’s soldier, “soldat, engage.”

His next step came down quicker and you spun on your heel. Without thinking, you dashed away in a blur of terror. You could hear him behind you, the heavy soles thunderous against the slap of your bare feet. You got around the next corner and your ribs throbbed painfully as your lungs burned.

You peeked over your shoulder. He wasn’t running, he was walking. A mock of a chase as he kept within sight even as you raced on. Your heart pounded in your ears and your legs felt like jelly. It was so long since you did more than pace your room or lay in bed.

You stumbled deep in the maze, all recollection of the path Steve led you on gone. You hit your knees on the hard floor and hissed. You had only a moment to gulp down air before you were seized by the back of your neck. You staggered as you were spun and your back collided with the cold wall.

The soldier’s metal hand was quick to grasp your throat and push your chin up as he held you on tiptoes. You clawed at his fingers as his other hand crept up your thigh. Your eyes watered as it felt like a vice was wrapped around your neck and chest. You quivered as the skirt caught on his hand and slowly rose with his touch.

You squeezed your thighs around his fingers and he poked you so harshly you whimpered. Your legs parted for him and he pushed against your bare cunt. You clung to his wrist as your other hand slapped at his bicep. His blue eyes focused on your skirt as he delved between your folds.

Your feet arched as you tried not to slip and your calves cramped. You whined through your teeth as he turned his hand and pressed the heel of his palm to your clit. He bent his finger into you and drew a pathetic yipe from you. He felt around inside and added another, eliciting another tremulous yelp.

“Pl.. please,” you rasped, “don’t… you don’t want to…” his eyes flicked up and met yours.

He paused as he gazed back at you and you squirmed. He hesitated and for a moment, it felt like he might drop you. Another set of footsteps approached evenly and Steve tutted as he came upon the scene.

“You shouldn’t play with your food,” he said, “go on. You know what you want to do. It’s why you took her.”

You choked as his fingers tightened and he buried himself to his knuckles, his hand firm to your clit. He rocked his hand and your body, every tilt sending a jolt through you. Your walls were scoured by his intrusion and your core thrummed at the distant stirring of instinct.

“Please…” you cried.

“Shhh,” Steve came closer and leaned on the wall next to you, “we don’t want him to break something else.”

“Wh-why--” you coughed.

“Faster,” Steve snarled, “make her feel it.”

The soldier lifted you off your feet with each dip of his fingers. You slapped your hand against the wall and reached for the captain. He swatted your hand away and backed up as he watched you. He rounded Bucky and peered at you from the other side and hummed. He sucked his teeth and came closer, his hand on the soldier’s shoulder.

“More,” he urged.

You closed your eyes and shrieked as his hand sped up, slamming into you over and over as your thighs clamped around him. You gritted your teeth as your pulse raced and you were swept up in a sudden fit of dizziness. You felt fire flickering from his touch, building and building a spark at a time as your body rebelled.

“Look at her,” Steve purred, “so weak, so small. Nothing. She’s not like us, she’s just one of them.”

You groaned as your cunt made slick noises around Bucky’s fingers and his hot breath glossed over you. He leaned in and his hand moved so that his thumb pressed along your jaw painfully. You whined as you felt as if he’d crush the bone.

“She’s almost there,” Steve mused, “faster, yeah, like that.”

You wailed as you came, terrified of the man before you and the way your body bent to him. Your nails grazed down the leather across his chest and your hand dangled limply as you let the tide wash over you. He kept on until you could hardly breathe and dropped you suddenly. Your legs folded and you crashed to the floor.

You kept yourself from keeling over onto your face and pushed your back against the wall. You peeked up as Steve took Bucky’s hand and licked his glistening fingers. You cringed as he let go and his attention turned on you. He knelt and exhaled deeply as he smirked at you.

“You want to know why?” he blinked and his nose scrunched sardonically, “because I didn’t want this. I was happy. Just me and him. Decades and he decides to go out and catch a pet.”

“No, I…” you rubbed your throat as it burned.

“Him, I know, but it doesn’t hurt any less,” Steve scowled, “but we can make it work.” He reached to you and brushed his thumb over your cheek, “I can make use of you. Just the way you took his fingers, that look on your face…” he retracted his hand and leaned his elbow on his leg, “and he could use an outlet. Something to ease the tension.”

“You… and him?” you wondered aloud.

“It’s the twenty-first century, isn’t it?” Steve stood and slapped the soldier’s ass. He got a sharp look in response, “not that it ever really mattered.”

“It’s not… I just didn’t… realise,” you rasped.

“Mhmm,” Steve intoned, “you’re just innocent.”

“I didn’t--”

“Get her up,” he ordered, “take her to our room and get her cleaned up. You too. You smell.”

You flinched as the soldier grabbed your arm and forced you up. Your thighs quaked in the after shock and your core ached. He pulled you away from Steve and you limped beside him. You shivered as the cold air enshrined your hot flesh.

“No touching,” the captain warned, “not until I say so.”

[moonbaby26]

Title: First Meeting

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Set during X-Men: Age of Apocalypse, you were with Scott, Jean, Jubilee, and Kurt on their fateful mall run, returning home just in time to meet the speedster who saved all but one from the destruction of your home.

Warnings: None really except minor violence with you also being around for the subsequent Stryker mutant-nappings.

Chapters: Next Chapter Here

Peter Maximoff x Reader Masterlist

————————

Yes, it’s true you’d been under a decent amount of stress lately. Mostly self inflicted, because you had such high expectations of how you wanted to finish out the semester. But as Jubilee rolled her eyes for the second time, you realized you were now wasting your breath trying to explain the amount of consistent studying it took to maintain the high GPA your teachers had come to expect from you.

“We are going to the mall, (Y/N).” Jubilee breathed, as if reiterating this one more time was about to take all the life from her.

Your younger friend could have a flair for the dramatic. You now looked to Jean as the last voice of reason. But you could see by the smile she was barely holding back, that you had already lost. You suspected rightly that this new student, Scott, had had a lot to do with why Jean was suddenly so eager to skirt the rules and leave the grounds without permission.

You relented, but crossed your arms all the same as you gave your terms. “Fine, if Kurt wants to see a mall, then we’ll take him. But I’m driving.” Scott deflated slightly at that, but you didn’t miss a beat. “At least that way if anything goes wrong, I’ll answer to the Professor, not you all.” Of this group, you were the oldest (though not by much), and there was no sense in them getting in trouble over something like this.

Besides, it wouldn’t kill you to get a couple new outfits. You rarely if ever bought anything nice just for yourself. But it wasn’t like you had anyone around here to impress anyway...right?

——————-

You weren’t really sure how long you’d all been gone at the mall. Long enough to grab some lunch at the food court together, and waste a decent amount of time and change in the arcade. You hadn’t bought any clothes after all, nothing had struck that right chord with you. But you just remembered a smile on your face all the same, one hand held confidently on the gearshift and the other loosely on the steering wheel as you’d rounded past the mansion’s tree line, beginning to slow the car.

You’d just pushed in the clutch, and then-

You slammed the brakes, only gasps rather than laughter erupting from your friends beside you then as you all took in the scene at once. Debris and bits of ash still floated down gently from the sky as you’d ripped off your seatbelt, jumping from the car and breaking into a run. Your heartbeat had been in your ears as you’d entered the stunned crowd.

You picked out Hank, the first staff member you’d clearly seen, grabbing his arm as you found your voice again. “What on earth happened!?”

His head turned towards you, but his mouth just started to open and you could see in his eyes that he was trying to answer the same thing in his own mind. You’d never seen the brainy “Beast” at such a loss for words.

“Um...it blew up?” A new voice sounded off so matter of factly, then suddenly beside you as you turned to look at a person you’d never seen before.

A boy? No, a man? He seemed about your own age, that kind of in between really. His silver hair framed the sides of his face as he stared back at you, his hands on his hips. It was a surreal moment, your adrenaline still in full bore as you’d looked down to a weathered RUSH band t-shirt and a cool leather jacket that at any other time you may actually have been jealous of. You looked back up to his dark eyes in astonishment.

The stranger raised an eyebrow as your eyes connected again, him seemingly still waiting for some kind of response from you.

All the while, the X-Mansion that had been your home, your refuge for so many formative years just sat smouldering in rubble behind you.

“Where’s my brother!? Where’s Alex!?” Scott’s cry had finally broken the silence as you’d turned yet again.

“Pretty sure I got everyone,” The guy with the silver hair said almost defensively.

And that’s when it first hit you, the building was in complete ruin, but you knew about how many people were there on any given day. The crowd around you, that would be about everyone. But how could they all be outside? All be alive? An explosion that large would have been instantaneous. The building wasn’t just burning, it was leveled.

Scott ran from you all, and your heart felt heavy, knowing surely not everyone could have survived. But you saw Jean and Kurt run with him, helping him, so you again looked back to the stranger.

“You got them out?” You asked incredulously, unsure what that could even mean for this person’s true abilities as you gestured to the survivors standing in equal confusion all around you.

“Of course.” Again that matter of fact tone from him, now almost bordering on smug. But the surprises just continued as he abruptly outstretched one hand to you. “Peter,” he said, grabbing your own hand before you could even react and shaking it awkwardly.

“What?” Was all you could manage, possibly hearing your own brain seize internally at last as you looked down to this stranger’s hand still clasped warmly around your own.

You were done. Really, it was already too much before the unmistakable pulse of helicopter blades broke over the treetops and the downdraft of several of the craft then circling around you began whipping your hair into your eyes.

A woman screamed in warning somewhere behind you. Her voice sounded familar, but you didn’t look back. You just felt Peter’s hand squeeze tighter around yours, why hadn’t you let go?

But you were falling now. No, not metaphorically you hoped, but maybe you would have laughed about that thought if there’d been any more time before your knees hit the ground.

The paramilitary type men now streaming from the helicopters had launched some kind of pulse over the crowd.

Reflexively your mutation flared, your own energy field trying to shield yourself and Peter, but not well enough. Not fast enough as you only succeeded in keeping him conscious just a few moments longer than your peers.

Peter was still holding onto you, the surprise in his eyes quickly fading as they closed.

But your eyes were still open, fear surely in them though as you realized you could not will yourself back to standing. Whatever weapon these men had used was clearly designed to target those of your kind, taking your energy, blocking your powers.

“Her.” “Him.” You heard distantly, but forcefully as the darkness finally began to overtake the edges of your sight. A man was now walking through the fallen mutants with authority, pointing and calling out to who he wanted his men to collect.

And within moments that man’s boots were then inches from you in the soft grass. Your free hand clung to the earth, the other still holding Peter’s hand as if that grip could somehow hold your consciousness to you.

“Resistant to the pulse? Haven’t seen that in a while.” The man commented coldly from above.

You could still just make out his features as he paused, his boot rising up suddenly to kick you solidly in the ribs. It made a sickening sound, a crack as you collapsed the rest of the way down, the air leaving your lungs with the hit.

You buried your face into Peter’s jacket with the pain, stifling whatever pitiful sounds you didn’t want the man to hear. You could smell cheap cologne against the leather then. You tried your best to focus on that scent as you closed your eyes. This wasn’t over. You were going to get out of this. Somehow, some way you were going to help Peter as he had already helped so many of you. You owed him this.

“Take both of these two.” The military man said, then stepping over you both as if he’d done nothing more than vanquish a couple insects that had crossed his path.

——————

(Continued in next chapter here)

[allthatyoulove]

Now or Never

Poe Dameron / Reader

Summary: It’s your first mission back on base, and you haven’t seen Poe since you broke up. When the mission goes wrong, unsaid feelings are revealed.

Warnings: cussing, angst, fluff

Words: 2.8k

Request: hi! could I request 6 from the prompt list for Poe? just some angst to fluff maybe?

A/N: This is my first requested story! Thank you sooooo much to the anon who recommended prompt 6 from my prompt list for Poe! Hope you enjoy! Feel free to leave any feedback and please let me know of any warnings or errors I missed! Thanks for stopping by :)

*****

“So after we take out the surface cannons, we come back to base. Got it?”

I finished my speech, slightly out of breath. I looked around at the other pilots to study their reactions. Some looked ready, bobbing their knees in excitement. Others looked pale, like they were going to puke or fly away to another planet. They all managed a nod in response to my question, which I took as a good sign.

I gave an over-dramatic, encouraging smile. “Great. Any questions?”

I paused for half a second before continuing, “Okay, so let’s gear up and load up the fighters.”

The pilots got up and walked to their fighters, murmuring to each other about how they felt about the mission. I stood on the makeshift stage for a second, watching them walk out.

Crash!

I flinched at the loud noise, following it to the entrance of one of the fighters. One of the rookie pilots had run into the box of bombs lined up when carrying another box in, and was frozen in place as they waited for the bombs surrounding them to stop moving.

I laughed to myself and jogged over.

“Get down, it’s gonna blow!”

The rookie immediately dropped to the ground in fetal position, holding onto their head and preparing for the bombs to blow up.

I reached the entrance, laughing to myself as I tried to keep a neutral look on my face.

“I’m kidding, they aren’t activated.”

The rookie slowly got up as if the bombs were still to explode any second. I took the box from their hands as they looked at me with a “I would beat your ass if you weren’t my commander” look and let them go rest somewhere before I got in trouble for tormenting the newbies.

I took a look around the ship as my laughing died down, trying to figure out where the box went. The box was filled with parts of a ship, which I assumed was meant for another fighter because of how new this one looked. It had a shiny new control panel, with thousands of buttons, which looked like they’ve yet to be used.

I sat down in the pilot’s seat, looking at all of the buttons in awe. I reached up to grab the steering wheel, feeling the smooth material and pretending to fly it.

“Watch it, sweetheart.”

I immediately tensed up and waited a second, sighing before I turned around.

Poe was leaning against the wall next to the entry ramp a couple feet away, looking at me with a sad smile.

“Sorry, I just-”

Poe was already shaking his head, dismissing the apology.

“You don’t have to apologize.” He whispered. The ship was quiet, the only noise was the low buzzing of the hull. We’d broken up a month prior, but this was the first time we had seen eachother since. I’d made sure to keep myself busy with every order General Leia gave me. It started to become obvious when she would send me on useless missions just because she could tell how badly I wanted to stay away from him, so I came back. This was my first mission back as a pilot and I already failed in staying away from Poe.

He was wearing his orange jumpsuit, with the white vest and black holsters around his legs and waist. His hair was curlier than last time and parted to the side. He looked good. He looked really good.

The room was suddenly extremely stuffy and almost unbearable to be in any longer. Only a minute had passed, but it seemed like we were staring at each other for hours. I cleared my throat, attempting to get rid of the tension.

“I’ll talk to you in a few, flyboy”

I smiled at him before getting out of the seat, making my way out of the ship. X-wings are fighting ships, which is why they’re so small and cramped. It’s hard to really understand that until someone else is on the ship with you.

