#mostly loosing weight but i did it naturally so it was a pain in the ass

[serenaoffaerun]

A random idea for a long time from now...

Trying to get some wheels turning on something other than current events. I have a loose idea of a bigger project I'm going to write a little ways down the road, after I do a run of BG3 as a wizard romancing Gale. Mostly based on the events of BG3, but I'm taking whatever liberties I dang well please, including flipping some dialogue and fucking with the timeline. 😉 I've finished the game twice, about to finish it a third time, I have an on-stream run on Twitch in act 3, and I started at least half a dozen others.

What I know about this project:

Trinity is a wizard, mid-30s, human, long dark hair, violet eyes.

She was left somewhere as a baby, I don't know where that is yet, but she's essentially an orphan.

Her name will mean something significant to her lineage, I just don't know what yet.

She and Gale will be hopelessly in love, I may push it up earlier in the timeline. Love at first sight will play into it, which is what you're about to read.

There will eventually be much smut, so send the kiddos away.

Disclaimer: I haven't written in a long time. I'm planning on dipping my toe in with some one-shots before I start on this long-form piece, but I need to get some ideas out there.

This is starting in the middle of the beginning events, so it's lacking some context, but it's basically Trinity on her own finding Gale's arm flailing out of the malfunctioning portal.

------------------------------------

Eyes clenched and teeth gritted, Trinity yanked one more time on the arm with all her strength. As she was about to stop and regain her strength, there was a yell and a sudden lack of resistance before she went tumbling backwards onto the hard dirt behind her. She felt an impact on both sides of her body, with multiple "OOFs" filling the air.

She opened her eyes, or at least she thought she did. As she regained her senses, she found herself surrounded by darkness, labored breathing, and...lavender? Trinity realized the man attached to the purple-clothed arm had been successfully yanked from the portal with enough momentum that she was flat on her back, his weight fully pressing down on her.

With a pained grunt, the man pushed himself up onto his palms so that she could breathe. He looked down and her vision was suddenly filled with long, brown hair falling in loose waves, a neatly-trimmed beard, and warm, chocolate eyes that stared back at her. Eyes that pulled a barely audible 'gasp' from her mouth as she saw concern, shock, embarrassment, and kindness conveyed all at once. She noticed the gold flecks that shone in them like stars and knew instantly that she could remain lost in them for hours.

His labored breathing mixed together the scent that clung to his clothing with his natural musk and the soapy clean smell of his hair. It was heavenly. Not only did she detect lavender, but a woody smell like rich mahogany, with hints of incense. It also hadn't escaped her that their lower bodies were a tangle of legs and wizard's robes...

"Oh, my, I am so sorry," he said, still catching his breath. "It seems gravity took its toll on us there, didn't it?" A sheepish smile flashed across his face as he pushed himself to his feet. He dusted off his knees and extended both of his hands to pull her up, but was only met with wide, violet eyes, blinking up at him.

Trinity's mind blanked. She felt her cheeks flush, but those tender brown eyes that seemed to hold the wisdom of ages had rendered her completely speechless. 'This is when one would speak, yes?' she thought to herself. 'Of course, Trin, that's what people would normally do when spoken to. Pull yourself together.' she scolded back. But try as she might, she couldn't seem to form anything resembling a word. She just stared at those beautiful eyes, mouth slightly agape, inhaling his intoxicating scent.

"Are you alright? I hope I didn't injure you... I'm Gale. Gale of Waterdeep." Trinity slammed her eyes shut to break the hold he unwittingly had over her and shook her head a few times, snapping herself out of her trance.

Propping herself up on her elbows, she finally managed to get out, "Yes, sorry, no, I'm fine, sorry..."

Gale walked around beside her, leaned in and gently grasped an elbow with one hand, the other behind her back.

"Okay now, up you go," he said as he helped her stand and steady herself.

She brushed off her robes, still flushed in the face, and stammered, "S-sorry, I'm usually, uh, much better at this..."

"Better at what? Pulling a distressed wizard from a magically malfunctioning portal? How many of those have you come across, exactly?" he chuckled with a heart-melting smile, looking her over for obvious signs of injury.

"No, no, sorry... Introductions. I'm usually much better at introductions," she giggled. Her confidence found her again as she extended her hand. "Trinity. My name's Trinity."

Gale held her hand in both of his. It was warm, somehow both calloused and soft at the same time, likely the result of self-care along with the toll that spellcasting took on one's hands. He observed the woman standing before him and noticed a myriad of details at once. The flush of her cheeks. The purple highlights of hair that were sprinkled into a curtain of raven black around her shoulders and down her waist. A rip in one of the sleeves of her robe, unlikely to be caused just by being knocked back into the dirt. She looked like she'd recently been in a battle, dirt and blood mixed on the hem of her robe.

Above all that, he found himself instantly locked into her eyes. Pools of deep violet that seemed to contain strands of moonlight shimmer. There was a depth that immediately pulled him into feeling of comfort and ease that he'd seldom felt with another person. Certainly not in a very long time; years, even. All he'd known in recent years was the cold, harsh gaze of a goddess scorned and the glare of mothering tressym eyes during his last year of solitude.

As Gale was about to take a deep breath to release the anxiety building in his chest, he heard her voice coming back into focus. He realized she had asked him a question.

"I...I'm sorry, I'm still collecting myself, it seems," Gale said, chuckling awkwardly while blinking rapidly to hide how lost he'd gotten in her eyes. "What what is you were asking?"

Trinity tilted her head to the side slightly, "I asked if you were alright. I've never known someone to get stuck in a magical portal before. It must have been quite the shock."

She winced as she realized her groan-worthy, unintentional pun, recalling the electricity spasming from the rock just moments ago.

To her relief, he chuckled, then said "I'm quite alright, I assure you. I've been assaulted by much more than a bit of electricity in my day, believe you me."

Now it was Gale's turn to blush as he realized he was still holding her hand. He bowed forward slightly to cover his embarrassment.

"Trinity, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, especially on this most bewildering of days," he said, dropping her hand as he stood up.

She huffed and replied, "Oh, I've had quite the day myself, let me tell you..."

-------------------------------

Well that was way longer than I anticipated. Good to see I'm as nit-picky with my words as I am with my artwork? This'll go fiiiiiine lol. More on this story in the future, but we'll see about getting some smutty, sultry one-shots out into the universe before too long 😉

[mercdeleon]

corditeheart​:

“You told her I was coming on the drive up,” she points out. Her own new clothes are the best she could manage– a cotton t-shirt dress, and it’s not even a dress in her style. Just something plain, basic. Mostly tolerably fitting. Barely worth the twenty gil she’d paid for it. Unfortunately, she was now stuck with three of them, because they hadn’t managed to have any pants in her size in stock.

Loading...

It had pockets, though, and she’d gotten a loose cardigan to go over it, which would help hide a shoulder holster. Practical and warm.

She shrugs the cardigan on now, pulling it over narrow shoulders and picking up her bag. Considers the idea of arguing against a security detail– she’s not the president’s son, but it doesn’t seem worth picking that fight while he still looks like he’s been hit by a truck.

It’d be kicking a guy when he’s already down; an easy win.

But this is the kind of stuff she likes. Tactics. Investigation. Getting to the root of a problem, that isn’t trying to stay on top of Squall’s calendar so he shows up to meetings on time.

“I’ll handle it,” Xu says, and the confidence in her voice is exactly what she feels, running her hand down his back as she steps past him in search of wherever her shoes have gone.

“We’ll find the guy who did this, Squall.” And if she gets a few minutes alone with him after they find him, well…

He’ll have some regrets about being born.

–

“There’s nothing here,” she decides, seven hours later, picking through yet another pile of construction debris, so far away from the window in question that she might as well not even bother.

The fuzzy weave of her sweater is picking up every bit of dust and debris, and the AC seems permanently broken on this floor; Xu scowls, and steps back from the pile that, naturally, has yielded nothing, yanking off the cardigan to tie it around her waist.

Kiros is with her, a scowl that matches hers on his dark face as he looks around the room yet again, his neat suit belying what has had to be the worst twenty-four hours of his life.

And now he’s here, because like her, he needs something to do. They are people bred for action, not for stillness, not for clinical, cold hospitals where everyone is quiet and Laguna Loire still hasn’t opened his eyes yet.

We must look insanely out of place, Xu thinks absently, moving back toward the window so she can look out of it once more, trying to get a better feel for the trajectory. What she would have done differently, if this were her job.

Finished it, for one.

Fired a shot she knows would have taken out Laguna in one go. A headshot is efficient, but the chest is a bigger target. Why aim for the throat? The dramatics?

No one has bothered to close the window, or has been trying to preserve the scene as best as possible– which is hard, considering how many footprints are already in the dust at her feet.

They could’ve just closed the damn window.

Xu crouches, acting as if she has a tripod set up, her rifle mounted on top. Imagines the weight of it, the angle. The weather yesterday. A warm evening in Balamb, overcast but slightly breezy in Esthar. The threat of rain that had never come to fruition.

She sights down her imaginary rifle, and distantly, catches the glint of something, a reflection in the side mirror of a delivery van, down twenty degrees from where Loire had been shot. The driver’s side window is down.

How long has that been there?

Probably not all that long. It’s a busy complex. So many people have come and gone in the four hours that they’ve been going over the room with a fine-toothed comb that she’s ceased to keep track of them.

“What did you say you all were doing here, again?” she asks, moving to stand up from the window, looking down to brush some of the debris off her dress.

It’s the bend that saves her, but not by much.

Two pops, like distant firecrackers; the first round slams into her right bicep, breaking bone, and bringing with it a startling, overwhelming pain; the second, into her chest, just below her collarbone.

The van pulls away from the curb. She has enough time to watch it go, somehow, because the world seems to slow down to nothing, an endless stretch where she sways, sinks, where Kiros yells her name.

Where her blood spills all over the dirty floor.

The morning passed without event: a new minefield of reporters with pointed, personal questions, a tired reunion with Kiros and Ellone, and the good news that, at least, nothing had changed. No news had, indeed, been good news. And it was with that good news in mind, that Squall informed the assembled of Xu’s intent that afternoon.

Kiros nearly jumped at the chance to get out of the room. He, too, had been going mad standing in place and leaving work to others. Returning to the site, doing anything to get to the bottom of this, was preferable to the maddening beeping of heart monitors.

“Well, no time like the present,” he said, already halfway down the hall, beckoning Xu to follow him. “Let’s go before anything more gets lost.”

The drive to the site of the shooter’s nest seemed longer than it really was thanks to mid-morning traffic. Getting up to the floor was almost laughable, and this was with upped security after the incident. 

“Someone’s getting fired,” Kiros muttered, pushing open the door to the construction site.

Seven hours later, he was convinced that someone would be. There were too many footprints, the window had been open, and any preservation of the site was moot. His suit was covered in dust and dirt just from helping Xu in a need to find something to do and search for anything that might have escaped a novice eye.

“Hmm?” His mind had wandered back to Laguna in a brief moment of silence. No news. Good news. He hoped. “Oh, this floor’s supposed to be renovated into a common-”

The sound of two gunshots cut him off, followed by the screech of tires.

“Lieutenant Commander!” He swore, crouching down, not caring that the knee in his trousers tore with the sudden movement. “Shit!” Kiros’s hands fumbled for his phone.

“Kiros Seagill. I need an ambulance, now! Southside plaza tower, construction floor. Two bullets fired. Wounded is female, Esthari, early thirties, about five-foot-two. Shots to the arm and sternum.”

Kiros pulled off his coat and began to rip at his shirt, desperate for something to pack the wound with.

“Our sniper’s still on the loose. Get Squall on the line.”

xxx

“S-Sir?”

Squall looked up from a fresh-print newspaper, brow furrowed. This was a distraction he required. The more sensationalist presses had already begun to speculate on the nature of Garden’s presence. Quick shots of him and Xu had been intercut with speculation on the President’s health, and that was enough to elevate his concerns. As if this whole matter couldn’t get more personal.

“There’s a call for you at the nurse’s station. It’s... It’s Mister Seagill.”

Something about her tone made Squall’s stomach drop. Why would he call the nurse’s station and not him directly? What was going on? He shoved the paper aside and pushed past the poor nurse towards a clunky off-white landline phone, receiver placed upright.

“It’s Squall,” he said, tongue already thick. “Talk to me.”

“It’s Xu. She’s been-”

Shot. Nothing else registered after that. Squall’s face drained completely of color, and his knees gave way, sending him to the floor, phone in hand.

Shot.

Not even twenty-four hours. She had been armed. She had been prepared. And still... and still...

“Is she...?”

“En route. Once an ambulance gets here.”

“Thank you.” He can barely manage the words before the phone slides from his grip and bounces on the curled cord. 

He wants to scream. He wants to run out there and get her himself. He wants to track down the sniper on his own two feet. He wants... he wants...

He needs to breathe, which feels impossible right now. Nothing will benefit from him breaking down here and now. But they don’t know. They don’t know what he’s going through right now. 

If only he hadn’t put his fucking phone on silent...

corditeheart​:

mercdeleon​:

“Morning.” He looks at the time, finally, and not the lack of calls. It was morning, and he still felt like he could sleep for a year.

Keep reading

Read More Now!

While he’s in the shower (again), with her breakfast finished, Xu rises, picking up his phone and trading it for hers on the charger. The screen flashes to life briefly, indicating it’s charging– who the hell lets it get to 4%?

Read More Now!

If there was anyone that Squall trusted to scope out the sniper’s nest, it was Xu. Maybe Irvine if he was around, but there was no point in lingering on “ifs’ at this point. Xu had more than enough experience to walk circles around the investigators currently on Esthar’s payroll. To him, there was no one more qualified.

“Right.” He closed the styrofoam container, officially off-put by an almost 8-hour cold meal. Not that it was the food’s fault; the whole situation was just weighing too hard on him, and he was no longer desperate for sleep and food. “I’ll have Kiros assign you a security detail, and give you a gun.”

There was no way he was letting her walk around unarmed now that the public had been made aware of a Garden presence.

Squall turned the television off before the channel had a chance to put on an actual news reporter. They would say nothing he did not know, and there was no sense in getting caught up in media speculation.

“I know Ellone would want to see you first, though. She was asking about you last night. She seemed happy you were here. Not very surprised.” She had always been rather keen and observant.

“Besides, I’d rather you be there for a bit in case things do get brought up about further involvement on our side. I trust you to see a bit clearer than I do right now.”

[mrskurono]

Take your time responding! Ik how hard it can be some days, I don't know the times I've just not had the energy to do something(which I'm getting checked out soon lol) but I hope you had an okay day today!

And I totally get the not seeing how people can go what their parents did, when they know how that made them feel. Smh, and I honestly can't imagine how hard it is to adoption. And it is way harder(😏) to adopt as a gay couple, I can imagine. I hope whoever I end up with(if I can fully accept my pansexualness) we can adopt so I can help give a kid a better childhood after they have been adopted.

And thank you! I used to have glasses before I got eye surgery, so I guess I could be similar style to Kiyoko 😂 but I feel like I can't see myself truly so I just believe I'm pretty. But I love Yamaguchi! His scorpio self. I think my two scorpio exs speak for me and my love for them -🐐

I’m teetering on that overwhelmed vibe bc like, I have too many things in my ask box and drafts. But on the counter part I have been struck with inspo to finish my Ushijima mini series and ngl im really feeling this last chapter I might cry writing it. And I fell in a hole today...totally unrelated though! Hopefully you’re friday has been neither hole filled (unless you wanting some holes filled then I hope it’s a freaky friday *wink wink*) or stressful! (god ignore me I have a wine cooler in me)

This might sound, harsh, but I refused to adopt. People who can do that are saints and I give them my full support but as a gay couple I was terrified of the “what ifs”. What if they take their kid back. What if bio family resents gays. What if the government suddenly won’t protect us. All of it was too much. So I was determined to have my own (plus my doctor when I was like 14 said I couldn’t have kids so out of spite I lost 75 pounds and had an exceptionally healthy child (he’s an ass thats it)) At least he’s biologically mine so if worse happens (and we talked about this a lot when Trump was in office) we could get divorced and legally my son was mine in every sense of the way biologically and legally. So we could worry less about people “finding us” if we came up in a wedding registry if it so happened gay marriage was targeted. This might sound like overkill but it legit was all that went through my head during the election bc so god if someone thinks they’re gonna lay a hand on my child I will not hesitate to rip someones limbs off istg. We’ve even talked about if they were targeting gay people we could give my mom custody of our son bc she’d obviously let us still have him but it wouldn’t be easy to find us (yes I was in a bit of a panic with the election because of my pregnancy and the fucking idiots who think homosexuals shouldn’t exist. Luckily we live in a fairly liberal area but its still not something I dont go without thinking about) So adoption was never an option I was just too freaked about the what ifs. There’s lots of people it works for though! And its a wonderfully beautiful thing. But it wasn’t for our family. Instead of all those Disney trips our peers were having and month long vacays they were having, we were saving for a sperm donor and fertility clinic appointments XD Now I have a mini me who, for the most part, is an ass but I shoulda expected that much its genetic XD

I got that Korai vibe going but like, def Kindaich hair right now (timeskip not onion head i swear even though I still think he’s cute, he my safe to marry husband) But Im too chicken to have surgery plus I’ve had glasses since I could remember and I look too weird without them. God you remind me I need new ones but I’m lazy and hate going out v.v

[theramseyloft]

Diet

Woooo, is this subject ever a pain in my ass for something so simple...

There is just... SO much misinformation out there, from sources that should otherwise be credible.

So let me set the record straight as a specialist in the care of pigeons:

Pigeons are strict granivores. 

They can’t digest any part of a plant but seeds.

No leafy greens. No stems. No roots, no tubers, no bulbs, no flowers... 

ESPECIALLY not the fruit!!!

They can neither taste nor process the sugar!

Nothing but seeds.

Not even as a treat.

Vets often suggest greens and fruit and florets for literally every companion bird, going off the parrot template.

If a small animal (non-farm) vet gets to see a companion bird, you can reliably wager that it’s either a psittacine or finch, and win that bet most of the time.

Hardly any one ever brings pigeons to a vet.

Breeders consider it cheaper to kill the sick ones than try to find out what’s wrong with them, and pigeons as companion birds are still extremely niche.

The only way to change this is for people with pet pigeons to bring them to their vet like they would a cat, dog, rabbit, or other pet for regular check ups so that a base line can be established before that animal gets ill.

The more vets provided with base lines of healthy pigeons, the more accurately they will be able to treat pet pigeons.

Parrots in captivity that are fed the fruit and nut heavy diet that most species eat in the wild will develop fatty liver disease and die very young.

Wild parrots fly for MILES every day to forage that sugar and fat rich diet, which fuels their long foraging flights.

Their diet is adapted to their lifestyle, and their lifestyle is adapted to their diet, as is the case with most species.

Parrots have only been captive bred for the last 70 or so years. The larger species take up to 5 to sexually mature, and can live into their 70′s or 80′s

We have been breeding them in captivity for less than the lifetime of a single healthy individual.

Parrots simply have not had the time to physiologically adapt to the utterly sedentary life they live as human house pets.

We take these birds built for a high stamina nomadic lifestyle supported by a diet high in fat and sugar, and have them live most of their lives in a single room.

To keep them alive, we have had to make up for their lack of opportunity to adapt their physiology by adapting their captive diet to this drastic change in their life style.

Even finches (primarily seed and insect eaters, mostly) are usually kept in such extreme confinement that their captive diet has needed to be modified to avoid being dragged to an early grave by a fatty liver.

Pigeons were the first birds humanity domesticated. 

Even before chickens.

About the time camels were domesticated; in the dawn of agriculture and stationary settlements.

What made them easy to domesticate was that, being desert/scrubland birds, seed was the diet they were already adapted to.

It was easy enough to share enough grain with them to make living in a dovecote worth while.

In exchange, humans got some of the most nutritious fertilizer known to man to this day.

Being picky about what kind of seed you eat isn’t beneficial of a desert bird, and wild rock doves already adjusted the volume of their feed intake with the natural fluctuation of seed availability through out the year; eating more when they had to fly further afield to find it, and needing to eat less per foraging trip when there was enough nearby that they didn’t have to range as far.

Because adjusting their food intake according to how close and plentiful food was already came naturally to rock doves, the only transition in the development of domestic pigeons was that food would always be close and plentiful.

Pigeons have had THOUSANDS of years to adapt to not having to fly nearly so far to find enough to eat in human care as their rock dove ancestors did in the wild.

Here is the basic break down of nutritional requirements for racing homers (the breed that serves as the base line for domestic pigeons), according to Avian Medicine: Principles and Applications. Ritchie, Harrison and Harrison;

Pet shops are starting to sell dove and pigeon diets now, lots of which would make decent bases, but still need extra protein or fat added.

There are also lots of wild bird blends that make good bases.

I used to love royal wing Classic Mix from TSC, as it was easily accessible, but it needs a lot added to it, and that can get pretty expensive.

Chewy sells an excellent diet designed for pigeons breeding and performing: https://www.chewy.com/versele-laga-classic-pigeon-food/dp/259128 , which is what we order for the flock now.

But for a house pet or two, it’s often easier and less expensive to mix your own blend.