Poe turned to face more of the wall next to the entry ramp of the ship as I attempted to slide past him to leave, which made me unintentionally grind on him. His hands immediately shot out to my waist, holding me in place as he let out a shaky breath.

I was suddenly out of breath. My skin was on fire under his touch. It was something familiar and comforting. I had almost forgotten how good it felt. His grip was unyielding, but soft and almost hesitant.

“Sorry.” I whispered.

He leaned his head forward on my shoulder, resting it there. I brought my right hand up to run my hand through his curls. It was still silent, both of us scared to talk and ruin this moment between us.

Fuck I missed him. I missed his touch, I missed his smell, I missed his voice.

The pain of being this close to him was too much. My eyes started to tear up as I stood there against him. I let a couple more seconds pass before I speed-walked out of the x-wing and towards my own. I didn’t turn around to look at him, even when he called my name.

I wiped the tear that left my eye as I walked to my fighter.

I came here for a mission.

I’m here to do that mission, then leave.

----

“It’s not every day we get a shot at a dreadnought, so let’s make this count.”

I’m not gonna lie, we are severely lacking in backup. I wasn’t going to let the rookie pilots know that, but for a job like this, we could’ve used a much bigger fleet.

This mission was Poe’s idea, and very last minute, so we couldn’t take any longer to carry this through. I tried to keep an optimistic view on it. Kind of.

I left the channel that included all the pilots and joined the channel that just Poe and I would be using. Poe and I were the ones who actually had to fly up to the dreadnought and take out the cannons, while the other pilots hung back and made sure no TIE fighters blew us up. So, we wouldn’t have to all be on a channel together unless absolutely necessary.

At least that’s what I told myself.

“You ready, Blue Leader?” came Poe’s voice through the comms.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, Black Leader.”

I looked to my left at him from our fighters, and our eyes met. He gave me a big smile as he talked again.

“Let’s go kick some Imperial ass.”

I smiled at him before I punched the fighter into acceleration, flying towards the dreadnought. I braced myself against the seat as my speed jumped and took aim at the first cannon.

I fired at the cannons that were lined up, turning the ship on its side before any of them could take aim at me.

I was on a roll, taking out cannon after cannon all while dodging the lasers being shot from them. I cheered and laughed, feeling the adrenaline pumping through my veins and feeling unstoppable in this moment.

“How you doing, Black Leader?”

“Better than you, doll face.”

I felt a familiar heat crawl up my face at the nickname, but managed to stay focused on the remaining few cannons. Poe was on my left and we were in unison. We had the same amount of cannons taken down, but he always loved to make it a competition between us.

I almost forgot how euphoric it was. Fighting against the First Order with a Resistance fleet behind me, side by side with Poe. Side by side with someone I love. We were taking out every single cannon, making a show out of it to overperform the other and give the rookies watching something to be entertained by. We were both laughing through the comms, watching each other's fighters flip and duck down in skill to show off. I made quick work of taking out the last cannon on my side so I can do what I planned to do next. Poe had just 1 more cannon to go on his side, and I was ready to take it out using the best cannon-destroying-move-thingy these pilots had ever seen. I held the steering wheel in anticipation, sitting all the way back against the seat and bracing myself.

The pilots behind us must have been too into our little show, because the only warning I got was Poe yelling in my ear seconds before it happened.

“Oh, shit, here comes the TIE-”

I looked over at Poe to see where he was looking before my body got thrown to the left against the seat belt strapping me in.

My x-fighter steered down and left, falling down fast and aiming directly for the top of the dreadnought.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck-”

I yanked the steering wheeling as hard as I could towards my lap, aiming the ship up into the galaxy. Seconds before colliding into the Imperial ship it raised up, throwing the rest of my body down against the seat. I did a loop before correcting the fighter to it’s rightful path, coming around the back of the dreadnought to face the fleet. I caught my breath as I stared at the small fleet for a second, before I saw that there had been an ever bigger fleet of TIE fighters released from the Imperial ship. I immediately sprung back into action, following every TIE fighter I saw until they were down. Poe’s voice came through the comms.

“You alright, baby?”

I cleared my throat and tried to not give him the satisfaction of having a reaction to the nickname before I replied.

“Just fine, Black Leader.”

I had taken out five TIE fighters before General Leia’s voice came through the comms.

“Commanders, you did it. Now get your squad back here before we lose anyone.”

I immediately replied, “You got it, General. Coming back to base.”

I switched the comms over to the general one to relay the message.

“Time to head back, crew. Nice job today, now make sure to get back to base safely. These TIE fighters are relentless.”

I took out a few more fighters on the way back to base, making sure none followed any of the other pilots. My lip felt like it was bleeding from the force of the earlier crash, so I needed to get that checked out. Besides that, it was a very successful mission. We took out the cannons just like Poe had wanted, without the need for much backup from the fleet. I’m sure most of the pilots were thankful for that. I put the fighter into hyperspace before landing back on D’Qar with the base.

I jumped out of the fighter, taking a huge inhale of the fresh air and stretching my arms out. I was still smiling, giddy from all of the excitement that came with being behind the wheel again. I looked around the fighter landing, seeing all the pilots exiting their x-wings and running over to their friends to talk about it.

I looked for the ship with the black lines running across the top but couldn’t find it. I figured he must have already ran to Leia to bring up an idea for another mission.

I made my way towards the ship Leia was in with the rest of the crew, congratulating some of the pilots on the way over.

I walked through the doors and looked around for Leia. I heard her call out for me and ran over to her, analyzing the worried expression on her face and dropping my smile instantly.

“Where’s Poe?”

I froze.

“What do you mean where’s Poe? He didn’t return with the rest of the fleet?”

I walked around to the front of the panel Leia was looking at, switching to the screen to see the online status of the fighters. All of the fighters were checked out.

Except for Poe’s.

His voice rang through the panel.

“General, I can do this. I have the chance to take out a dreadnought! These things are fleet killers, we can’t let it get away!”

Leia replied angrily, “Disengage now, Commander! That is an order!”

Poe didn’t reply to her, the comms going silent. I knew what that meant. After being together so long, I knew he wasn’t going to listen. That was the best and worst thing about him. There was no stopping him from what he thought was best.

I still had to try.

I grabbed the mic next to the panel, pressing the button to speak into it.

“Poe?”

He sighed through the mic, taking a second to reply. I held the mic in anticipation, holding my breath.

“Sweetheart, It’s now or never. I have to-”

I paused a second, looking down at the panel.

“Poe? Hello?”

A big red “X” blinked over the image of his fighter on the panel. It seemed like the entire galaxy stopped, holding their breath and waiting for something to happen. Something to change.

“No no no no no… Poe? Can you hear me, Poe?”

Leia rested a hand on my shoulder.

“He’s gone offline, Commander.” She said sadly.

“No, General- he just- he’s fine, okay?”

I messed with the panel pushing all possible buttons to refresh the status, flicking the comm switch off and on repeatedly and continuing to talk through the mic. Nothing was working.

“I have to go help him.” I said before running out of the ship.

Leia called for me, but I ignored her and continued to run out to my fighter. A few tears left my eyes and I frantically wiped at them to try and clear my eyesight. I couldn’t fall apart now. Poe needed me.

I looked around for my ship, having a hard time looking through the smoke of nearby ships and people running around. I turned as I looked all around me for the blue stripe, not finding it anywhere.

I started to freak out, not having control over my breathing anymore.

“C’mon where are you… don’t do this now, c’mon..”

Tears were falling from both my eyes now, and I stopped trying to wipe them off. My vision was blurry as my mind went 100 miles per hour.

“He’s gone offline, Commander.”

I dropped to my knees in the middle of the runway as I sobbed.

He can’t be gone, please. He can’t.

I still looked around, trying to find my fighter from the ground. I saw a pilot lift a droid in the shape of a ball from their ship, setting it on the ground.

BB-8?

I frantically wiped my eyes, slowly standing so I could get a clearer view. My eyes finally cleared from the tears as I saw him.

Poe was kneeling down, patting BB-8’s head in congratulation as he turned and saw me. He got off his knee and smiled at me, starting to fast-walk over.

My face dropped in surprise, happy tears threatening to fall once again as I smiled at him with everything I had.

“Poe!”

I ran towards him as fast as I could, jumping into his arms. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, burying my face into his neck.

He wrapped one arm around my waist, holding me in place, and put the other on the back of my head.

He whispered frantically in my ear, “The cannon I missed- it hit my ship. The comms and weapon systems went down, I couldn’t- I lost you. I swear, I was on my way back. I was coming back to you.”

I picked my head up, bringing both my hands to cradle his face as I looked him in his eyes. I moved a few pieces of hair out of his face as I spoke, “I believe you, Poe. I just wanted you safe. Maker, I thought you- they said you-”

My voice died as I started to cry again, and he rested his forehead against mine as he spoke, “I didn’t realize you still cared.”

I sniffled, looking him in the eyes again.

“I never stopped.”

His gaze shifted between both my eyes, his eyes roaming my face in disbelief before he spoke again.

“I love you.”

He didn’t give me a chance to reply, resting his hand on my cheek and pulling me in for a kiss.

I stopped breathing as I immediately kissed him back with everything in me. He pulled me impossibly closer to him as we emptied all of the unspoken words between us into the kiss. He slowly set me down on my feet, wrapping his arm around my waist to pull me in closer to him as I arched into the kiss. We broke away, panting and out of breath. We looked at each other for a second before bursting into an adrenaline-infused laughter. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. He picked me up by my waist and spun me around, setting me down before we heard someone yelling at us.

“POE DAMERON!”

We both turned, seeing Leia storming out of the ship towards Poe.

“Shit.”

[lesdemonium]

Error Pining

Rating: T Ship: Geraskier Word Count: 2750 Summary:   When his djinn wish goes wrong, Jaskier finds himself unable to speak without excruciating pain. Geralt tries to fill the space himself. AN: a gift exchange fic written for @smuggsy for @thewitchersecretsanta. thanks so much for giving me an excuse to write physical whump for jaskier!

read on ao3  Before their argument, Geralt had been hazy, unfocused, and in dire need of sleep. He was still in dire need of rest, but now every sense was on high alert. The smell of blood and pain was so sharp, so strong, it left a metallic taste in his mouth and he just barely resisted the urge to try to clear his tongue of it. His eyes went wide, wild, as he tried to find the source of the blood. In a distant sort of way, he registered that he had been cut in their scuffle, but it wasn’t his blood he smelled. It was Jaskier’s.

Jaskier was doubled over, clutching at his neck, the djinn bottle long forgotten on the ground. His eyes met Geralt’s and he opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out before he was blinking away tears and dry heaving onto the ground. The hand around his throat was so tight Geralt wondered at how he could breathe, had a wild thought that maybe it was Jaskier’s own hand that was causing his scent to spike in pain and fear.

“Jaskier, what’s happened?” Geralt asked, bending over and hauling Jaskier back up by the collar of his doublet. Jaskier went, and when he tried to speak again, only a weak whimper came out before his face contorted in pain. His hands scrabbled at his throat and his eyes were so wide Geralt felt like all he could see was white, white, white.

“We’ll fix this, whatever it is,” Geralt promised him. Jaskier nodded weakly back.

They made it to the elf, Chireadan, who was less help than Geralt was hoping for. He asked Jaskier questions, and every time Jaskier attempted to answer, the same bitter taste of blood and pain and fear settled heavily within Geralt. The third time it happened, Geralt nearly punched Chireadan. Couldn’t he see this was hurting Jaskier?

“He can’t talk,” Chireadan finally settled on, and the look Geralt gave him must have been murderous, because he took a step back when their eyes met. “I can’t tell you more than that. Its origin is magical, and I have nothing that can reverse it. Something is ripping apart his throat whenever he talks.”

Jaskier let out a muffled hum, a desperate sound, that soon choked out and was replaced with the heavy scent of blood. 

“Sounds like not only when he talks,” Geralt said, and Chireadan’s grimace seemed to agree.

They were sent to a witch, Yennefer, but she wasn’t much help, either. She tried through the night, with Jaskier in a deep sleep, but when he awoke, nothing had changed. 

“I can’t do anything until you open your mouth to speak, bard,” Yennefer told them, and to her credit, she did look at least a bit remorseful. Or perhaps simply annoyed her magic couldn’t solve it. “Since I highly doubt you want to be singing as I fix you, there’s not much I can do for you.”

“Then how do we fix this?” Geralt asked, his voice tight.

Yennefer smiled and patted Jaskier’s hand condescendingly. “Have you considered a vocational change?”

They left, Jaskier silent and mourning beside Geralt. Yennefer’s advice was to track down another djinn, as Jaskier was unable to make the wish himself. Geralt thought this was a fool’s errand, and that Vesemir would be more help.

“I’m sorry, Jaskier,” Geralt said as they laid down to sleep that night.

Jaskier’s response was to turn over and go to sleep.

--

Traveling with a silent Jaskier was difficult for both of them. Every time Geralt looked at Jaskier, he seemed dimmer. At first, he still played his lute, but as they continued to travel and Jaskier’s throat continued to rip itself apart whenever he made even the softest hum, even that seemed to lose appeal to the bard. In taverns, Jaskier stared down at his mug, surviving the evening until he could turn in.

Geralt found he missed the sound. The silence beside him was uncomfortable, and made Geralt feel hollow. This felt as if it was his fault, as if he was the one hurting Jaskier whenever he made a sound. If he hadn’t been looking for the Djinn in the first place, Jaskier’s wish wouldn’t have backfired, and now Geralt wouldn’t have become acquainted with Jaskier’s forlorn face.

It took three days for Geralt to start talking, instead.

“Did I ever tell you about the griffin I fought outside Carrera?” Geralt said, offhand, as they traveled one day. 

He chanced a glance at Jaskier, only to find the bard staring back at him, a curious expression on Jaskier’s face. Jaskier’s lips were pressed tightly together, as if he was trying to remind himself not to speak up, and he squinted at Geralt. He looked almost suspicious. Geralt didn’t blame him. It wasn’t often that Geralt offered up his stories without a request, but Jaskier deserved something, and Geralt couldn't take the silence anymore.

So he told the tale, sparing no detail. At some point, Jaskier took out a notebook, and furiously scribbled the tale down. Often, Geralt had to stop, think about what sort of questions Jaskier would normally ask him, and try to answer them on his own. By the end of his tale, Jaskier was smiling. Despite his discomfort, Geralt smiled back. The remainder of the day was easier to bear.

As they traveled, Geralt told Jaskier of his contracts, as many as he could think of that Jaskier hadn’t already been there for. When he couldn’t think of a new story, he explained to Jaskier the difference between the vampire types, or the exact effects Swallow had on him. He felt silly, like he was play-acting as a professor, but it made the time go by faster. It also made Jaskier lighter, brighter, and eased something inside Geralt.

At night, when they were safely at camp, Jaskier began to play his lute again. Initially, they were the same songs Geralt had heard before. Jaskier’s songs, famous ballads written by other bards, lively drinking songs. As their travel wore on, though, Geralt began to hear songs he had never heard before. Soft, mournful things. Jaskier never met Geralt’s eye when he played these songs, but he did sit close to Geralt, so close that sometimes their arms would brush as Jaskier shifted up and down his lute. Geralt liked these songs best. He hoped, one day, he would get to hear Jaskier sing them.

These nights made Geralt brave.

“I ran into Eskel here, once,” he said. Jaskier didn’t stop playing, but he did look up, his eyes wide, his face open. “I don’t cross paths with the other witchers as much as I would like. You would like Eskel. He plays nice far better than I could. Doesn’t need a bard around to keep him in line around nobles.”

Jaskier bumped Geralt’s shoulder and they shared a grin. Geralt turned his gaze back to the fire and took a deep breath, but a moment later Jaskier nudged him again, this time with his knee.

“Yes, okay,” Geralt said, nodding. “I’ll go on. We were in the trials together. He’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to family.” Until now, his mind helpfully supplied. Geralt cleared his throat, as if to smother the thought. “You really would like him. He’s… thoughtful. Polite. Keeps his temper better. A better witcher, too. He’d make a better subject for your songs.”

Jaskier stopped playing abruptly. He placed his lute gingerly back in its case, then leaned into Geralt’s side. His arm snaked around Geralt’s, intertwining them before he fit their fingers together. Like they belonged there. Like their hands had always been meant to hold each other.

When Geralt looked up, his mouth felt dry. Jaskier’s eyes were so big, so beautiful, and he felt like he could see everything Jaskier couldn’t say in them. Geralt swallowed, heavily, and tried to speak for them himself.

“I’m.” He paused, wet his lips, tried again. “I’m glad you’re here. You make it easier. I feel less… alone.”

Geralt looked away, now. Back at the fire. Jaskier didn’t nudge him back this time, and didn't try to get his attention. Instead, he hesitated only a second--Geralt could feel the way he started, then stopped, then started again--and rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder. They stayed like that until Jaskier’s yawns could no longer be ignored, and they had to turn in for the night.

--

Geralt missed Jaskier’s voice most in the morning.

It was no secret that Jaskier was terrible when he first woke up. Grouchy, whiny, wheedling every which way. He hated mornings and he hated getting up early and would always be dead to the world for the first hour or so that he was awake.

Despite this, he always wished Geralt a good morning, even if it was gruff and his smile was more of a grimace. As he started to wake up, he’d often tell Geralt about his more ridiculous dreams. Often, Geralt was sure he had fabricated them entirely, just to make Geralt roll his eyes.

Now, Jaskier always woke up in pain. He’d groan first thing in the morning, or whine, or make some other sort of noise, and immediately his entire body would seize up in pain. Geralt had gotten softer in his approach to waking Jaskier up, trying to ease him into consciousness, to avoid the pain. It worked sometimes, but Jaskier was still too hazy upon first waking to remember why he couldn’t make noise. Then his eyes would fill with unshed tears as he desperately held out his hand for the waterskin. It didn’t seem to help, but at least it was an action Jaskier could take.

They survived. Hearing Jaskier’s silence never got easier, still left Geralt feeling hollow, but it became easier to fill the silences himself. Jaskier got better at expressing himself through the way he touched Geralt. Geralt had a feeling that had never been a skill Jaskier lacked, per se, but that he had only recently been allowed to touch Geralt. Now, he was taking his fill.

Geralt wondered how much time he had lost without Jaskier’s easy affection.

To get Geralt’s attention, Jaskier would grab his knee as Geralt road Roach, or press a hand between Geralt’s shoulder blades. He fingered Geralt’s sleeve nervously when they were in taverns and he had nothing to do with his hands. He would take Geralt’s hand as they walked through a crowd so they didn’t lose each other.

Geralt’s favorite touches, though, were still in front of their campfire. The trees around them, the stars in the night sky, the light of the fire and the way it crackled, all of it was beautiful, but it was nothing compared to the way Jaskier leaned against Geralt. Jaskier pressed himself into Geralt’s side, often allowing Geralt to wrap his arm around Jaskier’s shoulder or waist. Jaskier would play his lute, would play his soft, lovely songs, that had grown more hopeful as time went on. Geralt would tell Jaskier stories about growing up, about trouble he, Lambert, Eskel, the other wolves, had gotten into. He told Jaskier about the trials and let Jaskier comb his fingers through Geralt’s hair to comfort him, though Geralt insisted he didn’t need comforting. He told Jaskier about Renfri, about Blaviken, about his mother. Geralt told Jaskier everything.

Everything except about the way his heart hammered in his chest as Jaskier looked at him. Everything except how he sometimes dreamed of Jaskier’s voice, and woke up with a longing he couldn’t put to words. Everything except how he wanted, more than anything, to kiss Jaskier, but couldn’t be sure what Jaskier wanted.

“Can I… be honest with you?” Geralt asked one night. 

Jaskier turned to him just enough to roll his eyes at Geralt. As if Jaskier could stop him, the look seemed to say. Jaskier turned back to his lute, but his playing got softer, as if he was trying to give Geralt the space to speak.

“Right,” Geralt said. He paused, took a deep breath, rubbed the hem of Jaskier’s shirt between his fingers. “I don’t. I don’t know if Vesemir can help.”

Jaskier stopped playing and stiffened somewhat. But he didn’t turn around, didn’t put his lute down. Only stopped and waited.

Geralt swallowed thickly. “I hope he can. I think he’s our best bet. But, short of finding another djinn for me to make a wish… I don’t know how fixable this is. Unless we went back to Yennefer and had her heal you while you sing--” Jaskier let out a shiver and the stench of fear overwhelmed Geralt. “I know. It’s not good. But I don’t know how else to fix you if Vesemir has no ideas.”

Jaskier took a deep breath. He remained stiff against Geralt, but now he started playing again. His song was sad, mournful again, and Geralt’s heart ached with it. He wished, more than anything, that he could fix this.

“I’m not giving up,” Geralt whispered, some time later. “We’ll find something else to try. We’ll fix this eventually.”

The sound Jaskier made wasn’t quite a scoff. It was more a sharp exhalation, dismissive and--maybe Geralt was reaching here--a bit wounded. Geralt lifted his hand, hesitated a moment, then ran his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier leaned back into the motion, until his head fell back on Geralt’s shoulder.

“I mean it, Jask,” he said. His mouth felt dry again. “I miss your voice. I miss the lyrics that would go with your songs, even the ridiculous ones. I miss your jokes, your incessant complaining, the way you flirt with everyone and sometimes wink at me as you do it.”

Jaskier pulled away, and Geralt froze. Apparently, he had overstepped somewhere. He forced himself to look at Jaskier, but instead of discomfort or disgust, he found shock. Awe. Jaskier put his lute away, his fingers lingering on the clasps of his case, then he returned to Geralt’s side. After another moment of hesitation, Jaskier shifted, climbing over Geralt’s lap. Jaskier cradled Geralt’s face with feather-light touches as he leaned in, pressed their foreheads together.

“Jaskier, I--” Geralt started. 

Geralt trailed off, then wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist. He didn’t know how to accept this from Jaskier verbally, he didn’t know what to say, but he could hold him. Jaskier let out a relieved breath, and Geralt felt the gust of air against his lips. Geralt touched his fingers to the corner of Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier pressed a hand to Geralt’s heart.

“You’re so much better at words than I am. I wish--” He trailed off again, thumbed along Jaskier’s cheekbone, held the back of his head. “You can’t tell me what you want.”

Jaskier’s breath sounded almost like a laugh, just before he leaned in to touch their lips together. The kiss was short, simply a way to test the waters. Jaskier pulled away, only for Geralt to drag him back in for more. Jaskier sighed into Geralt’s mouth and Geralt swallowed the sound, wished desperately he could hear more, wanted to see what all he could pull from Jaskier’s throat.

It was this thought that had Geralt pulling away. Jaskier’s eyes looked hazy, his smile dopey and big, as he stroked the side of Geralt’s face and his hair. He looked the happiest Geralt had seen him in months, since before the djinn had taken away his voice. Geralt kissed him again. And again. And again. Jaskier accepted every time.

“I wish you could talk. I want to hear your voice,” Geralt whispered into Jaskier’s mouth.

Jaskier whined a little, then reared back, just as Geralt flinched away, his arm suddenly burning. Jaskier’s hands flew to his throat and Geralt ripped back his sleeve to see a second mark, just beside the long-forgotten injury he had gotten when they squabbled over the amphora. Geralt’s eyebrows furrowed as he considered the mark, wondered after what in the world caused it, only for his focus to be dragged away by Jaskier.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, and his face broke out into the most brilliant grin. “What--I can talk again. It doesn’t hurt at all!”

Jaskier was still laughing as he dragged Geralt in for another kiss, which Geralt readily accepted. This time, he didn’t hold back any of his sounds. Each one was more beautiful than the last.

[absolutepokemontrash]

The undatables as uncles need more love, so... What if L!MC and the rest of the children just go to the castle or purgatory Hall for a few days because the Bros got tired or just need a day of rest. Idk this makes no sense

Yes, more uncle shennaniganery!

A Day at the Demon Lord’s Castle

Masterlist

It was Demon-Flu season, and no demon in the House of Lamentation was spared from its sniffly wrath. It started with Belphegor waking up and sneezing right next to Beel, and it was all downhill from there.

Notice how I said “demon”, the dear little Half-Demons were all fine thanks to the efforts of M!MC who for some reason had bought a bunch of plague doctor masks the week prior.

“Why... why did you buy these?” L!MC asked, their voice muffled by the badly fitting mask.

“I saw em’ in a store window and I decided I wanted them.”

Three out of four of the Brat Brigade (plus the cat) were on their way to the Demon Lord’s castle to stay until the house’s little epidemic passed. Lord Diavolo had oh so graciously asked (begged) to be allowed to host the kids for a while.

What could go wrong?

Many things could go wrong.

For one, the first thing A!MC saw when they first arrived, was a rat. Not one of the gross scary ones, but one of the absolutely adorable ones that turns you into the ‘gently holds’ meme.

“I’m going to call you Templeton!” “*squeak*” “Yay!”

Barbatos of course came to greet the guests, and explained that they have a little... issue with rats at that moment. Butler-dad assured them it wouldn’t be a problem, just if the children saw any of the vermin running around to tell him and he’d dispose of them.

Templeton the rat was promptly hidden in one of A!MC’s pockets.

The Purgatory Hall crew was there as well, apparently Solomon decided to make brunch and Purgatory Hall’s kitchen exploded.

Lord Diavolo finally makes his entrance and declares that everyone should unpack and relax, his gorgeous/terrifying castle was their gorgeous/terrifying castle.

“So,” L!MC rested their head on their hand and rotated the knight in their free hand as they stared half vacantly at the chess board. “Did you take care of the snake in the labyrinth, Dia?”

Diavolo lit up when he heard his seldom used nickname. “Well, Henry 1.0 isn’t exactly bothering anyone down there at the moment, and I don’t think Levi is equipped to deal with a fifty foot long untamed snake.”

L!MC smirked and placed their knight down. “Yeah, at least not right now.”

The moment L!MC removed their hand from the knight, Diavolo moved his bishop and took their queen. Shit.

“Aw man...” L!MC mumbled, after a cursory look at the board, the poor thing realized that they had been screwed for the last five turns and Diavolo was just prolonging the match.

“Don’t feel too bad, L!MC.” Diavolo gave them a pat on the head. “Lucifer can’t beat me in chess either.”

“Hmph.” They wouldn’t admit it but... that did make them feel a little better.

“That reminds me, I have a favour to ask of you.” L!MC almost outwardly drooped at the mention of... ugh... a task. “Do you mind reviewing some dad-jokes with me to make sure they are suitably dad-like?”

“...what?” Quickly remembering they were in the presence of honest to God (poor choice of words... uh... Grandfather?) royalty, L!MC straightened their posture and tried their best to look respectfully curious instead of completely and utterly confused. “Pardon?”

“M!MC and several others have said I have ‘dad vibes’, so I’m leaning into it!” Diavolo smiled so brightly if L!MC hadn’t been the child of the Morning Star they may have been blinded. “My father wasn’t one for jokes, so I’d like to run these by you before I say them to others.”

Suppressing a snort of laughter, L!MC nodded. “Go for it, I’m all ears.”

Diavolo pulled out quite the long list and began to read out loud... L!MC quickly realized that this may take longer than expected. “Okay, to begin: I’m afraid for the calendar, it’s days are numbered.”

“Oh not-that-good-Lord...” L!MC muttered under their breath.

The dad jokes continued, some were funny, some were absolutely awful, some sounded like they were made for children in the Victorian era... overall, it was a good- holy shit that took over two hours...

“Finally,” Diavolo squinted at the last joke. “I went to the liquor store and they asked for my ID, while I fumbled for my wallet, my Blockbuster card fell out, the cashier said ‘nevermind’.”

L!MC furrowed their brows. “What’s a Blockbuster?”

“That was what I was hoping you’d explain to me... is it a dad requirement to get a card for that establishment..?”

“Mmmm...” L!MC pursed their lips. “Probably not. I mean, Lucifer doesn’t have one.”

“That’s true...” Diavolo looked at the clock, then stood up and began to shoo L!MC out the door. “Look at me, taking up all your time that you should be spending with your friends. Thank you for your help, L!MC, now don’t let me keep you any longer!”

Giggling slightly, L!MC shot a wave over their shoulder as they left the room. “Bye dad! See you later!”

They were half way down the hallway when they realized their verbal slip-up.

“Oh.” L!MC’s face burned with embarrassment. “Shit.”

Dad-volo was totally delighted and very cool about it, don’t worry.

M!MC and Bean the cat were hanging out with the angels in the very pretty royal gardens when that mess was going down.

Luke was being absolutely adorable and was snuggling Bean while he and Simeon looked at the pretty plants.

In traditional M!MC fashion, they were engaging in an average game of ‘lightly tease the chihuahua’.

“It’s just... you’re so small.” M!MC took the opportunity to rest their arm on Luke’s head as he stopped to observe a colour changing flower bush. “How many years have you been this height? 100? 200?”

M!MC had taken the news that Luke was older than them in stride, finding new opportunities to make the little angel do his adorable angy face. They were obviously succeeding in their jerkwad-endeavours as Luke pushed their arm off and fixed his now smushed hat.

“You be quiet! I’m perfectly average height for an angel my age.” Luke huffed, petting the cat, who hissed at M!MC. The stupid cat absolutely hated them for some reason, it brought L!MC never ending joy to bring the cat into their shared room and watch it hiss and swipe at them. L!MC should really show some more respect for their older cousin!

“Are angels normally the size of a fifth grader?” M!MC snickered. “Is Simeon considered a freak for his height?”

“No, M!MC, I am not.” Simeon chuckled. “Rest assured, Luke will grow.”