Pigeons can eat pretty much any whole (in the hull) seed that they can comfortably swallow.

Birds that are performing, raising peeps, or under weight need all the fat and protein they can get, so lots of dried legumes for protein (Mung beans, lentils, and split green peas are favorites), millet (fatty and high protein, especially easy to digest), safflower seeds, and black oil sunflower seeds (rich in oil and extremely fatty).

Non-breeding House pets tend not to need as much fat, so their feed should be higher grain like wheat, barley, and oats with lower fatty or high protein seeds.

The more confined the bird (unless the bird is sick or healing from an injury), the less fat it needs in its diet.

So the owners of a pet or two are free and encouraged to experiment with their blends.

Most pigeon’s can’t comfortably swallow striped sunflower seeds, so keep your selection below that in size.

Chopped up tree nuts or peanuts are an EXTREMELY high fat treat (think pigeon cheese cake) and should be given *very* sparingly.

Chia seeds have a very high caffeine content and need to be avoided.

Other than that, you can experiment with any grain, legume, or other seed small enough for them to swallow, provided nutritional parameters are maintained.

Do not used hulled seeds!

The hull is important, not because they can digest cellulose, but because they can’t. (which is why they can’t process any part of a plant except the seed)

The hulls of seeds they eat make up the vast bulk of solid fecal matter and act as vital dietary fiber.

That pigeons need grit to grind down food in their gizzard is a myth.

They need it to obtain dietary minerals, and that distinction is a matter of life and death.

Avoid the starter chick grit for chickens, and the charcoal grit for song birds, as these are both made with a base of Granite, which is made by leeching the calcium out of lime stone. 

Galliformes need granite grit because it won’t break down in their gizzard, where they use it as a mechanical aid to grind food.

That’s exactly what makes granite based grit a serious intestinal impaction risk for a columbiform like our domestic pigeons.

Because what they need grit for is dietary minerals, it’s important that their grit dissolve in the gizzard to be absorbed by the small intestine.

Hens will lay eggs with or with out a cock, and the cock also has a skeleton to maintain, so calcium supplements are a necessity.

Hens and breeding cocks can also get salt deficient from both producing eggs and feeding peeps.

My breeding flock has Oyster Shell grit offered free choice and free access to a salt and mineral brick for horses.

It is generally safest to assume that a new pigeon has not been adequately supplemented, because birds who have not will gorge on grit and salt to their detriment.

Pigeons deficient enough t crave it can poison themselves overdosing on salt. Salt poisoning is nearly always fatal!!! so do not ever offer pigeons any kind of salt based grit in a loose, granular form.

I use the salt and mineral brick because their beaks are not hard enough and they do not have sufficient bite strength to get large enough quantities off of the brick to sicken themselves before the craving for that mineral is satisfied.

A single indoor pet can be given one of the little salt/mineral wheels for hamsters.

Calcium deficient pigeons craving grit can impact their crops gorging on it.

As stated earlier, my loft birds have free choice access to oyster shell grit next to their feed.

To prevent new birds form gorging dangerously on it, a tiny pinch is sprinkled over their meals every morning during their 4 week quarantine.

By the time quarantine ends, they are not deficient, and will not be craving grit ravenously enough to hurt themselves on it.

Bon appetite to your sweet cooey friends and house mates. ^v^

[muffindaddystyles]

Summary: Y/N's feeling icky about her body, but Harry loves her to bits and pieces, through thick and thin, in health and sick — and he always waits for her to come back to him.

TW: Body dysmorphia.

Y/N's healthy.

All she sucks in is having a sane sleeping schedule due to her UNI otherwise she eats natural goodies, cook and bake home because it comforts her more that way and she works out every evening to stay fit.

Sometimes though, she’s lazy and lacks behind which’s proper humane but deep down it effects her and her mental health more than she admits and she isn’t able to start over again – it mostly happens after her periods.

Harry loves her the way she’s.

Even if she’s clumsy, bumbling, procrastinating, overly enthusiastic to mend her life at 3 am, snotty and sloth-y in her periods, confident and positive around people, kind and loving whenever she comes to meet him, whiny and cuddly when she’s sick, jealous and grumpy with his attention not on her —- he loves her in every way possible, to rivers and to sea his love could never stutter for her ever.

He loves how she’s not overly toned, having soft squishy spots which Harry undeniably wants to admire and kiss shamelessly amount of times -- like -- her plummy pretty thighs that Harry likes to nestle his head in-between making her wriggle and squirm under his grasp, her overly cute tummy that Harry dies to pepper sweet adoring kisses and petal his lips round her belly button, everytime they’re cuddled up his bicep’s always looped her around her tummy to feel it rising up and down in calm rhythm, and oh! her tender titties, they’re actually his favourite babies and he loves to fondle them in his big calloused palms brushing his thumb over the sensitive perky nub and basks in the glittery whimpery mewls of hers.

He loves that she’s curvy and gives zero fucks if she’s skinny or not.

He thinks his baby’s perfect.

So perfect he actually feels the bubbling of devotion and affection filling to the brim of his heart’s chambers and leaking out and upon his ribs tickling him.

Y/N's his person and he worships her with his whole heart.

From some days though, she’s feeling devastatingly insecure about all her things Harry’s in love with and she has no-control over it how much she tries.

Harry’s observing that all with optimism (one of his great quality's that like a lion sly about his prey, he keeps an eye on everything but pretends otherwise). He has his intense gaze fixed on her when she’s taking a look of herself in the mirror for rather too long, running her hands down her body and practically shuddering.

He glances from over his laptop and drops everything he's doing watching her go monkies, sweating buckets and over exercising than her usual time.

He brings her closer and infront of him, pressing her to his chest and coiling his forearm around her shoulders whining a, “Baby..!” when they were brushing their teeth and despite of standing beside him and teasing him occasionally like she usually does she stuffs her face into the crest of his back and hides herself there to have minimal contact with her reflection in the mirror.

Her body dysmorphia spiking dangerously high.

“Deprived me of your cuddles. woke me up so early, granny.” She huffs lying through her teeth and how much his embrace was strong enough to keep her in place she still managed to wiggle out taking her previous cosy position, but he could feel her muscles tensing and an awkward silence falling over them.

He didn’t pry much. He wants to give her as much space as she requires to come back to him hale and hearty, as she always does and whatever happens he never forgets to remind her how much he loves her every night.

..

They were watching rom-coms on Netflix back to back with her curled up into his side with a spongy white wool knitted blanket thrown over them and his cheek was smashed atop her head popping in peanuts every now and then when out of certain she spoke pointing at the actress, “You know she got her ribs removed to get that shrinky waist.” Harry frowned at that. His face itching into disbelief and concern under the bouncing glow of telly.

He affixes his gaze down at her trying to read what’s cooking up in that genius brain of her's which isn’t being very rational and genius right now, they immediately turns soft and caring when she blinks up at him purely.

She squeaks, nose crashing against his collarbones when he scooches her up in his lap grabbing onto her knees to make her straddle his torso and he grumbles cutely when she tries not put all of her weight on him and doesn’t melts into him as his sweet lovie would used to do receiving a smack on her bum on his end.

He’s afraid that an evil version of her chomped onto his dear baby alive.

“Nothing else matters if all ye’ organs are packed safely and healthily inside you,” He tells her brushing loose frays of her hair behind her earlobe and rubs his thumb in gentle strokes over her treacly pulsing point, “Was just telling you ...” She mumbles, dotting touches on his knuckles and playing with his bare cold fingers.

It’s true, she was rambling out facts about the movie and cast out of habit because no-way she’d ever go through any surgeries to change herself to become someone she isn’t.

“Swear!” She yawps out in convincing high pitch when Harry squints down at her with his lips scrunched, one eye twitching in doing so.

“Alrighty. I believe you.” He cradles her cheeks in his palms and brings her mighty close to him to peck her cupid bow, then her bottom lip and the corners of her smiling mouth to suckle generous amount of whines from her and then kisses her lovingly – hands streaming down her spine and then resting atop her dip.

He thought she was ready to come back to him, to share her problem with him and Harry really wanted to bug in, to not let her fight her battle alone and take half of her hardships from her fretting self but guess not.

They were about to have sex when panic seeped in Y/N's eyes and her cheeks blazed up in that of embarrassment as she rushed to switch off the lamps that were the only source of light in their room.

“Moppet.” Harry sighed, knowing exactly what’s happening and she isn’t as foxy in covering it up as she’s thinking herself to be.

“Why wouldn’t y'want me t'see gorgeous self of yours?” His tone punctured and hurt, feeling useless for not knowing how to cheer her up and break her worries down. He smoothens his hands behind her to lock his arm around her waist, fingertips making grape sized indents into the flesh of her hip-bone as she streaks the tip of her nose up and down the crook of his neck, murmuring meekly against his salty skin while he hugs her warmly.

“’M just feelin’ shy.” He giggles at her response puckering his lips against her hairline to pet tiny, tiny kisses there as she fists her hands against his taught chest.

“Not somethin’ I haven’t seen before, love bug.” He blows raspberries against the underside of her jaw and their mouths meet into a messy, giggling, teeth clanking kiss when she sinks into pillows allowing him to cocoon her in his heat.

“I love you, Y/N. No matter what.”

.

The last dam breaker for them was this little get together at Sarah and Mitch's baby shower.

She matched her outfit with Harry. Cute lavender coloured little sweater blouse that was familiar to the baggy baby yarn cardigan Harry was wearing, it accentuated her curves and her bosom so prettily -- her midriff peeking from where the buttons weren’t closed and their jeans were painted (they did it themselves one Sunday when it was extra boring and inactive).

Y/N felt uncomfortable in her own clothes. A bitterness spreading inside her for herself and all she wanted was to escape away from her own skin.

She knows she’s loved and welcomed and cherished by her friends and family and the love of her life, most importantly. Then why was she feeling so icky about herself? Why everything's draining her and exhausting her?

Harry obviously could see through the gloomy tenebrous energy overshadowing her as he stood in the corner of the room grabbing the sorbet he poured in two glasses for them.

A sour guzzle of tears choking his throat and his limbs weakening letting the painful heartbreak seep into him when he watches her being fidgety and fiddling with the loops of her jeans, tugging her blouse every passing second and he’s sniffling a hiccup deep in his lungs when she shrinks into herself in dejection staring out of the window without any purpose.

Harry feels awful to startle her when he plops down beside her, coodling her closer to himself and tucks her head beneath his chin subtly and cups his palm under her jaw to make her look in eyes his eyes.

“Hi beautiful,” His tone had a saddening waver in it and his irises mossed bleak when Y/N remains unresponsive, zoning in and out of her own head feeling herself prisoned into her own invasive thoughts.

“You w'na go home darling?” He gives her a wet smile clearing his throat and blinking the stubborn moisture in his eyes away when Y/N nodded without any vivid expression.

All the way back home he denounced himself of not making her feel loved enough, to not to pest her soon about what she’s feeling and letting her slide deeper into the dark hole.

He thinks he’s a piece of shit.

.

Y/N wanted to dig the earth with her own nails and hide into it and never show her face again, she was overly ashamed of herself.

His hand was holding onto hers tightly, never letting it go as he led them through the hallway and his head perked up in confusion when she stopped them abruptly and lunged to wrap herself around him like he’s the last silver of her hope and the reason to live.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry.” There comes the first sob after ages of suffering and bottling it all in, not shocked at all he was expecting it to happen. Gently he picks her up and wraps her legs around him, keeping his support firm under her bum as she cried into his soft white t-shirt.

Carefully he sits them on the edge of the bed and tries to pry her soaky flushed face in his cradle but she refuses to show him, clutching onto his cardigan and whimpering brokenly.

“I just feel so disgusting,” Her sob scratches out of her throat and for a second he thought he heard her wrong, that her feeble crying’s playing some kind of a sick game with his heart.

“Harry do something I don’t want to feel disgusting.” But, when she pleaded helplessly a cold shiver settled in his bone marrow spreading an agonising burn in his stomach.

Gently he stirs her away from his chest to look at her, meeting their foreheads together while his thumb wiped her tears away and smoothed over her wabbly lips in profound tenderness.

“My beloved,” He whispers fondling his nose against hers and her eyes flutters into realm of calms, shaky breath falling over his lips as he brings her trembling fingertips towards them and pecks them feverishly.

“The love of me life, me heart.” He continues, “Shhh. Shh baby ‘s okay to cry but don’t tire y'self.” He hushes her when she whimpers loudly at his coy affirmation.

“I’m here with you, waiting f'you, watching y’goin’ through a stony path so I could be there to hold you whenever you trip –-,” He pets her hair, cupping the back of her neck to plant his lips bitten red from worry to her puffy damp eyelids and Y/N becomes a gooey lax of candle that’s been burning for tiring amount and finally her lover came to blew the agonising flame away putting her to peace as he coos snuggling her in his cordial embrace, “You’ve been so strong to yourself and ‘m so proud of me baby.”

“I’m always here. Never away from you, always right by y'side.” His palms bending around her ribs to smush her as intimately close as possible.

“How d'ya want your huggies babylove?” He simpers down at her darlingly, huffing out in relief seeing her relaxing -- her shoulders sinking from him massaging the knots in them.

“Tight.” She mumbles timidly. The gleam in her glossy eyes returning when Harry hugs her as she wished, squishing her in right places and not suffocating her at all – their breaths in sync chests flushed against eachother.

“I love you cuddly, and care f’you.” He kisses her on lips then goes to hug her right back.

“I love you too, Har. Thank you.” She sniffs in his woodsy scent grazing her touch up and down his back, smooching a soft kiss at his cheek.

[x-lordofdarkness-42069-x]

What? 

Why was Tweek acting that way? 

Clyde had… Clyde had only wanted to express his sympathy, not pity. He wanted to acknowledge that he had seen all the pain and suffering and bullshit that the so-so-small man had gone through. He wanted him to know that he wasn’t alone– But… Clyde slowly realized that the only thing his words actually did–other than make a complete and total ass of himself–was draw unnecessary attention to the fissure that separated their very different adolescent experiences. He could see now that there was no distinction between the two emotions to Tweek; where Clyde saw compassion in his words, Tweek saw someone handing out condolences for their own self righteousness. He had fostered further isolation.

A heavy, unsatisfying weight–like too much ice cream after too much cake–settled in the lowest trench of his belly when Tweek spun away from him. Rejection and leaden guilt hampered his retreat, as well as hindered his advance. Clyde remained glued to his spot, with sneakers full of cement, unsure of himself and how to handle the other’s response. Tweek’s reaction gutted him, but the reality of the situation was that he had brought it upon himself by opening his mouth and inserting his foot. Clyde should have known better than to broach the subject with the tiny, blond man. To be perfectly honest, until Tweek shunned him, he hadn’t even realized he was cutting open an old wound. His fault for being the idiot who felt like he needed to say whatever was on his mind without considering first that his words and actions would have consequences. Being so stupid, so naive was what he felt bad about mostly; his intrinsically selfish nature.

Clyde knew Tweek could without a doubt fend for himself. He was capable and scrappy, and his perseverance in the face of adversity was what Clyde liked most about him. (Well, that and one other thing). The broader man knew his friend valued his independence above all else, but by his words… How was Tweek supposed to know that’s how he felt, that he understood him? 

He stared at the back of Tweek’s sleeve, a focal point on which to train his eyes, until the other moved again and curled his thin arms defensively around himself. Clyde’s gaze quickly and automatically shifted to the willowy line of Tweek’s spine. Anything to force himself not to blink. If his eyelids met, the trance would break and the tears would flow. He knew Tweek would be the last person to coddle him. Especially given the circumstances of their conversation. What the hell did he have to cry about anyway? Clyde couldn't help that he wore his heart on his sleeve, but he could learn to control himself. (At least a little, Jesus Christ.)

“I don’t pity you, I–” He paused. Was he really about to say ‘Sorry’ again? He stammered, tripping over his words; an easy task considering the aforementioned foot in his mouth. His fingers nervously carded through his soft brown curls. Clyde needed tactile feedback to steady his wits, but knew expecting to receive that from Tweek was more than an egregious request. He swallowed thickly, forcing himself to think before speaking this time. He looked up and met the other’s surreptitious stare. Clyde felt the stirrings of genuine apology in his throat now. 

“I’m sorry, seriously. I…’m trying to say you didn’t deserve the shit that happened to you. I couldn’t do anything but watch. I was too young, but so were you. And that’s… that’s the part that’s not fair. It’s not pity, I promise.” He just talked in circles, not helping anyone. His lips sealed and his jaw clenched. Clyde wanted to walk the entire conversation backwards and wrap his solid arms around Tweek’s tiny frame. But damage had been done and he didn’t want to make matters worse. He could learn from his mistakes, really.

“And I know words can’t change anything either… I just should have kept my mouth shut.” He stared down at his hands held loosely in front of him; he had been unconsciously reaching out for Tweek anyway. He scoffed and crossed his chest with his own arms, adopting the other man’s stance. “Sorry again, I guess.”

▸   @x-lordofdarkness-42069-x   ⟶   ❛  [clyde to tweek]; i’m sorry for what you’ve been through. i’m really, really sorry.  ❜   ╱   (  midnight mass , accepting .  )

Ah, there it was—it happened all the time.  At some point, everybody would look at him like that, with their eyebrows slanted just so and their eyes shining in that sickening way.  Tweek angled himself away from Clyde and pulled the sleeves of his coat down to his knuckles, out of habit, as some kind of formality.  It made no difference because Clyde had already seen everything when the two of them fucked.  Ensuring his more egregious imperfections were covered up when placed in a position of true vulnerability (sex didn’t count) had become second nature to him.  He folded his arms across where his shirt hung more loosely over the divot just under his rib cage, and a shudder ripped through him.

Most people had good intentions when saying things like that, and the sensible part of him knew that.  But the less sensible part of him screamed and writhed in horror at the prospect of chains gilded with alleged ‘charity.’  Whenever people looked at him that way, he felt indignant, like he had to prove himself, demonstrate that he was capable of being on his own.  The idea his parents fed him, that he wouldn’t ever make it on his own without them, was why he was so far behind in life in the first place.

When they were teenagers, Craig got Tweek 5150’d, and he spent seventy-two long hours in a psych ward, being questioned, tested, all the while acting less ill than he felt.  He had been so terrified that they would keep him there if he couldn’t prove himself to be well and not a danger to himself and others, and it had been hell keeping his eyes from flicking off the corners of rooms or at spots just over the doctors’ shoulders.  When they let him go, he had been sick with worry that they would bring him to trial because that was what you had to do if you wanted someone committed involuntarily for more than three days, and he would have to continue acting safe, better.

To this day, he remained convinced that he only got off as easily as he did because Craig Tucker was too young and broke to hire legal counsel.  If Craig had had his way back then, Tweek might still be in the ward today, and whenever people gave him that putrid, condolatory look, it was hard not to think back on that.  It was hard not to accuse them all of thinking the same thing: That’s where you belong.

“I don’t need you to pity me,” Tweek said, casting Clyde a stony, sidelong look.  “Regardless, I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

[blue-mood-blue]

It shouldn’t be this hard.

When he stacks it up against the past month, Juno doesn’t think this moment, standing in front of Mick Mercury, even ranks. Finding Mick was hard. Working up the nerve to ask for the help he needed was hard. Getting to Puck, getting to Io, getting past every minute that meant another minute farther away from his family with no idea what he was doing - that was hard. How could he get through all of that, stand in front of his best friend since they were both kids in Oldtown, and feel afraid?

Maybe it’s because when he says the words and watches for the change in Mick’s face - disbelief or anger or whatever is coming next, whatever is about to be drawn out of Mick Mercury by force in the next few seconds - there isn’t anything. It’s almost like Juno didn’t say a thing, and Juno can half-believe that’s true - that he just didn’t work up the nerve yet, that he thought the words and didn’t spit them out - except for the awkward, stuttering stumble of a sentence that’s still ringing in his ears. And then Mick smiles, laughs a little, and that’s worse. That’s so much worse.

“Shot you? What’d you say to her, Jayjay? Hope she wasn’t too close, I know I don’t have to tell you the kinda nasty burns those things can leave.”

Mick says it like it’s a joke. Like of course Sasha Wire shot Juno Steel, because Sasha Wire and Juno Steel were at each other’s throats from the minute they met, in a way that was mostly friendly and a little bit not. Like it was just the two of them at it again, Mick’s friends acting the way they always did, and it was a matter of time before one or the other brushed close enough by an apology that the whole thing was thrown out like yesterday’s news. And Juno knows, with a sudden and lurching instinct, that he could leave it at that - he could step back from the cliff. He could chuckle with Mick, blow the whole thing off, live for just a little bit longer in the space his friend inhabits where certain laws of the universe are immutable. He wants to.

He doesn’t want to be the one to stand in front of Mick Mercury and take a bat to his trust. That’s the hard part.

Juno glances at Puck. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for in their face - guidance, maybe, or permission. All he gets is an expectant expression and the memory of what Puck told him before Juno retraced the steps of his story and made it completely clear what Sasha had almost done - whatever you’re holding onto, you don’t have to hold onto it alone. And Puck understood, maybe better than a lot of people would have understood, but they didn’t know Sasha the way Juno and Mick knew Sasha. There was only one person in any universe who could hold onto that moment the same way Juno did - with all of the weight, and regret, and bewildering pain.