“Yeah! And I’m sure I’ll be taller than you!” Luke added.

M!MC smirked deviously and pinched Luke’s cheek. “Well, I’ll have to take advantage of your smallness and baby face while I still can!”

“Hey! Stop that!” Luke tried to swat their hands away, but M!MC had inherited their father’s reflexes and his penchant for being a little shit every once and a while, so Luke’s swatting only resulted in more pinches.

“Never!” M!MC teased. “Surrender to your smallness!”

“No!”

Luke took off deeper into the garden, surprisingly quickly considering he was holding a cat that was hellbent on clawing M!MC’s eyes out. M!MC laughed and gave chase.

“Luuuuuuuke! Come back! I promise I’ll be nice!” M!MC lied right through their teeth like the little heathen they were, as they ran down the path they noticed that they couldn’t see Luke up ahead anymore, nor could they hear him yelling for Simeon to make them quit their teasing.

“Heheh...” M!MC wheezed as they stopped to catch their breath. “Luke c’mon, don’t be a baby. It’s real immature to hide like that!”

There was no response, which made M!MC just a little nervous, just a smidge. The plants had changed from pretty flowers and gorgeous trees to a much darker clump of vines and twisting branches. It all seemed to be the same plant, M!MC noted as they scanned the area for any sign of Luke and the cat, or Simeon for that matter.

“Luke? Bean? Come on! Haul your asses over here, this isn’t funny any-” M!MC paused and looked down as something coiled around their left leg. “-more?”

The vine tightened and yanked them backwards, M!MC fell right to the ground and clawed at the path to stop them getting pulled into the brush. Another vine wrapped around their right leg, any resistance that digging their nails into the ground was nullified as both vines yanked M!MC into the bushes.

Well, this was a nightmare of epic proportions. The vines continued to wrap around the helpless half demon until they were completely unable to move. As M!MC looked around frantically, they made eye contact with an all too familiar pair of blue eyes. Ah! There was Luke!

“Mmmph!” Only Luke’s eyes were visible, but the eyes are the gateway to the soul or whatever, and M!MC took an educated guess and decided that Luke’s soul wasn’t too happy with them.

“Mmth! Mmth!” M!MC tried to speak, but their mouth was covered by the vines. The two would have to communicate with their eyes only.

‘This is your fault!’

‘How the fuck is this MY fault?’

‘If you hadn’t teased me this never would have happened!’

‘Grow thicker skin, you chihuahua!’

‘Fuck you!’

Listen, Luke probably wasn’t capable of trying to communicate a swear word, but it was incredibly funny for M!MC to think about.

“M!MC? Luke?” Simeon stepped into their limited field of vision. “Where are you two? This plant is carnivorous.”

Oh... lovely. That was good to know.

“Mmemph!”

“MFTH!” Luke and M!MC tried to call out to Simeon, only for the vines to wrap around them even tighter. Wow, what a way to go... strangled by a plant... ugh. L!MC would never let them live that down...

“Hm,” Simeon looked down at the vine that was coiling around his leg. “What a bother.”

Quick as lightning, Simeon grabbed the vine and sent a burst of shining gold magic shooting through it. The magic quickly spread to the rest of the plant and the moment the magic slammed into M!MC they nearly passed out from the searing pain that shot through their entire body.

They clamped their eyes shut and clenched their teeth to stop them from rattling as they felt the massive wave of Celestial magic wash over them. It was weirdly warm, like a hug from a friend, but it wasn’t a pleasant sensation, at least not to M!MC.

The plant let out an otherworldly scream as it threw Luke, Bean, and M!MC back onto the path at Simeon’s feet.

Luke picked Bean back up and dusted off his clothes like he didn’t have a care in the world. M!MC lay on the ground, if you listened closely you could hear them sizzle a bit. Nothing like being nearly strangled by a plant and then roasted by holy ‘fuck you’ magic.

“I’m glad you’re both okay,” Simeon pulled Luke into a hug and helped M!MC off the ground. “Did I ah... use to much magic?”

M!MC half-scowled at their saviour and wiped down their outfit. “Yeah. A little too much.”

“My bad,” Simeon ruffled M!MC’s hair. “I hope this serves as a learning experience for you two, Luke, don’t run off like that, and M!MC,”

The half demon nearly jumped in fear and surprise as Simeon swivelled to look at them. The smile on his face was far from comforting. “Don’t tease poor Luke too much, okay?”

“Uh... uh huh.” M!MC quickly nodded.

“Good! Now let’s head back, I think we’ve all had enough of the Royal Gardens.”

As the group returned, they passed a very red in the face L!MC and wondered what exactly went down in the time they were gone.

It’s common knowledge that Barbatos hates rats, it’s also common knowledge that A!MC is the embodiment of a ray of sunshine.

What does this lead to, you may be asking, well...

A!MC and their dear rat Templeton needed to hide from the politely homicidal Barbatos.

“Sh!” A!MC whispered into their pocket, the rat responded with an indignant squeak.

The Demon Lord’s Castle was absolutely massive, and trying to navigate it without a map was akin to wandering around an ancient pyramid filled with death traps. A!MC and their dear companion were wandering the place without a map and trying to hide from a butler that had the power to see into the future. The two fugitives were at a clear disadvantage.

A!MC had managed to stumble into an area that had paintings and statues completely everywhere, it was then they realized they were completely lost.

While quietly perusing the room, A!MC took notice of quite the lovely portrait of a woman. She had long flowing locks of golden hair and the most gorgeous captivating eyes... A!MC nearly shrieked when the woman’s eyes snapped to their’s and her face contorted into a scowl.

“Do I know you?” The woman asked, A!MC gulped and shook their head.

“N-no ma’am, I don’t think we’ve met...” A!MC mumbled before sticking out their hand for a handshake. The painting woman stared down at their outstretched hand, very unimpressed. “I’m A!MC, it’s nice to meet you.”

The half demon offered their cutest smile, their dad had lovingly taken the time to coach them in the art of being so darn tootin’ adorable that everyone would fall over themselves to get A!MC to like them. The moment the woman registered the smile, her scowl returned for a brief moment, then vanished entirely.

“Oh,” The woman smiled sweetly. “I do think I know you, do you mind coming a bit closer so I can see you better?”

Suffering from a complete inability to detect red flags, A!MC happily moved closer.

“Ah, just as I suspected. You look like Asmodeus.”

“You know my dad?” A!MC asked.

“Yes,” The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I know him quite well.”

A!MC was suddenly knocked off balance as a massive gust of wind shoved them closer to the painting. They frantically clawed at the stone ground as Templeton squeaked and squirmed in their pocket.

“Your father is the reason I’m stuck in this painting,” The woman explained coldly as A!MC tried to scramble away. “He escaped the labyrinth twice, but I don’t plan on letting you escape.”

“I-uh- m-muh-my dad’s probably really sorry about whatever he did! There’s no need to be rash!” A!MC stuttered.

“Yeah, no.” The woman huffed. “He had his chance to fix things. I’m getting even.”

“Not right now you’re not.”

A!MC swivelled their head around to see Barbatos calmly holding out a pair of scissors.

“Now Helene, I’d recommend releasing the child before I’m forced to take drastic measures.” Barbatos clicked the scissors together twice, and Helene paled. The wind pushing A!MC towards the painting dissipated and the half demon ran and hid behind the butler.

“Th-thank you...” A!MC mumbled.

“It’s not a problem, A!MC. Now I believe it would be a wise choice to move to another room.”

The two, (plus the hidden rat) ended up in the kitchen. A!MC shifted nervously as Barbatos began prepping lunch.

“Is there something you need to tell me?” Barbatos asked suddenly, A!MC straightened their posture and nodded.

“I um... promise you won’t be mad...” A!MC mumbled.

“I can assure you, I won’t be too upset.”

“I made a friend.” A!MC took Templeton out of their pocket and held him closely to their chest, Barbatos’s calm smile froze on his face. “He’s really sweet, please don’t kill him!”

“...A!MC.” Barbatos began slowly. “I’m not mad... just make sure it doesn’t escape and run rampant... now... please get it out of my kitchen.”

“Yes sir! Thank you sir!” A!MC turned and sprinted to their room.

Ugh... Barbatos, haven’t you ever watched Ratatouille? The rat can cook dammit!

When Luke went in to bake with his second dad he was very confused as to why Barbatos looked like he was having war flashbacks.

Huh... weird right? Anyway...

Good ol’ weird uncle Solomon suggested that after dinner everyone should get together and watch a movie.

L!MC and Solomon suggested that they watch The Conjuring and that idea got immediately shot down.

M!MC brought up that the most “family get-together” movie they could think of was Star Wars.

So they watched A New Hope.

“We could be watching the Conjuring right now.” L!MC murmured as they watched Luke Skywalker fumble his way to Obi Wan Kenobi.

“Yeah.” Solomon whispered back. “You know, I met Ed and Lorraine Warren.”

“Cool,” L!MC smiled. “My ren took me to their house once, when I went in to see all the haunted objects all the demons inside wanted to hang out with me.”

“Huh,” Solomon snickered. “Did they think you were Lucifer?”

“Yep. It was funny, Annabelle’s a pretty big asshole though.”

“I’d be an asshole too if I were stuck in a raggedy Anne doll since the 60s and not allowed to leave.”

“Both of you sh!” M!MC hissed, they threw some popcorn over their shoulder, which L!MC threw right back.

A while into the movie, M!MC elbowed Solomon and pointed at one of the aliens. “That’s you.”

“I’m so hurt…” Solomon pouted.

“And that’s you.” L!MC pointed at a stormtrooper that had just gotten shot with a blaster. M!MC scoffed and rolled their eyes.

“I’m not some dumb stormtrooper.”

“Yeah, you’re a little short for a stormtrooper.”

“HEY!”

“SHHHHHHH!” A!MC and Luke turned and started throwing their own popcorn…

The mess that they all had to vacuum after the movie was much more terrifying than The Conjuring ever could have been.

So, after a few days, Lucifer called to say that everyone was back to normal and the last remnants of the Demon-Flu were gone.

Yay! The kids could go back to their really overcrowded house!

The goodbyes were something to behold.

“Goodbye everyone! Come back sometime soon!” Diavolo waved from the doorway.

“Bye, Lord Diavolo!” L!MC smiled brightly and returned the wave. M!MC snickered and nudged them.

“That’s a pretty cold way to say goodbye to your dad-”

“Shut up…” L!MC growled.

“L!MC, what are they talking about?” Lucifer asked.

“Nothing!”

M!MC looked like they were weighing the pros and cons of surviving the conversation, then shrugged.

“M!MC, no, you have so much to live for!” A!MC pleaded.

“L!MC called Lord Diavolo dad!”

Mammon erupted into hysterical laughter while Asmo giggled and half heartedly patted L!MC on the head. Lucifer was not impressed.

“You know,” L!MC sighed. “I’m moving out. Lord Diavolo can I come live here?”

“L!MC, come back.” Lucifer trailed after his very embarrassed spawn.

A!MC pulled on their dad’s sleeve and cleared their throat.

“Yes sweetie?”

“D-dad, do you have a vehement hatred and or fear of rats?”

“Um-”

“Meet Templeton, he’s adorable and my friend.”

————————

Author’s note, The next part of the main series is coming next week… or this week… idk how long things take.

(Probably this week)

[asweetprologue]

me lámh le do lámh - Part VI

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Geralt tried to make an effort after that.

It was a fine line to walk, of course. He wanted to be more vocal—more honest—about how much he cared about Jaskier. His deception about the nature of the ritual made him itch to tell Jaskier other things, to bury the lie under a heap of truths. The idea that Jaskier might not know how highly Geralt regarded him, might think that Geralt didn’t care, was unacceptable. No matter how uncomfortable it made him, he began to try and show Jaskier, in small ways, that he wanted him.

He just couldn’t show too much, couldn’t let himself speak the deeper truths of his heart. A fine line indeed.

Initially, Jaskier acted almost suspicious. They stayed by the ruins for three days while his head recovered. His ankle took longer, and Geralt could admit that he was coddling a bit. He forced Jaskier to sit as he made camp and cooked dinner, took away his notebook when Jaskier had been squinting at it for too long in the dusk light. He needed to rest, Geralt insisted, and he couldn’t do that if he was constantly at work. Jaskier was resistant, as always. Geralt had tended him a few times when he’d come down with a particularly nasty cold, and once when he’d been honest to gods poisoned by a rival bard. Jaskier was always petulant, irritated at being cooped up even when he couldn’t keep down anything thicker than broth. He was no better now, fighting Geralt every step of the way to recovery.

Geralt tried to retaliate with affection. He sat closer to Jaskier in the evenings, telling him the stories he craved, watching afterwards as he mouthed words up at the stars to fit new ballads. He told Jaskier that he enjoyed the tune he was humming, and Jaskier had blinked at him like he’d grown two heads. When they finally decided it was time to move on, Geralt offered to let him ride Roach, and Jaskier stood gaping at him.

“Excuse me?” he spluttered. “Did you just say you want me to ride Roach?”

Geralt sighed through his nose. “Was that not clear enough?”

Jaskier leaned against Roach, one arm out to steady himself on the saddle. His ankle still wouldn’t hold his weight for more than a few moments. “I should throw something silver at you,” Jaskier said, “or douse you in holy water. You’ve been replaced by a spirit.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s tone was a warning.

“A much nicer spirit,” Jaskier said as he began pulling himself up into the saddle. “A very kind spirit who lets his poor injured friend ride his very sweet, docile horse. Nice Roachy. Please don’t throw me off.”

“She won’t buck you,” Geralt snorted, hiding a grin. He took the reins and began leading them back to the main path, heading southwest. Their next destination, according to Triss, would be just outside of the Brokilon Forest. The last of the moonflax supposedly grew in that area, and hopefully the locals would know how to point them in the right direction. They found their way back to the main road easily enough, and it was several long moments before Jaskier spoke.

“I’m really fine, you know,” he said, and when Geralt glanced up at him, he found Jaskier staring resolutely down the road, a small pinch to his brow. “So you can stop being weird.”

“I’m not being weird,” Geralt said automatically.

“You are,” Jaskier insisted, looking down at him. His eyes squinted at Geralt as if he were trying to see straight through his skull. “And I know it’s coming from some misplaced guilt that you’re carrying around, thinking that it’s all your fault that I got hurt, as if somehow your witcher powers could stop a floor from collapsing—”

“I’m not—” Geralt started, and then bit back the words. He was guilty, and of course Jaskier could sense it on him. It just wasn’t entirely for the reason Jaskier thought. Instead he said, “It’s not about that.”

Jaskier raised his eyebrows in an expression that meant he thought he was about to win an argument. “Then why are you being so nice to me?” he asked, jerking his chin forward cockily. Like he was already sure of the answer.