Juno could spare him. Puck wouldn’t say a word. But Juno isn’t sure Mick would thank him for the mercy.

He doesn’t say anything, at first. He can’t find the words - it was hard enough the first time, and elaborating means thinking about it. Juno has been trying very hard not to think about it. He poked at the wound more than he poked at the wounded place in his memory, and he doesn’t know what will happen if he pushes himself too far now, out in the open with Mick and Puck watching him. Instead, Juno unbuttons his jacket and pulls at the loose collar of his sweater, down over his shoulder as far as he can stretch it.

There’s no bandage in the way anymore. The injury has healed as much as it’s going to, scarred over and puckered like the site of some natural disaster carved into Juno’s skin. Juno is used to scars, used to the look of scars on himself, has seen this one bleeding and fresh and so much worse than it is now - but he can admit that it still makes a terrible image. It still looks horrifying in the light of day, an uncomfortable truth laid bare while everyone carefully and politely looks away.

Mick doesn’t look away, though. Mick stares at it mutely for long, long seconds. He leans closer, and leans back just as quickly. “Juno… are you… I mean, are you okay? That looks…” The King of the Highway who could always spin a story runs out of words, and Juno feels the weight of what happened all over again in the silence.

“She shot me.”

It comes out hoarse. It comes out like a child would say it, like the first time he locked the bedroom door and told Benten she hit me. Like he doesn’t quite believe it yet. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe Juno will always be wondering if it really happened.

“That’s not… that’s not a stun setting, Jay. That’s pretty serious for a warning shot.” Mick’s voice sounds hoarse, too. Mick’s voice sounds cautious, like he’s suddenly on uncertain ground and he’s feeling his way around the shape of the truth. Or like he’s not ready to look at it yet.

“It wasn’t a warning shot.” Mick’s focus flickers up from Juno’s shoulder to look him in the eye. “She was aiming for my heart.”

Juno waits for the denial. He waits for the “she couldn’t have” and “she wouldn’t do that” and “Sasha, our Sasha, who helped me cram for tests and dragged you to her apartment so her dads could teach you to cook” and all of the other arguments he’d made against his own memory in the past month. Juno watches while Mick looks at his shoulder again and then his heart, mapping out the inches of space between a close call and gone, and he waits for Mick to tell him he must be wrong. This must be wrong, because it couldn’t happen this way.

And when Mick reaches out and Juno braces himself for a prodding touch at a barely-healed wound still too tender and new, he’s surprised when a hand clasps his other shoulder and pulls him in tight. Every ungainly, too tall, awkward inch of Mick Mercury wraps around him. “I’m sorry, Jay,” he whispers, maybe, somewhere outside of the hug - Juno isn’t sure, and Juno doesn’t care.

Juno holds on to one last immutable law of the universe and trusts that Mick can carry the weight, too.

[buckyownsmylife]

Walk Away - Tom Hardy smut

The one where Tom is your mentor and really shouldn’t feel this attracted to you.

Warnings: smut, age gap, famous!reader, mentor!Tom Hardy, breeding kink, risky sex, tiny insinuation of a size kink, (blink and you’ll miss), mention of a panic attack with barely any descriptions of it

Word count: 3k>

Tom’s P.O.V.

“Tom.” I stopped rubbing the sleep off my eyes the second my name fell from her lips. I didn’t need her to identify herself - I didn’t need to check the caller’s ID. I’d recognize her voice anywhere, regardless of just how groggy I was. But the tone in which she said my name, the tired, dead feeling shining through it, was what really startled me awake. “Tom, I need you.”

The desperation in her voice scared me, and I was out of bed before I could even realize what I was doing. “You’re home?” I confirmed, waiting only for the expected answer while I looked for my keys. “I’ll be there in five. Hang on tight.”

The night was cold, but I don’t think I would have noticed it if it wasn’t for the chill that had me freezing from the inside. I didn’t even consider changing out of my sleepwear - sweatpants and a loose shirt - mostly because I didn’t want to waste time on something so trivial, especially since it wasn’t that different from what I’d normally wear around her.

I’d known her for over four years now. I’d never witnessed this level of distress on her. In fact, she was never anything short of enthusiastic and happy, a bubble of sunshine that managed to energize everyone around her. For her to be this way, something big had to have happened, and it pained me to imagine just what could have been. 

It pained me to imagine her suffering, and not being there to help. So I stepped on the pedal, driving madly, knowing my own heartbeat would only get back to a regular pace once I had her in my arms again, could smell her perfume as I buried my face in her hair.

She wasn’t by the door when I got to her house, so I let myself in with the extra key that I had, noticing all the lights were off. There was only one place she could be. 

My feet took me there without even having to think about it, like there was some sort of instinctive calling from her body to mine. When I got to her bedroom, a dim light showed just how effective that connection was, as I pushed in to find her laying on her bed, waiting for me.

“What happened?” She sat up when I pushed the door open, quietly closing it behind me, and for a second there was no reaction as she took in my presence, like she needed time to realize I really was there. But then her eyes glistened, denouncing a flow of tears, and she just shook her head, as if asking me to contain my curiosity for just a bit.

“Can you just hug me?” She asked, and I felt my heart squeeze at the realization of just how unaware she was of my feelings for her. I’d do anything, anything for the woman in front of me. A hug was nothing, and I ached to have her in my arms anyway.

I sat by her side and immediately, she was on me, climbing on my lap until she could hide her face on the crook of my neck, and I froze only momentarily before wrapping my arms around her smaller body. Despite how wrong it morally felt - particularly when I remembered I wasn’t wearing any type of underwear - I couldn’t deny how right it was to both my heart and my body, how much it comforted me to feel her this close.

So there we stayed, for God knows how long. We didn’t speak - I was waiting for her decision to explain what had happened, and she clearly needed to come to terms with whatever it was. Just being there for her was enough for me, so I kept rubbing her back, eventually pulling away to press kisses on her temple, trying to ignore how her little sighs of comfort made me feel.

“I-I think I’m ready to talk.” The second I couldn’t feel her warm breath against my neck anymore, I felt cold again, but to my surprise, she didn’t climb down my lap, didn’t try to put some space between us. 

Instead, her arms remained around my shoulders, fingers playing with the collar of my shirt, making me shiver every once in a while when her nails dragged along my flesh.

“Okay,” I encouraged, only because she seemed nervous to say whatever it was that she wanted to tell me, her eyes avoiding mine before she finally managed to meet my gaze again, after taking a deep breath.

“Shawn broke up with me.” A sharp inhale resonated throughout the room, and it took me a few seconds to figure out it had been my own doing. I’d never liked her boyfriend, not ever since she first told me they had been going out, and despite how hard I tried to hide it from her, she had always been aware of my true feelings for him. 

Knowing he was the one to blame for her current state of mind only served to turn my concern into anger. 

“Why?” That was the only thing I could think to ask, the only thing I could focus on as I struggled not to throw her on the bed and run out after him. But I’d never be able to leave her alone, especially not since she was so clearly vulnerable.

There was another second of hesitation before she finally revealed, “It was because of you, actually.” Now that froze me into a state of shock. I couldn't speak, couldn’t think, all I could do was stare down at the face of the woman I loved who looked like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on me.

“What?” Her giggle made my heart skip a beat for a second. It felt good to know that she was already starting to feel better, it felt even greater to know that I was the reason for her laughter, even if I was still fucking confused.

“Don’t worry about it.” Now that just wasn’t good enough. I needed to know, needed to understand. How had I been the cause for their break-up? But she didn’t seem too eager to open up about this specific part of her day, and so I decided to break out the big guns.

I laid her down on the bed, hovering over her so our eyes remained connected. “Tell me,” I quietly begged, and although she still looked anxious, I knew she was close to breaking. “I really want to know.”

She sighed, eyes closing for only an instant and for that instant, I allowed myself to believe that she was breathing me in, appreciating the feeling of being covered by my much larger body, exactly like I did.

“He was jealous,” she finally admitted, but the frown in my face only deepened, asking her for more information. “He felt like I prefered your company over his, which to be fair, it’s the truth. When I’m with you, I never want to leave.”

I didn’t know what to say. So I just stood there, frozen, looking deep into her eyes, searching for any sign of mockery, but found none. She looked hurt, but not like she regretted what happened. It just looked like she needed me there.

And so I stayed. I laid down by her side on the bed and pulled her to me, so her head rested on my chest, and I thought. I thought long and hard about what she’d told me and about how I felt. I thought so much, in fact, that I could see a panic attack forming, as the weight of my feelings threatened to suffocate me, and before I could realize what I was doing, I was already sitting up on the bed and looking for my keys.

“Where are you going?” She rubbed the sleep off her eyes as she tried to understand what was happening, but to be quite honest, I didn’t understand it myself. I just knew I needed to get the hell out of there, or I would end up saying something I’d regret. “I’m so comfy, can’t you just stay?”

It was so hard to breathe that my chest heaved with the labour of getting each breath in and out, so I forced myself to focus on it, stopping only for a few seconds, but it was enough to have me spilling things I’d been managing to hide for years.

“Don’t ask me that. Please.” My voice sounded hoarse, like I hadn’t used it in too long. “Because I’ll stay, and it’ll only hurt me further.” That caught her attention, wiping any remnants of sleep from her in an instant. 

“I wish I could walk away from you. Time and time again I wished for it, when you began dating that jerk, when I first realized I had feelings for you… but I just can’t. I’d do anything for you. All I can think about is you, all the fucking time. I want you so fucking much. I love you way too much. And being just your friend, your mentor, your confidant, is killing me.”

I closed my eyes to catch my breath, trying to focus, trying to make anything make sense again. In that time, I feared the worst. I thought about her leaving, her hand leaving a warm imprint on my face as she slapped me. I thought about her (rightfully, in my mind) accusing me of betraying her, calling me a monster, a pervert. 

I thought I had imagined every possible scenario, but I was still surprised when I opened my eyes to find her seating on the edge of her bed, gaze resting on mine, licking her lips. “I wanna feel you,” she said, and my mind swirled with this unexpected outcome.

“Excuse me?” I scrambled to keep myself up, finding a hold in the back of a nearby chair, my entire body trembling with the effort to hold back, the effort to think and listen, instead of just doing what my instincts begged me to do - pounce on her and fuck her raw.

“I want you inside of me,” she calmly stated, like it was no big deal. It was clear that it was the best way she had found to ask me for what she wanted, but I just couldn’t believe it.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Y-you want me?” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, understanding the delicate nature of this situation, anxious to not let it slip through my fingers nor hold it so tightly it would end up breaking and hurting me in the process. 

I closed the gap between us, getting out of the bed to come stand in front of him, hoping the proximity would ease him the same way having his body near would calm me.

“I’ve always wanted you,” I confirmed, hoping he’d see just how truthful the statement was, needing him to see how much more I wanted to say. “But right now…” Without thinking, my hand reached out to fiddle with the edge of his shirt, the sight of the boner struggling against his sweatpants unmistakable to me. “Right now, I’ll do anything if you just touch me.” 

A sharp exhale of breath, his warmth hit my face, giving me a taste of what was to come. But I wanted the real thing. I wanted to know how it felt from his lips, to have his tongue forcing my mouth open, making me forget my need to breathe.

“I need you.” I got what I wanted then. His face lowered to mine, mouth finally close enough for me to reach, after what felt like years of desire. And it was everything that I’d always imagined his kiss to be - overpowering, dominating and overwhelmingly him. I was instantly addicted.

When he finally allowed our lips to part, taken by his need to breathe, I slowly began to peel away my clothes, fingers trembling in quiet desperation for him to see this for what it truly was: the meeting of desire and lust after years of denial and repression.

“Please fuck me,” I pleaded as my naked body was revealed to him inch by inch, willing to do whatever would get me what I needed. “I swear I can handle you.” That last part was added almost as an afterthought, when I watched his hand curl around a tightness I’d never witnessed in real life before.

I knew what was going through his head - the fight between what was expected of us and what we wanted, our feelings and our professions, but nothing else mattered to me more than knowing he’d spear me open with his length.

“Lay down and spread your legs for me.” Just that order was enough to have me whining low in the back of my throat, but I did as he said, even held my ankles so his view of me would be unobstructed. But that meant I had to watch him as he knelt by the bed and took a hold of my legs, licking his lips in desire at what he saw.

“Please, please, fuck me,” I repeated, knowing I wouldn’t handle his lips on me right now. I needed his thickness, his hardness, I needed to be filled by him, to feel him inside of me.

“Let me just get a taste,” he tried to convince me, eyes focused on the apex of my thighs. I almost laughed at how it looked like his mouth was watering as he stared at my exposed pussy, but my need was far too great to allow me any sort of distraction.

“Later, okay? You can eat me out as long as you want, just… later.” That had his head snapping up, gaze at last meeting mine with a soft sentiment that I knew was at least half vulnerability.

My poor Tommy. Even after all of my confessions, he still couldn’t believe that what was happening was actually real. He still doubted I would want him in the morning, as something more than what I wanted him when I called him tonight.

“Touch me, Tom,” I quietly asked, raising his hand to where I was aching for him, rubbing myself with his thumb. “Touch me right here, please, I’m begging you.”

Hearing those words fall from my lips changed something in him. Where once he was hesitant, a sudden confident smirk, almost arrogant, slowly spread over his lips, taking over his entire aura.

Tom’s P.O.V.

“So needy for me…” I whispered as I witnessed the truth behind my statement. She was sopping wet, almost dripping down the duvet, and as much as I wanted to get my mouth on her, I could accept that we’d have the time to do that later.

I loved the idea of a later.

“I’ll take care of you, darling.” I whispered as I climbed up her body once more, occupying the space between her thighs like I was always meant to be there. “Let me take care of you.”

I brushed my lips against hers, relishing in this closeness, in the moment just before it all changed. I was sure she could feel the weight of my cock against her thigh, and it was probably what prompted her to wrap her arms around my shoulders, breathlessly telling me, “Yes. Yes, please.”

Hissing as I finally slid my length inside of her, I knew I was in trouble the second I bottomed out, biting on her shoulder to keep myself from groaning and drowning out her delicious little sounds. She felt too good. No one should feel this good.

A broken gasp (or was it a moan) called my attention, taking me from my efforts of restraining myself to her, completely. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I asked, brushing the hair away from her face as I watched her open her eyes and blink a few times, trying to keep tears from flowing down her cheeks. “Does it hurt?”

But she just shook her head, hands searching mine until she could lace our fingers together. “No,” she breathed, hips jutting up in a silent way of asking me to move. “It feels so good.”

I bit the inside of my cheek in an effort not to smile widely at her admission, finally allowing myself to slowly begin dragging my cock out of her tight channel before pushing it in again.

“It does?” I questioned, loving to hear her say it. “Well, I’ll always make you feel this good, baby. How does that sound?” She moaned out loud as I lowered my head to lave her breasts with attention, relishing in every little sound that escaped her beautiful lips as I pounded her on the bed.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl, darling.” Another loud moan was all I got as a response, paired with her fingernails biting on the skin of my back. “My good girl, yes?” I insisted, rubbing my jaw against her neck, breathing her in.

I was drunk on her, on this entire experience, still not quite believing it was really happening. She was really here, getting fucked by me. “You’ll be my good girl? Just mine? Forever?”

A smile spread out over her lips, even as she threw her head back to moan a “Yes.” I chuckled against her chest, starting to suck little bruises here and there, wanting to see her all marked up on me, when she interrupted my plans with a breathless comment, “You talk dirty.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” I chuckled against her lips, right as she started to convulse underneath me, clinging to my back for dear life. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Her nails scratched me as she found her bliss, and I wasn’t too far behind. As I started to pick up my pace, really milking her orgasm while searching for mine, it was her words that brought me to my ultimate release.

“C-cum inside, I want it inside of me.” I knew she wasn’t in any form of contraception, and I also knew this wasn’t the right time for either of us to become parents, but to say the idea didn’t arouse me was a lie. 

Flashes of her young body with my baby in it had my cock twitching, the risk of getting my perfect future right then too exciting. She’d be the perfect mother, I just knew it. And the fact that she would take the chance of becoming the mother of my child right then affected me so much that even after I emptied myself inside of her, I was still hard.

Her fingers played with my curls as I rested my head between her breasts, breathing her in, trying to catch my breath. “I can’t believe I get to sleep next to you tonight,” she said, melting my heart right then and there. “I hate it when you’re away.”

I did too. But I’d never need to be again.

[egyptsblackrose]

Dancing with Strangers

This is by far the longest chapter, hopefully I’ve tied all the loose ends and come to a decent conclusion. Stay tuned fro more fics.

Part 1 - https://egyptsblackrose.tumblr.com/post/648370506842701824/a-rose-by-any-other-name

Part 5 -https://egyptsblackrose.tumblr.com/post/654891313044635648/dancing-with-strangers-there-will-be-one-more-part

Part 6- The end, enjoy!

It had been eight months since your first meeting with Gojo Satoru and Kakashi Hatake. This had been the longest relationship either men had ever had, both as a three or on their own. It was also painfully clear how absolutely in love both men were with you, and you with them. The change in the three of you was as clear as day, never had anyone seen each of you so happy - is what you constantly heard from everyone you knew, and when you ran into a friend or relative of theirs… with a few exceptions.

The truth had come out about a month in that Gojo was the one with all the money. A ‘representative of his household’ had come to the apartment to visit and go over ‘matters concerning the family’. Satoru had been so laid back through the whole thing, smirking mockingly at the clearly uncomfortable (stuck up) old butler. He’d grabbed your waist as you were walking towards the door to leave, pulling you down and into his lap. It became clear that he wanted to mess with the man opposite him, even Kakashi seemed in on it because he kissed you sweetly as he walked passed.

Gojo wasn’t able to hide his bitterness when the man finally left though, burying his head into your neck and hugging you tightly. His father had been a politician and his mother a CEO of a successful company, he still had connections because of them and shares that were doing incredibly well. Not to mention their life insurance had been enough to set anyone for life.

“It’s not like I was close to them to begin with.” He’d muttered in a bored manner when you’d teared up at the mention of a Satoru toddler being left alone, surrounded by people who wanted to use him for money, power and influence. The butler was a man hired by his fathers old political party and the other share holders at his mothers company. They apparently weren’t best pleased with him settling for being a small time policeman, had hoped to mould him into their puppet to keep both their money making schemes going.

To cheer the three of you up, Gojo had taken the three of you on a spontaneous trip to an Onsen that one of his friends owns, up in the middle of no where. The beautiful, traditional building with modern interior was nestled on the side of a frigging mountain that could only be reached through a thick, ancient forest.

You were the only three guests, and the workers were even excused for the evening, so it felt like you were the only three in the world with the next person been miles away. Which you were insanely grateful for. Because Kakashi and Gojo had made it a completion between them on who could make you scream the loudest.

Three months later, Kakashi had appeared out of no where behind you while you were cooking dinner, wrapping his arms round you gently and kissing your neck soothingly. “Would you join me for a day out tomorrow?”

“Of course I will,” You giggled, shivering as his lips ghosted over the marks on your neck and shoulders, drawing invisible lines like he was drawing constellations. “Where are we going?”

Hatake was silent for a moment before he squeezed you tighter. “I’m going to introduce you to my father.”

To say you were nervous was an understatement, you had agonised over the right outfit for hours the night before, asking both Miku and Sakura for their help. You should have known better, they had spent the majority of the time gushing over your boyfriends and how serious it was getting between you. After all, no one had ever heard of the two most wanted bachelors introducing their conquests to their family and friends, or even going on trips with their lovers, let alone keeping their interest this long.

Finally settling on one of your favourite outfits; something simple, comfortable and trendy, you kept your make-up light and as natural as possible and called yourself ready. Meeting at their apartment, you were surprised to see Kakashi in his policeman formal uniform. God the man looked dashing. Wearing white gloves, black dress shoes, a smart navy suit, light blue tie, hat tucked under his arm and a smirk on his handsome face.

“Enjoying the view baby?” He teased.

You nodded dumbly, bitting your lip to try hide your smirk. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more handsome, you have to go devastate my heart like that.”

“Maybe me and Sato should wear these tonight then.” The suggestion had your thighs clenching, suddenly it was hard to swallow. Hatake chuckled lazily having seen your reaction. “Later baby girl, for now, we have somewhere to go.”

The cemetery was the LAST place you were expecting this day to take you. Kakashi stopped at his fathers tome stone and saluted. It was at least two decades since his fathers death. Kakashi Sakumo, Hatake’s father, had been a respected police detective, and his whole inspirational drive to become a policeman. When Hatake was young, his father had led a team in a drug bust against some of the biggest names in the Yakuza, but had chosen to save his men’s lives rather than capture the villains when things had gone wrong.

The ‘failure’ was a black mark against his name, and soon his was shunned by the media, his fellow detectives and the whole police force. The abuse became so bad, that he took his own life. From then on, Hatake had lived and grown up with Gojo who he was already inseparable with.