The question gave Geralt pause, literally. He stopped for a moment on the road, blinking up at Jaskier. His hair was backlit by the noonday sun, his eyes as brilliantly blue as the cloudless sky above them. It was a shame, Geralt thought, that he’d never before seen Jaskier from this angle. He’d have to let him ride Roach more often. “I realized I wasn’t really, before,” he finally said, haltingly. “I mean—I want to be. Nice. Nicer.” He grimaced.

Jaskier’s expression changed to one of blatant shock, and then smoothed into something softer that Geralt couldn’t identify. It made his breath quicken in his chest, catching in his throat. “You’re a good man, Geralt. You don’t have to perform social niceties for that to be true.”

“I meant to you,” Geralt clarified, shifting uncomfortably. They were stopped in the middle of the road now, and he knew he should probably keep going, because if he kept looking up at Jaskier during this conversation it was going to feel a lot more profound than it needed to be. “I don’t really care about what every farmer or lord I deal with thinks of me.”

“But you care what I think,” Jaskier replied, face once again open with surprise. He’d been making that expression a lot lately, Geralt had noticed. Like Geralt kept doing things that made him reconsider his entire worldview.

“Yes,” Geralt said simply, because it was true. “You’re my friend. I should be nice to you.” He quirked a smile, hoping to break the tension. “That’s what Ciri tells me, at least.”

It had the desired effect; Jaskier tossed his head back and laughed, and Geralt was forced to reconcile himself with the long line of his throat. His mouth went dry at the sight, and he forced himself not to move—not to reach out, not to pull Jaskier off Roach’s back, not to press his lips to the pale skin that peeked out of Jaskier’s loose collar. He stayed stock still, until Jaskier looked down at him with a grin. “Ciri is a smart young woman,” Jaskier said, “and I can’t find fault with her argument. Though truly, don’t make any great effort on my account. I know how difficult I can be to tolerate.”

Jaskier’s mirth made something relax in him, and Geralt found himself smiling back. He unstuck his limbs from the ground and turned to continue on, giving Roach’s reins a gentle tug. Jaskier leaned forward at the sudden movement, and Geralt allowed himself one touch, reaching out to put a hand on Jaskier’s thigh, stabilizing him. Wryly, he said, “You really aren’t.”

Jaskier looked down toward him, and leaning forward as he was, they were suddenly much closer than before, and Jaskier’s face was softened again in surprise and— something else. Geralt felt sure, for one crystalline moment, that Jaskier was going to lean down the last few inches to press their lips together. He held his breath in anticipation, and for a moment Jaskier wavered. And then Roach huffed and canted forward a step, and Geralt’s hand jerked where it was clenched white-knuckled around the reins. He leaned back and away, taking his hand off of Jaskier’s thigh, and felt cold despite the warmth of the day. Jaskier straightened in his seat, and when Geralt looked up at him again his face was blank, squinting up at the sky.

Geralt’s hand burned as he started forward again, leading them down the road towards their destination. He had been right, he thought, to avoid touching Jaskier. Every instance was like flying closer to the sun. He couldn’t survive it if he kept pushing his limits.

*

They stopped for the night at an inn. It was unusually vacant; they were far enough south now that the last vestiges of winter had faded behind them, and the roads had been plenty busy. On their way into town they’d passed a large band of travelers—merchants, a cobbler, several families—headed in the other direction, so it was likely they drove off any others passing through the area. The innkeep looked tired, a woman who couldn’t be older than Jaskier but had a full head of gray hair. She gave Geralt a shrewd look when they entered, but was quickly swept up in Jaskier’s charm, especially when he exaggerated the limp a bit.

“Afraid there’ll be no one to play for this evening, my boy,” she said, the thick accent of southern Velen making her words sound like chewed barley. “You’ll have to pay for a full night.”

The rate she gave was fair, not marked up for the presence of a witcher as far as Geralt could tell. They were well off on coin after a drowner contract he’d taken before the ruins. They were always particularly active in the spring, having grown hungry under the ice and snow all winter. Geralt had cleared out at least thirty of them from a lake and its nearby stream, gaining no more than a few shallow claw marks but a hefty bag of coin for his efforts. “The rooms are a touch small,” the innkeep said. “You’ll want two; no chance of sharing with this one’s shoulders as they are.” She nodded to Geralt, her gaze passing over his broad chest. He huffed, annoyed.

Jaskier hummed himself, a slight frown passing over his features. “Are you quite sure? We’re accustomed to sharing, and it would save us some coin—”

“We have coin,” Geralt said, slapping the money down on the counter. Jaskier made a noise of protest that Geralt silenced with a look. “I don’t want to risk fucking up your leg by lying on top of it. Two rooms, one night.” It was fine. They were in no danger of running low on funds. There was no need for them to spend a night in discomfort. “It’s this or the road, bard.”

At that Jaskier pouted and dropped the issue.

*

That night they ate dinner together in the main room of the inn. The food was good, hearty liver sausages with a thin vegetable broth to wash it down, and a loaf of dark oat bread. The ale wasn’t half bad either, even watered down as it was. Once they finished eating, Geralt allowed Jaskier to goad him into a few rounds of Gwent. He never understood why Jaskier wanted to play—Geralt always won handily. Five extra decades of experience and a long tradition of playing for his meals made him the better player by far, and his deck was tournament worthy. Yet Jaskier needled him at least weekly until Geralt gave in and pulled out the cards. Maybe he thought eventually Geralt would let him win. He would continue to be disappointed.

It was, admittedly, hard to concentrate on the game when the light of the fire backlit Jaskier just so, like the halo of some old god. His long fingers worried at the edges of the cards, a terrible tell he couldn’t seem to shake. He always played with the corners of particularly good ones in his hand. Geralt could almost use it to predict the end game totals by this point. Jaskier’s fingernails were a patchwork of color; he’d had them painted sometime while he was staying in Oxenfurt, and the dark burgundy was almost completely chipped away after a few weeks on the road. It was a miracle that the color clung on at all, or that Jaskier had allowed them to remain partially decorated when they lost their perfect shine. Maybe there was a poetic appeal. Something about one’s masks being slowly chipped away, or some such nonsense.

He won the first game. Jaskier begged for best three out of five, and Geralt won the next two games as well. Jaskier finally relented, and the smile on his face wasn’t that of a good natured loser accepting his lot. He said, “I suppose you win again, my dear,” and his eyes were warm as he looked at Geralt.

It was rare that Jaskier could be described as soft in any way. He was boisterous, and excitable, and generally prone to fits of dramatic romanticism or unbridled rage in equal measure. Sometimes he was melancholy, and other times—sometimes when he was very drunk, he was giddy, and he would rope Geralt into unwise activities like they were school children. He was almost never quiet. Even in moments of calm he would be busy moving, strumming his lute or scratching in the margins of his notebooks or singing a new line or two at the stars. But now he was sitting and looking at Geralt over a pile of cards, and he was still. Just looking, chin resting on one hand, as if Geralt’s face held the key to an interesting riddle he was trying hard to solve.

Geralt cleared his throat, feeling unmoored. “Time for bed. Early start tomorrow.”

Like that the spell was broken, and Jaskier rolled his eyes with a groan. “And for what reason? Roach, for one, would deserve the rest. We mustn’t always get up at the first light of dawn, witcher.”

“But we will,” Geralt said, feeling his lips twitch. He turned towards the stairs to hide it, hearing Jaskier’s uneven gait follow after him. He resisted the urge to turn around and offer his arm to assist, knowing that it would only annoy Jaskier and put them in close proximity. Something he was trying his best to avoid.

They parted ways at the doors to their rooms, set next to each other in the hall. They were almost identical, and Geralt wondered if at some point a wall had been constructed down the middle of a room to provide the inn with more to rent out. The result was two cramped spaces, with only enough room for a small bed pushed up against the wall and a trunk across from it. Geralt had deposited his things in the corner before heading back down in search of dinner earlier, and he now set about making sure that his equipment was taken care of. There was a spot on his armor that needed to be reinforced after a drowner had scratched it. The leather was still supple from regular oiling, but he would need a professional to look it over soon. Even so, he was capable of making his own minor repairs until then, backing the fragile spot with spare pieces that he kept for this purpose. The work was grounding in its familiarity. Once he was done he set about sharpening his swords as well. The silver would soon need a new coating; Geralt could see a few places where the darker iron core shone through, where he’d blocked the swipe of a griffin’s talon a month back. A problem for another town.

He could hear Jaskier in the room on the other side of the wall. It was thin enough that there may as well have been no barrier between them whatsoever. He could hear the bard humming to himself, the rustle of cloth as he tossed aside his clothes for the day. No, not tossed—Jaskier was meticulous about his clothes unless roaring drunk or in a haze of academic preoccupation, which tonight he was not. Geralt could almost picture the other man as he carefully folded his doublet over the back of a chair, set his undershirt to hang near the window where it would dry out after the sweat of the day. His pants would be pressed into a neat square and put into his bag alongside his other colorful finery. His hose would be draped near the doublet, his boots neatly set by the door. Dressed down to his braies, he would slip into bed.

The creek of the mattress came from closer to Geralt’s room than he might have expected. The beds must be pushed up against the same wall, mirroring each other.

Geralt slowly and methodically finished his tasks, sliding his swords back into their scabbards and putting them under the bed, within easy reach. With a flick of his wrist, he extinguished the lone candle in the room. He could hear from the noises filtering in from outside that Jaskier’s room had been the one graced with a window. No matter; he could see fine without the added help of the moonlight.

By the time he slipped into the small bed, Jaskier’s breaths had evened out in sleep. His heartbeat was loud through the wall, louder than it usually seemed in their small campsite, with the sounds of the forest drowning it out. The bed really was too small for two, Geralt thought, rolling over to stare at the wall. If they’d shared, they would have had to sleep practically on top of each other. Geralt would have had to wrap himself around Jaskier just to keep him in place. Put his hand over the bard’s heart and felt the rhythm drum out under his fingertips.

He turned around, pressing his back to the wall, listening to the sound of the bard on the other side. His chest ached. The bed felt huge and empty, big enough to swallow him whole. A ridiculous fucking notion. The thing was tiny.

Geralt wondered, really and truly, when it had gotten this bad. When he’d let it get this bad. He pressed his back more firmly against the wall, and fell asleep to the symphony of his own heartbeat matching Jaskier’s one to four.

[roger-that-cap]

meet me in the gardens

knight!natasha x noble!fem!reader

summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say not to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected yoru knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either. 

warnings: actually none but a misunderstanding and the lack of editing that i think u guys may or may not be used to at this point

word count: 5.3k

part two!!

The knight before you was the opposite of a man. She was so opposite in fact, that you had to actively make yourself not appear like you were shocked. You knew that the twins were having to try even harder to keep composure.

She was without a doubt, one of the prettiest people you had ever seen before. Being a lady, you had seen so many handsome young men and gorgeous young women, but there wasn’t one who’s fairness struck you like this woman’s. Her eyes were an unfamiliar shade of blue, and you knew that they were the kind of eyes that were made for surveillance and observation, and if you looked hard enough, maybe a window to her thoughts. She had pink lips that were set into a genuine yet thin smile, almost like she wasn’t used to wordless pleasantries at all. Her hair was cropped just above her shoulders and it shined a brilliant red that you had rarely ever seen. Despite the powerful and extremely potent energy that she was giving off, she was short, shorter than you, but something told you that she was strong. Stronger than anyone knew quite yet, but you could feel it. But, you were still confused, regardless of how she had rendered you breathless for the quickest of seconds.

The problem wasn’t that she was a woman. There wasn’t even really a problem at all. It was just the fact that a woman was a knight. You had never seen anything like it in your entire life, and you had never even thought of the possibility of that happening. At all. You had to fight tooth and nail to keep property that you hardly even wanted, all because you were a woman. Because you weren’t pregnant with a son who could carry his hypothetical father’s name. Because you were a woman without the heir to your late husband’s fortunes, you were seen as nothing, for a long time. And now, there were women who were becoming knights?

You were more impressed than confused.

You felt another pinch from Pietro, this time a little harder. You breathed in through your nose, a welcoming smile on your face as you grappled for words.

“Hello,” you said, public voice still working hard as you internally scrambled for words. You were looking the red headed woman right in her eyes, the eyes that were so intense that if you hadn’t been in rooms where extreme business had gone down, you would have melted. You tried to remember the standard greeting. “Welcome to my keep. I hope that I can accommodate you during your stay, and that you are successful in your search for what it is that you are looking for.” You knew the words were off by a bit, but you saw the coachman nod in approval that you didn’t really care to have.

The knight took a step forward, and the sound of a heavy footstep crashing against your well-kept grass made you shiver. The trampled grass had nothing on the way that you reacted to hearing her voice. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Mirellis. I sincerely thank you for allowing me into your home.”

It was hardly your home, and you could tell that the two of you had already gotten off on the wrong foot. You knew it was because of your shameless staring. “May I be graced with knowing your name?”

If possible, she stood up a little straighter. “I am Natasha Romanoff, My Lady.”

If you were hearing correctly, you heard the slight awkwardness in her last two words. Only people with titles of their own called other lords and ladies “my lady”, and lower born people were to call them “milady”. She must have been lowborn, just like you. “It is my deepest pleasure to meet you, Natasha. May I show you around my keep?”

“Typically,” the coachman cut in, and you furrowed your brows at the way he interrupted the stop-and-start flow of the conversation. “It isn’t the lord—sorry—lady of the house’s job to do that.”

Wanda opened her mouth, highly defensive of you and ready to go because it was a fight she could afford to pick. A servant and a coachman were on the same level. She would face no punishment for talking back to the man. However, you reached to your right and squeezed her hand twice.

“Well, I am the lady of the house, and I would like to show my new guest her accommodations.” The man narrowed his eyes slightly at you, and it became obvious to everyone that he clearly wasn’t expecting back talk from you.

You knew that everyone thought widows were these gentle, sad women. The type that cried themselves to sleep and wished to meet their husbands again in the afterlife. The type that listened at anything that a man uttered simply because he was a man, or because they didn’t have the energy to entertain an arguement or to correct them. Especially ladies. But you were not supposed to be a lady. You wore fancy dresses and had gold and had a small castle to yourself, but part of you would always be that girl who beat up the boys who lived a few acres away for talking about your hair and then rolled in mud with them, laughing about it the very next day.

Even through the glances that were thrown between the five of you standing there, you continued. “My staff has worked so hard on making sure it was nice for her. I’d like to show off their diligence now.” It wasn’t a question.

“Do as you please, milady.”

You resisted the urge to nod smugly. “Thank you.” You watched him climb back onto his chair and quirked a brow. The coachman always stayed for dinner. It was considered offensive if they did not, both to the knight and to the lord or lady. “Did you not want to stay for the meal, good sir?”

“I must get back, milady. If that is alright with you.”

You knew you should utter something lengthy that you didn’t mean at all, but the most you could get out after his blatant rudeness was a quick “safe travels.” There was a long stretch of awkward silence as you watched him leave, arms hanging at your sides as the trotting sound of horses carried him away.

“Goodness, was he rude.”