“For the longest time…I blamed him too.” Kakashi admitted quietly, holding onto your hand like a life line. “He had a duty to take those dangerous men off the streets, to make the city a safer place for the public, for kids who were in danger of either being hooked onto drugs or joining gangs. Instead he chose to save the lives of his team.” You were silent, what could you possibly say to ease his pain? “But now…” Hatake raised his head with a proud smile. “My views have changed. He didn’t want to chase glory, he just wanted to do the right thing and save lives. In that moment, they needed him, he saw that and did his best. He was willing to die for his men, he didn’t want to see all those family’s mourning for lives he could have spared. I can only hope that one day, I will be as brave as him.”

You are not ashamed to say you cried, standing there looking at the grave of the man who had made Hatake into the man he was. Into the man you loved. You bowed deeply and gave your thanks, promising out loud to take care of his son for as long as you were allowed. Kakashi’s own eyes watered at this as he pulled you close. You don’t know how long you stood there holding each other for, but it didn’t feel like long enough. Part of you thought it would never be enough when it came to the two amazing men who looked at you like you were their whole world.

After the visit, Kakashi had taken you to the old, more traditional part of town so you could go to his favourite restaurant. The two of you were the first to arrive and the last to leave, laughing so much to the point where you were both in tears. It was so light and care free, and you could see the weight just lift off of Hatake’s shoulders.

And when you both finally made it back to their apartment, Gojo was sat on the sofa waiting. Smirking. Also in uniform. That night, not one of you slept.

With your hands locked together in cuffs and blindfold around your eyes, you shook like a leaf in the wind as Kakashi took you from behind, Gojo at your front. If it had been anyone else trying to blindfold you and tie you up, you would have absolutely said no. As it was, Kakashi loved seeing you so vulnerable. So much so that he had stretched your arse as he’d enthusiastically eaten you out, and was now taking advantage of his VERY thorough prep work. He held a vibrator to your clit as he fucked your arse, Gojo keeping your mouth open and busy as he kissed you hungrily so they could hear your moans, squeezing and playing with your tits as he took your front just as roughly.

Not only did you squirt first time, your pretty sure you blacked out for a second. Not that the boys were deterred, they knew you’d tell them if it became too much. Besides, the sounds you were making; the moans, the wet squelching from how wet you were, it was the best yet. You couldn’t walk the next day though and had to ask Miku to record your lecture.

By the fifth month, Gojo and Kakashi had broached the idea of you moving in with them. It was a casual comment made in light conversation one Sunday morning, when they FIRST brought it up. Then it was Kakashi suggesting you keep more of your things with them, mostly because you would ask them to take you back to your apartment with the girls so you could get ready for the day, meaning you would leave earlier than they would like. Eventually Gojo decided they were being too subtle and would cling to you in the mornings, begging you to not leave and to stay with them.

“You guys remember that I’m living with two roommates already right? I can’t just up and leave them like that, they won’t be able to afford rent!”

“But beautifu~l! We want you here with us!”

“What our idiot means to say baby-”

“Hey!”

“Is that, you already spend so much time here, and we love having you with us. Our apartment is even closer to your Uni building! It makes sense surely, for you to move in with us. Or for us even to find a place together-”

“Wow, ok slow down there!” You butt in quickly, cheeks turning pink. Finally the boys had had enough of dancing around the subject and had sat you down to talk about it properly. Talking about moving into their lush apartment was one thing, but talking about a place together, was something else entirely!

Gojo pouted at you in annoyance. “What, you don’t want to live with us?”

“I’m not saying that!” You defended instantly, frowning at him. “I’m saying it’s a BIG step, and I get that you guys feel ready for it, but I don’t ok? For one, five months isn’t that much time dating someone, second, I don’t even have a job yet! And don’t tell me money isn’t an issue and I don’t have to pay rent cause God help me Satoru, I will get up and leave right now.” You threatened.

“Ok you two, lets take a deep breath and talk about this calmly ok?” Hatake soothed, squeezing both your hands. “Baby, if you don’t feel ready then that’s fine, we will not force you. But please know that when you ARE ready, we WANT you here. Ok?” Nodding in understanding, you started to relax. Gojo huffed and crossed his arms, but nodded in agreement. “And about you looking for a job and paying rent. We are not trying to baby you or the like, we just want to take care of you. We know you can take care of yourself but that wont stop us from WANTING to take care of you because you are YOURS. Understand? We love and cherish you, and if we can help you, we want to. If it was us in a difficult situation and you could help us, you would, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course, in a heartbeat.” You muttered with a slight pout.

Kakashi beamed. “It’s the same in our eyes.” And that had been the end of that…for the time being that is.

Just short of the six month mark, you had agreed to go out again with the girls for a night out. Kakashi and Gojo had encouraged you to go, promising that when they were done with their shift, they would come pick you up. They had even bought you a gift voucher for your birthday to buy a new outfit. You had been sure to send the boys a flattering pic of yourself all dolled up before you had left for the night, receiving such thirsty replies that no one would guess that you had spent the night before with them.

The night had been going perfectly, once again you were the most sober of the group, which you were now used to. You had a nice buzz going, there had already been so many laughs and the girls were excitedly giggling about the stories you shared on your boyfriends. (Of course the intimate, personal things you kept to yourself.) You had been to a few bars and your group agreed to end the night at the club you had met your boys in, ‘The Ninja Shrine’. Texting the two policemen still on shift, you let them know that you and your friends had arrived safely, were going to order your drinks and you would be eagerly waiting for them for a dance.

Gojo replied with multiple winky, smirky, and red with sweat drop faces. Kakashi was the only one to give you a verbal reply, promising to be there as soon as they could, and ‘ordering’ you to behave until they arrived. It made you smile, biting your lip. ‘No promises’ was your reply with a winky face, locking your phone and ignoring the bings that followed, knowing that would rile them up more than a reply.

Despite the clear teasing, you stayed against the bar, talking and laughing with your friends as you sipped at your drink. The girls did try convince you to dance with them at one point, but you were waiting a certain pair to join you. After all, dancing with the girls was fun, but it was even better when you had certain pairs of eyes on your body.

“Oh shit,” Miku cursed, suddenly grabbing your arm and turning you away from the door.

“What the hell-?”

“Don’t turn around!” Miku earned, holding onto your shoulders. “One of your boys’s old flings is here, and trust me you don’t want anything to do with her.” Looking subtly out of the corner of your eyes, you saw a pretty strawberry blonde with soft brown eyes and a confident smirk. You could clearly see her figure through her flashy outfit, her expensive designer shoes and handbag on show like she was on the Paris run way. “She was with them for four months, her names Claire Aoki, and she’s a psycho if you ask me.” Miku continued carefully.

Before you could react, the door opened once more and in came your two boyfriends, looking like sex on legs. Gojo wore a flashy designer get up with black jeans and dress shoes, a blue shirt and a leather jacket that you knew for a fact cost more than your joint rent with the girls. Kakashi was also in black dress shoes, black dress pants, a dark grey shirt and a lighter grey silk vest. Their eyes landed on you immediately and began smiling. You smiled back, beaming when they started heading your way.

They hadn’t made it two steps before they were stopped by Claire, her red manicured-nailed hands resting on their chests as she leaned in towards them, pressing her chest into their arms. Kakashi looked panicked, eyes widening as his eyes darted up towards you, then down to her and back. Gojo’s smile shrunk, it was still there, but it looked much more forced now as his blue eyes narrowed at the other woman.

Curious, and not worried at all, you leaned back against the bar. You turned to make yourself look as relaxed as possible, replicating the same look you had the night they had pulled you away from your friends to charm the pants off of you. Your head tilted and your smile grew as their eyes kept on drifting to you. Whatever Claire was saying clearly wasn’t keeping their attention.

Your smile turned to a smirk as Beast by Mia Martina started playing, slowly pushing off the bar as you headed to the dance floor, your friends following. Closing your eyes, you let the music take you away, body rolls moving slow, deliberate. You caught their eyes by dancing for yourself, but now you knew their weaknesses, the parts of you that they loved to tease and squeeze, you knew their bodies like you knew your own. And you fully intended to use that to your advantage.

“Keep your eyes on me,” You sang, looking both men dead in the eyes, smirking as their gazes struggled to meet yours, roaming your form hungrily like they hadn’t seen you in months. “Come here right now,” You continued, your hands reaching out to them, beckoning them to you. “Cause when the sun goes down the beast comes out,” Dropping to the floor, you straightened your legs so you were bent in half, slowly coming up and curving your back as you flipped your hair back gracefully.

“Take you down, down can you keep it up all night,” Smirking, you spun slowly as you exaggerated your hip swaying, making sure they got an eye full of your behind. “You all over my skin, I’m anxious, paint my body boy’s I’ll be your canvas.” Your head snapped back, showcasing all their bruises that they left from the night before.

Next thing you knew, two sets of hands were gripping you tight, one set on your hips and another on your upper thighs. “Da~nm Beautiful!” Gojo growled lowly into your ear, your grin stretching as you giggled, Kakashi ducking his head to bite your neck. “First you ignore us, then you go and put on a show like that for anyone to see. What are you trying to do, hu? You just want us to bend you over our knees don’t you?”

“Maybe I do,” You teased. “Or maybe I’m trying to prove a point to someone who was getting too handsy with what wasn’t theirs.”

“Oh? Someone was getting jealous? As sexy as you are ‘staking your claim’, doesn’t change the fact that your going to get your punishment when we get home, beautifu~l!” Satoru teased, his hand dragging up your body till his hand was at your neck, then he squeezed.

Kakashi let out a ragged breath at your moan. “I think we should get out of here.” Pressing himself harder into you, you could feel his impatience clearly through his pants.

You dared to look around you, eyes meeting with soft brown eyes glaring daggers at you with so much hatred. You would have been scared six months ago, you would have shrunk and shied away. But how could you now when Gojo and Kakashi were stood with you, hands all over you, demanding your love and attention, making you feel so treasured and powerful.

“Kiss me first.” You demanded. Satoru didn’t even hesitate for a second, pulling you into a searing kiss full of passion and desire. You faintly heard Miku and your friends cat call and wolf whistle somewhere near the bar, causing Gojo to pull away and chuckle. The opening was all Kakashi needed. His kiss was equally breathtaking, his movements slower and more controlled, but clearly as desperate to lay claim.

When Hatake pulled away, Gojo effortlessly picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, smacking your arse when you struggled. So you smacked his right back. Again, you couldn’t walk the next day.

By the end of the eight first months, you had finally landed a job interview and was offered the job on the spot, starting small but promised promotions if your work was up to standard. Around the same time your lease on the shared apartment with your friends was up, and you had finally given into your boyfriends hints and agreed to look for a place you could all afford together. What’s more, your graduation was less than a month away. Things were finally falling into place.

You had yet to broach the subject of your relationship status with your parents, though you were pretty sure they had figured out that you were at least dating someone by this point. Admitting that you hadn’t mentioned anything to your parents, you were nervous how the boys would react. But they had simply shrugged, nodded in understanding and reminding you that if you needed their help they were here for you.

Most importantly, you had a job you were doing well in, you were moving into a beautiful home, your friends were happy and doing well in their own fields, and you had two men who loved you unconditionally. You were sure everything was going to work out just right. And with Gojo and Satoru by your side, you could over come anything.

[yandere-sins]

There is a serious lack of the yandere dragon shifter content! (Especially the bakugou dragon shifter if you can...) So is it possible to have a rich like this where the reader is a mage or magician in search of ingredients and meet a dragon who becomes infuriated with her (or them if you are more comfortable)

You shall get what you ask for, if you want she-pronouns so be it there’s no being more or less comfortable about pronouns. The only time I need some more directions is if you want a gender neutral darling do the dirty with the yan, then it helps to know what to expect down below, you get it? Otherwise, if you want to request a female darling then be proud and request that. Also I am mostly writing x reader anyway, and for that it doesn’t really matter most of the time. Enjoy your scenario!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««   

You were no newbie to the forest. Ever since you were a child, you wandered the dark greens with your grandfather, and later on, with your teacher. Over all these years, you had grown into a respectable mage yourself, people came to your door for help, and you could summon the darkest threats there were; make them follow your instructions! But going into the forest on your own was a necessity, despite always presenting you with something unexpected.

The reason you had to go into the forest was simple: Your potions needed ingredients. Sure, you could have just magically made them appear in your laboratory, however, many did not know that ingredients that were made by magic had almost none of their substances needed for spells. It was easier to explain with self-grown plants in a garden; the one from the convenient market were good to eat, but those you harvested and collected yourself would always be better.

So you set out on your own. You didn’t have an apprentice in a while after the last one had an unfortunate accident with snake poison. Thus, it was on you to make sure your shelves were filled with everything you needed to make your potions and provide people with. To be honest, you found it quite pleasant to get out of your dark, filled-to-the-brim with junk and necessities home, scouting the thicket and breathing in the refreshing forest air.

Carefully you decided where to set your foot. You still remembered the few instances you accidentally ran into a fairy or almost got drowned by a mermaid while picking algae from the lake. Those things happened, but they were no pleasant occurrences, and you preferred to not run into them. However, with a calm mind, you wandered around, picking what you needed. Never more than you actually needed, making sure the forest would be able to reproduce it on their own. That was a law for magicians like you, and you were more than happy to follow it.

“Let’s see,” you mumbled as you brought up your notebook where you had written down the things needed for a very potent sleeping potion for one of your customers. You were almost done gathering everything, aside from one more flower which petals had a sweet smell, soothing even raging minds. As such, it most commonly grew in places where wild beasts lived, but much to your relief, this forest had long been abandoned by those, only leaving the occasional fairy or gnome behind.

There was no way you’d have a run-in with something worse like a werewolf or a dragon.

At least, you were quite sure of it until you managed to reach the clearing where the flower grew. You were so sure of it, you ignored the roaring snoring filling the air as you drew closer to the flower’s whereabouts, merrily humming a little song and focusing on your steps. That was, until you reached out for the flower, finally knowing how the earth around it... breathed.

You just stood there, not moving a muscle. There was no immediate sight of anything, but you knew it. You knew that beneath your feet, a monster laid, as big as the clearing itself, as dangerous as snake poison. The only ones possible of laying down in a field of flowers, resting for so long that their magical energy would make the flowers start growing around and on them, were dragons. Despite really not wanting this thought to be right, you knew that there was nothing in comparison.

For a mage like you were, it wasn’t anything to take on easily. Dragons were wild, untamable, and, most of the time, grumpy. The age, you assumed. They tended to be very territorial and get butt-hurt over every little thing... like you, picking one of their flowers. The worst, however, was that even if you retreated now if you were to be noticed, the dragon surely would hunt after you, and you’d lead it back to your little village.

So all that was left as an option was to retreat quietly and make sure you wouldn’t be noticed. For a moment, you got upset that you would have to find another, less convenient flower spot now or do the potion without it. For at least three years, no monster had closed in on that clearing, and yet, now that you needed the flower, you had run into such trouble retrieving it.

Backing away slowly, you walked a while backwards, eyeing the creature still hidden beneath the field of flowers. You were just about to spin around and make a dash for it, hide somewhere in the dark corners of the forest when your foot got caught ever so slightly. Nothing that made you lose your footing, but widened your eyes nonetheless, the shining silver of a claw revealing after you got stuck on it.

The next few moments happened fast, too fast for your human eyes. A flinch, then a growl, and suddenly, the earth broke loose as something erupted from beneath it, a tall, slim body, covered in scales and shining brilliantly in the sunlight.

For a moment, you were mesmerized by it, absolutely awestruck. Seeing a real dragon definitely was better than any portrait painter could put them on a canvas. You realized quickly that it wasn’t just wondering about the creature before you that kept you in place. More so, it was fear. Even when it’s snout came dangerously close to your face, you couldn’t turn and run away.

“Look at you, a smelly little human thief,” it snarked; the perks of being an intelligent creature was it’s ability to speak. “Did you think my flowers were free to take?”

“Where does it say those are yours? Can’t be helped if you sleep on them.” Perhaps, you should have tried a friendlier approach, but it wasn’t like this creature was full of manners either. Against your expectations, though, it only looked at you before suddenly erupting into deep, growling laughter. There was no way to discern if it was actually amused or if it was laughing to mock you, but you took your chance to turn and run, not waiting for a comeback.

“Where are you going?” you heard behind you as you reached the border of the clearing. That suddenly sweet and luring voice made something in you snap. Without thinking, you stopped to look back, the earth around the clearing still torn up, but instead of a dragon, a man stood at the clearing, arms wide open. “You got some nerves, fucking waking me to tell me the flowers aren’t mine and then run away without even taking any. Takes some guts. Here.”

Sweeping down, he picked up one of the few flowers that hadn’t been destroyed by his dragon form, holding it out to you. Aside from the way he spoke, everything suddenly was so tempting. You hadn’t noticed before that the dragon was a shifter, which automatically gave him natural sympathy from you as a human. Their dangerous skill that even a mage like you couldn’t deny.

They were terrible, and you knew it. Everyone told you about how bad shifters were, only ever turning into a human to do bad things. They naturally looked so much better than your average human, too beautiful, too perfect. Their voices were so lovely that they could lull you to sleep, and they emitted the feeling of security that many men and women sought after, making them perfect targets to be kidnapped and, in the worst case, bred or eaten.

But here you were, the little town mage who had never seen a shifter before. The flower in his hand was calling to you to take it back with you, and his voice lured you. Despite resisting, you did have the urge to throw yourself into his arms, like a good, willing target.

Instead, you kept eye contact, holding out your hand for the flower as you approached. His eyes were the only thing reminding you what a beast he was, wild and dangerous, fire burning in them like you could only see in dragons. Yes, you should have just left, but you felt like he actually... accepted your retort. As if it hadn’t been so bad to stand your ground, and that feeling made you confident. Confident that you could handle this situation.

When your finger finally reached around the stem of the flower, he let it go, and immediately, you felt something sharp and painful drill into your forearm. Shocked, you could watch long sharp claws catching a blood-red color as he dragged them down your arm, your body instinctively moving forward to stop the pain.

And that’s when he snapped for you, lifting you up from the ground as if your weight was a joke for him. Throwing you over his shoulder, you were confronted with the feeling of a strong arm pinning your legs to his chest. “Fuck, I hate humans like you. Always talking back, thinking they are in the right.” Giving your rear a rough slap, you yelped before trying to kick your legs unsuccessfully.

He began to move, his shoulder pushing into your stomach so harshly, you felt like throwing up. But before you could complain or say something, you had to watch as the ground before you slowly distanced itself from you, the peaks of the trees soon what came into view. Your still ‘okay’ arm, clutched desperately between the bleeding one and the shifter’s body, trying to find something to hold onto.

“What- Where! Let me down! How dare you!”

“Your really want to be let down now?” Pulling you forward, you landed on his hands under your arms, noticing how your legs struggled in the air without any halt. Finally, you could see his wings and slowly realized what was going on, gulping as you felt helpless in his grasp. “S-Stop this madness! Get me down on earth again!”

“No,” was his simple answer, your cheeks suddenly squishing against his chest as he tugged you in and wrapped you in his arms. Convenient to carry you, yet not helping your problem of feeling helpless. “Not until you learn how to properly behave, Human.”

“I’m not an ordinary human!” you complained, hearing a mocking, “Oh?” rumbling from his chest.

“I’m a mage--”

“And I am so scared. Mage’s are my favorite breakfast.”

A loud laugh erupted all around you, and this time you were sure he was mocking you. “How dare you, you are so rude!” Pounding your hands against his chest, he only laughed more. “That’s it, bare your teeth, little Mage. I love it when my food resists.”

That’s bad, you thought. That’s really, really bad. Magic wouldn’t help against a magical being as he was, and you looked down, seeing the forest, and then your village pass by as he dragged you off. Not like there was anyone who could have helped you in this situation.

“What’s your name, Mage?” he asked, ten minutes into you struggling against him with his arms never tiring. “Why would you want to know?!” you hissed back, and he grunted in response.

“My mother taught me to know the name of the things I put in my mouth; the fuck you care?!” Stretching out your neck, you tried to see his face, but his expression was denied to your gaze by his chin. All you could see were his ears. They seemed unusually red, but you hadn’t looked at them before to compare if that wasn’t normal for a red dragon.

“Just so you know, but the person eating you am I. Katsuki Bakugou. You better speak your last prayers now, Human. And make them good.”

“Well, to say it in your words: Fuck you, Dragon!” Being defiant had helped before. Maybe it would do it again, you hoped.

This time, the rumble in his chest was short as he laughed, different from the ones before. “You’re gonna be my favorite to crush,” he announced, the grip around you tightening until you gasped in pain. Your struggles ceased as you passed out while he carried you off to the no-mans-land that was his home.

He hated to admit it, but the tactic of his friend of simply laying in a bed of flowers and waiting had really paid off, and he was more than overjoyed to have caught someone like you. Having you keep his lair warm would be more than he expected from his endeavor. Katsuki simply loved a bit of a feistiness in the humans he captured, ensuring that you’d give him a good time playing with you before the end of your little togetherness would draw near.

He would make sure to enjoy every second of it.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««   

After-writing-comment: Well, this sounded better in my head than it turned out to be. Maybe I will rewrite it sometimes from his POV but we’ll see. It’s 2k words long so it would be a shame to just trash it, so I decided on posting it anyway. Sorry if it isn’t what you had in mind either anon!

[cowboyjen68]

Recently I’ve been debating getting top surgery. I know that some butches get top surgery and seem happy with the results but I’ve also met some who grew out of their discomfort with time. So I guess I’m debating if I should wait to see if maybe the discomfort around my chest will ease with age or if I should look into getting top surgery. The ones I’ve talked to also had this discomfort about their breast growing during puberty but they said after some time it decreased but for mines it seems like a problem that hasn’t gone away.

I am so sorry for the delay, seems work and side gigs are taking up a lot of my time lately. 

I can only speak from my experience with my body and from other lesbians I talk to... and I talk to a lot. I have many friends across generations. Many of my younger friends are butch but not all. My older friends are a myriad of types of lesbians and as diverse as the greater population. This weekend now that we are all vaccinated we had a campfire with 12 lesbian, 5 butches present. We have definitely had discussions about our breasts, discomfort, and the mourning over loosing breasts to cancer (or the danger of cancer).  Most of my buddies, from 19 to 68 share similar stories about learning to be at least “okay” with their bodies in a world where our physical attributes are often used to define our personality, and our worth. 

One thing we ALL share, as women, not just lesbians, is that we were at best dissatisfied that we have breasts starting as soon as they begin to form. I was 7 when mom told me I had to wear a shirt outside. Wow was I pissed. AND as a 7 years old I knew it had nothing to do with me but everyone seemed just fine with the fact that men were the issue but since we can’t change them we must change our own behavior.

 I remember thinking “how is me not wearing a shirt a problem”. Breasts had been neutral for me at that point. Just another part of my body. Once I realized “they” made me different, more vulnerable, more controlled, less “human” than those around me without breasts I turned my hate on my body instead of the people who really were to blame. Just like I was taught, I can’t control the men but I perhaps I could control my body. 

I have raised at least 10 teenage daughters (2 are lesbians now) my youngest adopted is 15 and when her other mom told her to put on a shirt in the summer of her 8th birthday, even in our rural yard she looked at me dead in the eye and said “why haven’t you fixed this yet?” (meaning women’s bodies being subject to the eyes and opinions of men). I wonder.. why haven’t we? She is the youngest, but all the others grew from hating their breasts to at least neutral, some really love their bodies and that is lovely. 

Lesbians are unique in our dealings of men’s opinions because we never need or want the approval of men in relation to our bodies. The opposite in fact.. we would prefer they see us void of anything they find sexual. Many women, straight, bi, lesbian eventually either learn to give no shits about the opinions of men or they learn to work around that feeling.

Ok.. all that being said, my story. My breasts are B cups, perhaps C’s when I was a bit heavier weight wise. I wore regular bras WITH padding and always as tight as a could to make them less noticeable. When I came out i switched to sports bras because i was embracing being butch and no longer wanted to play the game of wearing  “pretty bra” . I never wore tight shirts, always baggy. I wore the tightest bra I could wear to keep my breasts smaller, less visible. FOR YEARS. 

Going to a women’s festival opened my eyes to the many ways bodies can be. The many ways BUTCH bodies can exist. Women went topless and NO one sexualized them. (except when appropriate-- like while flirting etc when it was welcomed). Thousands of people, many topless and no one, not one person was oogled, cat called, teased, or otherwise treated as different than someone wearing a shirt.  What did they all share? Why was it different than in other places? Women. All women and mostly lesbians. However that did not automatically translate to “I am going back to the real world and giving no fucks about the reality of existing with breasts in our world”. It took time.

I no longer wear a bra just an undershirt. BUT I am in control of where I go, who I interact with most of the time. If I was still at my retail job, I’d probably still wear a bra. I no longer dislike my breasts. I love them. They bring me pleasure, they bring my girlfriend pleasure. They are a lovely part of me BUT that does not mean I am not very aware in public of my nipples being visible or of people noticing I am braless. And I imagine it is harder for women with larger breasts. 

Had binders been a “thing”, had I had access to a double  mastectomy, or the idea of it i cannot say that would have pursued either. The pattern suggests I would have. But again., neither were on my radar, not options presented to me or encouraged as a way to solve my discomfort.

 I have  three friends who have had elective double mastectomies. And many who had one to prevent or remove cancer. Several of them suffer consistent and painful nerve damage that is not treatable, is quite common, is unpredictable (they can’t know who will have it) and possibly life long. Of the three who were trying to alleviate the distress of dysphoria, all three regret the decision and none of them are over 30 yet. These women are all lesbians. Those who had the surgery because of cancer are thrilled to be happy and alive with less worry, although they do deal with nerve issues and mourn the loss of a part of their body. 

I have a few trans men friends, although we are not close. A  couple of them have had double mastectomies but their thoughts or feelings have not come up, we are just not close enough for such a personal discussion and none have had the surgery for more than 2 years.  I have had lots of older lesbians friends (and a few younger) who did get breast reduction surgery and their health and mental health were both improved. Their backs are better, their clothes fit better and they feel more active, less self conscious with out the physical risks of a full mastectomy. 

The easy answer and what I WANT to say, is be patient, find lots of older lesbians friends to show you your body is neutral, men are the problem. Give yourself time to understand that your breasts are as butch as the rest of you. They are a natural part of your body and how you are meant to be. Also, I know there is not an easy answer. Men will continue to exist. They will continue to sexualize lesbians (with or without breasts). I didn’t outgrow wishing my breasts could just disappear(in public settings) until my 40′s but it got easier and easier to sort of “live with it”. I am many times over grateful for my healthy breasts now. 

Seek therapy.. and not someone who will just go along with what ever you say. My therapists works me hard. She makes me answer the hard questions. She has me vocalize things that I don’t even want to admit in my head let alone out loud. Find one like that. Find one who is willing to explore all the reasons your breasts cause you distress. Then, if you decide to proceed, you can do so knowing you were worth the hard work and you can feel more confident in making an informed decision. Don’t make any decisions based on the opinions of men. Your body. YOUR decision. Write that down on a post it and keep it somewhere you will see it. 

If you would like to speak to some others who are struggling with how you feel or want to talk to lesbians who can tell you about their double mastectomies, DM me, perhaps I can connect you. 

If  anyone wants to add their experience in the notes please be kind. No judgement for anyone making such a difficult decision. 

One last thing to this long post. From one butch to another.  I care about you and I am saddened and angry at  bull shit you have to wade through in this world. I get it. You are not alone. 

[painless-innit-colourful]

‘Two Down, One To Go’ - part 2

The aftermath of the Manberg Festival was a Clingy Duo goldmine, so naturally I’ve been trying to write something for it for 8 months. In this edition of giving the early canon deaths more emotional weight: Tubbo was there for Tommy the night after he lost his second life, and he’d like to return the favour. Unfortunately, his temper gets the better of him.  Featuring a little headcanon about how a person knows how many lives they have left, and so. much. canon. dialogue.

part one | part three

---

Night of the Festival

His own words echoed in his ears, “Be safe.” He’d embraced Tubbo up on the roof, and that gesture and those words had meant good luck. They’d meant don’t fluff your words, don’t say anything you’re not supposed to. They’d meant see you tomorrow in Pogtopia with a potato stew and something to discuss. Alternatively, they’d meant be careful, pick your moment and be ready to run. See you in Pogtopia tonight. Don’t stick around to see Manberg go up in smoke. Don’t stick around for the fireworks.

But as Schlatt raised the microphone he’d snatched out of Tubbo’s hands and yelled into it “MURDER HIM RIGHT NOW, ON THIS F*CKING STAGE. AND MAKE IT HURT.” and Technoblade - their ally, come on Techno - loaded a festival rocket to his crossbow, he remembered another thing he’d said, only minutes before that. To Wilbur, before they’d called Tubbo up to the rooftop. “Look, even Tubbo is having a lovely time… Look at him in his suit, he’s growing up.” And perhaps the worst one, flashing through his mind for a millisecond as Techno let the explosive bolt fly. “Look, he’s letting off fireworks!”

“Don’t you want him to be happy?”

They made their way back to Pogtopia, and neither contingency for that night had come to fruition. Manberg still stood, but Tubbo was no longer a part of it. Without context, it was the ideal outcome, but with every step homeward they ran through the subterranean tunnels, Tommy became more and more aware of Tubbo’s pained breathing, the whimpers and gasps between the pants, the way his grip on Tommy’s hand spasmed involuntarily. He figured even if Tubbo let go, the amount of blood glueing their palms together would prevent them from becoming separated. He’d stopped glancing back for people following them and was now just looking at his best friend. The injuries were bad, and TommyInnit was seeing red in more ways than one. He’d thought about carrying him, but he wasn’t sure where he could touch without causing more damage, plus, he needed his hands free in case they ran into anything or anyone. No one could be trusted tonight. He kept his hold of Tubbo’s hand as loose as possible.

They thundered up the steps and into the ravine they called home, and only when they were sure they were safe did Tommy put down his sword.

Tubbo leant heavily against the nearest wall, a bloody mess. He wasn’t wearing his jacket so much as it was wearing him. His shirt was past-saving levels of bloodsoaked, and his tie was hanging by a thread. There was a hole in the chest region of his shirt where the crossbow bolt had killed him, the puncture wound below, Tommy didn’t need to look to know that it would be healed, a neat little scar. He was more concerned with the damage the firework had done.

See, deaths were a b*tch like that. When you died any old death and came back, the killing wound would be entirely gone, scar and all. Other injuries you’d picked up, either as part of your death or just before it, healed a bit but lingered. There was a sizeable cut on his left side where Purpled had slashed another death into the library of his life, but it had mostly scabbed over already. Quick healing, multiple deaths. Nature’s blessings to a species that can’t help destroying itself over and over again. By tomorrow, the bruises and scratches from fighting a whole crowd of Manbergians single-handedly would be gone, and by the end of the week that long cut would be forgotten like so many others. But deaths that counted, deaths that registered in the tallies on your chest were different. The killing injuries were still healed, but they left prominent scars that would never heal. Tommy had two: one on the back of his head where he’d cracked his skull open trying to blindly scramble away from Eret’s trap, and one just to the left of the centre of his chest where Dream had shot him. And as well as scarring you for life, the injuries you had at the time persisted longer and were barely healed at all.

He knew he wasn’t thinking clearly that night, but in hindsight, he really should’ve known what was going on with Tubbo earlier.

Tommy knelt before his friend as he slid down the wall to meet him. He put one hand on each side of Tubbo’s face; the other boy dropped his arms from around his middle to meet them, his jacket finally falling off. Tommy made a mental note to burn it. The burns on Tubbo’s face were horrific, patterning the skin around his eyes and nose like a masquerade mask and spiking like an explosion. His eyes themselves had been mostly spared, and Tommy thanked Not Techno that he had fired the killing rocket at Tubbo’s chest. Still, they were incredibly bloodshot, very unfocused and milky in places, and swimming with all the wrong colours for a blue-eyed boy. Tommy recalled what Phil had told him once about treating burns, years ago after someone (naming no names) had stuck his arm right into an open flame after being egged on by his two older brothers. ‘The best thing for that is air.’ He moved on, murmuring “You’re okay, you’re alright.” to the boy shaking beneath his hands.

Unbuttoning a soaked shirt is difficult work when it’s just water, but the blood of a friend makes it just that loveliest bit worse. When he finally peeled it away, the full force of the metallic smell hit the air; Tubbo gagged at the scent and Tommy tried not to do the same. Somewhere under all the blood, there was a small, neat scar, but right that second, it was entirely obscured by ragged flesh. He was careful not to touch it too much, for every time he did, Tubbo shuddered and winced and curled in on himself, like an animal making itself small for protection. “Wait here.” It wasn’t like he was going to go far; it was probably more for Tommy’s benefit as he got up and jogged to a small room with a couple chests in it at the far end of the ravine. He rifled through both, pulling a half-empty bottle of water from one and a large first aid box from the other, and hurrying back to Tubbo. He was acutely aware of Wilbur’s voice emanating in sharp bursts from the communicator hanging limply from his ear, but he tuned it out as he knelt back beside Tubbo.

He flipped open the box first, cursing himself for never reading more of the large manual he tossed aside upon opening. On himself he could trust his patchy knowledge, but he didn’t want to cause any more hurt to his friend. “Tubbo, hey, listen to me,” He put his arms out, guiding Tubbo to lean on him. “This might sting- Okay, this will sting. Just, please, don’t move. I’ll get you wrapped up, and this’ll be over soon, I promise.” By this point, he’d pried away the ruined shirt by cutting it apart with the scalpel in the first aid kit and peeling it away, revealing the full extent of the burns. They followed the same pattern as the ones on his face, spraying out from the darker point of impact in the imprint of an explosion, except this one was much bigger. “Hold onto me, okay?” Tubbo’s response was breathy and pained, “I can’t- Can’t stop shaking-”

Tommy ripped open the packet of antiseptic wipes, whispering an apology as he pressed one to Tubbo’s chest, and the boy yelped at the burning sensation. His fingers dug into Tommy’s shoulders as the blonde methodically wiped across the mess of burned skin, the wipes coming away a reddish-grey. Tommy pressed his forehead to Tubbo’s as he finished wiping along the side and down the insides of his arms, cleaning away soot, ash, small particles of firework and dried blood. It all came away rather cleanly (thank Prime) but in places more red appeared, blood blooming in patches like poppies’ petals. Tommy discarded the last of the wipes into a dirty pile and, as quickly as he could, grabbed a roll of bandages and started wrapping, all the while murmuring to Tubbo, “Almost done, just a little longer, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

Tommy heard Wilbur arrive just as he was taping the end of the final bandage down, the one he’d put around Tubbo’s left arm. The boy in question was practically in his arms, and as he finished he dropped the medical tape and just held him for a minute or two. He rubbed circles into Tubbo’s uninjured shoulder. “I don’t understand.” He looked down at Tubbo shifting to look up at him, pushing himself up slowly to lean against the wall again. “Wilbur said- Wilbur said to stay strong, and that he was on our side!” His voice cracked, and Tommy gave him a sympathetic look as a shiver ran up his spine. He thought about putting the jacket tied around his waist on and then realised Tubbo probably needed it more than him, since he was technically topless. “He was on our side!” “He just- I was literally talking to Wilbur! Over comms, I- He just-” Tommy exhaled heavily, muttering “What the f*ck.” over and over as he untied the arms of the jacket and slung it around Tubbo carefully. Tubbo wiggled halfway into it before he gave up and listed back towards Tommy, who settled with his head leaning on Tubbo’s good shoulder. “Where is that button.”

Before Tubbo could respond, Wilbur’s voice behind them caught their shared attention, echoing tinnily from the communicators they had both been ignoring as well as around the cavern. “Tubbo, did you destroy a button behind where Ninja- Where we met Ninja?” Their older brother was leaning against the nearest wall of the ravine, his posture laid back and nonchalant, but there was something wrong with his eyes. There was no warmth in them; they were as unforgiving as the frigid stone walls. He held the microphone of his communicator right next to his lips as he spoke, only dropping it when both boys looked over at him. “No- No!” Came Tubbo’s hasty reply, and Tommy wanted to shake his shoulders and ask him again. (He refrained.) Tubbo writhed beneath Wilbur’s unrelenting glare. “I never knew of any button.”

Wilbur kicked himself off the wall and walked towards the two of them with a scowl and a sigh. “The button was gone,” He began, and there was no stopping him. “I couldn’t find the room! I couldn’t find the room; I built a room, and it was like linked up and it had redstone, and it was like- it was like hidden!” He threw his arms up in a great display of exasperation. “I can’t believe it.” He walked past them and away into one of the many side chambers of Pogtopia, a second “I can’t believe it!” echoing back towards them. Tubbo tilted his head and caught Tommy’s intense gaze and furrowed brow. “Tommy?” “Why did Techno kill you?” He sighed heavily, but this time there was fury building behind it. “They f*cked up for the last time.” “Don’t- Tommy I’m gonna be honest with you,” Tubbo closed his eyes as if trying to remember something. “I don’t know if- Before the thing, I kinda searched around the premises, I don’t think there was TNT planted.” “But there was a button back there Tubbo- You just heard, Wilbur said there was a button!” “Look, there’s a lot-” He opened his eyes again, leaning closer to Tommy’s ear, trying not to put any weight on any of his injuries. “Don’t-” He whispered, suddenly sounding desperate, his eyes wandering after where Wilbur had staggered off to. “Don’t stoop to Wilbur’s level, man.”

Tommy sighed. He knew Tubbo was right; there was something seriously wrong with Wilbur these days, he’d known it ever since he’d watched him pledge some twisted kind of allegiance to Dream. But every time he looked at Tubbo his anger surged again, and every time he closed his eyes he saw the bright flash of a firework. If he saw Techno-

“Uh… Big T?” Tommy blinked and shook his head. “Yeah?” Tubbo was pulling anxiously at some of the bandages on his chest. “I think- I think these are a bit tight.” “Ah- Sorry.” Wilbur staggered back into the main room of their hideout as Tommy went to work loosening the bandages slightly, working slower and more carefully this time. “You okay?” Tommy spared a quick glance back at their leader when Tubbo asked the question. He was standing on one leg, twisting the other foot back and forth gently. “Mostly. Think I did something to my ankle when I was getting off the roof.” He made a few noises of anguish then stopped abruptly, and Tommy could figure he was distracted by the voice coming through the communicator that Tommy could only just hear.

“Wait where are you guys I’ll meet up.”

He took one deep, calming breath, then ripped out the wire and threw it across the room. He finished re-wrapping Tubbo’s bandages and ran his hands along them to ensure they would hold when he moved. He wasn’t going to get angry. He wasn’t going to get angry. He would stay calm and make sure his best friend was alright and pretend their most powerful ally didn’t just betray them. He wasn’t going to get angry.

His hands came to rest either side of where Tubbo’s heart would be, and he was about to take them away when he stopped. There, on the left side, just under his collarbone.

No.

The first ridge, ever-present for both of them. F*ck Eret.

No way.

And… The second. New. Not there when he’d seen him last night, when he’d quickly thrown his green shirt at Tommy’s head. “No Schlatt, I’m- Yeah I’m in the library again… I’ll be right there.”

“Tommy-” Tubbo waved a hand in front of his face. “Tommy I’m alright, Tommy I’ll be okay-” He shook his head, wrestling with his anger. “No, no, Tubbo?” They both paused, looking into each other’s eyes, searching for the reassurance neither of them could give. “I- You-" He shook with rage, holding back an outburst. Where would it go?

What would he do? Run back to Manberg to the b*stard in power? Go upstairs and start fights with mobs? Go yell at Wilbur? As he started to cool off (for Tubbo; who was holding him by the arm and trying to calm him down), the tunnel vision receded. Getting angry wasn't an option right now. They needed to hold it together. Be logical, not emotional. Strategically plan their next move.

Unfortunately, that’s when one half-pig, half-man came trotting nonchalantly down the stairs of their ravine home, and the red mist descended.

“Technoblade! The Blade, the Blade!” Wilbur’s cheering did nothing to help his rapidly declining mood. “Tommy-” But he couldn’t hear his friend as he stood and marched, head down across the ravine floor. He was unarmed: not for long, grabbing a lonely axe sitting against the cavern wall. He could hear Tubbo struggling to stay with him; asking him to stop or egging him on? The spaces between the silence had turned to static.

Technoblade was still wearing full Netherite armour and holding his crossbow in one hand, the business end pointed at the floor. Wilbur bounced around him like a crazy man on a pogo stick, chanting “The Blade!” while Techno regarded him with something adjacent to bemusement. “The gang’s all here!” Wil shouted as Tommy and presumably Tubbo approached, one injured and one seething. “Ooh look out Techno, Tommy’s angry at you. Look at him, look in his eyes, look at his little axe. He’s pissed at you dude.” He laughed, and there was something about it Tommy really didn’t like. “Go on, go on Tommy. Say something.”

“Wil, this isn’t funny.” He turned on Techno, and the axe in his right hand felt remarkably light. He took a deep breath to regain some calm: that was a mistake. Like throwing fuel on the fire, TommyInnit exploded.

“Are you insane?! You just killed Tubbo, in front of everybody, at the President’s command.” He spat the words as he swung the axe before him in a wild arc; Techno parried it lazily with the side of his crossbow. “And you think you can just rock up here? You’re not even Pogtopia anymore, you’re just a-f*cking-nother JSchlatt pawn.” “I had reason to, Tommy, th-” “WHAT REASON?” “I was peer pressured, y’see, and I couldn’t just jeopardise myself like that, there was about twenty dudes who would’ve shot me where I stood.” “You can literally fly!” “I can only fly in the rain Tommy. It’s my one weakness.”

Tommy moved closer, only partially aware that Niki had inexplicably just joined them; Wil had amicably put an arm around her shoulders that she looked eager to escape from. “So what, you just bend to peer pressure?” “Yes. Immediately.” Niki seized her moment to run past Tommy when Wilbur practically collapsed in hysterical laughter on the stairs. All eyes were on him as Tubbo (who’d brought Tommy’s jacket with him) quietly asked “What’s so funny?” and you’d have to be deaf to miss the betrayal in his voice. Wilbur mimed (or maybe not) wiping a tear from his eye as he looked Tommy in his, “It’s just exactly as I predicted, isn’t it Tommy? No one here has any honour, not anymore. Everyone’s just following whoever has the most power. No one cares about sides! Everyone’s just doing what they’re told! Look, Tommy, what else do I need to convince you?” He slid down from his higher seat and stepped over to Tommy, moving imposingly despite the slight wobble he had with his battered ankle. He stopped arm’s distance away, holding his arms out as if to ask the question with them - open, undefended.