“Pietro.” Wanda hissed, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. You whirled around to look at the knight— Natasha— and saw that she was already looking at you with blatant curiosity.

“Would it be alright with you if I took you around myself?” You asked, and she nodded her head. “Well, I’m sure you’re hungry. Would you like to eat first?”

You were beginning to realize very quickly that the woman was the staring type. Her eyes, no, her entire face and persona was so demanding and intense. It was hard to even be provoked by her shameless staring and possible judgement, because at least she was open with it. The more you looked at her, though, the more you knew that you would never understand what was happening behind her eyes. “I would like to see.”

“Then you will see,” you stated, and gave Wanda a look. She knew immediately what it meant, and she walked off to tell the chefs to expect you in an hour or so. “We can start with the outside area and make our way in.”

She was very much the staring type. Not even just at faces or people in general, but with everything. You noticed that when anything caught her eye, she looked at it for a few seconds in silence and then moved on, like she heard them speak something unknown to everyone else and took the time to listen.

“These are the training grounds,” you said after walking to the back half of the castle, where the grass was still trained to grow with strength and hardly a thing was out of place. The training grounds were for young squires in the area or kids that just wanted to play fight. You had made the area yourself, and it was one of your favorite parts of your home. You liked being able to look outside and see children playing freely, and the sound of laughter was something that everyone needed in life. “You’re free to use them in any way you see fit, of course.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“You’ll run into aspiring knights here and there, but they are good children.” Your voice was fond as you spoke of them, and then took a right. “And just down here, we have the gardens.”

And gardens, they were. They were the only thing in the castle that was actually yours while your husband was alive. When you had arrived, the patch of land was so disgraced that it would have been insulting to call it a garden. The flowers were droopy, the soil was dry, and the vibrant colors that were once there had been sucked away. Your husband didn’t care about the area, and neither did anyone else, so you adopted it. You had built it from the ground up and made it into what it was; a huge and gorgeous garden full of colors, with ivy hanging from rails in what looked like an unruly manner and bushes full of roses and begonias and everything in between. It was caged off by golden rails, but the rails were hardly binding. They were so wrapped with leaves that it looked like they grew with the garden.

“This is my favorite part of the keep,” you stated softly, walking down it. You had expanded it so that it went down and into the forest, the rails forming a path. You walked down it every so often yourself, deep into the woods where no one would bother you, where you could look at the stars above in peace.

“Is it yours?”

“What?” You asked, tearing your eyes from a particular bush to see her looking up at the ivy.

“This garden,” she said, and you realized that you were strolling closer and closer to the woods. You stopped walking, but didn’t make any move to go and meet her. “Do you tend to it?”

“It’s mine,” you answered, not even bothering to take the subtle pride out of your voice. “It’s my project. I started it when I got here, and now it’s flourishing.”

“Where did you learn how to garden?”

It was no secret that typically, ladies did not get their hands dirty, even if the activity was simple planting. They were supposed to stay inside and knit or something like that. Ladies could go outside to look at gardens, but they had staff to plant for them. So, did Natasha not know that you weren’t born with a title? “When I was a girl,” you answered vaguely.

“Your Lord Father allowed you?”

My father was no lord. “Yours allowed you to wield a sword?” The sound of armor clanking brought you out of your slight hostility, and you sighed. “I apologize.”

“It’s quite alright.” The harshness in her voice told you that she was offended by what you said, and she turned around once she realized that the two of you were nearing the tree line.

You walked around with Natasha, giving her the rest of the tour halfheartedly and only speaking when absolutely necessary. It was clear that the two of you clearly weren’t clicking as well as you hoped to, and while that was tragic, you weren’t going to kiss anyone’s feet to get in their good graces.

“I’m sure you’re hungry by now.” The second you stepped on the wood floors of the inside of your keep, the warmth hit you. Your shoes clicked on the material as you walked ahead of her, not looking back or waiting for an answer. “I’ll show you the kitchens, and then the dining hall.”

The dining hall was known for its size. It was huge, and the ceiling was high. Everything that was said echoed, and the lighting provided by strategically placed candles made the hall have an elegant, almost eerie feeling to it. The staff was already bustling around, plating food and pouring wine. Wanda and Pietro were already there, their harsh and bickering whispers hitting your ears until they heard you approaching.

“Oh, please, sit.” Wanda did so immediately, and Pietro walked around the table to pull out your chair, which sat at the head of it.

You cringed when Pietro sat down. He had been dethroned from his seat at your left hand, because it was courteous of you to give up that seat for your new night. That was one tradition that you wouldn’t break, simply because it would be seen as disrespectful. “You can sit right there, Lady Natasha.” You saw her lip twitch.

In all honesty, you had no idea what to call her formally. You two certainly weren’t close enough to address each other by first name, and you doubted she even knew it. But she wasn’t a man, and male knights were called “Sir”. She wasn’t a “Sir”. You didn’t want to offend her further by calling her it.

The first half of the dinner was in awkward silence. Wanda kept giving you glances, and you frowned at the way she was looking at you- like you had clearly messed something up. You sighed through your nose when you heard Pietro clear his throat, a sound that meant that he was about to run his mouth.

“So, my lady knight, what do you think of the castle?”

The red head didn't even realize she was being addressed until she looked up and saw you and everyone else looking at her expectantly. “It’s very nice.” You waited a bit, listening to hear whatever empty compliments that she would give for the sake of being polite. Ten seconds passed, and there was nothing.

You chuckled. “Thank you,” you answered just as shortly, holding back the urge to laugh much louder than was appropriate.

“So, where are you from?”

“The slums.” You nod in acknowledgment, and guilt. Sometimes you repressed the images of people living from coin to coin. But silly you, silly everyone. For there to have been people on the top, there had to be people at the bottom. And those who lived at the bottom lived in what were called “the slums”. “I don’t know if you would know anything about that, My Lady.”

Wanda made a noise that told you that the bold knight’s words were clearly meant to wound you, and Pietro’s brows shot upwards so quickly that you barely saw the movement happen. You stared at your plate, jaw dropped open in surprise and mortification.

You were fuming on the inside. How the hell would she know who you were? What you dealt with? How your husband was as cruel as he was disgusting? How you grew up a poor farmer’s daughter? She didn’t know, and that was what kept you grounded. How could she have known?

Before you could get in your right mind to utter a threat that you were sure that your late husband had said in your presence at least once, you nodded your head and took it in stride. You stood up from the table and didn’t look at her or the confused look she shot you after looking at your painfully unfinished plate.

“Wanda will show you to your chambers, Lady Natasha. I hope you enjoy your first dinner of many here at my castle, and I hope that tonight begins your yearlong journey to wisdom.” And with that, you turned on your heels after taking your plate shamelessly, heels clacking against the polished floor once again, silence filling the hall until long after you left.

§§

By the third day Natasha was there and the second that you had been blatantly avoiding her, you were starting to feel bad for fueling the fire between you two. She was to stay under your roof and do what she had to for a full year, and you antagonized her. You gave the sacred act of showing a knight to their room to someone else, and you understood Natasha’s lack of speech towards you to be a consequence of that.

But that was fine. You certainly didn’t need for the girl to like you. It would have made things much easier and smoother, but it wasn’t a necessity. Your job was to give her food, water, shelter, and time to find herself and her purpose as a knight. Nothing said that the two of you had to be as thick as thieves.

But that also didn’t mean that you would actively pass on befriending her. You decided after a long time of sitting at the polished wooden desk that had become yours that you would be her friend should fate allow it, and if not, there was no harm to it. But you weren’t going to chase her, no matter how wonderfully her bright hair would work as an object to follow.

A soft calling of your name happened seconds before Wanda opened the door. You greeted her informally and grinned at her, until you saw the look on her face and the sealed paper in her hand. Immediately, your joyful expression left and you sighed.

“Who is it this time?” Wanda shut the door behind her after your question, and you gave her a look. “It can’t be Lord Rumlow again.”

Brock Rumlow was not a good man. No man who had power was a good man, but he was one of the worst. He had gone through two wives in the past three years, and the second one was found with stab wounds in the forest. How he had gotten out of being tried for her murder was beyond you, and it made you sick to your stomach every time you thought about it. Now, he set his sights on you, a widow sitting on plenty of money and land. He had been sending you letters, flowers, gold, dresses, anything that a narcissistic man would think that another human being would like simply because the things were tangible. And the letters always said the same old thing; to marry him. And he wasn’t ever really asking.

“It’s him,” Wanda confirmed, her tone telling you that she felt the same way you did towards the vile man.

“I want to burn it,” you said, and immediately, Wanda crossed the room to put the note in the fire, waiting for your final say. “Let me read what this imbecile has asked for now. I wonder what beautiful horse or jewel he’ll offer for my hand, this time.”

You took the letter from Wanda gently and gave her a small smile, and she urged you to open it, just as nervous to see what was inside as you were. You stared at his seal for a few seconds, eyeing the red wax with a three headed serpent engraved with disdain before tearing it right open. You did the rest without ceremony, your eyes narrowed as you found the messy and unbothered handwriting that you would recognize from anywhere.

Lady of Riverstone,

I take it that my other letters may have been lost to the wind. I apologize for not reaching you earlier. But, if you have been getting my letters, then my main offer stands the same. I would be honored for you to take my name and stand under my veil, and for you to become my wife. Marriage to me would give you a great deal of benefits, and I have listed them down below. I would like an answer within two fortnights, and if I don’t get one, I’ll send another letter.

It was all more of the same, more of the same offers and then a little more, vague threats, and monotonous language that he hardly knew how to use correctly. You read with a neutral expression, even though Wanda was shocked reading all of the things he was offering. He signed it off like he did every other letter.

Lord Rumlow, of Serpent’s Keep.

“He offered you two tons of gold to send your father?”

“Do you notice how he’s never called me Lady Mirellis?” You asked, sipping the chalice of water that constantly sat at your desk, and got refilled whenever someone walked by and saw it nearing empty. “Or by my name?”

“I have.”

“It’s always ‘Lady of Riverstone’,” you sighed, shaking your head. “If he wants the land, he should just go on and say that. It’s much more respectable for him to be honest with me. Maybe I would have said yes already.”

Wanda made a face. “You’re lying, now.”

“Well, of course I am. I've never seen him, and all he wants is a woman to beat around. I’m not that woman, no woman is. Do you think I want to find myself dead within a half year of being wed?” There was a sharp knock on your door.

“He wouldn’t kill you. He wouldn’t gain these assets after your death,” Wanda said softly, understanding that you were about to finish the conversation. “He must be truly desperate to pay ou two tons of gold. That could help nearly anyone out of a pickle, and it would certainly pay off some things back at the farm.”

You knew that. But the truth was… you held a certain amount of irrational and rational disdain for your family. You knew that some of it was warranted just off of the way humans worked in general, but others weren’t. You knew for a fact that a part of you would always be bitter about the way that no one fought hard enough for you not to be taken from your home. You knew that a part of you would be bitter because they took the money that your late husband had offered them, like you were the fattest, most desirable pig in the pen. And there would forever, and ever, be a part of you—if not all of you— that would be angry about your wedding night.

Half of your family showed. The other half came, took you to a back room, and cried. They cried on your night of terror, and you comforted them. It was the one time where you truly needed your mother and her maternal instincts, the one time you needed your brother to teach you some moves that could hurt a man if you needed them. And they either weren’t where you needed them, or weren’t what you needed them. Both truths hurt the same.

“My family doesn’t need money,” you settled on saying, swallowing the burning that came with thinking about the people you shared blood with. “If they needed it, they would ask.”

“Your father is a proud man, he wouldn’t set that pride aside. Especially not to ask one of his own daughters for money.”

“Well, let that be their problem,” you said, although your harsh words weren’t as impactful because of the tremor in them. “I won’t marry Lord Rumlow.”

Wanda leaned forward a bit, and she took both of your hands in hers as the knocking grew louder. She looked you in the eyes, just the way one true friend looked at another. With the same ferocity in her voice as the time when she assured you that no one was going to force you to give up your rights to ladyship, her next words were no louder than a whisper. “And no one will make you.”

Your eyes almost grew watery as you held her hands, feeling the purity of the bond you shared with her surging. “Thank you.” You looked towards the door and let her hands go, uttering a soft command.

Pietro stood there with his arms crossed and a flushed look on his face. He cocked his head to the side at the sight of you and Wanda hovering over a broken open letter, and took a few steps forward. It was upside down, so you turned it his way so that he could read it easier, and the second he recognized the handwriting, he groaned.

“I think I can assume what this is,” he rolled his eyes, and he picked it up and walked over to the fire. When you’d said nothing, he tossed it in and the three of you watched it burn. “I came to tell you that our little knight is strange.”

“How so?”

“Well, she's writing.”

You furrowed your brows. “Writing?” You repeated, remembering her saying that she grew up poor. Most commoners had no idea how to read or write. You only learned because you had to learn when you married a lord. And even if knights had the ability to read and write, they hardly did. Words had very little value to a man who could wield a sword.

But Natasha Romanoff was no man.

“What on earth would she be writing about?” Wanda asked, leaning against the desk. “I wonder if she’s required to write a review on her treatment.”

Pietro gave a short but genuine laugh. “She’s probably writing down terrible things about you to give to the king after she returns home,” he joked, and Wanda cracked a smile, but you couldn’t find it in you to laugh.

“I couldn’t care less about a review of my hospitality or lack therefore of,” you drawled.

Wanda rolled her eyes. “Yes, you do, because you’re a kind person.”

“But she is not.” You felt bad for saying the words that you said not even seconds after.

“We don’t know that,” Wanda reasoned softly. “Actually, I happen to know that she’s quite nice. And she’s level headed and very smart, from what I can see. She’s no man with a little praise under his belt, that’s for sure.”

“So, she’s not boastful.” You said. “That’s good. But I don’t see her and I sharing more interactions than what we need to.”

“With all due respect, Lady Y/N,” Pietro said, leaning forward with that characteristic smirk of his plastered over his face. “You are very dramatic. You always have been.”

You could hardly even pretend to be offended. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” Wanda said quietly, though not fearfully at all. “You are always dramatic, and then things work out.”

Wanda was right. She very much was, actually. Things like the river nearly drying up and crops rotting too quickly and other things that were completely out of your hands terrified you. The things that you couldn’t control made you irrational and erratic, and that was probably your worst fault. You did the same with things you could change, only with worrying. Something as simple as an apology could fix something, but you would sit on giving the apology for hours, sometimes even days.

That night, when it seemed like everyone else was fast asleep and dreaming sweet little images, you put on slippers and walked right outsides, your guards not even asking you where you were going. You walked right out of the side doors and into the garden, humming quietly to yourself as you walked through the entrance of it with your pails of water.

It was quiet besides the noise of bugs chirping, and the occasional flap of wings from birds above. Even your humming had tapered off, and it felt like you could have been able to hear things from miles away. You smiled in the crisp air as you bent over to water a rose bush, a soft affirmation towards the red flowers when you saw how pretty they looked in the moonlight. When you stood back up and turned your head around, you gasped in fright and tumbled towards the ground.