“Technoblade betrayed us on the whim of the President, the whim of the government. Tubbo decorated the stage for his own execution. And you-” Without thinking, Tommy put the razor-sharp edge of the axe against his brother’s chest. Both boys’ eyes followed his movement, and while Tommy felt repulsed by his own action (oh god, would I really kill him?), it just amused Wilbur further. “You wanted to blow up Manberg, just now. You said it, only minutes ago. ‘Where’s the f*cking button.’ You’ll always be my right-hand man, Tommy.”

The shove that Tommy gave him, turning the axe to use the other side, sent him stumbling back and crashing into Techno. He strode forward, using the axe again to wrench Wilbur out of the way. The older man was nonplussed, catching himself on the wall and laughing. “Let it out Tommy.” “WAS IT WORTH IT? WAS IT?” Technoblade whipped out his shield just in time to stop another one of Tommy’s wild swings from connecting with his neck. It bounced off his armour instead, leaving a scratch over the collarbone. “GET OUT OF HERE, GO BE NEXT TO YOUR ‘PRESIDENT’, YOU CLEARLY DON’T MIND KILLING FOR HIM.” “You really think you can destroy Manberg without my help, Tommy?” The next words out of his mouth came out as a low growl. “I could do without you taking a f*cking life away from my best friend.”

It was like the air temperature around them had suddenly dropped several degrees. A chill ran visibly down Wilbur’s spine as his crazed smile dropped, Tubbo looked at his shoes, Niki looked at him, and even Techno’s bravado seemed to wither away as Tommy’s pronouncement settled over the group. “Yeah. I don’t give a f*ck about peer pressure or whatever other bullsh*t you can come up with, not when you’ve just knocked him down to one life left. Do you know what it’s like? Huh?” He stepped closer, getting in Techno’s face; the pigman’s guarded expression returned. “No. You f*cking don’t. You’ve not even been in danger of losing a life. Me and Wil, we know what it’s like to live in fear of dying for good, every f*cking day of our godd*mn lives.” He turned and stepped back to gesture at Wilbur, who merely crossed his arms and regarded him coldly from his perch on the stairs. “Wilbur lost his second at the election and guess what? He’s been going out of his f*cking mind ever since-” “And what about you?”

Tommy felt Tubbo’s hand on his arm, and didn’t need to turn to know exactly what look he’d be getting. Don’t. “What’s that supposed to mean.” It was a challenge, not a question, and Techno’s never been one to shy away from an ultimatum. “You said it yourself. Wilbur’s been… straying from the path ever since he lost his second canon life in the aftermath of the elections.” He shrugged, looking Tommy directly in the eyes. His were brown, but he didn’t need to look to know that. They had been brothers once. “How have you been faring? How long has it been now, since the revolution?”

“You monstrous piece of sh*t!” Tommy flew at the Blade, swinging his purloined axe back and forth with reckless abandon. “How f*ckin’ dare you! You don’t know what it’s like to die, you b*tch! And then you think it’s okay to kill Tubbo on the President’s command?” “You think I wanted to? How was I to know that would be a canon death-?” “What the f*ck do you mean ‘How was I to know’?!” He mocked, still attacking, shouting between swings. “You executed him in front of a godd*mn crowd! Are you f*cking stupid?”

By this time, Tubbo and Niki had joined the fray and added their voices to the cacophony of Tommy’s bellowing and Techno’s reprisals. Niki was trying unsuccessfully to stop Tommy’s sudden mad tirade, though she proved ineffective in no armour as she kept having to duck out of the way of the recoiling axe swings. Tubbo stood to the side calling to Tommy, trying also to get him to calm down, though he seemed to lose faith much quicker and simply watched with a detached expression as the scene unfolded around him. And Wilbur stood over all of them on the staircase, observing the mayhem unfold as each of the main members of Pogtopia aired their frustrations for all to see. And Wilbur revelled in it. The violence, the noise. For a man with an unfinished symphony to his name, this could be the groundwork for a movement. His rebellion was falling apart at the seams, sure, but who knew witnessing the intricacies of the disintegrating stitching was so exhilarating? He had of course said yes when Dream invited him to Team Chaos, but the extent to which total bedlam was so invigorating thrilled him.

“I’m gonna make a combat pit, hold on.” Tommy was only just in control of his own limbs at that moment enough to change the direction of his strike while he was doing it so it didn’t hit Wilbur. Wilbur, who apparently was so out of his mind that he didn’t see the danger in walking between Tommy and Techno while one of them was ineffectually trying to beat the sh*t out of the other, strode between them, carrying in his posture all the grace of a refined leader with a twisted ankle, pickaxe in hand as he made true on his pronouncement with a machiavellian grin in place. The others stared on with mounting worry as he went to work hewing a tiny chamber off to the side of the main ravine’s walkway. All except Tommy, who’d been thrown to the floor by the combined forces of his redirected swing and Steam Train Wilbur.

"What the f*ck?" He panted repeatedly, struggling to push himself to his feet without looking. "Wil?" Techno asked, as the quiet that had consumed the group grew. "Settle your feelings," Wilbur wheeled around, pickaxe slung over one shoulder, one hand indicating the hole-in-the-wall room that he'd just created like a showman with a new set-piece. "With your fists."

Tubbo was at Tommy's side again, shaky hands gripping him by the arm. "Tommy stop. The last thing we need right now is infighting." Tommy gave him an incredulous look. "Tubbo, he just killed you! If that isn't already infighting, I don't know what is!" "I- I forgive him." All eyes were on him once again; Wilbur looked weirdly agitated and Techno raised an eyebrow. "He didn't really have a choice, not when surrounded by so many enemies." He dropped Tommy's arm as the blonde stared at him with an open mouth and went to hold his arms, careful around the bandages. "I get it. So I forgive him."

They stood, a metre and many miles apart for just a moment, before Tommy closed the gap, pressing his axe into Tubbo's hands. Then he turned, swept his hair from his eyes, and dropped into the Pit. Techno was soon to follow, depositing his armour and weapons by the side of the stairs and joining Tommy.

“Sure you wanna do this, Tommy?” Tommy felt his senses heightening once more, sharpening, forming a tunnel in his vision that focused solely on the foe ahead of him. Funnily enough, it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, living on a server like this. It smelt like ash and gunpowder. It had the feel of a bowstring.

Dimly, Tommy wondered if Techno felt it too.

He steadied his stance, “You killed Tubbo, Techno.” The pig hybrid shrugged, idly cracking his knuckles. “Alright… We settle our feelings with our fists.” He cast a glance up at the small crowd looking down on them, at Wilbur who was beaming at him with his hands scrunched up in his pockets, at the half a dozen civilians and Pogtopians that had dared to venture towards the arguing leaders and figureheads. “When we come outta here, win or lose, no hard feelings: it stays in the pit.” Wilbur giggled. “It stays in the pit.”

For a few seconds, the entire cavern stood still, the only movement coming from the overhead lanterns swaying in the cold draft blowing through the cave. With uncertainty in his movement, Tommy turned hesitantly, tilting his head back to look up at Tubbo. He asked him a silent question with a flick of his eyes: ‘Do I?’ Because really, this was a bad idea. Facing Technoblade in one-on-one combat was not going to end well. And right now, infighting was the last thing they needed. So Tommy put it in Tubbo’s hands, not for the first time that night.  (He’d wanted Manberg to go.)

“I think, Tommy,” Tubbo said evenly, keeping his eyes firmly on his friend as the rest of the room turned to regard him. “Just do whatever you think’s right.” The logical thing to do would be to concede. But when one’s been attacked - he thinks as he follows the fold of Tubbo’s bandages, remembers the ridge by his heart - one does not apologise to one's attacker. “You killed him, Techno.” The pig looked back calmly, and it seemed like he almost smiled. “It stays in the pit.” “You took his second life! You can’t f*cking get that back.” “In the pit.”

He untucked his thumbs from the fists he’d made, “You killed my right-hand man. And you referred to JSchlatt as ‘Mr President’.” “I mean, that is his title.” Tommy nearly flew at him there and then. Wilbur picked up on that, “Do it. Do it. Kill ‘im.” They both looked up, alarmed, as Wilbur egged them on and continued to miss the letter ‘h’ from his enunciation. “Kill ‘im, punch ‘im.” Tubbo looked like he was trying to convince the ground to open up and swallow them all whole. Niki had Tommy’s discarded axe in her hands and looked like she might intervene. Or help Tubbo, one of the two.

“I’m not doing this for Wilbur.” Tommy declared, tensing his muscles. “You murdered my boy. You betrayed us all.” “I was peer pressured, Tommy. There were, like, twenty dudes who would’ve shot me where I stood.” “You can literally fly-” “If I’d blown my own cover we’d lose the last person we have that can go into Manberg without being hunted down. We lost one spy today; we could’ve lost two.” Sounding irritated, Wilbur suddenly called down. “When you’re ready Tommy.” The boy in question seethed, “This wasn’t about some f*cking military strategy.”

His hands connected with Technoblade’s shoulders, as he blindly aimed a kick to one of the Blade’s shins. They backed into a corner and Techno braced his back against the wall, lean-falling into it and bringing one foot off the floor to kick Tommy in the gut. Tommy came back with a punch, his fist outlining a wild arc that glanced off Techno’s collarbone as he ducked beneath it and jabbed Tommy in the side, sending the boy reeling, and yet surging back in for more. “Yes… Yes!” Came Wil’s disconcerting cheers. The imbalance of skill and power was plain to see: Techno hit harder, fought with the techniques of a seasoned warrior and pushed through Tommy’s punches as if he didn’t notice them. Tommy, on the other hand, fought like he was a kid on a playground. He wore down quickly, his movements getting slower and more telegraphed. Techno seized him by the shirt and threw him into the wall, where he stayed as the pigman rebounded off the adjacent one and slammed him in the ribs, the kid only just scrambling away on the resulting momentum.

Despite the condition of his opponent, Techno didn’t let up, and if the previous events of the day hadn’t occurred the way they had, Tubbo might’ve jumped in to stop the fight. Instead, he stood by, watching Wilbur’s reactions more than the carnage itself, as Tommy landed one punch and Techno landed four. Wil’s face was delighted, like a kid on Christmas; Tubbo longed to dispose of this imposter and find the Wilbur that had once protected them, the Wil that would never have let this situation escalate to this point. But he was gone, or at the very least buried as deep as the cavern; he’d made the pit after all. Tubbo wondered what President Wil would do, faced with his brothers clashing like this. Probably stop the fight, pull Tommy out, and scold him, like he used to: ‘Stop picking fights with gods, Tommy.’ Alternatively, he bounded about on the lip of the pit, shouting down “Get it out Tommy!” and “Think of what he did.” He seized Tubbo by the shoulders (which hurt, but he didn’t wince) and shook him enthusiastically while shouting “Think of what he did to Tubbo.” (which turned his stomach over).

---

Taglist: @nixavia @zrenia @spaceheatertrash (Please let me know if you’d like to be on the taglist in future :)

[jeongyunhoed]

Past-Present-Future Black Dahlia

Two major tragedies bring Lee Mirae closer to the edge as she goes through the stages of grief in a more violent manner that would affect not only her relationships with her boyfriend Jeong Yunho and her half-brother Choi San, but also has her becoming closer with the immortal mutant Kang Yeosang. Fueled by rage, grief, and pain, along with a very rude awakening that has Mirae spiraling out of control and questioning everything she holds dear.

Group: ATEEZ Member: Yunho Pairing: Jeong Yunho / OC Genre: Action, adventure, angst, fantasy

Watch Out! : Violence, blood, death, grief and loss, major character deaths, use of weapons, some jealousy (but no cheating ofc), implied smut (not sure if there is any but i’m putting it out there nonetheless), mental illness (probably?), gambling and alcohol

Anything else? : Mentions of other idols of course as well as other characters. SuperM, Dean, Chanyeol, Zelo, soloist Park Jihoon to name a few.

Author’s Note: So... I didn’t expect this would happen for some reason? But it’s interesting how things unfold when you just wing it. Anyway, more reveals ahead a.k.a Yeosang reveals what more he can do and not just suck the life out of people/mutants.

Masterlist

Chapter 6

Loud yelps of pain echoed what looked like a ballroom found within the abandoned school that Ten created. Jongin was seated on top of an operating table, his injured leg that had a gaping wound was being tended to by another male, wearing a suit. Dr. Lucas Wong, another telepath that also had extensive medical knowledge. “She tore through your muscle and the tendons, this might take a while to repair, the tissue damage is extreme and even if it did, there will be some discrepancy in the weight distribution when you walk,,” Lucas muttered as he wiped the rest of the antiseptic over the wound. 

“Yeah, she did,” Jongin bit his lip to stifle the groans leaving his mouth in pain. “Even threatened to wipe out my entire family while she did it. She’s got quite a grip.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t do the same to you, hyung,” Lucas glanced at Baekhyun, who had a brace on his neck. 

“Yeah well, I thought she needed to know who was making her suffer. I don’t regret it one bit of course,” Baekhyun frowned, sitting back against the red chintz chair. 

“And now you’ve turned her loose against us when we should be convincing her to join our cause,” Mark said. “You chose to pursue your vendetta over the greater goal that we plan to achieve, and from the looks of this, it seems like Ino has already let it slip that you and Jongin tampered with their Danger Room. We aren’t the enemy, the non-mutants are.” 

Baekhyun fell silent. “To be fair, it was fun helping them out in their plans, it gave me something to do,” Taeyong spoke, his feet up on the table that had Lucas’s medical journals, making the doctor swat his feet away while he dressed the teleporter’s wounds. “I think she also turned Yeosang away from the venture though.” 

“See?” Mark sighed in frustration. “We need her and Yeosang. Yeosang wields significant influence, granted that he practically owns the entirety of Seoul. With Mirae, it’s going to give the venture the added muscle.” 

“You mean she’ll be our enforcer,” Jongin chimed in. 

“In a way. If people have a problem, we can convince her to take care of it. She’s got a lot of skills, skills that must be utilized. She’s let herself go ever since she got rid of the Utopian cult,” Mark explained. 

A portal soon appeared in the middle of the room and Ten stepped out of it. “She’s here. And she’s pissed, and at the same time sad,” He said. He glanced at Baekhyun. “You should’ve kept the ruse going, hothead.” 

“She blew up my house though,” Taeyong pointed out. 

“You’ve got the money, you can build a new one,” Lucas muttered, dressing Jongin’s wound. “Taemin’s still not done from his meetings, is he?” 

“Nope. But I already told him what happened. He should be here in an hour? Two hours tops,” Taeyong replied. “He’s not going to be happy.” 

“Damn right I’m not.” 

Taemin had appeared by the door, looking evidently pissed off. He slammed his jacket down on the nearby desk along with his briefcase. “Didn’t even give me some time to get my stuff before she blew the place up.” 

Lee Taemin was also a telepath like Mark and Taeyong, but his main powers were mostly being able to mimic or augment a mutant’s powers. If Taemin were near an omega-level mutant, he could only mimic but not surpass their abilities completely. Unlike his younger brother Taeyong, who could turn into a diamond form to shield his mind from other telepaths, Taemin’s was naturally present, and he often used it to hide from other psychics. If there were even other psychics apart from them. 

Ten put a finger to his lips. “Shhh. I placed her in one of the rooms of this whole...estate. If I were to go to her now, she would hear everything you are all saying. We wouldn’t want a repeat of what happened in the mansion now would we?” 

“So what’s our next move?” Taemin asked. 

“We call on Ino, ask him regarding what to do about Mirae, and then maybe approach a few willing politicians. I heard not everyone remained arrested after that encounter with Chun Doohwan’s adviser,” Mark explained. “Some are desperate to make a comeback in the political scene. Even after they were exposed.” 

“How are you framing that? I’m not so sure people in this country are keen to forget something like what they did,” Taemin questioned. “Actually, people in this country don’t forget nor do they forgive unless they’re like us.” 

“You could say the same with everyone everywhere, it’s just that we feel it more here,” Taeyong argued. “Then again, it’s not like they know who we are.” 

“Exactly. We should take advantage of the flaws of this society. We’re the superior race, and they will know about their inferiority soon enough,” Mark said. 

It was making Jongin think. “Since that could take some time, I wonder what we plan on doing with Mirae? Are we just keeping her here? Clueless? You forget, you can’t read her mind.” 

“You don’t need to read a mind like hers to know what to do with her, silly,” Ten smirked. “All I can say is that all of you better watch your backs with her. A person who is grieving over the loss of the people closest to her will not think straight, but a person like her who is grieving over losing three people she holds dear? I wouldn’t be surprised if she does turn around and wipe out your entire lineage. She almost did that with you, didn’t she?” He turned to Jongin. 

“How can she do that while she’s over here?” Jongin raised a brow, until he figured out what Ten really meant. “...You wouldn’t.” 

“She’s got every reason to hate each and every one of us now that she knows you were all behind the deaths of her friends. With the shield in her mind, no telepath can control her,” Ten pointed out. “Of course, she doesn’t know my affiliation with the rest of you so she may leave me out of this.” 

“Bring it on, then,” Baekhyun said. 

“Really? You’d really take that risk? I could tell her where your families and loved ones are right now and you can watch them go bye-bye at her hands,” Ten looked satisfied seeing the older male get uncomfortable. 

“I’m already dead to my family, what makes you think I still care?” 

“Enough, Chittaphon,” Taemin rolled his eyes. “We get it. The only one she can’t kill in here is Mark, but even his own life isn’t certain. We need to control her somehow. We’re not the enemy. The non-mutants are.”

“There is a way,” Baekhyun raised a brow. “Choi San and Jeong Yunho. I’ve been thinking of making my next move towards them. Make Mirae really alone.” 

~ 

“How much longer do we have until we get there? How do we even get there?” San looked over at Junhong. They were still driving down the road that seemed to lead to the city proper with Yeosang’s help. There was a kind of uncertain quality about the city, as if it was part of a certain time yet had modern technology. The people living in the city were wearing different variations of the hanbok, styled in either coordinates or as dresses and suits. 

“It won’t be long,” Yeosang replied from his seat, making all of them look out the windows. “One kilometer more and we’ll be able to find her, or them, or both.” 

“We don’t have much time, unless Yunho can teleport us even at this time, by the time we get to her, she’ll have probably made up her mind,” San said. 

“When I was at those ruins, what I saw gave me chills,” Wooyoung said quietly. “It’s as if all I could feel from that place was rage and sadness. Junhong, both Hyuk and Chanyeol meant so much to her, didn’t they?” 

“Oh yeah they do. If they survived the explosion, you can imagine we’d get things done faster,” Junhong glanced over at them. 

Yeosang sighed. “Oh well, here goes nothing,” He closed his eyes and muttered a few words, making others look over at him. 

A flock of seagulls was flying out of the way of the van, making all of them whip around to look out the window. Their surroundings changed. They were no longer in the city proper, but they were at a dreary-looking street and at the end of the street was the gates of the school. “...Yunho?” Hongjoong glanced at the taller. 

“It’s not me,” Yunho looked just as surprised. 

Yeosang shook his head. “Well that spell was rusty,” He muttered. 

“Spell? What do you mean by spell?...You can do magic?” Mingi stared at him. 

“It’s a gift I try not to use very often. It takes the fun out of everything,” Yeosang casually replied. “I must confess I fear I might be losing my touch with it.” 

San grabbed him by the collar. “You mean to say you could’ve brought us there without having to travel?!” He couldn’t help but yell. 

“In my defense I didn’t do that when I came to the rest of you,” Yeosang yanked his hand off his collar and straightened himself up. 

“You better figure out which side you’re on because it seems to me that you’re buying them some time,” Hongjoong shot at him. 

“Give me a reason not to kill you right now,” Yunho suddenly looked over at him. “You could’ve saved us the time.” 

“Whenever I use magic, I will need to feed. It uses up my energy and turns me into a ghostly hag,” Yeosang held up his hand, his skin becoming translucent, revealing the veins that were becoming more and more visible.

“You are an old hag,” San pointed out. 

“Regardless, the more I use, the hungrier I will get. I don’t think any of you would be willing to give your lives to me, and thus control is needed. It’s one of the downsides of my abilities. That and, I tend to absorb the memories of those I kill,” Yeosang said quietly. 

“In that case, you’ve now got a reason to feed,” Hongjoong said as Junhong pulled the brakes. 

“All of you have your weapons, I can stay behind and wait. There are communicators with you, so you should be able to talk to me and each other in case you split up,” Junhong turned to them. “Good luck. Get Mirae back.” 

“We will,” San nodded and the rest of them got down.

The eight of them faced the massive gates of the estate. “Do we climb over or do we break in?” Seonghwa asked, an idea immediately coming to mind. His eyes and fingertips glowed green, the chains locking the gate coming apart, opening the gate in front of them. 

“I’m here to remind you that we’ll be dealing with a few telepaths and teleporters. Be careful,” Yeosang said as they walked inside, a cold gust of wind hitting them. “As much as it pains me to say it, San is our best bet to get to Mirae. I’m sure they already know of his relation to my dear, as much as they already know who Yunho is in her life.” 

“So we need to watch Yunho and San, is that it?” Hongjoong deduced. 

“Precisely,” Yeosang replied, only to duck out of the way when he felt something strike him. It was an axe, Mingi’s axe, and the taller male himself was attempting to strike him. 

“Mingi!” San tried to stop him, but he wasn’t answering and instead tried to strike towards everyone else, making them take out their weapons. Mingi seemed to be in a trance.

“Mingi!” Hongjoong sped around the taller male. “He’s- What’s happened to him?!” He dodged a shuriken that was thrown his way. Wooyoung and San had joined in the fray. 

Yunho dodged his strikes with an axe, only to run out of the way when he saw Jongho charge towards him. “Oh no, Jongho!” He yelled, avoiding the spikes that were protruding from his arms and legs. Jongho was also in a trance. 

Yeosang took out the concealed sword from his walking stick and knocked Jongho out of the way. “They seem to be under a spell- They know we’re here,” He said, realizing the situation. “One of them’s controlling Mingi and Jongho, or should I say two- Mark!” 

A portal opened from one side of the grounds and out stepped Mark himself, followed by Lucas. “I thought as much, Yeosang!” The immortal said. 

“Can’t get your hands dirty?” Yeosang cast a spell only for it to hit Lucas instead as he saw Taemin step out from the same portal and Ten. 

“Why would I need to?” Mark scoffed. 

“We’re not the enemy,” Taemin said, his eyes and fingertips glowing the same green glow as Seonghwa who was already trying to redirect the shurikens and axes that Mingi was throwing while also dodging Jongho’s kicks and punches. He disarmed their weapons, throwing them to the side. 

“Where is Mirae?” San asked. 

“She’s safe, somewhere in there. But I’m sorry to say that you can’t get to her,” Ten replied. “We need her.” 

“And we need her,” Yunho stared at them. “We’re not joining you and your Project Apocalypse and neither should Mirae.” 

“Ah, Yeosang told you. I guessed as much, he’s turning into a literal vampire before our eyes too,” Mark gestured to the immortal, whose skin was becoming even more translucent, his eyes turning icy blue in color. “You might as well show them how you actually look after all of that magic, you know.” 

“Still sore about Julia the Elder choosing me over you after all,” He said. 

“We’re not the enemy as you all seem to believe. Mutants are the inheritors of this earth, we’re all on the same side here,” Lucas reasoned. 

“Oh really? Then why is Mirae being kept?” Hongjoong questioned. “You’ve got her, we want her.” 

“You’ll have to get through us first, then,” Mark said. 

“No problem,” Hongjoong said, before speeding past Lucas and Taemin, knocking them off their feet. 

Mark took out a swiss army knife from his pocket and shook his head. “Care to duel, Yeosang? To the death as it seems,” He said. 

“I’d want to stick around more, no thanks,” Yeosang sent a hex towards him, sending him to the end of the field, almost knocking into the pillar. Wooyoung transformed into his shadow form, slithering across the ground and capturing Ten, nearly getting sucked into the portal he was trying to create. 

Mingi took out his lighter, sending blasts of flames towards  Mark who reappeared, making him fall over, covering his face in pain. “Chanyeol taught me that,” He grinned. 

~ 

Mirae looked out the window from the room Ten placed her in. She was getting restless. She wanted to know where Baekhyun and Jongin were, and possibly kill them when she found them. The room she was kept in gave off the impression that it was once among the opulently decorated rooms in the school, perhaps a room of a teacher or school head. 

“Mirae.” 

She turned around upon hearing the familiar voice. It was Ino. “So now you’re here.” 

“I am, and I don’t blame you for what you did to me-” 

Her eyes and fingertips glowed and she reached into her pocket for her deck of cards. “What makes you think I’m sorry for what I did to you? You deserved it as much,” She hissed. 

“Baekhyun, Jongin, their entire group has a cause worth fighting for.” 

“And Hyuk and Chanyeol are collateral damage, is that it?” Mirae flung a charged card towards the older male, only for it to explode through him. “Baekhyun killed them, and he killed Jihoon too. And you let it happen.” 

“Their deaths were a price to pay!” Ino tried to reason, dodging all the cards being thrown at him. 

“They never deserved that! And you know it!” Mirae yelled and a shockwave of energy suddenly reverberated around the room, causing cracks in the windows and walls. Ino saw his face had traces of burns caused by the shockwave. “They never deserved to die!” She yelled again, sending another shockwave that made the furniture burn and disintegrate and Ino felt more burns on his skin. 

“You’re becoming stronger, Mirae,” Ino realized as the burns on him were healing. “Remember what Junhong said to you-” 

More shockwaves of energy reverberated around the room, the ceiling and the walls already on the verge of collapsing. “All this time I was living with guilt thinking that I was responsible for it, when it’s you- You let everything happen!” She shouted, another shockwave making everything collapse and fly outwards. 

“It was the price to pay for Project Apocalypse, Mirae!” Ino tried to reason again, even if he knew it was inevitably futile. “There are people willing to die for causes greater than themselves. It’s time mutants had considerable influence in the world, we have a right to live in this world just as much as everyone else does. Out from the shadows, no longer hiding.” 

“What makes you think I was hiding? What makes you think Hyuk and Chanyeol were hiding? Jihoon wasn’t even a mutant yet he was killed!” Mirae threw another card at him followed by another, the second card ricocheting off the column as it exploded, knocking it over. 

Ino looked up and everything that was about to crumble down froze in mid-air. Baekhyun and a limping Jongin appeared, followed by Taeyong. Baekhyun released a beam of light towards her face, making her fall over, covering her eyes. Taeyong transformed into his diamond form and charged towards her, Mirae knocking him over before he could strike. 

“You don’t even bother to see that your friends are out there right now,” Baekhyun tried to blast another beam of light towards her. “San and Yunho, did you really care for them?” He taunted, only to gape when the beam of light hit the staff she had extended, the energy coming from her being redirected towards him and sending him flying towards the other side, Jongin teleporting in time to catch him. 

The whole school burned down into ashes and shockwaves reverberated all throughout the grounds, making everyone in the midst of their fights fall over on the ground from the impact. Taeyong, Jongin and Baekhyun appeared close to the rubble as Mirae emerged from the ashes. Ino had also reappeared, the burns on his hands and face healing. 

Yunho got up upon seeing Mirae and he ran up to her. “Mirae! Mirae!” He called out, only to get pushed inside a portal. 

“Yunho?” The glow in her eyes faded. “Yunho!” She called out, running towards the portal only for it to close, making her stumble and fall over. Mirae looked over, her eyes scanning the ground for San and getting back on her feet. “San!” She called out. 

“Mirae!” San got back up on his feet only to get pushed inside another portal that closed before Seonghwa could keep him out. 

“San! San!” She yelled, staring at the spot where San disappeared. Mirae glanced at Ten, who was still within the grip of Wooyoung’s shadow form. “Wooyoung, get out of the way,” She said, her eyes glowing red. 

“Project Apocalypse must go online without any interruptions,” Ino said. 

“Wooyoung,” Mirae looked over at the shadow form still wrapped around the male. “Get out of the way.” 

The shadow seemed to slither away from Ten, transforming back into Wooyoung as Mirae’s staff began to glow the same red glow from her eyes and fingertips. “If you kill me, you won’t know where Yunho and San are,” Ten pointed out. “If you join us, Project Apocalypse, you will have them back, unharmed, not possessed or crazy that’s for sure. If you refuse, let’s just say you will have lost two more people you care so much about. In such a short span of time too.” 

“Don’t join them, Mirae,” Hongjoong called out. “Yunho and San wouldn’t want you to join them either.” 

“There’s nothing but pain for you if you join them,” Wooyoung chimed in. “It’s not going to end. It’ll only get worse.”

“If you can’t command, you must obey,” Baekhyun said quietly. 

The words made Mirae look over at him and she struck her staff into the ground leading up to where he was standing, the shockwave sending the rest of them flying back in different directions. “How dare you control me,” Mirae muttered, the glow in her eyes becoming brighter than ever. 

“Mirae don’t join them!” Seonghwa called out, the green glow in his eyes and fingertips. 

She ran up to Baekhyun and before he could get away, she struck her staff in the ground again, the impact making him stumble and fall. Mirae grabbed him by the collar. “Could you really kill me, Lee Mirae?” He said. “One of the last in our group, the sentimental value of it all is enticing isn’t it? You don’t have it in you to kill me. You keep searching for a face to blame for all your grievances, when that face is staring right back at you in the mirror.” 

Baekhyun’s satisfied expression soon turned into horror when Mirae’s eyes turned black. “You really are a monster,” He said, before disappearing. 

Mirae looked back at the group where a portal had opened. “Ino.” 

“Baekhyun is part of Project Apocalypse. It is about to go online in a matter of hours,” Ino explained. “Make your choice, Mirae. If you want to see Yunho and San again, if you want to find them unharmed, you will make the right choice.” 

Mark, Taemin, Lucas, and Taeyong had entered the portal. Mirae closed her eyes. She could hear Yunho calling out to her. Somehow, she had relayed what was happening to Yunho, who was now also aware of what was going on. 

I’m here in this kind of wild west village

There’s so many crows, a murder of crows.

It’s deserted

Mirae, don’t join them, just find me, I’ll tell you where to go

San won’t want you joining them either, and Wooyoung will know what’s going to happen if you do

Don’t join them 

She kept hearing him. Mirae opened her eyes. “Keep your word and I will consider.” 

“I’ve kept my word that I took you to the place where you will find your revenge, didn’t I?” Ten replied, seeing Jongin limp inside the portal. “You can trust me.” 

“Trust, that’s a word that I haven’t heard in a while,” Mirae struck the other end of her staff on the ground towards him, making him fall inside the portal. She turned to Ino. 

“You will regret that decision,” He said. 

“And you will regret the day you allowed everything to happen,” Mirae stared at him, a wave of energy hitting the elder once more, burning his face. As Ino fell over on the ground, he disappeared.

[im-just-a-random-fandom-girl]

You know what I want?

Domestic Stucky. In Westview. Hear me out.

(First of all, Endg*me can go fuck itself. Steve’s whole thing? Never happened. Forget about it. Wipe if from your mind. We’re rewriting that shit.)

(Also, this isn’t a fic even though I know it starts out looking like one lol. This is just stream of consciousness thoughts. I would put way more effort into actual writing)

The weeks after the final snap were hard. 

Bucky was back, and it felt like every weight that had been dragging Steve down for the past 5 years was lifted. He was mentally and physically exhausted, but his soulmate, his best friend, was at his side again, pulling him into a warm hug, tight and breathtaking. 

It was still hard; Steve was a very different man than he had been 5 years ago, but Bucky was calm and understanding. There was still much to mourn for, too. Tony and Nat were gone. Any sense of stability that had been established during those 5 years was immediately destroyed, and Steve was sure it would take many more years to try to fix the damage.

And Wanda. When Wanda was snapped back into existence, her grief was palpable. What had been 5 terrible years for him had been 5 minutes of bliss for her, relief that she wouldn’t have to try to live in a world without Vision. Steve knew the feeling. Even though he didn’t quite understand Wanda and Vision’s relationship (he was a robot?), he can’t really judge because he’s been pining after his childhood best friend for the better part of a century and still hasn’t managed to do anything about it.

To be brought back to life was the worst trick you could play on Wanda. Her sense of peace was snatched away from her and she was throttled back into a world that had nothing in it for her. Everyone she loved was dead. Her powers still deemed her a threat, even if she had played a crucial role in the fight against Thanos.

Steve wanted to be selfish and just run away with Bucky, but he couldn’t leave Wanda, who had become the little sister he never had.

He worried about her. Even as those who had been snapped away started to come to terms with the fact that 5 years had passed, Wanda wandered around, just a shell of her former self. Sometimes she fell into fits of rage and despair, using her powers to smash everything in her room at the compound or snapping at anyone who tried to distract her. Most of the time she was just blank.

Just a month after the return from the blip, Wanda strolls into the kitchen and announces that she’s going to S.W.O.R.D. headquarters. Steve’s head snaps up. Her eyes are hard and determined, and Steve belatedly realizes that every muscle in her body is tense as she readies herself to fight anyone who tries to stop her. Sam is the first to speak up.

“Okay, kid,” he breathes out nonchalantly, “you need anyone to go with you?” Sam is good like that. Always knowing what to say to make someone feel comfortable and cared about, but not coddled.

“No,” Wanda grits out. A breath, and then, softer, “thank you.”

Glancing around to see if anyone else had any objections, Wanda walks out of the compound.

Steve lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was still holding, but the room is still tense. He whips around to Bucky, eyes wide with concern.

Before he can even say anything, Bucky reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, “Don’t worry. Come on, we’ll watch out for her.”

So, with a tight smile, Steve stands up and lets Bucky lead the two of them out.

It’s not until they are halfway down the street in an inconspicuous car, trailing a little ways behind Wanda’s red sedan that it occurs to Steve to ask what they’re doing.

“We’re just going to follow her to make sure she’s alright, pal. S.W.O.R.D. has Vision’s body, and it’s not a good idea for her to be alone, even if she thinks it’s best.”

“She’ll be mad if she realizes what we’re doing.”

“Good thing one of us is a reformed Russian spy,” he smirks.

Steve’s heart skips a beat at that familiar face, one that he hadn’t thought he’d ever see again, and blushes, ducking his head. If Bucky notices, he doesn’t say. They carry on in a comfortable silence.

As they pull into the S.W.O.R.D. parking lot, Steve watches Wanda march into the headquarters. He turns to Bucky, "Are we going to follow her in?"

"You can't, that's for sure." Steve scowls. "It's not entirely your fault, pal, but you're don't exactly blend in easily. But I'll go in to keep an eye on her if you want me to."

Steve considers the offer for the moment. As much as he wanted to watch out for Wanda, he knew that if she found out, it would hurt her more. She would think that he didn't trust her, and that he was following her to make sure that she didn't lose control of her powers and hurt people. He didn't want to make her feel more ostracized than she already was.

"No, we'll just wait," he says, shaking his head. His eyes never leave the entrance to S.W.O.R.D. headquarters. 

The wait for Wanda feels excruciatingly long. Steve doesn't trust that S.W.O.R.D. is any better than S.H.I.E.L.D., and he honestly has no idea what they've been doing with Vision's body for the last 5 years. A renewed sense of guilt washes over him.  If he had tried to fight S.W.O.R.D. harder for Vision's body, Wanda wouldn't be here, fighting through her grief to see him one last time. After the snap, Steve didn't feel like he could waste his dwindling energy scrutinizing S.W.O.R.D's every move, but he now wishes he had. He could have spared her this pain. 

Sensing the anxiety bubbling up within him, Bucky reaches out, pulling Steve's hand into his own. "It's not your fault, Steve," he reminds him gently. Steve squeezes his hand in response.

Wanda walks out of S.W.O.R.D. headquarters 20 minutes later. She seems drained and tired, but her expression reveals nothing. They wait again before following her out of the lot.

When she turns right, away from the direction of the compound where he assumed she would return, Steve frowns. "Where is she going? The compound's the other way."

Bucky shrugs. "I guess we'll see."

Steve has no idea where they are until he sees a sign declaring "Welcome to New Jersey!" not far down the highway.

"What the hell is she going to Jersey for?" Bucky gasps, pulling a loud laugh from Steve's chest. It's absurd and ridiculous, but it reminds Steve of when they were kids in Brooklyn, shitting on the Yankees and the state's annoying accent, among the plethora of other abhorrent traits about New Jersey. Bucky starts laughing with him, shaking his head. 

They finally arrive in a small, run-down town called Westview. Steve can't imagine why Wanda would come here.

Her red sedan comes to a stop in front of an empty plot of land, and she steps out, clutching a folded piece of paper to her chest.

"Oh, Christ... Shit," Bucky mutters. Steve is about to ask what he's thinking when he finally sees Wanda's walls crumble. 

Her shoulders shake with the force of her sobs, and she falls to her knees with a cry of desperation. A red orb of her twists around her body and Steve shoves the door to the car open, desperate to get to Wanda. 

"Steve!" he hears Bucky cry out behind him, and it's the last thing he hears before Wanda's powers implode around her, and his vision is blotted with red.

Remember! Wanda made all of her characters in the hex as similar to their actual lives as possible to ease her control of them! SO, it's only natural that her powers would pick up on the fact that Steve and Bucky are very obviously pining for each other and put them in a loving relationship while they are in the hex. Since they are both under Wanda's control, their storyline would happen mostly independently from what we see in WandaVision. I wouldn't have there be any smut (since I'm not talented enough or comfortable writing it myself) so there wouldn't be any non-con or any serious dub-con while they are in the hex. The idea is that both of them want everything that they are made to do (be partners, hold hands, kiss, do other couple-y stuff), but they are concerned because they think the other would feel disgusted and not want it.

There unfortunately were not any gay characters on TV in the 50s and 60s, so I would write these two "episodes" with loose ties to other sitcoms from those decades and do some research into how gay couples lived during these time periods. Basically, reimagine my own 50s and 60s sitcoms with realistic portrayals of a gay couple.

For the other decades, I would then base their relationship off of those actually depicted in sitcoms from that time. 

It should be noted that, while I have actually watch a lot of old sitcoms, I haven't watched many of the ones I mention. If I every decide to write this, I would do a lot more research on these shows (and watch some episodes!)

70's - I would likely draw from Barney Miller, Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, and Soap.

80's - Roseanne is pretty iconic, but I would be a little hesitant to write it after all of the controversy a couple years ago. Love, Sidney may also work, but I don't know enough about the show.

90's - Will & Grace, of course! I don't know anything about Northern Exposure, but the little bit of research I've done suggests that also may be a source of inspiration.

2000 through early 2010s - It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and Modern Family. (I loved The War At Home, but it doesn't really fit)

When Wanda releases everyone from the hex, Bucky and Steve had some serious miscommunication issues and angst. Both feeling exceedingly guilty about their actions, despite the fact that they had no control over them. They got a taste for what domestic life would be like together, and they are frustrated that they enjoyed it since they believe the other one did not. When Wanda explains that her powers gave everyone jobs, relationships and roles in society that were equally comparable to those they had in real life, Bucky and Steve both realize that the hex would not have put them in a relationship if it wasn't what the other also wanted. Yay! They make-up (and make-out, lol).

I seriously want to write this, but I really don't have the confidence that I will be able to execute it as I imagine it. If someone wants to work on it with me (be it we both write it or you just want to offer some brainstorming help/story guidance), I would be thrilled! Just so long as there isn't any pressure to get it done in a time crunch. I just want this writing experience to be fun! Also, if you are interested, I swear I’m a better writer than what was just exhibited, but I really only spent an hour or so on it, so it’s obviously not my best work.

Anyway, if you have any thoughts, suggestions, advice etc or just want to scream about WandaVision and/or Stucky, please feel free to PM me or stop by my inbox. It would make my day :) 

[auty-ren]

The Offer: Chapter 2

Touches

Pairing: ClanLeader!Mando x fem. Reader

Rating: T (Mature for future chapters)

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Injury, Touching, Insinuations of sex, Cursing (just a tiny bit), Fluff, Yearning (a lot).

A/N: I’m having so much fun writing this. Please let me know what you think! Comments and feedback appreciated always. It’s also on AO3. Hope y’all enjoy💕

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Mandalorian lore via mandoa.org (I dont own it)

ClanLeader!Au created by @magichandthing​​

Gif by @coredrive​

Summary: You finally get to speak to Clan Leader Djarin again.

Your nose was definitely broken.

The elder assessed that much on her initial exam of your face. 

The bile in your stomach churned and nausea flooded your senses at the thought of having to reset the broken cartilage. You knew they would have to realign your nose otherwise it would never grow back properly. However, your stubbornness took hold and you wouldn’t let the elder anywhere near your face. You knew the pain that was eventually going to happen, but you dreaded the process. You wanted to postpone it for as long as you could. You tried to rationalize other options, internally debating and trying to come up with excuses for Mira and the Elder. Maybe if it was left alone, your nose would heal just fine; it seemed like a probable outcome you just hoped Mira would see it that way and leave you be.

Mira, of course, had different plans.

It took Mira straddling you, completely immobile due to her weight pressing into your chest, and the strength she held your arms with for the Elder woman to be able to fix your nose from its dislocated position. When she finally did, you're sure your scream reverberated off the walls.

“We underestimated your strength ad’ika.” The woman joked after giving a final dose of a bacta shot. Your eyes were still watering and you just huffed in response, causing Mira to chuckle from across the room.

Mira’s company started to grow on you, even though at first your time together was filled with silence. She often busied herself around the hut; shining her armor, cleaning her assortment of weapons, tinkering with different pieces of mechanics that littered the shelves. You would offer to help and she accepted, reluctantly at first, but you were starting to think she enjoyed your company as much as you did hers.

Most of the conversation was you asking questions about Mira and her people. You had some knowledge of the ways of a Mandalorian but Mira always explained it better. She always answered you with a sense of patience, explaining everything to you in detail you could understand. You appreciated it, the last thing you would want to do is offend her people with ignorance. She seemed to enjoy your enthusiasm for learning about Mandalorian culture.