“Shit,” a hand caught your arm and the other was on your shoulder as your chest heaved, adrenaline rushing from being so frightened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you saw me.” It took you a second to see the face of the woman speaking in the moonlight, but when you saw it was the knight, you sighed.

You were set back on two feet, and then Natasha took a step backwards. “Why are you out here?”

She shrugged. “It’s pretty.” There was a stretch of silence as you waited for her to say something, anything else. “It’s safe.”

A part of you was angered by that statement. Yes, the gardens were safe. Of course they were, they were your safety! They were your place that you went to when you felt like nothing was in your control, like your own decisions weren’t yours. Nothing could hurt you in the gardens, and plants couldn’t talk. They held every secret that you could ever tell, they held every tear that you never shed in front of another, and they saw every emotion that you were too stoic to show in front of others. They were the one place that you could get peace. And now the knight has ruined it.

But on the other hand, you were proud of yourself for creating something that someone else can admire. You created something that someone else could be free in, and in a way, that was amazing. And that hand was outweighing the other.

So, you said, “I’m glad it feels that way.” You cleared your throat softly when you realized that you were speaking to her the way you spoke to the twins. “I created it as my own safe space, so I’m glad someone else thinks of it that way, too.”

There was a short yet heavy silence between you and Natasha, and then you saw her turn to face you, her eyes burning a hole into the side of your face. “I know you’re not very excited to have me here, but I’m here. So we can at least try to be cordial.”

“Is that not what we’re being?” You asked, not even taking your eyes off of the moon. “I thought we were even being a little friendly.”

“It would be nice if it lasted.” Natasha muttered, and you nodded your head.

“I don’t know if I offended you with the question about whether or not your father approved your knighthood,” you said, sighing. “I assume that I did. And if you carry around that offense, then I apologize. I don’t like talking about my own father, but you couldn’t have known that.”

“You do not need to be forgiven,” she states. “I apologize, as well.”

“And it’s not that I don’t want you here,” you started, already cursing yourself for going into what she had said not even a full minute earlier. You were tense as she waited for you to continue, but you just shrugged and sighed. “Just know that that’s not it.” Something reached toward you out of the corner of your eye, and you finally turned your head to look at her.

She was… she was nothing short of gorgeous. You were taller than her, so you looked down at her just a little bit. Her red hair looked more brown than anything, and her blue eyes were pale and still as beautiful as they were during the day. There was the smallest hint of a smile on her face, nervous almost, as you looked down at the arm that was reached out your way. The moon was shedding you both its white light, and it primarily rested right where her arm was extended, her palm lord and turned to the side.

She wanted to shake hands with you. Shaking hands was seen as archaic, and knights certainly didn’t touch ladies unless they were assisting them. But, you knew by now that Natasha was not the typical knight. One of her fingers twitched, and you realized that she was just waiting there, her hand hanging in the air, like a gavel ready to drop at any moment. And quickly, almost enough to make the other woman startle, you took her right hand in your own and shook it twice, keeping your eyes right on hers.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

                                                       ******

hiiii guys! still establishing things here with this chapter, but when things kick off, they are going full speed. i already love this fic, and i can’t wait to put all my ideas down for it as the finished product! i hope you guys liked it, and if you did, please show her some love! i have a little taglist building up, so here it goes!

@normanijauregui​ @fayhar​ @8plasma​ @procrastinatingsapphictrash​ 

@slut-for-nat​ @dontmindmejustreading @swords-are-cool​

@200605chaeng​ @thescottishavenger @antidaytime​ @jenny-song​ @madamevirgo​ @natasha-danvers​ @drdarcy-lewis​ @blackxwidowsxwife​ 

[shoutaaizawas]

↳ aizawa shouta x reader → where’s my love pt. one

summary: you love aizawa shouta but he thinks your flirting is just a game. what will it take for him to realize how much you care? word count: 3.7k+ tags/warnings: angst!, mutual pining, v sad, injuries, hospitals a/n: aizawa angst requested by @winnies-headcannons​ i hope it was angsty enough! i wrote most of this while listening to wheres my love by syml (slowed + reverbed version is amazing and sad)

part two

There was something about you. Usually when people said that they meant it in a good way. You annoyed Aizawa at best. He wasn’t even sure why you always ended up running into each other so much. You were more of a typical pro hero, enjoyed the limelight. Yet you were always running into him on his night patrols. He would be taking down a villain and you would show up with that irritating smile, trailing behind him as he tried to make it clear he was leaving. But you would keep talking and laughing and flirting with him as you followed him.

The flirting was the part that annoyed him the most. You would tease him and compliment him. Were you really so cruel that it was funny to make him think you might like him? Or maybe it was just your personality. Something you did without thinking. Either way, he couldn’t stand it. He liked you but he knew there was no way you felt the same. He wished you would just leave him alone so he could try and move on.

“Evening, Eraserhead~” Your cheery tone filled his ears. You had been perched on the brick wall he was passing by. You gave him a big smile as you hopped down, landing beside him and following his pace. “How’s your patrol been tonight?”

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere doing a photoshoot?” He said in an annoyed tone. He was having a bad day, the last thing he wanted right now was to deal with your flirting.

“Silly, I got those done last week.” You never flinched at his harsh tone or words. They always rolled off your back with a teasing reply, your smile never faltering. “C’mon I just know you have some exciting story to tell me from patrol. If not patrol maybe something from your personal life. I’ll listen to whatever you have to say. With a voice like that, I’d listen to you read the dictionary.” You said with a wink.

His heartbeat always picked up when you complimented him, he wished you meant it. How could someone like you think that he was attractive? Why would a top ten hero like you, who could have anyone they wanted, want anything to do with him. He had seen you on dates with guys that were better looking than him, who were more popular heroes than him.

It was overwhelming, it felt like there was a pressure pushing in on him. He knew she never would want him no matter how much he liked her. He wished he could forget her. Between the emotions flooding through him and the bad day he had he snapped.

“You know what.” He said stopping and turning quickly towards you. “I just don’t get you. You follow me around every night like some stupid kid, getting on my nerves every way possible. Aren’t you a top ten hero, don’t you have something better to do than bother me every chance you get?” His tone was biting.

It was cruel, he knew it was. It had been a long day, it was hard to think about anything other than her sometimes. It hurt that he knew she didn’t mean anything she said. How could she mean it? Why would a young hero at the top of her game want anything to do with him? It was just salt in the wound all the flirting that she did.

It was quick, gone in a flash but he saw the hurt in your eyes. For just a moment he saw the devastation of his words before it disappeared.

“Sorry, Eraserhead.” You replied, your cheery tone still strong. “You’re probably right, I should go back to my agency and get some work done.”

How was your smile still so bright despite what he had said to you? Before he could say anything else you turned to walk away. Before you fully disappeared into the night you turned around giving another bright smile.

“Stay safe out there.” You said eyes closed grinning. The glow of the street light illuminated you, the sight of you almost made his heart stop. How were you so beautiful? Why were you so close to him but still out of reach? He was frozen as you disappeared into the night.

Fittingly a crack of lightning flooded the sky and rain began to fall down. The water started to soak his hero uniform as he continued on. What was wrong with him?

☾

It was a burden like no other to care for someone. You weren’t exactly sure how it happened. You had been going home after work when you ran into Eraserhead. You stopped to help him apprehend a criminal. You had heard of him before but never met him. As soon as you met his dark gaze you felt a pull towards him that you couldn’t resist.

You found yourself looking for him at night. You didn’t work night patrols often but after you finished up work at the agency you would try and find him on the way home. Some nights you were so tired you could barely stand but it didn’t stop you from at least popping in on him and saying ‘hello’. You weren’t very experienced with relationships. You weren’t really sure how to go about starting a relationship. You hoped that if you flirted with him enough he’d get the hint and ask you out.  

It hadn’t worked yet but it didn’t stop you from your visits. Some nights you would follow him around talking about your day. Or you’d help him with a villain. Some nights you would try and get him to talk about himself but he rarely did. There were rare occasions where you would have a moment with him, he would open up and you felt like you were getting somewhere but the next day he would be closed off again.

Today had been a long day. It felt like everything had been as stressful as possible. You had been knocked around by a strong villain earlier leaving you bruised and sore. Then at your agency, it seemed like everyone there had a question or a problem to fix. By the end of your shift, you were exhausted. You hadn’t eaten anything all day and you hadn’t slept much the night before.

It didn’t keep you from Eraserhead, the thought of seeing him put a little pep in your step even if you felt like you might fall over. You knew if you saw him your day would instantly be better.

You saw him walking down the street so you perched yourself on a wall in his path. You liked keeping your entrances creative. You didn’t want him knowing that your run-ins were intentional, that would just be pathetic.

You smiled, the sight of him warming your heart. He replied in his usual manner and you teased him in return. It was an easy dance, your retorts always on the tip of your tongue. You never took his words seriously. If he wanted to tease you about being a popular hero you’d take it in stride. You complimented his voice, his low tones always sent your heart racing no matter what he said to you.

You weren’t prepared for what happened next.

“…stupid kid…” The words rang in your head. “…don’t you have anything better to do?…”

You had thick skin, you rarely took his words to heart but the acid in his voice. The way his words dug into the flesh of your heart leaving it bleeding. You felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs.

You were so stupid, how couldn’t you see it sooner? He couldn’t stand you. Your flirting, your following him around, he hated it. Shame flooded over you and you wondered how you hadn’t seen it sooner. Your heart was caught in your throat.

You mumbled an apology, making an excuse to leave before turning and fleeing the scene in the most normal way possible. You wouldn’t bother him anymore, you’d leave him alone. If your presence just annoyed him, put him in a bad mood, you would stay away. The thought of not seeing him again made you tear up but you remained strong. At least get out of here first before you cry.

If this was the last time you’d see him, you wanted to say one last thing. Not leave it on some excuse to run away.

“Stay safe out there.” You said giving your best smile, hoping he couldn’t see the tears welling up in your eyes.

You ran, you ran as fast as you could. Not looking back. Embarrassment and heartbreak flooded through you. Your tears ran down your face, how did you not know how stupid you were?

Rain began to pour down matching your emotions. The chill of your soaked clothes didn’t bother you, you were so lost in thought.

You were dead on your feet but you keep going, not sure exactly where you were headed. You saw the neon sign of a bar and decided it was better than going home. You sat down at the bar, ordering a drink before settling in.

“Hey, what a coincidence.” You heard a voice from beside you.

There sat Present Mic, or rather Hizashi Yamada. Of course, you would run into Eraserhead’s best friend.

“Oh, hey.” You mumbled not really wanting to talk right now.

“What’s wrong? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a smile on your face.” He asked. His hand moved to pat your shoulder.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You replied, taking a sip of your drink.

“Well, then I’ll just keep you company. If you don’t mind.” He said, raising a hand to order another drink.

Hizashi rambled about his day, about the students at UA, about the villain he ran into on patrol, about his radio show. It was nice, it was easy to sip on your drink and get carried away in his stories. You realized it had been a long time since you’ve had a normal conversation with someone. Everything was always at work or you were trying your best to get Aizawa’s interest. You had so little time to yourself to just relax and unwind.

You knew that Hizashi could see something was wrong and you appreciated his attempts at distracting you. You weren’t very close with the hero but you knew each other well enough.

Maybe it was the drinks or maybe it was too crushing to hold it all in but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“You know I love Aizawa.” The words slipped out before you could stop them. Hizashi didn’t react much, just looked at you waiting for more. “I’ve been trying to get his attention for so long but he hates me.” You said, letting out a pitiful laugh. “The one person I’ve ever met that I’ve loved and they hate me…”

Your heart sunk, saying it out loud hurt more than you expected. Hizashi gave you a sad look.

“I don’t know how he feels about you exactly but I don’t think he hates you.” He said.

“Really? Because he just called me a stupid kid that follows him around and asked if I had anything better to do.” You replied. “You know I don’t even have night patrols, I just like seeing him. I like helping him out when I can.”

You looked down letting out a sigh.

“It’s not fair, I’ve tried dating other people. I thought that I made it so clear I was interested in him but he never did anything in return. I thought maybe he wasn’t interested so I tried to move on. But every date I went on all I could do was compare everything to him. How can I move on when all I can think about is him?” You let out a huff. “So I thought maybe if I hang around him enough I’ll grow on him. Maybe if he just gave me the chance that he could love me back. I’m so stupid.”

You dropped your head against the bar, leaving it there.

“Aizawa is a very complicated guy, I’ve known him my whole life. He’s been through a lot, most of it bad. I don’t think he’s the type of guy to respond to teasing and flirting. He assumes the worst in most things so he probably thought you didn’t mean it. Maybe if you told him in a more serious way, tell him in a way that leaves no room for guessing.”

“Do you think I have a chance?” You asked.

“There’s only one way to find out.” He said giving you a soft smile. "It's better to know than spend the rest of your life guessing."

Walking home that night you wondered if he was right. You hated the thought of asking him directly, to hear him reject you might be the worst thing possible. But would it be any worse than today? If he told you directly that he wasn’t interested maybe you could move on for real. Maybe you could write a letter.

When you got home you sat down at your desk, you were exhausted but you wanted to write the letter while you still had the courage to do it. Maybe you could have Hizashi look at it after you finished. Maybe he could give it to him.

Maybe you had a chance.

☾

Aizawa felt bad. The whole day he had been in a fog. His words ran through his head again and again. Why did he have to be so cruel? He didn’t mean it. He had been in a bad mood, it was wrong of him to snap. That split second of hurt in your eyes haunted him.

He promised himself he would apologize to you when he ran into you on patrol tonight. If he didn’t see you he would find you. It was his fault that he felt so insecure, he shouldn’t take it out on you.

Aizawa was grading papers at UA after class when he got the text.

Did you see the news?

The text was from Hizashi. Confusion filled him as he turned on the TV in the teacher's lounge.

“-was injured in a big fight just moments ago. The pro hero was defending civilians from a villain's devastating attacks when she was injured severely. They are currently in critical condition at a local hospital. Many fans are showing their support, hoping that she will pull through but it is still unsure.” The news reporter said in a professional tone.

The TV showed clips of the fight. You stood amongst the rubble, bloody and bruised but still standing. The villain’s attack sends you through a few cement walls before your body crumbled to the ground and the camera cut away. It showed fans standing outside of the hospital wearing your merch and holding signs of support.

It felt like everything stopped, he felt like he could throw up. Were you going to die? What if you were already dead? What if you were gone and the last thing he said to you was-

No, he had to see for himself.

Aizawa left his papers on the table and rushed to the hospital.

“She’s in critical condition, we’ve operated on her and fixed the damage we could but it’s up to her to heal the rest of the way. We’re just not sure if she’ll pull through.” The doctor’s words made him sick.