“Ba'jur bal beskar'gam, Ara'nov, aliit, Mando' a bal Mand'alor, An vencuyan mhi.”

“What?”

“It is a rhyme taught to children, so they can better understand our way of life.” She put down the tool she was cleaning her armor with, handing you the piece to polish. Before you could even ask, she recited the same phrase to you in basic.

“Education and armor, Self-defense, our tribe, Our language, and our leader, All help us survive.”

Days bled into weeks and you started to lose count of how long you had been with Mira. Your injuries had healed fully thanks to Mira and the elder that visited you. Light remains of your still healing bruises were all the evidence of the encounter. As you felt better, Mira invited you to accompany her into the village. It had almost become pleasant, the little routine you two had. The fresh air always felt nice, and Mira filled the time telling you more stories of her clan.

“That man,” you paused, debating whether or not you should even bring up the topic. “The one who I met when we first arrived, who was he?”

Ever since then you found yourself wondering about him more than you liked to admit. He and Mira had been the first people to treat you with kindness in a long time, so you figured the reaction to him was just grateful. Your curious nature made it almost impossible to not want to know more. You had learned much about Mira the last few weeks, and the persistent thoughts of him would certainly cease at knowing more of him. At least that's what you told yourself, but it was hard to forget that blooming you felt in your chest when he first spoke to you. How the deep timbre of his voice felt like honey that settled in your bones. You caught yourself daydreaming how his voice would sound without the mask of his voice coder, just as rich and deep but something new and soft against your ears. It probably felt heavenly to hear him whisper things to you, his breath gentle in your ear.

Mira turned to you and watched as you waited for an answer. It was as if Mira could read your thoughts from the way her head tilted to look at you. You were thankful she didn't pry, that was a conversation you didn't want to have.

“He is the strongest and conscientious of us all, which is why the High Elders chose him to lead and defend our clan. Each of the pendants he wears is a testament to his fortitude.”

You listened intently, hanging on to every word Mira spoke.

“They say he received his signent by hunting a Mudhorn that terrorized the village and killing the beast with a viro-blade as his only weapon.”

“Oh,” was all you could say, your voice just a whisper in the silence left behind her words. As much as you will yourself to be satisfied with this information, it only seemed to stoke the fire that had been set ablaze by him. You wanted to know so much more, the desire to be around him was something you tried hard to ignore.

—

Much to Mira’s protest you mostly stayed to yourself, already feeling so out of place. Aside from her, the elder, and the brief encounter with the clan leader Djarin you hadn’t spoken to anyone else since being here. She tried all she could to get you to attend their weekly dinner, a celebration every clan member attended, she insisted. You eventually caved to her persistence. So you sat with her at one of the long wooden tables, chipping away at the plate full of food in front of you. Every so often you stopped to pull at a loose thread in your sleeve, somehow hoping the action would ease the anxiousness you felt.

The clan had given you new clothes shortly after settling with Mira. She presented the garments to you one night, explaining that the leaders agreed you would feel more comfortable in them. A simple, deep red, long sleeve tunic, and a long brown skirt that flowed around the movement of your legs. It was similar to the attire you’d seen some of the women in the village wearing.  It felt unusual at first, you were so used to wearing the same few articles, almost threadbare in places from the years of consistent wear. These clothes seemed almost new, soft to the touch, and fit your body perfectly. The gesture nearly brought tears to your eyes, no one had given you such a thoughtful gift since you were a child.

It was so refreshing to see that not all the hope had been purged from the galaxy. Mira's people were just as legend had described them, fierce warriors with integrity and strength that rivaled entire battalions of soldiers; but there was also love and kinship that was deeply rooted in pillars of their society. It seemed almost surreal, this warrior race had taken you in; had healed and cared for you. It was something you had to witness first-hand, no amount of stories could convey the community the Mandalorians had, at least no one would believe you if you had tried.

You opted to observe the events of dinner, not wanting to cause any more trouble than you felt you had already. Mira had not lied when she said everyone would be there. The tables were filled with people laughing and enjoying the company of each other. It felt so peaceful, and the unsettling feeling in your stomach subsided as the dinner went on. The evening eventually started winding down when dusk had settled over the village. You thought it would be rude to leave without Mira, so you waited patiently on the sidelines wanting to return to the hut.

“How are you feeling?”

Din leaned his shoulder against the wall behind you, his arms crossed and his head tilted to the side. You jumped, you hadn't even heard him coming towards you. He seemed amused at your reaction, letting out a huff that slightly jolted his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” You felt that same pull start in your chest. “Mira has taken very good care of me.”

“Good.”

He became silent, watching the clan mingle like you were. This was exactly what you had been hoping for, to be alone, to be able to talk with him, and ask all the things you had been pondering since your initial meeting. But now you felt so small, every word you had readied was lost on your tongue, swallowed by the intimidation you felt. He was the noblest warrior of his clan, strong and authoritative in his ways but he made your heart flutter in a way you didn't know could. It was suffocating, being around him but you craved it nonetheless.

He moved to sit next to you, straddling the bench you sat on. You could feel him looking at you, but you didn't dare tear your gaze from in front of you. You felt your face flush all the way to the tips of your ears. He hadn’t said five words to you and you were already a mess.

“I should find Mira,” you broke the tension, hoping to escape so you could finally breathe again. “It's late.”

Before you could distance yourself he spoke, halting you in your tracks.

“I can return you to your hut,” he paused pushing himself to stand. He considered you for a moment as if to debate his next words.

“If that's what you wish.”

—

“I haven’t seen you since your arrival.” It wasn't really a question, more of an observation. You turned to look at his helmet, still trained on the path in front of you.

“Mira forced me to break my isolation.”

A huffed laugh came through his helmet, effectively melting some of the tension that had built up. Your own smile stretched across your lips, he still made you incredibly nervous but he at least had a sense of humor.

You didn't exchange any more words, silence falling back over you both. It felt just a little different than before, the tension wasn't drawn so tight. A light airy feeling replaced the energy that flows between the two of you. You could feel your muscles relaxing just the slightest bit, the bubbling worry in your stomach replaced with a dull ache.

Your senses focused back on your surroundings, cool darkness had enveloped your path, lit only by the torches mounted against the huts. People still congregated in the street, groups exchanging wishes of sweet dreams as most of them prepared for sleep. As you passed, side by side with their leader, each person stopped to give a small bow. Some of their gazes lingered on you, not in a judgemental way, most of them just seemed curious in nature. It was probably odd, seeing some strange woman being escorted by the most respected man in their village. If he noticed their looks, he didn't make it known.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a small flash of bright color, sticking out noticeably against the neutral tones of the earth. You stopped and tucked in between two of the homes lining your path home, was a small flower bed. Some of the buds had yet to bloom, the new petals poking through the green shell that encased them. Others were full and brilliant, ranging from every color under the sun. You kneeled down to gently caress the buds in the palm of your hand.

Din didn’t realize you had stopped at first. He noticed the absence of your footsteps and turned around, watching you admire the flowers. He walked closer to you, essentially blanketing you in his shadow. Like before, you failed to notice his presence behind you.

“Sorry,” you apologized once you realized he was waiting for you. Standing up and brushing the dirt from your knees. You awkwardly clasped your hands together in front of you, waiting for him to respond. He stood still, completely static and it felt like a standoff of who would move next. You thought of saying something, anything to get him to act again but before you could he cut you off.

“You like…” He seemed to carefully consider his next words, in some ways it almost seemed meek the way the syllables rolled off his tongue. “Flowers?”

You turned your head to glance at the bed behind you. Realizing now how odd you must've looked, stopping to smell flowers like some child. You looked forward and he had yet to move still staring directly at you, at least that's what you assumed it was hard to tell with his visor.

“Yes, um…” Your mouth felt dry and tightened around your words. You know he didn't ask for an explanation but you gave one nonetheless, trying to ease your embarrassment.

“My mother used to have flowers on my home planet,” You turned your face down to your hands, rubbing your thumb at the juncture of two of your fingers. “I haven't seen any since the day I left...”

It had been a long time since you had thought of your old life. Ever since the war it had become painful to even entertain the good memories. Your parents had become ghosts of what they once were.  Their faces were just flashes in your mind, reduced to the few reminders that stuck with you. The smells of cedar and earth reminded you of your father, his clothes always permeated with the smell of the outdoors. Sometimes you could recall how kind his eyes were, seeing a glimpse of them in your dreams. You remembered your mother’s flowers, how they grew during the warm season filling beds of green with vivid, swirling color.

“I didn’t realize they still grew.” You tried your best to keep the emotions these memories held from finding your face, but Din sensed them nonetheless. He hesitated for a moment before gesturing for you to follow him again.

—

“Thank you, for walking with me,” you said turning to him with a small smile on your face as the hut came into your view.

“Of course.” He stopped just a few feet away from you, turning to mimic your position.

“Goodnight,” you said, turning and walking up the few steps of the porch to Mira’s home.

“You never told me your name,” he said, causing you to stop just in front of the door, you turned back to face him.

You told him, giving a slight smile at the end of your words. He parroted your name, climbing up the stairs becoming level with you again. He moved closer to your body, leaving just a few inches between your chests. You looked up into his visor, your reflection more noticeable with the close proximity of your bodies.

He repeated your name, his hands going for one of the necklaces resting against his chest. He lifted it away from him, bringing the necklace around your neck, the cool metal of the pendant resting just above your breasts. You looked between him and the mythosaur skull, the same one you saw plastered on nearly everything in the village. You wanted to say something, your mouth opening, and closing while trying to focus long enough to string a few words together.

“You’re so beautiful.” He leaned his arm against the door behind you, pinning you between him and the wood of Mira’s hut. His other hand came up to trace along the length of your neck, his knuckles stopping when they reached your chin.

You felt like you were on fire, your blood running white-hot under your skin, leaving a blushed tint in its wake. You didn’t dare look up at him, afraid you’d melt under his gaze that seemed to bore straight through you. You kept your eyes fixated on the expansion of chest level with your eyes.

“Have you thought about staying?” His fingers gripped your chin, bringing you to look directly at his visor.

“Stay?” You were a little taken back, your voice coming out as a squeak compared to his. “Here?”

“Yes, here.” He chuckled, his voice dropped mocking the whisper in your tone. A smile threatens the corners of your lips and you bite on the inside of your cheek to stop the spread. He thought it was entertaining, watching you become giddy under his attention. You turned to look just past his shoulder, willing the flush you felt on your face and neck to subside. You had wanted his attention and now you had it but you were failing miserably at being anything but at his mercy.

“Do you like it here?” He said sensing your hesitation, forcing you to focus on him again.

“Yes, of course.” It was true, you enjoyed your time. But to stay? What place did you have here? They had made you feel so welcome but you were an outsider and you had yet to offer any contribution to their way of life. You had felt better than you had in years. Like a familiar version of yourself had taken over again, replenishing the life you so desperately tried to find before. It felt invigorating but you knew it couldn't last forever, and with your injuries in the final stages of healing, you knew that time was coming to an end.

“Then stay.” His voice was firm but held a sort of gentleness that made your heart flip in your ribcage.

He grabbed your hand, leading your palm to rest in the middle of his chest. Your fingers instinctively spread over the warmth of his skin, he interlocked his fingers with yours, effectively trapping your hand behind his.

You couldn’t see his face, but it felt as if you were staring right into his soul. You imagined the depth and piercing look of his eyes. You imagined they were just like the rest of him, fierce and intriguing but with a softness hid behind them. Mesmerizing you and making you want nothing more than to fall deep in their hypnosis. You wanted to kiss him, to feel him against you, flesh and bone to be explored by your fingertips. You wanted to be encased totally by him, to drown in the warmth he exuded, to feel nothing but him for the rest of your days.

With a newfound boldness, you slipped your hand away from his slowly trailing down the center of his chest. The pads of your fingers moved over the toned muscle of his chest, doing exactly what you had daydreamed about since you met him. His skin was a beautiful tanned color with scars scattered, telling the story of his battles. You traced a few, fingers delicately moving across the raised skin. You felt his breath released from behind his helmet, so quiet you may have not noticed if it weren't for the rise and fall of his chest. You continued your movements, traveling down until you met the trail of hair that peeked out from his trousers. He abruptly grabbed your wrist, a groan filtering through to your ears. His grip was firm, stopping your actions but being careful not to hurt you.

“You should get some rest.” His voice was so low, gravelly, barely registering with the voice coder of his helmet. He released his grip, moving your hand back to your side.

You were afraid you had fucked up, misreading him and crossing some forbidden line. Shame flooded your mind, causing your gaze to drift to your feet. He reached up to your face, pushing the hair that fell in your face back, revealing the timid look that fell on your features. He held his palm against your face for just a moment longer than necessary. As his hand fell from your face, you were back to staring into the darkness of his visor, surprised by the tenderness of his actions.

“Goodnight,” He whispered, turning back to walk down the steps, leaving you stunned and missing his warmth.

“Goodnight.”

—————

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[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 29

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: when you quote west side story you do know things are not about to get any better *nervous laughter* hope you enjoy this chapter x

NEXT CHAPTER

The environment was calm with baby blue and white walls. The only sounds existing in the room being that of the machines beeping and the small breathing sounds coming from the two people in the bedroom. It was quiet, very quiet, but the quietness only contributed to the peaceful nature of the hospital bedroom. 

The slight beeping of the door being opened caused the attention of the French woman to leave from her newborn daughter to the man who had just came in holding a bouquet of white lilies. 

     - I didn’t know what type of flowers would be suitable for someone who just gave birth. - he smiled, taking a seat on the cushioned chair by her bed. - How are my girls?

    - I am alright. Ella’s just been sleeping, I think that’s all she does. - the baby sleep peacefully against her chest, lightly suckling on her mother’s pinkie finger without a single care in the world. - Do you know when we can go home? It’s becoming a bit tiring to be in here. 

   - Robin. - the man sighed. - It’s safer for you to be here than to be home. We cannot return home until we’re certain that no harm can come to you or to Ella. 

   - But we got extra security besides ... I sense something bad is coming.

   - That is just your “momma bear” coming out. You’re safe here, there’s staff and security everywhere. 

   - I hope you’re right. - she sighed, looking at the baby. - I really hope you’re right. 

Y/N stared at him with the sort of curiosity one does whenever confronted with a hard choice. She could just end it, she could just put a stop to it and spare Gwen the pain and shame of being cheated on before she even got married, spare Sebastian and her the childish illusions that everything would be okay. She could just end it, she could just run away and start somewhere new but something always stopped it. Turns out, she couldn’t just end it, she couldn’t just stop falling more and more in love with him, she couldn’t just pretend she could just leave and things would be alright. So once again, she’d rather pretend that everything is alright, everything’s fine. 

She took a step towards him, her shoe front hitting his ever so slightly before she wrapped her arms around him, hiding her head in the space between his shoulder and neck, inhaling his cologne. Sebastian relished and relaxed in her embrace, kissing the crown of her head in means to comfort her.

     - Stay. - he mumbled through her hair, holding her tightly in his arms as if she would fade into air if his grip loosened. Y/N on the other hand was again trying to convince herself that there was a place for them, somewhere in time a place where there could be together without any other external factors. Nevertheless, that place filled with quiet and open air seemed to be nowhere near as breaking through those thoughts were the distant sounding laughter and chatting of people inside the dinning hall celebrating his engagement. Her gaze moved from the room to his face, to his beautiful eyes who stared into her with a look of pure naive hope. - Angel, I ...

    - Mr. Stan? - the two of them left the embrace as someone got closer to the balcony, calling out for him. Her gaze left his to stare at her shoes, shifting her weight from side to side as one of his lesser associates came into the balcony, giving the handmaid a dirty look. - There are some people inside trying to congratulate you. 

   - I’ll be right with you, I just need t ...

   - No, it’s alright. Go. - Y/N interrupted him, giving him a simple characteristic smile. She didn’t want to be the reason why he got himself in trouble and she also didn’t want to make it seem like they were intimate to the rest of the world. Sebastian, however, took a double take, wondering if he should stay and finish his sentence but the associate keeping on calling made him leave her there in the balcony.

The handmaid just sighed, leaning against the railing of the balcony, head heavy with various concerns that probably should’ve weight on her decision back when she decided to get together with him. Before she could decide what else to do, Mr. Dubois had joined her in the balcony, offering her one of the champagne flutes that seemed to float around the party. Despite not being in the mood to drink, she decided to accept it anyway. 

    - So, a handmaid? Pardon my curiosity, I have never met one in my whole life. What does it entail?

    - It’s the same thing as medieval time handmaids. You’re by the heiress’ side making sure she’s happy. - it was an over-explanation of what her job truly entailed but Y/N didn’t have enough time to completely go through what being a handmaid truly was like. - You mentioned the Deschamps. Excuse me asking but I’ve been in this environment since I was younger and I never heard about that mob family.

   - Oh they’re not a mob family. The Deschamps aren’t part of the mob however they are rich, they had money even after the French Revolution. They own more New York real state than the Stans so they normally make an appearance at every single event. 

   - I thought the Stans owned all of the Upper East Side. 

   - They wished. - he scoffed. - I remember a time when one of the mob families tried to get an engagement with a Deschamps. Can’t remember her name, though. Rosemarie, maybe.

   - Never heard of it. - Y/N shrugged. - Enjoying the party so far?

   - I didn’t expect Genevieve Forrest to be that frivolous. It’s nothing like her father. 

   - She’s young. 

   - You can only blame so much on age, Miss Y/N. 

The talk was mostly void of interest, just a polite dance she used to do with anyone and everyone who spoke to her. Once the part became too much for her to handle, she took back to her bedroom sitting down in her bed with various questions going through her mind. Her eyes quickly gazed over her laptop laying on top of her suitcase. She shouldn’t, this was just putting herself deeper and deeper down a hole that kept bringing her more sleepless nights. Yet, as per usual, Y/N did not stop herself and soon enough she found herself with her laptop on her lap, Google on as she typed that very spoke about name. Deschamps. As she finished typing that name and pressed enter several pictures showed up along with a bit of information. Turns out Mr. Dubois was right, they were rich, filthy rich and by the look of it, mostly based in Saint-Nom-La-Bretèch. As she went through the pictures, one of them caught her attention as in the picture stood quite a big crowd of people but one woman in particular standing at the front shared a significant resemblance to the Robin woman that had kept showing on Sebastian’s and Mr. Forrest’s attic. However, the golden necklace that now laid in the middle of Y/N’s collarbones was missing from the woman’s neck in the picture.

Curiously, Y/N clicked the link connected to the photo which led to an article about the acquisition of the Metropolitan Opera House in New York. The picture on the article had a legend and as she went through, she reached the name of the only woman in the figure; Rosemarie Deschamps, the eldest daughter of Michael Deschamps. Surprised, Y/N closed her laptop forcefully, hiding behind her duvet like a scared child. It was just in her mind, it was just in her mind, she didn’t need to know, why did she need to know. Even if she was related to the Deschamps she was probably a bastard child whom the Forrests took pity on. 

With those thoughts, she dozed off to sleep. Between all of this and her relationship with Sebastian she didn’t exactly know how she could sleep peacefully and throughout the night she kept somehow waking up in cold sweats. When she finally managed to have more than just a few minutes of sleep around sunrise, a loud knock followed by her name being screamed in a high pitched female voice took her right off her sleeping state. Great. Through her sleepiness, she mumbled for however it was at the door to come in. In came Gwen dressed like a Givenchy model in a harsh shade of green and white. 

    - Y/N, I need a favour. - she sat on the edge of her bed. - I have my wedding dress fitting today but I really can’t be asked besides Christian and I were thinking about going for brunch. 

    - We’re not the same size. - Y/N mumbled against her pillow, sleep trying to fight through her awareness. 

    - Just check if the dress is okay. C’mon Y/N. - Gwen pulled the duvet away from her. - Please, I covered for you.

   - Okay.

Gwen clapped in excitement before pulling the handmaid up to her bedroom which was filled to the brim with people carrying needles and threads along with various swatches of fabric. Before Y/N could question what was happening, she was brought by one of the woman to stand in front of the mirror while another one opened a white box pulling out Gwen’s wedding dress. Gwen was nowhere to be seen, probably already left and before Y/N could even check for that, the dress was being pushed down her, sitting a bit too loose. Her eyes glued to the mirror as she saw herself in the wedding dress, the white fabric almost glistening with the light. It was a beautiful dress, mostly made out of fabric.

  - Genevieve, we need to spe ... - Y/N turned around at the different voice that came from the door. Sebastian was leaning against it, almost sure his eyes were playing tricks on him as he observed Y/N dressed in bridal fashion. - Angel, what are you doing here?

  - Gwen asked me to cover for her. - she didn’t even lie anymore, instead facing him with the truth that he would probably hear from everyone else. - Is it important?

  - PR bullshit, if you ask me. - he took a step towards her, fully inspecting the gown wrapped around the handmaid. - You look stunning.

  - It’s not my dress. - she forcefully smiled, not sure if she should cry or not. It wasn’t everyday that you get dressed in the wedding dress belonging to the woman who’s about to get married to the man she was hopelessly in love with.

Yet again, she kept digging herself a hole which she wasn’t sure she could ever come out from. 

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