“Can I go in?” He asked.

“Yes, no one else is here to visit.” The doctor said.

Aizawa opened the door carefully. Almost scared to look. The sight of you in the hospital bed cuts and scrapes everywhere. You had a neck brace on and a tube down your throat. Wires and IV’s connected everywhere. You looked so small, so defeated. It tore him apart.

He slowly approached your bedside sitting down on the chair there.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was thick with emotion. He could barely get the words out. “I’m so sorry for what I said. I was going to tell you tonight but now I can’t-”

His voice cracked and tears streamed down his face. He wouldn’t get to tell you how sorry he was. He might never get to tell you how sorry he was.

“Shouta.” Hizashi’s voice came from the doorway.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

“I ran into her last night, we had a pretty serious conversation. I thought I should be here.” He said. Aizawa could tell that there was something else he was hesitating to say.

“Last night, I was awful to her. I said some things I wish I could take back.” He managed to say.

“I know, I found her at a bar after. I was there for a drink but we started talking. She told me about it.” He explained. “…She wrote you a letter, she wanted me to give it to you but I don’t know if I should after what happened.”

“A letter?” He asked. Why would she have written him something? Especially after what happened last night.

“Here.” He said cautiously, handing it over. “I’ll be outside when you need me. I’ll give you your privacy.”

He opened the letter, taking in your neat handwriting. Even in your handwriting, he could feel your bubbly personality. How could he have been so cruel to someone so kind?

Dear Shouta,

I’m sorry if using Shouta is too personal but this letter is pretty personal. I spoke with Hizashi tonight. He told me that maybe my actions and words were being taken the wrong way. I’m not sure if that’s the case but at this point, I don’t have much to lose.

When I flirt with you or compliment you it’s not just a joke. It’s not a game. Not at all. From the first moment, I saw you I was drawn to you. Maybe it was your looks or your brooding personality but I couldn’t stay away. The more I got to know you, your dedication as a hero and a teacher. Everything that you do, that you are intrigued me.

Everything about you makes my heart beat faster. The more time I spent around you the more I fell. I never even worked night patrols, I just stopped by to see you after work. It made me so happy being around you. It’s probably pathetic to fall in love with a man who is never anything other than annoyed with you but I couldn’t help it.

I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. If you don’t feel the same way, or even slightly interested, please disregard this letter. Pretend it never happened. But if you think you might be able to see me as something more than an annoying hero that interrupts your patrols then please tell me.

The letter fell from Aizawa’s hand, even more sadness descending upon him. He felt like he was drowning. This whole time she had felt the same way. She had loved him and he treated her terribly night after night. He wasn’t someone to pass the time on her patrols, she wasn’t even working when she stopped by to see him.

“All I ever thought was, I wish you would leave me alone. I wish I never had to see you again and now that’s the last thing I’d ever want. Please come back to me. Please.” He sobbed out, eyes searching your face for any sign you could hear him but you were still. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Aizawa covered his face in his hands letting the sobs out. They fell on deaf ears, your unconscious body laying there. The only other sound the beeping of the machines.

Aizawa returned every day, anytime that wasn’t spend working was at her bedside. The nurses allowed him in even when it wasn’t visiting hours. He knew they didn’t know exactly what the situation was but they felt bad for him.

Weeks passed and every day you looked less broken. Your bruises faded and cuts healed. Tubes were removed and you had fewer bandages every day. But you were still asleep.

“She’s recovering well but she’s in a coma. There’s nothing we can do more than hope she’ll wake up.” The doctor told him one day. “There’s a chance she may never wake up.” He said solemnly.

Aizawa sat at your bedside as he did every day. The doctor’s words echoed in his mind. What if you never woke up? What would he do? He pressed his eyes closed, thoughts flooding his mind.

He moved his seat closer to your side, hands grasping your cold hand in his own.

“I wanted you to be awake when I told you this but-” He let out a shaky breath, trying to gather his emotions. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance. I feel the same way. I’ve felt the same way for a long time. I always liked you but I never thought it’d be possible that you’d feel the same way about me. But this whole time we both felt the same way. We wasted so much time dancing around each other and now we won’t ever get to have that time-”

Aizawa rested his forehead against her hand, tears running down his face.

“We’ll never get to go on a date together, go out to dinner and spend time alone. We’ll never get to watch a movie curled up on the couch together in each other's arms. I’ll never get to see your face when I bring you flowers. I’ll never get to know what it’s like to kiss you.” Sobs wracked Aizawa as he imagined all the things you could have enjoyed together. “I’ll never get the chance to tell you how much I love you.”

If this was a perfect world you would have opened your eyes. You would have smiled at him with that heart-stopping smile of yours. You would have told him everything is okay, we have all the time in the world to catch up on what we missed.

But this wasn’t a perfect world. Your eyes remained shut. Your face blank in your continuous slumber. The only sound in the room the muffled sobs of Aizawa.

part two 

[saltedpeppermintmocha]

into the night (bakugou x reader) - Chapter 1/?

Summary:

You were born to die.

It is a fact you’ve known since your quirk first manifested, and one you have been denying for just as long. You refuse your supposed fate and try to live the best life you can while remaining undetected.

But maybe fate has another plan. A chance encounter on a mountainside changes your life forever.

MATURE : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT // 18+

You were born to die.

It is a fact you’ve known since your quirk first manifested, and one you have been denying for just as long. You don’t want to die. Not now, not when there are so many things you haven’t done. So many views you haven't seen.

You pull yourself up some ragged rocks, muscles working harder than they have in months to successfully drag your body up. The small rock ledge isn’t close to the top of the mountain, but it’s a good stopping point for today. You look up at the snowy expanse still ahead of you, the sun leaving long shadows along the white and grey exterior, and can’t help but smile. No, you don’t want to die.

Sitting back, you let yourself breathe and watch the top. An old memory flashes in your mind, the first time you hiked to the top with Dad. You had been so little, and so proud of yourself despite Dad having carried you through the most difficult parts. You screamed so loudly at the top, trying to tell the entire village that you made it. Dad had only been able to quiet you by saying that you could “wake up” the volcano with your screams.

The memory makes you smile. There weren’t many good times in your life right after your quirk manifested, but Mount Yotei had been a part of almost all of them. You have missed the mountain since moving to the city. Sapporo might not be that far, but you haven’t been able to make your way home often enough. Being on-call meant that leaving the city even for the few hours it took to get to the village was almost impossible, let alone actually making the long trip up.

You breathe in the crisp autumn air and reach for your pack, grabbing some water and a granola bar. You don’t bring much in terms of food with you, careful of attracting the wildlife during this season, but this will do. Munching happily, your eyes don’t leave the top of the mountain. You will get back up there soon.

It feels like only a few minutes before you have to begin the trek back down. You had started the climb too late in the day to actually make it too far up, or to relax too much, but you couldn't resist the call of the mountain when you saw it on your drive up. Dad could wait, he’d understand. You slide carefully down the rocky ledge and begin your walk back down. The trail you  are using is rough, with roots and rocks sticking out all over the place. It is not a tourist trail, but the one used by locals the most.

Something moves in the distance.

You startle, on edge immediately. Your hand reaches down for the bear spray connected to your belt, fingers ready to release it from the clip at a moment's notice. Damn, you knew you stayed out a bit too late, pushed it a bit too much.

But it’s not a bear that emerges from the bushes. It’s a man. Equally as startling, really, as the tourist season has been well and over for a few months now. You feel the tension release from your body a bit, but not completely. People can be just as dangerous as animals, you see that every day at work. The man pauses too, although he does not look surprised to see you.

Your first thought at seeing him is that he is definitely not dressed to be out on the mountain. His clothes are dark and inappropriate for the altitude level: a long-sleeved shirt and baggy pants. At least he seems to be wearing boots. You don’t see any bag, no protection items, no water or food, nothing on him. It was something you would see on a casual hike around the bottom of the mountain, not this far up.

The more you look at the man, the more you realize that he is, well, really damn good looking. The man, probably around your age if you had to guess, is tall and built for power. He has spikey ash blonde hair and a handsome face that was...slowly turning angrier as you stared at him. Shit, okay. You should probably stop that then. You force your gaze away, looking down at your feet as you continue your descent down the steep terrain. Your hand fiddles with the bear spray, a cation brought on by city life. Just in case.

It only takes a moment before you pass him, each silently headed in opposite directions across the mountain. You bite your lip, thoughts focused on the other hiker. Why is he up so high on the mountain dressed like that? It's completely irresponsible, dangerous. The times you had been on the mountain after this late had been calculated and in dedicated areas where people knew to find you. You had protection from the elements and animals. It had never been this late in the year. The thoughts nag at the back of your head. Maybe it is a feeling of politeness towards a fellow hiker, or maybe it's just the want to not have the local police up on the mountain tomorrow over a dead body, but you stop in your tracks.

Fuck it.

“Hey, um, it’s pretty late.” You call out, turning around to the man.

“Hah?!” He pauses, turning his head just enough to look at you out of the corner of his eye. A shiver runs down your back.

“I’m just saying that you should probably begin to head down. The mountain gets much more dangerous after sunset. Oh!” You reach around to your backpack, hand rummaging around until you grasp a familiar can. “Especially the bears. They’ll start hibernating soon so they’re more aggressive than normal.” No response. Okay.  Maybe a peace offering. “I don't see any bear spray on you. You can take mine, I have extra.”

You give a polite smile and hold it out with your hand, prepared to throw it up to him if necessary. For a moment he just stares at you, eyebrows furrowed. Then he turns away with a small grunt, continuing his walk up the mountain. Your smile falls as your mouth opens in shock. Is he just...going to leave you standing here holding out the bear spray like a damned fool? Without saying anything?!

You watch him walk away, hand clutching harder at the can as your anger rises. Eventually, you lower your hand, shoving the spray roughly back in your pack. You grumble angrily to yourself and turn around, stomping harsher than normal down the path.

Okay, so he’s an asshole then.

Still, completely rude or not, you can’t help but be a bit worried. You make good time down to the bottom of the mountain and trek your way through the forest to the street you parked your car on. The sun has completely set by the time you turn on your engine and drive away.

Well, you tried to warn him. If something happens, it’s not your fault. Right? Right.

With a groan, you pop a rock CD into your stereo and turn it on full blast. Anything to distract you from that nagging feeling in your gut. Makkari isn’t too far from the mountain, so that feeling hasn’t completely gone away by the time you pull into your childhood home. Your dad though, sitting on the front step reading a book, does the job. You smile and turn off the engine.

The rest of the night goes by quickly, as both of you have a lot to say to each other. Dinner is a relatively calm affair, and you take a bath before heading to bed. The bed is much smaller and harder than the nice one you splurged on in your apartment, but being in it brings a sense of nostalgia and comfort that only a childhood bedroom can have. Dad hasn’t changed a thing since you left.

You sit on the bed, pulling your hair into a comfortable do for sleep, when your eyes catch the outline of the mountain in the distance from your window. You sigh, sending a quick wish that he made it alright, before sliding under the covers and passing out.

You wake up to sounds from downstairs. For a brief moment, you are confused, as you have been blessed with an apartment with thicker walls than normal, but then you remember. You stretch in bed and smile. It has been a while since you have had the opportunity to sleep in. Why do people rarely get in trouble during normal business hours?

Finally forcing yourself out of bed, you wander to the bathroom before heading downstairs in your pajamas. The smell of breakfast is already making your stomach growl.

“Get dressed.” His voice echoes through the house.

“But- how- you’re not even looking!” You protest, feet pausing on the stairs. “How do you even know?!”

“I always know.”

Ugh. “Such a Dad answer.” You grumble, turning to head back upstairs. You’re a grown adult, if you want to wear pajamas to breakfast you will. Not that you would say that to him though. Nope. Not going to die on that hill today.

You put a little more effort into your appearance this time, dressing and putting your hair into a casual do before heading back downstairs. Dad, already fully dressed, gives you a look but says nothing. You stick out your tongue at his back, feeling like a teenager again. You sit down at your usual chair as he begins to set the table.

The breakfast you ate regularly as a kid but haven’t been really able to replicate successfully since moving out gets placed down in front of you. You wait for Dad to be sitting down too before grabbing pieces for yourself. For a brief, glorious moment, you are both silent.

“So, have you met anyone?”

And it's over. You swallow your food, looking carefully away.  “I meet lots of people. It’s a big city.”

You can practically feel his eyes stare into you. “You know what I mean.”

With a breath, you put down your utensils. “Dad, we go over this every time we talk. No, I’m not seeing anyone. Can we stop discussing this now?

“Is it because of-”

“No! It isn’t because of him.” You interrupt, looking him straight in the eye.“Why does it matter? I can be happy on my own.”

“I just...want you to be taken care of and protected.” Dad finally looks away. “I need you to be safe.”

“Dad, I don’t need someone to protect me.” You sigh. “I can protect myself, you know? I’m a big girl.”

You watch his reaction, but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes flicker over behind your head, to the picture on the wall you know he is staring at. It tugs at your heart. “Move back to Makkari?” His voice is quieter now.

It’s an argument you’ve had countless times before over the phone. When you first moved to Sapporo he asked you almost every day. Luckily, it isn’t that bad anymore, but you can still rely on a call anytime a villain is even close to Hokkaido.

“No.” You shake your head, catching his eyes as he looks back. “I have my job, my friends, and my life in Sapporo. I love you Dad, but I can’t live here.”

“You could be happy here.” He insists. “There are no villain attacks. No heroes.” His eyes flicker back over your shoulder. “You can be safe.”

“Nobody is safe anywhere Dad.” You sit back, frustration draining. “We could die any day. I don’t want to live my life in fear. That is not a life.” The flinch in his shoulders makes a bit of guilt dig into your stomach. It was a low blow, but you were not going to let this escalate. Not this time. Not here.

You finish your breakfast in silence, both in thought. While he gets the sink ready to wash, you gather up the dishes. It almost feels like you never left. You grab the drying cloth and get ready to help dry. While waiting, you glance out the window. The mountain looms ahead, big and beautiful as normal. You can’t wait to get another crack at it. Not today, probably, but soon.

Wait. The mountain.

“Oh.” You turn to your Dad. “Is there anyone new in the village?”

“A resident?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “Anyone, really.”

Dad hums in thought for a moment before passing you a plate. “I believe Tanaka said he saw a guest at Fuccanchi. Why?”

“I saw someone on the mountain yesterday.” You explain, leaving out the part of you actually climbing up alone. “It was late, so I stopped the car and tried to warn him not to be out late. He still went in. I’m a bit worried.”

“It is late in the season to be going up the mountain.” Dad mused. “We can ask Tanaka when we’re in the village.” He hands you another plate. You grab it and begin drying.

“Okay.”  

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NOTE: I will be posting these on tumblr approximately a week after the chapters are posted on Ao3 (we are currently at chapter 7, so I will be quicker with these ones). When caught up, Ao3 will be approximately one chapter ahead.